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Young Writers Society



"Vivian Kennedy: Ch. 1, Part 1

by FUZZHEAD


This is the first part to the first chapter of my first novel which will be the first of my first book series :lol: I've been working on this book for about almost three years and this is the seventh time I've restarted. Hope you like it!

CHAPTER 1

THE DREAM

One could say Vivian Kelly Kennedy of London, England was a completely normal girl. Others could say she is the most unusual person to ever walk the planet. But Vivian Kennedy was not normal, she was not unusual, she was just different. Her bright, short, strawberry blonde hair stuck out among the normal seventh graders of her school with dark brown hair. She was not in the best physical condition, as she was a tad bit over the average weight of a thirteen-year-old, but not morbidly obese. She was relatively short for her age, which made her the brunt of some cruel jokes among Patty Underwood, the school kiss-up.

Vivian’s best friend was a fourteen-year-old named Emile Roberts, an eighth grader at Godwinson Academy. Aside from Vivian’s grandfather, Obixen “Gramps” McNeil, Emile was the only person that really understood her.

Gramps is the father of Vivian’s mother, Ruxein Kennedy, the widow of Jonathan Kennedy. According to Gramps, Vivian was two days old when Jonathan died. It appeared that Ruxein didn’t love Jonathan very much because there were no pictures of him around the Kennedy house. Either that, or she didn’t want to feel the agonizing pain of looking at your dead lover. Either way, Vivian never knew what her dead father looked like.

Ruxein had strawberry blonde hair, similar to Vivian, but she always kept her long hair in a tight ponytail, with a cowlick of hair in the very front. Ruxein often toyed with her cowlick when she was angry. Ergo, toying with the cowlick was never a good sign.

Gramps was manager of a store called Stipes, which was Latin for a word Vivian often forgot. Ruxein worked at a prison, where they killed convicted felons everyday. She often came home with blood on her shirt. What Ruxein saw at work was a sight that could drive anyone mad.

The Kennedy’s had an American au pair named Becca Hicks. Becca was a tall, thin, beautiful girl who attended a local college, where seemingly professional boys gawked at her long, shiny brown hair. Vivian was almost certain that if the gawking boys got to know her, they’d hate her; Becca was an exact incarnation of a rose; beautiful, but thorny.

Vivian’s life was completely normal (using the term loosely) until a night that Gramps was working late at Stipes. Vivian and her mother were quietly eating dinner of Ruxein’s own concoction: Sausage Squares and Rabbit Nibblers. Vivian choked down some of her Nibblers and hid the Sausage Squares under her napkin. When she was finished, she belched quietly in her mouth (a hideous taste) and pushed her plate away. Big mistake.

“Why aren’t you eating anymore?” asked Ruxein suddenly.

“Oh, er, I’m…not hungry,” responded Vivian. “Had a lot of pizza at school today.” Normal food, thought Vivian.

It seemed Ruxein could read Vivian’s thoughts. “You don’t like my food!” snapped she.

“No! I-I love your food!” I love it all the way to the dump, thought Vivian.

Ruxein was playing mind tricks again. “That’s it! You will learn some respect for your elders, Vivian Kelly!” It finally dawned on Ruxein that she knocked over and broke a china cup of tea. At the sound of the crash, Becca scuttled into the kitchen with a washrag and immediately began picking up the bits of china. When Becca asked who broke it, Ruxein replied with:

“Vivian,” Vivian’s jaw dropped. “She knocked the cup off when she was having a small tantrum.”

Vivian could hear Becca mutter in her thick Northern accent, “Stupid girl,” As she was leaving the kitchen with the china in the washrag, she scowled at Vivian.

Ruxein inhaled and exhaled multiple times as if trying to calm herself down. After the fourth time, she slumped into the chair, twirling her cowlick. Uh-oh, thought Vivian. Here it comes.

“How are your grades going, Vivian?” grumbled Ruxein.

“They’re going,” said Vivian. Ruxein squinted her eyes at her.

“What’s your grade in arithmetic?” asked she.

“B minus,” responded Vivian.

“Vivian Kelly…” warned Ruxein.

“C plus,” muttered Vivian.

“Is C plus a passing grade?” demanded Ruxein.

“Barely,” said Vivian, looking away, humiliated.

Ruxein sighed heavily. “English?”

“A minus, promise I’m not lying,” answered Vivian.

“History? Chemistry? Orchestra?”

Vivian racked her brain. “A…B plus…and A,”

Ruxein stopped toying with her cowlick, a good sign. “I honestly don’t know what’s going on with you, Vivian,” Okay, maybe not a good sign. “Mrs. Stenson, your History professor, told me at the last conference that you are one of her brightest students. This morning, I received an email from her saying that you have been distracted in class,”

“Patty Underwood’s been making rude gestures to me in that class. Mrs. Stenson doesn’t even know what the blazes she’s talking about half the time!”

“Vivian Kelly! Behave yourself! Don’t you ever dare speak to or about an adult in that manner!” Ruxein’s face was flustering as red as the blood stains on her blouse.

“Fine…” uttered Vivian.

“What?” asked Ruxein.

“Yes ma’am,” snarled Vivian.

“That’s a good girl. I swear, I think that you’ve become so rebellious because of that scumbag you call a friend, Emile.”

That was it. “No!” roared Vivian, as she jumped out of her chair. “I am not being rebellious, Emile is not a scumbag, and you…” Vivian growled loudly. Becca could be heard laughing from the den, most likely at their conversation. “Shut that Yankee broad up now!” shrieked Vivian. Immediately, Becca stopped laughing.

“Go to your room!” hollered Ruxein.

“Way ahead of you, ma’am!” snarled Vivian. She stomped up to the attic, which was where Vivian’s pink and black painted room was.

Like Vivian herself, Vivian’s room was very different from most other girls’ rooms in England. It had a punk theme; pink and black walls, a scarlet lamp, blood red bed sheets, an old fashioned, onyx phone and a picture of she and Gramps at a theme park. Gramps was smiling broadly and was giving the peace sign. Vivian was smiling in a similar manner. The only thing from Vivian’s childhood in her room…that may have been why it always reminded Vivian that it’s going to be okay. Not everyone hates her. She has a beautiful grandfather and an amazing best friend. That photo gave her hope.

Around Vivian’s neck, she always wore a golden locket with a cursive “V” written on it. Inside, a small copy of her hopeful photo shone with pride.

Vivian jumped on her bed, face down, and took a glance at the photo. Her tears bitterly stung her cheeks and Vivian dozed off a little, but she awoke when her phone rang. She groggily picked it up. “Lo?” she croaked.

“Hey, Viv!” It was Emile. Vivian woke up almost immediately.

“Oh, hey Emile! What’s up?”

“I have major dirt!” Emile was always the first to know gossip. “You know Sibyl’s?”

“That creepy fantasy book store?” asked Vivian.

“Yeah, that. I saw this big guy with a black leather glove reading this frilly, violet book. It looked really old and stuff. I was in Sibyl’s getting a cappuccino and as I passed the big guy, I glanced in the book and I saw it said Contramagyk: The Possessor Spell. He then turned around and stared me down until I left Sibyl’s. But you’ll never believe who the big guy was!”

“Who?” asked Vivian.

“Chris Aoor!”

“No!” gasped Vivian. Chris Aoor (Aoor was pronounced “ore”) was a strong guy at Godwinson Academy. Vivian had a humongous crush on him. “Chris Aoor is a spell book reader!?!”

“Yeah! I think he hates my guts now, though. I mean, we’re a year apart, but a big thirteen-year-old can scare a small fourteen-year-old out of his wits!”

“I can’t believe it! Wow! Oh, God! Gross! I like a spell book reader!” Vivian involuntarily shuddered.

“This other weird thing happened. One of the employees at Sibyl’s (I think her name is Melba or something) was telling me that I had something called Light Spheres around me. When I asked her what the heck Light Spheres were, she said that they were little balls of magic formed from interaction with wizards or something. I then said she was off her rocker, and to that, she threw a cup of coffee at me. Still hurts,” said Emile.

Vivian laughed. According to Vivian, Emile could make rocks laugh. When she told him this, he actually attempted it. Emile picked up a pile of pebbles from a creek behind Godwinson Academy and started cracking jokes. Emile didn’t know that Vivian was behind him at the time, and to one of the jokes, she giggled. Emile thought the pebbles had laughed. He picked the pebbles up, took it to his homeroom teacher, Mrs. Cooke, and said that the pebbles he held in his hand were magical pebbles. He made them laugh! Vivian ran after him and admitted that it was she who laughed, not the pebbles. Emile then swore a word that Vivian wouldn’t dare repeat, which earned him a week of detention. This caused Vivian to laugh even more. However, Emile wouldn’t speak to her for a month.

“That’s bizarre, Emile!” laughed Vivian. “Who would believe something like a Possessor spell or Light Spheres or spell books or anything of the sort?”

“Obviously, Chris Aoor,” responded Emile, seriously. “And Melba from Sibyl’s.”

“Well, yeah,” Vivian rolled her eyes, “but I’d take a psycho spell book geek over my mother any day,”

“What happened tonight?” questioned Emile. Vivian and Ruxein often bickered over stupid little things.

“Well,” Vivian sniffled then inhaled, “she claimed that I need to pick up the slack for my grades’ sake and she blamed you as the root of all evil.”

“Oh?” Emile sounded hurt. “Why would she say that?”

“Oh, er…” Vivian hated it when Emile’s sensitive feelings were hurt. “She, er, said that because I’ve, er, been spending a load of time with you…”

“Oh…” Emile tried to stifle a laugh. “Well, that blows!”

“Er, yeah…it does,” said Vivian nervously.

“Well…I gotta get back to that Chem homework Mr. Davenport assigned us…”

“Oh, yeah. See you tomorrow, Emile,” said Vivian thickly.

However, Vivian wouldn’t see him tomorrow.

She wouldn’t see him ever again.


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Sun May 20, 2007 7:08 pm
Writersdomain wrote a review...



Hello there, FUZZHEAD!

So, I read it! It is a decent start. Before I tell you my concerns and impressions, I'm going to give you a friendly reminder to insert an extra line between each paragraph (including dialogue). Without the extra line, it's hard to read and that seems to discourage readers.

The one thing in this piece that irked me was: Telling! When you did show, it was good, but your telling really hindered this piece.

Now, you have probably heard the phrase "show, don't tell" before. "Show, don't tell" means that showing the reader things about your character and such through body language and description is better than telling them all about your character. Why is this?

Well, as he or she reads, a reader forms their own impression of a character. They get to know the character and once they can relate to that character, they become emotionally invested in the story, thus wanting to know more. The problems with telling is that it robs the reader of this creative process and thus creates flat, untinteresting characters as the author provides little insights in to the character through actions. This disinterests the reader and causes them to honestly not care what happens in the story. Characters are the foundation of a story - and if they are not engaging, your story goes into a downward spiral from there.

The othe reason telling is bad is because you give away so much. You tell the reader all sorts of details about your character and the setting that you cheat yourself out of intriguing the reader through mystery. If I know everything about your flat character, I won't be intrigued them because there is nothing else to learn, and they are not emotionally engaging as mentioned above. It is better for you to sprinkle details throughout a story and keep the reader reading than to dump it all at the beginning. Also, these kind of detail dumps bore the reader and drag out the story.

Now, to apply this to your story. Let's look at your beginning...

One could say Vivian Kelly Kennedy of London, England was a completely normal girl. Others could say she is the most unusual person to ever walk the planet. But Vivian Kennedy was not normal, she was not unusual, she was just different. Her bright, short, strawberry blonde hair stuck out among the normal seventh graders of her school with dark brown hair. She was not in the best physical condition, as she was a tad bit over the average weight of a thirteen-year-old, but not morbidly obese. She was relatively short for her age, which made her the brunt of some cruel jokes among Patty Underwood, the school kiss-up.

Vivian’s best friend was a fourteen-year-old named Emile Roberts, an eighth grader at Godwinson Academy. Aside from Vivian’s grandfather, Obixen “Gramps” McNeil, Emile was the only person that really understood her.


Telling! Ah! You have just told us exactly what Vivian looks like, that she is different from the other kids at school, that she is not very active, that she is being bullied at school, all about her best friend and that only Emile understands her. And you have done little to no showing of this. You have just told me all about Vivian, but still I feel absolutely no emotional attachment to her. She is flat; all I know about her is the handfull of words you have given me.

How can you fix this? First, cut down on the telling. Then, start showing us these things. Show us how lonesome she is; perhaps have her lament about being different. You show us later on that Emile understands her- that is not necessary here. Show us she is not active; perhaps have her look outside and feel no urge to go play with other kids. These things will give a much more intuitive and emotionally engaging impression of your character.

And, on a side note, telling a character's complete appearance upon first meeting isn't very good. Give the reader an impression of the character and then indirectly tell us what she looks like later on.

Gramps is the father of Vivian’s mother, Ruxein Kennedy, the widow of Jonathan Kennedy. According to Gramps, Vivian was two days old when Jonathan died. It appeared that Ruxein didn’t love Jonathan very much because there were no pictures of him around the Kennedy house. Either that, or she didn’t want to feel the agonizing pain of looking at your dead lover. Either way, Vivian never knew what her dead father looked like.


This is some extremely important detail, but, as I have only been told about Vivian thus far, I really don't care about Vivian's hardships. Also, this information might be more powerful if mentioned later in the story. If the reader is left wondering where Vivian's father is, it intrigues much more. Tell us this later when we have a better grasp on the story.

There were many other paragraphs where this problem was present, but I think you see what I mean by telling now. The tellings tapers off after Vivian goes to her room and then gets much better, so good job there, work on your telling near the beginning. Remember, this is your first impression on the reader. If you intrigue them now, they will forgive you a few slip-ups later on in the story, but if you don't intrigue them at the beginning, they won't want to continue reading.

Despite my criticism this was a good start and I definitely want to see more of this story, so keep writing. You have a lot of potential; working on your telling will tighten this up quite a bit. I hope this was helpful to you and please PM me if you have any questions or need anything. Have a good day! :wink:





Perhaps when we find ourselves wanting everything, it is because we are dangerously close to wanting nothing.
— Sylvia Plath