Voids. [continued, again]

THIS IS UNDER CONSTRUCTION, SORRY.

I'm probably not your target audience but I need something to critique so I'm doing this story.

Sorry:

werewolfconfessions wrote:The grammar in here is probably terrible, considering I didn't have WORD on my side for this piece.

You can say that again. JK. Actually the grammar's not as bad as I expected. But next time I suggest using an online spell-checker before posting.

I'll put [brackets] around words I suggest you add or change, strikeout through parts you should probably omit, red on awkward parts which are in serious need of rephrasing, and <whatever these things are called> on my in-quote comments.

Also, blue on the parts that made my brain do this: ?!
I don't have much to say on those parts, just that I have no idea what's going on.

When I wake up it is dark. A soft dark, not the [emptiness], not the lack of light I've grown fond of. It is just dark. My lungs feel heavy and my throat is dry. Waking up is always so much harder than falling asleep. In my dreams he is still there. The gold of his strong skin, the ease of his mouth against mine, the throb of my heart [against] my chest and the pressure of his entire body against mine. These dreams aren't dreams, they're memories and I know that. I can remember what he felt like, what we were like. In those moments I could have easily slipped right into him and existed in the perfection that made up Xander.

You need a paragraph indent right about here.

Also, a lot of the markings I made were because of vague descriptions. I know that is in the romantic genre, but that doesn't excuse the overuse of adjectives and adverbs. Granted you don't use them as much as other authors on here but I still think you can do a lot better.

Also, also, I see you've decided to write this story in the continuous present tense rather than the past tense. I feel the need to strongly urge you to re-write this story in the past tense. When it comes to 1st-person narrators 9 times out of 10 they are at their most believable when they are telling a story that happened in the past. These are called distance-remembering narrators and they function better for first person narratives because it's more believable that a person will have a better understanding of the events in the story if they've allowed some time to pass before telling it.

If you think about it most of the stories we tell are like this. When you're telling a friend about something that happened over the weekend or you're telling your parents about your day at school, you are talking about events which happened in the past. Have you ever told a story to a real-life person while the same story was still taking place? I certainly hope not.

Are there good 1st person stories told in the continuous present tense? Absolutely. But they are few and far in between and it is a very difficult skill to master.

Jemma is gone, my apartment [still] smells like her still though. I almost wish she would have stayed. I get lonely, even if the terror people give me overwhelm the pangs of regret in my stomach. I need something to get me by. I need something quick, something to ease the dream like memories and the wishing for someone to be here, to hold me. My legs don't feel like they are enough to support my body when I get up, my knees waver and my thighs snap under the pressure of my brain, my thoughts overtake the rest of me and I feel like I might slip down onto [fall to] the ground. Maybe [That's] what I want, more than any drug. I just want to stay in the coma like sleeping, with the fantasy world. I want to be happy and I'd rather be miserable. It doesn't even make sense <No kidding>. Nothing really makes sense anymore.

I think this is another good place for a paragraph indents.

Also, I know this story is being told in the first person, but it doesn't feel like that's what's going on here. It feels like a third-person narrator pretending to be a character in the story. Third person stories are what we call voice driven stories. So it's very important that as a reader we have a strong sense of the narrator's voice, which I'm not really getting here.

You need to ask yourself as you're writing (also, when you're reading) "Does this really sound like someone is talking to me?"

If the answer's yes then you've created a realistic voice for your story. If the answer's no then you didn't.

A pair of thin jeans, [A] too big sweater, falls over my [bony] wrists, hides the pencil wide thighs.

I know I whine a lot on here about people not using enough description, but in this case I don't think it's really doing anything for the story. Yes, we need to know what your protagonist looks like, but you have to present that to the reader in a believable way. I can't imagine a real person telling me, "A too big sweater falls over my bony wrists," can you?

This may seem unimaginative but I think it would be a lot more realistic to just have your narrator tell us what she looks like. Or maybe stare into the mirror (or some other reflective surface) for a minute and tell us what she sees. This is a really lazy way of revealing character description but at the very least it's more believable.

I'm not even sure if its actually that cold outside. I'm always freezing lately, my poetic, hipster friends would probably say it was the 'ice in my veins'. I'm not that dense, or lame, or even that talented with metaphors. The stairs downstairs are empty, the echo of my footsteps bounce against the walls, chipped red paint flecking off onto the concrete steps. I used to like big cities. Crowds and music and the smell of [varieties] of food. I hate it now. The noise, the [nausea] that accompanies the stench of day old tacos and [Indian] food. The people that bump against you, perhaps hoping to feel something <I know what you're going for but you really need to rephrase the way you tell it. Don't be afraid to use some vulgarity when it's appropriate>. The lightning connection, those sparks [everyone's] always talking about. Most likely though, their trying to feel for your wallet, to get their own fix, their own quick powdered version of emotion.

I appreciate the descriptions but at this point I'm waiting for the actual story to begin.

There's an ally. The typical movie script setting to buy drugs right. No street lights, no windows, just this tiny space between two [monstrous] buildings where a scary man, packing a gun and a shit ton of blow hides <lol Please rephrase. This description brings a lot of negative connotations to mind, specifically that this narrator has never actually seen a drug dealer before,or drugs for that matter>. Giving out powdered sugar like candy, feeding the noses of all the rat trash of New York. He knows me too well. I see him more than I see my parents, give him more cash than I give the bank. He keeps me here, stuck to the floor, bloody nose and all. Its a quick transaction really. Two hundred, cheap shit, and walk away. Only idiots get caught.

Another well needed paragraph indent.

Also, I'm sensing a strong case of did-not-do-the-research here (http://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/M ... heResearch)
For starters, most drug dealers don't make major transactions in the street (even if it is in an alleyway). That's pretty much common sense for any illicit activity in which large sums of money (anything more than $20) changes hands. As a matter of fact, even in those circumstances you're unlikely to see a guy selling drugs in the street.

I know that there's a popular trope in music and movies about the shady drug-dealer standing on the street corner making quick-handed transactions. But the fact is that such activity is exactly what everyone expects of a drug dealer and therefore extremely stupid for an experienced drug dealer to do, especially when it's un-cut cocaine we're dealing with. It's easy to get caught by the police when dealing drugs in the street, not to mention the danger of being seen by rival drug dealers. And since this is a "shit-ton of blow" we're talking about it'd be safe to assume that they'd have some private place to go to make the exchange.

Furthermore, we don't really know that much about this protagonist but seeing as how she regards $200 as "cheap shit" it's safe to assume that she probably wouldn't be purchasing the drugs herself. Rich people tend to have friends, servants, associates etc. who to get their drugs for them. It would be a lot more believable if she gave someone else the money who then purchased the drugs.

I can't wait to get home, [there's] a [restaurant] though, some bullshit 'fresh [Chinese]' take out. I order a water and noodles. I've got like, ten bucks on me now. The bathroom smells like cats, and I'm pretty sure some nasty ass couple is fucking in the handicap stall. It doesn't really bother me though, because once the lines out, everythings going to be fine.

There's a substantial change in voice between the last paragraph and this one. It doesn't sound like the same person is talking.

Also, there's an issue with the use of language. The vulgarity your narrator uses sounds forced and artificial. It seems like you're trying too hard to create a darker-edgier sort of feel for this story which is an extreme departure from the rest of the narrative up to this point. You can use foul-language but it needs to be appropriate to the situation and it must sound like something your character would actually say.

The sigh ofrelief is the best part, then the oxygen starts to taste better and nothing hurts anymore. I can hear the [woman's] ass smacking against the toilet paper dispenser and I can't help but laugh. Such classy people occupy the world. Cheap hookers, cheap coke <do-the-research. There's no such thing>, cheap food. We're so [civilized] right? We're tearing [each other] apart, one fucked up individual at a time. I don't eat the noodles when I get back to the table, I barely even drink the water. Its probably just piss anyway. There's a guy, a few booths over. Tall, dark hair, pale skin. I don't know if he's intentionally going for the old school tacky vampire look, but the lurking adds to the annoyance of the whole thing. I don't like when people look at me. I shoot him the finger, lean my head against the back of the stall and savor the reek of the city. I sit there forever, until the bill comes and I'm three dollar short. I really don't feel like washing dishes, and I don't have much else to barter with except my blow <a real habitual drug user wouldn't even consider sacrificing their hard earned controlled-substance>. I only really have two lines left and I doubt that a thirteen year old [Chinese] mail order bride to be would know what to do with it.
"Here" I look up to see Edward Cullen [impostor] <Should be impersonator, not impostor. Also, NO!!! Find some other way to describe this character, please. There's nothing to be gained by associating anything with Stephenie Meyers, even to make fun of it.>handing the woman a twenty and smiling softly. I raise my eyebrows. Standing up, and pulling a cigarette out of my pocket and lighting it off the candle in the center of the table, before walking out, the wind hitting my cheeks sharply. I don't even mind at this point, nothing really matters right now. Not even the fact that borderline stalker dude is walking behind me at a swift pace.
"A thank you would have sufficed" his voice is already irritating. A raspy smokers voice with too much of an accent to be cute <What kind of accent?>. I shrug and keep walking, needing to get home, to strip down to nothing and call some random dude for a late night screw. Drugs make me need to feel. Which sort of defeats the purpose of taking them <So why do you? Real life drug abusers tend to at least try to justify their habit.>. He doesn't stop until the steps of my building, and if I wasn't so gone this would have terrified me. The soft humming in the center of my skull doesn't mind, it just leads me into the arms of my apartment. Monster meowing at the window, swatting at a moth. I don't even remember the number I dial, or the man moving his hands up my waist. I don't remember the pleasure, or the softness. I just remember the touch, the hard, hot touch and the few seconds where i feel Xander again. It hurts again once the man leaves. <I have no clue what's going on. Is this guy supposed to be raping the protagonist? We need some clarification here>Once I'm alone and cold and no one is here to change it. I don't even go to sleep, [that's] to easy on myself. I just watch static flicker across the [TV], butterflies dancing over my head, laughing at what a joke my existence is.

Look:

The voice seems to be working well up until the point when the protagonist goes to purchase the cocaine. From that point on there is an extreme disconnect between the voice at the beginning of the story and the voice at the end.

Also, there were several plot-holes which took me out of the story completely. For example, cocaine is what you might call a social drug, in that people take it then they go party or have sex. Your MC uses cocaine then has a quiet meal in a restaurant. Granted, it almost makes sense that she would use drugs without going out if she's a habitual user, but then she probably wouldn't go out to a restaurant, she'd probably choose to get high in the safety and privacy of her own apartment.

There's also the effect that the drug itself is having on the protagonist. Cocaine is a stimulant but it appears to be having the opposite effect. A person who uses cocaine or a substance with cocaine in it would become hyper-aware, they would experience an extreme boost in motivation, a spike in heart rate and blood pressure, not to mention the psycho-active effects it would have.

We don't see any of that in this story. In fact your character seems to become less aware and less active after taking the cocaine which makes no sense whatsoever. I strongly urge you to change the protagonist's drug of choice from cocaine to some sort of depressant. Alcohol would be the most common and therefore most likely, but if your are hell bent on having your protagonist purchase something from a drug-dealer then consider benzodiazepine, heroin, some type of barbiturate, or any prescription medication that causes euphoria, ataxia and sedation.

While you're doing that keep in mind that all of these drugs are very very dangerous and find some way to emphasize that your protagonist is placing her life in danger by using them.

Something else to work on that isn't about the drugs: You need to ask yourself what is Xander's function in the story (also perhaps finding a name that doesn't sound so "Legend of Zelda"y) It seems like you're pushing for Xander to be the motivation behind this character's self-destructive behavior, but we don't see enough of him in the story to get a sense of that. We need a flashback to a time when the narrator and Xander were both together so that we can see what's at stake.

That's a good question to ask yourself when writing a story: What's at Stake? You need to figure that out before you revise, and make sure the readers no what it is throughout the story.

Leave me a pm or a wall post if you have any questions about my critique. And keep writing.