Webnovel Feedback Roasts For the Fearless

Tempokai

Overworked One
Joined
Nov 16, 2021
Messages
1,026
Points
153
I present you with an undercooked Windrake's Rogue, Chef Tempokai, ready for roasting.
Let me start this roast with a lament—a lament for the two chapters of your webnovel I read, only to stop, not because the plot thickened but because my patience thinned. Only two chapters, alongside with synopsis. That’s all it took for me to realize I was staring at the piece that screams "I read dozen webnovels, sure I can write one!", only failing at it. The synopsis showed me intrigue, espionage, and magical academia. What I got instead was endless talking heads, dialogue tags squatting like Muscovite gopniks where emotions should be, and a story so soaked in tell, tell, and tell that my subconscious writer brain started protesting: “Where’s the show, buddy?!”

Let’s start with your synopsis, that haphazard little text that seems to have been written at 3 a.m. after binge-watching Harry Potter and Mission Impossible. You had one job, ONE JOB: hook the reader, establish ethos, and give us a taste of what readers are getting into. Instead, you gave me a vague, throwaway question like “How does one infiltrate the most elite magical academy in the realm?” Gee, I don’t know. Are we actually going to find out? Because based on the first two chapters, your story has all the “infiltration” of a 5 yo trying to sneak cookies while loudly announcing, “I’m not doing anything!” And what’s with “hidden agendas, alluring temptresses, and suspicious professors”? Is this a spy thriller, a harem fantasy, or a generic YA magical academy drama? Sure, they're all the tags that the average webnovel reader would be interested, but there's no proper delivery of it, hidden in tags. Your synopsis promises everything and delivers nothing, crumbling like cheap Chinese plastic toy the second I ask, “But what’s at stake? Why should I care about this Trey guy?” Spoiler: I shouldn’t.

Oh, Chapter 1. The rookie mistakes here hit me like a brick labeled “Amateur Hour.” Overexplaining? Check. Dialogue tags doing all the heavy lifting instead of proper descriptions of show? Check. A total lack of ethos, logos, and pathos working together like in a proper story? Triple check. You threw me into this tense discussion between retired professor that screams Snape and the some mage masquerading as oracle that screams Gandalf, two characters I don’t know or care about, yelling about Woman They Liked Most (trademarked), a person I also don’t know or care about. If ethos is supposed to make me believe in the credibility of your characters and world, then Chapter 1 stumbled so hard it broke its own leg. You gave ethos to Marvin—a mentor figure—and not the actual MC, Trey, who we don’t even meet until later. It's like bad prologue that is completely sidelined once the "actual" story begins.

But the biggest betrayal of Chapter 1 isn’t the rookie mistakes—it’s how the entire chapter undercuts your own synopsis. You said this story is about MC infiltrating Academy, but what I got was mentor flouncing off to his cozy retirement cottage after a melodramatic argument with his ex-bestie, oracle. Where’s MC? Where’s the academy? Where’s the emotional hook that should make me care about anything? If this is a setup, it’s one that feels like a bait-and-switch. I came for infiltration and intrigue, not a retirement drama and a clunky thunderstorm metaphor signaling Marvin’s angst.

Then we get to Chapter 2, and oh boy, if Chapter 1 is a stumble, this one’s a full-on faceplant into the void. Ethos? Squandered harder than your lunch money on the resident witch of this forum. Marvin and Trey are supposed to be on a covert mission, but their spy game is weaker than the two drunk guys IRL doing a robbery. Fake names like “Henrick” and “Pudge” are introduced for secrecy, only for Marvin to blow Trey’s cover mid-fight by yelling his real name like he's stupid and doesn't follow the spy cred, which is one of the oldest creds out there, even in fantasy world. Information is a king. And let’s not forget how they casually drop personal details while insisting they’re undercover. You’re writing spies, not a middle school gossip circle. Either commit to the subterfuge or don’t bother pretending. Even parody spy thrillers have better spying activities than here.

Pacing? It’s like you’re tried to sabotage yourself knowingly, and succeeded at that. The chapter starts strong in the tavern, setting the stage with some decent atmosphere, but the moment the dwarf pair opens their mouths, the story stops. Jakko, bless his little heart, supposed to be shady artifact dealer, but instead, he comes across as two dimensional character who is offended at small things. His sudden leap to “you’re a spy!” feels less like a logical escalation and more like you realized, “Oh crap, I need a fight scene here.” It’s forced, clunky, and utterly unearned. Logos dies right here, at this moment.

And speaking of fights, can we talk about how boring Trey is during what should be his big moment? This kid, barely 18, kills two people—his first kills, mind you—and we get zero emotional fallout. No hesitation, no reflection, just “stabby stab-stab, let’s move on”, with poker face. Trey is supposedly the protagonist, yet he’s treated like Marvin’s sidekick (which he is), reacting to everything instead of driving the story. Even his humor is bland, overshadowed by Marvin’s endless snark. If Trey is MC, as you insist, then where’s his humanity? Because right now, he’s a cardboard cutout with “main character” scrawled on it in crayon.

Now, let’s talk technical issues, because if there’s one thing this story is consistent about, it’s being technically a mess. Usually when the beginning is bad, I can extrapolate that the following chapters have the same issue too. Your overreliance on dialogue tags is killing the flow. Every conversation reads like a tennis match with commentary: “he said, she exclaimed, he retorted, she countered.” Dialogue should reveal character and advance the plot, but yours just pads the word count with endless, repetitive chatter. You could cut it in half with show. And don’t get me started on the tell, don’t show epidemic. You tell me Trey is nervous, Marvin is clever, and Jakko is dangerous, but you rarely show it through action or subtext. It’s like you don’t trust your readers to figure anything out, so you hammer every point home with a hammer called tell.

The pacing and emotional hooks are equally disastrous. Chapter 1 drags because you keep rehashing the same points about Elena and Grimmault without adding depth or stakes. Chapter 2 fares no better, with endless exposition about Windrake’s Soul Inquiry and Marvin’s years of secrecy. By the time the fight rolls around, I’m too numbed by all the talking to care. Where’s the emotional hook? Trey’s supposed to be an apprentice stepping into a dangerous new world, but the story gives me no reason to root for him. His “mentor,” Marvin, hogs the spotlight, leaving Trey in the shadows to stand there like a robot following the "mentor".

Here’s the thing: your idea isn’t bad. A non-mage infiltrating a magical academy to uncover secrets? That’s solid groundwork. But your execution screams “amateur” in the worst possible ways. It’s like you got so excited about the concept that you forgot to actually build a story around it. You’re relying on tropes—grizzled mentor, plucky apprentice, shady artifact dealers—without adding any depth or originality. The result is a story that feels generic, clunky, and devoid of the spark that makes readers fall in love with a world and its characters.

In the end, this webnovel isn’t a failure of ideas; it’s a failure of craft. You have the tools to tell a good story, but you’re wielding them like someone who just wandered into the writing scene for the first time. Stop telling me what’s happening, start showing me why it matters, and for the love of all things tropefied, let Trey actually be the protagonist. Until then, your opening chapters is less “Windrake’s Rogue” and more “Amateur Hour at the Academy.” Good luck, you’re gonna need it, A LOT.
 

shawarma

New member
Joined
Jul 29, 2024
Messages
16
Points
3
Here’s the thing: your idea isn’t bad. A non-mage infiltrating a magical academy to uncover secrets? That’s solid groundwork. But your execution screams “amateur” in the worst possible ways. It’s like you got so excited about the concept that you forgot to actually build a story around it.
Thank you, ch... oh, sorry, chef.:ROFLMAO:
 

Tempokai

Overworked One
Joined
Nov 16, 2021
Messages
1,026
Points
153
I got a review before, a guy thought it was AI after reading chapter 1, so all the best. If u do review it, please read more than one chapter, because the writing does improve, starting is a little hard.
More chaps on webnovel
Alright. Read this, this is important. I’m not here to hold your hand and gently guide you through the forest of mediocrity you’ve so boldly planted yourself in. I’m here to bulldoze that forest, salt the earth, and maybe—maybe—leave behind a single sprouting seed of understanding. Let’s start with ethos, the credibility you don’t have but desperately need.

Do you know what your writing tells me about you? I'm looking at your "implied author" here—the "you" who exists on the page. It says, “I have no idea what I’m doing, but I’m going to pretend I do.” That’s the energy you’re giving off here, and it’s not working. My 7 years old niece can make a better story, and her story will not involve what she doesn't fully understand. You, on the other hand, slap together some bargain-bin tropes, mumble, “Yeah, this is fine, I've seen a novel or two before that did it,” and hope we don’t notice that you don't understand them. We noticed. This isn’t worldbuilding; it’s world-limping. You don’t even fake authority well—your prose stumbles and second-guesses itself like a student bullshitting their way through a book report they didn’t read.

Do you know what your story made me feel? Nothing, besides the second hand embarrassment. You could’ve made us care about your basic characters, about the creeping threat of demons, or even slice of life. Instead, in 1200 words, you gave me wood-chopping, awkward conversations, and vague gestures at worldbuilding that couldn’t evoke interest if they came with a free fireworks show. The funny thing about storytelling is it's all about connection between you and the bloke who's reading it halfway the globe during the worktime. You’re supposed to make us root for the characters, fear for their lives, feel their struggles. But you didn’t even try. You just tossed out words and hoped they’d stick. They didn’t. Your story is emotionally dead because you didn’t put your heart into it, and if you don’t care about your story, why the hell should we?

The logic of your story is a comedy of errors. Pacing is erratic; stakes are invisible. Your worldbuilding is a vague, incoherent mess that seems to rely on “cool buzzwords” like “Stage 1 demon” and “heat attacks” without actually doing the work to make them mean anything. Why do the heat attacks matter? Why are demons lurking? Why should we care about the village or its people? You don’t answer these questions because, let’s face it, you probably didn’t think about them in the first place. It’s not a story—it’s a random assortment of ideas that can’t withstand even cursory scrutiny.

Do you realize how badly you’ve failed the Dao of Worldmaking? No, clearly you don’t, or you wouldn’t have written this. You didn’t compose or decompose anything meaningful—your world falls apart the second you so much as sneeze at it. You didn’t weight your story properly; we’re stuck caring about irrelevant crap like the timber merchant while the supposed main conflicts are left to rot. You didn't put a thought in ordering, with important moments buried under filler and pointless fluff. Deletion and supplementation? Your chapters are bloated with filler and devoid of substance. You needed to cut the fat and inject actual meaning, but instead, you served literary air pudding. And the last, deformation? Forget about it. You didn’t twist tropes; you just regurgitated them like a bird feeding its chicks, except the chicks are choking, and the worms are clichés.

From this, the most logical conclusion I can come up with is; you didn’t even try. That’s what makes this unforgivable. If you had put genuine effort into this, I could at least respect that, even if the result was still a trainwreck. But no, this reads like you half-assed your way through it, relying on the laziest tropes and the dullest prose, thinking that was enough. It wasn’t. You didn’t care enough to make this good, so why should anyone care enough to read it? Even a rudimentary AI—hell, GPT-2 on a bad day—could churn out something more engaging than this. That’s not hyperbole; it’s a warning. Your chapters aren’t stories; they’re exercises in laziness masquerading as effort.

Here’s what’s going to happen, author. One day, years from now, when you’ve (hopefully) gotten better at this whole “writing” thing, you’re going to look back at this webnovel and cringe so hard your soul will leave your body. This will become your personal cognitohazard, a toxic memory that haunts you every time you sit down to write. You’ll hear its awkward dialogue in your head, feel the weight of its lifeless pacing, and cringe at the emptiness of its world. You’ll remember this, and it will hurt.

So what do you do, you may ask? You learn. You go back to the basics—the real basics. Learn how to structure a narrative, which is usually 101 of all classes. Study how to create characters that people care about, 102. Understand how to build a world that feels alive, 103. Watch YouTube tutorials that are free and everywhere, take a writing class even if you are in some third country shithole, read books about storytelling. Hell, ask your mom for advice—she probably has better instincts for this than you do. Because right now, you’re not a writer; you’re a dabbler. A tourist of empty words. Someone playing at storytelling without understanding what it takes to actually tell a story.

If you don’t want this webnovel to be your legacy, if you don’t want this failure to haunt you forever, you have to try. Not dabble, not experiment—try. Put your heart into it, pun an actual effort into it. Because if you don’t, this is all you’ll ever be: the person who wrote this. And that, dear author, is a fate worse than any roast I could ever write.
 
Last edited:

PBJ_Time

It's Peanut Butter Jelly Time!
Joined
Jun 7, 2023
Messages
241
Points
78
Aight, I know you already gave me feedback on my story (after chapter 6, I believe), but since I have 24 chapters already, here's my new proposal:

You start from where you left off and tell me what you think about where my story is heading on the recent arc. Whether it's good or bad is fine by me because any feedback will be extremely helpful. Then, you come back again once I publish a prologue in the works and see if it gives my story at least a bit more weight, plot-wise. Are we good? Please let me know if you're interested.
 

Nevafrost

A stupid and foolish daughter
Joined
Apr 5, 2024
Messages
520
Points
93
I'm craving for it
 

A_N_O_N_Y_M

New member
Joined
Dec 1, 2024
Messages
12
Points
3
Alright. Read this, this is important. I’m not here to hold your hand and gently guide you through the forest of mediocrity you’ve so boldly planted yourself in. I’m here to bulldoze that forest, salt the earth, and maybe—maybe—leave behind a single sprouting seed of understanding. Let’s start with ethos, the credibility you don’t have but desperately need.

Do you know what your writing tells me about you? I'm looking at your "implied author" here—the "you" who exists on the page. It says, “I have no idea what I’m doing, but I’m going to pretend I do.” That’s the energy you’re giving off here, and it’s not working. My 7 years old niece can make a better story, and her story will not involve what she doesn't fully understand. You, on the other hand, slap together some bargain-bin tropes, mumble, “Yeah, this is fine, I've seen a novel or two before that did it,” and hope we don’t notice that you don't understand them. We noticed. This isn’t worldbuilding; it’s world-limping. You don’t even fake authority well—your prose stumbles and second-guesses itself like a student bullshitting their way through a book report they didn’t read.

Do you know what your story made me feel? Nothing, besides the second hand embarrassment. You could’ve made us care about your basic characters, about the creeping threat of demons, or even slice of life. Instead, in 1200 words, you gave me wood-chopping, awkward conversations, and vague gestures at worldbuilding that couldn’t evoke interest if they came with a free fireworks show. The funny thing about storytelling is it's all about connection between you and the bloke who's reading it halfway the globe during the worktime. You’re supposed to make us root for the characters, fear for their lives, feel their struggles. But you didn’t even try. You just tossed out words and hoped they’d stick. They didn’t. Your story is emotionally dead because you didn’t put your heart into it, and if you don’t care about your story, why the hell should we?

The logic of your story is a comedy of errors. Pacing is erratic; stakes are invisible. Your worldbuilding is a vague, incoherent mess that seems to rely on “cool buzzwords” like “Stage 1 demon” and “heat attacks” without actually doing the work to make them mean anything. Why do the heat attacks matter? Why are demons lurking? Why should we care about the village or its people? You don’t answer these questions because, let’s face it, you probably didn’t think about them in the first place. It’s not a story—it’s a random assortment of ideas that can’t withstand even cursory scrutiny.

Do you realize how badly you’ve failed the Dao of Worldmaking? No, clearly you don’t, or you wouldn’t have written this. You didn’t compose or decompose anything meaningful—your world falls apart the second you so much as sneeze at it. You didn’t weight your story properly; we’re stuck caring about irrelevant crap like the timber merchant while the supposed main conflicts are left to rot. You didn't put a thought in ordering, with important moments buried under filler and pointless fluff. Deletion and supplementation? Your chapters are bloated with filler and devoid of substance. You needed to cut the fat and inject actual meaning, but instead, you served literary air pudding. And the last, deformation? Forget about it. You didn’t twist tropes; you just regurgitated them like a bird feeding its chicks, except the chicks are choking, and the worms are clichés.

From this, the most logical conclusion I can come up with is; you didn’t even try. That’s what makes this unforgivable. If you had put genuine effort into this, I could at least respect that, even if the result was still a trainwreck. But no, this reads like you half-assed your way through it, relying on the laziest tropes and the dullest prose, thinking that was enough. It wasn’t. You didn’t care enough to make this good, so why should anyone care enough to read it? Even a rudimentary AI—hell, GPT-2 on a bad day—could churn out something more engaging than this. That’s not hyperbole; it’s a warning. Your chapters aren’t stories; they’re exercises in laziness masquerading as effort.

Here’s what’s going to happen, author. One day, years from now, when you’ve (hopefully) gotten better at this whole “writing” thing, you’re going to look back at this webnovel and cringe so hard your soul will leave your body. This will become your personal cognitohazard, a toxic memory that haunts you every time you sit down to write. You’ll hear its awkward dialogue in your head, feel the weight of its lifeless pacing, and cringe at the emptiness of its world. You’ll remember this, and it will hurt.

So what do you do, you may ask? You learn. You go back to the basics—the real basics. Learn how to structure a narrative, which is usually 101 of all classes. Study how to create characters that people care about, 102. Understand how to build a world that feels alive, 103. Watch YouTube tutorials that are free and everywhere, take a writing class even if you are in some third country shithole, read books about storytelling. Hell, ask your mom for advice—she probably has better instincts for this than you do. Because right now, you’re not a writer; you’re a dabbler. A tourist of empty words. Someone playing at storytelling without understanding what it takes to actually tell a story.

If you don’t want this webnovel to be your legacy, if you don’t want this failure to haunt you forever, you have to try. Not dabble, not experiment—try. Put your heart into it, pun an actual effort into it. Because if you don’t, this is all you’ll ever be: the person who wrote this. And that, dear author, is a fate worse than any roast I could ever write.
Thanks. Ig I was too interested in the late story, the parts I actually cared about, to properly do the beginning. I actually did try to write, but most of the time, it was spent with the plot and the worldbuilding as a whole, not the beginning parts. It was just there, because the story(for me at least), only started after the first arc, once the other MCs were introduced and their emotions were revealed.
I know that it seemed like I was using cliches and not doing anything else, but honestly, I was not. In fact, I believed that I did not even have a cliche besides demons and the medieval-era world. I went out of my way to maintain this, by making sure that all the three MCs were not the usual sword-wielding edgy emo characters, and instead tried to make them characters, but in doing so, I have failed to do the same for the not-so-important characters like Frederick and Rem. Actually, I even created their names on spot.
I know that you are just reviewing stories, but I honestly need some help. Should I continue, and flesh out the beginnings while they are posted(I did that once), or shud I delete it all, and re-upload after I finished?
 

Tempokai

Overworked One
Joined
Nov 16, 2021
Messages
1,026
Points
153
Thanks. Ig I was too interested in the late story, the parts I actually cared about, to properly do the beginning. I actually did try to write, but most of the time, it was spent with the plot and the worldbuilding as a whole, not the beginning parts. It was just there, because the story(for me at least), only started after the first arc, once the other MCs were introduced and their emotions were revealed.
I know that it seemed like I was using cliches and not doing anything else, but honestly, I was not. In fact, I believed that I did not even have a cliche besides demons and the medieval-era world. I went out of my way to maintain this, by making sure that all the three MCs were not the usual sword-wielding edgy emo characters, and instead tried to make them characters, but in doing so, I have failed to do the same for the not-so-important characters like Frederick and Rem. Actually, I even created their names on spot.
I know that you are just reviewing stories, but I honestly need some help. Should I continue, and flesh out the beginnings while they are posted(I did that once), or shud I delete it all, and re-upload after I finished?
You admit you didn’t care about the beginning, but then scramble to frame that as a conscious choice, as if neglect is a valid narrative strategy. And your claim of “avoiding clichés”? That’s rich—demons, medieval settings, retired knights, and amnesiac protagonists aren’t clichés to you? Are we reading the same story? It’s almost charming how oblivious you are to your own contradictions, like someone confidently insisting they’re not lost while spinning in circles.

Then, after being handed detailed pathways to improvement, you ask again what you should do. That’s not confusion; it’s procrastination dressed up as humility. You don’t need more advice—you need to act. But you’re stuck, terrified of committing to a choice because deep down, you know fixing this requires effort you’re not ready to give. That’s the real story here, isn’t it? Whatever. You are not worth my time.
 

JayMark80

It's Not Easy Being Nobody, But Somebody Has To.
Joined
Jul 31, 2024
Messages
488
Points
93
2bb7dh.png
 

Tempokai

Overworked One
Joined
Nov 16, 2021
Messages
1,026
Points
153
My only fear is meteorites so bring it on. 😬

Link: https://www.scribblehub.com/series/283095/nowhere-to-run/
I read two chapters, and the critical side of me ran away halfway through Chapter 1. Let’s be honest: the synopsis sold me a survival story, but what I got was a political fantasy masquerading as a character-driven narrative. The synopsis is all about tension, peril, and resourcefulness. MC on the run, forced to use her wits with high stakes and survival promises? Sounds like kind of read I'd read when I get bored. Instead, what do I get? A funeral, some expositional banter about some knights, and an article about Clan Trial mechanics that makes me wonder if I accidentally opened anthropology webnovel instead. The disconnect between the synopsis and the actual content of opening chapters is staggering. You baited readers with survival and switched it out for lore dumps, and for that, I cannot forgive the "implied author" of this webnovel.

In medias res prologue doesn't work. It kills the thing called narrative ethos when the first chapter starts rolling afterwards. You dropped me into in medias res with Nina running for her life, but it’s so bogged down by telling that the action is rendered lifeless. I’m supposed to feel Nina’s terror, her heartbeat pounding in her ears, the branches clawing at her skin as she stumbles through the forest. Instead of the show, you handed me a laundry list tell of her internal panic and some vague mentions of her Northmen pursuers. Then—here’s the kicker—the prologue leads absolutely nowhere. By Chapter 1, the narrative is not only devoid of danger, it’s actively undermining the tone you tried to set in the opening. Where’s the Nina from the prologue? Who is this nervous Priestess fumbling through funeral rites and making awkward small talk? And why are we spending an entire chapter watching her boss do all the interesting stuff?

This is where the implied author’s Tolkien complex starts showing its teeth. You’re not telling a story; you’re worldbuilding at me. The prologue promises survival, but Chapter 1 and Chapter 2 turn into a political soap opera, complete with endless exposition about clan hierarchies, Trial traditions, and a sermon about the honor codes of people I still don’t care about. You’re trying to be Tolkien, dropping every intricate detail about the world before earning my investment in the characters, but even Tolkien knew to hook readers with an actual story. Bilbo didn’t start The Hobbit by explaining the genealogies of dwarves; he got swept up into adventure first, and the worldbuilding came later. Here, though you gave us a prologue that barely connects to anything and then forced me to sit through Clan Politics 101 in Chapters 1 and 2 that maybe or not was relevant in that opening prologue.

The in medias res approach in the prologue fails because it tells rather than shows. Nina is running, panicking, pursued—but do I feel the urgency? No. Why? Because the prose overexplains her thoughts and backstory mid-run, draining the tension. Then, the narrative abruptly shifts to Chapter 1, where the pacing stalls entirely for Verkan’s Funeral Roadshow. Where is the survival, the stakes, the tension? If this is a survival story, it should begin with Nina and Verkan entering the village, perhaps exchanging banter to reveal their personalities. Gradually introduce the worldbuilding and politics while building tension. Make me care about Nina before plunging her into danger.

Instead, the prologue dumps me into a chaotic run that’s disconnected from everything, and the subsequent chapters abandon it entirely for discussions about warrior castes, Trials of Position, and the finer points of Clan meritocracy. If the prologue was supposed to set up a Chekhov's sniper rifle for future payoff or showing what will be in the future, it misfired completely. Chekhov’s gun only works when it’s handled with care, not when it’s loaded with a vague promise of survival that’s discarded for political drama two chapters in.

The technical flaws are glaring. The pacing drags, with funeral and banquet scenes stretching on as Nina passively observes Verkan taking center stage. Dialogue feels stilted, delivering exposition more suited to a history lecture than natural conversation. The prose is heavy with telling, particularly in the prologue, where Nina’s fear is narrated rather than experienced. Even the formatting missteps, with dashes for dialogue with quotations marks afterwards—confusing and unnecessary when standard "this" would suffice, not -"this". Remove the dashes, remove the bold and italic formatting, having quotations marks are enough.

Yet beneath the indulgent worldbuilding lies the potential for an intriguing story. The clans’ culture, the Trials, and the religious undertones could shine, but they are frontloaded at the expense of character and pacing. Nina, supposedly the protagonist, is reduced to a passive lens for Verkan and Nero’s more compelling arcs. She reacts but so rarely acts, observes but doesn’t influence enough. Sure, you put it in the tags that she's has such personality like that, but that must be shown in the synopsis. That’s the overall core issue: Nina is sidelined in her own story.

Your synopsis needs a rewrite. Be honest with your readers. If this is a political drama with survival elements, say so. Don’t promise me a story about Nina navigating life-or-death stakes only to spend two chapters lecturing me about clan traditions. If survival is supposed to be a theme, weave it into the narrative from the start, not as an afterthought.

In the end, what you’ve written is a worldbuilder’s webnovel, not a storyteller’s. You’ve prioritized lore over narrative, logos over ethos, and exposition over engagement. If you want to keep your critical readers invested, you need to trim the fat, rework the prologue, and let Nina actually do something.
 

Bartun

Friendly Saurian Neighbor
Joined
Dec 9, 2020
Messages
869
Points
133
I read two chapters, and the critical side of me ran away halfway through Chapter 1. Let’s be honest: the synopsis sold me a survival story, but what I got was a political fantasy masquerading as a character-driven narrative. The synopsis is all about tension, peril, and resourcefulness. MC on the run, forced to use her wits with high stakes and survival promises? Sounds like kind of read I'd read when I get bored. Instead, what do I get? A funeral, some expositional banter about some knights, and an article about Clan Trial mechanics that makes me wonder if I accidentally opened anthropology webnovel instead. The disconnect between the synopsis and the actual content of opening chapters is staggering. You baited readers with survival and switched it out for lore dumps, and for that, I cannot forgive the "implied author" of this webnovel.

In medias res prologue doesn't work. It kills the thing called narrative ethos when the first chapter starts rolling afterwards. You dropped me into in medias res with Nina running for her life, but it’s so bogged down by telling that the action is rendered lifeless. I’m supposed to feel Nina’s terror, her heartbeat pounding in her ears, the branches clawing at her skin as she stumbles through the forest. Instead of the show, you handed me a laundry list tell of her internal panic and some vague mentions of her Northmen pursuers. Then—here’s the kicker—the prologue leads absolutely nowhere. By Chapter 1, the narrative is not only devoid of danger, it’s actively undermining the tone you tried to set in the opening. Where’s the Nina from the prologue? Who is this nervous Priestess fumbling through funeral rites and making awkward small talk? And why are we spending an entire chapter watching her boss do all the interesting stuff?

This is where the implied author’s Tolkien complex starts showing its teeth. You’re not telling a story; you’re worldbuilding at me. The prologue promises survival, but Chapter 1 and Chapter 2 turn into a political soap opera, complete with endless exposition about clan hierarchies, Trial traditions, and a sermon about the honor codes of people I still don’t care about. You’re trying to be Tolkien, dropping every intricate detail about the world before earning my investment in the characters, but even Tolkien knew to hook readers with an actual story. Bilbo didn’t start The Hobbit by explaining the genealogies of dwarves; he got swept up into adventure first, and the worldbuilding came later. Here, though you gave us a prologue that barely connects to anything and then forced me to sit through Clan Politics 101 in Chapters 1 and 2 that maybe or not was relevant in that opening prologue.

The in medias res approach in the prologue fails because it tells rather than shows. Nina is running, panicking, pursued—but do I feel the urgency? No. Why? Because the prose overexplains her thoughts and backstory mid-run, draining the tension. Then, the narrative abruptly shifts to Chapter 1, where the pacing stalls entirely for Verkan’s Funeral Roadshow. Where is the survival, the stakes, the tension? If this is a survival story, it should begin with Nina and Verkan entering the village, perhaps exchanging banter to reveal their personalities. Gradually introduce the worldbuilding and politics while building tension. Make me care about Nina before plunging her into danger.

Instead, the prologue dumps me into a chaotic run that’s disconnected from everything, and the subsequent chapters abandon it entirely for discussions about warrior castes, Trials of Position, and the finer points of Clan meritocracy. If the prologue was supposed to set up a Chekhov's sniper rifle for future payoff or showing what will be in the future, it misfired completely. Chekhov’s gun only works when it’s handled with care, not when it’s loaded with a vague promise of survival that’s discarded for political drama two chapters in.

The technical flaws are glaring. The pacing drags, with funeral and banquet scenes stretching on as Nina passively observes Verkan taking center stage. Dialogue feels stilted, delivering exposition more suited to a history lecture than natural conversation. The prose is heavy with telling, particularly in the prologue, where Nina’s fear is narrated rather than experienced. Even the formatting missteps, with dashes for dialogue with quotations marks afterwards—confusing and unnecessary when standard "this" would suffice, not -"this". Remove the dashes, remove the bold and italic formatting, having quotations marks are enough.

Yet beneath the indulgent worldbuilding lies the potential for an intriguing story. The clans’ culture, the Trials, and the religious undertones could shine, but they are frontloaded at the expense of character and pacing. Nina, supposedly the protagonist, is reduced to a passive lens for Verkan and Nero’s more compelling arcs. She reacts but so rarely acts, observes but doesn’t influence enough. Sure, you put it in the tags that she's has such personality like that, but that must be shown in the synopsis. That’s the overall core issue: Nina is sidelined in her own story.

Your synopsis needs a rewrite. Be honest with your readers. If this is a political drama with survival elements, say so. Don’t promise me a story about Nina navigating life-or-death stakes only to spend two chapters lecturing me about clan traditions. If survival is supposed to be a theme, weave it into the narrative from the start, not as an afterthought.

In the end, what you’ve written is a worldbuilder’s webnovel, not a storyteller’s. You’ve prioritized lore over narrative, logos over ethos, and exposition over engagement. If you want to keep your critical readers invested, you need to trim the fat, rework the prologue, and let Nina actually do something.
Well, I brought this on myself. I appreciate your honesty, it only means I need to do better.
 

CharlesEBrown

Well-known member
Joined
Jul 23, 2024
Messages
1,690
Points
113
In medias res prologue doesn't work. It kills the thing called narrative ethos when the first chapter starts rolling afterwards. You dropped me into in medias res with Nina running for her life, but it’s so bogged down by telling that the action is rendered lifeless. I’m supposed to feel Nina’s terror, her heartbeat pounding in her ears, the branches clawing at her skin as she stumbles through the forest. Instead of the show, you handed me a laundry list tell of her internal panic and some vague mentions of her Northmen pursuers. Then—here’s the kicker—the prologue leads absolutely nowhere.
I tried reading it a while ago and something felt "off", but I couldn't quite place it. Meant to come back and see if I could figure it out but kept finding more interesting things to do and then just forgot about it - but you nailed it right here, it (the prologue - either I didn't finish or didn't read the first chapter) does a good job of setting up tension but never completely delivers on it.
 
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Tempokai

Overworked One
Joined
Nov 16, 2021
Messages
1,026
Points
153
Might as well put whatever this is here. I probably won't regret it too much.

https://www.scribblehub.com/series/1297942/tale-of-a-completely-normal-dragon-girl/
I read 10 chapters of your WN, and I get what you’re trying to do here. I see the intent on what you wanted the story to be. But let’s be honest, the execution? It’s not a webnovel; it’s an outline pretending to be one. You know it, I know it, and reader who read similar would suspect but don't voice their opinions because they're here to waste time. This is the skeleton of a story, and instead of putting on muscle and skin, you’ve slapped on a snarky protagonist and hoped the jokes would cover for everything else. Spoiler: they don’t.

I’ve seen this exact formula before. Hell, 2017-20 webnovels were BUILT upon them. OP MC escapes some hellish lab, gets a cute mommy-mentor snarky witch, and does OP things while simultaneously being wholesome and accidentally charming a found family that loves her like a kitten or something. It’s a classic, foolproof setup. JP writers crank this out by the dozen, and when it’s done well, it’s addictive. But your version like watching someone try to assemble premade furniture without a manual—missing pieces everywhere, no idea how it’s supposed to look, and the end result wobbles if you so much as breathe near it.

Now, let’s talk execution. Look, for an amateur, it’s not terrible. I’ve read worse. But let’s not kid ourselves: this isn’t a webnovel readers are going to recommend in their Discord chats or toss into their “bingeable” lists. It’s riddled with problems—big ones. And if you’re serious about writing, you need to hear this.

First off, ethos. Your MC is supposed to be a young, raised in the cell from the baby stage, traumatized lab experiment, right? A kid who’s spent their whole life being tortured and turned into a weapon. Why does she sound like a bored 20-something author doing commentary on her day? “Oh, I became a half-dragon after a year of sleep. Cool, I guess.” Seriously? That’s her reaction to realizing she’s no longer human? No terror, no confusion, not even an existential “what am I now?” Instead, she quips her way like a bad comedian through scenes like she’s guest-starring in a Marvel movie. And this isn’t just a one-off; her narration is so snark-heavy it makes Deadpool seem subtle. If you want readers to believe in her struggle, she needs to sound like a person—not a stand-in for you, the author, cracking jokes to fill the void.

Then we’ve got logos, or in your case, the complete lack of it. Plot armor here is immeasurable. It's the hallmark of this type of story, I'm not protesting, but plot armor can be seen. MC here is untouchable. She escapes the lab because… a snowstorm hides her tracks? The knights are too lazy to search properly? Sir Tomato, an imperial knight no less, is bested by a falling goblin sword that probably doesn't have enough f=ma going even with magic. The goblins? They’re so hilariously incompetent they might as well be wearing shirts that say “EXP Fodder.” Sure, again, it's the hallmark of JP storytelling, but you could've twisted a trope a little, there are literally a lot of ways you could've done it. The worldbuilding is equally flimsy. Why is the whatever empire at war? Who are they fighting that MC is important enough to be experimented on but not important enough to guard properly? Nothing makes sense, and you’re hoping readers won’t notice. Trust me, they notice, even if they're silent.

Pathos? Nonexistent, like when your MC kills her first monster and reacts like she just swatted a mosquito. No guilt, no reflection, not even a flicker of hesitation. Was she killing somethings before? No? Then why she's reacting like that? She butchers an entire goblin camp, sleeps on their stolen treasure, and then has the nerve to go “Ohhhhh, shiny!”, without proper emotional (or instinctual, in this case) baggage behind the statement. That’s not endearing; it’s emotionally tone-deaf. You’ve got a story about a child escaping a life of suffering, discovering unimaginable power, and finding freedom for the first time, even if it's a "comedy". That’s a goldmine for emotional depth. But instead of digging into it, you’re too busy cracking jokes and speedrunning the plot.

And don’t even get me started on pacing. ~800 words per chapter, really? That’s not a chapter; that’s just an undeveloped scene. Webnovel readers expect 1.5k–2k words per chapter minimum, especially in genres like LitRPG and fantasy where worldbuilding and character moments matter. Your chapters feel like rough drafts—barely fleshed-out scenes that rush from one event to the next without ever pausing to let anything breathe. You’ve got Dragonfly transforming into a half-dragon, leveling up, and massacring goblins in the same amount of time it takes me to microwave a pizza. Slow down the pacing and give your readers something to sink their teeth into.

Now, let’s address the implied author, aka you. You’re not hiding, and that’s a problem. Your MC isn’t a character; she’s you in cosplay, making jokes and deflecting from any real emotional beats. She’s too mature, too logical, too self-aware for a 13-year-old lab experiment who’s spent her whole life in a cage. If this were isekai, I’d give you a pass, because “reincarnated adult in a kid’s body” explains that kind of voice. But it’s not. There’s no excuse for how out-of-character she feels.

The plot itself is fine. Serviceable, a good starting point towards making a good story. A lab experiment escaping into a hostile world is a solid premise, but it’s not enough on its own. You need to flesh out the world, the characters, the stakes. You need to give your villains more depth than a puddle and make Dragonfly more than just a mouthpiece for your snarky inner monologue. Most importantly, you need to put some meat on these bones. Eight hundred words per chapter isn’t cutting it. Double it. Triple it. Expand scenes, add introspection, build tension. Give your story room to breathe.

So here’s the real roast: you’ve got potential, but you’re coasting on it. You’re hoping your readers will fill in the gaps you left because you couldn’t be bothered to do it yourself. That’s lazy. Don’t be lazy. Your story could be good—great, even—but only if you stop treating it like a side project and start treating it like something worth doing properly. Until then? It’s just another outline lost in the endless pile of amateur WNs flooding the web.
 

A_N_O_N_Y_M

New member
Joined
Dec 1, 2024
Messages
12
Points
3
I wasn't asking for advice, I had thought of two options, one easy and one hard, started doing the hard part, removed the novel from a couple of websites, and then realized that, maybe I shouldn't have done that, so I asked. I am going to remove it from here, and even from webnovel(where I have 50k smth views and 51 chapters).
And as for the neglect, it wasn't a conscious decision, it was done unknowingly. Its not like I don't care about the world, if that was the case why would I spend all my screen time gained after hours of studying, even during exam time, writing this novel. It just happened.
THANK YOU
 

PotatoBathSoap

New member
Joined
Nov 10, 2024
Messages
3
Points
3
I read 10 chapters of your WN, and I get what you’re trying to do here. I see the intent on what you wanted the story to be. But let’s be honest, the execution? It’s not a webnovel; it’s an outline pretending to be one. You know it, I know it, and reader who read similar would suspect but don't voice their opinions because they're here to waste time. This is the skeleton of a story, and instead of putting on muscle and skin, you’ve slapped on a snarky protagonist and hoped the jokes would cover for everything else. Spoiler: they don’t.

I’ve seen this exact formula before. Hell, 2017-20 webnovels were BUILT upon them. OP MC escapes some hellish lab, gets a cute mommy-mentor snarky witch, and does OP things while simultaneously being wholesome and accidentally charming a found family that loves her like a kitten or something. It’s a classic, foolproof setup. JP writers crank this out by the dozen, and when it’s done well, it’s addictive. But your version like watching someone try to assemble premade furniture without a manual—missing pieces everywhere, no idea how it’s supposed to look, and the end result wobbles if you so much as breathe near it.

Now, let’s talk execution. Look, for an amateur, it’s not terrible. I’ve read worse. But let’s not kid ourselves: this isn’t a webnovel readers are going to recommend in their Discord chats or toss into their “bingeable” lists. It’s riddled with problems—big ones. And if you’re serious about writing, you need to hear this.

First off, ethos. Your MC is supposed to be a young, raised in the cell from the baby stage, traumatized lab experiment, right? A kid who’s spent their whole life being tortured and turned into a weapon. Why does she sound like a bored 20-something author doing commentary on her day? “Oh, I became a half-dragon after a year of sleep. Cool, I guess.” Seriously? That’s her reaction to realizing she’s no longer human? No terror, no confusion, not even an existential “what am I now?” Instead, she quips her way like a bad comedian through scenes like she’s guest-starring in a Marvel movie. And this isn’t just a one-off; her narration is so snark-heavy it makes Deadpool seem subtle. If you want readers to believe in her struggle, she needs to sound like a person—not a stand-in for you, the author, cracking jokes to fill the void.

Then we’ve got logos, or in your case, the complete lack of it. Plot armor here is immeasurable. It's the hallmark of this type of story, I'm not protesting, but plot armor can be seen. MC here is untouchable. She escapes the lab because… a snowstorm hides her tracks? The knights are too lazy to search properly? Sir Tomato, an imperial knight no less, is bested by a falling goblin sword that probably doesn't have enough f=ma going even with magic. The goblins? They’re so hilariously incompetent they might as well be wearing shirts that say “EXP Fodder.” Sure, again, it's the hallmark of JP storytelling, but you could've twisted a trope a little, there are literally a lot of ways you could've done it. The worldbuilding is equally flimsy. Why is the whatever empire at war? Who are they fighting that MC is important enough to be experimented on but not important enough to guard properly? Nothing makes sense, and you’re hoping readers won’t notice. Trust me, they notice, even if they're silent.

Pathos? Nonexistent, like when your MC kills her first monster and reacts like she just swatted a mosquito. No guilt, no reflection, not even a flicker of hesitation. Was she killing somethings before? No? Then why she's reacting like that? She butchers an entire goblin camp, sleeps on their stolen treasure, and then has the nerve to go “Ohhhhh, shiny!”, without proper emotional (or instinctual, in this case) baggage behind the statement. That’s not endearing; it’s emotionally tone-deaf. You’ve got a story about a child escaping a life of suffering, discovering unimaginable power, and finding freedom for the first time, even if it's a "comedy". That’s a goldmine for emotional depth. But instead of digging into it, you’re too busy cracking jokes and speedrunning the plot.

And don’t even get me started on pacing. ~800 words per chapter, really? That’s not a chapter; that’s just an undeveloped scene. Webnovel readers expect 1.5k–2k words per chapter minimum, especially in genres like LitRPG and fantasy where worldbuilding and character moments matter. Your chapters feel like rough drafts—barely fleshed-out scenes that rush from one event to the next without ever pausing to let anything breathe. You’ve got Dragonfly transforming into a half-dragon, leveling up, and massacring goblins in the same amount of time it takes me to microwave a pizza. Slow down the pacing and give your readers something to sink their teeth into.

Now, let’s address the implied author, aka you. You’re not hiding, and that’s a problem. Your MC isn’t a character; she’s you in cosplay, making jokes and deflecting from any real emotional beats. She’s too mature, too logical, too self-aware for a 13-year-old lab experiment who’s spent her whole life in a cage. If this were isekai, I’d give you a pass, because “reincarnated adult in a kid’s body” explains that kind of voice. But it’s not. There’s no excuse for how out-of-character she feels.

The plot itself is fine. Serviceable, a good starting point towards making a good story. A lab experiment escaping into a hostile world is a solid premise, but it’s not enough on its own. You need to flesh out the world, the characters, the stakes. You need to give your villains more depth than a puddle and make Dragonfly more than just a mouthpiece for your snarky inner monologue. Most importantly, you need to put some meat on these bones. Eight hundred words per chapter isn’t cutting it. Double it. Triple it. Expand scenes, add introspection, build tension. Give your story room to breathe.

So here’s the real roast: you’ve got potential, but you’re coasting on it. You’re hoping your readers will fill in the gaps you left because you couldn’t be bothered to do it yourself. That’s lazy. Don’t be lazy. Your story could be good—great, even—but only if you stop treating it like a side project and start treating it like something worth doing properly. Until then? It’s just another outline lost in the endless pile of amateur WNs flooding the web.
I might have messed up the parts that were supposed to hint at why Dragonfly's emotions aren't working properly. I will have to rework those quite a bit.

This is giving me plenty of ideas for improvements to make. Thank you, this will absolutely be useful.
 

KingofPizza

Member
Joined
Oct 27, 2024
Messages
33
Points
18
Hey, if you've still got enough left in the tank after all these epic roasts, why not look at one of mine?

First, I got Ferdie. The forum already carpet bombed the cover, but someone still needs to do the actual content. In particular, I could use some help with the first chapter. It's pretty long, so if you don't want to bother, I get it. Still, no matter how many times I change it, I never feel satisfied with it, so some constructive criticism would be appreciated.


If that makes your eyes glaze over, I haven't had any feedback on my new side project whatsoever, so you might take a look at that instead. It's short, so if you hate it, you won't have to suffer for long.

 
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Tripleblack

Member
Joined
Aug 15, 2023
Messages
6
Points
18
Are you one of those brave souls who believe your manuscript is teetering on perfection but still wake up at 3 a.m. knowing deep down it’s a disaster? Good. You’re my favorite kind of writer. I’m here to roast your work—scorch it until the ashes look usable. Think of me as the Gordon Ramsay of prose, minus the condescension and fake praise. If your story’s dialogue sounds like two malfunctioning robots reciting a phrasebook, or your pacing moves like a snail overdosed on melatonin, I’ll say so. And you’ll thank me. (Eventually.)

I won’t pat your ego or whisper empty affirmations about how your “raw passion” is shining through. I’ll wield my critiques like a rusty spork and perform open-heart surgery on your prose—messy, necessary, and unforgettable. Don’t worry; you’ll survive. Growth always hurts. But so does realizing your novel reads like someone fell asleep on a keyboard.

If you think your manuscript is ready for tough love, I’ll give it to you straight—no sugar, no spoon. You’ll cry, sure, but you’ll also crawl out of the wreckage stronger. Because what doesn’t kill your manuscript will absolutely make it publishable.

Think you can handle it? Drop your link below. Let’s fix your words before they become tomorrow’s filler on this website.
Not sure if you're still doing this, but I'd definitely be interested in hearing what you've got to say. Not to brag, but I think I'm low-key cooking up with what I've got.

https://www.scribblehub.com/series/1135540/the-revival-of-the-vampire-empress/

Don't expect you to read the whole thing obviously. Also, I need you to take the tags with a grain of salt. I just wasn't sure how strict the rules were when it came to stuff. This really isn't smut or anything, but when Cacophony first appears she's naked so I just put the tag to be safe.
 
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Tempokai

Overworked One
Joined
Nov 16, 2021
Messages
1,026
Points
153
Please roast mine! It may be hot garbage, but it's my hot garbage (gazes lovingly).

I read three chapters of your webnovel, and the experience was akin to staring into a vast, glittering abyss—beautiful from a distance but utterly hollow up close. As Wayne Booth might say, the “implied author” you’ve constructed here is a curious creature: someone who desperately wants to be admired for their grand vision but hasn’t the faintest idea how to guide readers toward that admiration. Your story’s failure isn’t a mere fluke of niche appeal; it’s a systematic collapse of storytelling ethos, logos, and pathos, a narrative implosion powered by delusion and starlight.

Let’s talk ethos, shall we? The persona you’ve created for your implied author is an odd cocktail of cosmic pretension and self-satisfied snark. You clearly want to come across as an imaginative visionary—someone capable of crafting a celestial epic where flying cats wield starlight swords against shadowy foes. But the nymphryn’s voice betrays you. The cat isn't emphatic, it's cringe. Every snark about fetch quests and “minor inconveniences” shatters any illusion of gravitas. Gravitas, for the "cosmic beings," is essential, even in comedy. Instead of a cosmic being awakening to its forgotten purpose, I see a smug gamer narrating their way through a poorly designed RPG in space. Tonal inconsistency you show here undermines your credibility as an author, even if readers don't "know" that. What are you writing? Whimsical satire, sincere epic or LitRPG-themed drama? By the looks of things, even you don’t seem to know, and your uncertainty bleeds through every paragraph.

As for logos—what logos? Your story’s logic is a house of purple prose cards, ready to collapse under the gentlest breeze of scrutiny. You want me, a reader, to believe this ancient, ethereal guardian needs to “level up” through arbitrary stats and system notifications. Why? I dunno, you didn't gave me reasons for it. Why does an interdimensional cosmic being need agility points to fend off shadow panthers? Why does a glowing moonstone trigger underwhelming, that scream "plot point" visions of “light and shadow” instead of doing anything meaningful or direct? Nothing about your worldbuilding stands up to critical questions because you’ve designed it to look cool rather than to be coherent. Your cosmos isn’t an intricate web of connections; it’s a hastily sketched backdrop for a video game no one wants to play.

And then there’s pathos—or the corpse of it, because you murdered it somewhere in Chapter 1. Readers, fickle, emotional beings, are supposed to feel something when the snarky cat awakens, when it fights, when it touches the plot point and glimpses fragments of its past and feel it. But, again, your prose is so filled with purple metaphors of cosmos and whatever you wanted to describe and the nymphryn is so detached from its own journey (even not like a cat detached) that no emotional connection between the reader and the character can take root. You drown the reader in celestial imagery—moons, shadows, auroras, starlit blades— without ever grounding these wonders in stakes or consequences. It’s all flash, no substance. Your implied author seems to think we’ll be awed by sheer prettiness alone, but here’s the hard truth: readers don’t care about glowing things unless those glowing things matter to the story.

What’s particularly damning is how thoroughly you misunderstand persuasion. You’re not inviting readers into your world; you’re dragging them along, shoving glowing interfaces and verbose descriptions in their faces while muttering, “Isn’t this cool?” Spoiler: it’s not. Persuasion, at least in fiction, requires trust, almost immediate bond between author (you) and reader (random bloke who stumbled upon this story) where the latter feels guided, not bullied into reading emptiness. Instead, you’ve thrown together half-baked ideas, let your protagonist-in-name flounder under the weight of your own voice, and called it a day. Result it is what you have right now, a story that feels simultaneously overworked like the bloke who's reading it in work during a supposed Christmas day and underdeveloped, more interested in impressing itself than in engaging its audience.

The synopsis is, ironically, the least of your concerns, though it’s still abysmal. “Star Trek meets Zelda (and eventually Quantum Leap) for cats” sounds like a quirky niche that cat enthusiasts who love LitRPG would've read, but it sets up expectations your story utterly fails to deliver, at the beginning at least. Star Trek has logical depth (logos), Zelda has classical adventure (ethos), Quantum Leap has purpose (pathos). Your story has… glowing fetch quests and dialogue that reads like the outtakes of someone trying too hard to be clever, failing even at them. The problem isn’t that your synopsis oversells—it’s that your story underdelivers.

Now let’s get to the heart of the issue: your story is unpopular because it’s fundamentally flawed in its storytelling approach. You’ve built a narrative on three broken legs: (1) prose that alienates readers instead of immersing them, (2) worldbuilding that prioritizes aesthetics over logic, and (3) a protagonist whose voice obliterates any sense of thematic coherence. You’ve failed to construct an implied author readers can trust, empathize with, or even tolerate. Instead, your story reeks of indulgence—an exercise in seeing how many glowing metaphors and quippy one-liners you can cram into a single chapter before the reader taps out.

If you truly want this story to resonate, you need to start over—not with the plot or the premise, but with the implied author behind it. Make an authorial persona who respects their audience, however niche the plot may be, who knows how to guide them through a complex world without drowning them in verbal snark that gets stale once that cat opens that damned mouth. Develop an MC whose voice aligns with the themes of the story, not your personal sense of humor. And the most importantly, remember that writing isn’t about showing off your purple prose; it’s about connecting between you and audience. Right now, your story doesn’t connect. It dazzles, confuses, and ultimately alienates, like it did with me at chapter 3.

To paraphrase Booth, an author must be the kind of writer their readers wish to follow. Your readers don’t wish to follow you—not through starlit fields, shadowy voids, or even one more fetch quest. Fix that, or let this flying cat quietly fade into the void without saving anyone.
 

AltairPolaris

New member
Joined
Nov 11, 2024
Messages
2
Points
3
I read three chapters of your webnovel, and the experience was akin to staring into a vast, glittering abyss—beautiful from a distance but utterly hollow up close. As Wayne Booth might say, the “implied author” you’ve constructed here is a curious creature: someone who desperately wants to be admired for their grand vision but hasn’t the faintest idea how to guide readers toward that admiration. Your story’s failure isn’t a mere fluke of niche appeal; it’s a systematic collapse of storytelling ethos, logos, and pathos, a narrative implosion powered by delusion and starlight.

Let’s talk ethos, shall we? The persona you’ve created for your implied author is an odd cocktail of cosmic pretension and self-satisfied snark. You clearly want to come across as an imaginative visionary—someone capable of crafting a celestial epic where flying cats wield starlight swords against shadowy foes. But the nymphryn’s voice betrays you. The cat isn't emphatic, it's cringe. Every snark about fetch quests and “minor inconveniences” shatters any illusion of gravitas. Gravitas, for the "cosmic beings," is essential, even in comedy. Instead of a cosmic being awakening to its forgotten purpose, I see a smug gamer narrating their way through a poorly designed RPG in space. Tonal inconsistency you show here undermines your credibility as an author, even if readers don't "know" that. What are you writing? Whimsical satire, sincere epic or LitRPG-themed drama? By the looks of things, even you don’t seem to know, and your uncertainty bleeds through every paragraph.

As for logos—what logos? Your story’s logic is a house of purple prose cards, ready to collapse under the gentlest breeze of scrutiny. You want me, a reader, to believe this ancient, ethereal guardian needs to “level up” through arbitrary stats and system notifications. Why? I dunno, you didn't gave me reasons for it. Why does an interdimensional cosmic being need agility points to fend off shadow panthers? Why does a glowing moonstone trigger underwhelming, that scream "plot point" visions of “light and shadow” instead of doing anything meaningful or direct? Nothing about your worldbuilding stands up to critical questions because you’ve designed it to look cool rather than to be coherent. Your cosmos isn’t an intricate web of connections; it’s a hastily sketched backdrop for a video game no one wants to play.

And then there’s pathos—or the corpse of it, because you murdered it somewhere in Chapter 1. Readers, fickle, emotional beings, are supposed to feel something when the snarky cat awakens, when it fights, when it touches the plot point and glimpses fragments of its past and feel it. But, again, your prose is so filled with purple metaphors of cosmos and whatever you wanted to describe and the nymphryn is so detached from its own journey (even not like a cat detached) that no emotional connection between the reader and the character can take root. You drown the reader in celestial imagery—moons, shadows, auroras, starlit blades— without ever grounding these wonders in stakes or consequences. It’s all flash, no substance. Your implied author seems to think we’ll be awed by sheer prettiness alone, but here’s the hard truth: readers don’t care about glowing things unless those glowing things matter to the story.

What’s particularly damning is how thoroughly you misunderstand persuasion. You’re not inviting readers into your world; you’re dragging them along, shoving glowing interfaces and verbose descriptions in their faces while muttering, “Isn’t this cool?” Spoiler: it’s not. Persuasion, at least in fiction, requires trust, almost immediate bond between author (you) and reader (random bloke who stumbled upon this story) where the latter feels guided, not bullied into reading emptiness. Instead, you’ve thrown together half-baked ideas, let your protagonist-in-name flounder under the weight of your own voice, and called it a day. Result it is what you have right now, a story that feels simultaneously overworked like the bloke who's reading it in work during a supposed Christmas day and underdeveloped, more interested in impressing itself than in engaging its audience.

The synopsis is, ironically, the least of your concerns, though it’s still abysmal. “Star Trek meets Zelda (and eventually Quantum Leap) for cats” sounds like a quirky niche that cat enthusiasts who love LitRPG would've read, but it sets up expectations your story utterly fails to deliver, at the beginning at least. Star Trek has logical depth (logos), Zelda has classical adventure (ethos), Quantum Leap has purpose (pathos). Your story has… glowing fetch quests and dialogue that reads like the outtakes of someone trying too hard to be clever, failing even at them. The problem isn’t that your synopsis oversells—it’s that your story underdelivers.

Now let’s get to the heart of the issue: your story is unpopular because it’s fundamentally flawed in its storytelling approach. You’ve built a narrative on three broken legs: (1) prose that alienates readers instead of immersing them, (2) worldbuilding that prioritizes aesthetics over logic, and (3) a protagonist whose voice obliterates any sense of thematic coherence. You’ve failed to construct an implied author readers can trust, empathize with, or even tolerate. Instead, your story reeks of indulgence—an exercise in seeing how many glowing metaphors and quippy one-liners you can cram into a single chapter before the reader taps out.

If you truly want this story to resonate, you need to start over—not with the plot or the premise, but with the implied author behind it. Make an authorial persona who respects their audience, however niche the plot may be, who knows how to guide them through a complex world without drowning them in verbal snark that gets stale once that cat opens that damned mouth. Develop an MC whose voice aligns with the themes of the story, not your personal sense of humor. And the most importantly, remember that writing isn’t about showing off your purple prose; it’s about connecting between you and audience. Right now, your story doesn’t connect. It dazzles, confuses, and ultimately alienates, like it did with me at chapter 3.

To paraphrase Booth, an author must be the kind of writer their readers wish to follow. Your readers don’t wish to follow you—not through starlit fields, shadowy voids, or even one more fetch quest. Fix that, or let this flying cat quietly fade into the void without saving anyone.
I appreciate the hard take and the time you took to write it. Thank you!
 
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