Hi. First time I’ve ever written a Novel. I’m about 14,000 words in so far. This is the first three chapters. I’d be interested to know people’s thoughts? Pacing, interesting, would you carry on reading. Does it sound like utter garbage? Anything really, open to any criticism. Thanks
Hi. I am in MFA application trenches and don’t have writer friends in my life, would really appreciate a looksie over at the first few passages of my fiction sample (is an excerpt from a short story) because it’s all starting to sound like mush to me right now. Thank you!!
As the title suggests, I am incredibly new to this and have had absolutely no feedback at all about my first pages. I have actually completed the first rough draft of a full novel at about 73,000 words, but before I start the rigorous editing process, I want to hear your feedback on whether you’d keep reading or if you’d skip it.
I didn’t want to post too much, as my first chapter and reveals are a bit longer, but happy to include the full first chapter if anyone is interested or that could give more information.
Note: this does NOT actually turn into a love story about Maren and Cole.
Setting: a late-Renaissance-inspired world (as far as technology is concerned).
Context hat: Emron (courtesy title Prince Emron) is the son of a fallen rebel king, a hostage in all but name, living under the roof of one of his late father's enemies, bound to said lord by betrothal to his daughter, having lived there incognito for some time beforehand and built relationships. Ever since his identity was revealed, Emron has been receiving a steady stream of visitors, whose attitudes are as varied as they are unpredictable. Today's visitor changes everything.
One thing to note: the aunt is his only direct blood relative; any characters Emron calls 'brother' or 'Mama' are purely surrogate kin.
The chapter explores themes of identity fracture, loss of agency, moral obligation, inherited guilt, and disillusionment.
Disclaimer: Not a chapter 1. Taken from deep in the middle of the story. Expect frequent name drops and cross-references that don't stop to explain themselves. I'm strictly looking for feedback on prose, dialogue, and hook in a vacuum. If you can provide that, I'd be grateful. Otherwise, feel free to scroll by.
*I'm an ESL writer, and none of this is AI-assisted or translated.
one of my character grew up in dysfunctional family, suffered with verbal and sometimes physical abuse. Also parents constant fight over financial problems which would left her more and more traumatized. Society also didn't treated her right, the story is set in south asian country (i am from south asia so). Relatives constant neglect and not so good treatment to the family whenever they suffer with financial instability leave the family totally isolated and unstable. The mother is anxious way too anxious about things all the time and well of course take it out on the daughter(main character) The mother doesn't have good time in her life, she got married (arrange marriage) in chaos one guy wanting to marry her so bad that he even talked to the brother but fail (no the mother didn't liked her) and before marriage the mother childhood spent in a stereotypical way under patriarchal society, she didn't had the right to choose, she lived in fear most of the time, and lived her life in a way she won't get k*lled (honor k*lling). All of this of course made the mother not live happily she couldn't discover herself and saw women being punished for choosing partners or just simply choosing something for themselves or being punished for other's crimes. This was the mother's trauma which causes the mother to choose things that would allow her to just survive and not live. The father is toxic, he was once jailed when he got caught for the crime he didn't committed, he was there but wasn't involved in the crime but well. he couldn't lived his dreams, he grew up not wanting to obey anyone for anything. he wanted to become a martial artist but family never supported he also never had non problematic friends. After the jail drama he did got serious about life but he have already made his wife anxious as when he was in jail no one ever from the family supported his wife. she was all alone with worries of her husband being in jail, money problem and raising one child all on her own. before this jail drama the husband tried to invest in business which fails horribly and leads them to a little bit of dept. His wife have now developed what we can call financial anxiety and she is always suspicious (rightfully so) of who her husband gives money. He does gives money to like mother and sister even if his own family can barely afford. And the people he gives money to sometimes are actually have ok financial conditions not really good but not bad either. Alright all of this conflict makes husband and wife be toxic to each other sometimes get physically abusive with each other and children too. My main character have a brother too. Both of them suffers because of this conflict and both react differently but in harmful way. The brother end up being k*lled in arson and this pushes my main character more and more into darkness. she grew up isolated from her peers, had no proper friends growing up, very little to no focus in classroom at all. Teachers always complaining. My mc was never able to fit in anywhere and this causes her to be bullied by her mother all the time. Mc would also get compared a lot which k*lls their self-esteem every attempt my mc made to impress the mother or sometime father just failed. She was talented, she could draw and is actually interested in many topics but very bad in memorizing text book stuff which leads to her being below average student. She suffers like her mother as she is a woman too. not being able to choose anything for herself because she is a girl. The mother would constantly monitor her would bully her even when she was child, would say things like 'who is the guy stuck in your dirty head that you can't focus on the right things' Mc was never even interested because i made her asexual\aromantic. But even if she was not interested society have always looks at her suspiciously. These types of things of course made her angrier frustrated and her defense had always been just be away from everyone. Except on cousin sister she wouldn't talk really much to anyone else. School also didn't treated her right, there was this one female teacher who would bully her a lot. Why? because the teacher family had some conflict with the grandfather from mother side of mc. She ends up choosing the crime path. She don't suddenly chooses the crime path i will slowly push her towards that path. I want my main character to fit into anomic personality sociological concept. for that i want to make her more and more isolated that's why i slowly give death to every family member i described how brother dies. How the mother dies? Mc didn't give her her pills on time. yes she did it on purpose. The father was k*lled by the mafia leader because he didn't return the dept. he took. My mc under all the conflict she have been seeing and going through she have developed weird philosophies and beliefs and is also somewhat aware that non of what she beliefs is true. She wants to k*ll herself because she wants to dominate the most superior thing which is death, if she CHOOSE to die then she is more superior then death. Why she didn't k*ll herself yet then? because she wants to set up her death beautifully, she wants to built the house on the ocean's surface and then burn it and die in that fire. To her death is freedom that's why she believes she didn't k*ll her mother but set her free from her endless misery. And also the other people she k*lled weren't k*lled but set freed by her. (what do you guys think)
I feel like this is one of my better stories. It's a psychological story about corporate burnout and the unfair feeling of being only an asset rather than a human being.
The Butler didn't do it! (Because there's no Butler)
Book 2: The Fatal Broth
A Homer Lockshels mystery
Chapter One: The Last Supper
"Good morning", - said Loyde.
"Hhuh... what? who? Ah, good morning", mumbled Lockshels, sitting absent-minded at his desk.
Now, ...pause! Let's take a troll break and give some people a moment to feel somehow "important"! I can already hear the naysayers warming up, ready to cry that I'm not describing the atmosphere, the room, the wallpaper, the number of atoms in the carpet fibres, and so on. Truth is, I could easily fill two or three pages with the exact shape of the walls, the precise distance of the table from the center of the chamber, even describing the colour palette of each painting hanging around the room. But I ask you, dear reader, ...does it really matter? No, really, does it??? This is not a script, and I have absolutely no expectation of it becoming a movie, so, ...keeping that in mind, I ask again: does it matter? Isn't it better to leave it to your imagination?
[Addendum (just in case IT DOES make it into a movie): It's a fairly big room with blue walls, covered in reproduction paintings. A large Persian rug sprawls across the middle, slightly off to the left; Lockshels' desk sits near the south wall, halfway between the window and the door, opposite a fireplace that doesn't give quite enough heat to chase away the cold trying to embrace the room.]
"What's up, detective?"
"What do you mean?"
"Well, I see you're kinda... upset."
"Well, Loyde, if you must know, ...I had a very peculiar dream last night."
"You don't say!", replied Loyde, dragging a chair close to the desk, wearing the face of one ready to reach for the popcorn.
"I'm having them pretty often, lately. But this one... this was the cherry on top!"
"About our last case?"
"No, Loyde. It involves Quickdraw Homer."
"Quickdraw Homer, eh?", Loyde was barely hiding his giggles.
"Yes, him. But last night... well..."
"Yes... go on..."
"Well, Homer was riding his horse, when he got some... business to attend to. So he dismounted and went into the bushes..."
"Bushes... aha..."
"His horse casually wandered off and went into a nearby bar. And the bartender said..."
"'Why the long face?'!"
"No."
"No?"
"No. He said 'Whiskey?', and the horse said 'Yeah'. Then he said 'Ice?', and the horse replied 'Neigh'."
"Neigh! Ha ha ha! Hilarious. I bet you... I mean Quickdraw was laughing his boots off."
"No."
"Ah, right. He was probably worried, you know, looking for his horse..."
"Well, that's the thing, Loyde: I was the horse!"
"Aaahhh... hmmm... now that's a just a fantasy! You know horses have long..."
He felt Lockshels' eyes burning into him.
"... faces!"
"Yeah, Loyde, I'm aware of that!"
Lockshels and Loyde. What a duo! I told you about them! And now... What you mean you don't know ? Well, don't be a cheapskate, and buy my first novel! It's all in there! Yeah, you bet your bottom I'm plugging my first book! I need the money, I'm poor!
There was a knock on the door, and the sergeant dipped his head inside.
"Wanna hear something strange?"
"I doubt it will be stranger than what I just heard!", mumbled Loyde.
"What is it, sergeant?", asked Lockshels while giving Loyde the evil eye.
"Well, you remember Mr. Sellar, from that case a while back?"
"The one that was ready to sell even the pants off a nudist? Yes! What about him?"
"Well, it seems the time has come for him to buy, this time. A coffin, more precisely. He choked while eating in a restaurant."
"Where?"
"Not far from his shop. Me and a few boys are headed that way. Wanna come?"
"Loyde, you go bring that thing we spoke about, then meet me at the restaurant. The sergeant will radio in its location."
"Let's go !"
Next... you know those wide police station hallways, with their grand staircases, concrete balustrades, imposing double doors, and the ever-present fleet of police cars waiting outside to whisk officers away? Well, they used all of those to get to the restaurant, so I'll spare you the tedious details.
From across the street, Lockshels and the sergeant were admiring the restaurant... well, I said "admiring"... it was just a figure of speech.
"'Le chow dans la corner and be'", sighed Lockshels, putting the legendary-now cigar in his mouth.
"Wants to be 'and bed', but the 'd' was blown out by last February's winds," responded the sergeant, striking up his lighter and offering it to Lockshels.
"I wouldn't bother!", said Lockshels. "The damn thing won't light anyway!"
"Yeah... what a dump!", added the detective.
"Believe it or not, it is considered a posh place", came the sergeant's response.
"Oh, sorry! What a posh dump!", Lockshels corrected himself.
"And I think I... I... Achoo!", sneezed Lockshels loudly, sending his cigar like a projectile towards a passer-by.
The stranger, well dressed in his buttoned-well-over-the-nose woolly black coat, with a fedora covering almost the rest of his face, stopped, surprised. After looking at the fallen cigar for a few seconds, he bent down, picked it up, and returned it to the detective.
"Cheers for that, very ki... ki... Achoo!"
Another sneeze. The stranger nodded and silently went on his way.
"Strange, but very polite chap", said Lockshels, watching the departing silhouette.
"Yeah, poor guy. Probably has a slight LLD - Limb-length discrepancy!"
"Huh? How would you know that? And... how could you know that?", exclaimed Lockshels, surprised.
"Well, see how he limps slightly? I recognise this as my little brother suffers from it."
"Well, I never imagined you as Doctor Sergeant.", said Lockshels.
"Shall we?", he said, pointing towards the restaurant.
"We should certainly should!", answered the sergeant, as they started to cross the street.
Hi all! I posted here before, however I found that my screenshots were blurry so here I am trying again lol.
I’m looking for some feedback specifically on the opening paragraphs of a short story I recently finished, Her Friend, Mr. Koi Fish. I’m mainly curious about a few things: Does the opening make you want to continue reading? Is the introduction to Satsuki engaging, or does it feel too exposition-heavy? How does the narrative voice come across? Are there any particular lines or sentences that feel awkward or unnecessary? At what point, if anywhere, did your attention start to drift?
I’m not looking for a full-story critique right now—mostly just a cold-read impression of the first few paragraphs and whether they work as an opening. Feel free to be critical! I’m mainly interested in knowing how these lines come across to someone seeing the story for the first time.
The link to the story is on my personal blog if any of you want to check more out there (https://readsbythomasu.com/?thomasu_story=her-friend-mr-koi-fish), it is a simple wordpress link.
Thank you for your time!
The latest installment of Blood Meridian in Sandals. Please feel free to let me know what is working, what isn't, and especially if the stakes (during the dialogue bits) are unclear.
Also, if anyone knows snow: is a drift of snow, like, a cloud of snow, or a bank of snow?
hallo. Looking for feedback on my first pages for a manuscript I’m writing.
I wrote this short story a few months ago and the theme as a whole is very important to me. I wouldn't call it NSFW in terms of explicit content, but there are sexual themes within it, including references to masturbation and sex (sex slightly more detailed but not erotically), detailed sexualization of women, and briefly mentions sexual abuse.
It's also important to note that the typos and grammatical errors, especially early on, are there on purpose, including comma splices and homophone mishaps!
Also pretty important to note that my name is Vincent. This ties in to the theme as a whole and how personal I find it.
I'm really just looking to see what other people think about it, and I really wanted to share it in general. I don't feel the best about the ending, and I think some pacing is odd, so really any feedback is welcome! Also interested to see people's thoughts on my use of syntax and diction, as it was a very experimental piece for me.
I've included the Google Docs link. I've seen most people post page screenshots, but I'm visually impaired and have my text size huge, so it's sort of a hassle to change it around. Not sure if screenshots are preferred or if links are disallowed (pretty sure they're not), so if they're not, let me know! I'm happy to go through the hassle of getting screenshots if links are too annoying to deal with.
Hi everyone,
I'm looking for feedback on my opening chapter. I'm currently submitting to agents but would love any feedback that could help my odds!
Thanks in advance.
Hi, all, I'm here kindly requesting some feedback on my chapter 1. In full transparency, I've written this book in its entirety, and I am not happy with first version. This is a re-write of chapter 1, and I think it's better, but I haven't had any outside feedback and I'm full of more doubt than you can imagine. I'm not searching for anything too specific or nit picky right now, just for some broader answers.
Is it a coherent opening? Does it pull you into the world in a way that makes sense, or is it too vague and/or confusing? Too much or too little? etc
Would you, as a reader, be interested in continuing reading after this chapter? Are there questions about the world and/or plot you want answered? Is it too boring of an opening to care about?
Am I even headed in the right direction? God, lately I just feel like I'm so stuck in my own bubble, I don't know if anything I'm creating is actually good. I am in desperate need of an outsider's opinion.
Thanks in advance for anyone who takes time to read or comment <3
transcript of the text here for anyone who doesn't like to read off of screenshots:
“Bathe yourself in his silver light,” a man shouts from the street corner, voice carrying over the small crowd gathered around him. “Accept him into your heart and give your all to our Lord Spirit!”
Kieran rolls his eyes, ducks his head, and hurries past. For once, the constant ringing in his ears is a blessing, giving him something else to focus on. It’s been nearly two weeks that he’s been in Peoria but he may never get used to the absurd amount of worship happening everywhere all the time. With a church on every other street and rogue preachers in between, it’s impossible to walk out of the house without catching a sermon.
Back home in Hostettler, churches were still common, but not to the extent they are here, in the Lord Spirit’s city. People don’t preach in the streets of Hostettler.
Kieran quickens his pace and weaves through the residents milling about, his destination the main church of Peoria. The Holy and Righteous Temple of the First Disciple. It’s a mouthful of a name but Kieran has come to learn that most people just call it The Temple.
It’s a beautiful cathedral, standing tall in the center of the city, in what used to be a vacant plateau but is now a dense city of at least a hundred thousand. It’s a beautiful mix of wood and limestone with high reaching spires, elegant arches and sturdy columns, artfully carved statues of the Lord Spirit set into various alcoves. It is admittedly stunning in the midday sun, the dark wood soaking up the day’s warmth, the polished, glittering limestone shining back at the world.
A block away, Kieran can already hear the sounds of the Orator preaching inside, the woman’s voice carried through speakers set outside the massive wooden double doors. Though the gathered crowd is dense, they are quiet so as to not miss a word of the sermon. The street preachers keep their impromptu sermons away from the church, and Kieran assumes that’s because he saw a man get arrested for preaching on the church grounds the day after he arrived in Peoria.
There are a lot of laws surrounding their religion, most of them Kieran knows from his previous job as a Votary’s guard. Really, every law can be boiled down to one very important, very enforced rule: Only worship the Lord Spirit on his terms.
A law Kieran breaks every day, but secretly. He follows the rule set out for him and every other resident of the country of Atlas: attend an hour sermon twice a week. He wastes two hours tuning out a sermon he’s heard too many times, then goes home to do his own worship in the privacy of his own home, and it’s not the Lord Spirit he prays to.
But the Lord Spirit is all he sees as he slips through the crowd and towards the front steps of the cathedral. On one hand, he hates coming here, because of the images of the Lord Spirit in every direction he looks – paintings and statues and stained glass murals and woven into tapestries. But on the other hand, Kieran loves and admires this church. It wasn’t originally built to worship the Lord Spirit; it was built by the Lord Spirit to worship their God. At the base of the stone steps is a plaque with a short description memorializing the church as the sacred place it is, along with a picture of what it used to look like. Hardly anything more than a little log cabin. It was originally a humble place for the Lord Spirit alone, when he was just a man, somewhere he could find privacy to commune with their God.
It is no longer the quaint and humble place it once was, and it no longer honors their God.
A familiar sense of duty settles over him and Kieran sends a prayer up to his God. One day, this will be yours again. Perhaps not in his lifetime, but one day, his God will be worshiped in this church as she should be. One day, people will remember the truth, remember who really blesses their lives, and they will worship her once more.
Ready to get his hour over with, Kieran strides up the steps. Just as he’s about to start elbowing his way across the threshold, shouts of, “Make way, make way!” has him stumbling back out of the way and bumping into the people crowded around.
Like it’s been rehearsed, a path clears in front of the doors and down the steps and to the street behind, plenty wide to safely allow two men to come rushing by, between them carrying a stretcher with a man on it. Kieran steals a glance at the man’s face as he passes. His dry cracked lips are barely parted with short, shallow breaths, his pale face ashen and drooping. He blinks lazily, seemingly not seeing a thing. Kieran doubts he’s aware enough to know where he is. He’s seen that look in people’s faces before, during times of drought or starvation, in the faces of people who work themselves to the grave to make a living.
Once they’re past, the crowd converges on the church, blocking the pathway and jamming themselves into the doorway. Kieran elbows his way in, muttering empty apologies where necessary. He could just stand outside and listen to the sermon, be seen on the church’s video monitoring system and get his hour credit, but that other part of his heart tugs him inside. There’s a connection to his God through this temple that cannot be felt anywhere else.
There is not an inch of available sitting room so Kieran finds a place against the back wall sandwiched between strangers. He keeps his arms crossed tight over his chest, trying to take up as little room as possible, and keeping his arm pressed protectively over the outline of his pendant where it hangs at the bottom of his breast bone. A gold and glass sun on a thinly braided gold chain given to him by his mother when he was a child, he only began wearing it regularly a few years ago, right after her death. Now, he only takes it off when he sleeps and bathes, otherwise it’s always hanging around his neck, guarded safely under his shirt.
He focuses on the warmth of the pendant and tries to ignore the animated sermon, but there’s a speaker just above his head making sure he both hears and feels every word.
The woman, donned in a dark blue robe with streams of silver embroidered on the sleeves and skirts, is reciting a passage from the scripture that Kieran has heard many times before.
“When the last board was placed, our beloved Lord Spirit, no more than a mortal man at the time, knelt and said his first prayer within these walls.” She spreads her arms wide as if to embrace the church itself. “In a blaze of silver moonlight, our God manifested before him and spoke to him with the voice of the wind. It was then that the manifestation of our God soaked into him. He accepted the duty given to him by our God: to carry God’s spirit and do its bidding on earth. He is God in mortal form! Our true prophet, the voice and embodiment of our highest power, we praise you!”
She, Kieran thinks. He’s one of few who believe their God is a person, a woman. He’s one of few who don’t believe that she’s in the body of the Lord Spirit. He doesn’t look to the Lord Spirit as their prophet or God incarnate. It’s undeniable he was blessed at one point – the feats of power he’s performed can’t be ignored – but he hasn’t done anything of the sort in a very long time. Every story of power is a piece of history and Kieran hasn’t witnessed him do a damned thing for as long as he’s been alive.
Kieran, and the small religion faction he belongs to, hypothesizes that the Lord Spirit lost his connection to his God given power long ago and has just been faking it since, all the while pushing their God aside to put himself in her place. And the worst part is, it’s working.
“We sing our praise to our Lord Spirit,” the crowd says as one before an organ starts to lead them into a hymn.
It’s in a high key and the voices around Kieran threaten to put the ringing in his ears out of business. Like needles to his ear drums, their screeching voices pierce him with every horribly sung word.
O, Lord Spirit, I praise your name
Voice of God Incarnate
My one and only prophet
Infinite is your power
Everlasting is your reign
O, Lord Spirit, who rules his kingdom
With the light of God's own grace
Blessed be his name
Eternal burns his flame
O Lord Spirit, I praise your name
Kieran breathes a sigh of relief when it’s over but barely has a moment to feel that relief before everyone drops to their knees simultaneously. It’s hard to find a place to kneel with the shuffling bodies and he ends up just crouched down with his back to the wall.
The crowd speaks as one again, this time a chant rather than a song. “We kneel and submit ourselves to you, Lord Spirit, and offer all we have so that you may shine your favor on us. We thank you and we praise you.”
Kieran follows suit when the crowd stands – or sits, for those with seats. Ten men emerge from two doors behind the altar, woven baskets in their hands as they go around to collect everyone’s offerings. Money and jewelry and anything else worthy of being offered to their Lord Spirit is dropped into the baskets. Thankfully, there are enough people around, reaching over one another to fill the baskets, that Kieran easily gets looked over and gets away with not giving anything.
They don’t deserve his hard earned money. Where does it even go? Directly into the Lord Spirit’s pockets? It clearly doesn’t go back into the communities. Kieran experienced the poverty and destruction in Hostettler first hand, and working under Votary David, he saw how difficult it was to get any help from the Lord Spirit or his churches.
The Orator picks up the sermon again as the men continue to collect from the congregation and Kieran lets his mind wander instead of listening to her. The voice from the speaker above his head turns into a featureless drum of noise and the faces around him blur into a sea of colors and his thoughts turn to dreams of the future. A life free of the pain of his past, a life of his own.
It’s all in front of him and he just has to reach out and take it.
—
I get rejections all the time. It's no big deal. I'm just wondering if there's something obvious that I missed with this story. Some taboo I wasn't supposed to cross? Something that made it unreadable or unpublishable? I'm not really seeking validation, just wondering what these sci fi and fantasy magazines are buying and how I can make that. I have some practice, but I've never been published.
It takes place in a world where magic has been industrialized and regulated. Any feedback is welcome. Please and thank you.
Note: It was in standard manuscript format when I submitted it, but I removed those elements to comply with the rules here.
I've been reading some Cormac McCarthy and am very obviously compelled by the first page of Blood Meridian, as a result I feel like I'm jerking myself off a bit with the first paragraph by breaking grammatical rules in order to be poetic. There are a few phrases I want to edit within there, "gives a little" among them, but I admittedly think the overall tone and way of presenting is somewhat good. I'm open to being told it's not, and the grammatical structure sucks, and the tense switch is distracting.
Also, does the detail about the train give any sort of clue to the fact that the MC knows a lot about trains (no this isn't an autism thing it's important to his character later on) or does it just seem clunky for no reason?
Thank you!!
This is a short story I wrote a while back that I'dgotten really good feedback on, and whose backstory and world have grown more compelling to me as I thought on and edited it. With that in mind, I've recently begun to expand it into a full novel, which I've submitted on a few different subreddits to a much less warm reception. Considering how much my beta readers seemed to like this and how much the readers disliked my first chapter (which some even saying it was AI, which, ooof) I thought I'd try posting the original here for thoughts. I'm not necessarily expecting those same people to now read the short story (although I would appreciate it) but am moreso just trying to recalibrate and get a clean sense of things after some surprising feedback. Thanks in advance to anyone who reads, I know how hard it can be to take time and give an opinion and hopefully you enjoy it.
Hi! I’m currently working on a sci-fi horror novel called “For What We Took”, and would love some feedback on the prologue.
I’m mainly wondering:
- Does it work as an opening and make you want to keep reading?
- Is the loss of control over the character’s body clear without being overexplained?
- Does the escalation/body horror feel effective?
- Is anything confusing, repetitive or awkward?
The main novel follows a different protagonist, so this prologue is intended as an early glimpse of what’s beginning to happen.
Any other feedback is very welcome too. Thanks!
Well i want is you to give this story a chance(short story) and give your honest opinion. Even if you drop the story thinking it's too boring, you can send the last chapter you read before you left.
general questions I'm asking is you is
you can just list out the problems in the story and how you felt about it. like
did i describe to little or too much,
was the chapter too long or short
was the pace good or bad..etc...
Also i want to know for the non chess players,
does this make sense to you. and what is the thing that floods in to your head. or does it feel like 'wtf is going on'
btw never seed 'the queens gambit' series so just to point out.
>!why did you click me, why!<