A Cup Full of Nothing - Comments

Hello, I was just going perusing the best/worst/stupidest thread and I saw many raves about this story, so of course I being a vulture decided to check it out. First reaction was a jaw drop. I had to go back and read it twice because this story is just a work of art. This is writing from the soul, something I don’t see much on Mibba. It may be a fanfic, but I didn’t even realize it. This is a fanfic with a good flavor. Many fanfics on Mibba are clichéd so yours is a breath of fresh air. Personally, I have no idea who Tom Fletcher is, so I read this story just like original fiction.

The first thing I must commend you on is your language. It’s so descriptive. Your story sucked me in with the language and the amazing metaphors. I cannot even describe how incredible your metaphors are.

We begin with Tom very upset that he cannot write. Ah, writer’s block one of the worst feelings for an artist. The way you portray Tom shows that cares about his art. He wants to take a pen to his heart just to feel the salty tears of pain slid onto the page so they could convey his words. You make him seem like such a passionate man. In fact, he’s a little too passionate. He wants to write so badly.

You make anatomical metaphors. I found this creepy to say the least. Hemoglobin, pupils, words like those. I find this so eerie. You tell the story with such detail like plastic pen and black imitation velvet for the beanbag. It’s so much rushing at the reader at once. This is definitely not a story you can read once and appreciate it in its entirety, in my opinion.

I just want to go over some of the metaphors, because that is what really sets this story apart from many stories I’ve read.

The same old tape plays over and over in front of delicate closed eyelids, taunting him with what he had and what he lost.

I know that feeling of having something played over and over again. Now, for Tom, a horrible event is playing again and again. Unfortunately, it always seems to be the things we long, can’t have, or have lost that keep playing in our minds. For Tom, it seems to be all three, although it’s too early in the story to tell.

He loathes the feeling of jealousy that poisons his blood, but he also despises the notes of laughter and song that faintly float up to him but pound painfully against his eardrums.

Jealously poisoning his blood…amazing, that line is incredible. He’s just mad and frustrated and it makes the reader wonder, why? Jealousy as a poison and feeling it spread, it’s enough to make anyone angry and frustrated. We just finished reading Othello, so I’m going on a “pointing out on how jealous could destroy you” phase.

It’s not fair

That line…I found that to be the breaking point of the story. It’s so simple compared to the rest of the story, but yet it’s really amazing.

He’s sick of the lies. Lies are what got them there. Deceits were written in actions rather than words

I’m going to get that second sentence embroidered on a pillow. I’m kidding, but it is so epic. Yes, epic, the only word I think for it at the moment. Deceits are always written in actions rather than words. It’s such an amazing line.

The rain is heavier now, the road slippery as it twists and turns under the tyres. Tom slides the car up a gear, pressing the button on the stereo, but then quickly turning the music off as a blast of loud guitar screams nothing but five little letters at him, a name that will always be associated with that band – a band who carry memories of loud bass and powerful vocals from the speaker beside his head, as he was forced down on the seat all those times Dougie and Harry were home. He grinds his teeth and throws himself back into his seat as he hurtles down a shining liquorice strip, weaving through ants of cars that are all just blurs of black crawling along in the dark. His ribcage is squeezing the air from his thorax, and he feels so compelled to just cry out to anyone, to let his emotions rip the world apart like he’s never done before. His throat burns from tears and sound as a sickening sob punches into the silence, followed by a drawn out, pained profanity that is different in almost every way to any other noise this car has heard before. He grinds his teeth and almost closes his eyes, feeling so defeated because it’s come to this, and nobody is here to help him. His pupils dilate as he takes in the rush of lights hurtling in the other direction, marvelling at the way they sting his eyes and look so hypnotising like a Ferris wheel spinning in the dark, drawing him into a thrill of height, speed and release…

I love this paragraph. We see all of his anger and grief. He grinds his teeth, his throat burns. It’s the spinning that I feel when I read this. Everything is out of sorts, nothing is working. You try and try, but nothing ever works. Tom is frustrated, what can he do? Everything feels like chaos and it’s just the final blow. You convey those feels and make the reader feel so sorry for Tom. When I read this paragraph, it was like wow. I felt so helpless and it was about Tom. It reflects the feeling we’ve all had at one time or another. The feeling of hopelessness and jealously and anger, it’s hard for anyone. Tom admits these feelings and you portray it very well. Bravo for such an amazing paragraph.

As the poet in the car closes his eyes, he forgets the world and feels as though he could write a million songs about the soul leaving his crushed body on the wrong side of the road.

Incredible, I love this line right here. It’s just so subtle. I love the way that Tom seems to have one last thought as he leaves this world. I love how you talked about his soul and how it leaves his crushed body. It’s like Tom is getting one last glimpse of all he lost and it’s one of those “Now he has an idea, too late” kind of deal.

Well, this story is so beautiful. The description is astonishing and it makes you feel and hear everything the story. The metaphors are done with detail, but not clichéd. The grammar is immaculate, except for the fact that you have some commas where semi-colons should really be. It’s funny because I do my reviews on Microsoft Word so I don’t make any spelling errors. When I copied and pasted that paragraph, the program marks so many words wrong. However, it’s because the program is on American English and not British. I also found that refreshing and like a culture introduction on how some of the words are spelt so differently. I like this story and this review is not as great at the others. I wish I knew more about this fandom so I could give you better feedback, yeah this review stinks.

Everything was perfect, even to the layout. How did you make it?

Your writing is amazing and you are a true artist. You are a wordsmith and such a magnificent writer, I hope you like this review. :cute:

For Story/Review Game.

Okay, so compared to all the other reviews on this page, mine will seem like shit.

Anyway. Moving on. =]

Throughout most of it, I didn't really know what was wrong with Tom. The thing is, with your way with words, you don't lay it out for everyone to see, you kind of hide it through similes and metaphors and maybe even superficial things and the reader has to kind of 'decipher' it. It's a really, really good way to write. It's not like, you know, boring to read and kind of Too simple; it's interesting.

I noticed you used many biological terms for this. That was something that was really interesting to me, it actually kinda dragged me in, I don't really know why. You used words like ventricles, haemoglobin, carbon dioxide... it kinda engulfed me into the story, because you know that the author is smart as well as a good writer :cute:

The way you leave your readers kinda in suspence because you don't really know what's the matter with Tom, is clever. At first, you know why; it's because of writer's block, but then you twist it into something much more than just a lack of words, it's something more deep and meaningful. It's only revealed later that he's been a sort of hermit, like fallen into some deep depression.

I also liked the fact that through Tom's eyes and your words, you portrayed the other band members as distant, because that's how Tom sees them himself. Also, another clever thing to put in.

But of course, he thinks, to shatter his breastplate with a biro is impractical, albeit poetic and almost beautifully graphic
^ That gives a little insight on what's going on inside Tom's mind; I like the fact that he sort of 'broke' the cliche-ness of the stabbing-pen-into-heart thing. =] That was done well!

They won’t find the empty beer bottles sunken into his feathery duvet like corpses in luxuriously padded caskets
^ A beautiful example of your similes...those three words at the end just transformed the whole sentence to something more poetic and deep, which is, I expect, what you were aiming for. I love your wording.

oozing with truth and harshness and leaving ugly drip stains on his brain
^ :omfg: You don't know how much I love that line right there. Drip stains on his brain....absolutely great word choice, your metaphors are love! It justgives extra emotion to the whole thing, but not overly-done, it's just...really good!

his crushed canvases upon which he flung black words painted into shapes that cast no light and no shadow
^ Your words, especially these ones, just flow so smoothly and amazingly. They just ache to be rolled off the reader's tongue...they're just MADE to say out loud. It's almost poetic. No, it is poetic. I don't know the The Used song you wrote that 'created' this story but just by the song title ''Poetic Tragedy'', I can tell you've lived up to the song.

...marvelling at the way they sting his eyes and look so hypnotising like a Ferris wheel spinning in the dark
^ :omfg: Again, the simile! The way you compared it with a ferris wheel, that's something.

That was a saaad ending. The fact that you said that he could write a million songs about what was happening to him at that instant when he died, well woah, that was cleverrr, because of the irony of how he didn't know what to write before, at the beginning. Pretty sad, that was. =[

I bet you're winning the competition. Or at least coming 2nd. :tehe: Good luck! You're a really, really good writer! You shouldn't ever stop writing.

( EDIT: :cheese: I think that's the longest review I've ever written! ^_^ )

Okay, firstly I was just kind of sat there like :cheese: Omfg, when I read this. It's absolutley incredible. The metaphors you use are absolutley incredible and almost heart breaking, as well as beautiful and just intensely emotional. I love the detail you put into your description and the way you write in general.

to be driven round his bloodstream and blacken his vessels like tracing over the roads on a map,
I'm a sucker for anatomical references, and however minor this was it was still breathtaking. I don't think I would ever have thought of that description. It's one of my favourite lines in this entire piece.

From the very beginning I feel really, really heartbroken and I have no idea why, because it's not yet clear why Tom feels the way he does. The imagery and the emotions conveyed in just the first two paragraphs are just so wonderfully vivid I can't even describe it. :cheese: I just want to know exactly why Tom feels so hopeless and I know I have to keep reading.

but he can’t stop the slithers of lunar radiance leaking round the sides
That one section was one of the best metaphors for moonlight I have ever read. You're an absolutley incredible, incredible writer Sam.

He hopes that untying the knots in his muscles will somehow yank a plug in his mind, allowing communication between his brain and his pen – but he should know by now that the chain always breaks before he pulls it hard enough.
:cheese: 'The chain always breaks before he pulls it hard enough'. That simple line is so.. ohmyGoddd, I can't even think, just so so so wonderful I can't even tell you. Tom is so desperate and you can really feel it as you read, and it gets worse and worse. Gah, it's mind-numbing, honestly.

He can feel blood throb through his hands as he dangles them above the floor, haemoglobin and oxygen and carbon dioxide reaching the pits of his fingertips and then climbing all the way back up to his heart.
The word 'throb' there really, really sticks out to me. I could almost feel my own fingers pulsing because of it. Idk how to describe it. :tehe: Once more, I'll tell you how much I love anatomical description and whilst that was strong or repulsive in the slightest I just loved the use of 'haemoglobin' for some reason.

only strengthening the will to stay on the top floor on his own, stare at little grey parallel lines on his own and play tunes on his guitar that don’t sound quite right
Once again I can tell how frustrated Tom is - I really sympathise with him and I'm almost frustrated too - I think we all no how annoying writers block is. :tehe:

Every pluck of the strings tugs at the muscle pounding in his chest, and as he inhales, he can’t stop his breath being sucked through his nose in stuttered, scared jerks. He loathes the feeling of jealousy that poisons his blood, but he also despises the notes of laughter and song that faintly float up to him but pound painfully against his eardrums.
Sorry to copy all of it but I couldn't pick just one part. This gives us more insight into why Tom feels the way he does - and the fact that a guitar string being plucked is what pains him so much shows us who he's hurting over. I get the feeling that Tom wishes the people downstairs could just be as miserable as he is, instead of having such a good time.

It’s not fair.
That was such a simple, short line but it was one of the most effective purely for that reason. It sums up all of his anger and frustration and annoyance in just three small words.

They won’t notice the door slam, or the absence of the pacing from upstairs. They won’t find the empty beer bottles sunken into his feathery duvet like corpses in luxuriously padded caskets, or the violently destroyed pads of lined paper that hold dribbles of meaningless words and repetitive chords that are then cut apart with scribbles.
I love the repetition of 'they won't, even if it is brief.
sunken into his feathery duvet like corpses in luxuriously padded caskets
I don't know why, but the morbid imagery of that sentence kind of made me like omgno because it makes Toms feeling ever so slightly more dangerous.
violently destroyed pads
I can just see him really getting into his writing and being so pissed that he can't think of anything, furiously, uriously, writing on the paper and just furious that he can't think of anything. fskjdfslkjf. I suck at this.

He needs to feel something that won’t send him back into a coma; he’s been hanging in the balance for far too long now and he knows why, but dealing with it is beyond his control. He either goes into heaven or hell – purgatory is not an option. Not anymore.
:cheese: Oh, Lord. I have absolutley no idea how to describe it, but that gave me chills. I don't know why, either. I'm actually quite worried by this point; you don't know what Tom is going to end up doing - and the reference to beer bottles earlier plus the fact he's driving is like :cheese:. Sometimes smileys are the best way to describe things.

Soon, his collar is damp from those tears he wanted to evoke some minutes ago, but as he predicted they do nothing to help tempt words from his brain and weld them to chord structures. All they prod him into doing is inhaling deeply to help him think straight and overpower the shaking of his ribcage – but all he can smell is the old leather of the car interior, hints of freshener fragrance and the now faded stench of perspiration that used to coat every surface, frosting the windows and making the seats slip and squeak under sizzling skin. His hands tighten on the wheel as the car rockets through dark, deserted roads, and the first grunt of pain slips through his tight lips.
Okay, I really shouldn't have copy and pasted an entire paragraph but there was nothing in that that I could pick out - it all stood out really, really boldly and I was just mesmerised reading it. "faded stench" and "sizzling skin" were my favourite parts. They were so strong and vivid and just struck me pretty hard. I can picture him in his car, tears streaming down his face and his fists white and the skin taught against his bones from gripping it so hard. :cheese:

But when he wakes in the morning, he rubs the crust from his eyes and remembers that if Danny were ever to try and pull him out of the quicksand, he’d only sink deeper into this deadly, unproductive desert.
:tehe: I actually hate the word 'crust', but I swear you can just make any word work for me. Ah - now it's made clear to us that it's Danny Tom is pining for, but he knows that theres no way anything can happen between them? I don't know, but he feels like the situation is completley and utterly hopeless and it just breaks my heart.

The intoxicant in Tom’s system is now long forgotten by his conscious mind, but the deadly cocktail of alcohol, tears and the rain starting to pelt the windshield is a dangerous catalyst for something negative to happen.
Right now, I'm kind of like 'Nooooooo, Tom, don't drink and drive! Do the adverts mean nothing to you?!? :cheese:' and I'm just dreading, really dreading what might happen. I don't want him to do something stupid but I know how heartbroken and weak he feels and it just amazes me how you can make me feel so much for this character from so little words.

He’s sick of the lies. Lies are what got them there. Deceits were written in actions rather than words, the both of them choosing to conceal the truth by non-acknowledgement rather than bare-faced pretences. They never had to deny because they were too involved in their own ways to let any sign slip to the outside world.
I feel so horrible for Tom right now. It just got too much for them, that was it. He obviously didn't want to stop but Danny must have felt there was no other way. Ohhh my God, all I can think is 'poor, poor Tom' and I actually feel quite pathetic for feeling so heartbroken over fiction but your writing makes it so difficult. :cheese: It's just so vivid and wonderful and blaaaah I've used these words too many times but I don't even care!

he forgets the world and feels as though he could write a million songs about the soul leaving his crushed body on the wrong side of the road.
:cheese: Noooo. I just knew this would happen but it doesn't make it any easier to read. Suddenly, I'm quite far away from him where as before I was right there in the car, and I don't know why this sudden detachment works but it really does. "Crushed" is just a horrible, heart-wrenching word to use but it's so effective I can barely find the right words.

Sam, that was sososo fucking incredible and I can't believe I didn't read it before. I knew there was a reason you're one of my favourite writers and this is solid proof. You. Are. Incredible. :cheese: Fucking amazing and breathtaking and brilliant. :cheese:
I loved it, as you can see. This review honestly doesn't do the piece justice and I've just written a load of shit you should already know, but it's true.

I’ll be reviewing this as I go. I must also point out - the title is quite captivating :cute:.

I’ve never read a poetic tragedy songfic – so this is a first for me :cute:. I notice you like the name, Tom. Like I like the name Isabella :cute: - I’ve just now noticed that, like every story I’ve reviewed I see a Tom somewhere. Maybe he is a series? But Anywho! I loved the opening line – really pulled me into curiosity, and made me read more :cute:. Now! Maybe the Used was a good band to listen to while writing this – but, for me, Oren Lavie helps :cute:.

But as I read further into the paragraph – he is a very… pessimistic, or violent person. That’s my feeling for him. But I really loved the detail. Jesus! Tom is a very… visual guy to hang around. All that blood :tehe: really made me think of what was wrong with him. I feel like laughing now at how foolish I am. But this Tom guy, really seems interesting – and I really like that :cute:.

He almost feels like sleeping, but he knows he can’t allow himself to, because can picture exactly what he’ll dream about.

I wish I didn’t find anything bad :grr: because I was so compelled into reading more of this – but I had to point this out: Between ‘because’ and ‘can’, I believe you are missing a word, like ‘he’ or something. Wow. Is he jealous of the music playing?

Overall, I thought the imagery, description and detail was excellent and truly amaing :cute:. The full chapter and paragraphs supplied useful information, which was amazing. I only found one negative out of the whole entire chapter – so I am jealous of you, and therefore give you mega kudos for writing the story so well :cute:.

OH MY SWEET JESUS SAM.
The brilliance of this..just nearly made my face fall off. For lack of better ways of describing my expression :cheese:
Chin Up by Copeland came on during this and so during it's progression i became a complete teary wreck (as is the effect all your best stories have on me) :arms:

'feel exhilarated that his job, his life force was supplying his cells with energy and inspiration.' God thats dedication to art it it's best, to become literally one with his work O.O. it's an almost disturbing image with stabbing his own heart with a biro but it clearly defines his dedication, how much he'd give. A beautiful strong beginning. It hits you in the face with the imagery, it's fantastic.

'his breastplate with a biro is impractical, albeit poetic and almost beautifully graphic'Firstly, I don't know why I'm so in love with the use of 'breastplate' here. It's just such a new variation on chest. Just..yeah. Love the word. :3 . I adore how he thinks it's impractical. he really doesn't seem to think much of the most dramatic situations. it gives a sense of delirium with reality itself..it's strange but well done.

'that untying the knots in his muscles will somehow yank a plug in his mind, allowing communication between his brain and his pen – .'don't I know that feeling all too well, I love how easy it is to relate to Tom, you've made a real artist of him, and almost flawlessly created a persona that anyone who's known the same feelings can automatically see themselves in.beautiful characterization

He can feel blood throb through his hands as he dangles them above the floor, haemoglobin and oxygen and carbon dioxide reaching the pits of his fingertips and then climbing all the way back up to his heart I love love love your description here, you make some marvellous out of simple circulation. Plus the separation of the make up of his blood is just so..god I don't know what it is about it but it's just great :3

'because can picture exactly what he’ll dream about. The same old tape plays over and over in front of delicate closed eyelids, taunting him with what he had and what he lost' poor tom I like the use of the tape idea. It lest you into how irritating the same thing, caught over and over again on loop is and lest you inside exactly the pattern his brain takes :)

don’t sound quite right - on his own. I like how there's a certain aura of something deeper that's wrong with him to begin with, and now it's clearing out and digging into why exactly he's so down, and what is fuelling this state of mind he's in. This is so blunt, but very fitting to the character,

'needing to flee from the incessant bud of creativity that’s blooming from the other three inhabitants of the house.' It's terribly sad how instead of the creativity sticking the band together as it should, it's alienating him from the rest of them. It just adds to the isolation felt by the fact for the whole of the story, he's completely alone. Oh and the fact he 'flees' from them is poignant, it's worrying how he's physically running from the people who should be some of his closest friends.

'the empty beer bottles sunken into his feathery duvet like corpses in luxuriously padded caskets,' his thoughts seem to be wandering onto the most morbid subjects and subtly, your bringing your reader to question what exactly is going on in his brain and to worry about him.

'he flops into the seat of his Mini ' i like the fact that he drives a mini, it's adorable :tehe: umm yeahh..moving on..

'he doesn’t know, somewhere fresh that won’t drag up dregs of stale memories' I hope you know I spent half of this story thinking ' what the bloody hell had happened to him!?' xD you hold the reader in suspense brilliantly

'He either goes into heaven or hell – purgatory is not an option. Not anymore.' One of my favourite lines, it's so final and so brutal. I adore how poetic his thoughts are. It really makes him out as this artistic character, you did Tom real justice in making a poet of him in this. Still this line is so cutting. It sent shivers down my spine. especially where it's placed, at the end of a paragraph it's like him deciding ' that's that' :S

'Sometimes he craves it so badly that he has to fist his hands in his sheets and press his damp face to the pillow to stop the sounds of his sobs penetrating the plaster and brick,' I actually so badly want to hug him, he's so caught up in his memories but he's still got that sense of realism that he can't return to them, and it's hurting him. Brilliant.

'all those words still lingering in the air between them, oozing with truth and harshness and leaving ugly drip stains on his brain' I want to punch Danny in the face just as much as I want to hug Tom. You don't even have to explain what was said or exchanged between them, your automatically can picture the arguments and the bitter words. You heart literally breaks along with Tom's over it.

'cutting through nerves and rendering him useless at just about everything he tries.' my brain dreams up the goriest images of that, anything involving nerves and it's just..blehh. Still amazingly engaging imagery there

'Tom can only try to grasp at oxygen, still tasting memories on his dry tongue.'all I can see if him fighting for breath, crying drunk in a car on his own, driving nowehere. i don't think a more depressing image could ever be conjured..just..christ. I'm tearing up again just quoting it

'all he’s managed to choke out onto paper are angst-ridden drabbles' What i said about relating so heavily to him? yeah, hit home squarely here. Just for me personally, I know exactly what he's feeling right there. it really struck more than just a chord for me. It's the fact that I can fall into his way of thinking, it got to me all the way through this piece, in a good way of course. Sorry...I'm going off on a bit of a ramble :oops:

'Danny got sick of the lies, and now Tom can’t write them to hide his pain..' I don't know whether you meant it in the way I took it but it almost seems to suggest, that maybe Danny's not the one who's totally at fault?. It seems like a bit of the other side of the story slipped in. or maybe I've over interpreting it?

His throat burns from tears and sound as a sickening sob punches into the silence, followed by a drawn out, pained profanity that is different in almost every way to any other noise this car has heard before. He grinds his teeth and almost closes his eyes, feeling so defeated because it’s come to this, and nobody is here to help him. His pupils dilate as he takes in the rush of lights hurtling in the other direction, marvelling at the way they sting his eyes and look so hypnotising like a Ferris wheel spinning in the dark, drawing him into a thrill of height, speed and release… biggest... quote... ever. sorry but I couldn't break it up. the whole peice of this just absolutely smacks you in the face, you automatically read it fast for some reason and it's just so hard hitting. I love it I love it love it. The brutality in it is phenomenal. Just..woah. It's like that looming idea, that you hope it wont happen but you kind of know it's going to. It's just so cutting. It's Amazing.

The ending, is perfect. Not too blunt but not too rambly. Also very unattached from Tom which is really effective in a way I can't quite put my finger on.

Basically this is absolutely positively, brutally beautiful. And I thought I was ok when it comes to writing Angst? You own me fair and square xD. By god, the whole things and emotional mouse trap really but it's brilliant written and the imagery is second to none. Just..wow. Your work never ceases to amaze me.

.

And you complain to me about my piece being depressing? Oh my God. This was so sad, but in its sadness it is so amazing. Your metaphors generally hit just the right emotional cord, especially the first paragraph, and really make the reader feel for Tom. It's incredibly.

I did notice you use a couple of 'proper' word choice, for lack of a better word at the moment. Like 'thorax', 'haemoglobin'. It's not bad, it's just...different. I don't read a lot on site, but most of what I have seen don't exactly use those types of words. It works, just in a way that's a little surprising.

Oh and uh...what's a biro? Is it a type of pen? :shifty

Another thing I really loved was how you eased his affair with Danny into the story, as to leave a bit of mystery as to why Tom is acting in this fashion. And then the pieces click together and there's a clear picture as to what happened, yet without being graphic at all.

...and the now faded stench of perspiration that used to coat every surface, frosting the windows and making the seats slip and squeak under sizzling skin.

I love that line. It's so...:yah This was what I was talking about before...I get such a clear picture from it, despite the fact that it's not graphic at all. Or maybe that's just my teenage imagination at work. :tehe: Either way, I adored it.

During the last couple of paragraphs, Tom's pain was so obvious and it just made me feel so much for him. The ending was simple yet perfect.

Oh and your layout making skills? I want them. :weird

This was a lovely piece, and I enjoyed it a lot. :arms:

Whoa. That was really, good.
Just, well, whoa.