Young Writers Society

Hey, so I know I keep doing side projects but it actually helps a lot with my writers block on Welcome to Miami! Chapter five should be out soon enough (aka a week or so) but in the meentime here's something I put together!(:


“This is stupid.” I huffed as I slammed the car door. I was in some part of Washington I’ve never heard of: Carrollton, and there in front of me was the Better Aid Society where I would be living for the next six months.

“Oh, stop it!” She scolded as she brought me closer to hell. My mother was those ones that every kid goes suicidal about. She always wore sun dresses or dress cloths, and her hair was always in a bun. If not in a bun, a sun hat was placed right on top her small head. She hardly wore makeup because she was so pretty without it. She made sure I did well in school and got those “apple, ham and cheese sandwich, baggy of chips” lunches. She made me wear jeans or skirts and button up shirts. My mother was a nightmare.

I was, thankfully, nothing like her. I looked just like my father. Natural black hair, pearly-pale skin, and dark-gray almond shaped eyes. I was tall like him and had full lips. I looked terrible without makeup and with my hair back; I’d look just like my father: a man. My friends would let me borrow their cloths because at the age of 15, button up shirts and skirts were a no go. I made sure to change back right before my mother would come pick me up from school in her blue mini-van (like she’s been doing since I was in Pre-K). My hair touched my waist in the back and eventually be at my shoulders in the front. It was straight and curly at the same time and was always down. It drove my mother insane and I loved it.
Anyways, here I am clad in sweatpants and a dance t-shirt. My Nike tennis shoes were worn out and I made sure to have so much black eyeliner on my mother wouldn’t dare to glance at me. I had my EnV in one hand and snapping my million elastic bracelets on the other. “Stop doing that, Marchetta, it’s very un-lady-like.” I think my mother naming me Marchetta was enough of a reason that my father left her.

“Mom, get real. It’s not like you know anyone here.” I turned away from her in the parking lot and looked around. Carrollton was boring and fogy, it was isolated in the mountains. My mother always had us living in Seattle and never wanted me to leave. Now, I’m stuck here for the next six months. At first, I thought this would be great: getting away from my mom, finally being alone, yadda yadda yadda. But, no. This place is infested with clones like my mother.

When we walked through the door of the Better Aid Society, a bell went off and clicked me back into reality: it was really happening. My mother was sending me away to some clinic to ‘clear my head’, as she put it.
“Excuse me? May I help you?” A lady asked on the other side of the counter.
“I’m here to drop off my daughter, Marchetta LeeAnne.” My mother told the receptionist. As she continued to chat with her, I took the chance to look around this place: plain white walls, black and white tiles, mod chairs it lacked of life. I rolled my eyes and sighed, this was terrible. But before I get into anything about this place, I should probably say why I’m even here.
A week ago, today, my friends wanted to do something thrilling. So, we all snuck out and walked around town, it was so liberating. I loved it. Then, we all came up with the idea that our “thrilling adventure” would be to break into the school. We all grabbed some spray paint cans from the local hardware store and when we were in the school, we spray painted lockers, walls, bathrooms, and even teacher boards. My heart pounded as I spray painted the anarchy sign across the wall. It was amazing; I couldn’t believe this was all happening. That was until she came into my life: Molly Saunders. Class president, honor roll, teacher’s pet. There she was, standing in the door way of the math lab. All my friends dropped their cans and it was every man for themselves. I tried my hardest to make it out the door too, but one thing got in my way: Molly. She grabbed me and shoved me against the wall and in one swift motion, removed the bandana that hid my face. I tried hard to make it look like I didn’t care, but she just smiled and said “Oh, I got you now, Marchetta LeeAnne.”

“Marchetta? Would you like to say good bye to your mother before she leaves?” The receptionist asked.
No. “Bye, Mom.” I said and then picked up my shoulder bag and dragged my other suitcase behind me. Though, instead of my mother saying goodbye, the last thing she said to me was,

“Marchetta? Where on earth did you get those horrible cloths?”

“Marchetta? Would you like to say good bye to your mother before she leaves?” The receptionist asked.

No. “Bye, Mom.” I said

hehe, this was my favorite part! You have a very charming way of writing, i can't wait to read more!

P.S. sorry for the lack of critique (or no critique, rather) I have homework *sigh* I seem to be posting that a lot lately. Anyway, happy writing!

I was standing in the middle of this get-up shopping center with my mother.

-- I didn't really understand what you were saying here. INstead of saying get-up shopping center, say something that would describe it. “

Oh, stop it!” She shooed

Instead of shooed maybe say scolded or just said.

My mother was those ones that every kid goes suicidal about. [s]Like that one in American Beauty. That mother who made her daughter want to run away to New York[/s].

Try not to make analogies that everyone might not get. Instead say why she makes kids be suicidal or run away.

[s]Well, I’m like that daughter. Only, I don’t want to run away to New York. [/s]She always wore sun dresses or dress cloths, and her hair was always in a bun. If not in a bun, a sun hat was placed right on top her small head. She hardly wore makeup because she was so pretty without it. She made sure I did well in school and got those “apple, ham and cheese sandwich, baggy of chips” lunches. She made me wear jeans or skirts and button up shirts. My mother was a nightmare.

Try not to repeat always too much.

My friends would let me barrow their cloths because at the age of 15, button up shirts and skirts were a no go.

Should be borrow I

made sure to change back right before my mother would come pick me up from school in her blue mini-van (like she’s been doing since I was in Pre-K). My hair touched my waist in the back and eventually be at my shoulders in the front. It was straight and curly at the same time and was always down. It drove my mother insane and I loved it. I would never wear the little high-heeled shoes she’d buy me and made sure to break of the heel and lay it on her just ironed shirt. I’m pretty sure by then the whole neighborhood would hear her scream.

- you seem to ramble a lot here. Try not to info dump on us. Instead show us what's going on in the store and slowly attribute it to her behavior or her mother's. If you don't understand what I'm saying, feel free to PM me.

I glared around at the boring town in Washington.

-- This sentence doesn't really make sense. Instead say you glare around at the other shoppers. And then say: "Why did we have to live in such a small town."

My mother always had us living in Seattle and never wanted me to leave. Now, I’m stuck here for the next six months. At first, I thought this would be great: getting away from my mom, finally being alone, yadda yadda yadda. But, no. This place is infested with clones like my mother. I swear I saw 34 mini vans on the way up here.

-- I feel like you're rambling again. The character's thoughts are important but if the plot isn't moving anywhere because of them they aren't really necessary (since you have these infodumps every few lines).

The ringing of the bell on the door sent goose bumps down my spine.

-- The bell on the store door entrance? Specify.

“I’m here to drop off my daughter, Marchetta LeeAnne.” My mother told the receptionist. As she continued to dilly-dally with her, I took the chance to look around this place: plain white walls, black and white tiles, mod chairs, a.k.a. lack of life. I rolled my eyes and sighed, this was terrible. But before I get into anything about this place, I should probably say why I’m even here.

-- I thought they were in a store? I'm confused.

Her name was Molly Saunders and I hated her. A week ago, my friends and I snuck out and broke into the school. We spray painted lockers, walls, bathrooms, and even teacher’s boards. No one would have guessed it’d be us, but that’s until Molly walked through the door. She was staying the night at school to use the labs to work on a project. Damn class presidents. We screamed and ran but of course she caught me. She grabbed me by my shoulder and held me against the wall with one hand while closing and locking the door with the other. She ripped the bandana off my face and started laughing. “Oh, I got you now.” She smiled and unlocked the door. The next day police cars were everywhere and I was expelled from my school and was sentenced six months in “Better Aid Society”. This, of course, made my mother so happy that I was being sent to a place that was infested with mini-moms instead of boarding school. I protested the idea and declared to be sent to boarding school. But no luck was granted and now here I am in some garden town of Washington waiting to be checked in.

-- This felt a little emotionless. Was Marchetta upset? happy? Because here she seems indifferent that she got kicked out but before she seemed mad that she was in washington. Try to reword this so Marchetta seems upset.

I really liked your descriptions! This was an interesting piece. Marchetta also seems like she will eventually be an interesting and original character.
Just a few suggestions:
1) YOu do a little too much info dumping for such a small piece. At the beginning there are at least three paragraphs where you're rambling about her mother. Although this information is interesting, it's not necessary to move the plot along when you describe how her mother looks. Instead show that she's angry at her mother for making her move to Washington.
2) I had a little trouble understanding the setting of your story. Try to clarify exactly where they are. Also I didn't really understand why her mom is dropping her off at a store. Is it so she can get a job or is she leaving her there?
3) Emotion is very important. You need to add more emotion because right now Marchetta seems a bit flat.
4)Dialogue and more action. We spend a considerable amount of time in Marchetta's head in this piece. Try to include action and dialogue and then show us what she's thinking while this action is going on.

If you have any questions, PM me.
Nice job! Keep up the good work!

Ahh, okay. I was reading over your critique and I get what you mean now.
I'm fixing it as we speak.
Thanks(:

No problem! If you want me to critique it after, just PM me when you have your revisions up

This was a good start. It pulled me in.

The only mistake that kind of made me reread it was this one:

No one would have guessed it’d be us, but that’s until Molly walked through the door.

I just think it'd sound better if you replaced be with been.

Okay, I liked the plot. The title made me want to read it.
I can't wait to read more of this. You have good characters. Their personalities shine well.
Great job!

~Rachael

“This is stupid.” I huffed as I slammed the car door. I was in some part of Washington I’ve never heard of: Carrollton, and there in front of me was the Better Aid Society where I would be living for the next six months.

-- Yay! I love it! so much better

[s]I didn’t have her honey-blonde hair or her sea green eyes. I didn’t inherit her petit, straight nose or her thin lipped smile.[/s]

-- I still would take this part out. I like the whole description of how you look like your dad in the next couple sentences. This sentence just doesn't seem to flow nice with everything else.

I looked just like my father. Natural black hair, pearly-pale skin, and dark-gray almond shaped eyes. I was tall like him and had full lips. I looked terrible without makeup and with my hair back; I’d look just like my father: a man. My friends would let me borrow their cloths because at the age of 15, button up shirts and skirts were a no go. I made sure to change back right before my mother would come pick me up from school in her blue mini-van (like she’s been doing since I was in Pre-K). My hair touched my waist in the back and eventually be at my shoulders in the front. It was straight and curly at the same time and was always down. It drove my mother insane and I loved it.

-- I love this description! Bravo!

I had my EnV in one hand and jingling my million elastic bracelets on the other.

-- Just a quick nitpick, elastic bands don't really jingle, so maybe you are snapping them or something, or instead have the elastics actually be clinky bracelets or something

“Mom, get real. It’s not like you know anyone here.” I glared out the car window at the lifeless streets, wishing I never agreed to come to seattle. [s]I glared around at this boring town in Washington. My mother always had us living in Seattle and never wanted me to leave. [/s]Now, I’m stuck here for the next six months. At first, I thought this would be great: getting away from my mom, finally being alone, yadda yadda yadda. But, no. This place is infested with clones like my mother.

-- Again, I don't really like this paragraph. The wording of the first sentece the one that says I glared around, doesn't really make sense. You also already said that she would be here for the next six months.

“I’m here to drop off my daughter, Marchetta LeeAnne.” My mother told the receptionist. As she continued to dilly-dally with her,

Find a different way to say dilly-dally, maybe instead say As she continued on to discuss the particulars with the woman...

I took the chance to look around this place: plain white walls, black and white tiles, mod chairs. It lacked life [s]a.k.a. lack of life[/s].

it was so free feeling

-- Instead say, It was so liberating. I

loved it. Then, we all came up with the idea that our “thrilling adventure” would be to break into the school. We all grabbed some spray paint cans from the local hardware store and when we were in the school, we spray painted lockers, walls, bathrooms, and even teacher boards. It was amazing; I couldn’t believe it was all happening.

Add something like A thrilling sensation similar to adrenaline buzzed through my viens as I sprayed a red heart onto the math lab wall. I always thought it was missing that kind of pizazz.

That was until she came into my life: Molly Saunders.

Maybe instead of came into my life, you could say, Then she, Molly Saunders, had to open the classroom door and ruin my life. Class president, honor roll, teacher’s pet. There she was, standing in the door way of the math lab.

I tried my hardest to make it out the door too, but one thing got in my way: Molly. She pushed me against the door and pulled off my bandana that hid my stubborn face.

-- Awkward, here's a way you could fix it: I tried my hardest to make it out the door too but Molly grabbed my shirt and pushed me against the door. In one swift movement she pulled off the bandana that hid my guilty face.

My eyes were cold and I tried my hardest to look like she wasn’t getting to me. But she just smiled and said “Oh, I got you now, Marchetta LeeAnne.”

-- Quick nitpick, you repeat get in these two sentences. Instead say: My eyes were cold and I tried my hardest to look as though I didn't care that she caught me. But she just smiled and said, "Oh I got you now, Marchetta LeeANne.

YAY!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I loved it!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! It's so much better! Well done. I just pointed out the particular nitpicks that I found but other than that this is truly going to turn into a good story. I love your main character! Well done! Keep up the good work! If you ever put up another installment, let me know so I can edit it

Fixed it. Thanks a lot(:

day tripper,

I actually read this before the edits were made, but somehow never got around to critiquing it. Well, no time like the present to change that, aye?



Quote:
“Oh, stop it!” She scolded as she brought me closer to hell.
“She” in minors. And “she (…) as she (…)” - that does sound a bit awkward, doesn’t it?


Quote:
My mother was a nightmare.
Nice.


Quote:
I’d look just like my father: a man.
‘kay, I’m guessing that is nothing to be thankful about, and yet above you have the exact same expression, but followed by a tad different explanation to it. Perhaps split the paragraph here, and emphasize that perhaps it wasn’t always that good?


Quote:
Anyways, here I am clad in sweatpants and a dance t-shirt.
“Clad” just doesn’t fit. Simply “wearing” would be fine.


Quote:
“Stop doing that, Marchetta, it’s very un-lady-like.”
That dialogue sentence should have a separate paragraph for itself. Add a tag if you wish, but separated it must be; no need to hide behind Marchetta’s description


Quote:
Carrollton was boring and fogy, it was isolated in the mountains.
Run-on.


Quote:
May I help you?” A lady asked on the other side of the counter.
That “a” should be in minors. But, it sounds awkward. Consider: “a lady from behind the counter asked.” (or something along those lines)


Quote:
“I’m here to drop off my daughter, Marchetta LeeAnne.” My mother told the receptionist.
Comma before the quote, and “my” in minors.


Quote:
I rolled my eyes and sighed, this was terrible.
Run-on. Add a hyphen or perhaps rephrase.


Quote:
So, we all snuck out and walked around town, it was so liberating.
Run-on.


Quote:
“Marchetta? Would you like to say good bye to your mother before she leaves?” The receptionist asked.
Minor “the”.


Quote:
Where on earth did you get those horrible cloths?”
Cloths? Or clothes? And why in the world would she asking about that now? I mean, I know that was, probably, an apt description of their relationship, but I don’t think it matches the situation. Wouldn’t the mother ask that question when she first saw her?


Okay, line-by-line crit done, let’s move on to impressions.



CAREFUL, CAREFUL…

-> The paragraph where the mother is described. Technically, it’s everything is fine, but you’re a good writer and can rephrase a few sentences, so there wouldn’t be such a lot of “she this, she that”.

-> The fourth from the end paragraph, or the chunk that acts as a paragraph. That long one. It can, and should, be split.

-> Dialogue punctuation. You have to work on that - on Snoink’s site there’s a section in which it’s wonderfully explained.



FANTASTIC!

-> The MC. Her, I loved.

-> Plot. Got me interested, and that is very good. I’m very interested how this’ll turn out.

-> Generally enjoyable. It flowed really well, and was a fast read; I can’t really find any other flaws than the already mentions.



Cheers,
Esme