by Michael Battaglia

Welcome to The Pretentious Twit! Click on the title link to read the full article.

Review of Day of Reckoning and Death Comes Again, December 2009

Why do we read?

For most people the answers are fairly simple . . . for pleasure, for entertainment, to learn something, to pass the time on the train. Chances are that most people who visit this site will be able to find one of their reasons in those answers. That's fine, that's expected.

So right now I'm not talking to any of those people. I'm talking to you. That's right, you. The writers, the scribes, the tale-spinners, the people who, whether they're represented on this site or not, constantly find themselves putting pen to paper or fingers to keyboards in the hopes that all those words and scribbles and scratches might one day form a story.

Knight Stand by William Avett Reviewed, October 2009

Hello. Miss me?

None of you really need to answer that. Looking back at my records, it has been close to a year since I've done one of these, which is really too long. I'll try not to let it happen again. It's funny to me how a year is by definition a fairly long time but everyone seems to feel it goes by so quickly. Not for me, time always seems to crawl, I'm too aware of every minute, even when I'm sleeping. Which I'm just fine with, I'm really not in any hurry to get any of this over with. Though this last year has been fraught with all sorts of changes, among them the company I work for filing for bankruptcy and collapsing (*gasp*), turning thirty quite recently (*double gasp*) and a multitude of others that amount to varying degrees to good and bad. The same as anyone else, and being that this isn't my diary, we're not really going to go into them.

The Hunt by Vrishchikan Raj Reviewed, October 2008

We're all writing legends, to some extent. All of us, slaving over typewriters and keyboards, churning out romances and SF and fantasy and any other blend of genres that the human imagination can conceive. Whether we intend for the story to make a million dollars or it's something that we are never going to show another living soul, we're crafting new legends every day.

Growing Pains in the Womb by Gustavo Bondoni Reviewed, February 2008

I have great admiration for anyone who can pull off a short story successfully. I can't do it, as anyone reading this on anything resembling a regular basis can sadly attest. Any short stories I've done are frivolous and lightweight affairs, having no real heft, balloons that have sailed away before you've even adjusted your grip. My favorite short story of all time is probably James Joyce's "The Dead" and that's more or less due to the last ten pages. I will never come near anything remotely of that caliber. Even talking about it just depresses me. Let's move on!

"Vohl and the Ice Queen" by Henry Otis Clarke Reviewed, December 2007

In the past I've started writing this thing and after rambling on for six pages, realized that I hadn't even mentioned the story that I was supposed to be talking about. Which then forces me to haphazardly shoehorn it into the column in the same fashion that you would shove a mess away with your foot in the vain hope that nobody notices said mess.

So. Henry Otis Clarke. "Vohl and the Ice Queen". This way the rest of you won't complain later. And who says I can't change my habits.

"Lords of Darkness" series reviewed, June 2007

All right, let's see if I can avoid causing trouble this time out, hm? I think that was more excitement than any of us really needed. But hey, nature of the game and all that. Let's go on.

Apparently, the new "smaller paragraph styles" was a big hit (that is, instead of two people reading we had a whopping three people . . . but every set of eyes is appreciated!) so I'll be field-testing that technique in this column, to see if I can do my part to save everyone's vision, or at least reduce tension headaches caused by massive blocks of words cascading down the screen. That being said, I can't promise anything. You want guarantees, go talk to a car salesman. In the midst of all this crazy wackiness, anything is possible, darn it!

I've Nothing to Say – Let's Step Outside by Robert T. Tuohey, February 2007

A critic, or one so-called, has various approaches open to him. For example, he might fault a writer's style or structure; in other words, while understanding what a man has written, he thinks there's something wrong with the way that it's written. Building inspectors are important, and if a man can find cracks in what I've constructed, I'll shake his hand.

Surrebuttal of "I've Nothing to Say – Let's Step Outside", February 2007

I'm going to start this with the best advice I can give any of you, in the midst of everything. The one bit of wisdom that will make all of this a heck of a lot easier.

Don't read this.

I'm serious. Don't read a single word, don't read Mr. Tuohey's rebuttal and for the love of God don't read that first column that started all of this. Get out of here, open up Bent and go make up your own mind, read it and digest it and decide what you think about it. Because that's the most important thing here, not two people debating over the contours of a source material that is going to mean nothing to you unless you read it first.

Another Year Where We Know the Drill, December 2006

Ah. Another year beckons, as we get ready to kiss this one goodbye. Actually, we have a few weeks left to go in this year but I'm going to pretend that I'm writing this at five minutes to midnight on the thirty-first and somehow it's almost dawn even though it's the middle of the night. This way I can seem more profound. Hey, I told you, this column is called "Pretentious Twit" and not "Often, I Make a Lot of Sense". There's a reason for that.

"Bent" Reviewed, December 2006

If you know me at all, you know I'm a big fan of the concept of the metaphor. Any e-mail correspondence from me will include one or more extended metaphors, as an idea strikes me, often in the middle of a paragraph, and I find myself following it through well past the point where I should have stopped. Talking to me is even worse as I often dispense with plain, direct talk and instead opt for a more elliptical style, piling on the descriptive clauses and forcing you to do some on-the-spot deciphering to figure out what I'm really saying.

"The Vault" Reviewed, October 2006

I was tempted to write all of these sentences out of order, but that struck me as making my point with a hammer when a much smaller instrument might do. Like a fine, fine needle. Right to the eye. Ooh, the "injury to eye motif". Always a fun topic, although I think I'll save that for the column where we go into primal fears as demonstrated in graphic literature. Still, it's nice to be avant-garde once in a while, when the situation suits me. The only problem is that jumbling all the sentences up really only makes this thing even less readable than it normally is. And considering the raging popularity that I enjoy now, I really shouldn't make this any harder than it is.

"The Beckoning" Reviewed, July 2006

The Wiktionary defines "beckon" as "to wave and/or nod to somebody with the intention to make the person come closer." We do this all the time, running into friends on the street, signaling to someone across the office, the silent way we have of telling our children to get the heck over here now before I reach the count of five. For the most part the act of beckoning is active but one-sided, we do all the work and the results are not guaranteed. I can wave to you and use all the male studness powers at my disposal, but there's no force in the world that can make you succumb to my manly charms and walk over to me, if you don't want to. And while the intent may be there, the intention is never specified. I may want you to come over because you've dropped your purse and I want to give it back to you. I may want you to come over to tell you to stop staring at my girlfriend. I may even be doing it to see if you're stupid enough to respond to nonverbal cues from strangers. You don't know, which on some level is whole point. I'm waving and the only way you can really know what I'm thinking is to come closer and find out for yourself.

"Tyrannicide" Reviewed, May 2006

Writing fiction is hard enough, most days. Trying to convince people that whatever fantasy world you've created is real, at least for a hundred thousand words or so (more than that, if you're all about the franchise), it's certainly not a feat for the feeble of spirit. Taking handfuls of words and trying to make people out of that, people that live and react just like the people that you or I know, and then doing your best to make people suspend disbelief just long enough so that think that these people you've manufactured, walking around in fake situations that you've orchestrated, that those people are honestly reacting and not just mouthing the fake words and the fake emotions that you've injected into them . . . wow, that sure turned into a run-on sentence, didn't it? Sorry, sometimes I get carried away.

Reunions Redux, February 2006

My God, I have no idea how to start this.

Oh wait, that's a start, I guess. Never mind.

With that bit of awkwardness out of the way, I guess we can continue. Today we're going to try and talk about forging on, about plowing ahead when all the odds are against you, putting your head down and your shoulder into it when everyone else says you're crazy and that you should turn back. About entering into a zone of peril and danger, an unmarked territory where anything can happen, because nothing is certain and nothing is sacred. A place where-

Review of "The Scribe With No Name" by Daniel Olarnick, January 2006

So would it be, you know, okay if I made a confession? Because we've been together for some time and I think we know each other pretty well. And you've always been nice to me, for as long as I can remember. And I think it's something that needs to be said. Something that we have to get out into the open.

Because sometimes, when I put on women's clothing, it feels-

Hm. No, wait. That's not right. Wrong support group. This is the one for writers. You know, the weird one.

The State-of-the-Website, January 2006

So.

I finished a novel this year. How'd the rest of you do?

Aw crap. And there goes my resolution to be less self-absorbed.

Review of "Horrible Mile" by Laura Sanger Kelly, January 2006

You all know what dramatic irony is, right?

Now this is the point in the script where I pause for a brief moment, say something like, "No? Well that's funny because . . ." and then pause again for a beat before dropping some kind of humorous comment that's meant to break the ice and steer us right into the column itself. People love it, I'm sure, judging by my lack of feedback. Because I always assume that if nobody says anything, I must be doing something right. And by "something right" I mean "hilariously popular". But this is what happens when you assume. This is also what happens when you try to start in a different fashion to break with the formula but instead get bogged down in the complicated morass of your own ego.

Review of "Torment, Chapters 4 & 5" by Gabe Morales, November 2005

So if I was going to end this column, the best way to go about it would be-

Oh, calm down. Don't get your hopes up, I'm not going anywhere. However, since you brought it up, I might as well run with it, as it gives me something to talk about. Thanks! I was stuck for an idea for a column this time out and you helped me out a lot. Listen, anything you want, feel free to . . . what's that?

Eh? Ah . . . no. I'm not even sure that's legal. At least not when you point it that way.

Review of "Reunions" by William L. Kutsch, July 2005

It's been some time since I've done this. Thanks for noticing. My inbox was getting full from all the people demanding a new column. Just stuffed, I tell you. I could barely get to any of the real mail here like . . . ooh, I've just won a free vacation. And all I have to do is send them a hundred dollars? Boy, that's a deal and since it's on the Internet, it must be true. Oh, but do I send my money for the trip or help out this poor fellow in Nigeria who has to move a lot of cash really quickly and desperately needs my help to do so. He went to all the trouble of tracking down my e-mail address, so he must be sincere.

Review of "The Cat and the Moon", March 2005

I don't think I'm being very original or going out on a limb to point out that on some level fiction writing is an elaborate con job.

Not only for the reader, who has to "suspend disbelief" (I always liked that phrase, even though it makes me picture something very heavy floating over my head) but for the writer as well. Because if the writer doesn't believe in what they're writing, I don't think they'd be able to convey that sense to the reader. I'm not saying that those fantasy writers out there have to strap on the loincloth and sharpen their swords for some neighborhood dragon slaying (though there is something to be said for field research) but in order to create a believable world, needless to say, you have to have some stake in the reality of the world itself. If you're not constantly asking questions and trying to make logical conclusions based on your own parameters, then you may find yourself standing over quite a few inconsistencies.

Review of "Karl Strange", January 2005

I think Karl Strange would be a great name for a spy.

Think about it. Either nobody would ever believe it was your real name or if you bothered to tell people you were a spy, nobody would believe that either because what spy would be stupid enough to have such an obvious name? And wouldn't you just tingle all over at the melodious uttering of "Karl. Karl Strange" whenever someone asks him what his name is?

Self Indulgence At Its Finest Hour, January 2005

I think it's easier sometimes to let other people describe me, as opposed to doing the deed myself.

". . . your problem is that you're not very assertive . . ."

Review of "R.I.P.", December 2004

So we continue to meander through my insane quest to comment on every story currently posted on the website. Curse my work ethic. Probably the only good thing about doing all of these at once is that I can't talk about myself as much, because I've got to spread it out over the course of all these columns. Not like that's really any difficulty for me, as people who have had the displeasure of actually e-mailing me have found out. At one point in my life I was in a correspondence with someone at least once a day and somehow I managed to turn "nothing special happened today" into a multi-paragraph essay. Sometimes more than once a day. So either I have a sharp eye for small details or I'm just a big blowhard. The truth, as it often turns out, probably lies somewhere in between. But you can lean toward the blowhard characterization. I won't feel too bad.

Review of "Torment Chapter 3", September-October 2004

This time out, we're onto Gabe's third chapter of his epic, which he's been faithfully working on while I sit here babbling useless things. The third chapter is a sense in an important milestone because I think it shows that the author is serious. It's easy to write a beginning, just about every has a really cool beginning to a story in their head. All you really need for a good first chapter is a good premise or "hook". Whether it's "Harold, I can't believe that you're the killer!" or standing down the street while a million lemmings pop out of a manhole cover and devour the guy nearby down to a skeleton or "It was right after the planet exploded that things started to get bad" . . . we've all got great ideas on how to start a story. The problem comes later on when you try to continue the story and this is where most people run into problems, because now you have to start worrying about such silly things as plot and characterization and (probably the hardest thing for multi-chapter epics) pacing, as well as narrative cohesion and dialogue and descriptions. Understandably, most folks find this to be more trouble than its worth, especially if you don't have the incentive of a six digit advance check winging your way to give you that extra get up and go. After all, what's really more alluring, sitting hunched in front of a computer/typewriter for x amount of hours, banging out something that you probably aren't going to get right the first time anyway, with the distinct possibility that you're going to have to do it all over again for the next chapter . . . or indulging in the timeless entertainment of a nation, you know, like Big Brother? Not a tough choice, really, when you come down to it. If I weren't such a blatant monomaniac, I know what I'd choose.

Review of "Ebon Grupe Chapter 2", June - August 2004

And we're back. Where did I go? I didn't go anywhere, where did the rest of you go? I've been here the entire time. But . . . but what are you trying to tell me? Y-you're seeing another critic? No, it can't be true. I won't believe it. I thought I was the only one, I thought we were supposed to last forever. So everything we had, it was . . . it was just a vicious lie? Oh, I can't go on anymore. The pain, it's just too much. Oh life, what daggers you fling at me, heedless of my suffering. Just drive another nail into me, why don't you? No, stay back, I don't need . . . I don't want your pity. Keep it to yourself, you've done enough damage for today. Oh, the shame.

Review of "Torment Chapter 2", June - August 2004

I'm attempting to write two of these things in the same month. A sign of too much free time? I'm sure the Universe will figure out a way to correct that shortly. I still don't have a schedule for this week. But what else is new? I commented to someone earlier in the week that my job would really stink if I had something resembling an exceedingly active social life. Unfortunately, Mrs. Battaglia's oldest son doesn't indulge himself in the clubbin' life. I can wrap whatever I need to do around my schedule, like a contortionist. And I'm all about priorities. Which is why I'm back here, pumping out this bad boy for all those salivating fans out there. Because, hey, when it comes to me, who's to say how much is too much?

The Pretentious Twit Responds (A reply to the rebuttal above), June - August 2004

Gabe,

Now this is more like it. The whole time I've been saying that this here reviewing thing is a two-way street and that if I'm going to take apart people's stories there has to be an opportunity for those who are critiqued to "strike back", as it were. It's necessary and crucial, in my opinion, for some kind of dialogue to emerge, or else I'm just shouting into an empty room. How else am I supposed to gauge how I'm doing if people don't tell me, "Hey buddy, you suck!" or "Keep the dream alive, little guy!" or any one of many other phrases I make up that people would never say in real life in a million years. It's the back and forth of this that makes it worthwhile, in my opinion and the best critiques I've ever done were the ones were the author wasn't afraid to take me to task on things I had said and make me quantify some of the more off the cuff comments and help me engage in a continuous dialogue. I don't know if that'll happen here or if you'll just hire someone to fire missiles at my house, but you actually bothered to throw down the gauntlet and punch holes in the plate glass that is my boundless arrogance, so that's definitely a start. I look forward to this hopefully starting a long tradition, not just with you but with all the other writers. Time will tell, but so far so good.

Dear "Pretentious Twit" (A rebuttal of the review Torment by Gabe Morales), June-August 2004

First and foremost, I appreciate some of the comments you provided in the critique of my story. With this being the first time I've ever written, I knew my story was lacking somewhere but couldn't exactly put my finger on it. After rewriting much of what I had already written, I think there has been a definite improvement in the way the story flows. The lack of detail and the tense changes of the story are definitely areas I need to improve on.

Review of "Torment", May-June 2004

"Critic sense . . . tingling!" Ah, nothing like the promise of a go at a fantasy story to really get the blood flowing. I've probably mentioned this before, but it's worth going into again, if only because it gives me a chance to talk about my favorite subject . . . why, myself of course. I try to be as open-minded as possible with just about everything, but I am only a man like any other and as a man I have weaknesses and biases. One of those is Doctor Who, the other is fantasy. One is a good bias, the other a not so good one.

Review of "The Pedophile", March-April 2004

This story, to me at least, falls somewhere in the middle. I know it's billed as a "horror" story, probably because the very concept of pedophilia is in itself inherently frightening . . . but I didn't really find it that scary. The main component of a good horror story is atmosphere, which is one of those intangible things that are like souls, you don't really know when it's there but you recognize it all too well when it's gone.

Review of "Divine Hangover", January-February 2004

The prose here is engaging and well written, not skimping on the descriptions but not overwhelming the reader with them either. It reads easy, moving from one sentence to the next with ridiculous ease, every phrase just sort of propelling you forward. That sort of skill takes practice and the whole affair is pretty seamless. So from a technical standpoint I have absolutely no complaints whatsoever.

Review of Odan's Pool of Life, December 2003

I'm probably the only person so in love with my own typing that I could write all that nonsense last time and still leave stuff out. But, yes, as hard as that is to believe, after subjecting you poor people to all that garbage last time, I left out one crucial bit of information.

What the @!%$ am I doing here?

Introduction, December 2003

I think the column title says it all.

I wanted to just leave it at that for the first column and let people make up their own minds. Someone intelligently talked me out of it. The thing is, they said, if you want to have people come back and read other columns that are probably not the best way to go about convincing them.