Everybody knows (Chapter 1)

This is my first story, so I really would appreciate comments or criticism. I usually write poems so this is really different. Enjoy it!

I herded the sheep into the pen.
“I’m done my chores for today!” I yelled to my Dad, who was working in the stables. “I’m off to the woods!”

I walked back towards the house, which was quite big. I looked over our land. There was quite a lot of it. This is our farm. We own the fields, nearby and far, plus we have our own little forest a little walk away too. As well as that there is a big lake right in the middle of it. Our own little lake.

I switched out of my trainers into my boots. It had been raining two nights before and I wanted to be sure not to get mud on my trousers. I didn’t really mind but Mum would give me a mouthful if I came back all sodden again.

I made a quick trip up to my bedroom to get my diary. Then I started the short walk. I kept to the edges of the fields, watching the horses and cows sniffling at the grass. I smiled as I recognized FooFoo, the bad chicken plucking at someone else’s feathers. She never liked it when chickens came to close to her.

I arrived soon. I climbed up my favorite old sturdy tree. When I was younger my Dad named it Magical. I thought fairies lived up there so he made me a tree house. It’s well hidden by the leaves and very comfy and shady. I have a lot items up there, food and snacks too. I made sure Dad didn’t make a ladder; I believed people would go up there and rob it. Mum wasn’t too happy about that, she was worried about my safety as usual. But I convinced her I’d only come up with Dad. But when I turned eleven I was finally allowed up by myself. So no I climb.

Once I reached my tree house I clambered in, sitting down. I chewed thoughtfully on the nib of my pencil. Then I began to write.

Dear Diary.
I am more nervous than you can imagine. I only have two more days in my beloved home. I know I shouldn’t be so worried, but the city sounds so big and different to what I am used to. I know I am 13; I can handle myself, but what if I am too different for them? A stranger, a clown? What if I end up a loner for the rest of my life?
And what about the new owners? Will they treat our house the same, take care of our animals the way we do? I know I still have you diary... but do you know what I’ll miss most? This tree house. The place where magic really works. I think, maybe, if I wish hard enough I won’t have to go. But I doubt it’ll work.

I put down my diary and pencil and went to the cool box. Dad keeps me well stocked up, and gives me something to fill the house weekly. I come here every morning, every evening and sometimes at night. Thought my parents don’t know about that. I even swim in the lake, or fish with Dad.

I ate some tomatoes, that felt slightly mushy, but I didn’t care. I was running out of stock here, but that didn’t matter. I wouldn’t be here much longer. I didn’t have anything more to write. I had gotten all my worries down, and that’s all I really felt like writing. I sighed, sitting down and stared out to the sky. I let my brain shut down and did nothing. Absolutely nothing but listen to the calming wind and my own steady breathing.

I watched as the sky turned a bright pinky color, and then a fiery orange. I knew I needed to go back to Mum, but I didn’t feel like moving. After a few minutes I sighed and stood up. I climbed down from my tree and started the short journey home. Mum was really excited, and I didn’t want to disappoint her. I knew she never really liked the country, being a city girl right from the start. She’s really excited to be going back to her ‘home’ as she calls it.

I entered the house, and strangely everything had been packed into boxes while I was gone, except for some things. Mum shoved some boxes at me.
“Where were you, hm?” she asked. “We could of had some help packing, but oh well, you can do your room at least. Label the boxes, bin and keep. Don’t keep everything; you only need some stuff okay?”

I nodded silently while she bustled off to pack up some more things and check on the dinner. I could smell some fish. Probably the big salmon Dad caught fishing yesterday. I didn’t like fish at first but naturally I had grown to eat it.

I carried the big pile of boxes up the swiveled stairs into my room. I rested the pile onto my bed and sat down next to it. I just owned so much stuff! What would I take? I quickly picked up my diary, and put it in my backpack, which was almost full of things to do on the journey. I gathered together all my previous diaries out of their hiding places and put them in a box. Ruffling around on my desk I found a marker and scribbled ‘keep’ on the box. At least I’d started.

I chose an area of my room and started emptying it of all ornaments. I chucked out my old Barbies, broken piggy banks and MacDonald toys I’d found behind the bookcase. All my baby books went into a bin bag and only then I realized how few I had left. The leftover books barely filled one box. But I didn’t read that much anyway.

I hadn’t even packed away half the stuff in my room when Mum called me down to dinner. I was right, it was salmon. There was also cheese pasta, potatoes and lettuce. It smelled sickening. I wasn’t very hungry.

At dinner I followed my usual routine. First I had to get rid of my fish. Ronnie, our dog was waiting expectantly by my chair. She always knew when she was being fed. I cut the salmon into pieces. Every now and then I would lift my fork to my mouth as if I was going to eat it, but then suddenly joined in the conversation and lowered it again. That way my parents thought I was eating. But I was sliding all my food to a waiting Ronnie.

When dinner was finished I went up to finish my room. I was surprised to find it was one in the morning by the time I was complete. The last thing I packed was my mirror. I looked at my dirty blond hair, that reached to my shoulders. My white skin was pale against my red lips and pink cheeks. My blue eyes looked back at me. I dropped my mirror carelessly into the box. I heard a crash. Glass splinters filled the box. Great, I thought. I started fishing out the pieces, careful not to cut myself. I put the shards into the bin bag. Now I could go to bed.

I quietly showered, so I didn’t wake up my parents, and snuggled into bed. Tomorrow will be my last day. I thought to myself, staring at the ceiling. I followed over so I was facing the door. I better make the most of it.

“I’m done my chores for today!” I yelled to my Dad, who was working in the stables. “I’m off to the woods!”

I walked back towards the house, which was quite big. I looked over our land. There was quite a lot of it. (This has a weird rhythm because it's several short lines, I would maybe put them together into one, that would make it flow more)

(I would start a new paragraph here) This is our farm. We own the fields, nearby and far, (I love this line, it has a sweet rhythm) plus we have our own little forest a little (Maybe choose a different word here, two "little"s after each other breaks the flow) walk away too. As well as that there is (The story is in past tense so this should be "are") a big lake right in the middle of it. Our own little lake.

I switched out of my trainers into my boots. It had been raining two nights before and I wanted to be sure not to get mud on my trousers. I didn’t really mind but Mum would give me a mouthful if I came back all sodden again.

I made a quick trip up to my bedroom to get my diary. Then I started the short walk. I kept to the edges of the fields, watching the horses and cows sniffling at the grass. I smiled as I recognized FooFoo, the bad chicken plucking at someone else’s feathers. She never liked it when chickens came to close to her.

I arrived soon. I climbed up my favorite old sturdy tree. When I was younger my Dad named it Magical. I thought fairies lived up there so he made me a tree house. It’s well hidden by the leaves and very comfy and shady. I have a lot items up there, food and snacks too. I made sure Dad didn’t make a ladder; I believed people would go up there and rob it. Mum wasn’t too happy about that, she was worried about my safety as usual. But I convinced her I’d only come up with Dad. But when I turned eleven I was finally allowed up by myself. So no I climb.

Once I reached my tree house I clambered in, sitting down. I chewed thoughtfully on the nib of my pencil. Then I began to write.

Dear Diary.

I am more nervous than you can imagine. I only have two more days in my beloved home. I know I shouldn’t be so worried, but the city sounds so big and different to (from) what I am used to. I know I am 13; I can handle myself, but what if I am too different for them? A stranger, a clown? What if I end up a loner for the rest of my life?

And what about the new owners? Will they treat our house the same, take care of our animals the way we do? I know I still have you diary... but do you know what I’ll miss most? This tree house. The place where magic really works. I think, maybe, if I wish hard enough I won’t have to go. But I doubt it’ll work.

I put down my diary and pencil and went to the cool box. Dad keeps me well stocked up, and gives me something to fill the house weekly. I come here every morning, every evening and sometimes at night. Thought (Though) my parents don’t know about that. I even swim in the lake, or fish with Dad. (Check for present tense words in this paragraph, they should be past tense)

I ate some tomatoes, that felt slightly mushy, but I didn’t care. I was running out of stock here, but that didn’t matter. I wouldn’t be here much longer. I didn’t have anything more to write. I had gotten all my worries down, and that’s all I really felt like writing. I sighed, sitting down and stared out to the sky. I let my brain shut down and did nothing. Absolutely nothing but listen to the calming wind and my own steady breathing.

I watched as the sky turned a bright pinky color, and then a fiery orange. I knew I needed to go back to Mum, but I didn’t feel like moving. After a few minutes I sighed and stood up. I climbed down from my tree and started the short journey home. Mum was really excited, and I didn’t want to disappoint her. I knew she never really liked the country, being a city girl right from the start. She’s (I would put in a "was" here, because "she's" sounds more like "she is") really excited to be going back to her ‘home’ as she calls (called) it.


I entered the house, and strangely everything had been packed into boxes while I was gone, except for some things. Mum shoved some boxes at me.

“Where were you, hm (hm?) ?” she asked. “We could of had (have used) some help packing, but oh well, you can do your room at least. Label the boxes, bin and keep. Don’t keep everything; you only need some stuff okay?”

I nodded silently while she bustled off to pack up some more things and check on the dinner. I could smell some fish. Probably the big salmon Dad caught fishing yesterday. I didn’t like fish at first but naturally I had grown to eat it.

I carried the big pile of boxes up the swiveled stairs into my room. I rested the pile onto my bed and sat down next to it. I just owned so much stuff! What would I take? I quickly picked up my diary, and put it in my backpack, which was almost full of things to do on the journey. I gathered together all my previous diaries out of their hiding places and put them in a box. Ruffling around on my desk I found a marker and scribbled ‘keep’ on the box. At least I’d started.


I chose an area of my room and started emptying it of all ornaments. I chucked out my old Barbies, broken piggy banks and MacDonald toys I’d found behind the bookcase. All my baby books went into a bin bag and only then I realized how few I had left. The leftover books barely filled one box. But I didn’t read that much anyway.

I hadn’t even packed away half the stuff in my room when Mum called me down to dinner. I was right, it was salmon. There was also cheese pasta, potatoes and lettuce. It smelled sickening. I wasn’t very hungry.

At dinner I followed my usual routine. First I had to get rid of my fish. Ronnie, our dog was waiting expectantly by my chair. She always knew when she was being fed. I cut the salmon into pieces. Every now and then I would lift my fork to my mouth as if I was going to eat it, but then suddenly joined in the conversation and lowered it again. That way my parents thought I was eating. But I was sliding all my food to a waiting Ronnie.

When dinner was finished I went up to finish my room. I was surprised to find it was one in the morning by the time I was complete. The last thing I packed was my mirror. I looked at my dirty blond hair, that reached to my shoulders. My white skin was pale against my red lips and pink cheeks. My blue eyes looked back at me. I dropped my mirror carelessly into the box. I heard a crash. Glass splinters filled the box. Great, I thought. I started fishing out the pieces, careful not to cut myself. I put the shards into the bin bag. Now I could go to bed.


I quietly showered, so I didn’t wake up my parents, and snuggled into bed. Tomorrow will (would) be my last day. I thought to myself, staring at the ceiling. I followed over so I was facing the door. I better make the most of it.

I really like this, and where it's going! You write beautifully and descriptive, but be careful not to use the same words too often, I tend to think that it breaks up the flow in the story.
You have some places where you write in present tense and some where you write in past (mostly you write in past, so I guess that's the intention) so you should edit that - I have marked some places.

Overall I really like this story and I will look forward to reading the rest of the story, to see where this is going!

Love,

I herded the sheep into the pen. Not an entirely drawing beginning. To give you my clichéd advice, try describing the herding of the sheep. Your beginning will be that much stronger.
(space here)
“I’m done with my chores for today Alternatively, you could have said, “I’ve done my chores for today;” however, the way it was written originally was incorrect. !” I yelled to my Dad, who was working in the stables. “I’m off to the woods!”
(space here)
I walked back towards the house, which was quite big. I looked over our land. There was quite a lot of it. This is was our farm I’ve already guessed this, so you’re causing yourself to sound redundant. Tell us something about your farm, like where it is, or something like that. Don’t just waste space by telling the reader things he already knows. . We own owned the fields, nearby and far Unnecessary. Insert here instead something else that you owned. , plus we have had our own little forest a little walk away too. As well as that Right in the middle of it lay there is a big lake right in the middle of it. —our own little I thought you just said it was big? lake.

I switched out of my trainers into my boots. It had been raining two nights before and I wanted to be sure not to get mud on my trousers. I didn’t really mind but Mum would give me a mouthful if I came back all sodden again.

I made a quick trip up to my bedroom to get my diary. Then I started the short walk. I kept to the edges of the fields, watching the horses and cows sniffling at the grass. I smiled as I recognized FooFoo Please, please rename her. , the bad chicken plucking at someone else’s another chicken’s feathers That makes it sound like she was eternally plucking at another chicken’s feathers, and the other chicken was eternally being plucked. Say instead that FooFoo had a habit of plucking others’ feathers. . She never liked it when chickens other animals came to close to her.

I arrived soon quickly. I climbed up my favorite old sturdy tree. When I was younger my Dad named it Magical. I thought fairies lived up there so he made me a tree house Odd cause-and-effect relationship…. . It’s It was well hidden by the leaves and very comfy and shady. I have had a lot of items up there, including food and snacks So I take this distinction to mean you don’t consider snacks food? too. I made sure Dad didn’t make a ladder; I believed people would go up there and rob it. Mum wasn’t too happy about that: she was worried about my safety, as usual. But I convinced her I’d only come up with Dad. But when I turned eleven I was finally allowed to climb up by myself. So no I climb.

Once I reached my tree house, I clambered in, sitting down. I chewed thoughtfully on the nib of my pencil Immediately? You chewed thoughtfully on it before even mentioning that you had taken out any pencil nib or diary? . Then I began to write.
(space here)
Dear Diary,
(space here)
I am more nervous than you can imagine. I only have two more days in my beloved home Rewrite this so that the emphasis is not on how many days you have left but on the fact that you are moving in three days. . I know I shouldn’t be so worried, but the city sounds so big and different compared to what I am used to. I know I am 13; I can handle myself What does being able to handle yourself have anything to do with anything? , but what if I am too different for them? A stranger, a clown? What if I end up a loner for the rest of my life?
(space here)
And what about the new owners? Will they treat our house the same as we do, take care of our animals the way we do? I know I still have you, diary... but do you know what I’ll miss most? This tree house. The place where magic really works. I think, maybe, if I wish hard enough I won’t have to go. But I doubt it’ll work.
(space here)
I put down my diary and pencil and went to the cool box You mean cooler? . Dad keeps kept me well stocked up, and gives me something to fill the house weekly always making sure the cool box/cooler was full. I come came here every morning, every evening, and sometimes at night. Thought my parents don’t know about that. I even swim in the lake, or fish with Dad.

I ate some tomatoes. that They felt slightly mushy, but I didn’t care. I was running out of stock here, but that didn’t matter. I wouldn’t be here much longer. I didn’t have anything more to write. I had gotten all my worries down, and that’s all I really felt like writing. I sighed, sitting down and stared staring out to into the sky. I let my brain shut down and did nothing. Absolutely nothing but listen to Now there was nothing, nothing but the calming wind and my own steady breathing.

I watched as the sky turned a bright pinky color, and then a fiery orange. I knew I needed to go back to Mum, but I didn’t feel like moving. After a few minutes I sighed and stood up. I climbed down from my tree and started the short journey home. Mum was really excited, and I didn’t want to disappoint her. I knew she never really liked the country, being a city girl right from the start. She’s really excited to be going back to her ‘home’, as she calls called it.

I entered the house, and strangely everything had been packed into boxes while I was gone, except for some things. Mum shoved some boxes at me.
(space here)
“Where were you, hm (insert name)?” she asked. “We could of have had some help packing. , but oh well, you can do your room at least Your room still needs to be done. Label the boxes, one bin and one keep. Don’t keep everything; you only need some stuff. Okay?”

I nodded silently while she bustled off to pack up some more things and check on the dinner. I could smell some fish. Probably the big salmon Dad caught fishing yesterday. I didn’t hadn’t like liked fish at first when I was young but naturally I had grown over the years to eat enjoy it.

I carried the big pile of boxes up the swiveled spiral stairs staircase that led into to my room. I rested the pile onto my bed and sat down next to it. I just owned so much stuff! What would I take? I quickly picked up my diary, and put it in my backpack, which was almost already full of things to do on during the journey. I gathered together all my previous diaries out of their hiding places and put them in a box. Ruffling around on my desk I found a marker and scribbled ‘keep’ on the box. At least I’d started.

I chose an area of my room and started emptying it of all ornaments. I chucked out my old Barbies, broken piggy banks and MacDonald (McDonald?) toys I’d found behind the bookcase. All my baby books went into a bin bag and only then did I realized realize how few things I had left But this contradicts “I hadn’t even packed away half the stuff in my room,” so maybe I’m misunderstanding you. Clarify what you’re trying to say. . The leftover books barely filled one box. But I didn’t read that much anyway.

I hadn’t even packed away half the stuff in my room when Mum called me down to dinner. I was right—it was salmon. There was also cheese pasta, potatoes and lettuce. It smelled sickening. I wasn’t very hungry Clearly. .

At dinner I followed my usual routine. First I had to get rid of my fish I thought you said that you had learned to eat/enjoy fish. . Ronnie, our dog, was waiting expectantly by my chair. She always knew when she was being going to be fed. I cut the salmon into pieces. Every now and then I would lift my fork to my mouth as if I was going to eat it, but then suddenly joined join in the conversation and lowered lower it again. That way my parents thought I was eating. But I was actually sliding all my food down to a waiting Ronnie.

When dinner was finished I went up to finish emptying my room. I was surprised to find that it was one in the morning by the time I was complete. The last thing I packed was my mirror. I looked at my dirty blond hair, that which reached down to my shoulders. My white skin was pale against my red lips and pink cheeks. My blue eyes looked back at me Erm, try thinking of something a bit more creative. . I dropped my mirror carelessly into the box. I heard a crash. Glass splinters filled the box. Great, I thought. I started fishing out the pieces, careful not to cut myself. I put the shards into the bin bag. Now I could go to bed.

I quietly showered As opposed to showering loudly? , so I didn’t wake up my parents, and snuggled into bed. Tomorrow will would be my last day, I thought to myself, staring at the ceiling. I followed over so I was facing the door. I better make the most of it.

Keep writing.

-Kafka

Hey sweetie! GO TEAM YELLOW~
so here's my suggestions

I herded the sheep into the pen.is the pen small, big, wooden, metal? discribe it more
“I’m done my chores for today!” I yelled to my Dad, who was working in the stables. “I’m off to the woods!”

As walked back towards our large house, I looked over our extensive piece of land, our farm.To the right lay the fields which extended into the horizon, to the left, our own little forest and infront of the house wound a little walk way.In the middle of our land is a big lake. Our own little paradice.I changed this so that it would flow together more smoothly if you know what I mean. I tried to keep it as close to the original as possible.

I opened the large door and walked inside, switched out of my trainers into my boots. It had been raining two nights before and I wanted to be sure not to get mud on my trousers. I didn’t really mind but Mum would give me a mouthful if I came back all sodden again.

I ranup to my bedroom to fetch my diary. Then dashed downstairs and out the door to start on the short walk to the woods. I kept to the edges of the fields, watching the horses and cows sniffling at the grass. I smiled as I recognized FooFoo, the bad chicken plucking at someone else’s feathers. She never liked it when the other chickens came to close to her.

I arrived soon and took my time climbing up my favorite old, sturdy tree. When I was younger my Dad named it Magical. I thought fairies lived up there so he made me a tree house, well hidden by the leaves and very comfy and shady. I store all sorts of items up there including food. I made sure Dad didn’t make a ladder; I believed people would go up there and rob it. Mum wasn’t too happy about that, she was worried about my safety as usual. But I convinced her I’d only come up with Dad. But when I turned eleven I was finally allowed up by myself. So now I climb.

Once I reached my tree house I clambered in and sat down. I chewed thoughtfully on the nib of my pencil. Then I began to write.

Dear Diary.
I am more nervous than you can imagine. I only have two more days in my beloved home. I know I shouldn’t be so worried, but the city sounds so big and different to what I am used to. I know I am 13; I can handle myself, but what if I am too different for them? A stranger, a clown? What if I end up a loner for the rest of my life?
And what about the new owners? Will they treat our house the same, take care of our animals the way we do? I know I still have you diary... but do you know what I’ll miss most? This tree house. The place where magic really works. I think, maybe, if I wish hard enough I won’t have to go. But I doubt it’ll work.

I put down my diary and pencil and went to the cool box. Dad keeps me well stocked up, and gives me something to fill the house weekly. I come here every morning, every evening and sometimes at night. Though my parents don’t know about that. I even swim in the lake, or fish with Dad.

I ate some tomatoes, that felt slightly mushy, but I didn’t care. I was running out of stock here, but that also didn’t matter. I wouldn’t be here much longer. I didn’t have anything more to write. I had gotten all my worries down, and that’s all I really felt like writing. I sighed, sitting down again and stared out to the sky. I let my brain shut down and did nothing. Absolutely nothing but listen to the calming wind and my own steady breathing.

I watched as the sky turned a bright pinky color, and then a fiery orange. I knew I needed to go back to Mum, but I didn’t feel like moving. After a what seemed like hours I sighed and stood up. I climbed down from my safehaven and started the short journey home. Mum was really excited about moving, and I didn’t want to disappoint her. I knew she never really liked the country, being a city girl right from the start. She’s really excited to be going back to her ‘home’ as she calls it.

I entered the house, and strangely almost everything had been packed into boxes while I was gone. Mum shoved some boxes at me.

“Where were you, hm?” she asked. “We could of had some help packing, but oh well, you can do your room at least. Label the boxes, "bin" and "keep". Don’t keep everything; you only need some stuff okay?”

I nodded silently while she bustled off to pack up some more things and check on the dinner. I could smell some fish. Probably the big salmon Dad caught yesterday. I didn’t like fish at first but not having much of a choice, I had grown to eat it.

I carried the big pile of boxes up the swiveled stairs into my room. I rested the pile onto my bed and sat down next to it. I just owned so much stuff! What would I take? I quickly picked up my diary, and put it in my backpack, which was almost full of things to do on the journey. I gathered together all my previous diaries out of their hiding places and put them in a box. Ruffling around on my desk I found a marker and scribbled ‘keep’ on the box. At least I’d started.

I chose an area of my room and started emptying it of all ornaments. I chucked out my old Barbies, broken piggy banks and McDonald toys I’d found behind the bookcase. All my baby books went into a bin bag and only then I realized how few I had left. The leftover books barely filled one box. But I didn’t read that much anyway.

I hadn’t even packed away half the stuff in my room when Mum called me down to dinner. I was right, it was salmon. There was also cheese pasta, potatoes and lettuce. It smelled sickening. I wasn’t very hungry.why does it smell sickening and why isn't the your character hungery. Oh by the way I don't think you ever told us the name or gender

At dinner I followed my usual routine. First I had to get rid of my fish. Ronnie, our dog was waiting expectantly by my chair. She always knew when she was being fed. I cut the salmon into pieces. Every now and then I would lift my fork to my mouth as if I was going to eat it, but then suddenly joined in the conversation and lowered it again. That way my parents thought I was eating. But I was sliding all my food to a waiting Ronnie.

When dinner was finished I went up to work on my room and was surprised to find it was one in the morning by the time I was complete. The last thing I packed was my mirror. I looked at my dirty blond hair, that reached to my shoulders. My white skin was pale against my red lips and pink cheeks. My blue eyes looked back at me. Droping my mirror carelessly into the box, I heard a crash. Peering inside I saw hundred of glass splinters along the bottom. Great I thought. I started fishing out the pieces, careful not to cut myselfI placed the tiny shards into the bin. When that was finished I quietly showered trying my best not to wake my sleeping parnets then stumbled over to my familiar bed. Tomorrow will be my last day on the farm, tomorrow my life will change. I better make the most of it. Those were my thoughts as I sank into the soft matress letting my blankets hug me tight as I drifted off to sleep.

I understand that writing novels are way different than writing a poem but this is a good start! Keep writing and remember, a story needs more discription and less "I did this. I did that" you'll find you're not able to get away with short sentences and broken stories. A poem is open for interpritation. A story is about the writer. Try to make it personal.

~Blondie Missy Angel~

You are doing really well for someone who has just started. A good rule of thumb that I would like to share with you is that nothing should go into your story that does not advance the action, or tell us something about the character. To use an example from other reviewers, "I herded the sheep into the pen" doesn't really tell us anything important. It would probably be better to jump right into the first line your character says. Always start where the activity begins. Remember, less is more.

Another minor detail that is bothering me, I can't tell why the mirror broke. Did she (He? Name?) throw it down hard enough to smash it, or just drop it so carelessly that it shattered? The intent changes if it's one or the other. Otherwise this was really entertaining. I hope you move foreward and establish a more concrete plotline.