Carry Me Chapter 1

okay, so: This is my novel(la), it is tentatively titled: Carry Me. The first part is titled "I-70, I-76, I I-80"
I haven't decided whether or not there's going to be 2 or 3 or 4 parts yet, but I only have plans for 2 but a possible 3rd is manifesting. The first part is a journey across the states, so there will be a chapter for each state the main character passes through after he meets the other main character. I suppose i could tack on a California and a Nevada chapter, we'll see. They might go in after I write New Jersey.

i have no idea how to format this thing. all the dialogue and stuff should be... indented you know.


CHAPTER ONE / Utah

1. Breaking rocks in the hot sun.

Tony pulled the car over. His Cadillac roared like a chorus of red lions and shook as though harassed by spirits. It struggled, and then fell silent
“I told you, you should have stopped in Richfield,” Vincent said. Tony looked at the dash. The fuel gauge’s red finger pointed heavily at E. Empty in the Utah desert. Tony opened the door to the car, out into the dry air and dust. The desert scrubs knelt in the wind.
“How typical.” Vincent got out of the car as well, sat on the hood. Tony’s glasses flashed like cameras in the sun; like movie projectors. The movie was bad and everyone knew it. A few people got up and left. Tony looked back west, down I-70.
“Someone comes,” Vincent whispered. Tony could see his reflection in Vincent’s aviators. Tony looked again. He could see a car loping towards them, like a great hound made of dust and steel. It was a Ford Bronco, orange. Tony waved at it as it approached. The Bronco slowed and pulled over behind him. A woman stepped out. She had brown hair and eyes like embers.
“Car trouble?” Her voice was like cupcakes in the oven.
“Car idiocy,” Vincent said.
“Yeah,” Tony said. “Empty.”
“Didn’t you see the sign that said ‘no services for 110 miles,” she laughed. Each joyous note of laughter struck Tony like a machine gun.
“I guess I thought it wasn’t true.”
“You’re a city boy, aren’t you,” she leaned up against the front of her machine.
“Are you going to help me, or not?” asked Tony.
“Relax, city boy,” she said. “Green River is only like 30 miles, I’ll give you a ride up and you can fill up your can with gas and we’ll come back for this beauty.”
“You’d do that for me?”
“Would you rather walk 30 miles? In this heat? I’m sorry but by the looks of you, you wouldn’t make it 3.”
“I’m a runner,” Tony said.
“You’re a bleeder.” Vincent walked over to the Bronco, inspected the inside.
“Well, what do you say city boy?” she asked after a few moments.
“Yeah, I’d appreciate it.” He opened the trunk of his car and got out a can. He sat it in the bed of her Bronco, and off they went.
“So where are you from?” she asked.
“California.”
“Los Angeles?”
“Yes.” Tony wasn’t that interested in talking. He was more interested in the desert. Its not that he wasn’t grateful, it was that he was more afraid of her than grateful for her help.
“Aren’t you going to ask me where I’m from?” she adjusted the rearview mirror. Vincent sat in the bed, his arm hanging out the side.
“Where are you from?” Tony didn’t look at her.
“I was born in Wisconsin,” she answered, “now I’m kind of a tramp.”
“A tramp?” that statement made Tony quite nervous. Vincent knew it; he made a face at Tony from the bed.
“Like I don’t really have a home. I just travel around the desert and stuff.”
“What do you do for money?” Tony was concerned about that.
“I’m a delivery girl,” she said. “I can show you if you want.”
“No thanks.”
“C’mon, it’ll be fun.” Her excitement would not be extinguished. She pushed a cassette tape into a slot in the console. The Clash started playing. Tony saw the power lines shift uncomfortably along the highway.

2. But if you do that you’ll be missing the war.

May (that was her name) knocked on the door. Tony stood pensively next to her; wearing a sports jacket she had given him from the back of her car and holding a clipboard. The jacket had a stain on it that looked like blood. She told him it was spaghetti sauce. As they waited, a dry wind swept across the road. An elderly man opened the door.
“Yes?” His voice was like burning rubber.
“Hello, I’m with the Federal Department of Health and Human Services.”
“Hello.”
“We’re going door to door and making sure that people know about the dangers of keeping prescription medication in their home, do you have any prescription medications in your home?” May was a goddess. Tony pictured her wielding a great golden bow with arrows made of lightning.
“Yes.”
“We’re going to have to have a look at them. After you, Dr. McStache.” Both the old man and Tony gave her the same look of baffled confusion. She gestured for Tony to enter the room. She followed him in. The house was cozy, but it was obvious that the elderly resided there. It was full of the kind of things you normally pictured as being sold on the sidewalk, or stored in attics. Tony took a deep breath, the house was one giant attic, and everything was for sale. No one dared buy anything.
“Where do you keep the medicine?” she asked.
“There’s a cabinet in the kitchen.” He pointed feebly toward the kitchen as he walked. He reached up to a high cabinet, and pulled down an enormous plastic bag. The big plastic bag was full of other, smaller plastic bags; each had a date written on it. They dated back as far as 1996.
“Jackpot,” May said aloud. The old man blinked at her. “I mean, I’m going to have to confiscate these right away so they can be disposed of properly. Thank you so much for your time.” She headed for the door.
“Thanks.” Tony mumbled, bowing a bit to the old man. He just blinked. Tony was afraid that he had suddenly become catatonic. He scurried out of the room with the caution of a jaywalker. Tony lifted himself into May’s truck. The old man stood on the doorstep, waving.
“I thought you said you were a delivery girl, not a thief.” Tony frowned.
“I’m not a delivery girl in the traditional sense. I send these to some crime syndicate thing… they do something with all these drugs… anyway it’s a living.”
“I see.” Tony said. Vincent stared at him from the bed, grinning like a baboon.
“So I guess I should take you back to your car now,” May said, frowning.
“I guess.” Tony nodded. May put a cassette into the slot. It was The Cure. She didn’t say much as they returned to where his car had stopped; perhaps she was trying to readjust to the loneliness she was used to.

3. Yeah, speed can kill you baby, yeah.

May and Tony both stood, bewildered. They could see clearly the impressions on the side of the road where Tony’s Cadillac had rested. Now it was invisible. Its red paint had been exchanged for shrubs and cacti and rock castles.
“This sucks.” Vincent kicked a rock off the side of the road. May turned her head curiously.
“Maybe this isn’t where it was.” May suggested, biting her fingernails.
“How could we have passed it… we already drove fifty miles in the other direction.” Tony’s fists were clenched.
“Maybe we missed it.”
“How could we have missed it! It’s the only thing that’s not a bush or a rock.” Tony did not mean to raise his voice as much as he did. The sun had set just below the horizon. Civil twilight had begun.
“Listen, let’s head back into town, we’ll talk to the police maybe they have it.” May was being sensible. Tony nodded.
“Why would the police have your car?” Vincent shook his head. “You’re such a dope, Tony.” As they drove, civil twilight ended. The sky became a rash of stars, soothed only by the cool, creeping ointment of the clouds.
“So where were you going?” May asked after it was dark.
“New York City.” Tony’s face rested on his fist, as though he were slowly and perpetually punching himself in the face.
“You are a city boy.” May laughed. “L.A. not big enough for you? Not enough big buildings?”
“You’re awfully judgmental for a criminal,” Tony smiled.
“I’m not a criminal, I’m just making a living.” She shook her hair onto her shoulders. It was long and brown, wild like the fur of a bear or a beaver. “Why are you going to New York City anyway?”
“To start over. Thought I’d get up there, sell the Cadillac, get a couple jobs and rent a room somewhere.”
“Sell your car?” May frowned. “That thing is beautiful.”
“Won’t need it once I’m up there,” Tony shrugged. “They’ve got underground trains.”
“Well isn’t that special city boy.” May mocked. “You can put on your city boy pants and your city boy cap and ride an underground train.” Tony laughed.
“So why are you really leaving L.A?” asked May. “Was it a woman?”
“No, no, nothing like that. It was just time for a change.” Tony didn’t look at her. She looked at his hair: uncombed, a little long. She looked at his beard: two weeks old, unkempt.
“It was a woman, wasn’t it.” May was stunned. She hadn’t really thought that he had left because of a woman; she just thought it would have been funny to accuse him of it.
“No, of course not!” Tony argued. “That’s ridiculous. L.A. is a huge city, its not like you can’t avoid someone if you want to.” He turned away, tried to look at something meaningful on the horizon. There was nothing. May tried to think of something to say, but she couldn’t. She thought that making fun of him might be a bit too much.
“Was she really that important?” she asked finally.
“I don’t know.” The tape stopped. May took it out and put a new tape in. It was Canned Heat.

4. Pick up a flat rock, skip it across Green River.

The Utah State Patrol didn’t have Tony’s Cadillac. They thought that bandits had probably stolen it. Tony hadn’t expected them to use that word, bandit. Like this was the old west. Tony sat outside the Patrol Headquarters on a bench, looking at the stars.
“I’ll give you a ride.” She finally said, looking down at him.
“No, its okay, they’ll find my car,” he smiled synthetically at her.
“Well either way you need somewhere to stay tonight. I’ll pay for you to stay with me. I feel kind of responsible anyway.”
“That’s silly, how is it your fault?”
“Well I dragged you along on my little delivery thing…” she said. “Maybe if I had gotten you back right away it still would have been there.”
“Don’t trouble yourself, I’ll find somewhere to stay.” Tony stood up, he started to thank her but she interrupted.
“Look, this isn’t about you anymore, this is about me unburdening my soul. So you’re staying with me, do you understand?” Her finger lingered in his face for a few moments.
“Okay, okay.” Tony didn’t have another plan beyond making it seem like he didn’t need her help. He didn’t want her to think he was dependent.
“You better get some ass tonight.” Vincent said to him. Tony glared at him as he stood up. May stood up from the steps, and headed toward the car. It was dark, but the desert still held onto its heat like a dishrag onto water. For a moment her head eclipsed a streetlight, her silhouette moving exquisitely through a curtain of air. Tony shook his head, and followed her to the car. She pulled up to a motel right next to the bridge over Green River. Christmas lights were wrapped across the banister of the upper level. It had an atmosphere of abandon.
The room was quaint, its surfaces had been satisfactory cleaned and its floor was charmingly unremarkable. The lamp on the ceiling gave off a feverish yellow light, corrupting the pristine meringue-white of the sheets and pillows.
“Cozy.” May smiled, sitting on the bed.
“There’s only one bed.” Tony was panicking a little bit, Vincent was laughing at him.
“Don’t worry, it’s big. Or we could get a rollaway if you prefer.” May rolled her eyes.
“Do you think they have toothbrushes? Mine was in my car… along with all my stuff.” Tony paced across the room.
“You’re making me nervous, why don’t you take a shower and relax.” May turned on the TV. There was some news on. Tony thought she had made a thoughtful suggestion. He went into the bathroom, and switched on the light. The tiles on the floor were blue, and above the toilet there was a picture of a big orange sun over a big orange plain, will a small blue cactus. Tony tugged at the shower curtain. It was made of corduroy. The knob was old and indecipherable. Tony tried turning it, but that didn’t do anything. After a few minutes of tinkering, he finally realized that one had to pull it away from the wall to turn it on, then it swiveled side to side to adjust the temperature. The bathroom soon filled with steam. Looking at the corduroy shower curtain made him feel dirty. Tony took his clothes off, and got in.
“You seriously need to relax, my brother.” Vincent said. Tony leaned, moving the shower curtain aside. It was cumbersome. Vincent was sitting on the toilet with his pants around his ankles.
“I’m fine.” Tony said. “My car got stolen, I’m farther east than I’ve ever been, I’m with a strange woman who is a criminal. I’d say I’m doing fine, given the circumstances.”
“Stop being so eloquent.” Vincent fiddled with the hotel soap. “Its unbecoming, besides, you’re not fine. Once you get out of the shower you’re going to remember that you don’t have any clean clothes to change into.”
“Fuck you, go away. You were supposed to stay in L.A.” Tony tried to focus on the noise of the shower, the steam gnashing with the light.
“So you wanted to leave me behind?” Vincent shouted. “Now that Sarah has left you, like I told you she would, I’m all you’ve got left.”
“No,” Tony said. “You’re wrong, Vince.” Tony turned off the shower, and reached for a towel. The corduroy felt extraterrestrial against his wet skin. He put his clothes back on grudgingly, and opened the door. May was laying down on the bed.
“Will you turn off the light, the color of this one makes me feel weird.”
“Yeah, me too,” he said, turning it off. He opened the blinds; the light coming in from the parking lot seemed more natural. May turned on the clock radio, Creedence Clearwater Revival was playing.
“I love this song.” May got under the covers. Tony lay down as far away as he could from her.

Got a handful of things here for you.

First, probably most important--whose POV is this from? It seemed to be Tony's for the most part, but then it faded occasionally into May's and Vincent's. Which was confusing and kinda threw me out of the story, because the next second it would be back to a limited perspective, seemingly, from Tony.

Here, for instance: “No, no, nothing like that. It was just time for a change.” Tony didn’t look at her. She looked at his hair: uncombed, a little long. She looked at his beard: two weeks old, unkempt.

One minute, we're seeing things from Tony. The next, May (because how could he know where she was looking, much less what his beard looked like?). All good if you're going for the omniscient view, but this is fairly dialogue and action-heavy for something omniscient. I'd suggest cutting out what Tony couldn't know--where she's looking, what his hair looks like. He can only speculate like the rest of us non-telepaths.

This brings me to my next point, which is that it's generally best in my experience to keep the subject character of a paragraph as the subject character. In other words, if Bob does something, then Jane does something, putting it as two paragraphs helps the reader keep track. Generally speaking. Also, keeps pesky pronouns from becoming ambiguous.

Using the previous example, "“No, no, nothing like that. It was just time for a change.” Tony didn’t look at her. She looked at his hair: uncombed, a little long. She looked at his beard: two weeks old, unkempt." would become:

“No, no, nothing like that. It was just time for a change.” Tony didn’t look at her.
She looked at his hair: uncombed, a little long. She looked at his beard: two weeks old, unkempt.

On second thought, though, this is a bad rule to go by. Rather, I'd say to make sure the theme of a paragraph is the same. If it's Tony doing stuff, that's good. If it's Tony and May partaking in an action, that's good too.

Next, I noticed you use a lot of sentences with the same structure. A subject, a verb, the rest of the predicate, occasionally a participial phrase hanging out at the end. Varying it up will juice up your prose and make things flow better.

Also on the technical note, watch your descriptions. Some of your similes got a little carried away there. And if this is from Tony's perspective, I don't know if I can picture him comparing his engine to a "chorus of red lions and shook as though harassed by spirits." If you are going for a limited narration approach, then using the expressions and words here and there that Tony would use can help bring the narrative to life.

You've also got some run-ons here and there, and in regards to dialogue, you have some things punctuated as indirect tags that should be punctuated as direct, and some directs punctuated as indirect. And some punctuated correctly. I don't know if these are typos, but if they aren't, I can explain the difference if you'd some clarification.

But I liked the dialogue itself, and the plot seems interesting. Too early to judge, but this is a good start.

If anything didn't make sense, or you'd like explanation on anything, let me know.

Rach

Hi, Perdido! I'm here... Finally *Breathless* I'm late... but I'm here.
I liked your story, you are a great writer and it's good to see a man's reaction over a break up! I like your Main Character, Tony. May well, she's a strange mysterious woman, and I think that's good.

Keep writing, okay?

“Car trouble?” Her voice was like cupcakes in the oven.

I don't know how a cupcake in the oven sounds, but I like it...

Its not that he wasn’t grateful, it was that he was more afraid of her than grateful for her help.

I would've freak out too. Good job making me scare, you're a good writer.

“We’re going to have to have a look at them.

You wrote "to have" twice.

“I thought you said you were a delivery girl, not a thief.” Tony frowned.
“I’m not a delivery girl in the traditional sense. I send these to some crime syndicate thing… they do something with all these drugs… anyway it’s a living.”

Maybe you should write: “I’m not a delivery girl in the traditional sense. I send these to some crime syndicate thing. They do something with all these drugs… anyway it’s a living.” Without a lot of periods.

“New York City.” Tony’s face rested on his fist, as though he were slowly and perpetually punching himself in the face.

Tony’s face rested on his fist, as though he WAS slowly and perpetually punching himself in the face.

The first thing I noticed was that you have no spacing in here besides between scenes. You may or may not have noticed, but the forums on here don't allow for indenting so you need to double-space between paragraphs. It makes it much easier to read! Second, when you get into the dialogue, the description kind of drops out. A story without dialogue is boring, but a story that ends up being almost nothing BUT dialogue can be boring, too! It's called Talking Head Syndrome, where they may as well just be standing there in a plain, white room with no door or windows, saying the lines from a script and not doing anything. So spice it up a little!

I agree completely with Mysty. The description you had going was great but as soon as you carried it to the dialogue...POOF!!! It was gone. I think that hurt the reading a little. To go along with Rachel, I was also confused by how the story jumped from one character to the next. I mean, if you could have better transitions and maybe a clear cutoff for one, you could then bring the next. I was just confused by what character I was reading about. Oh and the length was a bit much. To make it easier for some people to take a look, break it up into smaller sections so that it doesn't frighten the reader. Well, anyway, I didn't want to sound mean, I'm just trying to help, so good luck!

smaller sections still? each part is a page, each chapter is about 4 / 5 pages. Compared to yr average novel, that's almost nothing.

I'm new at formatting on this website, I apologize, and both of you guys managed to write a "critique" without so much as touching the content.

I am working on adding more details, I thank you for that.

best,

You have some nicely rhythmic writing and some pretty turns of phrases, but that's really all that kept me going through this first chapter. Beyond style issues (which I'll get to), and formatting / punctuation (which I won't address because you don't seem to want that, but the comma splices drove me a little crazy), I couldn't find the characters or their situation compelling enough to get me into the next chapter of the story.

First off: the characters. Although the road trip with a stranger has been rehashed to near-death, I think if the specific situations & characters were new enough, I'd still be game. But they're lacking dimension and, occasionally, likeable qualities. This is sort of problematic because Tom seems to be the Everyman, with his hang-ups over girls and his love for classic rock and his sidekick pal. There's a lot of dialogue and a bit of backstory but I don't feel like I have even the slightest grasp on why this character is even remotely interesting. I want a little bit more to pull me in. Mannerisms, dialogue that feels a little more unique to him (which is to say, if you laid out his dialogue with Vincent's, I wouldn't be able to tell the difference), more specific details to his backstory. Something, anything that makes me genuinely interested in his plight.

Next we have May, who reeks of Stock Girl Character. She sweeps in, all knockout-y and charming, takes an immediate interest in the characters without any kind of real motivation, and possesses a healthy dose of quirk and freshness. I can cope with the quirk and freshness, because in addition to brightening the characters' lives, it makes the story a teensy bit more intriguing, but I can't really deal with any of the other things.

I think the two elements that you may want to consider re-working the most are her motivations and her dialogue. The thing about the Stock Girl Character is that her motivations (and I don't mean just your story, but every story such a character appears in) are never very well fleshed out except that she manages to entrance and befuddle the main character. Why does she pick them up out of the desert, take them on her drug adventures (and not only take them with her in the car, but bring them into the actual house), offer to drive them to NYC and crash overnight in dubious accommodations? Free spirit or not, there is a limit to the believability of her actions, and it sort of maxes out by the first one or two crazy things she willingly participates in.

I find it incredibly difficult to believe that anyone whose livelihood depends on stealing from under people's noses would jeopardize that by bringing two hapless fellows along with her. (Worse yet, what makes her convinced their morals won't get in the way of her theft, and put her in danger?) Again, I am willing to let some of it slide, but at a certain point, it becomes obvious that her motivations are not very clearly drawn out, and that lack of dimension to her character becomes a pretty big distraction / annoyance.

I also find it difficult to believe that anyone who has been 'a tramp' for very long would be so willing to put themselves in the situations that arise in the story, like crashing with two random strangers in a sketchy motel. Of the people I know who hitchhike and generally lead hobo-y existences, even the beefiest & scariest of them has met a few screwed up people intending to do them harm, and even the friendliest of them draw their limits somewhere.

What I want to say is this: look at her character, really look at it, and figure out what makes her tick. Why she does the things she does. Flesh out her motivations more thoroughly, and find a way to make them a little more apparent in the story. You don't need to draw on her POV to do this -- again, through her actions and dialogue, you can add a little clarity (and depth) to her character. I would also suggest finding a realistic balance for her willingness to do everything, or something that makes it more plausible (a clearer presence of emotional instability, perhaps).

Her dialogue is the other thing that I wanted to bring up, because it comes across as a bit cheesy, especially with her recurring use of "city boy" (which doesn't seem as funny or endearing as it is meant to be). Her dialogue feels way too superficial and bantering, which is again problematic because her actions are much more complex. The two don't reconcile very plausibly. Use her dialogue to bring out her character a little better -- she doesn't need to directly state her motivations (in fact, I advise against that), but give us hints to her personality a little better.

I'm not really going to talk about Vincent, but he, too, lacked a lot of dimension. Sometimes he disappeared from the narrative almost completely (such as the drug scene), so that I was uncertain as to whether or not he was present. He gets a throwaway line about sitting on the bed, enough to establish his presence there, but barely. He, too, needs development. He felt like a non-entity -- I rarely noticed his existence. A clearer sense of the character would be really helpful to carry the narrative forward.

(Obviously this is the first chapter and we're not going to understand the characters completely and utterly, but there should be some greater substance. It may help to pick up some of your favourite books and read the first chapter very closely -- take a lot at the techniques they employ to bring the character to life, even within those first few pages.)

Developing each of these characters more strongly will do a lot to make the events of the story more vivid and interesting. As I said earlier, I don't really care about what's happening to them right now.

I also want to take a quick(ish) moment to talk about certain stylistic choices you made. Again, you have some really nice writing and some fantastic word choices, but sometimes the writing really threw me out of the story. Like this:

“Yes?” His voice was like burning rubber.

Similes aren't very effective if the reader has to stop and try and puzzle out what you mean. I didn't love this instance of "his voice is like ---" because you've already used this device earlier, to describe May's voice (slightly more effective, still a little awkward). I'm still not entirely sure what you're trying to say here, except that his voice is unpleasant. But there are better, less-jarring ways to say that.

Another example:

Each joyous note of laughter struck Tony like a machine gun.

I get the gist of what you're saying, again, but it takes me a few moments, and those few moments are a few moments too long. I shouldn't have to decipher imagery -- the point of imagery is that it gives your words unique clarity. But in this case it makes your sentence muddled and vague. (Not to mention: do the notes of laughter strike Tony like a machine gun, or like machine gun ammunition? Because those are two fairly different things.)

The problem with each image is that it doesn't parallel very well with the thing it is describing. You have to stop and determine what makes the voice like burning rubber -- it is the sound of rubber burning? And what makes her laughter like machine gun fire -- its devastating quality, or its unpleasantness?

Occasionally you have instances of this:

His Cadillac roared like a chorus of red lions and shook as though harassed by spirits.

Which isn't a particularly smooth sentence because you have one object being described by two incredibly different things, neither of which gel very well with the other. I also can't really imagine a chorus of red lions (which is sort of an image-in-an-image unto itself, and sort of makes me imagine musically talented lions as opposed to a deteriorating car).

Or this:

Tony’s glasses flashed like cameras in the sun; like movie projectors.

Beside the inappropriately placed semi-colon, this is a better example of two images that go well together. Except that the flashing from cameras is a very different flash than a movie projector flash (which is more of a flicker). So your first image becomes immediately undermined by your second image, and what could've been a clever comparison deteriorates.

Which brings me to this:

Tony’s glasses flashed like cameras in the sun; like movie projectors. The movie was bad and everyone knew it. A few people got up and left.

I think you may know this already, but this metaphor is far too extended to far too little of a point. For such a lengthy comparison, there's not much being said here; their situation sucks and that's sort of it. It also seems like a bit of a stretch to go from his sunglasses to their situation in one instance of imagery (you can find the connection, but it's enough of a struggle that it's not worth it).

Another instance of an overextended image:

Tony took a deep breath, the house was one giant attic, and everything was for sale. No one dared buy anything.

I'm really not sure what you're trying to say here. It's another instance of stopping to try and decipher a message that isn't really there. I can push to find something here, but it's not something that comes easily, and it's moreso myself trying to superimpose meaning than meaning being particularly present. (Also, comma splice at "breath".)

It's a pity because you really do have some excellent images in here; 'rock castles', desert scrubs kneeling in the wind, again, the cameras in the sun. But the strength of some of your prose makes the weakness of your other prose even more unbearable. And the weakness of certain phrases and sentences undermines the strength of your really strong prose. If you want a line edit for further images that are jarring or don't really work, I can give you one (again, an earlier comment you made seemed to indicate that you didn't want those types of reviews). However, I also think you can probably just go through yourself and take a hard look at the sentences you're creating, and spot them yourself.

I'll stop here; again, if you want a more thorough line edit, that can happen. Just let me know. But I think the more pressing concern should be your content, specifically, examining your characters and the events that occur. I think that tightening up your characters will really do wonders for your story. As it stands right now, I want to like it, but I can't find the characters interesting or dynamic or fully fledged enough to care.

Good luck with rewrites. If you have any questions or need me to clarify any points, let me know and I can do that.

thanks very much. the one thing I will comment on right now is that the extended metaphors you talked about are completely intentional and it is my intention to plague the reader with them.

Just wanted to tell you that all of your semi-colons are used incorrectly. Remove them and, in most cases, replace them with simple commas. Remember that the area on both sides of the semi-colon must be a complete sentence.

Bronco's don't have large "beds" like a normal truck, unless they have been custom built and tampered with, and I seriously doubt that may have tampered with it. Make the truck be a 91 yota tacoma or something. And what is the can that Vincent sets in the back? If its been, then that is entirely illegal. You're not even allowed to have open containers of alcohol in your car.

Some of the descriptions are very, very odd. Like these ones:

roared like a chorus of red lions and shook as though harassed by spirits

wild like the fur of a bear or a beaver.

eyes like embers.

Her voice was like cupcakes in the oven.

Please don't take offense to this, but almost every one of your descriptions is not very good. They make no sense. How can a voice be like cupcakes? JD Salinger can get away with that, but an amateur writer can not. Also, similes, in my opinion, are among the weakest of all descriptive methods. And almost all of your descriptions are similes. Change that. Change almost all of your descriptions, actually. I know you said that you want to "plague the reader" with them, but it just irritates the reader and decreases your value as a writer.

In general, this story was hard to follow. A hint for formatting - instead of trying to indent, press "enter" again after every paragraph or line break so we have distance between every paragraph. It makes things alot easier.

I don't believe that Vincent is necessary to this story at all. He seems as though he merely tags along for the ride, and contributes nothing to the story. He even disappears for most of the chapters.

As some of the others mentioned, most of the things that happen in this story are not very realistic. How would she make money off of that? Why would she bring him with her? W e i r d.

-Lena

the can is for gas
even if it was beer, I can have my characters do things that are illegal if I want!

the car is actually a robot, you know like in transformers. That's why it has a bed. Also, Vincent isn't real, he's in Tony's head because Tony is hallucinating. That's why May NEVER talks to him. Also those aren't descriptions, they are meant to be taken literally.

also: she makes money doing that because the fairies give her the money for being cool

What an interesting plot.