Okay, so at this point I'll be honest with you--I'm not really digging where Lauren and the rest of the gang are going here. I started out liking Lauren's characterization, but this chapter made me doubtful of the rest of the characterization available. But we'll talk about that a bit later.
Their faces passed in a blur - Camila Cabello, Adele, Rihanna, Pink. All people that I had never met, but that wanted to meet me.
I'm not sure if I like the name-checking here. It sort of feels unearned and juts out of the story, because we've been so focused on the personal side of Lauren's story that seeing her suddenly turn into this A-list celebrity is jarring. If you want to mention them, you can be cheeky about it and either describe their most famous traits or misspell their names or something that doesn't come off as pandering, but is well-earned by anybody who understands who they are.
“Nonsense, you always look beautiful,” he came back, and luckily Brayden stepped in, allowing me to hide my shock in peace.
“So where did you go?” he questioned, brushing a stray hair out of my face.
Okay, so who are the 'hes' here? I'm a little confused. Is it Jack, Brayden, or what? Maybe specify with a description of who they are, like 'the musician' or something, if you don't want to use their names.
“I just want to say before I play this that I spent some time traveling the world, finding my sound, and falling back in love with music this past year, that’s why I’ve been gone. I left my phone and all my other electronics behind, and went out and lived in villages all across the world. This song is for all the people that loved me and accepted me and helped make me the person I am today. Here is...Mercí.”
This is...scarce. Again, there's no movement in the words, no hint of what the speaker is doing while she's monologuing to an audience. I'd at least expect a mention of where she's looking, where she's standing, how bright the spotlights are, before finally announcing the wham line, "Here is...Merci." On it's own, it sounds more like a transcript of a scene rather than an actual written scene.
As I began to play the song, I let it fill up my being, and I saw the rural farmers of Colombia and Brazil and China, the villagers of France and Italy. I switched between their languages as I sang the thank you I’d left before I could say, and prayed that they heard it.
...That was anticlimactic. Do we not even get to hear the lyrics to the song? Are we supposed to imagine the words flowing out of her mouth, and the emotion behind it? Because that's not our job. Well, not primarily. We're supposed to be reading and imagining with what the writer is giving us, and to be honest, you're not giving the audience much here.
If only they knew what it meant, I thought, making my way offstage. If only they’d shared my experiences.
Yes, Lauren. I, too, wish I shared your experiences, because right now I have no idea what they are and I'm starting to feel like I don't care.
As the song progressed, we made our way across the stage to each other, getting lost in the message of having someone who notices you when nobody else does and who goes through the same things you do and understands you, even when you think could.
The final note sounded all too soon, and he wrapped me in a hug before the two of us made our way offstage and back to our seats as the show cut to commercial.
I feel like this should be, logically, the climax of their story, the high point of their drama. And again, I feel nothing. It's telling me how to feel, it's telling me how important this scene is to the characters, but I feel nothing.
Here's the thing; I get what you're aiming for here. I get that you have this bombastic scene in your head full of spotlights and a captive audience of thousands, staring as two silhouettes sing over each other in an emotional duet, their eyes linked like constellations, the grip on their microphones as their vocal chords struggle to find the right tune to perfectly communicate their love lost--just like you may be trying really hard to find the perfect word arrangement, the perfect sentence structure to communicate this world in your head, the struggles of these characters in your head. But writing is like making a movie. It doesn't matter if the scene is supposed to be bombastic and amazing, if the director doesn't record a ton of people clapping in their seats or the lights arranged just right or if the music is all wrong, it's still an empty scene.
Give us something to grasp here. Give us the lights or the faces of the people, or the band playing or the notes they're singing or the lyrics or the wooden floorboards of the stage or something. This is an emotional crescendo, not a Sparks Notes summary. This has so much potential on it's own, and yet it feels empty, because it's not furnished with any descriptions of what's going on. Why should the audience care about what's happening if they can't even see what's happening in their head?
“Um, so, I didn’t check the nominations this year, so this is a bit of a shock,” I started, and the audience laughed. “I obviously don’t have a prepared speech, so I’m just going to kind of explain how the album came about. About a year ago, I got really tired of feeling like music, something I loved, was a chore, and that I was just somebody’s pawn, so I made the decision to do things on my own terms.
I feel like this is an important scene for the character that isn't conveyed properly for the audience because we weren't there when she wrote Merci. We weren't there when she got tired of the music industry as a whole, so we can't feel for her. This wouldn't be a problem if it was just a cause for her to launch into her new life, and not the crux of an entire speech. Basically, most of my reviews can be summed up as "It'd be a good story if I actually heard the story instead of hearing the aimless aftermath." And also, "Show, don't Tell."
Taylor read out the winner’s name, and I felt a hand on my back pushing me back out onto the stage. The tears were falling thick and fast down my face, and I attempted to wipe them as I walked back to the center and hugged Katy and Taylor and took my two awards.
Okay, now this is just egregious. What's the point of giving the main character three Grammys? It'd be one thing if this was a Whiplash or Black Swan thing where we watched the main character go through hell and back to be good at what they do, but is music really the crux of this story? Let's be honest here. Completely. Are we reading this story because we want to hear the heartwarming story of a musician winning three Grammys?
If it was, I feel like you fell short of conveying that, because I was not at all invested in Lauren's musical career. I was invested in her path to emotional maturity, and partly her relationship with Asher (again, slightly iffy on that part). Am I saying you can't give the main character three Grammys? No, definitely not. But you need to convince the audience that she deserves three Grammys, or at the very least you need to convince us it's actually relevant to the story as a whole. One Grammy is a pleasant surprise for the readers. Three and an extra speech feels like the writer being unnecessarily indulgent and unrealistic.
“Cailin, is this true?” she asked me, and I pried myself from Asher’s chest to face her so I could answer,
“It absolutely is,” I confirmed his statement. “We’re dating, and we can’t wait to see where our relationship goes.”
Put a period at the end of the first paragraph. You don't split up paragraphs with commas.
Also, I'd say I haven't seen a red flag for "PLOT DRAMA IS ABOUT TO COMMENCE" bigger than this (other than in police procedurals when a cop is talking about his retirement plans). However, I've been waiting for drama for a long time, so I'm not sure if it'll be worth it when it finally comes.
But those are just my thoughts. Harsher than usual unfortunately, and I hope you know it's nothing personal. I do hope that the story does pay off, but right now I'm not particularly impressed.
--Elliot.
Points: 19607
Reviews: 383
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