Bubbling, chapter 8

I should be happy. After all, I have met real city teenagers and their anger – at least one of them. In a way, I'm content because of the new piece in my collection of experiences. But actually, I'm more amused by the whole thing. That Misty has proven my expectations right – city people are shallow. What kind of person attacks people because of someone of the opposite gender? And all in vain.
Well, actually, Misty is the only shallow one I've met here. The Jubiley girl wasn't too bad, because I didn't really hear her say anything.
Someone else would be really down at the moment, because some stupid girl told her off. And the someone else would be really thinking about ways to placate the stupid girl.
I am not. Misty is pretty pathetic, I have to say. Although, as I've said, I can't know what she's really like.
But there's one thing I'm quite proud of. That is getting Satin at her wit's end. I know I shouldn't be malicious, but I feel so strong. Or perhaps I should say stronger. Just think that because of me, someone can be "out of her mind", like Satin would probably say.
Now I'm at Chevrolets' again and Satin is in her room clearing her mind – or then she's just reading Seventeen or whatever people do here when they're alone.
One lonely bubble soars through my window. Or Chevrolets' guest room's window. I don't think anyone minds if I call it my own, though. Well, what do you know? Maybe Mrs Chevrolet is right now sticking pins into a voodoo doll that looks like me.
Speak of the devil. The front door slams and Mrs Chevrolet's voice echoes in the house.
"Muffins! Are you at home?"
Now the slam comes from Satin's door.
"Yes, we are!" she bellows.
Her tone isn't angry, though. She probably abated her voice before answering. I can tell it from the tiny pause between opening the door and saying the words.
Mrs Chevrolet's coming upstairs. Even her steps are saying: "Is everything alright? Has Cinnamon liked it here? Oh no, have you left her alone, Satin?"
Knock, knock.
"Hello, Mrs Chevrolet. How was your day?" I use my best everything-is-fine-and-I-love-my-life tone.
"Oh hi, sweetie. It was fine, thanks for asking. Oh, you're so polite in the north, I wish it was the same down here... But I feel so old if you call me Mrs."
"Alright... Ebony." It doesn't fit in my mouth, I only sound rigid and artificial. I sound like Misty.
She smiles, nevertheless.
"That's my girl."
But then her mouth tightens ominously.
"Satin has left you on your own, hasn't she?"
"No, Mrs Chevrolet – Ebony, no, she –"
"I'll have a word with her!" Mrs Chevrolet storms out.
Her and Satin's "conversation" pierces the thin wall.
"So this is the way to behave when we have guests?"
"No, Mom, you don't get it..."
"I get it darn well! This is not how I've brought you up, is it?"
"Mom, can I say something? I've talked to her and stuff, and she's OK, but... she's a little... spooky."
I can't make of more, because they lower their voices.
Spooky, huh? Satin makes me sound like a mad scientist or a freaky cleaning addict. Like I had three noses or fuchsia eyes.
But it feels good. Like I was home again, with Marjoram and Ginger and Katinka, not here in Melbourne where there are typical city people who only judge me...
Spooky! Hillbilly! What does that make them, then, ignorants who don't know anything about anything. Had never even seen a soap bubble!
Or Satin hasn't. But she's just like her friends. At least she'll be like them again, I could take a bet on it.
I just wonder... a bet is an abstract matter, right? You can't see it or touch it. So how can you take it?
I promise to forgive Satin for calling me spooky. It was immoral thing to do, but still quite ludicrous.
Mrs Chevrolet is returning downstairs. I can't hear any kinds of angry bursts.
I think I'll go over to Satin's.
"What did you talk about? Not that it's my business, but..."
"Don't tell me you don't know. You know everything, don't you?" she says in a little staunched voice, looking up at me with the olive green eyes of hers – and mine.
I laugh softly.
"No, I don't. I do know a lot of things, but not still quite everything."
Satin looks slightly surprised.
"What? I don't!"
"Mom thought I hate you and refuse to co-operate."
"What else would she think? It was this morning when you looked like you had swallowed a coin."
"Swallowed a coin?" Now she's completely lost the track.
"Yeah. My sister ate 20 cents once – it was horrible. She tried to kick or scratch us when we took even one step closer to her. She was like an irritated wild horse."
"How old she was then – three?"
"In fact, she was eleven. Don't ask more."
Satin laughs – and her eyes squint in a very familiar way. Who did she remind me of? Oh, now I know.
"My sister Marjoram looks like you."
"Oh, is she blonde and astonishingly beautiful, too?"
"No, but she laughs in the same way. Though, when she ate that coin, she wasn't really laughing."
Satin even twirled her hair like Marjoram. I tell you, this might be getting somewhere.

I should be happy. After all, I have met real city teenagers and their anger – at least one of them. In a way, I'm content because of the new piece in my collection of experiences. But actually, I'm more amused by the whole thing. That Misty has proven my expectations right – city people are shallow. What kind of person attacks people because of someone of the opposite gender? And all in vain.

Well, actually, Misty is the only shallow one I've met here. The Jubiley girl wasn't too bad, because I didn't really hear her say anything.

Someone else would be really down at the moment, because some stupid girl told her off. And the someone else would be really thinking about ways to placate the stupid girl.

I am not. Misty is pretty pathetic, I have to say. Although, as I've said, I can't know what she's really like. I can't know sounds off, I would replace it with don't.

But there's one thing I'm quite proud of. That is, comma getting Satin at her wit's end. I know I shouldn't be malicious, but I feel so strong. Or perhaps I should say stronger. Just think that because of me, someone can be "out of her mind", like Satin would probably say.

Now I'm at Chevrolets' again and Satin is in her room clearing her mind – or then she's just reading Seventeen or whatever people do here when they're alone.

One lonely bubble soars through my window. Or Chevrolets' guest room's window. I don't think anyone minds if I call it my own, though. Well, what do you know? Maybe Mrs Chevrolet is right now sticking pins into a voodoo doll that looks like me.

Speak of the devil. The front door slams and Mrs Chevrolet's voice echoes in the house.

"Muffins! Are you at home?" A bit unbelievable for someone to say. I would suggest researching Australian dialects and speech

Now the slam comes from Satin's door.

"Yes, we are!" she bellows.

Her tone isn't angry, though. She probably abated her voice before answering. I can tell it from the tiny pause between opening the door and saying the words. Over-description, be careful not to bore the reader

Mrs Chevrolet's coming upstairs. Even her steps are saying: "Is everything alright? Has Cinnamon liked it here? Oh no, have you left her alone, Satin?"
Haha, I liked that a lot

Knock, knock. Change this to 'I hear a knock'

"Hello, Mrs Chevrolet. How was your day?" I use my best everything-is-fine-and-I-love-my-life tone.

"Oh hi, sweetie. It was fine, thanks for asking. Oh, you're so polite in the north, I wish it was the same down here... But I feel so old if you call me Mrs."

"Alright... Ebony." It doesn't fit in my mouth, I only sound rigid and artificial. I sound like Misty.

She smiles, nevertheless.

"That's my girl."

But then her mouth tightens ominously.

"Satin has left you on your own, hasn't she?"

"No, Mrs Chevrolet – Ebony, no, she –"

"I'll have a word with her!" Mrs Chevrolet storms out.

Her and Satin's "conversation" pierces the thin wall.

"So this is the way to behave when we have guests?"

"No, Mom, you don't get it..."

"I get it darn well! This is not how I've brought you up, is it?"

"Mom, can I say something? I've talked to her and stuff, and she's OK, but... she's a little... spooky." I find it hard to believe that Satin would say that with full knowledge of her cousin in the next room.

I can't make of more, because they lower their voices.

Spooky, huh? Satin makes me sound like a mad scientist or a freaky cleaning addict. Like I had three noses or fuchsia eyes.

But it feels good. Like I was home again, with Marjoram and Ginger and Katinka, not here in Melbourne where there are typical city people who only judge me...

Spooky! Hillbilly! What does that make them, then, ignorants who don't know anything about anything. Had never even seen a soap bubble!

Or Satin hasn't. But she's just like her friends. At least she'll be like them again, I could take a bet on it.

I just wonder... a bet is an abstract matter, right? You can't see it or touch it. So how can you take it?

I promise to forgive Satin for calling me spooky. It was immoral thing to do, but still quite ludicrous.

Mrs Chevrolet is returning downstairs. I can't hear any kinds of angry bursts.

I think I'll go over to Satin's.

"What did you talk about? Not that it's my business, but..."

"Don't tell me you don't know. You know everything, don't you?" she says in a little staunched voice, looking up at me with the olive green eyes of hers – and mine.

I laugh softly.

"No, I don't. I do know a lot of things, but not still quite everything."

Satin looks slightly surprised.

"What? I don't!"

"Mom thought I hate you and refuse to co-operate."

"What else would she think? It was this morning when you looked like you had swallowed a coin."

"Swallowed a coin?" Now she's completely lost the track.

"Yeah. My sister ate 20 cents once Is 'cents' the currency in Australia? Again, the reader will lose respect for the writer if they're not doing their research to make the piece real – it was horrible. She tried to kick or scratch us when we took even one step closer to her. She was like an irritated wild horse."

"How old she was then – three?"

"In fact, she was eleven. Don't ask more."

Satin laughs – and her eyes squint in a very familiar way. Who did she remind me of? Oh, now I know.

"My sister Marjoram looks like you."

"Oh, is she blonde and astonishingly beautiful, too?"

"No, but she laughs in the same way. Though, when she ate that coin, she wasn't really laughing."

Satin even twirled her hair like Marjoram. I tell you, this might be getting somewhere.

Alright, we I'm happy to say that you've definitely take my comments on board. The speech in this was great, although, as I've already pointed out just reading this would give me no indication whatsoever that they're from Australia. I would love to hear the odd word here and there or even a suggestion of an accent.

Your over-description has really toned down as well. Great.

There are still a few things that are concerning me at present. Firstly, your tense jumps from the present to the past and I think you're even struggling to keep it consistent. Use one or the other and try and stick to it. I find usually that the past tense is best for fiction, but you don't need to take my advice on that one if you don't want to.

Also- I really really do need to stress this. There's not enough happening. We're in chapter eight and we're still being told the same thoughts- The two girls are failing to communicate and still trying to work something out. You've taken little or no risks to make this exciting and there's been no conflict and resolution. I would suggest researching a plot arch- if you don't know what I mean PM me and I will explain it to you better. Also the only developed characters seem to be the two girls. The rest of them did not drop from the sky. Have you done character biographies for every character? If you haven't, it shows. We all have individual stories, families, memories, traits that make us different. Show us real people and we will care more.

I hope this helps and please don't think I'm being overly harsh because I don't like it- I do! I would just love to see it taken to the next level.

Eimear xx

Demeter wrote: I should be happy. After all, I have met real city teenagers and their anger – at least one of them. In a way, I'm content because of the new piece in my collection of experiences. But actually, I'm more amused by the whole thing. That Misty has proven my expectations right – city people are shallow. What kind of person attacks people because of someone of the opposite gender? And all in vain. Care to explan this last comment? It seems a bit wierd. I don't relaly follow your line of thought here.

Well, actually, Misty is the only shallow one I've met here. The Jubiley girl wasn't too bad, because I didn't really hear her say anything. Don't have your character contradicting herself, it makes her less convincing. If you read over the last paragraph, you'll find it says the completely opposite thing.

Someone else would be really down at the moment, because some stupid girl told her off. And the someone else would be really thinking about ways to placate the stupid girl.

I am not. Misty is pretty pathetic, I have to say. Although, as I've said, I can't know what she's really like.

But there's one thing I'm quite proud of. That is getting Satin at her wit's end. I know I shouldn't be malicious, but I feel so strong. Or perhaps I should say stronger. Just think that because of me, someone can be "out of her mind", like Satin would probably say.

Now I'm at the Chevrolets' again and Satin is in her room clearing her mind – or then she's just reading Seventeen or whatever people do here when they're alone.

One lonely bubble soars through my window. Or the Chevrolets' guest room's window. I don't think anyone minds if I call it my own, though. Well, what do you know? Maybe Mrs Chevrolet is right now sticking pins into a voodoo doll that looks like me. What is this last part referring to? Completely random.

Speak of the devil. The front door slams and Mrs Chevrolet's voice echoes in the house.

"Muffins! Are you at home?"

Now the slam comes from Satin's door.

"Yes, we are!" she bellows.

Her tone isn't angry, though. She probably abated her voice before answering. I can tell it from the tiny pause between opening the door and saying the words.

Mrs Chevrolet's coming upstairs. Even her steps are saying: "Is everything alright? Has Cinnamon liked it here? Oh no, have you left her alone, Satin?"

Knock, knock.

"Hello, Mrs Chevrolet. How was your day?" I use my best everything-is-fine-and-I-love-my-life tone.

"Oh hi, sweetie. It was fine, thanks for asking. Oh, you're so polite in the north, I wish it was the same down here... But I feel so old if you call me Mrs."

"Alright... Ebony." It doesn't fit in my mouth, I only sound rigid and artificial. I sound like Misty.

She smiles, nevertheless.

"That's my girl."

But then her mouth tightens ominously.

"Satin has left you on your own, hasn't she?"

"No, Mrs Chevrolet – Ebony, no, she –"

"I'll have a word with her!" Mrs Chevrolet storms out.

Her and Satin's "conversation" pierces the thin wall.

"So this is the way to behave when we have guests?"

"No, Mom, you don't get it..."

"I get it darn well! This is not how I've brought you up, is it?"

"Mom, can I say something? I've talked to her and stuff, and she's OK, but... she's a little... spooky."

I can't make of more, because they lower their voices.

Spooky, huh? Satin makes me sound like a mad scientist or a freaky cleaning addict. Like I had three noses or fuchsia eyes.

But it feels good. Like I was home again, with Marjoram and Ginger and Katinka My sister's name! , not here in Melbourne where there are typical city people who only judge me...

Spooky! Hillbilly! What does that make them, then, ignorants who don't know anything about anything. Had never even seen a soap bubble!

Or Satin hasn't. But she's just like her friends. At least she'll be like them again, I could take a bet on it.

I just wonder... a bet is an abstract matter, right? You can't see it or touch it. So how can you take it?

I promise to forgive Satin for calling me spooky. It was immoral thing to do, but still quite ludicrous.

Mrs Chevrolet is returning downstairs. I can't hear any kinds of angry bursts.

I think I'll go over to Satin's.

"What did you talk about? Not that it's my business, but..."

"Don't tell me you don't know. You know everything, don't you?" she says in a little staunched voice, looking up at me with the olive green eyes of hers – and mine.

I laugh softly.

"No, I don't. I do know a lot of things, but not still quite everything."

Satin looks slightly surprised.

"What? I don't!"

"Mom thought I hate you and refuse to co-operate."

"What else would she think? It was this morning when you looked like you had swallowed a coin."

"Swallowed a coin?" Now she's completely lost the track.

"Yeah. My sister ate 20 cents once – it was horrible. She tried to kick or scratch us when we took even one step closer to her. She was like an irritated wild horse."

"How old she was then – three?"

"In fact, she was eleven. Don't ask more."

Satin laughs – and her eyes squint in a very familiar way. Who did she remind me of? Oh, now I know.

"My sister Marjoram looks like you."

"Oh, is she blonde and astonishingly beautiful, too?"

"No, but she laughs in the same way. Though, when she ate that coin, she wasn't really laughing."

Satin even twirled her hair like Marjoram. I tell you, this might be getting somewhere.

Agreed with Eimear - action, please!

And yeah, the dialogue is better.

Satin's Mum acted unconvincingly here though - reconsider this, make her conversation with Cinnamon longer, becasue this really was rather unrealistic. Apart from that... Pretty good, keep writing

Demeter-
Haha! I seriously laughed about the part with the three noses and mad scientist thing. Now that was funny. You know, I haven't heard the word, spooky in awhile. Great word choice. I'm glad that Cin. and Satin are somewhat getting along. Well, I see there's only one more chapter left. Off to see the ending...!
-Merry

Only one chapter left. This should be interesting....

Demeter wrote:I should be happy. After all, I have met real city teenagers and their anger – at least one of them. In a way, I'm content because of the new piece in my collection of experiences. But actually, I'm more amused by the whole thing. That Misty has proven my expectations right – city people are shallow. And she's thinking this after Satin just defended her? Cinnamon is more malicious then she thinks she is. What kind of person attacks people because of someone of the opposite gender? And all in vain.
Well, actually, Misty is the only shallow one I've met here. The Jubiley girl wasn't too bad, because I didn't really hear her say anything. No thoughts on Satin?
Someone else would be really down at the moment, because some stupid girl told her off. And the someone else would be really thinking about ways to placate the stupid girl.
I am not. Misty is pretty pathetic, I have to say. Although, as I've said, I can't know what she's really like. Say and said in the same sentence..... not my choice for sentence structure.
But there's one thing I'm quite proud of. That is getting Satin at her wit's end. I know I shouldn't be malicious, but I feel so strong. Or perhaps I should say stronger. Just think that because of me, someone can be "out of her mind", like Satin would probably say. I wouldn't say Satin's at her wit's end. I'd be thanking her for standing up for me!
Now I'm at Chevrolets' again and Satin is in her room clearing her mind – or then she's just reading Seventeen or whatever people do here when they're alone. Now Cinnamon is getting into the stereotyping act. I thought she hated it.
One lonely bubble soars through my window. Or Chevrolets' guest room's window. I don't think anyone minds if I call it my own, though. Well, what do you know? Maybe Mrs Chevrolet is right now sticking pins into a voodoo doll that looks like me. Did she blow the bubble? Mention that.
Speak of the devil. The front door slams and Mrs Chevrolet's voice echoes in the house.
"Muffins! Are you at home?"
Now [s]the[/s] a slam comes from Satin's door.
"Yes, we are!" she bellows.
Her tone isn't angry, though. She probably abated her voice before answering. I can tell it from the tiny pause between opening the door and saying the words.
Mrs Chevrolet's coming upstairs. Even her steps are saying: "Is everything alright? Has Cinnamon liked it here? Oh no, have you left her alone, Satin?"
Knock, knock.
"Hello, Mrs Chevrolet. How was your day?" I use my best everything-is-fine-and-I-love-my-life tone.
"Oh hi, sweetie. It was fine, thanks for asking. Oh, you're so polite in the north, I wish it was the same down here... But I feel so old if you call me Mrs."
"Alright... Ebony." It doesn't fit in my mouth, I only sound rigid and artificial. I sound like Misty.
She smiles, nevertheless.
"That's my girl."
But then her mouth tightens ominously.
"Satin has left you on your own, hasn't she?"
"No, Mrs Chevrolet – Ebony, no, she –"
"I'll have a word with her!" Mrs Chevrolet storms out.
Her and Satin's "conversation" pierces the thin wall. Nice quotes. With the addition of "pierces" it makes it ironical. I hope that's a word.....
"So this is the way to behave when we have guests?"
"No, Mom, you don't get it..."
"I get it darn well! This is not how I've brought you up, is it?"
"Mom, can I say something? I've talked to her and stuff, and she's OK, but... she's a little... spooky."
I can't make of more, because they lower their voices.
Spooky, huh? Satin makes me sound like a mad scientist or a freaky cleaning addict. Like I had three noses or fuchsia eyes.
But it feels good. Like I was home again, with Marjoram and Ginger and Katinka, not here in Melbourne where there are typical city people who only judge me... "Typical city people"? And they judge her?
Spooky! Hillbilly! What does that make them, then[b]? Ignorants who don't know anything about anything. They had never even seen a soap bubble!
Or Satin hasn't. But she's just like her friends. At least she'll be like them again, I could take a bet on it.
I just wonder... a bet is an abstract matter, right? You can't see it or touch it. So how can you take it? I skimmed this line.
I promise to forgive Satin for calling me spooky. It was immoral thing to do, but still quite ludicrous.
Mrs Chevrolet is returning downstairs. I can't hear any kind[s]s[/s] of angry bursts in her steps.
I think I'll go over to Satin's room.
"What did you talk about? Not that it's my business, but..."
"Don't tell me you don't know. You know everything, don't you?" she says in a little staunched voice, looking up at me with the olive green eyes of hers – and mine.
I laugh softly.
"No, I don't. I do know a lot of things, but not still quite everything."
Satin looks slightly surprised.
"What? I don't!"
"Mom thought I hate you and refuse to co-operate."
"What else would she think? It was what was? Perhaps: "That was the case... this morning when you looked like you had swallowed a coin."
"Swallowed a coin?" Now she's completely lost the track.
"Yeah. My sister ate 20 cents once – it was horrible. She tried to kick or scratch us when we took even one step closer to her. She was like an irritated wild horse." Is there such a thing as a 20 cent coin? I've never heard of them, if that's the case.
"How old she was then – three?"
"In fact, she was eleven. Don't ask [s]more[/s]." More isn't needed. Without it the sentence sounds more like a teenager is speaking.
Satin laughs – and her eyes squint in a very familiar way. Who did she remind me of? Oh, now I know. Now I know isn't really needed, since you say who the next line. I'd replace the comma with an exclamation point, or a period.
"My sister Marjoram looks like you."
"Oh, is she blonde and astonishingly beautiful, too?"
"No, but she laughs in the same way. Though, when she ate that coin, she wasn't really laughing." I'd rewrite the second sentence: "But when she ate that coin, she wasn't really laughing."
Satin even twirled her hair like Marjoram. This is present tense, right? Use "Twirls." I tell you, this might be getting somewhere. Delete "I tell you,"

Cinnamon is getting to be a real hypocrite. She says she hates stereotypes the first half of the story, then goes to stereyotype every city girl in the next one.

That's pretty much the only thing that's glaring. Other then that, this looks like it's coming to a good close.