The following will be totally irrelevant to those who have never had the misfortune of decoding Ms. Ryan Ford's (of AWE) butchered idea of the English language. But, if you like a good laugh (or eight hundred, depending on how many poorly chosen and placed words she uses in a promo), please continue reading!

So, I hear that Ryan Ford has been privy to my promos, and despite having the linguistic skills of a baboon, she feels entitled to judge them and insult them -- because comparing them to hers is nothing short of insulting.

While I understand that Ms. Ford is in denial and unwilling to accept the glaring problems with her prose, I'm going to go ahead and lay it all out for her as clearly as possible anyway!

First of all, though, I'd like to point out that English is not my first language; Bulgarian is. Secondly, I'd like to point out that I've been an advanced English student throughout my entire academic career (which has yet to end) regardless of this fact, and that I also study French, Spanish, Italian, Portuguese, and have studied Greek, Latin and Catalan. In case you're not following here and aren't sure why this is important, it's because it means I understand how language works really fucking well.

And it also means I understand how it doesn't work -- which is why you should really, really heed my advice.

So, without further ado, let us review your latest "writings," as you apparently like to call them ("Cletus, bring me mah shtories ta read!~"). The italicized portions of text are actual excerpts from Ryan's latest promo -- I'm telling you now, so I don't have to write [sic] after every word.

{She gazed longingly at the wall�s filthy edifice as the day�s hours continued to roll in.
- Gazed longingly? Do you have a crush on the wall? Gazing longingly implies a desire or yearning for something. What do you mean by "the wall's filthy edifice?" An edifice is a building. Maybe you meant to say "the edifice's filthy wall?" Even so, gazing longingly at it doesn't make sense. Don't bother contesting this -- it just doesn't make sense, and it never will.

Her body stretched awkwardly across the floor while her head rested immovably upon a yielding pillow.
- Is your neck paralyzed that you're unable to move your head? As for your yielding pillow -- well shit, son, it's a pillow! What else is it supposed to do? Fight back? Often in writing, things are implied, and adding awkward adjectives where they're not needed takes away from the piece as a whole. There is such thing as being very descriptive and it being good, but honey, that ain't it.

A distinct throbbing of the brain kept her eyes wide open � leaving her vision completely sightless, her voice ever silent.
- Leave her vision completely sightless? What you speak of is no longer considered vision; it's called blindness. I'm just sayin'! Maybe the word escaped you.

The very resonance of her match continued to echo mercilessly throughout her psyche, parting a revolting reverberation that would perpetually leave a disfiguring stain slashed deeply across her soul.
- That line is so mind-numbingly verbose, it's unbelievable. You seriously need to use discretion whilst consulting a thesaurus for every word that isn't a preposition. Just because a word is listed as a synonym doesn't mean it's interchangeable with whatever word you searched -- there is such thing as subtle differences. Unfortunately for you, it can change meaning drastically.

In the midst of her pain, she could see Anthony Arrowood so vividly. The poignant perception that consumed her grew further distant into the lies that caused all destinies to die in oblivion � a fact that even she would have had to face at sometime in her life.
- I don't care what keyword you entered into the thesaurus this time, but perceptions aren't poignant. Maybe you're trying to say "the vivid image" or "painful memory," but poignant perception means virtually nothing. I'm not kidding.

She constantly tried closing her eyes to rest; however, waking up continuously throughout the night, incessantly puking her guts onto the carpeted floor beneath her.
- You can't constantly, continuously and incessantly do three things at once. Constantly trying to close your eyes, in logical terms, is called blinking. If you are puking incessantly, that's all you're doing. Last I checked, vomiting isn't something that goes well with double-tasking.

There was nothing that eased her pain from it all. Not the sound of cars, or the cry of birds could take her mind away from the very anguish that troubled her during that late hour of the night.
- Why would those sounds make one feel anything but worse in a situation like that? Also, no commas needed before 'or' and 'and' whilst listing things. At least not unless it's a stylistic choice made by you, because that's how you want the reader to pace their reading (which I highly doubt this is).

Soon, blood leaked from her lip as she reached over in an attempt to grab a napkin.
- Have you any sense of time and place when you write? 'Soon' makes no sense there, because you're describing an action as it happens. 'Soon' sets the rest of your sentence up to describe an event that will happen, but hasn't yet. That, or it sets you up to describe an action in the past, which doesn't fit your narration anyway.

Whatever feeling dwelled inside the human race � a passion of some genus that could make one desire the poisons of adrenaline � had eaten away her very will to survive.
- �Qu�? That means about ten kinds of nothing.

She was merely born a woman in a world that had been conquered by men in all their splendor. Every fiber in which thrived inside her being had slowly ripped away, leaving her for death�s inconvenient reaping.
- "Every fibre in which?" Uhhh... okay then! And *I* should review *my* work before judging that of others! As for death's inconvenient reaping, I'm not sure how that works. All death ever has to do is reap grimly, so what the fuck are you trying to say here?

Men of Anthony Arrowood�s sordid status would forever mold women into diminutive bundles of zilch, bearing an attempt to glorify their own names in the havoc of others.
- "Diminutive bundles of zilch?" How about redundant redundancies of redundancy? Once again, YOU DON'T MAKE SENSE. In your quest to master nuance, you are managing to do nothing but destroy ANY semblance of it.

However, in a perverse sense of certainty� she had conquered an obstacle that many critics whispered impossible. With all her might, she had defeated Anthony Arrowood.}
- I never knew certainty was capable of being perverse... oh yeah, it's not!

Okay, one more paragraph, because your challenging every rule in writing, then having the gall to even so much as offer an opinion on anyone else's, is absolutely infuriating.

{The display of the ever-radiant moonlight hitting her bleach white comforter caused her eyes to close with an upsetting headache.
- Bleach white? Bleach is not a colour, friend. And awww, you poor thing, suffering from an upsetting headache. Thanks for clearing up how you felt about your headache, because we weren't sure -- I prefer the delightful ones myself!

That entire night had been drawn and built around ghastly episodes of tragedy and death. There truly was nothing left of her to give but her life in return of such duplicity.
- This could be anything short of incoherent if you stopped trying so god damned hard. What you're trying to express with the word "duplicity," though, I'll never know.

In the course of curiosity, she had unraveled a truth that brought both tears of grief and revulsion slowly rolling along her face; an awful truth that would cultivate further in depth as the clock beyond her struck the fifty-eighth minute of the eleventh hour.
- See, now, "as the clock beyond her struck the fifty-eighth minute of the eleventh hour," is a nice line. It's pretty, it's evocative. But everything that came before it is -- you guessed it -- devoid of meaning. You use too many words in too many ways and it comes off as though your text was translated from another language through Babel Fish set to 'fancy dancy.' And no, there isn't really such a setting.

The sounds that ricocheted unstoppably off the dimly lit walls caused her to dive within a cot of pillows to avoid the blaring piece of junk. She reached over quickly and grabbed a few aspirins that sat across the bedside table.
- A cot of pillows? Just say bed, pile, heap, ANYTHING but cot. For the love of god, stop trying to sound like Kate Chopin, because you're failing miserably.

Ryan hoped to have dealt with her pain without the help of a relieving substance; however, it soon grew clear that a miracle of that nature was predestined to never happen.
- You're kidding, right? You're taking aspirin, what's up with all the melodrama? If all you need is an aspirin to cure what ails you, I don't see why a miracle would be in order at all. Now a real miracle would be for you to start making some bloody sense!

With a tall glass of water, she sent the illusive pills gradually rushing down her throat and into the pits of her nauseated stomach.
- Illusive pills? They're right there. You just took them. Where is the illusion? Why are you so hellbent on describing each and every noun inappropriately? Also, you can't have something "gradually rushing," it's one or the other.

It was a sigh of relief she would only feel for the next few seconds.
- You don't feel sighs of relief, little buddy.

After that, she would once again dwell in her own chaos. In her deepest turmoil, she remained conscious of the only man she had loved more than any person on Earth. An individual that by late at night she would pull softly into her warm, adoring arms and hold until tomorrow emerged.
- Your use of 'tomorrow' completely displaces the tense you're aiming for.

A fool who would give the world she gave him away to merely gratify his lackluster needs amongst a woman Ryan believed she knew all along.
- "Gratify his needs amongst a woman"? I can't even picture that.

A woman who she had deemed the greatest friend she�d ever known.}
- Well see, now that's readable! So you ARE capable of not violating every second word with an adjective!

That was incredibly exhausting to do, because your apparent hatred for syntax and linguistic conventions made it more difficult to read than I can ever express.

I'm pretty sure that you will deem this critique to be totally incorrect, but what can I do? You've proven yourself repeatedly incapable of accepting any sort of constructive criticism. I can only assume that the only reason you even ASK for it is because you expect people to fall all over themselves telling you how fantastic you are.

Sadly, you are not, by any stretch of the imagination. Take this drivel to any university and find me a professor of English or linguistics/syntax who doesn't laugh in your face. Perhaps you fool people on the internet into believing you have any sort of special talent, but I feel for them -- they're most likely too perplexed to express anything but awe. Do you realize that, in those two, enormous paragraphs (thanks for breaking it up into legible chunks!), all you managed to say was that you had a headache and felt sick from winning a match? How obnoxious.

You compare me to Morgana and say I pale in comparison because my storylines are too similar to hers. Gee, you think? We are integral in everything the other is doing, we plot how things will play out together. We essentially share the same brain. We've been friends since we were small children, and we talk to each other for hours upon hours each and every day. What's your explanation for your similarities to Morgana? Oh yeah! Straight up thievery! Sorry I can't be a desperate outsider looking in -- like you -- snotty nose pressed against the window, but I'll let that remain your shtick.

Reading one of our joint roleplays, I highly doubt you can tell who did which part (we barely can), because that's how seamlessly we have managed to blend our work. Now, I know that you know that Morgana is better than you, so then logically, *I'm* better than you! Huh, funny how that works, huh?

And speaking of Morgana, we can't forget how you STOLE from her! Maybe she herself is too kind to publicize your retardation, but I'm not! Let's have a rundown of events!
1. You steal Morgana's character, layout and signature moves -- and we can tell it's you because of the monkeys on typewriters style of writing used. That, and you admitted to it, and you can't deny that, because the president of your fed also knows about this. More proof, anyone? Proof, proof, proof!~!@ Naturally, these things were hurriedly deleted as soon as you were found out, but ohhh the joys in the internet archive! Currently, they remain immortalized on the real Morgana Ashton's website.
2. Morgana eventually finds you out, along with a slew of other morons.
3. She calls you on it, and what do you do? You beat around the bush like the weird psycho that you are. "It was just a layout and character, I wouldn't steal her writings!! I was bored, boredom is a terrible thing." No, hunger, poverty, cruelty -- those are terrible things. You being bored merits no pity, only a swift kick in the ass. Don't you have a child? Doesn't she keep you busy, and thusly safe from boredom? Or are you too busy deluding yourself into thinking you're a writer to pay her more attention?
4. You try to become buddy-buddy with Morgana. You ask her for advice on your writing. She gives it to you. You ignore it... what can we conclude? You're just fishing for compliments where compliments are not due.
5. I'm not sure what happens next, but it hopefully involves you crawling into a hole and cyber-dying.

Don't get me wrong, here -- I don't think I'm some sort of writing prodigy, but I know where I started in terms of skill, and I know what I'm capable of now. I can read my past work and accept what was wrong with it, and I try to do just a little bit better. If your work was nearly as strong as you seem to think, then why are you begging people for feedback all the time? Doing so only illustrates your raging insecurity, because deep down inside, you realize that you have no clue what you're doing, and that at some point soon, someone will catch on. And then what? What happens to all of your intraweb glory?

Please, don't bother contesting any of what I've said, because there is absolutely nothing you can say to refute any of it. You may think there is, but what you think, as illustrated above, is convoluted and inadmissible in any logical argument. You've let cyber adulation go straight to your head, as if you've really accomplished anything of worth. Well, earth to Ryan!!! You need to stop being a pompous jackass who acknowledges only vapid worship, while ignoring genuine advice on how to improve yourself. I don't think you're unable to write well, but whatever the hell it is that you're doing now is god-fucking-awful.

On top of it all, while people blindly adore you, people in your fed who actually can write are forced to take a backseat to this incoherent slop you peddle as art, and that's just not fair.

Conclusion: The only "addiction" I can attribute to you is junkie-like abuse of thesauri. Hopefully your daily overdose on incorrectly used synonyms will catch up with you and choke you.

The end!