The Letter

This user has been banned and her works removed from YWS.

This was really good. Filled with emotions and action.

Until the end...

I'm sort of confused now. Who is Markus?? I thought your main character lost his wife and children??

I think you should post your novel in chapter form instead of put random inserst on her. That way, we can read it from beginning to end.

Other than the ending, I enjoyed it. It had wonderful feeling about it. You really captured your MC's feelings very nicely.

I would love to read more of this!

Much respect to you. I could never write like that. It sounds like something right out of a classic. I loved it. I understood it, and your writing style seems impeccable to me. I'd love to read the rest of it.
It was beautiful and I thought it was moving as well. Absolutely amazing. Keeping writing, and I hope you're successful with the rest of your novel.

Thank you both; you are both very kind

To ashleylee:
Markus is the man who wrote the letter. He wrote it to Sybil, who is the one that cries at the end.
More or less, it's a love triangle except that one of them is dead.
I know it probably doesn't make much sense but it would if you had read my whole manuscript - thing is, I don't want to post it all up.
Basically, I just wanted to see how the writing and tone seemed to you - not to force the entirety of my story onto you.


EDIT: By the way, Markus is not the MC. Sybil actually is.

I really liked this, it was sweet and honest, which I always like. Good for you, writing a novel! I would say keep going, from this little bit it seems to be very good. I'm sorry I'm such an awful reviewer, but I'm horrible with recognizing gramatical mistakes, so I just talk about the actual story. But anyways, it was awesome, keep writing, girl!

Thanks, salsashanno - your review was most encouraging. It wasn't awful in the least - compliments work just as well

Hiya! For me, at least, there seemed no point in attempting to find points you can improve on because I read it through the first time and didn't feel any need to. Taking it as it already is, I loved it.

I'll just say quickly that I thought 'so content with other people’s feelings' was a nice insightful remark, to which many readers can relate. I also loved the description and tone. In short, well done!

Ah, thank you, Sapphire, you are too kind Yes the 'content with other people's feelings' is something I am sure relates to many people. In that aspect, I suppose Markus is likened to me.

You're writing a full-length novel, now are you? Well, good luck with that.
I can't actually critique. I am a little confused, but since it's only part of the novel (and conclusive, said you) then no wonder.
Emotive. Fluent. Poignant.

lhighton, you were probably right when you joked that you'll surpass me in terms of grades in the english exam. *sigh*

I don't understand... you're confused? Two say it's confusing, the others don't. Surely, for what it is, you can critique? Pretty pointless comment, Thea! Oh well.
P.S. Stop putting yourself down so! False modesty comes to mind.

You know, it is possible to love someone so much that you destroy yourself in the process. You have only to read ‘Wuthering Heights’ to know that. So true.

I wouldn’t expect you to understand, my little love. Good way to start off. You’re so young and you’re so inexperienced. Realistic, I expect someone older to say this to someone younger. You were probably still wearing mittens and playing with small kittens when I was sick with love. I'm not too sure about the rhyming here. Is it intentional? If it is then leave it, if not then I might nix it a tad

I was young but I was mature. I saw her across a Budapest town square and I knew I loved her. There I was in my starchy attire, with my glasses pushed high up my nose and a satchel weighing down on my shoulder – the Cambridge graduate, always – and she was dressed in a flimsy, linen thing, all swaying, feathering black hair. Beautiful descriptions. There I was, hot under my collar and so alive. Before, I had found a love for books, old and dusty, forgotten books, and for years I had sat in the library reading alone, so content with other people’s feelings, but when I saw her I was shaken out of that collegiate attitude. Ugh, I can't imagine anything worse than being shaken out from a love for books

I cannot tell you how exactly, but seeing her completed me. I was a man. Still shy and reserved and self-important, but I could feel the blood in my veins and the sting of my eyes as they strained to keep sight of her. My clothes were suddenly itchy, burdening.

I know you will resent me, my little lamb, but you must know. For too long have I sat beside you on that beach and listened to you plan out our life together. Your voice, it flits about, all anxious and excited in one, and it hurts me to the core to see such spirit wasted on a drab like me. Aw, so bittersweet. There is so much for you to know.

I loved her so much it tormented me. We were in a love affair by the turn of the week and she consumed me. I love the idea of someone consuming someone else with love When we were parted, I longed for her. When we were together, I dreaded the inevitable separation. And thus I implored her to marry me. Impeccable word choice.

She was born to be a wife, born to be a mother. Yes, Sybil, I had a son. Rosa gave me a bright-eyed, pink-cheeked son – Robert – and he was us united into one. Beautiful but oh so sad. He had her hair, her confidence and ability of judgement, and my brains. He liked the sea. ‘The sea, the sea. I want the sea,’ he’d murmur. He wanted it, it must be his possession, and we gave in. I hated it – the salt strung my skin till it was pink, but he splashed in it and was swimming by three years. He was full of freedom, like his mother. They would go in together, free like small fish that had been released from a glass bowl and into the ocean. Wonderful description. I sat on the shingles with my binoculars, still the quaint, uptight little Englishman, but I did not mind. I love the quaint uptight little Englishman thought

Sybil, now I must confess my most painful memories. For long they have sat enclosed in a jar of denial. Again, mindblowing description. But you have forced it from me, yet I do not blame you – you are only goodness, innocent lamb.

Robert loved Horse Mead most of all. He ran across the shingles and into that cave – yes, that very cave – and played the explorer. He was a pirate sometimes, and at other times, a fugitive from a horrific war. For a boy of six, he had such imagination. Rosa could only laugh and laugh in delight; I would watch with pride. Good.

But Horse Mead’s waters were laden with strong undercurrents. I did not know it – sometimes it crashed about but at other times it was calm and idyllic. ‘I’ll swim now,’ my boy said. ‘Watch me swim.’ I told him not to go too far, not to do anything silly. He gave me a look as though I had patronised him and then he was off.

He waved, he grinned. We kept hearing ‘Watch this! Watch this!’

He look so long, he kept doing the same old tricks – jumping, twisting, handstands and long-distances. I turned to Rosa; she was watching him. She again enchanted me. I told her I loved her, that I loved our life together. She turned to me. I’ll never forget what she said. ‘I love you, too. You’ll suffocate me with your “I love yous” one day. :lol: Beautiful and hilarious all in one I will resent you for them soon enough.’

‘Never,’ I whispered. Then I had kissed her ear and heard her fruitful chuckle. ‘Never resent me, Rosa.’

‘Never,’ she had agreed.

But Robert was far-gone now. He was in the distance. A slight struggle had begun – he had noticed how far out he was. I stood, Rosa leaped up. ‘Robert!’ I bellowed, my voice just anguish. Rosa had flung herself forwards and charged towards the water. My brain – my apparently scholarly brain – racked itself for what to do.

I came in after her, after my Rosa with her mermaid-hair. She was so far off. I could not see Robert anymore, and the waves were coming hard and fast and stinging my eyes into a half-blindness. ‘Robert! Robert!’ I shouted, but later I realised it had morphed into ‘Rosa’. I was shrieking in time, and then something snapped in me. It was all clear.

I had lost my wife and my child.

Gone, into that ocean. Far away. And I was still holding the fish bowl. :(


I held the letter in my hand. Aunt Susanna was snoring beside me. She did not see or hear me when I hunched forward, as if to vomit, and barked out uncontrollable sobs. Oh, how he had deceived me. But still how I loved him. And he would never have me – no, he was destroyed. If he were to have me, as his wife, he would resent me. He would see me as a replacement. I was lost; I was caught between two minds.

My aunt did know that the ink on the paper ran and smudged with my tears. No – she was too busy being fat and idle and hopeless. My face fell against my two childish knees. I was too broken to consider things lucidly. That would take years. I only wanted my Markus back. It was only later, much later, that I realised I had never truly had him to begin with.


I loved this letter. It was beautiful and bittersweet. I so hope that it is in the story because it is incredible.

-Kirsten xxx

Very good work. From start till ending, it made me read on and on out of curiousity of what would happen next, kept me hanging on each word. I only have one problem.

My aunt did know that the ink on the paper ran and smudged with my tears.

Not too sure 'bout that sentence. "Did know", or "did not know"?

Good luck on your story, sounds great already.

Wow....that's something romantic and dramatic at the same time! Good job!