Scarlet Night

When night comes in Madrid, the city wakes up.

The girl leaned across steel tables in the tapas bar, a few miles away from Puerta del Sol. Her teeth were sharp and white, her lips full of crimson. The glimmer on her glass of champagne reflected on her eyes; her ebony hair drooped down to her earlobes, the smoke escaping her nose swirling about.

She paid for the fish and left the man standing there, twitching her hips as she went. The cigarette was hanging out of her mouth. Her shoes tapped on the pavement, click, click, click, click, down the murky street towards the palace, towards the December fire.

Balls of fire! Aglow with rich red, they stood in the front—the smoke was deep, and the sweat on her forehead twinkled with the stars—huge spears stood in the grass, blazing the skies. People that were shivering just a minute before were now pushing their bodies to the fire until their faces turned a shade of cherry. The woman smiled the biggest smile before marching away from the lights, towards the café.

The beginning of the night was still not there, but the adrenaline was streaming through as she tip-toed into the restaurant.

She thrust the coat on the floor, poured all her clothes down, and grinned. She put on the scarlet dress, lipstick, all sorts of make-up, and finally the shoes, the raven, lustrous shoes.

She climbed onto the stage and watched as the people flooded in. Now was her chance—her dance—what she waited for all week!

The drums started, the men sang, the guitar was sobbing all over the parquet, the painting in the background shone with the candles ginger, and the three women rose up. Their shoes snapped against the floorboards, their eyes misty with the act—and then they started yelling, yelling like the African warriors, and they circled on the floor, tick-tack, tick-tack, tick-tack, slow and then faster and faster, like blood their dresses faded in and out, in and out, a veil of lust, heel shoes hacking in the still air, darkness plugs inside their chests, they flamenco through the night, cheers, a standing ovation in such a crowded room is simply treacherous!

Then it stops. The place is completely silent. Everyone shakes hands, leaves. She rises too, undresses, puts on her coat, slithers her way and climbs up the hill to fetch a taxi back home.

What a night!
Every eleven it starts…but Madrid doesn’t end with morning.

Oh wow, gadi. The very first line is mind-blowing. Lovely, really. I ADORE your beginning.

Paragraph three was a bit confusing, perhaps you could be a little more clear on what exactly you were/are referring to?

"as the knocked"--as SHE knocked

"and poured all her clothes down"--can you really pour clothes? how does pouring clothes work? maybe she dumped them, or something. Pouring usually refers to liquids.

"Now it was her chance"--remove the it. I love the rhyming of chance and dance. Nice.

Paragraph seven was utterly brilliant. Nothing more to say

"She rises too, undresses"--I think you mean dresses. She's already undressed.

I love the idea of Madrid not ending with morning. Superb last sentance.

Overall, this is a very nicely written peice with a few errors but lots of promise.
Congrats!
-Evangelina.

gadi wrote:When night comes in Madrid, the city wakes up.

The girl leaned across steel tables in the tapas bar, a few miles away from Puerta del Sol. Her teeth were sharp and white, her lips full of crimson. The glimmer on her glass of champagne reflected on her eyes; her ebony hair drooped down to her earlobes, the smoke escaping her nose swirling about [s]and about[/s].

The beginning of the night was still not there, but the adrenaline was streaming through as the knocked her shoes into the restaurant.

I got confused, I can't seem to dicipher what word you meant to use.

Then it stops. The place is completely silent. Everyone shakes hands, leaves. She rises too, undresses, puts on her coat, slithers her way and climbs up the hill to fetch a taxi back home.
.

I enjoyed this very much. I think the description of the dance was a tad bit rushed though. You could really expand on it and give us a great insight into it.

Nicely done, good luck.

You definately have a beautiful writing style. Your writing manages to capture an entire scene and drag the reader into it and hold them tight until the very end (how's that for a compliment? ). You also have a mastery of the show-don't-tell aspect of writing. I had no idea this was about one of those spanish dancers until the very end.

However, you are extrememly descriptive. You focus more on the 'what' instead of the 'how' and 'who'. The purpose of this piece was obviously to wow readers with your descriptive prowress. I've noticed this aspect in much of your writing before. Try to focus on more of the human element and the events of your story instead of only setting the scene

woah, i was in madrid last week.. just down the road from puerto del sol!.. beautiful city!..

Expect a critique on this one, Gadi.

I don't have the time at the moment, but I read through this once, quickly, and enjoyed it very much. A crit will follow - promise. ^_^

You definitely have a beautiful writing style. Your writing manages to capture an entire scene and drag the reader into it and hold them tight until the very end (how's that for a compliment? ). You also have a mastery of the show-don't-tell aspect of writing. I had no idea this was about one of those Spanish dancers until the very end.

However, you are extremely descriptive. You focus more on the 'what' instead of the 'how' and 'who'. The purpose of this piece was obviously to wow readers with your descriptive prowess. I've noticed this aspect in much of your writing before. Try to focus on more of the human element and the events of your story instead of only setting the scene. The description should help the action, not the other way around.

poured all her clothes down,

This makes absolutely no sense at all. How do you 'pour' your clothing off?CHANGE IT!

their eyes misty with the act

Rarely, I think will a dancer become misty eyed and vacant during an act. I think they are at the peak of concentration. Maybe their eyes are fiery with the act, or impassioned. Something like that. You can't be misty eyed when doing something so complicated.

slithers her way

Again, slither? How do you slither? Also, this word makes this hot Spanish chick sound like a snake. Which doesn't fit at all. Strode? Walked? Sauntered? Glided?

Every eleven it starts…but Madrid doesn’t end with morning.

This sentence doesn't quite make sense. Maybe "Every eleven it starts…but Madrid doesn’t end with nightfall." Tell me if you meant to say 'morning', though.

Anyways, great job. Your onomatopoeia was brilliant by the way.

-Kylan

Dein kritik, mein Herr.

...


Good Points:

First off, the writing in this piece was very vivid and sharp, extremely enjoyable to read. The description was deeply colorful, and so alive with metaphor and music that the reader has no trouble imagining Madrid at midnight. You seem to very comfortable with this setting - either that or you can fake extremely well. ^_~ Very nicely done.

The opening line was simple, catching and effective. It made me want to read more.

The use of onomatopoeic description when depicting the walking and dancing was skillfull. Too often, that sort of thing can be overused and wear out its welcome, but here it was tied in very well.

Now was her chance—her dance—what she waited for all week!

Nice internal rhyme, it carried the flow very well.

The drums started, the men sang, the guitar was sobbing all over the parquet, the painting in the background shone with the candles ginger, and the three women rose up.

Gorgeous.


Points That Could Use Some Work:

I had a difficult time with your protagonist - she seems unfinished or unpolished, somehow. I think that the main problem arises in your portrayal of her. The details suggest a dangerous woman, or in the very least a fierce one: sharp teeth, crimson lips, cigarette, pointedly feminine walk, and her slithering up the hill towards a taxi and home. But the effect lacks a conlusion, and by the end of it I was left feeling frustrated at my lack of insight into this woman. It did occur to me that she was possibly the personification of 'Madrid At Night', but here again, I don't know, and that lack of concrete knowledge draws attention away from a well-written piece.

You switched tenses halfway through.

Kill the exclamation points; there are too many. You might leave one in for emphasis, but avoid them as a rule.

Throughout, 'her' seems a bit overused. There might be some way to switch up the diction?

...the smoke escaping her nose swirling about.

I would replace 'nose' with 'nostrils', but that's just me.

She paid for the fish and left the man standing there, twitching her hips as she went.

Possibly replace 'twitching' with something a bit more seductive - as it is, the movement sounds half spasmotic, which I'm sure isn't the impression you wished to give.

She put on the scarlet dress, lipstick, all sorts of make-up...

Vague - 'all sorts of make-up'? What kind of make-up? Rouge? Mascara? Eye shadow?

Now was her chance—her dance—what she waited for all week!

Again, watch your tense. ... 'had waited...'

You want to watch the run-on sentences in the eighth paragraph.


...


Taken as a whole, Gadi, this was great fun to read. The imagery was clear, fresh, and appealing, though a clarification of your main character would make this even better. Very nice work. ^_^