Last night I started reading a 233-page novel that I wrote as a teenager. After so many years, it felt like reading someone else's book. Here's my unbiased review of it.
1- The author is trying to be overly wordy, and also trying to cram too much crap into the book - crap that has nothing to do with the story, and actually distracts from it.
2- The author introduces unexpected and unnecessary plot points and characters that come out of nowhere and go nowhere. Makes ABC's "Lost" look almost coherent.
3- Character development is virtually non-existent, with the notable exception that the main character just gets more pissed off as the story progresses.
4- Dialogue sucks. Characters say things out of context. They say things that no one would never, ever say in real life. They draw conclusions from non-existent facts that are not even part of the story. They all sound like people who sniffed too much glue while watching the "Neverending Story".
5- Too much deja vu. A particular incident happens to the main character several times in the story, and all those instances could easily have been combined into a single one and still gotten the point across.
6- The author is clearly too young to drink.
7- The author also clearly has never kissed a girl.
8- The author also probably doesn't know any girls except his own sister.
9- The author makes up names that have no basis in any language spoken on planet Earth.
10- The story is full of disjoined parallel plots.
11- The author manages to make a 233-page novel feel longer than the entire 2000-page "Lord of The Rings" trilogy.
12- The ending doesn't make any damned sense.
Maybe I'm being too hard on my former self. But if I ever build a time machine, I vow to go back in time with a baseball bat and beat some sense into myself. I can't believe I actually wrote that rag. I can't believe other people actually read it. Blows my mind.
No, I am not telling you the title. Don't want any of you to read it. Reading my crappy blog is probably torture enough for you.