Here it is
I started this today but won’t get a chance to seriously resume work on it for a couple of weeks so I was wondering if I could accrue some opinions in the meantime. What do you think of it?
I think it was Mark Twain who said, “when you find an adjective, kill it.” Of course, some people work in adjectives the way others work in oils or clay.
Holy Passive Voice, Batman!
It’s very descriptive, which is usually good, but I generally much prefer the old adage of “showing, not telling.”
For the second sentence, why not:
A single twenty watt bulb suspended from the middle of the ceiling by a short, white electric cable gently swayed in the perpetual draught, casting its feeble radiance in an unsteady ellipse over the one noteworthy object in the room, Bud’s poker table.
“Lighting was provided by” doesn’t really do a whole lot to move the thing along, just as an example. If that was the whole style you were going for though, eh, I don’t know much. I’m not an accomplished writer by any stretch of the imagination, so take this post with a salt mine.
You seem to be very descriptive, but don’t think that means you can’t use active voice.
The choice of language seems a bit at odds with the atmosphere you’re trying to create. You’re describing a dirty, smeely, run-down, falling-apart room, so fancy words like oubliette and bouquet stick out like sore thumbs. I wonder how many people in this day and age even know what “bouquet” means in this context.
Yeah, it’s not obvious from the intro but I envision this as a comedic farce about these rather sad old poker playing guys. Hence all the flowery description. My sense of humour is pretty dry and the comedy arises from juxtapositions of conflicting descriptions and absurd situations. As I said, it’s not obvious at all yet and in retrospect I should have mentioned this in the OP, but that’s how I’ve got it mapped out anyway.
Thanks for all your comments by the way. They’re all very much appreciated.
What they said. also, Does “Bud Jackson”'s name have to be mentioned so often? Try to cut down on it, and think about removing it from the very beggining of the paragraph. The way it opened rubbed me the wrong way…
Griffen Do you mind if I edit in full?
Sure, go for it. I appreciate any input you may have.
His basement was cramped, musty and smelled of motor oil. Lighting consisted of a single twenty watt bulb suspended from the middle of the ceiling by a short, white electric cable that gently swayed in the perpetual draft, casting its feeble light in an unsteady ellipse over the one noteworthy object in the room, The Poker Table.
Bud Jackson was a wealthy man and lived like one most of the time. It was well within his means to overhaul his dank oubliette of a basement; block the draft, add a light fitxture, replace the rickety, worm-eaten stairs which led down to it from a trapdoor in his game room, but to do so, he felt, would have been an act of unacceptable compromise.
This was The Poker Room. A precious sanctuary of the profane where men, real men, could gamble, slug neat Jim Beam, smoke cigars and swear and sweat. Every friday night the comparably delicate bouquet of motor oil was beaten back by the unwavering stench of testosterone as Bud’s basement played host to epic tournaments which often saw out the dawn.
I agree somewhat. I’d remove the second and fourth instances of the guy’s name. The first and third sound all right except if “Bud was a wealthy man” begins a new paragraph (I can’t tell for sure with the way you formatted it), in which case you might want to change it in order to avoid beginning two consecutive paragraphs with a name.
Hey thanks griff ,
This is not a slam or anything else negative in any way but, as I was reading your words I was thrown back to Godley and Creme and am off now to dig em out of my archive and have a listen after oh boy, uhm… 1984-2005… eleven years. 
Thanks.
It’s good, if overly descriptive. I yanked out the excess adjectives, and shortened a couple of sentences, but overall, it’s good.
Bud Jackson’s basement had damp-riddled concrete walls permeated with the aroma of motor oil. The only way in was through a trapdoor in the ceiling and down a rickety staircase. A single twenty watt bulb suspended by a short, white cable gently swayed in the draught. It cast its feeble radiance over the one valuable object in the room: the poker table.
Surprisingly Bud was a wealthy man. It was well within his means to overhaul his dank basement, block the draught, improve the light fitting and replace the stairs, but to do so, he felt, would have been an act of unacceptable compromise. This was The Poker Room. A precious sanctuary where men, REAL men, could gamble, drink, smoke, swear and sweat. Every Friday night the smell of motor oil was overlaid by the stench of testosterone as Bud’s basement hosted epic tournaments, which often lasted until dawn.