The Empty Lots

Hey! =D

I thought this short story was pretty good. You gave well constructed description and a clear analysis of your characters. The dialogue was realistic and believable as well. You should work on the ending on bit more. The story builds up but then suddenly drops all at the end. Part of an ending could be a general realization that the protagonist has about his/her dilemma. One way you could come by this is writing about this dilemma in a journal. You could come up with a couple "What if" questions and elaborate from there.

Hope I helped a little. I look forward to reading your other writing.

Much Love,
Chris

Hope! I is here as requested! Me going to review now, no? Okie dokie!

First of all, I'm glad you wrote a short story. I don't really like reviewing "novel chapters" and poetry bores me (no matter how much of it I've critiqued), so this is a great change. *bows* I commend you.

And as for the short story itself...

When I was young, during the summertime, the kids that lived nearby would get together in the vacant lots, with the least amount of shattered glass in it, and play kickball.

Most were barefoot during the hot months, to save their shoes for the hard winter ones when they would be needed most.

There would be times where the cut was so deep, the rag would be deep crimson within 20 seconds, and the dirt of the lot stained with the blood of the unlucky child, now wailing and sobbing, until a parent came running.

Most of the girls didn’t participate, sitting on the makeshift bench in one corner, discussing boys, and the younger children that were brought along, played with dolls, or watched the games, wishing they were older, and counting the days until they too could play.

Timmay wrote: Most of the girls didn't participate, sitting on the makeshift bench in one corner discussing boys; the younger children that were brought along played with dolls or watched the games, wishing they were older and counting the days until they too could play.

'Ullo co-Bond lover! Here as you asked! My thoughts and suggestions, like usual, are in a lovely colour for you and in amongst the quote below! Hope this helps!

BondGirl007 wrote:Our neighborhood was not what you would call a bad one; it simply wasn’t a good one. The starting line is engaging, but I'm a little iffy on your choice of the word "simply", personally I'd change it to "just". The houses were shabby, the people were poor, and broken beer bottles littered the sidewalks. It was a common place for fathers to pop in and out of their children’s lives, as my own frequently did. I like how you intertwined that. Those whose fathers did stay around were either beaten, or taking out the "or" makes it more fluent starving or both, because of the passion for booze ate up the family’s small income. When I was young, during the summertime, the kids that lived nearby would get together in the vacant lots, with the least amount of shattered glass in it, and play kickball. That sentence seemed a little heavy and perhaps splitting it into two simpler sentences would be more favourable. But overall it's a good and engaging start!

Most of them were barefoot during the hot months, to save their shoes for the hard winter ones when they would be needed most. Okay the reason why I edited the start a little was because it needed to not be as linked to the previous paragraph, since this is a new paragraph.. If you know what I mean lol Occasionally someone would step on a shard, cutting the bottom of their feet. Someone almost always had a clean rag in case of such a happening. The start so far, feels a little slow and this is generally down to the telling and not showing aspect, as if this were captured in a freezeframe. However your description and the way you've positioned the reader inside your character's head is fabulously well done! There would be times where the cut was so deep, the rag would be deep crimson within 20 twenty seconds, and the dirt of the lot stained with the blood of the unlucky child, now wailing and sobbing, until a parent came running. I like the image you're showing, it's dark, still somewhat mysterious and draws us into the character's memories and way of life. Also the fact that the character remembers these kind of things, illustrates to me that the thoughts of the character is quite negative, so there's some positive character development here too.

Most of the girls didn’t participate, sitting on the makeshift bench in one corner, discussing boys <- love that bit there! The fact that you included "discussing boys" makes the girls sound stereotypically "normal" and that produces a wonderful setting to go with how you've described the place they're living - talking effect -> literary messages!, and the younger children that were brought along, played with dolls, or watched the games, wishing they were older, and counting the days until they too could play. Main advice here is to be wary of the sentence length. There of course were exceptions to that, only about two girls ever played, one of the regularly. Molly Harden was a year younger then me, and my best friend. She was liked by nearly everyone; the boys grudgingly respected her ability to spit the furthest, and her rough and tumble attitude towards them, she was like a sister to all of us. Good character introduction. I changed a comma to a semi-colon in the previous sentence because I think it compliments the fluency better. The girls loved her kindness, even if she was odd, and the fact she never had a bad thing to say about anyone, even Billy Thomas, the resident bully who enjoyed picking on even the youngest of kids. Billy had a hate/respect relationship with Molly after she bested him in a brawl when he was fourteen. Okay, I'm enjoying this quite a lot, however just, again, be careful of sentence length and telling the reader instead of showing them.

It started after he had tried taking money from a frail boy everyone called Tiny Tim. I like that name! She had seen Billy push him to the ground, and walked off the pitchers mound in the middle of an inning to run across the street to see what the problem was. We heard him yell at her. I like the crafting of almost heroism coming from this character, it's very admirable.

“Bug off and mind your own business.”

We could all see the determined look she wore. The plot seems to pick up more and I'm starting to enjoy the 'recital' kind of feel coming from it. She calmly told him to give Timmy his candy money back. He laughed in her face, and shoved her hard, and she tumbled into the short hedge that separated one of our play lots from an abandoned house.

There was a collective gasp, then every single noise from the game ceased. Very well-written line, I liked that a lot

We all watched silently as she slowly recovered, pulling herself out of the sparsely leafed branches. This is beautiful writing! Not one person moved, even Tiny Tim who had been sitting on the ground wailing, now stared wide eyed at Molly as she rose, dusting herself calmly off. Not a sound could be heard as she walked serenely over to Billy who stood smirking. It was if even the birds could feel the tension. That's a brilliant movement and show of character, be careful with the birds line though, that sounded a little comical for the situation. It wasn’t until she was standing directly in front of him, only about a foot away that she stopped, staring into his smug face. He was almost a head taller then she was, but she stood there, staring at him for what seemed like forever, until we could see her starting to grin. I suppose Billy assumed that her grinning was a sign that she held no hard feeling toward him. If only he had looked at her right fist at that moment.


It was a glorious punch. Right into his beaklike nose, her full weight behind it. The best part was he never saw it coming, smirking right up until impact. His head flicking to the side, we could all see the shocked look on his face, hear his outcry of pain. It seemed that cry broke the spell all of us were under; Timmy scurried out of the way as Molly grabbed one of the arms of the stunned older boy, twisted it and threw him to the ground. Everyone from the kickball lot ran over just as she jumped on him, pinning him down. There was soon a large circle of kids surrounding them, watching as the petite twelve year old girl made the boy everyone feared, eat dust.


She held his left arm twisted behind his back, her knee digging into his lower ribs, holding him down. She leaned over so the stray hair that had come undone from her ponytail lay across her cheek, her mouth close to his ear. Only a handful of the closest people could hear her mutter,

“Don’t you ever touch me again.”

With that said she threw his arm aside, and got up. As we all cheered, she pushed her way through the crowd, receiving many pats on the back and highfives as she did. When she broke through the mass of kids, she walked over to Timmy, long since forgotten, helped him to his feet and handed him the pennies that had fallen out of Bill’s pocket during the scrap. Bill picked himself up, clearly hurt, not only by the damage to his face, but also to his ego. As he picked his way through the sea of jeers and taunts, wiping the steady flow of blood from his upper lip, you could tell he was holding back tears.

Billy’s nose never looked the same after that, and for years he kept his distance from her, even though she never held anything against him.

Four years later she still would get into scraps with people every now and then. It was odd, I had known her since I was five, and we had never fought. Sure she roughhoused with me, but the closest we ever came was arguing over the intense monopoly games we would play in the middle of her living room rug.
I was a brother just like all the other boys, except I was the one she confided in. I was her best friend and she was mine, and we would have done anything for the other.

As we grew up, we slowly grew apart; she had a boyfriend, I a job at the corner store, and a girlfriend. We completely lost contact when she moved when she was 17.

Even now, forty years later, married with three kids, I wonder whatever happened to that scrawny little girl that would fight if it meant standing up for what she believed in.

So, so!
Overall - I love the description, just thought the start was a little slow so that's the main area of improvement I can suggest really and as for character development I thought that was brilliant for your main character but may need the odd scrubbing up in the other characters here.

You might be looking at the expanse of writing nearer the end, but after the tense bit with Molly making her stand I just fell into the reading (: So all I can really suggest is a nice little revision of what you've got here and perhaps take in and consider some of my suggestions, have to say though - I loved this piece!

Also I think the title of this is BRILLIANT! It's original and grasping

Awesome story! I liked it lots... it reminded me of "Nosotros los pobres" for some reason.

A quick story! Apparently, my grandma grew up in New York at a gas station... anyway, one time, there was this kid playing barefoot in this gas station when there was all this metal bolts and nails all around, but he didn't really care. Curious, my grandma's father looked at his feet... it was completely hard. So we can adapt to have our feet that strong!

Now, one tiny comment... the ending is a little disappointing. To make it better, conclude how watching that transformed the narrator and you'll have a much nicer conclusion.

Good job! *likes*

Oh my goodness. I loved this! Absolutely. And I couldn't find anything wrong with it The flow was perfect, and it gave off a great feeling towards the end. A mysterious but resolved feeling, some how-if that makes sense. Anyways, the title doesn't particularly fit in with the story, but it's alright. The only thing I could find that may need some thought in, is the structure of the story. The ending, as I've said, was brilliant. However the story started off about the neighbourhood, to the bleeding children, to the girl playing the game, to beating up the guy-so, basically, you skip subjects quite a lot. Maybe that was the intended effect, or it's just how it fitted in, but that quite seriously is the only thing I think could need some pondering about. As for the rest, well done!!!!

Why hello thar, I'm Light_Devil, and today I'll be your resident reveiwer. This is a nice little short story. It is very sweet. Well, then, to the nitty gritty we go!

BondGirl007 wrote:It was a common place for fathers to pop in and out of their children’s lives, as my own frequently did.

Those whose fathers did stay around were either beaten, or starving or both, because of the passion for booze ate up the family’s small income.

Occasionally, someone would step on a shard, cutting the bottom of their feet.

There would be times where the cut was so deep, the rag would be deep crimson within 20 seconds, and the dirt of the lot stained with the blood of the unlucky child, now wailing and sobbing, until a parent came running.

There, of course, were exceptions to that, only about two girls ever played, one of the regularly.

“Bug off and mind your own business.”

I suppose Billy assumed that her grinning was a sign that she held no hard feeling toward him. If only he had looked at her right fist at that moment.

There was soon a large circle of kids surrounding them, watching as the petite twelve year old girl made the boy everyone feared, eat dust.

“Don’t you ever touch me again.”

Even now, forty years later, married with three kids, I wonder whatever happened to that scrawny little girl that would fight if it meant standing up for what she believed in.