On The Adolescent Transformation Out Of Restlessness

#FF0000 ">Yet another piece of something [born at 3 am]. I don't even know. It comes from a project I'm working on, one that I would like to refrain from revealing details of, but I suppose in the case of receiving well-informed reviews, I should give at least some details. I'M not writing this. My character is, who is a high school girl is fighting agoraphobia. This is a part from within the story so presumably it might not make complete sense. I'm actually just playing around with voice and plot still, so this is an attempt. Not to any extent a final. And I'm well aware of my peculiar syntax. I can't help it. Anyway, an initial impression and other comments would be much appreciated

Restlessness quickly became the most powerful affliction over me, and self-control was draining out just as fast. To feel so abruptly something this strange and distant was the most overwhelming disposition of my life, but to feel something different for once was also peaceful. Restlessness wasn’t anxiety. And though there was something horribly uneasy about this restlessness, at least I wasn’t so afraid anymore.

The sudden desire to do something relatively out of my mind was terrifying, but more terrifying was the creeping sensation of peace from such a delusion. I remember when I used to fear less things and when we would run across the empty highway after the football games were over, when the stadium lights would finally shut off after everyone in the town had left to go back home. We would run through the empty parking lot on the road’s other side, run through the restaurants until they were all closed, pile all of us into one vehicle even though the driver was only 16 and legally couldn’t have more than one person in the car. But the rest of us were too young to drive, and we were too young to care anyway.

We drove along the empty roads with glowing signs and traffic lights as our only accomplices. We laughed our way through the sporting goods and toy section of Wal Mart, raced across town to the video store going 3 miles over the speed limit, and rolled down the windows because we all loved the way the wind felt against our faces.

Restlessness was doing something for the heck of it, and doing something for the heck of it was terrifying. However much I hated to admit that as the truth, I knew that it was because sometimes I felt like I would never be able to leave my mind behind me. One day I would just get so lost inside my own head, I’d never find my way out. Sometimes I felt like I was already too far gone.

But the more I stayed home, the more restless my heart grew. My mind tried warning me about this delusion of happiness I thought I could find in doing something without a second thought. These warnings, however, failed to satisfy my heart. One of these days, I was going to snap, and I was happy about that, to be honest.

I went to school the next day, but Dad had to drive me because I couldn’t feel my arms again. But I just told him I was just tired.

I tried to forget what fearfulness was, like I usually do, but instead I remembered, like I usually do. And I stopped breathing again, and my foot started tapping again, and I started putting on hand sanitizer again. I was forced to recall how monotonous my life was, but increasingly, my anxiety was laced with that restlessness. My whole life was becoming laced with one simple idea, one that, once planted, could never retract itself from my heart:

Do it.

And be happy about it.


When I began breathing again, I was running, and I was happy about it.

Oh my goodness.

First of all, I'd like to say that your vocabulary is delicious. Reading this out-loud, the words flow off the tongue with this beautiful perfection that's so brief and so utterly stunning that I found myself frowning when the end came.

Secondly, you really portrayed the inner workings of the characters mind quite brilliantly, and in such a way that was not overly emotional. The way and fashion in which the characters thinks was easy to understand, and therefore trying to sympathize with them was not difficult in any way shape or form.

Personally I think the whole thing had a breathtaking quality that was thoroughly enjoyable.

And on another note, this is my first review and I have no idea what I'm doing or if this is right, so I apologize if it isn't.

Well, since I don't understand much in the way of plot from this little bit, I'll focus my comment on voice.

Indeed, the syntax is odd, but not unwelcome. There's nothing wrong with the way your character says things, but what your character is saying has some pitfalls. Sometimes it feels wordy for the sake of being wordy i.e. a lot is said without meaning much.

By drowning the reader in words that aren't necessarily exciting, you risk losing his interest. Until the second sentence of the second paragraph, the reader doesn't have much to wrestle with or picture. If you're going to use big fancy words, you'd better engage our minds/imagination to distract us from the big fancy words. If we can't be engaged by action or dialogue or imagery, then we should be engaged with emotion or ideas. But until the second sentence of the second paragraph, all we're given to chew on is abstract words that tell us about restlessness and we lack the deeper connection--either with the philosophy or the emotion or the power of language.

I think this line best encapsulates this impenetrable wall you have set up.

To feel so abruptly something this strange and distant was the most overwhelming disposition of my life

We are assailed from left and right, but are still at arm's length from you.

And then after the first couple paragraphs, we don't encounter this kind of density of language again. It's the classic case of losing your accent. Afterward, you become more pointed and edgy. Like this:

But I just told him I was just tired.

And this:

And be happy about it.

A terseness worms its way into the writing and takes over and we don't see the MC from the first paragraph again. Intentional?

We drove along the empty roads with glowing signs and traffic lights as our only accomplices.

I like this language, though. Quite a bit. Roguish, careless, and it captures the night.

I'd be curious to see more. The narrator you have here is interesting and engaging (from 2nd para 2nd sentence on). If you can use the dense language of the first few sentences in a more wild way (more breath, more strokes of paint, more thought-provoking ideas, more energy, more desperation, etc), then that would be great.