pianist that drains soul

Sorry I had to repost this it wouldnt let me just re edit it


Sara had been depressed for as long as she could remember, it was her horrid mother who made her feel so sad. She was always there with a look of scorn or contempt. She hated Sara, she really did. Not once in her life had Sara actually believed her father when he said she was her true birth mother, not once. Sophia, her mother, almost always stayed up in her room which smelt of stail air and used up cigarettes. Sara had only been in there once, when she was five. She remembered it all to well.

She'd had a stomach ache one afternoon and went up to her mothers room to see what she could do. In pian it took her a while to make it up the long flight of marbled steps, but she eventually got there. When she walked inshe had not seen her mother, so she went over by her curio cabinet and to play with her mother's pearl encrusted hair brush, those pretty little diamond earrings, and her favorite thing of all, the ruby red lipstick. Suddenly she felt her hair being wrenched back. She looked around and there was her mother.

"You little snot nosed brat," she screamed her face pulsing, and red with fury, "how dare you touch my things!?"

"But, momma..." Sara started


"And I told you NEVER to call me that. I am Sophie to you, you little brat!"

Sara lunged for the door, but was not quick enough to avoid a jarring blow to the back of her head. She stumbled out of the doorway in pain and confusion down to the hall closet three rooms away.

Shaking her head, trying to get rid of the memory of that horrible day, she walked over to the shining black piano and started playing. She played with her heart, not from pieces of paper. When people heard her music they felt her sadness and pain. Her sad, despairing songs drug you in and kept you hostage, even after they were finished. It was like she took a bit of the audiences soul with every song, every concert. Some would leave felling empty almost as if they were a ghost. One women, Mrs. Jona Balance, had had left a concert almost in a catatonic state, tears streaming down her face, that night she was barely find her way back to her own house, back to her son.

But for Sara, the concerts were one of the few times she felt happy and lighthearted

She heard the door creak open, but didn't stop playing until a voice broke into her sanctuary, bringing her back to her prison.

"Miss Saranai," Mayton, the butler called, "tea is ready in the drawing room, and your father,"


"Call me Sara, I hate Sarania!" Sara yelled, but Mayton continued,


"Your father wishes you to look your best, there is a lady guest," and with that he left.

I remember reading this one. Hmmm. You don't appear to have made any major changes and I think you have more typos than you did before The info dumping still needs work and the persona's personality could be defined more but the idea is good and you have some nice description. Here's the typos and such -

She remembered it all too well.

She'd had a stomach ache one afternoon and went up to her mother's room to see what she could do.

In [s]pian[/s] pain it took her a while to make it up the long flight of marbled steps, but she eventually got there.

When she walked in she had not seen her mother, so she went over by her curio cabinet and began to play with her mother's pearl encrusted hair brush, those pretty little diamond earrings, and her favorite thing of all- the ruby red lipstick.

Her sad, despairing songs [s]drug[/s] dragged people in and kept [s]you[/s] them[/coor] hostage, even after they were finished.

It was like she took a bit of the audience[color=red]'s soul with every song, every concert.

Some would leave feeling empty almost as if they were a ghost.

One [s]women[/s] woman, Mrs. Jona Balance, had [s]had[/s] left a concert almost in a catatonic state, tears streaming down her face. That night she was barely able to find her way back to her own house, back to her son.

But for Sara, the concerts were one of the few times she felt happy and light-hearted

GENERAL NOTES

First off, I'm discouraged by the fact that kitty said you haven't edited this much from the last time. That's no good. Hopefully you will change or utilize this critique, or I'm wasting my time.

I think that your ideas and descriptions are really good, and that the idea for this story is actually quite decent, it's only your narrating that needs work.

Sara had been depressed for as long as she could remember, it was her horrid mother who made her feel so sad. She was always there with a look of scorn or contempt. She hated Sara, [s]she really did[/s]. Not once in her life had Sara actually believed her father when he said she was her true birth mother,period [s]not once.[/s] Sophia, her mother, almost always stayed up in her room which smelt of stailstale air and used [s]up[/s] cigarettes. Sara had only been in there once, when she was five. She remembered it all to well.

The first sentence should be split by either an "and," a semi-colon, or a period, rather than that comma.

She'd had a stomach ache one should be "that" afternoon and went up to her mothers room to see what she could do. In pianpain it took her a while to make it up the long flight of marbled steps, but she eventually got there.paragraph When she walked inspaceshe had not seen her mother, so she went over by her curio cabinet and to play with her mother's pearl encrusted hair brush, those pretty little diamond earrings, and her favorite thing of all, the ruby red lipstick.paragraph Suddenly she felt her hair being wrenched back. She looked around and there was her mother.

This is my favorite part, with the descriptions of marble steps and diamond earrings and ruby lipstick. It's very exotic and classy and lovely. However, this seems extremely out of place in the story. Random rememberences are tacky.

She played with her heart, not from pieces of paper. When people heard her music they felt her sadness and pain. Her sad, despairing songs drug you in and kept you hostage, even after they were finished. It was like she took a bit of the audiences soul with every song, every concert. Some would leave felling empty almost as if they were a ghost. One women, Mrs. Jona Balance, had had left a concert almost in a catatonic state, tears streaming down her face, that night she was barely find her way back to her own house, back to her son.

This is a lot of telling and not a lot of showing. When you write this section, you want your readers to feel the pain as though your words were the piano keys. That's tricky. You seem to try here, but you fail. Also, don't forget to fix the grammatical whatsits kitty commented on.

Good luck and let me know if you re-edit this.

This is slightly better, but like kitty15 said, not THAT much different. You still have a big problem with spelling, grammar, and punctuation. If you just type this into a word document, it will point these things out for you.