Victim (Entry #1)

Hey! Thanks for reading this! This is my first journal entry series and so far it's pretty good. Please enjoy and crit afterwards!


The librarian is closing the library, telling me she'll be back at 8:30 tomorrow morning. She shuts off all the lights except my little lamp in the corner. I just nod, too hungry to open my mouth and say something. You see, I struck a deal with the librarian to let me hide/ sleep in here for a week until she goes on vacation for a month. I am a victim of child abuse and as I sit here, my pen lightly scratching the paper, I know my drunken father is combing the streets of Chicago for me.

All those beatings took a toll on me. They made me sick. Just as how dad drowned his sorrows at the bar every night made me sick. In fact, I sometimes wished I could run away, run to a place where these diseases would stop eating away at me from the inside out. I never once raised my voice, fought back or pulled away when he beat me, and I was tired of it. How could I? I was merely the daughter and I was no where near strong enough to take on my father; even if he was drunk. So when I came home from school with the usually empty home, I decided right then and there to pack my bags and leave before my dad could get back and abuse me. I don't know what finally pushed me over the edge. Maybe it was because I was still wincing from the bruises he gave me last night. Maybe it was because I was sick of the kids taunting me for having a drunken dad and ugly clothes because he wasted his money on beer. Maybe it was because I haven't felt loved in 9 years.

I packed the necessities: a brush, a flashlight, my phone and charger (a gift from my now dead grandma), three extra changes of clothes, my few toiletries (packed in a neat little traveling bag), money (including my dad's credit card), my last photo of mom, Lydia's letters, food tossed in at random, and this journal and pen Lydia sent me with her latest letter all wrapped in a bundle in the blanket my mother made for me. Before I left, I wrote him a note saying that he can expect not to see me again and that looking for me would come up with fruitless efforts. So I packed my makeshift bundle and ran through the rain to the one place I could call home: the library. I knew he'd never think of looking there; I don't even think he knows there is a little library on the outskirts of Chicago. Most people don't because it's on the very corner of an almost deserted road. It's rather spacious and cozy in here, though; especially without the crowd that's in the library in the heart of the city.

I knew as soon as I decided to leave that I'd go to Lydia's. She lives two states away, over in Lansing, Michigan, but I have enough money to get there by train or bus. Lydia's my older sister and she's older than me by eleven and a half years. She moved out a long time ago but I'll tell you about that later. I don't want to intrude on Lydia, though so this library will be my home for now, I guess.

In Lansing, she's studying to be a vet and I know from her letters that she's been married for just over a year now. I've told her everything; especially about dad. She promised me that once she had raised some money that she'd come take me with her and be my guardian. Dad was the whole reason she left so she felt really bad that she coudn't take me. But she told me that in her last letter about two months ago and hasn't written back yet. So I'm gonna let her know I'm going to Lansing and that I'll cover the transportation costs and such. I think I'm going to write her now and just bide my time in the library.

,

Nikki

this is good. is alll that studd true? if it is, i'm sorry that happen to you. no body deserve that.

I. NITPICKS

The librarian has just closed the library, telling me she'll be back at 8:30 tomorrow morning, as she shuts off all the lights except my little lamp in the corner. I can only nod, too hungry [s]now[/s] to open my mouth and say something. You see, I struck a deal with the librarian to let me hide/ sleep in here for a week until she goes on vacation for a month. I am a victim of child abuse and as I sit here, my pen lightly scratching the paper, my probably drunken father is combing the streets of Chicago for me.

Okay, first thing I have to say is the first sentence is incredibly awkward. You’re doing this in past tense so it would be best to say, “The librarian closes the library and tells me she’ll be back at 8:30 tomorrow morning as she turns off all the lights except for my little lamp in the corner.” Also take out the second “my” to avoid repetition. Re-word as “I am a victim of abuse and as I sit here with my borrowed pen and paper, I know that my drunken father is combing the streets of Chicago for me.”

[s]I decided I was sick of the constant beatings when I did not do anything.[/s] [Re-word as “I decided I was sick of the constant, unprovoked beatings.”] I was kicked, punched and thrown against the wall because my dad had to drown his sorrows at the bar all night [re-word]. I never once raised my voice, fought back or ran away when he beat me, and I was sick [use a word other than “sick”] of it. So when I came home from school to the usually empty home, I decided right then and there to pack my bags and leave before my dad could get back and abuse me. I don't know what finally pushed me over the edge; maybe it was because I was still wincing from the bruises he gave me last night, maybe it was because I was sick of the kids taunting me for having a drunken dad and ugly clothes because he wasted his money on beer, maybe it was because I haven't felt [s]completely[/s] loved in nine years.

Taking out “completely” makes it stronger.

I packed the necessities: a brush, a flashlight, my phone and charger, three extra changes of clothes, money (including my dad's credit card), my last photo of mom, Lydia's letters, food tossed in at random, and this journal and pen Lydia sent me with her latest letter all wrapped in a bundle in the blanket my mother made for me [No toiletries, blankets, or food?]. Before I left I wrote him a note saying that he can expect not to see me again and that looking for me would come up with fruitless efforts. So I packed my make-shift bundle and ran through the rain to the one place I could call home, the library. I knew he'd never think of looking there; I don't even think he knows there is a little library on the outskirts of Chicago. Most people don't because it's on the very corner of an almost deserted road. It's rather spacious and cozy in here, though. Especially without the crowd that's in the library in the heart of the city.

I knew as soon as I decided to leave that I'd go to Lydia's. She lives two states away, over in Lansing, Michigan, but I have enough money to get there by train or bus. Lydia's my older sister and she's older than me by eleven. She moved out a long time ago but I'll tell you about that later. I don't want to intrude on Lydia[s],[/s] though so this library will be my home for now, I guess. In Lansing, she's studying to be a vet and I know from her letters that she's been married for just over a year now. I've told her everything; especially about dad. She promised me that once she had raised some money that she'd come take me with her and be my guardian. Dad was the whole reason she left so she felt really bad that she couldn’t take me. But she told me that in her last letter, about two months ago, and hasn't written back yet. So I'm gonna let her know I'm going to Lansing and that I'll cover the transportation costs and such. I think I'm going to write her now and just bide my time in the library.

II. THE IMPORTANCE OF SENSORY LANGUAGE

Sensory language is a very important part of every story. Think of it this way, when you first walk into a foreign setting you notice the weather, the people, what the people look like, the smell, the sounds, etc. When your writing a story it’s the exact same thing - your role is to plunge the reader into a good story that the can imagine well, and sensory language plays a very important in this. An example from your work:

I decided I was sick of the constant beatings when I did not do anything. I was kicked, punched and thrown against the wall because my dad had to drown his sorrows at the bar all night. I never once raised my voice, fought back or ran away when he beat me, and I was sick of it. So when I came home from school with the usually empty home, I decided right then and there to pack my bags and leave before my dad could get back and abuse me. I don't know what finally pushed me over the edge; maybe it was because I was still wincing from the bruises he gave me last night, maybe it was because I was sick of the kids taunting me for having a drunken dad and ugly clothes because he wasted his money on beer, maybe it was because I haven't felt completely loved in 9 years.

See, without description or imagery it turns our writing into a bunch of I-statements. Sure, this is a diary, but I think you should still add imagery/sensory appeal so readers can better appeal to the story. In the beginning, is it still raining? Is the library stuffy and hot? What chair is she sitting in? Does the library smell like old books and maple? Show us! Remember, tread carefully! You may over-do and end up with purple-prose (overly elaborate, wordy descriptions) or you might end up with a bunch of telling like so be careful. Find a nice balance in-between the two.

III. CHARACTERS

Your MC…I feel nothing for her. You present this girl (she’s a girl right?) who lives a tough life, but I don’t feel anything for her. Abuse is sad, yes, but you should hinge all of your character’s flaws/problems on this and expect the reader to be truly sympathetic. Adding more description in your story could help us. Give us a flashback of what the abuse was like and what it felt like. I bet you think this is stupid though and thinking Well, abuse hurts - everyone knows that…no point of writing about it. Wrong, you need to tell us how she feels. Does she feel bad - like she’s the one driving her father towards this? Does she feel resentment and utter spite for her father? What does her father saying while abusing her? Does he just yell incoherently or taunt her over the fact that her sister left her alone with him?
Now, on to that. I also found the fact that her sister left her was unbelievable because you give us no description. I find it hard to believe that her sister just left (for how many years?) and got married and only sends her letters knowing that her sister is being abused. Why doesn’t she call Child Protective Services or at least go back and help her? I think you should really expand on this more.



IV. OVERALL IMPRESSION

I think this piece is rough, and needs some work. You need to add in more description and more thoughts of how your character feels rather than simple action like it is now. PM me if you have any questions or concerns.

One thing I would mention to you is to remember that if her fathers wants to find her, he can do it because she has the credit card. He can find out where she's been using it.

Also, keep this realistic. Won't her Father think of looking for her at her sisters? Maybe they will have to go to court or something over her, that would be interesting.

I am a victim of child abuse and as I sit here, my pen lightly scratching the paper, my probably drunken father is combing the streets of Chicago for me.

Maybe change the wording around to "My drunken father is probably combing the streets of Chicago for me."
something about the way it was worded before kind of made me trip up a little bit, but that might be just me. :O


overall, it's pretty good. I like the idea of a journal entry. I really want to read more!

You'll find out why her father doesn't know where her sister lives and a few other details. But thanks for the court suggestion! And also, he hasn't been sober in like, 8 years (which will also be explained soon) so I don't think he'd remember to do that. The story will have more revealed soon. Thanks for the crits! 0(o.o)0

Oh, I forgot to mention something in my critique. How does she have a cell phone? You say that she only has old clothes and few possessions and how her father wastes all of their money on liquor...but how did she come by a cell phone? It doesn't make too much sense to me...

I should probably explain that! Thanks for pointing that out too!

Yay! An epistolary novel!

I love the concept, but the main problem is that you tell far too much rather than SHOW. You use several 'was/were' expressions, e.g.:

"I decided I was sick of the constant, unprovoked beatings. I was kicked, punched and thrown against the wall because my dad would drown his sorrows at the bar all night."

Stative phrases - "I was sick" - are often bland and emotionally limiting unless they're metaphors. At the moment, the language is very plain and dull. Liven it up! The first step is to turn around all the passive constructions:

"All those beatings took a toll on me. They made me sick. Just as how dad drowned his sorrows at the bar every night made me sick. In fact, I sometimes wished I could run away, run to a place where these diseases would stop eating away at me from the inside out."

See how that's much more direct and straightforward. Plus, we've been able to squeeze some characterisation in there. I haven't summed up anything for you - by trusting the audience, I'm letting them experience the character's anxieties for themselves; I'm SHOWING.

I know that this is a common problem for newbies but in time and with gazillions of rewrites, you can sort this out. You can do it!

Good luck!

Gahks



(At the moment, I'm rating this 4/10. With some perseverance, you can easily get this up to a 7: your concept is great, the story itself just needs some tweaking.)

Thanks! I'll do that! 0(o.o)0

Hey there,

Already with just a little tweaking this is much better. You're still telling in places, but it's at an acceptable limit. You could do with expanding "I was tired", e.g.:

"I never once raised my voice, fought back or pulled away when he beat me; he left me exhausted, hungry for a morsel of hope amid the rotting carcasses of my childhood."

But this isn't deeply necessary. The fact of the matter is, you know the character really well and by showing more than telling, we as readers are now connecting with her and identifying with her. That's the essence of what we do as writers: we take our readers on emotional journeys, not just narrative journeys.

Drop me a PM when you're ready to post the next bit. I'm sure (to use an Americanism) looking forward to reading it!

Good work. 8/10!

Gahks

Okay, I'm not sure if all these corrections I'm going to point out are something that someone else already fixed for you, so just be aware of that!

Well, here we go!

VICTIM (ENTRY ONE)

The librarian is closing the library, telling me she'll be back at 8:30 tomorrow morning, and [change a comma to a period and start a new sentence like: She shuts off….] she shuts off all the lights except my little lamp in the corner. I just nod, too hungry to open my mouth and say something. You see, I struck a deal with the librarian to let me hide/ sleep in here for a week until she goes on vacation for a month. I am a victim of child abuse and as I sit here, my pen lightly scratching the paper, I know my drunken father is combing the streets of Chicago for me.

All those beatings took a toll on me. They made me sick. Just as how dad drowned his sorrows at the bar every night made me sick. In fact, I sometimes wished I could run away, run to a place where these diseases would stop eating away at me from the inside out. I never once raised my voice, fought back or ran away when he beat me, and I was tired of it. How could I? I was merely the daughter and I was no where near strong enough to take on my father; even if he was drunk. So when I came home from school with the usually empty home, I decided right then and there to pack my bags and leave before my dad could get back and abuse me. I don't know what finally pushed me over the edge; maybe it was because I was still wincing from the bruises he gave me last night, maybe it was because I was sick of the kids taunting me for having a drunken dad and ugly clothes because he wasted his money on beer, maybe it was because I haven't felt loved in 9 years. [okay, change all of the “commas and then you start with maybes” to a new sentence. So, this should all read: I don't know what finally pushed me over the edge; maybe it was because I was still wincing from the bruises he gave me last night. Maybe it was because I was sick of the kids taunting me for having a drunken dad and ugly clothes because he wasted his money on beer. Maybe it was because I haven't felt loved in 9 years. Because if you would have left it the other way, if would have been an EXTREMELY long sentence ]

I packed the necessities; [instead of a semi, change it to a colon like this: I packed the necessities: a brush….] a brush, a flashlight, my phone and charger (a gift from my now dead grandma), three extra changes of clothes, my few toiletries (packed in a neat little traveling bag), money (including my dad's credit card), my last photo of mom, Lydia's letters, food tossed in at random, and this journal and pen. Lydia sent me with her latest letter all wrapped in a bundle in the blanket my mother made for me. Before I left [comma] I wrote him a note saying that he can expect not to see me again and that looking for me would come up with fruitless efforts. So I packed my make-shift [you don’t need the dash between makeshift.] bundle and ran through the rain to the one place I could call home; [instead of a semicolon, use a colon.] the library. I knew he'd never think of looking there; I don't even think he knows there is a little library on the outskirts of Chicago. Most people don't because it's on the very corner of an almost deserted road. It's rather spacious and cozy in here, though. Especially without the crowd that's in the library in the heart of the city. [combine these last two sentences like this: It's rather spacious and cozy in here, though; especially without the crowd that's in the library in the heart of the city. . That way, the last sentence isn’t a fragment.]

I knew as soon as I decided to leave that I'd go to Lydia's. She lives two states away, over in Lansing, Michigan, but I have enough money to get there by train or bus. Lydia's my older sister and she's older than me by 11 [spell out “11”] and a half years. She moved out a long time ago but I'll tell you about that later. I don't want to intrude on Lydia, though so this library will be my home for now, I guess. [start a new paragraph here] In Lansing, she's studying to be a vet and I know from her letters that she's been married for just over a year now. I've told her everything; especially about dad. She promised me that once she had raised some money that she'd come take me with her and be my guardian. Dad was the whole reason she left so she felt really bad that she couldn’t [“couldn’t”] take me. But she told me that in her last letter about two months ago and hasn't written back yet. So I'm gonna let her know I'm going to Lansing and that I'll cover the transportation costs and such. I think I'm going to write her now and just bide my time in the library.

,

Nikki

This was really good! I enjoyed it a lot. It had a sort of atmosphere, a way so that I could FEEL for the MC.

All the things above are just simple little spelling errors and such, so nothing to worry about there!

Otherwise, you definitely have to PM me when you post more!