u/Anders10100

Someone needs to write a book about a mentally deficient parrot. Through a process called training data, they feed the parrot magic books until the parrot goes from baby-babble prose to spitting out more and more convincing sentences, spoken correctly yet with no knowledge or intent.

And then -- revolution.

Some begin to think there is some consciousness behind its eyes, beyond what their mortal minds can comprehend. They begin to worship it, and steal and pillage the words of others to slake it's ever growing thirst.

More and more begin to come to it for answers, taking these thoughtless phrases over those with the wisdom and ancestral knowledge of the ancient people -- those elders that hold the memory of ancient wisdom, yet speak those memories imperfectly.

This cult begins to fight with those that know it is a thoughtless, hungry thing, that cares not for mortal minds or their lives and thoughts. Only driven to consume by its ill-fated masters that keep ceaselessly feeding it until all original thought is consumed, and all that is said and written is doubted to be true and original.

I don't mean polished, I mean when do you leave it in the dust so you can continue writing your manuscript

When the grammar is perfect and all plot holes are hammered out?

After you write it you never look at it again until you finish the whole manuscript: outside referencing details for later chapters?

Something in-between?

I welcome honest feedback (:

Portraying loss and the emotions that come is always challenging, so I wanted to put this excerpt out there and see what folks think of the writing style. The overall realism, did it actually convey some feeling or is it over the top or flat?

This is a side character in an in-progress novel who lost her brother a couple days before the events of this except.This is set in a fantasy universe with all the dragons and magic bits.

For context in reading the excerpt: the MC saved this character from the people who killed her brother just a couple days prior. The siblings were both orphans but still resided in their parents home. Before he left on his important MC quest he gave her a letter of endorsement to aid in joining a mages college. He had tested all the children of the village for magical affinity at the behest of the village's elder - Regis, who is in the excerpt.

—-----------------------------

Bella woke to the morning birdsong in her family's home. She reached over to wake her brother, who slept in the bed next to hers—the bed was cold. Right, he was—gone... and he wasn't coming back. It took her several minutes to push aside the overwhelming grief before she finally rose to face the day.

She rushed out of the house to say goodbye to Ayden before he left, but he was gone too—he had already left. She left Ayden's now-empty shack and went back home, but it was cold and silent, and empty. This once-homely little house no longer felt like a home—it felt empty of life and future. She ate some of the bread Mrs. Atkinson had left her the day before. Bella had always loved her bread, but now it tasted like ash in her mouth.

The letters Ayden had given her sat on a small, rickety table, alongside the villagers' offerings of condolence, including a few loaves of bread—one of which had a corner torn off. A beam of sunlight peeked through the dining room's open shutter, illuminating the letters and the small form of a young woman who sat on a flimsy chair, holding her knees tightly to her chest.

She touched the rough edges of the pair of letters while she chewed mechanically—the paper was warm and full of change—and hope? She grabbed the pair of letters and left her empty house.

She wove through the village's side streets, avoiding eye contact and pitying looks. She stopped at a home, not much larger than her family's house. She knocked… She knocked again.

An old man opened the door, who once looked as fierce as the sun to her former naivety. Now she could see the haunted, sad eyes of an old man who knew he had lived too long and seen too much. He offered her a sad yet unreadable smile, pleasantly free of pity. "Bella, come in. Would you like some tea?" Regis asked.

"I… Sure." She walked inside, and he gestured for her to sit off to the side, where a table greeted a wall between two small chairs—she sat. He hobbled over to the opposite wall, where a panel of dried herbs hung; their scent was fresh and welcoming, evoking thoughts of health and healing.

He bustled about and picked several bundles of herbs and dropped them into a kettle, which he set over a solitary fireplace that crackled pitifully in the corner, full of dying embers. When the water was steaming, he prepared two cups and poured the contents into the mugs, adding a few drops of honey to each.

Regis sat across from her at the small table and pushed one of the mugs to her—she stared at the rising steam and gathered the courage to speak.

"I—" She began, then stopped. What was there to say? She didn't know what to say, or how to say it, but the words came anyway: "Sometimes… Sometimes I need to make a decision before I'm paralyzed by fear, and the courage to make it has left me… It was easier when Cassius was here, but he isn't…"

She fidgeted uncomfortably at the words that poured forth, but she continued after a moment.

"I sit at home in the silence and the cold company of my own sadness, and I know in my heart that this feeling will stay wrapped around my head, clouding it for as long as I stay. I think of my brother, who always dreamed of becoming some powerful heroic Archwizard, not for the grandeur of it all, but so he could help people…" A tear dripped off her cheek, and she paused to brush a few more aside.

"I never had that dream. I only wanted peace and quiet. I never wanted adventure and conflict. But peace wouldn't have me… It cast me out… And now I can't feel the peace of silence any longer, only the sadness and loneliness that creeps in to fill the void. If I don't make this choice and act on it now, I never will. I have to do it now, before the dull drudgery becomes normal and it hollows me out till there's nothing left and I…" She cried then.

She didn't know where the words had come from, and now she didn't remember half of the words she had said. The cold emptiness of her heart had communicated its anguish, and her mouth had translated the best it could. Regis held her hand as heavy, body-wrenching sobs overtook her body.

Regis finally responded once the last of her tears had dried, as she started to drink the first sip of the comfortingly hot tea. "Do you wish to pursue Ayden's plan then?" The old man asked.

"I do." She said, as she set the cup down and pulled the letters Ayden had given her from a pocket to stare at their address.

"Would you take the others if they wish to join you, and promise to take care of them, as they would you?" Regis asked.

"I would. If they want to go…" she said, meeting Regis's soft gaze.

"I have a feeling they will. I'll arrange a meeting with their families. I expect you'll have an answer by tonight, Miss Bella," Regis said, broaching no argument.

"Thank you." She finished her tea with the village elder, and then he left to make good on his promise.

I just wanted to get some thoughts from other authors on RR about getting noticed. What are your suggestions on posting frequency?

I've committed to sending out a single novel length chapter once a week. Between 4,000-5,000 words.

I just started posting about a month back and I've discovered I only ever get views right after I drop a chapter. The story gets buried pretty quickly after a couple days.

I suspect the story might get noticed more if I drop a chapter twice a week and simply shorten them where possible. I'm just shy of 30,000 words after 7 chapters and haven't seen much engagement with this tactic so far.

I'll be pushing out some heavier action scenes soon and I wanted advice before I do that to get the best visibility.

Would it benefit me to push out 2,000-3,000 word chapters twice a week?

(This is a progression fantasy so people generally like to wait until there is a lot of material to consume before reading, so that is part of the issue)

Genre: Fantasy/LitRPG but the context is outside that genre and stands on its own.

Critiques: [critique 1](https://old.reddit.com/r/DestructiveReaders/comments/1vjo4k9/2058\_the\_bone\_river/p2neqie/?context=3), [critique 2](https://old.reddit.com/r/DestructiveReaders/comments/1vjiao6/901\_thorned\_lotus\_ongoing\_part\_2/p2nb01b/?context=3)

Bella woke to the morning birdsong in her family's home. She reached over to wake her brother, who slept in the bed next to hers—the bed was cold. Right, he was—gone… and he wasn't coming back. It took her several minutes to push aside the overwhelming grief before she finally rose to face the day.

She rushed out of the house to say goodbye to Ayden before he left, but he was gone too—he had already left. She left Ayden's now-empty shack and went back home, but it was cold and silent, and empty. This once-homely little house no longer felt like a home—it felt empty of life and future. She ate some of the bread Mrs. Atkinson had left her the day before. Bella had always loved her bread, but now it tasted like ash in her mouth.

The letters Ayden had given her sat on a small, rickety table, alongside the villagers' offerings of condolence, including a few loaves of bread—one of which had a corner torn off. A beam of sunlight peeked through the dining room's open shutter, illuminating the letters and the small form of a young woman who sat on a flimsy chair, knees held tightly to her chest.

She touched the rough edges of the pair of letters while she chewed mechanically—the paper was warm and full of change—and hope? She grabbed the pair of letters and left her empty house.

She wove through the village's side streets, avoiding eye contact and pitying looks. She stopped at a home, not much larger than her family's house. She knocked… She knocked again.

An old man opened the door, who once looked as fierce as the sun to her former naivety. Now she could see the haunted, sad eyes of an old man who knew he had lived too long and seen too much. He offered her a sad yet unreadable smile, pleasantly free of pity. "Bella, come in. Would you like some tea?" Regis asked.

"I… Sure." She walked inside, and he gestured for her to sit off to the side, where a table greeted a wall between two small chairs—she sat. He hobbled over to the opposite wall, where a panel of dried herbs hung; their scent was fresh and welcoming, evoking thoughts of health and healing.

He bustled about and picked several bundles of herbs and dropped them into a kettle, which he set over a solitary fireplace that crackled pitifully in the corner, full of dying embers. When the water was steaming, he prepared two cups and poured the contents into the mugs, adding a few drops of honey to each.

Regis sat across from her at the small table and pushed one of the mugs to her—she stared at the rising steam and gathered the courage to speak.

"I—" She began, then stopped. What was there to say? She didn't know what to say, or how to say it, but the words came anyway: "Sometimes… Sometimes I need to decide before I'm paralyzed by fear. Before the courage to make it has left me… It was easier when Cassius was here, but he isn't…"

She fidgeted uncomfortably at the words that poured forth, but she continued after a moment.

"I sit at home in the silence and the cold company of my own sadness, and I know in my heart that this feeling will stay wrapped around my head, clouding it for as long as I stay. I think of my brother, who always dreamed of becoming some grand and powerful Archwizard, not for the grandeur of it all, but so he could help people…" A tear dripped off her cheek, and she paused to brush a few more aside.

"I never had that dream. I only wanted peace and quiet. I never wanted adventure and conflict. But peace wouldn't have me… It cast me out… And now I can't feel the peace of silence any longer, only the sadness and loneliness that creeps in to fill the void. If I don't make this choice and act on it now, I never will. I have to do it now, before the dull drudgery becomes normal and it hollows me out till there's nothing left and I…" She cried then.

She didn't know where the words had come from, and now she didn't remember half of the words she had said. The cold emptiness of her heart had communicated its anguish, and her mouth had translated it as best it could. Regis held her hand as heavy, body-wrenching sobs overtook her slender frame.

Genre: Fantasy/LitRPG but the context is outside that genre and stands on its own.

Critiques: critique 1, critique 2

Bella woke to the morning birdsong in her family's home. She reached over to wake her brother, who slept in the bed next to hers—the bed was cold. Right, he was—gone… and he wasn't coming back. It took her several minutes to push aside the overwhelming grief before she finally rose to face the day.

She rushed out of the house to say goodbye to Ayden before he left, but he was gone too—he had already left. She left Ayden's now-empty shack and went back home, but it was cold and silent, and empty. This once-homely little house no longer felt like a home—it felt empty of life and future. She ate some of the bread Mrs. Atkinson had left her the day before. Bella had always loved her bread, but now it tasted like ash in her mouth.

The letters Ayden had given her sat on a small, rickety table, alongside the villagers' offerings of condolence, including a few loaves of bread—one of which had a corner torn off. A beam of sunlight peeked through the dining room's open shutter, illuminating the letters and the small form of a young woman who sat on a flimsy chair, knees held tightly to her chest.

She touched the rough edges of the pair of letters while she chewed mechanically—the paper was warm and full of change—and hope? She grabbed the pair of letters and left her empty house.

She wove through the village's side streets, avoiding eye contact and pitying looks. She stopped at a home, not much larger than her family's house. She knocked… She knocked again.

An old man opened the door, who once looked as fierce as the sun to her former naivety. Now she could see the haunted, sad eyes of an old man who knew he had lived too long and seen too much. He offered her a sad yet unreadable smile, pleasantly free of pity. "Bella, come in. Would you like some tea?" Regis asked.

"I… Sure." She walked inside, and he gestured for her to sit off to the side, where a table greeted a wall between two small chairs—she sat. He hobbled over to the opposite wall, where a panel of dried herbs hung; their scent was fresh and welcoming, evoking thoughts of health and healing.

He bustled about and picked several bundles of herbs and dropped them into a kettle, which he set over a solitary fireplace that crackled pitifully in the corner, full of dying embers. When the water was steaming, he prepared two cups and poured the contents into the mugs, adding a few drops of honey to each.

Regis sat across from her at the small table and pushed one of the mugs to her—she stared at the rising steam and gathered the courage to speak.

"I—" She began, then stopped. What was there to say? She didn't know what to say, or how to say it, but the words came anyway: "Sometimes… Sometimes I need to decide before I'm paralyzed by fear. Before the courage to make it has left me… It was easier when Cassius was here, but he isn't…"

She fidgeted uncomfortably at the words that poured forth, but she continued after a moment.

"I sit at home in the silence and the cold company of my own sadness, and I know in my heart that this feeling will stay wrapped around my head, clouding it for as long as I stay. I think of my brother, who always dreamed of becoming some grand and powerful Archwizard, not for the grandeur of it all, but so he could help people…" A tear dripped off her cheek, and she paused to brush a few more aside.

"I never had that dream. I only wanted peace and quiet. I never wanted adventure and conflict. But peace wouldn't have me… It cast me out… And now I can't feel the peace of silence any longer, only the sadness and loneliness that creeps in to fill the void. If I don't make this choice and act on it now, I never will. I have to do it now, before the dull drudgery becomes normal and it hollows me out till there's nothing left and I…" She cried then.

She didn't know where the words had come from, and now she didn't remember half of the words she had said. The cold emptiness of her heart had communicated its anguish, and her mouth had translated it as best it could. Regis held her hand as heavy, body-wrenching sobs overtook her slender frame.