Young Writers Society

The Ghost Writer

I've never liked Monday mornings. The start of school, the start of work, people bustling about the streets, out in force to ruin my day. It was a Monday morning that started this: long afternoons skulking in the back corner of a deserted, back-street café. I could say it was the phone call that sweltering summer day when the clothes were drying on the line and I'd just come inside, sweat dripping down my brow, black hair tied back in a pony-tail and my brother expected for lunch. But I don't suppose it was. Monday started this: the Monday Lilly Palour first saw that small, insignificant lump perched upon her left breast. I'm her ghost writer.

“More coffee?” the waitress asks with a fixed, pouting smile. Her lovely crème blouse is marred by a coffee splatter and the hair slipping out of a ridiculous bun is a dull, dun brown.

“You're blocking my view,” I say, tapping the elegant fountain pen against my pad of paper. She tries to arch her bushy brows at me but the botox filled face protests, barely stretching.

“Move,” I say. She grinds her teeth and attempts a scowl but meets the same problem as before, her face as smooth and lacking in humanity as a cardboard cut out. With the sharp stomp of heels, she moves away, ready to serve some naïve fool with her spittle filled coffee.

The view is essential if I'm to get my work done. The café is drab and repulsively efficient, but the people provide some dribble of inspiration. At one table, a suited couple sit. The man has coffee on his tie and the thick black hair is ruffled while his partner (cooing over him like a plump, mother hen) is immaculately clean. They meet here every lunch time, being mushy and gushy and ever so in love. Watching their mannerisms helps me to decide how Eric and Sophie Wells might act.

Mother hen is standing up. It's exactly ten to one. Mr coffee stain stands too and kisses her cheek dutifully.

“Don't want to be late,” he says, eyes on the clock.

“Have a good day,” Mother hen coos and they set off in opposite directions. Five minutes later, Mr coffee stain returns with a slim brunette. This is the conflict I'm depending on.

“Have you told her yet?” Bug eyes (that's the brunette) asks as they hover by the table where Mother hen's scent still lingers and her coffee cup sits awkwardly beside his. Mr coffee stain pulls the chair out and Bug eyes fills it, and he watches her fill it, admiring the way her body fills it less than plump Mother hen filled it. His gaze lingers on her bare, long legs, travelling up towards the black mini skirt.

“It wasn't a good time,” Mr coffee stain says smoothly, taking his seat. He very clearly has no intention of leaving Mother hen. If he were a character, no one would love him, so I don't understand why Bug Eyes does. And she does. She looks disappointed and her lower lip trembles but she expected the answer: it's never a good time.

“I'm sorry Sugar Bear,” Mr coffee stain continues. “But she's not been feeling well lately and...” I don't hear the other half of his sentence: an idea has suddenly struck me. I smile as I jot it down. The first genuine smile in days. Wouldn't it be just perfect if Sophie were to die? The original author wouldn't think so, she'd consider it a horrible idea, but then, I'm not her and she isn't here. Dee's in charge now, that's for sure.

“Coffee?” the waitress asks, pausing at their table. Mr coffee stain orders for them both: another regular and a decaf.

“Can you take these?” Bug eyes asks quietly in her sweet little voice. The waitress grunts and takes away the empty cups, the evidence of Mr coffee stain's rendezvous with his wife.

“So how about that movie? My place?” Mr coffee stain squeezes her knee and leans closer, shadowing her slight figure. She murmurs an answer and their breath mingles as he opens his mouth to swallow it whole.

“It will be fun,” he promises. Bug Eyes nods, a little reluctantly.

As they leave, I lean back against the hard metal of my seat; one of the wires digs through my spine. Lately, every minor annoyance threatens to throw me into fits of anger... or tears. I look down into my empty coffee cup and a wry smile jerks my face. You know what would make a great scene?

The tent was small and cramped, forcing Eric to sit closer to his wife than was altogether appropriate in public. But then, nothing about the Carnival had ever felt appropriate to him: loud music thrashing through the tents, garish stripes of colour everywhere and worst of all, beggars, thieves and fortune tellers in abundance. Sophie giggled and squeezed Eric's hand compulsively.

"Isn't this fun?" she gushed, "Wasn't this a good idea?" Eric smiled and nodded agreeably but his eyes didn't follow hers to the china coffee cup. They were both dressed in grand clothes: a new suit for Eric and Sophie's pretty, lace dress fit snugly around her curves. They looked out of place against the gaudy gypsy woman with her beads and bangles; braids in her hair.

"So what does this show?" Sophie asked.

"That's a good omen," the fortune teller replied with a charming smile, her lips painted a garish shade of red. "It's in the shape of a chalice which means you're going to live a very long life." Sophie smiled and clapped her hands. Eric wished she wouldn't do that. It was bad enough when children had difficulty masking their emotions but... a grown woman? And worse, it wasn't that she couldn't: she refused to.

Sophie sighed as she took the cup from her lips and stared at the watery, brown dregs. How could everything go so wrong in just a week? She let the cup slip through her fingers and shatter with a satisfying crash. How could she by dying, did the fortune teller know and say it just to spite her? Sophie slumped against the table and cried loudly against her arms as Eric watched from the door-way, hovering like a shadow at the edge of her awareness.
______________________
Edited slightly. All comments appreciated =)

[quote="kitty15"]The genre is hard to specify and I don't want to deter any potential readers but I must tell you now, this story could quite possibly evolve into a tragedy or a dark satire.

[b]The Ghost Writer[/b]

I've never liked Monday mornings. The start of school, the start of work, people bustling about the streets, out in force to ruin my day. It was a Monday morning that started this: long afternoons skulking in the back corner of a busy, London café. I'm trying to get the feel of these characters. But it's hopeless. They're flat, they're lifeless and they're not mine. It was another person who wrote life into their limbs, personality into their hearts. I'm just her ghost writer. [quote]

_________

Heather hey how's it going what's up? Ok so you wanted me to tell you something about the beginning paragraph. OK first of all I hate it with a bloody passion when the beginning of the story the character begins on a Monday morning:P it annoys me and gives me the shivers. I don't mean to be rude but the first paragraph is slow, flat, dead. No emotion, except for the last two sentences, you want to draw a reade rin on the first paragraph not make them say "I was the last ten minutes of my life back." Sorry dear I'm just trying to help.

-Max

Thanks, Max. I've edited the beginning a little now =)

Hey, Kitty. Thanks for posting in my thread. Here's your critique.

I could say it was the phone call that sweltering summer day when the clothes were drying on the line and I'd just come inside, sweat dripping down my brow, black hair tied back in a pony-tail and my brother expected for lunch.

This part drags a little for an opening paragraph. You could try cutting it into a couple of sentences: "I cold say it was (blame would be a good substitute for "say it was") on that sweltering summer day. My clothes were drying on the line and I'd just come inside. Sweat dripped down my brow and through my black hair. I expected my brother for lunch." This fixes the awkwardness of the last part of the sentence, too.

But I don't suppose it was.

I've always heard from reviewers not to start sentences with "But." To be honest, I'm not sure why it's so frowned upon. If you want to get rid of it, though, just add a "though" to the end of the sentence.

Monday started this: the Monday Lilly Palour first saw that small, insignificant lump perched upon her left breast. I'm her ghost writer.

The first paragraph caught my attention, this part in particular. Once I started, I wanted to keep going, so you've done the hook pretty well.

With the sharp stomp of heels, she moves away, ready to serve some naïve fool with her spittle filled coffee.

Hmm... I'd like to see the word "moves" replaced with something more emotive. Perhaps "storms"?

being mushy and gushy and ever so in love.

"ever so" is a little awkward.

Mother hen is standing up. It's exactly ten to one. Mr coffee stain stands too and kisses her cheek dutifully.

If you're using them as names, then you should capitalise them: Mother Hen and Mr Coffee Stain. Also, you can replace "dutifully" with something like "with a sort of mechanical duty" or something of the sort. I'll assume I don't have to give you my adverb speech. It's more of a rant, I suppose.

Five minutes later, Mr coffee stain returns with a slim brunette.

8s That was a surprise.

“Have you told her yet?” Bug eyes (that's the brunette)

You don't need the parentheses. One person has left, and one has arrived. We assume without the brackets that Bug Eyes is the other woman.

Mr coffee stain pulls the chair out and Bug eyes fills it, and he watches her fill it, admiring the way her body fills it less than plump Mother hen filled it.

Repetition of "fills." You could simplify it a lot by saying: Mr. Coffee Stain watches her fill the seat as she sits. She's slimmer than Mother Hen."

“It wasn't a good time,” Mr coffee stain says smoothly,

Try to avoid adverbs in dialogue attribution.

“I'm sorry Sugar Bear,”

comma after "sorry."

Wouldn't it be just perfect if Sophie were to die? The original author wouldn't think so, she'd consider it a horrible idea, but then, I'm not her and she isn't here. Dee's in charge now, that's for sure.

xD Nice portrayal of a writer's thoughts.

“Can you take these?” Bug eyes asks quietly in her sweet little voice.

The "quietly" is implied later by the word "little" later in the sentence. Cut the adverb.

one of the wires digs through my spine.

"through" makes it sound as if she should be going to the hospital. "Into," perhaps?

beggars, thieves and fortune tellers in abundance.

You just showed us a lot about this character without telling. Nice job.

Sophie giggled and squeezed Eric's hand compulsively.

Cut the adverb.

Eric smiled and nodded agreeably

Cut "agreeably."

her lips painted a garish shade of red.

You used the word "garish" before.

How could she by dying

Should "by" be "be"?

did the fortune teller know and say it just to spite her?

I'd prefer this as its own sentence to give it more impact.

Sophie slumped against the table and cried loudly against her arms as Eric watched from the door-way, hovering like a shadow at the edge of her awareness.

"Doorway," I think. Also, cut the adverb.

Well, that was an interesting piece. I'd like to read more of this, but I see that it was posted a while ago and there isn't any more yet. Is there more? I seem to remember that you did it for your NaNo, though, so maybe there is hope. Regardless, I want to see more.

You fleshed your characters out well for a first chapter. The thing that surprised me was that the narrator seemed less dimensional than the other characters. I think that's because she spent most of the chapter observing other people, so we didn't spend so much time with her. I hope that changes in the next few chapters.

Your dialogue and description were both very good. They showed a keen sense of detail, so everything was good on those fronts. The one thing I might have to warn about is the adverbs again. Watch out for them. They tend to multiply when you're looking away.

The plot was interesting as well, even though it was more than a premise that's been presented this chapter. I'd be interested to see where you go with it. Tell me if you post another chapter.

-Mat

Kitty!

You should write more often, dude. I didn't really agree with most of the above points and when I was reading it I noticed one or two things but mainly, I thought they'd be nitpicks. In a short story, I would make the effort of pointing them out but in a novel? It's pointless because they - adverbs and such - occur all the time and really you shouldn't worry about them until the end of the story. Even then, it would be a serious perfectionist (read: headcase) who went back to weed them all out.

I really enjoyed this, though. It was very well done indeed and I think, I don't want to see more of the ghost writer at all (to counter Mat). She should remain, in word and deed, flimsy and almost insubstantial; an observer. It would be fitting, I think, as a metaphor. But really, its up to your discretion and I look forward to seeing more.

Cheers

Hey there Heather, guess I should return the favour now

Monday started this: the Monday Lilly Palour first saw that small, insignificant lump perched upon her left breast. I'm her ghost writer.

I don't get as to how that shows that the narrator is her ghost writer.

The café is drab and repulsively efficient, but the people provide some dribble of inspiration.

Can you show this more? Just because the coffee lady blocks the narrator's view doesn't necessarily suggest the above.

Wouldn't it be just perfect if Sophie were to die? The original author wouldn't think so, she'd consider it a horrible idea, but then, I'm not her and she isn't here.

How come though? Explain.

I smile as I jot it down. The first genuine smile in days.

The narrator seems conflicted, but I got quite a weak sense of that.

Lately, every minor annoyance threatens to throw me into fits of anger... or tears.

Why?

Overall impressions:

After rereading this again, several issues stood out for me. Firstly, why did you decide to set the narrative on a Monday morning exactly? I think you haven't exactly managed to capture the actual significance of Monday's. You see, what makes Monday's so annoying for many (including myself) is that it's the day that re-establishes the limits to one's fun, entertainment and freedom. It's more than just simply having to work and the bustling and distractions that come from it. This is why I didn't really get the impression that it was really Monday. It could have been any other weekday since workers would come into the cafe on those days too for a break or chat. I suggest that you show more of the significance of Monday through the narrator's experience or through dialogue and interactions of those in the cafe.

Secondly, I think you spent too much time poking the fun out of coffee (and it isn't particularly funny or holds much meaning either). I'm glad that you see the significance of coffee among authors and workers and how its needed to stimulate them through the hard working hours ahead, but really, I think you didn't really exactly portrayed the more comical side of coffee. It's just observations at the moment. You could had mentioned ideas like addiction to coffee or not being able to get some beauty sleep because of overdose of coffee, but sadly, I see little of that. I think you should either consider the more sinister side/effects of coffee (eg: The narrator could be super ugly because she's been drinking too much coffee and couldn't get much beauty sleep) or actually make fun of something that actually has some controversy around the matter (it's a bit easier in my opinion since you actually have something to follow) and that many can relate to such as McDonald's. Have you watched the documentary "Supersize Me" before? You should as I think it will give you a better idea of how humour works (it's a complicated thing to get right). It's a funny as heck documentary by Morgan Spurlock.

With this said, this is also the reason as to why I thought you didn't take full advantage of having that maid in the cafe. Seriously, there's quite a lot you can mock out of maids in a cafe, but you choose to stick with coffee? I'll also talk about the hen idea while I'm at it. It's quite weak at the moment. I also didn't find that funny because there is very little to search for. It seemed as though you've given the first women that label due to what the narrator observes rather than considering the deeper implications of a hen. If you are going to have that label, you need to integrate more of the associations with hens with what's happening.

I won't exactly comment on the actual story that the narrator is writing at the moment since its still quite early to form an opinion out of it.

Overall though, this was pretty good and I did enjoy it, especially for the narrator's voice. I find the narrator kind of interesting, because she seems over enthusiastic as a writer to the point that she would think that those that aren't writers are inferior and idiots. Ironically though, it's the narrator that's the idiot since businessmen/women tend to make more money than writers and are considered more useful and valuable in the work force. By twisting the idea that writers are insane to the extreme, you've allowed for some rather comical and interesting conflicts.

This I would like to see. I hope my critique has helped Heather, and good luck with this.

Andy.

P.S: What style are you hoping to write the novel in? I think you should attempt satire since there were some bits in here that was kind of funny and due to the way that you've presented your narrator voice. If satire isn't your intention, then bits of this critique would be pretty useless, but then why would you only have observations in the piece? It doesn't allow much for the reader to search for.

Thanks guys! A couple of brief answers to questions and what not:

1. There is more of this as I've already confirmed to Mat by pm. It was indeed my NaNo and therefore there's a good chunk more all in need of a little editing but not too much (you will soon see why I failed NaNo).

2. Thank you very much for the encouragement, Jiggity and I think you'll be relatively pleased with the narrator. She reveals herself somewhat but it's quite a long time before you get the true feel for who she is.

3. Andy, Andy, Andy =) Your comments are most appreciated, dear and you would be right in presuming this is a satire, though the humour is toned down to some extent. Your questions are hard to answer without giving quite a lot away so for now I will merely say that her hatred of Mondays is something that will be more evident later and I will make some edits accordingly, though not straight away. Probably once I've reached the end of writing the novel.

Thanks guys! And thank you to all further critiquers, it's very much appreciated =)

As requested!

I've never liked Monday mornings. The start of school, the start of work, people bustling about the streets, out in force to ruin my day. It was a Monday morning that started this: long afternoons skulking in the back corner of a deserted, back-street café. I could say it was the phone call that sweltering summer day when the clothes were drying on the line and I'd just come inside, sweat dripping down my brow, black hair tied back in a pony-tail and my brother expected for lunch. But I don't suppose it was. Monday started this: the Monday Lilly Palour first saw that small, insignificant lump perched upon her left breast. I'm her ghost writer.

I'm not a fan of the first paragraph. That's worrying. I'm worried that if I was picking this story to read I would be instantly turned off by the it. It can be quite horrifying to think that the first paragraph of a story can turn readers off in this way, but there's plenty of things to read and not enough time! Thus, I judge quickly.

It needs a hook. It needs something really interesting. The first sentence is bland. I can't think of anything blander than Monday mornings. And everybody hates them. So it becomes a boring sentence, that doesn't grab me.

The best conflict presented is the breast cancer comment, but it's hidden at the end, after a plethora of uninteresting sentences about Monday mornings. That's what I want to read about. There's the originality. But then it's never mentioned again!

Here's what I reckon you could do to improve the first paragraph and hook potential readers:

1. Make the first sentence fresh. Talking about Monday mornings is boring. Why? Because everybody knows that already. So throw something into the mix we don't expect. All of the best starting lines always grab me. Take for example, on of my favourite books, One Hundred Years of Solitude by Gabriel Garcia Marquez:

Many years later, as he faced the firing squad, Colonel Aureliano Buendia was to remember that distant afternoon when his father took him to discover ice

Firing squad? Discover Ice? Nostalgia? It's just so exciting and bewildering.

Don't get me wrong. I'm not saying a great first sentence makes a good book. That would be silly. But I think it's an important enough factor to consider improving.

2. Your second sentence. (lol) Right now it feels so long and slow. Probably because of all the commas. It's not particularly good prose. It feels passive because the real action of the line is at the end: "out in force to ruin my day". Whack this at the beginning and everything pulsates from the word go, such as "Everyone was out in force to ruin my day: loud-mouthed school kids, adults rushing to catch departing trains, destroying any remaining peace in my small little corner of the world." Obviously this sentence has its problems too, but I think it captures what you're trying to say in a more active manner.

3. Expand the conflict about the cancer, and being a ghost writer. It's not touched upon enough, and it made me confused about the aim of the first chapter. At first I thought it would discuss her role and job as a ghost writer, in reference to the "real" writer's disease, but instead it turned to a description of observation and writing methods.


Onwards and upwards.

the hair slipping out of a ridiculous bun is a dull, dun brown.

Although dull and dun placed together ironically is quite, well, dull, it doesn't really work. These two adjectives even apart are quite ugly. I think you have the creative capacity to achieve better descriptions than "dull, dun brown." Don't settle for unoriginal descriptions. Challenge yourself!

[quote[She tries to arch her bushy brows at me but the botox filled face protests, barely stretching. [/quote]

Amusing image. Reminds me of Danii Minogue trying to express herself on X-Factor. botox filled should be hyphenated to botox-filled.

her spittle filled coffee.

spittle-filled. Sorry I'm actually in love with hyphens and compound words.

The man has coffee on his tie and the thick black hair is ruffled while his partner (cooing over him like a plump, mother hen) is immaculately clean.

As a whole I'm not a great fan of brackets in the middle of sentences, but it could just be your style. I try and avoid comment on style as a rule, but it did strike me here that the description could easily be assimilated into the main sentence without the loss of flow you've created.

"The man has coffee on his tie and (his?) thick black hair is ruffled, while his partner, cooing over him like a plump, mother hen, is immaculately clean."

I think the contrast is more explicit when it's one complete sentence.


Just a quick note about the use of the names. I think they should be capitalised more. "Mr coffee stain" just looks better as "Mr. Coffee-Stain" (I'd hyphenated because, well, hyphens make everything sexy) and "Mother hen" as "Mother Hen". If they're capitalised, it makes them easy to identify as pronouns.

Dee's in charge now, that's for sure.

Dee is the narrator? I assume so.

If he were a character, no one would love him, so I don't understand why Bug Eyes does. And she does.

Maybe "But she does." makes more sense.


One of my favourite parts of the first chapter was actually the story written by the narrator at the bottom. I can't comment too much, I'd obviously like to see more.


Overall? I like it. Right now in its current incarnation it seems like a nice description of how a writer observes real-world characters and uses them as inspiration. Your command of language is generally good, the pace is good, the story easy to understand. It made me smile in a few places with the descriptions of the waitress, or the two couples. I have some general comments, though, that might help you improve this into a great piece of work.

1. Conflict. We all know it's the bread and butter of stories. So where's yours? Hidden like a lost gem at the end of the first paragraph right now. I suppose in the affair Mr. Coffee-Stain is balancing next to his marriage. And I guess in the conflict about what to write. But there's nothing to grab on to. It's all vague and ephemeral. There's no clear-cut problem facing the narrator that strikes me as exciting. I think you need to expand on one main conflict and make it obvious. What's the aim of this chapter? To talk about the problems of observation on a Monday morning? To introduce the narrator?

All I know is it seems like you might even be trying to achieve too much. Focus on one conflict or idea perhaps and expand on it.

2. Adverbs and boring adjectives. You use a lot of adverbs to modify your dialogue attribution, which I didn't really like. Some of the adjectives were quite plain and uninteresting. I think in an edit you might want to look at both of these.

3. The first paragraph, as I already talked about

4. Some more about the narrator. So she's a ghost writer. How does she feel about this? Why does she hate Monday mornings so much if she's a writer? Surely she works when she wants? Who is she? What else annoys her beyond Monday mornings and coffee?



As Jiggity says, you'll do a lot of these once the story is finished and you have time. But there's some comments for whenever you want to edit.

I like it enough to want to read the next part of this chapter. You have me intrigued. But I think you could turn it into something that would really excite and pull me in even more.

I quite like the casual nature of the narrator's voice and think it fits a particular mood.

Plus, considering this is a NaNo piece it's VERY good. I forgot about that while critiquing, so there's probably seems a bit over-harsh in places. But it's only because I think you have the potential to do much better that makes me push you to higher places. You should see some of my NaNo from 2006, it was shocking compared to what you've produced here.

Thanks for letting me read, and good luck in editing!

Well Heath, you certainly make life difficult for me. I loved this - how am I supposed to critique it?

Anyways, I just noticed a few things.

mother hen

The mother hen thing confused me. For nearly the entire chapter, I was convinced that she was his mother having a lunch with her son. Until you spelled out that she's his wife, I had no idea. And I think the phrase 'mother hen' added to this. She's just too... motherly. Try to tone it down slightly, and make sure you're clear about who she is from the start so you don't make readers think she's a mom and then a wife.

no hint of a change

When you have Sophie look down into her mug, I still thought she was with the fortune teller. It's a good idea - very ironic - but there wasn't enough of a jump, methinks, to her kitchen. And since it could have happened just like that with the fortune teller - she could have been sighing blissfully at a long life - the fact that there is no clear break confused me.

a few too many details

Until around the point when Mother Hen leaves, you focus a little too much on description. After that, I'm pulled into the story and the little adjectives help, but until then they seem to hurt the piece rather than help it - they keep me from being able to dive into the story. Maybe slash a few from the beginning?

Sorry I'm so unhelpful, Heath.

PM me for anything!

~JFW1415