I haven't really posted anything in ages... I just thought I'd share you this. It's something I might do for English... or well, will help me improve if I write something different. There isn't much here, I haven't finished it all as I'm going to do some at school... so, help me... but... don't do BIG nitpicks. I want this story to still seem like mine, if you know what I mean.
Enjoy... Hah, yeah right... O____________o;
I wrapped my hands round the brown furry object, rubbing my fingers, feeling the softness. I moved my hand up the object’s arm, until the softness ended slightly. Instead of the fuzzy gentleness that was expected on such an object – its fur had turned hard and sticky. I looked down at my teddy bear’s arm and stared miserably at the red stain planted on its coat. Chucking it away, I got up, in search of a new object that hadn’t felt the wrath of the anger and abuse of my parent.
Mum was cooking her usual meal of beans and cottage pie. She was standing by the silver plated microwave, staring at the small screen, watching the numbers going down. Finally a long awaited ping came out of the machine, telling my mum that the beans were finally ready. I had always wondered how the microwave knew when it was time to stop. Sometimes it didn’t, sometimes it stopped too soon and had to be put back in to heat it up properly. I guess that it was one of the wonders I would find out when I’m older. She took the beans out and poured them gently over the cottage pies.
“Mummy, I’m bored!” I moaned, getting bored of her cooking the dinner,
“Darling, don’t worry! Dinner is almost ready; please let me finish serving it, just two minutes…” She answered, sounding weak.
She had a very pale complexion. She never really tried to make much effort to make herself look pretty. She looked drained, her dark brown hair stringy and unwashed. She pulled back her greasy hair, keeping them clear from her red, blotchy eyes. After taking the beans out of the microwave, she served them at the dinning table. Dad wasn’t home yet, he hadn’t been home all day. He was never really around; I was surprised I knew what he looked like. He had a very muscular face. There was no hair on his head. To make up for the missing hair; he grew a bushy, black moustache. He was very strong, so strong in fact -- he could beat anybody he wanted to.
“Come on honey; eat up, before it gets cold!” My mum urged,
I began eating it; mum hadn’t touched her food yet. Even when I had finished it all up, my mum still sat there, none of the delicious meal entering her food starved mouth. I put the plate on the kitchen work surface, and then turned round, quietly observing my mum. She was biting her nails, her eyes staring blankly at the front door.
We heard a slurred grunt coming from the other side of the front door. Mum snapped out of her gaze and leapt out of her chair, running to the door to open it for Dad. He barged through the minute mum opened the door. He staggered slightly.
“I’m hungry.” he grunted,
“There’s already dinner at the table, we’ve been waiting for you.” My mum answered,
“Who’s ‘we’, another man? Are you two timing me?” He asks, slightly misled,
“No! I mean me and Sophie! No, I could never do such a thing, I love you too much to hurt you, my dear!”
“Who’s Sophie?” He asked, not realizing that Sophie was in fact his daughter,
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125,018 Literary Works • 672,861 Reviews
Wow, this was pretty depressing.
I like the ending a lot. It hints at things, so it's not a real cliffhanger, but it's still a little one. So you get the best of both options.
I'm not sure about the man not knowing who Sophie is. You never mentioned him being a drunk, or druggie, or mentally ill, all of which might explain that. Instead, he's just a jerk. Having a daughter is somthing he'd probably remember, especially if he beats her up, and eats dinner with her.
In the first two sentences she goes from (presumably) her bedroom, to the kitchen, with no transition. It works fine, but I think with a transition sentence, it might be even better. It doesn't really need one, thought.
I also really like the realistic physical descriptions of your characters: how the father compensates for his lack of hair by growing a mustache, how the mother has givin up caring how she looks, etc.
I'm curious about how Sophie's parents' relationship changed. They had a daughter together, so they probably loved each other once, either that or they didn't. Was he a doting father at first and only changed when he lost his job or something? I want details!
Apart from that, all my coments are of the sentence problems type. Nice work, keep it up!
Chucking it away, I got up, in search of a new object that hadn’t felt the wrath of the anger and abuse of my parent.
Since wrath and anger are pretty close to meaning the same thing, maybe you could use a different word?
I would find out when I’m older.
Since your story is in past tense, "I would find out when I got older" would fit better.
“No! I mean me and Sophie! No, I could never do such a thing; I love you too much to hurt you, my dear!”
I think having the mother say "my dear" makes the flow a little awkward, here. Maybe just "dear"?
“Who’s Sophie?” He asked,
No capitalization on the H.
She must have had something earlier when I wasn’t looking. I doubted it though.
Because Sophie doubts it, I think you should say might instead of must.
So, who is this Sophie? You have no friend’s, you’re a loner! Is she, like, your imaginary friend of somthin’?” He asked,
No need for an apostrophe on friends, and the H on he shouldn't be capitalized. Sorry, I'm trying not to get nit-picky.
Ah, well, better to have tons of imagination and ideas than to be a grammar dictionary with no creativity.
Haha thank you very much for the help. I do understand where you are coming from Snoink. As it was done more than half a year ago. I just wanted to really know how I could of improved it when I go into my folio again. Thanks.
Cassandra, I have always had trouble with my grammar. I mean, even after so many years I still can't spell or write properly. I have a lot of imagination and I can never write it all down so it ends up looking messy and just... not done right if you get me.
Snoink's already got here. (Darn you, Snoink!
)
A little awkward. Almost contradictory.
A lot of things are too plainly demonstrated. i.e. The sentence that Snoink mentioned. Just things that I'd like to figure out on my own, if you get what I'm saying.
These kinds of sentences. How did he? Could you demostrate it to the reader without actually using this sentence?
Other than that, it's pretty good, and it gets its point across. I just think it could "hit a littler harder" in the emotional area.
I'm guessing that this was passed in at school a long time ago and you're just curious about how the story was, probably so you can improve in your subsequent stories. So, because I'm mean and stuff, I'm going to critique this story. Not the grammar (you should listen to Cassandra!) but the content. Which means that the below comments are probably going to sound callous and cold... but I still love you, honest!
Okay... good stuff first. I love the mom. Or mum, in this case, I guess. She's so concerned about her own daughter's welfare that she forgets to eat, out of fear, perhaps? And it's just so sweet and tragic that it does touch your heart. Good stuff there.
And now, for the nasty mean critiquing stuff.
First of all, don't call the teddy bear an object. I know you're trying to lead us in, making us wonder, "What is this object?" but as the way it's phrased now, it's not working. We need to get an idea about who the character is as soon as the story starts, and the teddy bear shows us how young this girl is. By focusing more on the object rather than the teddy bear, you're not giving us a clear picture on who the girl is.
Second of all, first person is hard to get into. If she is playin with a teddy bear and not getting mocked for it, she's probably very young. I remember, when I was young, I hated when my toys got stained and stuff, but I didn't move around the object, noticing every flaw. Or, if I did, I didn't go into a long angsty monologue about how cruel my parents were.
You see, little kids don't do that. Only when we're older do we realize, "Hey, this is right and this is wrong." We might have a vague impression that there's something bad, but still.
And, if this girl lives in the household, I would think that she would NEVER attribute such a stain with only a "parent." (Chucking it away, I got up, in search of a new object that hadn’t felt the wrath of the anger and abuse of my parent.) I would say, "My Daddy did this." Children are alos not gender neutral.
You want to have a creepy effect where the girl is only a pawn in this grown-up world. That's cool. But you can't be overly dramatic about it -- that just ruins the effect. Instead, go nice and slowly, letting us see the world through her eyes. It'll work better that way.
And... um... I don't know. The part where her dad comes in and doesn't know that the narrator (Sophie) is his daughter is just really weird. Sophie tells us early on that she barely knows her father's looks, yet he comes to dinner and it isn't a surprise. That just isn't really realistic. Especially since he doesn't even recognize his daughter. That's just... well... highly unrealistic.
And... um... yeah. This sentence is WEIRD. Sophie is speaking to us in first person, but for a second, the story goes into third person. No, Sophie is not his daughter. Me is his daughter! Don't forget... you're in third person here.
And I think it would be highly doubtful that he would look around the room, see a small girl, and still wonder who Sophie was.
And the ending... well, the ending is slightly too cliff-hangerish. It doesn't resolve anything. The mother wants to make the girl happy, but, from what we seem, that's impossible. And it just isn't conclusive. I think I would like your first ending better (from the first draft) and just have him look directly at the narrator with strange eyes and have him ask, "Are you Sophie?" And then Sophie is so uncomfortable... she nods, but she's absolutely humiliated, and it makes the story so much more tragic and stuff.
Haha... oh dear.
So... I slaughtered your story. Sorry about that. But you're still very competent and stuff and I will definitely read more of your work.
See you around, Emz!
So I suppose that you don't need the 800 word limit for school anymore? Just checking.
WARNING: Nitpicky grammar stuff ahead!!
Stick a comma between "brown" and "furry".
The hyphen should be a comma.
I know that it's only her dad who is angry and abusive, not her mom, but when I read this sentence it feels like it should be "parents", plural. I don't know. Or maybe you could try ...that hadn't felt the wrath of the anger and abuse, which was a big part of my parents' relationship/marriage. (Take your pick of the last word).
Should be "silver-plated" with a hyphen...
You use the word "finally" twice in that sentence, which sounds really repetitive.
Separate that into two sentences: Sometimes it didn't. Sometimes it stopped too soon and had to be put back in to heat it up properly.
Also, there's lots of "it"s in this sentence, which makes it confusing. Try Sometimes it didn't. Sometimes it stopped too soon, and the food had to be put back in to heat it up properly.
This sentence doesn't seem to really fit, because since you're using past tense, the girl telling it is probably older than she was when she was experiencing this event. If you really want to keep it, change the "I'm" to "I was" to keep the past tense consistent.
You use the word "bored" twice. Instead of the second "bored", try the word "tired".
Also, after dinner you have a comma. This should be a period. You do this a lot throughout the rest of the piece...
Another repeat word: you used "make" twice in the same sentence...
You don't need the hyphens at all: He was very strong, so strong, in fact, he could beat anybody he wanted to.
Come on, Honey; eat up, before it gets cold!" My mum urged.
Should be "food-starved".
Don't need the first comma in this sentence...
Should be "He asked".
Don't need the comma.
Neither of us were much company.
These two sentences, one after the other, didn't really make sense. It's like Sophie thinks one thing, then a split second later thinks exactly the opposite.
[i]I stayed seated on the floor; it was safer.
She was so fragile--Dad knew that well and took advantage of the matter.
The Actual Story
Let's start with the end:
The ending of this wasn't very satisfying. It was like a train building momentum and then suddenly jerking to a stop. Is there more to this?
I liked your beginning, the description of the teddy bear. You did that really, really well.
The father wasn't really developed enough, and that's important in abuse stories. Dad needs a motive for what he does...I'm supposing he's drunk when he walks in? Why does he drink? How long has this been going on? Does he only hurt his wife, or his daughter too?
Well, I think that's it. Remember, all that grammar stuff was really nitpicky, you didn't actually have that many mistakes.
Nice work, though. If you did pass this in for school, what did your teacher think?
So any tips or help?
Here is the finished version. OK, I just really would like some help on it! I need to keep to the 800 word limit, so it's difficult to make changes and stuff... O____o; but I still need help. (You can suggest to delete stuff for more room... but I have to get a good reason for getting rid of that bit!)
I wrapped my hands round the brown furry object, rubbing my fingers, feeling the softness. I moved my hand up the object’s arm, until the softness ended slightly. Instead of the fuzzy gentleness that was expected on such an object – its fur had turned hard and sticky. I looked down at my teddy bear’s arm and stared miserably at the red stain planted on its coat. Chucking it away, I got up, in search of a new object that hadn’t felt the wrath of the anger and abuse of my parent.
Mum was cooking her usual meal of beans and cottage pie. She was standing by the silver plated microwave, staring at the small screen, watching the numbers going down. Finally a long awaited ping came out of the machine, telling my mum that the beans were finally ready. I had always wondered how the microwave knew when it was time to stop. Sometimes it didn’t, sometimes it stopped too soon and had to be put back in to heat it up properly. I guess that it was one of the wonders I would find out when I’m older. She took the beans out and poured them gently over the cottage pies.
“Mummy, I’m bored!” I moaned, getting bored of her cooking the dinner,
“Darling, don’t worry! Dinner is almost ready; please let me finish serving it, just two minutes…” She answered, sounding weak.
She had a very pale complexion. She never really tried to make much effort to make herself look pretty. She looked drained, her dark brown hair stringy and unwashed. She pulled back her greasy hair, keeping them clear from her red, blotchy eyes. After taking the beans out of the microwave, she served them at the dinning table. Dad wasn’t home yet, he hadn’t been home all day. He was never really around; I was surprised I knew what he looked like. He had a very muscular face. There was no hair on his head. To make up for the missing hair; he grew a bushy, black moustache. He was very strong, so strong in fact -- he could beat anybody he wanted to.
“Come on honey; eat up, before it gets cold!” My mum urged,
I began eating it; mum hadn’t touched her food yet. Even when I had finished it all up, my mum still sat there, none of the delicious meal entering her food starved mouth. I put the plate on the kitchen work surface, and then turned round, quietly observing my mum. She was biting her nails, her eyes staring blankly at the front door.
We heard a slurred grunt coming from the other side of the front door. Mum snapped out of her gaze and leapt out of her chair, running to the door to open it for Dad. He barged through the minute mum opened the door. He staggered slightly.
“I’m hungry.” he grunted,
“There’s already dinner at the table, we’ve been waiting for you.” My mum answered,
“Who’s ‘we’, another man? Are you two timin’ me, huh?” He asks, slightly misled,
“No! I mean me and Sophie! No, I could never do such a thing; I love you too much to hurt you, my dear!”
“Who’s Sophie?” He asked, not realizing that Sophie was in fact his daughter,
She started to answer, but decided it was best to keep her mouth shut. I made my place on the floor. It was dirty and covered in dust and dirt. There were clean patches splattered everywhere – where my mum had scrubbed hard to get the blood stains off. She didn’t want to arouse suspicions of what was really going on in the household. But to be honest, there was no need. She lost all her friends, because of dad. She just had me and him – neither of us was much company. Mum stood over Dad as he tucked into his dinner. She still hadn’t eaten hers. She must have had something earlier when I wasn’t looking. I doubted it though.
“So, who is this Sophie? You have no friend’s, you’re a loner! Is she, like, your imaginary friend of somthin’?” He asked,
I stayed seated on the floor, it was safer. I saw Mum’s back starting to shake. She was crying. I decided to get up; I couldn’t stand watching Mum in pain. She was so fragile, Dad knew that well and took advantage of the matter. I slowly walked over to mum and wrapped my arms round her stomach for a hug. She looked down at me, her eyes were swollen and her face was red and puffy. She stroked my head, moving my hair away from my eyes.
“Quickly, go away, before he gets out of hand. I’m going to make us happy.” She whispered to me gently,
She sounded worried.
Aww, no fun. *pouts*
I made some more changes to it. O____o; I hope that's a little better.
two should be too.
That's all yer getting outta me Emz XD
At the moment its kinda hollow, but I could still tell it has quite a story to tell. I look forward to reading the rest of it very much.
Very powerful ending too.