Young Writers Society

Happy christmas and New Year to me. My mom has volunteered me to be a candy striper at the children’s hospital, says it’ll look good on my college application and will give me some time to look for a real job. Who said I was going to college? Who said I was looking for a job? That’s what a man’s for, (to) work to bring in the bacon for his family. I can’t wait until Randy and I can elope in Virginia and live in a small country house with acres and acres of land for our four small children to play on. Mom doesn’t know anything about the up and coming jobs. Who says they’ll be hiring women anyway? Randy says as soon as he saves up enough money he’ll take me away from here. I wish we could go now, away from our parents, away from all this responsibility, so we can just be in love. Guess I’ll have to keep dreaming until that day comes, but m(capital M - using "mom" as her name)om sure isn’t making it easy. Just because I’m a teenager doesn’t mean I can’t make important decisions on my own. Parents, gah, they are so… aggravating! (If these are thoughts, they should be in italics. Also, this is a HUGE BLOCK OF TEXT. I didn't even want to start reading this story because of it. Break it up.)

I walked in on Elizabeth reading my diary. Some how (somehow is usually one word) I felt as though she was spying on me, so I made it a point to be as loud as I could dropping my gardening gloves and potatoes, praying I didn’t bruise them, on to (onto is also usually a single word) the table. She quickly shut the diary and stuffed it into the couch cushions. I chuckled, I was letting her read it; she shouldn’t have to feel like a thief. (I'm confused, she feels like she's being spied upon, and she lets Elizabeth read her diary? I assumed she felt spied upon because Elizabeth was reading her diary. Unless this narrator is very weird and likes being spied upon, I'm confused.)

“Elizabeth, I told you, you are allowed to read that boring diary, so get it out of the couch cushions before it gets ruined. If you’re hungry there is plenty of food in the fridge, help yourself to anything you like.” (I dialogue tag between these two sentences would be nice, something to explain why she switched subjects so fast.)

She (just say Elizabeth here) blushed, slowly collecting my diary from the couch. (Elizabeth didn't even bother replying?) Going upstairs to wash up from gardening, I could feel the arthritis throbbing in my joints. My knuckles were so swollen that I could barely make a fist, and my knees could barely bend a fraction of what they use to. Looking in to the bathroom mirror, I pulled at the wrinkles around my sapphire eyes until I could find the eye from my youth (that's very weird to do without a reason to), smooth and innocent of aging. I took a wash cloth and dampened the sweat from my neck. No business in thinking about the yesteryears, you can’t go back. (The sentence before this should be in italics if they are thoughts) My gray and silver hair turn(ed?) black as coal once the water touched it (she's washing her hair now?). I used my vanilla soap to wash my hands, and left the bathroom after I pulled my shoulder length hair into a bun. (Yawn. Is this really necessary? Why do I feel like a child being forced to eat his vegetables? Too much description, not enough action) When I came downstairs Elizabeth was quietly nibbling on a banana.

“Grandma, is there a library around here? Or maybe a store like Target or Old Navy?” Her amber eyes shone just like her grandfather(')s.

“The library is right inside of town, a half mile from here, and we don’t have any fancy stores, but there is a mini-mart if you happen to need anything.” I caught her grimace(ing?), maybe we should have a family bonding moment.(shouldn't that be a question mark?) “We could hike to the clearing if you would like?(and that shouldn't be a question mark - the sentence isn't a question, after all)”

“Um… no thanks, Grandma. I’m going to go to the library. I’ll be back in a couple of hours, if that’s okay?” (That's one awfully rude little girl, telling her grandmother where's she's going without permission)

“Oh, yeah. I’ll have lunch ready by the time you come back.” I sighed relief, knowing full well my aching body had, had (why two "had"s? If you want to keep it, at least take out the comma) enough for the day.

I smiled as Elizabeth clutched my dirty, old diary under her arm and ducked out the door. (Why did she duck out the door? Why didn't she just walk? And why is she clutching the diary? Why isn't she just carrying it? You're using intense action words in a situation in which they make no sense. Context. Connotation.)

Elizabeth

I had to (Why did she have to? Was she being forced? Otherwise, just say "wanted".) find a place to read Grandma’s diary in private. It felt wrong to read her personal thoughts while she was right in the room (but it doesn't feel wrong while she can't see me, so it's cool XD), and I had to find out who this Randy guy was. Maybe my grandma isn’t such a lame (Lame is a noun now?) after all, or maybe if I had a life I wouldn’t be walking to the library, reading my grandma’s diary; I would have a romance of my own, and I would be hopelessly in love instead of trying to catch the attention of my needy parents and my lonely, worn grandma. (This sentence his three different topics in one swoop; It's hard to understand her thought process.)

The library was a small, one story, stone building. (You just missed an awesome opportunity to describe the setting) When I walked in it smelled like desperation (perspiration? XD) and nasty feet. This place hadn’t been used in a long time. The tired librarian smiled briefly at me before she went back to her People magazine. I ventured back to a snug corner with a beanbag chair (what kind of unused library has a beanbag chair? Also, why doesn't my library have a beanbag chair? And even more, why don't I have a beanbag chair? So many questions, so few answers, and so much sarcasm! Shutting up now) . Making myself comfy, I propped the diary on my knees. I cracked it open just as I heard a booming voice come from the front.

“Good afternoon, Ms. Gladness. Here are my books; I think I’ll be taking a look at the repair section today. My dad has (take out "has") seemed to break the kitchen sink.”

I peered over the edge of the book and watched as a tall, meaty boy walked along the aisles. A trickle of sweat creped along the insides of my hands. He stalled (stalled? I think that's the wrong word) looking over the section of books for one just right, but instead of pulling a book from the shelf, he started walking towards me! Quickly, I flipped a page in the diary to make myself look busy.

“Must be new in town, my name’s Richard. What’s yours?”

I slowly gazed up at him. He wasn’t even looking at me, but at the wall of books to my left. Should I even answer?

“M-m-m-my name is um… my name is Elizabeth,” I whispered, barely audible. (why is she embarrassed? Or is it that she shivered from the cold while talking? You drowned me in details earlier, and now you aren't giving them to me. Surrender them!)

“Like the queen of England, beautiful. (and 59 years old. True story)” He turned to me and stuck out his hand.

I stood up to shake his hand, and the diary leaped from my lap. I bent to grab it up, but he had already snatched (it?) for me.

“Thank you.” I was definitely blushing.

“You’re welcome. What brings you to Pitcher?” (Dialogue tags, please)

“I’m umm… I’m visiting my grandmother.” (yet again. I mean, you don't always need them, but in an important scene I'd like to know what the characters are doing).

Richard smiled, “Maybe I'll see you around town. Have a good day, Elizabeth.” He kissed my outreached hand, walked over to the repair section, took a book, and walked back to the front of the library.

I couldn’t catch my breath. Did that just happen? Maybe I should keep my own diary. To remember Richard, yeah Richard. (Maybe it's just that I'll never understand and girl's mind. I mean, I still think my girlfriend is insane.)

My mom has volunteered me to be a candy striper at the children’s hospital, says it’ll look good on my college application and will give me some time to look for a real job.

“Grandma, is there a library around here? Or maybe a store like Target or Old Navy?” Her amber eyes shone just like her grandfathers.

I’ll be back in a couple of hours, if that’s okay?”

“Must be new in town, my name’s Richard. What’s yours?”

I slowly gazed up at him. He wasn’t even looking at me, but at the wall of books to my left. Should I even answer?

“M-m-m-my name is um… my name is Elizabeth,” I whispered, barely audible.

“Like the queen of England, beautiful.” He turned to me and stuck out his hand.

I stood up to shake his hand, and the diary leaped from my lap. I bent to grab it up, but he had already snatched for me.

“Thank you.” I was definitely blushing.

“You’re welcome. What brings you to Pitcher?”

“I’m umm… I’m visiting my grandmother.”

Richard smiled, “Maybe I'll see you around town. Have a good day, Elizabeth.” He kissed my outreached hand, walked over to the repair section, took a book, and walked back to the front of the library.

I couldn’t catch my breath. Did that just happen? Maybe I should keep my own diary. To remember Richard, yeah Richard.

Some how I felt as though she was spying on me, so I made it a point to be as loud as I could dropping my gardening gloves and potatoes, praying I didn’t bruise them, on to the table.

“Elizabeth, I told you, you are allowed to read that boring diary,

I caught her grimace, maybe we should have a family bonding moment. “We could hike to the clearing if you would like?”

I sighed relief, knowing full well my aching body had, had enough for the day.