At Our Tea Shop

Sitting in the corner of a familiar tea shop, I observe the intriquette ordiments stacked tightly and frightingly close to one another on the surrounding display shelves. The comfort of the store I suppose is what draws me to it, the sweet aromas of fresh black tea infuesed with vanilla brewing appeals to the heavy hearted.

I drink my orange chai tea and play memories over in my mind. The times with my kindred spirit, my best friend, my soul mate, the person I love most in the world. The person I loved from the moment I met him. The person that brought hope to a desperate and lonely person, a sense of safety and warmth only one could find at home, only I had no home, not really. A connection so deep, I could cry at the thought of it. A brief relationship, a strong relationship full of passion and exposed emotions. I promised myself I would never fall so vulnerable to a man again, and yet I broke that promise. Funny how breaking a promise to yourself is so much worse breaking a promise to someone else. A promise not worth making. A promise that had been forgotton with his trusting words and for my strong deisire to leave the past and play happy and successful wife in fantasy world. I played into the sweet 'i love you' lines, the lines I'm sure he thought he meant. The deep hollow pain when I feel him pull away is the price I pay for believing dreams of such love are possible.

I close my eyes and remember how he would crouch on the ground, making him eye level with me as I sat on the bed, we would get lost just smelling each others skin, nuzzling into each others necks, he would trace my face with the tip of his nose. Love. Love created after only two weeks together. A bond. Our bond. A bond that took three agonizing, raw months to break. The tears swell in my eyes and drop into my tea cup. The tea cup that holds the orange chai I ordered in hope to relax, an attempt it seems to be in vein as the pressure in my heart has not been relieved nor has the heavy pounding in my head. Just the thought, a single thought of his eyes is enough to put me in hysterics. The feel of his beard when he doesn't shave, the sound of his voice when he sings along to a song. I have become one that wallows in the depth of my own misery, a glutton for self pity.

The wairess walks by holding a tray with scones, the picturesque scene of simplicity. A person doing their job, no drama. She smiles as she places the tray on the table, serving the eager young couple engrossed in a discussion. The girl doing most of the talking and accenturating her point with hand gestures. She wears a silver ring on her right thumb, with a purple stone in the centre. It looks pretty. They both wear big smiles and they thank the waitress when she leaves the table. Carrying the empty tray, she walks back past my table, taking careful point not to make eye contact with me, as all the waitress' do today, I can imagine them gossiping at the back
"Yeah, that girl with the black nail polish is crying"
"Should we do anything?"
"Like what?"
They just let me be, thankfully. This is exactly what I want, aving the wollower to wollow.

As the time passes my mind becomes tired, it serves me right. Never get involved with a man that has consistant problems with . Constantly playing in the garden of mystery, drenched in hostility and insecurities.

The pictures above the register show scenes of trenquil and ideal holiday destinations. We used to laugh at the picture with cherry trees. I told hjim once, "This is where I want to go", he had laughed and said that the painting was a somewhat simplified version of his home in New Zealand. He promised to take me to his cherry trees in his backyard. He took my hand into his and kissed me. We then spent the next hour drinking tea and discussing the beauties and the beasts of cherry trees.

We often spoke of nature, buying a house somewhat more connected to the hinterland, taking walks amongst the grass and breathing in the fresh air. He promised me. A desperation to be near him increases and I feel a drift in a sea of tea drinkers, and the lost soul I had forgotton is made prominant as I imagine living a life without him. The desperation tweaks the imagination. He is suddenly here. At the entrance of the store, our tea store. He looks around frantically for me. He spots me and walk s toward me. I can't believe it, everything slows immensly and I catch my breath. All I can do is inhale the tea scents. I panic, what do I say to the man I love most? He smiles at me, pulls me up out of my chair and hugs me. I bury my face into his neck, I can smell him, he smells like my home. I sob into him. We stand there, gripped to each other, nothing could tear us apart. We sway as we are lose in each other. He soothes me, as he rocks me and gently says "shhhhh, shhhhh it's ok, why are you crying hey? Shhhhh" I hug him tighter and he doesn't pull away, he just holds me tighter. I smile as the tears fun down my face. Everone stares at us, but we don't notice, we're lost, lost in each other.

"Are you alright miss?"
"What?" I start, I had been lost in my dream world again.
"Are you alright? Would you like some more tea?"
I hadn't noticed I drank it all
"Oh, eh, yes thank you, just the same"
She smiles and places the empty tea pot and cup on her tray. More tea. I dry the last of the fantasy tears. The guy in the corner strumming his guitar makes for a more ideal mourning scene. My perfect agony. And I sit waiting for my tea, waiting to heal, waiting for you. My eyes never move from the entrance of our tea shop.

You have a lot of spelling mistakes, it's intricate for instance. Some of them just look like typos. It's a very good story. But you just need to look back over it and do some spell checking it.

Hey I'm critiquing your story now.

First of all the spelling mistakes were very distracting so I took the liberty of running this story through spellcheck before reading it. But next time please hit F7 before you post, or if for some reason your word processor doesn't have that feature go to google and search for "spell check" for a free version.

bootsie101 wrote:Sitting in the corner of a familiar tea shop, I observe the [intricate] [ordainments] stacked tightly and [frighteningly] close to one another on the surrounding display shelves. The comfort of the store I suppose is what draws me to it, the sweet aromas of fresh black tea [infused] with vanilla brewing appeals to the heavy hearted.

Not bad description wise, but describing the ordainments being stacked "frighteningly" close to each other seems like a bit of an awkward description. Consider rephrasing.

I drink my orange chai tea and play memories over in my mind. The times with my kindred spirit, my best friend, my soul mate, the person I love most in the world. The person I loved from the moment I met him.

Most of this description could be condensed.

"I thought back to the times I spent with my kindred spirit, my best friend, the man I loved most in the world"
-That's really all we need to know, the rest is just logistical filler and it doesn't serve much of a purpose in the story.

Remember: Every word in a story must do one of two things, reveal character or advance the plot.

The person that brought hope to a desperate and lonely person, a sense of safety and warmth only one could find at home, only I had no home, not really. A connection so deep, I could cry at the thought of it. A brief relationship, a strong relationship full of passion and exposed emotions.

Again, condense the sentence. Only include what is absolutely necessary: "He was the person that brought hope to my desperate soul. He gave me a home when I had none. I could cry at the thought of losing that relationship."
-This is all we need to know.

I promised myself I would never fall so vulnerable to a man again, and yet I broke that promise. Funny how breaking a promise to yourself is so much worse breaking a promise to someone else. A promise not worth making. A promise that had been [forgotten] with his trusting words and for my strong [desire] to leave the past and play happy and successful wife in fantasy world. I played into the sweet '[I] love you' lines, the lines I'm sure he thought he meant. The deep hollow pain when I feel him pull away is the price I pay for believing dreams of such love are possible.

I'll admit, you have some nice imagery but the aesthetic appeal is lost when it's buried beneath all the rest of that text. Work on narrowing your paragraphs down to the main ideas. "Get to the point," is what I want you to think about as you're revising.

I close my eyes and remember how he would crouch on the ground, making him eye level with me as I sat on the bed, we would get lost just smelling each [other’s] skin, nuzzling into each [other’s] necks, he would trace my face with the tip of his nose. Love. Love created after only two weeks together. A bond. Our bond. A bond that took three agonizing, raw months to break. The tears swell in my eyes and drop into my tea cup. The tea cup that holds the orange chai I ordered in hope to relax, an attempt it seems to be in vein as the pressure in my heart has not been relieved nor has the heavy pounding in my head. Just the thought, a single thought of his eyes is enough to put me in hysterics. The feel of his beard when he doesn't shave, the sound of his voice when he sings along to a song. I have become one that wallows in the depth of my own misery, a glutton for self pity.

This is a decent paragraph. It still has the problem of too much logistical filler, but I've addressed that several times already. What I would like to see though is some description of the bedroom. You spend a lot of time describing the main character's emotions, but as readers we want to be shown how the characters feel, not told. And the best way to be shown how the narrator feels is by taking this poetic imagery and applying it to the description of setting and character. The way your main character describes her lover will give us a better idea of how she really feels about him than just telling us like you're doing now.

The [waitress] walks by holding a tray with scones, the picturesque scene of simplicity. A person doing their job, no drama. She smiles as she places the tray on the table, serving the eager young couple engrossed in a discussion. The girl doing most of the talking and [accentuating] her point with hand gestures. She wears a silver ring on her right thumb, with a purple stone in the [center]. It looks pretty.

Don't tell us it looks pretty, show us it looks pretty. Describe the light reflecting off the purple stone. The frustrating thing about this story is not that you don't use description, but you're describing the wrong things. Emotions shouldn't be described, this isn't a poem, emotions should be shown through voice, exposition, action and dialogue.

They just let me be, thankfully. This is exactly what I want, [leaving] the [wallower] to [wallow] (I’m guessing that’s what you meant to say, but I honestly have no idea).

As the time passes my mind becomes tired, it serves me right. Never get involved with a man that [I had] [consistent] problems with . Constantly playing in the garden of mystery, drenched in hostility and insecurities.

The pictures above the register show scenes of [tranquil] and ideal holiday destinations. We used to laugh at the picture with cherry trees. I told [him] once, "This is where I want to go", he had laughed and said that the painting was a somewhat simplified version of his home in New Zealand. He promised to take me to his cherry trees in his backyard. He took my hand into his and kissed me. We then spent the next hour drinking tea and discussing the beauties and the beasts of cherry trees.

I suggest replacing this paragraph with an actual flashback. Almost all of this story is about the narrator's relationship with this unnamed man, but he hasn't made an actual appearance. We need to see a flashback to a time when they were still together so that we can get a sense of what was lost. We can't feel the main character's sadness if we don't see her at a time when she was happy.

We often spoke of nature, buying a house somewhat more connected to the hinterland, taking walks amongst the grass and breathing in the fresh air. He promised me. A desperation to be near him increases and I feel a drift in a sea of tea drinkers, and the lost soul I had [forgotten] is made [prominent] as I imagine living a life without him. The desperation tweaks the imagination. He is suddenly here. At the entrance of the store, our tea store. He looks around frantically for me. He spots me and walk s toward me. I can't believe it, everything slows [immensely] and I catch my breath. All I can do is inhale the tea scents. I panic, what do I say to the man I love most? He smiles at me, pulls me up out of my chair and hugs me. I bury my face into his neck, I can smell him, he smells like my home. I sob into him. We stand there, gripped to each other, nothing could tear us apart. We sway as we are lose in each other. He soothes me, as he rocks me and gently says "shhhhh, shhhhh it's ok, why are you crying hey? Shhhhh" I hug him tighter and he doesn't pull away, he just holds me tighter. I smile as the tears fun down my face. [Everyone] stares at us, but we don't notice, we're lost, lost in each other.

"Are you alright miss?"
"What?" I start, I had been lost in my dream world again.
"Are you alright? Would you like some more tea?"
I hadn't noticed I drank it all
"Oh, eh, yes thank you, just the same"
She smiles and places the empty tea pot and cup on her tray. More tea. I dry the last of the fantasy tears. The guy in the corner strumming his guitar makes for a more ideal mourning scene. My perfect agony. And I sit waiting for my tea, waiting to heal, waiting for you. My eyes never move from the entrance of our tea shop.

Alright, this seems to be an example of the "bathtub story" a story which basically takes place inside the character's head. There's no linear plot or significant action and halfway through the story the reader realizes that the main character is never going to "get out of the bathtub" so to speak. Are there good bathtub stories? Absolutely, but in order to make one compelling to the reader you need to give us a good idea of what has been lost.

Now it's obvious that the protagonist has lost her "soul mate" but you don't necessarily give us a good idea of what was lost, what their relationship was like before the breakup or even why they broke up at all. When you revise this story I suggest you include a few flashbacks to fix these problems.

Also, I would like to see some physical description of the characters. This unnamed man is such an important person to the main character yet the narrator never describes what he looks like. This seems to be a common dilemma on this website (Seriously you guys, what do you have against physical description?). You don't need to describe your characters from head to toe but give us some key details for our minds to hold on to, some minor flaw or imperfection that distinguishes each character from everyone else.

I hope this critique has been helpful to you. And keep writing.