This is the novel I've been working on for just over a year now, I started reading it the other day and realised it doesnt really flow. Help me please
Chapter One
Emily sat at the back of the room, her eyes wandering over her new surroundings. Posters hung limply from the walls, their colours faded in the harsh sun that leaked in through each grimy window. The teachers desk sat crammed in a corner, littered with papers and pens, almost as if she wanted the class to think she was cool, just as forced into the daily ritual of school as they were.
Emily laid her book carefully upon the tagged and ill-treated lid of her desk. Tracing the markings of past students with her fingers, mostly vulgar words. A waste of space in her opinion, she didn’t care who hated what teacher or which nerd got lucky on the weekend. She didn’t care about anything.
An unbelievably large smile seemed almost fixed to her face. On the surface Emily looked like nothing more than a happy 15 year old but on the inside she felt like crying, inside she felt as if she was dying, slowly withering away without anybody on the outside giving her so much as a second glace.
It was another new year, another new school and yet another new class. Not one of the perfectly manicured teenage girls that slipped through the pale pink door or any of the flawless sport obsessed boys noticed Emily or knew of the dark being that lurked deep inside her small and frail body like a monster waiting to break free. Not one of those smiling, laughing faces knew of the destruction and misery one small, mousy girl could cause and Emily felt it was about time they were educated.
Keeping this in mind, Emily focused all her energy on resisting herself. Resisting the ever-growing urges to start spitting and hissing, Calling out horrible words and breaking each teen spirit as it ambled though the door.
Something was stopping Emily, something other than her masterful ideas, tediously planned over the seven weeks she sat, waiting in her dark and lonely room for the New Year to commence.
It was almost a call, a frightened yet understanding search from one heart to another, Emily scanned the room quickly and her eyes fixed on him. A dark figure hiding in the shadows: Slightly hunched over, finding a place of solitude within a book.
Emily wriggled slightly in her seat, butterflies threw themselves in death roles inside her stomach, a sensation she had never experienced before. She had never intentionally connected with anybody, not since she was a naive and innocent two-year-old girl. Since then she had kept her distance, scared of caring for somebody, for somebody caring for her.
Questions swam thought her mind, ideas bounced inside the hollow of her mind. Was he too filled with the deep longing that gnawed at Emily every day? Was there a dark monster, Brother to her own stirring inside him? Each of his arms, were they decorated with the angry lines, the deep throbbing slits that ruled her life?
In all her life time, all her 15 long and painful years Emily had never felt such longing to be with another. She had never meet a soul possessing the hurt and mystery her own did. She had never laid eyes on a person whoes heart had been torn and shredded as the one that sat beating slow, relaxing rythems in her chest.
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125,018 Literary Works • 672,861 Reviews
Yeah, I second Shadowdancer on this one ... there are teachers who want that level of familiarity with their students, for whatever reason, and therefore allow/request students to call them by their first names. And there are definitely also teachers who wear skimpy clothing.
It does happen! espeically when you get a teacher who wants to be cool, or level the playing feild! Remember Miss Attwood is desperatly trying to be cool and having the students use her first name is just another attempt at this.
Once again it does happen! I have quite a few teachers who dress in skimpy clothes and its another desperate attempt by Miss Attwood to be cool, dont worry its the last you'll read of her! she only teaches one subject.
What I mean when it moved fast is because it did. The introduction to Miss Atwood is fast, she says nothing about herself. She goes straight into the introduction. Once Zachary is done introducing himself, they are talking. Also the introduction to each other seems a little rushed. I would like to see Emily go through the motions until lunch, where there is nowhere for her to sit so she eats in the courtyard, where Zachary is and then they meet. [quote]
Ha ha, the whole novel is very fast passed and for good reason, its only one day! Have you seen the TV show '24'? its like that but on paper. I will try and slow things down a little and add a bit more bulk into introductions and such
This moved fast. There are a few things I would like to point about the story that don’t necessarily fit with the actual world. In the real world students do not address their teachers by their first name, so that sort of takes the story to a different level. You want the story to be relatable, and no one calls their teacher by their first name. Well, at least none that I know of.
Second, I have never heard of a teacher wearing something that you described. Maybe outside of school, but in school? People get fired for that kind of thing, especially when boys are the immature age of 15 or 16 when all they think about is sex. So having a teacher wear a short skirt and hooker heels could potentially be disastrous.
Another thing, it just seems to convenient that the teacher would pick Emily as the first student to introduce herself. And then Zachary. Maybe the snob in the front row, or the shy new girl in the middle of the classroom. Then a few more kids, Emily, a few more kids, then Zachary could be last. It would be a good ending note.
What I mean when it moved fast is because it did. The introduction to Miss Atwood is fast, she says nothing about herself. She goes straight into the introduction. Once Zachary is done introducing himself, they are talking. Also the introduction to each other seems a little rushed. I would like to see Emily go through the motions until lunch, where there is nowhere for her to sit so she eats in the courtyard, where Zachary is and then they meet.
That’s just a suggestion. I hope this helps, and I am not flaming this. I like this. So good job! -N
“Well that worked. Like I said, I’m Miss Attwood but you can call me Sarah, last names always make me feel old” She panted. Her eyes scanning the sea of faces. Nameless, directionless faces waiting to be ordered. For there normal, less than glamorous lives to kick in, the holiday’s events fading quickly behind them.
Emily felt Sarah’s eyes land on her shoulders. Looking over every last inch of exposed skin just as she had done only seconds ago. It was brainless how people used a person’s image or actions to judge them. Emily had just done it, she had decided she didn’t like her new teacher in the slightest because she had squeezed herself in a short red number about four sizes too small and a pair of heels Emily swore she had seen on a hooker.
“Since you already know a bit about me lets flag the lesson plan today and get to know one another. Anybody feel like a game?” Sarah smiled over the silent class. A game? How old did she think they were?
“Alright then, lets get started. The idea is to say your name and an animal that starts with your first initial. I know its pretty pathetic and childish, but wouldn’t you rather this than world war two?” There was that smile again, so insincere.
“How about you?” Sarah raised an eyebrow in Emily’s direction and pointed a slender finger straight at her chest. Burning a hole right thought the middle of her being and creating the perfect peep hole for the monster who now lay, curled in a ball of fur, one green eye wide open waiting for a sign.
The sign it was waiting for was Emily’s body slowly growing stiff, her eyes blazing with passion and her mind taking on a new form, almost as if it had suddenly been transplanted with that of a murderous villain.
However the tyrant would have to wait a little longer as when the sea of faces turned in Emily’s direction and eighteen pairs of eyes focused on her she smiled politely and batted her eyelashes. If she could make her classmates believe she was your average teenage girl then maybe she could start believing it too.
Instantly she regretted it, wanted to take the smile back. She knew she would never be normal why try and pretend? Know who you are Love who you are. Whoever said that mustn’t have known what it was like to hate who you are.
“I, I am Emily, Emily The Echidna” she cooed, kicking herself for not thinking of something along the lines of “Emily the Exterminator, Emily the Extravagantly dangerous.” Something that would intrigue her classmates yet set off their personal raiders and alarm systems. Emily enjoyed being thought of as a threat, it was empowering.
“Nice choice Emily, right next person” Sarah clucked cheerfully as she selected another student and the attention of the class was shifted. Emily was quickly forgotten behind the Frogs and Mammoths.
She slowly drifted away from the classroom carried on yet another daydream. Most people have pleasant daydreams using their imaginations to fulfill fantasies. Emily uses them to relive the day her world came crashing down to insure it stays crystal clear replaying in her mind forever more.
She came swiftly back when the attention of the classroom shifted again, towards the shadow. It was if they understood there was something about him that separated him from each one of them. Emily wondered if that’s how they felt about her and if it were, would she still be able to pull off her plan with them feeling this?
“I” he purred coolly, Emily picked then that he was also new. His eyes wandered over the other students nervously and their own eyes made a judgment. Creating an image of the person they expected the shadow to be.
“I am a” he seemed to be considering his options. Using a dramatic pause to hold everybody’s attention. Emily’s wide eyes desperately searched for his, she wanted to know his name so badly it ached.
“Zinate, I am a Zinate and my name is Zachary” he smiled; his smile was slightly crooked, suspended sideways on his face. Like he couldn’t decide if life was worth smiling about so he had given up on truly smiling.
“Now come on Zachary, what animal are you?” Sarah asked sternly, her face was set in a look of I-don’t-have-time-to-deal-with-students-who-think-they’re-smart. Emily smiled again, she was glad she wasn’t on the receiving end of that stare. It could send planes hurting towards the Earth. Make military veterans cry. That woman had a gift.
“I am a Zinate, a mythical creature with the head of a fierce dragon, skin in a shade of red, so deadly that with one look you will never be the same. Two legs, similar to those of the super kangaroo’s that lived thousands of years ago and a hunger for warm human blood” his smile grew wider then, stilling handing sideways on his face but this time it looked appetizing, absolutely delicious.
“Thank you for that Zachary but lets leave the kiddy stories for English class” Sarah drew out a deep breath. She was trying to put in his place now sort out a possible troublemaker before he had even had the change to get into trouble!
Emily understood him, better than any of them would. She understood the urges. Uncontrollable and consistent thuds driving her to do things she resented. The gut feelings that overwrote anything she knew and lastly the monster that held complete power over every breath, every smile and every tear.
The teacher instructed the class to pair off as she scribbled directions on the board. With her back turned she didn’t notice Zachary pushing his chair away from desk scraping it on the floorboards and she didn’t see him sway towards Emily, his Emily fading right through her.
Zachary took a seat beside Emily and without saying a word looked in the direction of Sarah. Emily watched him, glad the roles had finally been reversed and she realized. He wasn’t watching Sarah, he wasn’t paying attention to what she was writing, he was studying again.
“Emily” he finally crocked as the class erupted into a mass of moving teenagers. Emily ignored him and watched in peace as people buzzed around them. Desperate to find somebody to pair up with somebody who wasn’t below them on the school social scale.
“Hey Zinate” Emily finally laughed. She took in the shape of his face, his harsh lines, crooked smile and those captivating eyes. Zachary leaned forward; Emily could tell her was watching her lips. The closeness of his body. his heat hitting her in waves. In this position Emily felt comfortable, as if they were the perfect couple from a movie. The sports star and head cheerleader that swapped saliva everyday.
“Your just like me, Emily” he whispered slowly, not daring to raise her voice over the constant hum of the class, swirling around them. Emily felt her eyes dance, she felt the butterflies flip around inside her. The monster stir as it watched his struggle to find the right words.
“Broken hearted, torn essence,” she whispered. Turning away as a single tear rolled down her cheek, it hurt to say it. It hurt to think it but she was stuck as the person she was so she was going to use it to her full advantage.
“Hey, I know it’s not great but it’s not that bad to be the same” he laughed. Emily turned towards him and almost burst, to her, it was. It was the nastiest thing to be the same as somebody. To be able to relate to them maybe even love them. Love was nothing but a complication she didn’t want it.
She sat ridged the whole lesson, only asking one question. “What happened to you? Why are you the way, I mean we are?” This would make or break anything that could happen. Any friendship that may evolve, friendship it sounded foreign to Emily. She had never owned a true friend, never spared a soul.
Thanks for the really long and really helpful crit smaur. If you read the second posting you will notice that i have edited the first part, using a lot of your suggestions.
The teacher in question (ohhh, doesnt that sound posh?) does try extreamly hard to be the sort of teacher all her students rave about, she is loosly based on my year ten socail studies teacher. Everybody in our class loved her because she would talk about desperate housewives and socails with us but she always seemed to pick on me. She (The teacher in the novel, not my socail studies teacher) does try to act 'cool' a little futher, well not that far away.
This also comes up very soon, He is a lot like Emily in many ways and thats why they are so drawn to each other.
Ahhh, But Emily is an exeptional two-year-old. Well, she was an exeptional two-year-old and you will find out very soon why she is so distant and why it started at such a young age. Some of it may be a little hard to beleive so make sure you read with a mind open to suggestions.
You are full of very good questions. her heart is shredded as a result of something dating back to when she was two, I will leave it at that as i hate giving things away!
Okay, bear in mind that everything I have to say pertains to the first post. I haven't yet read anything past the original installment.
...right. On to the story.
This is definitely a great beginning. You've got a gift with choosing words, and for the most part, your spelling and formatting is flawless. There are a couple of problems — grammar, punctuation, a couple of things that don't make complete sense, etc. — otherwise, you're off to a good start. I'll discuss the overall style and that sort of thing at the end. For now, I'm going to go through the story:
Hung limp from the walls.
Two things. First of all, since the desk belongs to the teacher, there should be an apostrophe in "teachers" to denote the possessive. So, teacher's desk.
Secondly — just because she has papers and pens littered all over her desk doesn't mean she's necessarily trying to be cool or fit in with the kids. For all the reader knows, she could just be messy. There are many other ways of a teacher trying to be "cool"; overloading on slang despite obviously having a poor grasp on it; dressing the part of a high school teen despite being several generations older, etc. So, for the reader, pens and papers scattered across her desk doesn't necessarily point to a teacher trying to be cool. She may be scatterbrained, messy, any number of things. If the teacher's uncoolness or attempted coolness or whatever is a point that you want to make in the story, you're going to have to back it up with something more substantial. Otherwise, I'd recommend pulling out the bit about her trying to be cool.
Sentence fragments are all well and good (in certain circumstances, anyway), but the mostly vulgar words kills the fragmented-ness of it. So, either make this a complete sentence or a "proper" sentence fragment, so to speak. I'd recommend the former, simply because the latter sounds very choppy.
There should be a comma after "space", and the comma after "opinion" should be a semi-colon, so A waste of space, in her opinion; she didn't care... and so on.
Okay. Two things. First of all, this is a major cliché of a sentence. Secondly, this is a key point in your story so far. You're explaining the character's emotions, and the reader should be able to relate in some sort of way, or should feel some kind of empathy. But because this is such a huge cliché — stereotypical teenage apathy, blah blah, y'know? It's one of the biggest biggest teenage stereotype/clichés. I'm not saying it isn't true — just that, because our first glimpse into her character is a cliché, there isn't much window for sympathy here. I'd suggest one of the following options:
[1] Rearrange the story so that the paragraph right after this (An unbelievably large smile seemed...) comes before this sentence.
[2] Expand on this thought extensively. (So, for example, talk about how the world means nothing to her, if the world means nothing to her; or how life seems flat or stale, or whatever. Give us perspective into her character.) Then, if you want, end with this sentence.
Or, [3] cut out this sentence entirely. The following two paragraphs completely contradict this sentence, anyway: in the paragraph directly after, we find out that she felt like crying, inside she felt as if she were dying, which goes to indicate that she does care about something, i.e. the source of her sorrow. Then, in the next paragraph, we find out that she is intensely angry, to the point that she has to focus all her energy on resisting herself. Again, an obvious indication that she does care about something; if she didn't, she wouldn't be experiencing any of these emotions (hence apathy, i.e. not caring).
Write out "15", i.e. fifteen. There's a rule in writing that dictates all numbers before a certain limit be written out. The "certain limit" varies depending on the source; some people say every number before 25 should be written, others say everything beneath 100. But "15" should definitely be written out.
Two things. First of all, this is very much a run-on sentence. Secondly — slow down! You're explaing her entire character in a single, rushed sentence. Break the sentence into smaller sentences, and expand on each of them. This, like the She didn't care about anything sentence, is a key point in this chapter (or this installment of this chapter). We need to understand the way she works, get a perspective into her inner psyche. You're giving this to us a little, but it's too rushed. So, slow down, break the sentence into smaller sentences, and expand on this.
You can have perfectly manicured nails. You can be a perfectly mannered girl. But you can't be a perfectly manicured girl; it's parts of you that are manicured.
Another major run-on with yet another key point. We're finding out that Emily has a "dark side", so to speak. Yet there's too much happening in the sentence for us to focus in on this. Way too many descriptions — "small and frail", "perfectly manicured", "pale pink", "flawless sport obsessed" (and 'sport obsessed' should be hyphenated, so sport-obsessed). Also, way too many nouns: girls, door, boys, Emily, dark being, body, monster ... you get the point. Break the sentence down; it's way too cluttered.
Okay, whoa. This is hugely dramatic, yet as a reader, I feel no dramatic effect. Shorten the sentences; don't tack this onto the end of another lengthy sentence. She's going all Carrie on them (or harbouring thoughts of something like that) — dramatize!
Repetition, when used properly, are good. So are sentence fragments. But when they're coupled, they tend to make the narration awkward and choppy. They're a lethal mix; we're talking strange bubbly green, possibly radioactive. Use one or the other, but not both. In this instance, I'd suggest going with the sentence fragmenting instead of the repetition, which would mean you'd have to find a synonym for resisting and replace one of the two uses of the word.
"Calling" should not be capitalized. Also, this should probably be broken down into two sentences, because when you put the comma after hissing (which is where it should go), it doesn't seem as if the "resisting" pertains to the second clause. So, basically, it seems like she is calling out horrible words, not resisting the urge to do so.
Again, epic drama! She's been planning to off her peers, or do something, and it probably doesn't involve leaving flowers in their desks. But there is no sense of drama being conveyed, here. Partly because it's, again, a lengthy sentence. Partly because there's no emphasis. Whatever the reason, though, dramatize this bit. Draw the reader in. She's going Carrie or Columbine or something, and it won't be pleasant, and the reader needs to get a better sense of this.
"Slightly" should not be capitalized. Also, finding a place of solitude within a book is overly poetic without really helping us understand why this kid is so special. After so many people she so obviously dislikes, what makes Emily connect almost instantly with him?
Death rolls. Also, the correct punctuation after "seat" is a period; end the sentence there, and use the other two parts to create a new sentence.
Two things. First of all, using "naive" and "innocent" in the same sentence render it redundant; (it's kind of like saying Please pass the salt, please — you don't need to say please twice) use one or the other, but not both.
Secondly — why hasn't she connected with anyone since she's two? Most two year olds are hard-put to form coherent sentences at their age, let alone cut off connection with the rest of the world. Is she precocious? If she is, please explain that. Otherwise, the average two-year-old would not sever their connections with the rest of the world.
Write out "fifteen". Also, there should be a comma after "years".
First of all, whose and rhythms.
Secondly, if she hasn't connected with anyone since age two, as was mentioned two sentences ago, how on earth could her heart be shredded? For that to happen, she would have to connect with someone, and since she hasn't done that since she was two, her heart shouldn't be shredded.
...okay. So, I've basically covered all the stylistic problems I had with the story. But to recap: Vary your sentence structure. As it stands now, there are way too many run-on sentences. Break the sentences into smaller ones; expand some of them, keep the others short. This is very much the dramatic story, so use dramatic emphasis to underline that. At the same time, give us some insight into the character of Emily, and in a way that will allow us to relate or empathize or something.
Which brings me to the next point. The reader must connect with the main character. Why? She's the vessel through which the story is told; we see everything from her point of view. If we can't connect to her, we can't connect with the story. As it stands now, she appears somewhat apathetic and purposely makes an active effort to avoid contact with her peers, yet she gets upset that nobody notices the "dark being inside her"? Are they supposed to be telepathic? Give us something to sympathize with, something that makes Emily a character we can connect to.
Also, remember: fragmenting is a tool, as are sentence structure and repetition ... don't hesitate to use them, but try to avoid coupling sentence fragments with repetition. And it's okay to have short sentences. Use periods instead of commas (but in a grammatically correct way).
...okay. I hope that wasn't as incoherent as I think it might be. If you have any questions, want me to clarify anything, let me know. You're off to a great start — good luck with finding the flow.
Your right, it does sound like she snapped their heads towards, I will try and change that. I only want one weirdo, ok maybe two in this story and the teacher isnt one of them.
It is to a point, But thats not really what i want from it. There is more to it than Romance, it's a bit of everything really it just progresses more a little later on.
"and for a relieved moment" is what I think you meant. Relived is as if to live again.
I was never too good at breaking things down, but I think it would be better if you broke the phrases down more by subject. And I think that "I" is a typo. Also I'm wondering if there isn't another way of puttind the phrase without the and. it makes it sound like the teacher snapped their heads towards her rather than it being a result of what she just did. But the more I think about it the more it sounds perfect. So I think it's just me.
"Something was about to happen, Emily could feel it. The teacher threw her papers across the floor, sending them skidding across the polished wood and snapping the heads of all the students in her direction."
Okie. Other than that, I loved it. The whole idea is fascinating and leaves you wondering what's going to happen if she lets the monster inside her out. Though, looking at your first part, I'm wondering if this isn't more romantic fiction? But it really depends on what comes next, which I will be looking out for! Nicely done. I like how you described...everything! =P
I promise you, it is only the beginning, I gave one of my friends nightmares because she got so scared of Emily
they were just waiting for the start off school.
Emily seems to be deeply disturbed. I love the description of the boy, and the way you described the feeling that’s in her. Also the first part made it seem that school had already started, was that a homeroom or were they just waiting for class to start?
Other than those little details it was good. Keep it up! -N
This is the first little part edited and the second page of chapter one. There are about six more pages of this chapter
Emily sat at the back of the room, her eyes wandering over her new surroundings. Posters hung limp from the walls, their colours faded in the harsh sun that leaked in through each grimy window. The teacher’s desk sat crammed in a corner, littered with papers and pens, almost as if they didn’t matter as if the work and grades didn’t matter. Emily got the impression she was trying to seem cool, as forced into the daily ritual of school as each of the students held within its walls.
Emily laid her book carefully upon the tagged and ill-treated lid of her desk. Tracing the markings of past students with her fingers mostly vulgar words. A waste of space, in her opinion; she didn’t care who hated what teacher or which nerd got lucky on the weekend.
An unbelievably large smile seemed almost fixed to her face. On the surface Emily looked like nothing more than a happy fifteen year old but on the inside she felt like crying, Letting all the tears of a broken childhood finally stream down her cheeks.
She was just another statistic, a childhood filled with hatred and death leading to a depressed teen. Why should anybody stop to ask if she was ok? They couldn’t help her. She was beyond repair.
It was another new year, another new school and yet another new class. Not one of the perfectly groomed teenage girls that slipped through the pale pink door or any of the flawless sport-obsessed boys noticed Emily.
Not one of them knew of the dark being that lurked deep insider her small and frail body. Like a monster waiting to break free. Not one of those smiling, laughing faces knew of the destruction and misery one small, mousy girl could cause. Emily felt it was about time they were educated.
Keeping this in mind, Emily focused all her energy on resisting herself and the every-growing urges to start spitting and hissing, calling out horrible words and breaking each teen spirit as it ambled though the door.
Something was stopping Emily. Drawing her away from the smell of fresh blood and the hum of devastated essence. These were still merely a daydream but with her tedious planning they were soon to become a very harsh reality.
Emily’s wandering mind was dragged to attention; it would be the first of many times she would feel it, almost a call. A frightened yet understanding search from one heart to another, Emily scanned the room quickly and her eyes fixed on him. A dark figure hiding in the shadows: slightly hunched over, finding a place of solitude within a book.
She wriggled in her seat, butterflies threw themselves in death rolls inside her stomach, a sensation she had never experienced before. She had never intentionally connected with anybody, not since she was an innocent two-year-old girl. Since then she had kept her distance, scared of caring for somebody, for somebody caring for her.
Questions swam thought her head; ideas stretched her understating of life. Was he too filled with the deep longing that gnawed at Emily every day? Was there a dark monster, Brother to her own stirring inside him? Each of his arms, were they decorated with the angry lines, the deep throbbing slits that ruled her life?
In all her existence, all her fifteen long and painful years, Emily had never felt such longing to be with another. She had never meet a soul possessing the hurt and mystery her own did. She had never laid eyes on a person, whose heart had been torn and shredded as the one that sat beating slow, relaxing rhythms in her chest.
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A loud shrilling cut through the rhythmic beating like a snowplow pushing though a violent crowd. Emily looked towards the clock slowly, the large had stiffly reached out towards its goal, almost as if it was imitating her sluggish action. 9am.
It was official, the first new school day. Her blank canvas set down before her, ready to have her destruction and hate spread across it. Her snarled comments and abhorrence filled words scaring each young life, leaving her personal mark. Her brand eternally itched into once innocent pure minds.
The shadow stirred, pulling Emily’s attention to his long legs, crossing and uncrossing under the table. She watched them, following their movements, captivated. Feeling the same feeling she left people with after stamping on their lives. Enchanted yet terrified.
He slowly turned, as if he could feel Emily’s large brown eyes on the back of his head, her warm breath on his neck, maybe even her heart screaming a reply to his own lonely call. His deep blue eyes locked with hers. Looking deep within her and into her core, watching the demon that was slowly waking within her.
Emily looked away, her cheeks burning scarlet but she could still feel the shadows eyes on her, those pools of intense longing, pain and destruction; crawling all over her body. Every fiber of her being combed over, explored visually.
Desperate for a distraction from the feel of a spider, crawling across her body filled with deadly venom and ready to strike Emily looked over her new classmates. She focused all her energy on picking up each of their habits. Trying to ignore the eyes that would not falter, would not come out of their trance.
Emily watched, trying to work out their weaknesses, if her parents had ever taught her anything, it was watching was the best method for learning. If she examined long enough she would pick up each individuals pattern. The people they cared for the most, the people they would risk their own life for. You see, Emily knew making people watch the person they loved the most wither and die, suffering slowly, their morals and values being forgotten was worse was more painful and damaging that death itself.
So Emily sat and patiently observed, she studied her peers as they laughed and screeched with delight but she too could feel herself being studied. Her every move being noted, the shadow had learned the same lesson as her. Watching is the best method for discovering, but what did he want to discover about her?
“Right class, Good Morning, I am Miss Atwood” A voice suddenly thundered over the noise. A middle-aged woman with a great toothy grin and a head of fiery red hair stood in the doorway, books and folders stacked in her arms.
Emily looked her up and down, making her first and steadfast impression of her teacher and for a relived moment she felt the shadows eyes fall off her, presumably to do the same, make a judgment based on the way this woman behaved in the next three seconds.
She stepped forward, closing the door behind her in one swift movement with her left foot. Something was about to happen. Emily I could feel it, the teacher threw her papers across the floor, sending them skidding across the polished wood and snapping the heads of all the students in her direction. The room feel instantly silent and Emily sat listening to her own heartbeat, knowing she was not the only person in the room listening to its relaxing beat, knowing the shadow could hear it too.
“Wow, that really worked a charm, I, like I said am Miss Attwood and you, I sincerely hope are my year ten class” she panted, her eyes scanning the sea of nameless, directionless faces waiting to be ordered, waiting for their normal, less than glamorous lives to kick in, the holidays events fading quickly behind them.
Thanks for that, I didnt even notice my little age mistake. She's always been 15 I don't know why i said 14, damn you wandering mind! I'll post the next part soon (this is only the first page of chapter one, my chapters are pretty long)
This starts off good, but towards the end it goes a little rampant. It first gets a little confusing when she looks for the boy.
“It was almost a call, a frightened yet understanding search from one heart to another, Emily scanned the room quickly and her eyes fixed on him. A dark figure hiding in the shadows: Slightly hunched over, finding a place of solitude within a book.”
It goes right from talking about her plan to this “call”. A transition would be helpful. Something like: "Suddenly her thoughts were broken. It was almost a call…"
That would help move it nicely from point A to point B. Is she 14 or 15? One sentence says she 14, and then later she 15. When I’m writing a story with things that are easily forgettable I make a whole list. The character’s name, parents’ names, siblings’ names, ages, teachers and classes, friends, likes, dislikes, etc. This is a whole other being you are creating, and everything as to be correct down to the small stuff that may not seem important but really is.
I really like the last paragraph. A lot detail, you can just feel the pain this girl is going through. I'll look out for the next chapter. Good job and I hope you have continuing luck with this. -N