Young Writers Society

Just had a sudden burst of creativity flow through me. Maybe this could turn into a Romance Novel? What do you think?

White. That’s all I see. Even though it’s completely pitch-black, I can see the white ceiling only several feet above me.

The room is dark for the lights are off, and the small window of a yard’s length and a foot’s height which usually has a view just above ground is barricaded with the New England snow outside, for February is a cruel month in rural Massachusetts. Even though no light pours from the midnight moon, I can see every characteristic of my bed room.

The walls are orange, just to match the bed set I got from my Aunt, shape a small rectangle, and the basement ceiling is low above my head. To my right, across the room, is an empty door frame that leads to my other room, also small with grey walls. It has my small closet, shaped like a triangle under the stairs, and objects in storage for a later season, date, or lifetime.

I force myself to grab my iPod from the plastic storage drawers’ surface to check the time. 1:14 AM. Great. 4 sleepless hours.

I pull the blankets off of my body and let the cold atmosphere kiss my skin. I groan as I shiver them pull my self from my bed. I walk across both rooms, and exit through my open door.

The green cement floor is freezing against my bare feet as walk into the main room of my family’s basement. I turn the corner to see one of my many Aunts sleeping in her own bed across the room. I silently walk up the old, wooden stairs so I won’t disturb her.

My feet’s skin is greeted by the texture of the tile floor. My kitchen is messy, but I like it that way. The counters, oven, and refrigerator are white to match the floor, but the cabinets and table and wood brown. The blue walls contrast against the rest of the room. I walk through the darkness, not walking into anything after living in the cottage for so long.

I then feel the wood flooring as I walk into the hall. The walls are still blue, with each wooden brown door open for heating purposes. I enter the first to my right, closing the door behind me after I turn on the light, as my feet find the identical tiles to the kitchen’s. The bathroom has yellow-white walls with a yucky yellow tub-shower to my left. To my left is the washer, separate from it’s twin dryer downstairs because it kept breaking. Next to it is the white sink. I walk to it, splash water on my face, until there’s an on-going drip down my face and off my chin. I dry my face with a near by towel.

I then sit on the toilet with the lid down next to the sink. I keep the towel to my face, and then slowly remove it.

“Nick…” I whisper escapes my lips then I cover my mouth with the towel again.

Stupid! I think to myself. Stupid! Stupid! Stupid!

Why and when I went insane, all I could say is that my freshman year has been most effected by my potential insanity- My story isn’t an uncommon one in the books. A teen-age girl enters high school and falls for her closest guy-friend. But here’s where my story takes a shocking turn: It wasn’t the same tale for him.

I’d rather not go into extreme details, so I’ll sum it up with three simple words: He said no.

I told myself, when I found myself falling for Nick, that the second he did say no, I’d move on. It was something I had been gifted with, as long as I remember, moving on had been easy for me. My broken heart mended fast.

It was different this time.

I really was stupid. I still am. And I hate myself. For my stupidity, ignorance, insanity. Never have I hated myself, or anyone for that matter, as much as I do now.

As the months go on, my tale takes another turn. My friends tell me Nick’s mind has changed in the past…6 months? That long? More like a lifetime of pain. But as they collect more and more evidence, closer the dreaded day of the year comes.

Valentine’s Day.

Here, the wishful thinking begins. Maybe he’ll say something, as he sees all those couple’s in the school hallways. Maybe I’ll say something. Maybe my pain will subdue. Maybe we will stand hand in hand one day. Maybe he’ll be mine by my fifteenth birthday at the end of the month.

Stupid! Stupid! Stupid!

I stand up and gently place my elbows on the window-sill. I look through the glass to see the moon, shining in pure glory. How lonely she must be, alone in the sky. Spinning the same way everyday, wishing to be pulled out of the earth’s gravity to go off on her own. Maybe she only sticks around to see the one she loves. Maybe some man of earth is the moon’s soul mate. How the pain must eat her alive, able to see her love but not reach him. Maybe he loves her too, but is to shy to tell her, feeling he is just a small man of earth and has no right to love the great, majestic moon.

Am I the moon? Is Nick the man?

I wonder how long I’ve been starring at the sky. I look back to the door, now open. I go into ninja-mode, remembering that I never opened it.

I peer into the hall, looking both left and right, though nothing is visible. I search more of the mysterious entity that opened the door. I find nothing.

I venture downstairs back to my room, locking the door behind me. I pray to God to bless and protect my household, slip into my bed, and attempt to sleep for the millionth time.

Hmm...this sounds interesting! However, I'm not sure where you're gonna go with this. Is this a prolougue that leads to a flashback of when she started liking Nick? Or maybe you'll just continue going at your current line, randomly flashing at their past as you go. Usually I don't mind such a broad option but it kind of bothers me that this is so vague. Just something to think about if you do make it into a novel.

One of the things that bothered me was the fact that you over described it a bit. Rule #35 on Nate's 101 tips for writers warns " Just like a play only has general scenery, so should your story. Describing every plant, rock, and object will only bore your reader. " (Great list! If you haven't checked it out yet, seriously think about it. You had alot of great description like:

I pull the blankets off of my body and let the cold atmosphere kiss my skin.

Amazing! Yet describing every color of every object got a bit boring for me. You over did it on a few occasions:

My feet’s skin is greeted by the texture of the tile floor. My kitchen is messy, but I like it that way. The counters, oven, and refrigerator are white to match the floor, but the cabinets and table and wood brown. The blue walls contrast against the rest of the room. I walk through the darkness, not walking into anything after living in the cottage for so long.

Do I really need to know the color of every object in the room?

I loved the charecterization you gave the heroine and think this has a lot of potential! My only corectional issue was:

A teen-age* girl enters high school and falls for her closest guy-friend. *But here’s where my story takes a shocking turn: It wasn’t the same tale for him.

*1: Teenage is one word.
*2: Never start a sentance with but.

Thanks for the read!

With some careful editing this could actually shape to be a pretty decent love story! As is crafty pointed out, much attention is given to detail. In small doses this can be a great writing technique, however if you focus more of the descriptions the reader will get lost easily. Imagine writing your story is like directing a movie; sure its great to have a detailed set, but people are coming to see the actors! Wouldn't be much of a movie with a perfect set and 1-2 lines from an actor you hardly saw.
The small doses theory also applies to backstory. Applying backstory is a careful and tricky thing to do, you don't wan't to overwhelm your reader all at once. Even in short stories like this too much backstory can ruin the reader's interest. For example when you write "the walls are orange, just to match the bed set I got from my Aunt, shape a small rectangle, and the basement ceiling is low above my head. To my right, across the room, is an empty door frame that leads to my other room, also small with grey walls. It has my small closet, shaped like a triangle under the stairs, and objects in storage for a later season, date, or lifetime" it is slightly confusing. In the first sentence the reader doesn't necessarily need to know right then and there that she received it from her Aunt. It just makes the entire sentence digress, when you return to the description of the wall the reader is confused. What forms a small rectangle, the bed or the wall? And the following descriptions form a long rambling list that just further confuses the reader. This problem applies a lot in your short story, but if you were to fix it and trim all this un-needed detail it would actually be pretty good.
-Hope this helps

Hello there.

Even though no light pours from the midnight moon, I can see every characteristic of my bedroom.

Bedroom is one word.

The bathroom has yellow-white walls with a yucky yellow tub-shower to my left. To my left is the washer, separate from it’s twin dryer downstairs because it kept breaking.

You say to my left two times in a row. I'm not sure if you meant to say right, and then left, but if it's not the case and you meant left the two times, then you might want to say something like: Right next to it is the washer... or even alongside it.

“Nick…” A whisper escapes my lips then I cover my mouth with the towel again.

Stupid! I think to myself. Stupid! Stupid! Stupid!

When characters think, it's better to put it italics. That way, it makes more emphasis on the thought itself, and the feelings that go with it.

The ending seems a little bit odd for me. Is there a second part in this? The conflict is not resolved in anyway, neither tragic nor comedic... If there isn't any parts that will be added, then you should add some information, or at least rephrase the ending. We should know what happened to them. Are they still friends, or did she just stopped talking to him because it was too painful? Did she think he was going to declare his love on Valentine's day, if so, why? Is the day already come, or is it the night before, and that is exactly why she can't sleep?

Also, I find the beginning quite confusing. Although there's a lot of details, so much I could see myself move from room to room, I don't see the link there is to the main plot. You should begin to talk about the conflict in the first few sentences of you're story because this is a short story. Maybe add something about her not being able to sleep because of her the confused speeches of her heart? Then, she could think about the guy, without telling us the whole story of her love and friendship.
I love the development of this story, and if you add more, I'll be pleased to read it again. Also, I would recommend a second part to this story, if there isn't already one, because I want to know what happens and I feel like you've left us with not enough information that we cannot continue the story on our own.

Great job and keep writing!

-Other

Here is my review. I've written my personal corrections with red, and the phrases that I loved with blue.

White. That’s all I see. Even though it’s completely pitch-black, I can see the white ceiling only several feet above me.

The room is dark for the lights are off, and the small window of a yard’s length and a foot’s height which usually has a view just above ground and (I assume it is "and"that you forgot to write) is barricaded with the New England snow outside, for February is a cruel month in rural Massachusetts. Even though no light pours from the midnight moon, I can see every characteristic of my bed room.

The walls are orange, just to match the bed set I got from my Aunt, the shape a small rectangle, and the basement ceiling is low above my head. To my right, across the room, is an empty door frame that leads to my other room, also small with grey walls. It has my small closet (repetitive word: "small"), shaped like a triangle under the stairs, and objects in storage for a later season, date, or lifetime.

I force myself to grab my iPod from the plastic storage drawers’ surface to check the time. 1:14 AM. Great. 4 sleepless hours.

I pull the blankets off of my body and let the cold atmosphere kiss my skin. I groan as I shiver them pull my self from my bed. I walk across both rooms, and exit through my open door.

The green cement floor is freezing against my bare feet as walk into the main room of my family’s basement. I turn the corner to see one of my many Aunts sleeping in her own bed across the room. I silently walk up the old, wooden stairs so I won’t disturb her.

My feet’s skin is greeted by the texture of the tile floor. My kitchen is messy, but I like it that way. The counters, oven, and refrigerator are white to match the floor, but the cabinets and table and wood brown. The blue walls contrast against the rest of the room. I walk through the darkness, not walking into anything after living in the cottage for so long.

I then feel the wood flooring as I walk into the hall. The walls are still blue, with each wooden brown door open for heating purposes. I enter the first to my right, closing the door behind me after I turn on the light, as my feet find the identical tiles to the kitchen’s. The bathroom has yellow-white walls with a yucky yellow tub-shower to my left. To my left is the washer, separate from it’s twin dryer downstairs because it kept breaking. Next to it is the white sink. I walk to it, splash water on my face, until there’s an on-going drip down my face and off my chin. I dry my face with a near by towel.

I then sit on the toilet with the lid down next to the sink. I keep the towel to my face, and then slowly remove it.

“Nick…” I whisper escapes my lips then I cover my mouth with the towel again.

"Stupid!" I think to myself. "Stupid! Stupid! Stupid!"

Why and when I went insane, all I could say is that my freshman year has been most affected by my potential insanity. My story isn’t an uncommon one in the books. A teen-age girl enters high school and falls for her closest guy-friend. But here’s where my story takes a shocking turn: It wasn’t the same tale for him.

I’d rather not go into extreme details, so I’ll sum it up with three simple words: he said no.

I told myself, when I found myself falling for Nick, that the second he did say no, I’d move on. It was something I had been gifted with, as long as I remember, moving on had been easy for me. My broken heart mended fast.

It was different this time.

I really was stupid. I still am. And I hate myself. For my stupidity, ignorance, insanity. Never have I hated myself, or anyone for that matter, as much as I do now.

As the months go on, my tale takes another turn. My friends tell me Nick’s mind has changed in the past… 6 months? That long? More like a lifetime of pain. But as they collect more and more evidence, closer the dreaded day of the year comes.

Valentine’s Day.

Here, the wishful thinking begins. Maybe he’ll say something, as he sees all those couple’s in the school hallways. Maybe I’ll say something. Maybe my pain will subdue. Maybe we will stand hand in hand one day. Maybe he’ll be mine by my fifteenth birthday at the end of the month.

Stupid! Stupid! Stupid!

I stand up and gently place my elbows on the window-sill. I look through the glass to see the moon, shining in pure glory. How lonely she must be, alone in the sky. Spinning the same way everyday, wishing to be pulled out of the earth’s gravity to go off on her own. Maybe she only sticks around to see the one she loves. Maybe some man of earth is the moon’s soul mate. How the pain must eat her alive, able to see her love but not reach him. Maybe he loves her too, but is to shy to tell her, feeling he is just a small man of earth and has no right to love the great, majestic moon.

Am I the moon? Is Nick the man?

I wonder how long I’ve been starring at the sky. I look back to the door, now open. I go into ninja-mode, remembering that I never opened it.

I peer into the hall, looking both left and right, though nothing is visible. I search more of the mysterious entity that opened the door. I find nothing.

I venture downstairs back to my room, locking the door behind me. I pray to God to bless and protect my household, slip into my bed, and attempt to sleep for the millionth time.

This might be a potential young adult/teen story. The ending is not offering any details on how the story ends, and you made me curious. If you turn this into a novel, let me know!

Also, I like the feelings you've put into writing this. You've transmitted your readers the pain that the character feels. All in all, it is a potential love story. Good luck with it, should you continue it.

i liked this a lot. a lot. a lot. a lot. However, I feel that the reader needs more of a picture into the MC's mind. I feel like at certain points i dont know whats going on in her head.