a story i wrote, for you to edit/criticize.....

[fish2plus2]

the following is around 500 words. my goal is to continue to write around 500 wrods everyday continuing from where i left off previously. i will not go back and edit until i have completed the entire story. my goal is to write about a 10,000 word short story.

Part 1:

First Christy asks me to carry her books home, next she is giggling and pushing me inside of her house. The house is dark and hot, the walls are lined with framed photographs of the people I wish I didn't know. She brushs past me to turn on the air condition. It starts abruptly. She twirls strawberry blonde hair around her finger and fire runs through my body. I feel as if I am floating, my heart races faster and faster, the lower half of my body deprives my brain of blood. She points the same delicate finger down the hallway and tells me that her is room the last one on the left. She spins around and her Grover High School cheerleading skirt flings into the air. It might be a hallucination, but I can smell the sweet scent of her fruit-flavored cvnt. It lingers in my mouth, sour green apple with a tiny hint of necterine. I remain silent, and slowly walk backwards to her room, my eyes locked on her slender body which slides through her father's gigantic house like a ghost. There is a grand piano in the corner of the living room and a life size statue of Jesus stands next to it. He stares into the emptiness of the house.

I stand in the doorway of Christy's room with nervous excitement like a sailboat of colonialists eager to rape and pilage a native island community. Anticapating unknown discoveries and morbid pleasures, I push the door open with a sweaty palm. My greedy eyes inspect every detail of the room from the small photos stuck in the corners of her dresser mirror to her blue striped pajamas hanging over the hamper in the corner. The walls are painted peach and decorated with an assortment of teenage girl memorabilia. There is a bulletinboard at the head of the bed with pictures of our classmates, the football teams and cheerleader teams. My glum mug is nowhere in sight, up until this afternoon, she didn't even know I existed. Her bed is covered in pink sheets and lined with the charcters of Snow White. I sit down at the edge of the bed. Her mattress is as soft as a bed of roses. I wonder how many of my peers have sat on her bed, how many of them have undressed her, tasted the pleasure of her flesh. I wonder if her father shoke their hands and if they attended his church. In the mirror I see my reflection, the face of a seventeen year old whom God has finally decided to pardon from the harsh confinements of his virginity. My hammer scratches against the seam of my shorts. She calls out asking me if I want something to drink. I am unable to speak. Each second of waiting on the edge of her bed is torture. Unable to take it anymore, I get up and walk through the long house, past Jesus and his sad eyes, into the kitcheen where I find my little-debbie long-legged snack cake with whom I wish to share my painful secret desires and warm bodily fluids. She looks at me with a sort of nervous admiration in her ocean-grean eyes, as if I have taken some sort of mysterious role in her life. I can feel words stuck in her throat as she runs and a hand through her hair searching for a sense of control, but I do not allow her the chance to locate it or to even speak.

[illuminati]

"My hammer "

lmao

<3 kkf

Cue some jewish moderator giving you a * [img]/images/graemlins/confused.gif[/img]

[fish2plus2]

let me know if you want me to double space it in the future to make it easier to read/edit. If you want, you can then use bold to go through and edit it/write comments?

What other creative writing sites do you use?

[miajag]

I feel strangely unsatisfied after reading that excerpt.

[offTopic]

KKF, blackjack777

10K literary fight, yo.

[Lazy Meatball]

reads like an overly descriptive letter to a Penthouse knockoff.
Full of unneccessary description, sometimes it's best to make your point in the most succint method possible. George Orwell has some good essays on this topic.

George Orwell - Politics and the English language


ps. I am highly underqualified to critique writing, but just felt the Orwell reference would help any hopeful writer.



pps. finished reading the second paragraph, I don't know about you, but if I was a teenage boy intent on getting laid by a cheerleader my focus would not be on the color of paint on the walls, photographs on the dresser, but rather I would be tunnel visioned on getting the poonani and the complete awkwardness that would lead up to that.

[fish2plus2]

[ QUOTE ]
reads like an overly descriptive letter to a Penthouse knockoff.
Full of unneccessary description, sometimes it's best to make your point in the most succint method possible. George Orwell has some good essays on this topic.

George Orwell - Politics and the English language


ps. I am highly underqualified to critique writing, but just felt the Orwell reference would help any hopeful writer.

[/ QUOTE ]

so what should i do? start with a minimalist or simple hemingwayish style of prose to avoid falling into these types of traps?

[Georgia Avenue]

KKF, you write well. Sometimes you use a little too much padding in your descriptions, like "I remain silent," and
"with nervous excitement," which don't show us anything abour your characters thoughts or his surroundings.

More importantly, this story needs an ending. Flash fiction needs to move a lot faster to be very satisfying, or be a lot weirder like Russell Edson: [ QUOTE ]


THE CHANGELING

Russell Edson


A man had a son who was an anvil. And then sometimes he was an automobile tire.
I do wish you would sit still, said the father.
Sometimes his son was a rock.
I realize that you have quite lost boundary, where no excess seems excessive, nor to where poverty roots hunger to need. But should you allow time to embrace you to its bosom of dust, that velvet sleep, then were you served even beyond your need; and desire in sate was properly spilling from its borders, said the father.
Then his son became the corner of a room.
Don't don't, cried the father.
And then his son became a floorboard.
Don't don't, the moon falls there and curdles your wits into the grain of the wood, cried the father.
What shall I do? screamed his son.
Sit until time embraces you into the bosom of its velvet quiet, cried the father.
Like this? Cried his son as his son became dust.
Ah, that is more pleasant, and speaks well of him, who having required much in his neglect of proper choice, turns now, on good advice, to a more advantageous social stance, said the father.

But then his son became his father.
Behold, the son is become as one of us, said the father.
His son said, behold, the son is become as one of us.
Will you stop repeating me, screamed the father.
Will you stop repeating me, screamed his son.
Oh well, I suppose imitation is the sincerest form of flattery, sighed the father.
Oh well, I suppose imitation is the sincerest form of flattery, sighed his son.

[/ QUOTE ]

[disjunction]

[ QUOTE ]

so what should i do? start with a minimalist or simple hemingwayish style of prose to avoid falling into these types of traps?

[/ QUOTE ]

I thought the level of description was fine.

There's not much about writing that most writers agree upon, but I've never seen a writer who did not agree with this:

First draft, write with the door closed. Second draft, write with the door open. I wouldn't solicit feedback after 500 words, just keep building momentum.

[Lazy Meatball]

meh, i dunno

I guess in this piece I would focus less on the physical details of the enviroment and more on the emotional thoughts and details, without dwelling to long on anyone subject to replicate the racing excitement, anticipation, and anxiety going through the narrator's head.


again, I don't read enough to say that this is overly bad, I just feel that your description is kind of misplaced in this example. It might work well in different situations, i just don't think it works here.

ps. find a more poetic reference than cvnt, unless you plan on being brutally explicit, in which case go all the way. just a couple suggestions.


pps. The only things I've read over the past couple years are this forum and medical charts, so don't take my criticisms too harshly.