Young Writers Society

Unfortunately, you've a very bland writing style it just doesn't do it for me. It was only the end I really got interested. It was a very big shock. What this peice lacks is nothing really flows into each other. Each small thing doesn't click to the bigger picture. Right, think of it like this, in New York you take random photos of places no where near each other. Only thing in common is the name, but no connection between a picture of the Empire State Building and Central Park, there's no real connection. Now lets make this much bigger say you took random pictures in France and Africa, again no connection, but much larger.

This, my friend is what your peice so greatly needs connectivity. Because all I see right now is small events, which don't add up or are coherenet.

Overall: Each event must tie into each other. Even in short stories.

Good luck
VSN

Hey Cassandra

Even though I was fifteen minutes early for the time we’d agreed to meet, my nerves weren’t calm. They were on fire.

Everything changed as I spoke. Aunt Josie's smile slid off her face like ice off a tin roof.

Jostled through the doors onto the platform, I surveyed the area. Ticket booth, toilets, a couple of battered vending machines, a coffee stall. Then a sign which read STEPS TO MAIN STREET, pointing away from the platform. Meet me at the top of the steps to the main street his message to me last night had said.

Until then... I’d slowly die of a heart attack? It felt like I was going to, the organ which kept me alive hammering madly in my chest.

I thought my legs might give way under me, so I headed to a bench beside the vending machines. I watched people board the carriages, the doors hiss closed, and then the train slowly chug away.

My hands shook, my spirit shook. I couldn’t remember ever feeling this nervous in my life. All the times we’d stayed up messaging until three in the morning, all the sweet words and promises, could not have prepared me for this.

Seven minutes. The coffee man looked like he hadn’t had much business that morning. He sat on a crate behind his stall, head propped on hand, reading a crumpled paper. I had an idea. The hours I had spent scouring his profile, memorizing everything, had paid off. He loved coffee. Double shot mocha was his favourite. Standing up and digging my wallet out of my pocket, I headed over to the coffee stall. “Two large double shot mochas please.” The coffee man looked as if he’d just won the lottery.

Hot cups of coffee in hand, it was time. I wondered too late if the coffee was a bad idea.

I was shaking so bad, I might spill it on my new white jacket. That would make a really good first impression.

Then I realized that first impressions had already been made, the first time that we’d talked. I’d fallen for him instantly. And, he said, he’d fallen for me too. We’d swapped pictures, so appearances wouldn’t be a surprise. I shouldn’t be nervous. All I had to do was get my voice to work, to speak words that weren’t stupid or senseless.

Thank you for all your reviews and suggestions.

Memorizing not memorising
Favorite not favourite

Quote:


The minutes ticked by. First it was two minutes, then five. A group of schoolgirls came past, giggling in that schoolgirl-way. More minutes came and went. Maybe I was at the wrong place? But it was a small station. How many steps to the main street could there be? He was like the last guy. I felt pathetic, the boy standing forlornly with a cup of gradually cooling coffee in each hand. I was always the one left waiting. It would probably stay like this my entire life. Some people never run out of bad luck.


Huh?

I may be stupid but I'm still confused if the narrator is a boy or girl...really confused...it might just be me.

CassandraInvisible wrote:*This story is inspired by a friend. I want to make it PERFECT before showing it to him. So I need heaps of advice! Also if you have any ideas for a better title please share.*

As the train pulled into the station I frantically scoured the faces on the platform through the grimy window. Even though I was fifteen minutes early for the time we’d agreed to meet, my nerves weren’t calm. They were on fire.

Jostled through the doors onto the platform, I surveyed the area. Ticket booth, toilets, a couple of battered vending machines, a coffee stall. Then a sign which read STEPS TO MAIN STREET, pointing away from the platform. Meet me at the top of the steps to the main street his message to me last night had said.

I looked at my watch for about the hundredth time in the last five minutes. Thirteen minutes until meeting time. In exactly eleven minutes, I would go to the top of the steps. Until then... I’d slowly die of a heart attack? It felt like I was going to, the organ which kept me alive hammering madly in my chest.

I thought my legs might give way under me, so I headed to a bench beside the vending machines. I watched people board the carriages, the doors hiss closed, and then the train slowly chug away. Nine minutes. My hands shook, my spirit shook. I couldn’t remember ever feeling this nervous in my life. All the times we’d stayed up messaging until three in the morning, all the sweet words and promises, could not have prepared me for this. I’ll be there he said. But would he? The last guy wasn’t.

Seven minutes. The coffee man looked like he hadn’t had much business that morning. He sat on a crate behind his stall, head propped on hand, reading a crumpled paper. I had an idea. The hours I had spent scouring his profile, memorising everything, had paid off. He loved coffee. Double shot mocha was his favourite. Standing up and digging my wallet out of my pocket, I headed over to the coffee stall. “Two large double shot mochas please.” The coffee man looked as if he’d just won the lottery.

Hot cups of coffee in hand, it was time. I wondered too late if the coffee was a bad idea. I was shaking so bad, I might spill it on my new white jacket. That would make a really good first impression. Then I realized that first impressions had already been made, the first time that we’d talked. I’d fallen for him instantly. And, he said, he’d fallen for me too. We’d swapped pictures, so appearances wouldn’t be a surprise. I shouldn’t be nervous. All I had to do was get my voice to work, to speak words that weren’t stupid or senseless.

I passed through an archway, and found myself at the top of the steps. There were no benches, so I stood awkwardly, the heat from the cups radiating through my hands. My breath caught in my throat when I saw a figure approaching up the steps, but it was just a businessman.

I took a sip of coffee. I was no connoisseur, I didn’t know if he’d consider it crappy or not. Heck, I didn’t even know how he’d consider me, in the flesh, no screen to hide behind. My watch told me that meeting time had arrived. There was no backing out now. Well, I could probably dump the coffee in the rubbish bin and make a run for it. But I wasn’t going to do that, I couldn’t do that. It wasn’t an option. I wasn’t going to be like the last guy, I wasn’t going to chicken out. I wanted this.

The minutes ticked by. First it was two minutes, then five. A group of schoolgirls came past, giggling in that schoolgirl-way. More minutes came and went. Maybe I was at the wrong place? But it was a small station. How many steps to the main street could there be? He was like the last guy. I felt pathetic, the boy standing forlornly with a cup of gradually cooling coffee in each hand. I was always the one left waiting. It would probably stay like this my entire life. Some people never run out of bad luck.

He wasn’t coming. Five minutes is running late, ten minutes is slept through the alarm. Fifteen minutes is not coming. Why did I always do this? Get my hopes up so high, against my better judgement, ignore the pessimist in me and listen to the optimist, like an angel and a devil on each shoulder. I was so stupid; I deserved to be stood up. I only had myself to blame for this.

Somebody tapped my shoulder lightly. I froze, the breath taken right from my lips. Slowly turn around.

His eyes were even bluer than in his pictures.

To be completly honest with you I didn't like this piece much, and it wasn't because it wasn't any good, it's just not really my thing.

Jostled through the doors onto the platform, I surveyed the area. Ticket booth, toilets, a couple of battered vending machines, a coffee stall. Then a sign which read STEPS TO MAIN STREET, pointing away from the platform. Meet me at the top of the steps to the main street his message to me last night had said.

Hey.

Now, I don't know if this is just the mood I'm in, so don't take this too seriously, but I just couldn't get into it. I thought it kind of dull, and I admit to skimming the first few lines. There was nothing to grab my attention, and keep it.

Near the end it got good, but I think that there needs to be a different hook. I would suggest some dialogue, also, but if you don't think that this piece will support it then disregard this.

By the way, I really like your title. It's what made me open this. So good job on that.

Keep writing.

This was beautiful, and I think your friend would love it because I sure do. Well anyways, the only thing I saw was that some of your sentences were not independent clauses and some of your words were in the wrong tense, you know it should be jostling instead of jostled. Well I don't have a lot of time for a full critique but if nobody does it later I'll be back. This was beautiful,
Angel