Young Writers Society

Hmm, I am back to see about the two things you want answered here.

1. I understood that the girl left and died, but I might have understood that only because I read it when it was very plain. You might consider making it just a tad more obvious, however this is where I get difficult and say I don't really know how you'd do that. You could disregard my advice though, since it does work a little as it is.

2.

I'm standing here staring out at the ocean, big and menacing, just waiting to eat me up, and all I can think is how much bigger it is than me. I mean, it's bigger than everyone, but it just feels like I'm even smaller than everyone else in the world. Like nothing will happen when I jump in – that no water will even have to move to compensate for my body. Like there's not enough of my body to matter.

This has been edited. I mainly used Icaruss's critique, and I ended up taking out the girl's death scene. So, two questions for all of you:

1) I want the reason for the girl to leave to be vague, but do you get that she leaves/dies?

2) A lot of people have been telling me that I ramble in perfectly good sentences, and I'm seeing that. The only thing is, I'm bad at spotting it. While I'm learning to spot my own rambles, can you guys point them out to me? Just so I can see more of what you mean.

Thank you to all whom have read this, and to all who will read this new version! xD

~JFW1415

Well done

I loved that story!!

Okay, I'm not gonna waste time writing here to get points XD I know you're waiting for the review.

So, here you go

Xxx

Although it did have it's sad and unfoucused parts it was beautiful. Sad but beautiful. This will probable not count as a reveiw but heck atleast I can tell you how much I liked it.

Beautiful! Mesmerising! I nearly forgot I was reading something. I felt like the character a little bit although I'm a girl.

Good job.

-AMber

Random Though #569 : First review in ages. Bear with me. I may get sentimental.

I've been reading a lot of books lately, two by Cormac McCarthy and Irvine Welsh's latest. Bob Dylan's autobiography I finished yesterday. Fantastic stuff. And what Bob does best is combine words in a way that works. It sounds silly to talk about it, because you pretty much expect writers to do so, but many times I've stopped reading a book in mid-sentence, corrected it inside my head, scratched out the words that break the rythm. You're a terrific writer. Sometimes I wanna get on a plane, go to your house and smother you with a pillow, you're so good (I'm a sore loser). But one of the problems you have is that you keep a sentence going, a sentence that was working perfectly fine a few words ago, a sentence that sounded good, a sentence that worked, and you ruin it a bit with a couple of extra words. It's not something that irritates the reader, or breaks his concentration, or even makes him dislike the thing. It's not that terribly important.

But what it does is keep the reader from being totally there. I can't read your stuff and forget about what sorrounds me, not hear somebody talking behind me, be completely in the tale. My stuff never does that to anybody either. But McCarthy, Welsh, Elmore Leonard and Bob Dylan can do that, easily. You can be on a plane for twelve hours, be done with a 293 page book in what seems like a heartbeat, and find out that you're landing in ten minutes. It's silly to compare you to people like that, but it's also silly to crit your stuff like you're writing fan-fiction. Your stuff is good. It could be great. Let's take some examples, alright? Go:

"It's dark. The clouds hang low in the sky, painting the world like an old photograph. The sun can't break through."

That stands out. Breaks the flow. The first sentence is short, the last one two. The middle sentence should be quick as well, it shouldn't make the reader think. Metaphors like that make somebody read sentences twice. It just doesn't draw the reader in. Also: "painting the world like an old photograph" doesn't really make sense.

"My shoes keep my feet from getting coated in the gritty sand, but I can see that it is wet, can feel the thicker texture to it when it doesn't cave-in under my feet."

The last part of that sentence is too long, feels like you're trying to explain yourself. Like you don't feel your words are enough. I would take out the "when it doesn't... etc", or just the whole part I've bolded up. Gritty seems like an unnecessary adjective too. Breaks the flow. Read it out loud. Works better without it.

Random Thought #600 : I've always liked to think that I swear pretty good and I've never understood why people don't like swearing. It adds to a sentence. Makes it sound better. You have to know where to put your fucks and shits though: "this fucking endless dock" should be "this endless fucking dock."

"I didn't bother stripping out of my Ralph Lauren suit, figuring it would help weigh me down. But even with my shoes, I don't think I'm heavy enough. And I don't want to come back up once I do it. "

That's a great little snip. It just sounds good. I like the way you let us know what he's doing without plain telling us. It's a nice touch to know he wants it done, and he wants it done quick, that it's not something he necessarily likes to do, wants to do, but something that he feels he should, as soon as possible, stat. The paragraph above it doesn't work quite as well. It's good he's thinking about other things, like the stuff he has inside his pockets, but again, sentences run too long.

You know what?

First-person shouldn't be poetic. It should sound authentic. I don't mean that you shouldn't use metaphors at all, that you should narrate exactly like you talk (althouth I do that). But narration should be something someone could actually think-- could actually, you know, narrate. You can sound poetic, but you must sound real, always be real. When you talk about someone you love, someone that's dear to you, things like "she ignored me, throwing her arms above her head and spinning. Her yellow curls – golden beneath the afternoon sun – lifted off her shoulders, spinning and spinning along with her, beckoning me to come too" make sense but you can't talk like that about your pockets. It just slows the story down.

Random Thought #665 : Virginia Woolf.

Let's talk about something else. I hate flashbacks. OK. I don't hate flashbacks, I hate that they're considered flashbacks. Like, when you're reading a book, and there's a break in the page, and then there's a text written like this. I hate that. I like stories that have the past, present future, thoughts, all mashed up together. Readers are smart. You don't have to label your shit. You just plow along, and keep telling your story. Itallics are not necessary. This is something I always say. Nobody ever listens, and that's OK, because it's not like it's some big thing that every good writer avoids. I just don't like it. It feels clumsy. But whatever.

Your story:

I think you should lose the death scene. I'm talking about the flashback. First of all, it seems like a silly death. Dancing and then tripping. It feels like you were just trying to give an explanation as to why he is killing himself. It's better to just leave the flashbacks as a good memory, as him being happy with her. That works. Him thinking about the good past, but stuck in the crappy present. Look, the reader knows the girl is gone. Dead, or just away somewhere. It doesn't matter. You shouldn't leave it so crystal clear. You should really lose the death scene.

I like this story a lot, all things considered. There's hundreds of other stories like it, I wrote one some months ago called Anniversary, but it's nice to see how everybody has a different take on suicide and death. The last few sections are great, with the exception of the death scene. The kind of thing you get goosebumps by reading. You also have a great way of telling us about a character without actually telling us about him. The guy not wanting to stand up when the girl is dancing. It's this fun? "I guess." That sort of thingies are great.

I hope this has been helpful. I vague sometimes. Anyways, good luck with the contest. I'd tell you to keep writing, but I know you will. Thanks for the read.

Thanks for requesting a critique!
Comments in red.

Out of Focus

It's dark. The clouds hang low in the sky, painting the world like an old photograph. The sun can't break through. Okay, so the fact that the clouds are hanging low doesn't make the world a photograph, right? It's the fact that the sun is filtered and makes things look black and white. I like the concept behind the phrase, but I think that you need to explore it more.

My shoes keep my feet from getting coated in the gritty sand, but I can see that it is wet, can feel the thicker texture to it when it doesn't cave-in under my feet. I would say "when it doesn't cave in as I walk, simply because you've used "feet already". The rain last night washed away the remnants from whatever games where played yesterday. If the rain is important, keep the idea and expand the line. What follows it ("the remnants from whatever games were played yesterday" sounds kind of awkward. Simplify. Behind me lie the sole blemishes – a straight line of my shoe prints. They draw attention to themselves, but there's no one around to pay any attention to them. Awkward line.

The beach is empty today, just like me.

-----

"What are you doing?" I asked.

She ignored me, throwing her arms above her head and spinning. Her yellow curls – golden beneath the afternoon sun – lifted off her shoulders, spinning and spinning along with her, beckoning me to come too.

"Dancing!" she said, her voice like a music of its own. If she answers here, then she obviously didn't ignore him earlier. Make it a postponement instead. The easiest way to do that would be to say: "She just smiled and threw her arms above her head..." Otherwise, you could put her actions first, followed by the question, followed by her answer. I personally think the second way might work best because it'll set the scene for the reader immediately.

"But there's no music."

"You don't need music to dance, Mike!" When she says this, is she still happy? Is she teasing him? Or has this happened before and she's fed up? It could read both ways, and I think that you should give a hint to her tone.

-----

This is a good way to do it. I'm so sick of the silence, but the ocean isn't quiet. It's an endless recording I don't think that "recording" is the right word. of noise: waves splashing against rocks, the dock, creating a foam cover; gulls crying out to each other, looking for food, killing, scavenging; the echo of my shoes as I walk down this fucking endless dock. I really like your first line, but it doesn't seem to fall into the others. You need a better preface before you pop into the "silence vs noise" idea. You might describe a few things about the dock or the ocean first, and then add "Best of all, there isn't silence. I'm so sick of the silence." or something to that effect.

-----

"You're crazy!" I told her as she swirled around again She hasn't stopped and then done another turn and then stopped again, right? She's just continually turning., but I was laughing.

"It's fun! I promise!" She reached out to grab my wrist, pull me closer.

"Fine. But if someone laughs at me…"

"Who's going to laugh? The trees?"

"You." I don't know. I get the idea of the guy as a shy person, but, as a shy person myself I don't think his fear would be the girl laughing at him, especially since she's twirling herself. He would probably be more afraid of being embarrassed ("Embarrassed by who?" "By myself.") or by looking improper. Depending on your character, his background, and the setting, you could pull several other answers. Ultimately the choice is yours. Perhaps he's afraid that she's setting him up to look a fool? I don't know enough about his character to glean that. Show us more.

She drew up right next to me, lifting her mouth to my ear. "I wouldn't laugh at you."

She drew back You used "drew" already. and pulled a little harder, her soft hand clasped in mine, and I relented. I couldn't stand to be the one causing her to stand still when she was made to be in motion, even if there was no one but me around to see.

"So what am I supposed to do?" Does he ask that? Kind of a weird question. I mean, not only is she only twirling, but she's actually holding his hand. Wouldn't he just follow along?

-----

I shove my hands deep into my pockets, ignoring the lint that's as soft as the warm sand that shifted beneath my feet; the paper clips, slashing my fingers, sharp as rocks; the pen I broke when the fucking conference wouldn't end, never ended, the remaining ink as blue as the water that flowed over the rocks. ...I'm not really fond of that line. At first, I thought that he was comparing the lint to paperclips and paperclips to a pen. Clarify? I ignored the ocean inside my pocket, a smaller version of what I was walking above, of what I would soon be engulfed in. Whittle down this line. It loses the power in it's length.

I didn't bother stripping out of my Ralph Lauren suit, figuring it would help weigh me down. But even with my shoes, I don't think I'm heavy enough. Your tenses seem to shift quite a bit. At the beginning of the line you say "didn't" and now you say "don't" And I don't want to come back up once I do it.

Maybe I should have put rocks in my pockets. I heard of some author who did that once – it sent her straight to the bottom.

I look back over my shoulder, but I can't tell if the end of the dock's three or thirty or three hundred feet away through this fog. Has the fog been mentioned before? How does the pen ink remind him of the blue water if the water is grey with fog? Eh? Regardless of that, I would mention the fog towards the start of the line to avoid readers going "Does he have no depth perception?" when he starts talking about not being able to judge the distance. I try to tell myself that they wouldn't make a dock that long – that it's probably only a few steps – that if I turned around to get rocks, it wouldn't even take that long.

But I walk forward, convincing myself that my jacket is thick, made for autumn, and that my shoes are big and heavy.

If I had turned around, had gone to get rocks, I don't think that I would be able to make myself come back. And I want to do this. I have to do this. Another tense switch ("turned... I want to...").

-----

"You're supposed to dance!" She pulled me closer, grasped both of my hands in hers. Leaned back, pulled against me, left me to do the same. We twirled around, faster and faster, both of us relying on the other to defy the gravity that was crashing down on us.

"This isn't exactly dancing!" I yelled over the tornado we had created.

"Is it fun?"

She spun faster and faster, pulling me along with her. "I guess."

"Then it's dancing!" Aww that's pretty cute. Her smile was huge, lighting up her pale face. She was all I could see. The rest of the world – the bridge, the trees, the slowly setting sun – they all flashed by too quickly. But she was the constant. She was right there, right in front of me.

-----

It's easier this way. I know it's not right, but it is easier.

I doubt that this will feel good. Actually, it will probably feel like shit, having my lungs fill up with water, my clothes weigh me down, darkness everywhere.

But it can't be worse than not doing it.

-----

And then she was gone.

Her fingers let go, and left me to fly through the air alone. I landed on the ground with a thud, and couldn't get my head to stop swimming long enough to focus on her.

But I heard her laughter – the music to her dance.

"I thought you said you wouldn't laugh at me," I accused.

"I'm not laughing at you," she replied, spinning and spinning, closer and closer to the water. She paused for a minute, leaned over, her hands on her knees, a big smile on her mouth. "I'm laughing with you!"

The way she said it, the way she looked, it made me laugh too. She was acting just like a little child, innocent and carefree and happy. The way I used to be. The way she made me again.

But my head was still spinning from our dance, and though I tried to focus on her smile, I couldn't. She became part of the background, just another tree that flashed by every once in a while. I would personally strike "every once and a while" because it seems so vague and replace it with something else like "as my head spun" or "as the world whirled by" or what have you.

-----

I'm standing here staring out at the ocean, big and menacing, just waiting to eat me up, and all I can think is how much bigger it is than me. I mean, it's bigger than everyone, but it just feels like I'm even smaller than everyone else in the world. Like nothing will happen when I jump in – that no water will even have to move to compensate for my body. Like there's not enough of my body to matter.

It's hungry. Coming fresh off the last line, it sounds like he's saying that his body is hungry. The waves claw at me, splashing my legs, my arms, my face, desperately clinging to anything it can reach. Come, it's saying. Come with me – I'll keep you safe. I'll make you feel better. I'll take away all the pain. Your starting italics here is off, by the way. It's after the "C".

And I believe it, because it's easier to.

-----

"Are you going to get up?" she asked as she looked down at me. I shook my head, not wanting to be dragged into twirling around again, not after how dizzy the last dance made me.

"Fine. I'll dance by myself!" She swung her arms out again, her laughter flying up into the air, her body seeming to follow.

And then she tripped.

The river behind her engulfed her, dragging her under, pulling her along. The currents were strong, the water ghost white. Mention the river before.

It thrashed her around, knocked her head into rocks, made her go limp. I tripped over rocks and roots as I ran towards her Describe him struggling to get up, and how the world is still rolling. – I couldn't get my eyes off her to look where I was going – and it slowed me down too much. By the time I jumped into the water, I knew that she was unconscious.

My clothes weighed me down; my shirt clung to my body. The water was an army – getting in my eyes and blinding me, getting in my mouth and poisoning me. The rocks stood firm, slicing my arms and shirt as I fought my way past, pushing the soldiers away. The extended metaphor is kind of rough.

My eyes stung – I refused to close my eyes, to let her out of my sight; so water slapped right against them. I didn't struggle as my body got cut up from the rocks underneath that I couldn't see. "the rocks underneath that I couldn't see" is a pretty laborious line. Refine it.

All I cared about was getting to her.

I grasped the rock that she had snagged on, the sharp edges slicing into my fingers. Her body was limp in my arms, but I managed to push her up onto the muddy ground, coughing and sputtering as I came up behind her. I sat there for a moment, stunned, looking down at her fanneddashout hair, the blood coating her head "coating" probably isn't the best word for blood, at least in this situation. Besides, she's just been in a river so most of the blood would've washed off and you'd only see fresh blood that was coming now., my blood mingling with hers. Her body was motionless. If I had danced with her, she wouldn't have fallen. If I had looked down, I wouldn't have taken so long to jump in. If I had been stronger, I could have reached her faster. These last couple of "if..." lines are kind of cliche. If you think you really need them, they could use some work.

My fingers shook as I dialed 911. Where'd the phone come from? A cell phone? Mention him getting it out. Here's a thought--mention it when he's doing inventory of his pockets. It'll bring more meaning to this scene.

When I went to bed that night, her blood still coated Again with the "coated". Not the best descriptor. my body. I didn't want to wash it off – I knew I would never smell like her again, and I wanted one last night. Okay that's just creepy. Did she often smell like blood? Because I doubt her blood smells like the perfume she wore.

-----

The last thing I think of is her face with her beautiful smile flashing by, just like on the day it happened when my head was so dizzy I couldn't see anything This line, and especially this clause, stumbles. Be more precise.; just another tree that flashed by every once in a while. There, but out of reach. Visible, but out of focus.

My chest squeezes as I look into the water. It's finally real. I'm not just thinking about it anymore – I'm going to jump. My eyes squeeze shut, and I count to myself. Just like jumping into a cold pool, only this time, I won't come back up.

One.

Two.

Three.
__________


M'kay. I liked the flashbacks, which I thought tied things together pretty well, but I didn't really get the "she's the one and only!" vibe from them. You need to talk more about how special she is--about how she makes him feel, and why no one else could do the same thing.

The piece is a little angsty, but I mean he's killing himself so I don't see how you can avoid that. I would only make it less verbose. Concentrate on shortening your descriptions. Make the prose like his thoughts and like the setting--sparse, empty, black-and-white. Pull the beauty of a cloudy ocean into the scene.

I think that this would work far better if you put a different spin on to it. I think that some others have mentioned how tired the "I am suicidal because my lover died" theme is, and so I would suggest trying to freshen this. One idea would be to take out the suicide altogether. Have him drop flowers in the water. Have him throw out her ashes. If you want to keep his death, then put a different light on the lead-up. Make your prose as clear and beautiful and simple as it can be, and make the reader angry that he's killing himself and angry that he can't see how lovely things can be. Give your narrator more flaws. Not being able to save his girlfriend/wife/sister isn't a flaw, so you need to make him less martyr and more human.

If you have any questions, feel free to PM them to me!

Avens

The beach is empty today,[s] just like me. [/s]

I ignored ignore the ocean inside my pocket, [s]a smaller version of what I was I'm walking above, of what I would will soon be engulfed in[/s].

And then she was gone.

Out of Focus
It's dark. The clouds hang low in the sky, painting the world like an old photograph. The sun can't break through. [Awww. What happened to his little sarcastic comment? The 'I picked a great day to do this' line worked really well. You should put it back. I think it would fit best at the end of this first paragraph. Also 'It's dark' is just a little plain for my liking. The first sentence is very important. A fragment might work well to set the mood and atmosphere. Maybe something like 'Dark and dreadful.' or you could possibly add a semi colon rather than a full stop and link it to your second sentence. Am I getting confusing? Basically, I think it would sound good as: 'Dark and dreadful; the clouds hang low in the sky, painting the world like an old photograph. The sun can't break through.']
My shoes keep my feet from getting coated in the gritty sand, but I can see that it is wet, can feel the thicker texture to it when it doesn't cave-in under my feet. [This could be more interesting. It's a little choppy, a little distant. The beauty of present tense is drawing your reader into the action so use it to its full advantage. Maybe: 'My polished, black shoes are coated in the gritty sand. It's damp and more solid than I'm used to. Used to. We used to walk across here, sinking together through the warm, golden dirt. But this is morning ground.' Well maybe that's a little far but I'm a description nazi so sue me XD And who doesn't like to play with a reader's mind? Also, I really would love you to start merging his recollection of her with the present.] The rain last night washed away the remnants from whatever games [s]where[/s] were [Tut tut. Where's your spell check, my love? ] played yesterday. Behind me lie the sole blemishes – a straight line of my shoe prints. They draw attention to themselves, but there's no one around to pay any attention to them. [I think this last line could be a little better phrased. Maybe 'They'd draw attention to themselves, if there was anyone around. If there was anyone but me.']
The beach is empty today, just like me.
-----
"What are you doing?" I asked.
She ignored me, throwing her arms above her head and spinning. Her yellow curls – golden beneath the afternoon sun – lifted off her shoulders, spinning and spinning along with her, beckoning me to come too.
"Dancing!" she said, her voice like a music of its own.
"But there's no music."
"You don't need music to dance, Mike!"
-----
This is a good way to do it. I'm so sick of the silence, but the ocean isn't quiet. It's an endless recording of noise: waves splashing against rocks, the dock, creating a foam cover; gulls crying out to each other, looking for food, killing, scavenging; the echo of my shoes as I walk down this fucking endless dock.
-----
"You're crazy!" I told her as she swirled around again, but I was laughing.
"It's fun! I promise!" She reached out to grab my wrist, pull me closer.
"Fine. But if someone laughs at me…"
"Who's going to laugh? The trees?"
"You."
She drew up right next to me, lifting her mouth to my ear. "I wouldn't laugh at you."
She drew back and pulled a little harder, her soft hand clasped in mine, and I relented. I couldn't stand to be the one causing her to stand still when she was made to be in motion, even if there was no one but me around to see.
"So what am I supposed to do?"
-----
I shove my hands deep into my pockets, ignoring the lint as soft as the warm sand that shifted [Why is the sand described as soft and warm now? It was gritty and wet just a few paragraphs back.] beneath my feet; the paper clips, slashing my fingers, sharp as rocks; the pen I broke when the fucking conference wouldn't end, never ended, the remaining ink as blue as the water that[s] flowed[/s] flows over the rocks. I [s]ignored[/s] ignore the ocean inside my pocket, a smaller version of what [s]I was[/s] I'm walking above, of what I [s]would[/s] will soon be engulfed in. [Tut, tut. Careful with your tenses!]
I [s]didn't[/s] don't bother stripping out of my Ralph Lauren suit, figuring it [s]would[/s] will help weigh me down. [Maybe a semi colon after suit and delete figuring?] But even with my shoes, I don't think I'm heavy enough. And I don't want to come back up[s] once I do it[/s].
Maybe I should have put rocks in my pockets. I heard of some author who did that once – it sent her straight to the bottom.
I look back over my shoulder, but I can't tell if the end of the dock's three or thirty or three hundred feet away through this fog. I try to tell myself that they wouldn't make a dock that long – that it's probably only a few steps – that if I turned around to get rocks, it wouldn't even take that long.
But I walk forward, convincing myself that my jacket is thick, made for autumn, and that my shoes are big and heavy.
If I turned around, gone to get rocks, I don't think I would be able to make myself come back. And I want to do this. I have to do this.
-----
"You're supposed to dance!" She pulled me closer, grasped both of my hands in hers. Leaned back, pulled against me, left me to do the same. We twirled around, faster and faster, both of us relying on the other to defy the gravity that was crashing down on us.
"This isn't exactly dancing!" I yelled over the tornado we had created.
"Is it fun?"
She spun faster and faster, pulling me along with her. "I guess."
"Then it's dancing!" Her smile was huge, lighting up her pale face. She was all I could see. The rest of the world – the bridge, the trees, the slowly setting sun – they all flashed by too quickly. But she was the constant. She was right there, right in front of me.
-----
It's easier this way. I know it's not right, but it is easier.
I doubt this will feel good. Actually, it will probably feel like shit, having my lungs fill up with water, my clothes weigh me down, darkness everywhere.
But it can't be worse than not doing it.
-----
And then she was gone.
Her fingers let go, and left me to fly through the air alone. I landed on the ground with a thud, and couldn't get my head to stop swimming long enough to focus on her.
But I heard her laughter – the music to her dance.
"I thought you said you wouldn't laugh at me," I accused.
"I'm not laughing at you," she replied, spinning and spinning, closer and closer to the water. She paused for a minute, leaned over, her hands on her knees, a big smile on her mouth. "I'm laughing with you!"
The way she said it, the way she looked, it made me laugh too. She was acting just like a little child, innocent and carefree and happy. The way I used to be. The way she made me again.
But my head was still spinning from our dance, and though I tried to focus on her smile, I couldn't. She became part of the background, just another tree that flashed by every once in a while.
-----
I'm standing here staring out at the ocean, big and menacing, just waiting to eat me up, and all I can think is how much bigger it is than me. I mean, it's bigger than everyone, but it just feels like I'm even smaller than everyone else in the world. Like nothing will happen when I jump in – that no water will even have to move to compensate for my body. Like there's not enough of my body to matter.
It's hungry. The waves claw at me, splashing my legs, my arms, my face, desperately clinging to anything it can reach. Come, it's saying. Come with me – I'll keep you safe. I'll make you feel better. I'll take away all the pain.
And I believe it, because it's easier.
-----
"Are you going to get up?" she asked as she looked down at me. I shook my head, not wanting to be dragged into twirling around again, not after how dizzy the last dance made me.
"Fine. I'll dance by myself!" She swung her arms out again, her laughter flying up into the air, her body seeming to follow.
And then she tripped.
The river behind her engulfed her, dragging her under, pulling her along. The currents were strong, the water ghost white.
It thrashed her around, knocked her head into rocks, made her go limp. I tripped over rocks and roots as I ran towards her – I couldn't [s]get[/s] take my eyes off her to look where I was going – and it slowed me down too much. By the time I jumped into the water, I knew she was unconscious.
My clothes weighed me down; my shirt clung to my body. The water was an army – getting in my eyes and blinding me, getting in my mouth and poisoning me. [I don't think getting is the strongest verb. Maybe 'Gushing through my eyes and blinding me, gushing through mt mouth and poisoning me.'] The rocks stood firm, slicing my arms and shirt as I fought my way past, pushing the soldiers away.
My eyes stung – I refused to close my eyes, to let her out of my sight; so water slapped[s] right[/s] against them. I didn't struggle as my body got cut up from the rocks underneath, those [s] that[/s] I couldn't see.
All I cared about was getting to her. [Maybe reaching her?]
I grasped the rock she had snagged on, the sharp edges slicing into my fingers. Her body was limp in my arms, but I managed to push her up onto the muddy ground, coughing and sputtering as I came up behind her. I sat there for a moment, stunned, looking down at her fanned out hair, the blood coating her head, my blood mingling with hers. Her body was motionless. If I had danced with her, she wouldn't have fallen. If I had looked down, I wouldn't have taken so long to jump in. If I had been stronger, I could have reached her faster.
My fingers shook as I dialed [Might be English spelling but I think it should be double l.] 911.
When I went to bed that night, her blood still coated my body. I didn't want to wash it off – I knew I would never smell like her again, and I wanted one last night.
-----
The last thing I think of is her face with her beautiful smile flashing by, just like on the day it happened when my head was so dizzy I couldn't see anything; just another tree that flashed by every once in a while. There, but out of reach. Visible, but out of focus.
My chest squeezes as I look into the water. It's finally real. I'm not just thinking about it anymore – I'm going to jump. My eyes squeeze shut, and I count to myself. Just like jumping into a cold pool, only this time, I won't come back up.
One.
Two.
Three. [Lovely ending.]

Well, that was interesting, to say the least. You do have a thing for sad endings, J, I'll give you that.

I don't know why you said once that you couldn't write from a boy's point of view. This pretty much nails it. I can relate to this character, even though I'm not completely despondent like he is. The current happenings and the flashbacks all tie together in the end. The end is a problem though. It seems a little anticlimactic, although one could argue that the flashback with her death is the climax. In any case, that last sentence doesn't really feel like an end. I don't know how you'd fix that, mostly because I'm thinking of a whole bunch of other stuff at the moment. Good luck with it though.

Your description is good. Of course it is though, you're the one who told me I needed to work on mine. Anyway, I can see where he is and where he and his girl were in the flashbacks, so that's good. There's nothing wrong with grammar that I can see, but I'm not really looking for it, so whatever.

Sorry this is so short. I don't put a lot of stuff down when there's not a lot I can see. You did well on this, but like I said, you do have a thing for sad endings.

This has been thoroughly edited.

I would love all feedback you could give me, as I tried my best to incorperate everything you guys said. (I had the most trouble with what Sam said, about it not feeling suicidal, that his body would be telling him not to, so any help there would be hugely appreciated.)

~JFW1415

After reading, this is pretty good. For a contest i can understand you whipped this up quick smart and wasn;t too deep on the time management and letting yourself fall into it.

- Mike is a weak character. Although it is clearly evident from the start he is utterly suicidal, and has reservations, there is no explanation as to why. I spoiled and peeked at the picture, but when i read the story, that picture didn't exactly come together for me. It was there, but was very faded and if you are going to persist with this story, i reccomend you come from a different angle and approach it with plenty of time to construct it properly.
- When you change to his past, what tense is it? it kind of changes - so i slid it into present. Or at least i tried. Probably you'll hate it but those parts are the strongest and the weakest in your story. He's dancing with her, but then you go off about how 'The way I used to be. The way she used to make me'. Just doesn't fit.
- are the readers going to see the photo then read or read then see the photo? Because until the girl is introduced and actually says the characters name, the sex of this person is unknown and it’s slightly a turn off. but it can work, but knowing the sex helps develop the character just that little bit more.

I am having trouble following his private thoughts. He's talking to himself/thinking to himself, but it's all like he's telling a story, than actually thinking to himself. If he's thinking to himself wouldn't he be trying to convince himself to do it? I don't know what to really make of all you wrote on his thoughts. i like it, the description is amazing and it's all very lifelike, but um, not that easy to follow.

Sorry to sound like a hag, and don't get me wrong i adore where this story went. It just needs some tweaking and more quantitiy. You're a talented writer, and the story moulds around that picture, in most parts, quite well. Just takes a bit to sort of imagine the picture.

Jen,

This is an interesting story. Not my favorite, but I think I know why it’s not quite up to par with the rest of your writing. I don’t want to be rude in any way when I say this, but I feel that this was a bit childish. Not mature. Not the subject or anything—that’s good and all, but the voice. The man’s voice isn’t like a man at all.

I’ve included a line-by-line review in the attachment below. I hope I can help with the editing there for a bit.

CHARACTERS:

Your main character, Mike, is the one that I’m having problems with. As I said up there, he doesn’t sound like a real man. He sounds like a character that was whipped together in about an hour. By the way, that’s probably what you did, to hurry and enter this contest. If you are ever going to revisit this story, what I would work on is building Mike. Right now he’s this dull man that hates life. He hates that he couldn’t save his love. That right there is a cliché. Don’t you always read short stories like that? A man lost someone near and dear to his heart, and then has to solve everything by killing himself? It’s a bit overused.

Choose someone you know personally that could be Mike. It would be easier if you actually pick a man that has the same name. Watch him. Observe him, and then BAM! you have a fully, fleshed out character. I call it the Cheater Character. Using a real life person, you can make a character realistic because the man is real. He really existed, which makes these short contest stories really effective.

Amber. The dead lover. As I said up there, it’s cliché. We’ve heard about it over and over and over. Can’t we have something a bit different? We don’t know a whole lot about her right now. If this is the end of the story, then we’re not going to remember her at all. She’s really nothing to us. She’s not that memorable. Writers strive to have memorable characters. Conner, in your Suicide Kills Us All (I believe) is a very memorable character because he is a very fleshed out character. This is what you need to work on with both of these characters. They aren’t just stick figures. They are real, breathing people. You need to make them live.

Let’s face it. Being a writer is playing God.

-Jared

JFW! *glomps*

Okay, so. You know how much I love your writing already; I don't think I need to repeat myself. ^_~ I'm a sucker for the "a lot in a short space" thing, so I loved how you switched between the present and your main character's flashbacks. This piece was just as gorgeous as the picture that came with it.

A few things:

CAUSE OF DEATH

One thing that really confused me was how the girl died. It was kind of strange--there was blood, but we don't know why, seeing as how it appears that she drowned. It'd be kind of strange if she drowned, though, because most people these days have at least a little badge from their local YMCA that says that they know how to tread water and all of that.

I just re-read it, again. If they're on a dock, it wouldn't be in a place where the river is "white with rapids" because the dock would be structurally unsound and all of the boats would separate themselves from their moorings. I used to live in a town where people drowned annually in the river; it was a marina town, too, so they kept the docks downstream from where the rapids got really bad. It would make more sense if she injured herself on the dock itself and then fell in the water. You don't have the most control of yourself when you're unconscious and under water, as fabulous as you might be.

FAMOUS LAST WORDS

You're a person who likes to write about death, which is my absolute favorite thing to read about. We make a good pair. However, I feel like some of your characters lack the franticness that accompanies suicide. People who commit suicide often don't want to suffer too much--they're just like everyone else. They might appear calm on the outside, but on the inside they're a complete wreck. Why? Every instinct in the human body is designed to keep us alive. A person who completely violates that by committing suicide is, frankly, quite messed up. Every fiber in their body is rebelling against what they're trying to do, and it makes for a fairly jittery, distressed person, no matter how calm they might appear.

___

I loooove this, JFW. ^_^ You know where to find me if you have any questions.

Hey Jen,

First off this is a very good piece. There were only a few things that I could pin-point and to be fair most of what I'm going to say will just be echoing the other people who have critiqued this (especially Heather).

The echo of my shoes as I walk down this fucking endless dock.

It was harder not to

Maybe I should have put rocks in my pockets. I heard of a lady who did that once – it sent her right to the bottom.

I can't tell if the end of the dock's three or thirty or three hundred feet away.

"Then it's dancing!" Her smile was huge, lighting up her pale face. She was all I could see. The rest of the world – the bridge, the trees, the slowly setting sun – they all flashed by too quickly to be seen. But she's the constant. She's right there, right in front of me.

but it just feels like I'm even smaller than everyone.

She struggled. I got up, ran over to her – but I couldn't run fast. I was too dizzy.

When I got home from the hospital that night, her blood coated my body

Visible, but out of focus.

Then I jump, and pray that no one saves me this time.

OMG!! I'm crying. This was so beautiful and the way you've written this kept me hooked to the end. I felt that you captured behind the picture very well. Some people would see something different but the mellow, sad approach you took was unique and beautiful at the same time. The merry go round technique that you used made me see what others might not see if they were just looking at the camera. It was as if you were there writing of two real people who loved each other and were close. I loved your title but I just have a few in my mind. Dying For Sun because he mentioned that she was like the sun. And also I know that it is like the first one but Dying For Life because his life was Amber and to be with her he needed to die. Those are just suggestions but really I think this can go untitled. Let the words speak for itself. This was magnificent, in fact it deserves a star.
Keep writing and thanks for writing such an amazing piece,
Angel

Out of Focus
I picked a great day to do this, I think as I step out of my car. The clouds hang low in the sky, painting the world like an old photo. The sun can't break through. The waves are harsh. [A good introduction but maybe lengthen that first sentence to give a greater contrast with the short, choppy sentences. And also, 'step' doesn't sound quite right. It's too light. You want to set a darker, heavier atmosphere. Maybe drop. You could have something like '...as I drop out of my car and into the damp, squelchy sand.' Also, I'd love to see you get the image of a vast beech marred only by a single trail of footsteps. Part of your problem is that you stick too closely to the one photo but I'd like to see this as a series of photographs. I'd like to see the empty beech with that one car and the line of footprints leading to this man. Footprints that will be covered, smothered by other people's as the day progresses and then eventually washed away with the tide. That's the atmosphere you want to create: a man alone with his past.]
The weather finally matches my mood. I know it's cliché – 'the sky was raining for me,' 'the sun broke through right when I saw him,' yada yada ya. But I guess sometimes it's true.
The sky's empty today, just like me. [I like this sentence but I'm not sure about the previous two. They show some character but at the same time, that contrasts with the words. He felt empty when describing the scenes but picking at clichés while in that mood just doesn't fit.]
-----
"What are you doing?" I asked.
She ignored me, just threw her arms above her head and spun. Her yellow curls – golden under the afternoon sun – lifted off her shoulders, flying around her, spinning and spinning along with her, beckoning me to come, too.
"Dancing!" she said, her voice like a music of its own.
"But there's no music."
"You don't need music to dance, Mike!" [A good, ghost like image. You chose a nice scene to replicate, a scene that should be so lively but at the same time, you can see that it's a distant thought in his head.]
-----
I'm glad I chose to do it this way. [This could be phrased better. Maybe 'This is the right way to do it.'] I'm so sick of the silence, but the ocean isn't quiet. It's an endless recording of noise. [I'd love to see a colon here...]
Waves splashing against rocks, the dock, each other, creating a foam cover. [A semi colon would work nicely at the end of this line and then next. Work on that list style. It's good. Gives the impression of a clerk or a lawyer, someone in a rather boring, organised job. It gives some character.]
Gulls crying out to each other, looking for food, killing, scavenging.
The echo of my shoes as I walk down this fucking endless dock.
-----
"You're crazy!" I told her as she swirled around again, but I was laughing. It was harder not to.
"It's fun! I promise!" She reached out to grab my wrist, pull me closer.
"Fine. But if someone laughs at me…"
"Who's going to laugh? The trees?"
"You." [I love that!]
"I wouldn't laugh at you!"
She pulled a little harder, her tiny hand clasped in mine, and I relented. I couldn't stand to be the one causing her to stand still when she was made to be in motion, even if there's no one around to see.
"So what do I do?"
-----
I stick my hands deep into my pockets, ignoring the lint and paper clips and crumpled up post-it notes in there. [Good description. But maybe describe the texture of one of these items. Like the cold, smooth paper clips. They're like rocks if you think about it: the ones on the beech that have been worn down to a smooth surface and are slicked wet from the waves. Bring that image in. And the paper is rouch, almost gritty like sand, especially when crumpled. You don't have to do it for every item but this man can't touch the rocks or the sand and tell you how they feel: that would be out of place. But he can describe the touch of items and through them set the scene.] I didn't bother stripping out of my suit, figuring it would help weigh me down. But even with my shoes, I don't think I'm heavy enough. And I don't want to come back up once I do it.
Maybe I should have put rocks in my pockets. I heard of a lady who did that once – it sent her right to the bottom.
I look behind me, having to squint a bit through the fog. I can't see the shore.
I can't tell if the end of the dock's three or thirty or three hundred feet away. I tell myself that they wouldn't make a dock that long – that it's probably only a few steps away.
But I walk forward, convincing myself that my jacket is thick, made for Autumn, and that my shoes are big and heavy. [Good description. I'd love you to throw the name of an expensive fashion designer in here. Give the image of quite a wealthy businessman/ lawyer.]
I don't think I could have made myself come back if I turned around, if I had gone to get more rocks. And I want to do this. I have to do this. [I'd suggest changing the phrasing of that first sentence and nix the and and change the have to 'If I had turned around, gone to get more rocks, I don't think I could have made myself come back. I want to do this. I need to do this.' Can you see how that's more dramatic? And yet the words and meaning are practically the same.]
-----
"You're supposed to dance!" She pulled me closer, grasped both of my hands in hers. Leaned back, pulled against me, left me to do the same. We twirled around, faster and faster, both of us relying on the other to defy the gravity that was crashing down on us.
"This isn't exactly dancing!" I yelled over the tornado we had created.
"Is it fun?"
She spun faster for a moment, and we both held on tightly. "I guess."
"Then it's dancing!" Her smile was huge, lighting up her pale face. She was all I could see. The rest of the world – the bridge, the trees, the slowly setting sun – they all flashed by too quickly to be seen. But she's the constant. She's right there, right in front of me.
-----
It's just… it's easier this way, you know? I know it's not right, but it is easier.
I doubt this will feel good. Actually, it will probably feel like shit, having my lungs fill up with water, my clothes weigh me down, darkness everywhere.
But it can't be worse than not doing it. [A good little section. It really shows this man's emotions.]
-----
And then she was gone.
I landed on the ground with a thud, and I couldn't get my head to stop swimming long enough to focus on her.
But I heard her laughter – the music to her dance.
"I thought you said you wouldn't laugh at me," I accused.
"I'm not laughing at you," she replied, spinning and spinning, closer and closer to the water. She paused for a minute, leaned over, her hands on her knees, a big smile on her mouth. "I'm laughing with you!"
The way she said it, the way she looked, it made me laugh too. She was acting just like a little child, innocent and carefree and happy. The way I used to be. The way she used to make me.
But my head was still spinning from our dance, and though I tried to focus on her smile, I couldn't. She became part of the background, just another tree that flashed by every once in a while. [I love the imagery of this and the metaphor behind it, it works so beautifully.]
-----
I'm standing here staring out at the ocean, big and menacing, just waiting to eat me up, and all I can think is how much bigger it is than me. I mean, it's bigger than everyone, but it just feels like I'm even smaller than everyone. Like nothing will happen when I jump in – that no water will even have to move to compensate for my body. Like there's not enough of my body to matter.
It's hungry. [s]It's[/s] Its [Its works as his or her. There's no need for the possessive apostrophe.] waves claw at me, splashing my legs, my arms, my face, desperately clinging to anything it can reach. Come, it's saying. Come with me – I'll keep you safe. I'll make you feel better. I'll take away all the pain.
I believe it, because it's easier.
-----
"Are you going to get up?" Amber asked as she looked down at me. I shook my head, not wanting to be dragged into twirling around again, not after how dizzy the last dance made me.
"Fine. I'll dance by myself!" She swung her arms out again, her laughter flying up into the air, her body seeming to follow.
But then she tripped. [I think 'And then she tripped' would fit more smoothly so that it's almost a continuation of her dance, her dance through life.]
She fell into the river behind her. The currents were strong, the water white.
She struggled. I got up, ran over to her – but I couldn't run fast. I was too dizzy. [I'd suggest fragmenting this line a little more. Maybe 'She struggled. I was dizzy; too late; too slow.']
My clothes weighed me down when I jumped in, my shirt clinging to my body. I held onto rocks, [Smooth rocks hard to hold onto? Or the rough rocks that shred your fingers. Description is your friend, my dear. Even in an action scene just slot in little bits and pieces, tell us what stands out to him.] fighting my way over to her. She grasped a rock, [You can't hold on when you're unconscious. I'd suggest. 'She snagged on a rock' or something. Give that lifeless, rag-doll feel to her. Have him relieved at first maybe. And then tell us about the blood.] but she wasn't moving.
An unconscious body feels heavier than when the person is awake, but I managed to drag her to the shore. I lay her on the ground, her red-stained hair fanning out around her. My fingers shook as I dialed 911.
When I got home from the hospital that night, her blood coated my body. [Hmmm. I'd suggest something a little more dramatic. Maybe 'Every piece of clothing I owned was stained with her scent and my flesh was stained by her life.']
-----
The last thing I think of is her face with her beautiful smile flashing by, just like on the day it happened, when my head was so dizzy I couldn't see anything, just another tree that flashed by every once in a while. There, but out of reach. Visible, but out of focus. [Good. I really like this line.]
Then I jump, and pray that no one saves me this time. [It's a nice, dark ending. I like it. In general this is well written.]

Overall

This is good. It could be a little more dramatic in places but from my flick through of other comments, you've made some amazing improvements. I think you need to remember that there are other senses than sight and sound. What about the taste of the salt air? Or in the last flashback, does he try to give her mouth to mouth? Can he taste the salt and water crusted across her lips? Feel the slippery, gritty texture of them? When they twirl, can he feel her hand in his growing warmer and slippy with the sweat, can he feel his grasp on her weakening? Can he feel the wind tugging at his as he walks across the dock? Does he wish it would pull him from there, that he wouldn't have to jump? Or does he have an irrational fear of it doing just that? It's like when you intend to jump into a freezing cold pool and you both wish for something to just push you in, get it over with, but at the same time when your sister comes up behind you, you want to jump by yourself, you suddenly don't want to be pushed or thrown because you want to brace yourself: you want an opportunity to back out right until that last moment.

The next thing that needs a little work is your characterization. Okay so we know why he's jumping, we know he's scared but determined but who is he? Give us clues of the sort of life he's lead. Strengthen those impressions of the sort of man who sits behind a desk. I've given a few suggestions as to that throughout the main body of my critique but see if you can thread it in other places too. And show us more of his thoughts. Italics is an amazing feature. He seems the type to be a little sarcastic, darkly humorous, especially after that first line. Does he maybe throw his arms out before he jumps, does he spin around and fall from the edge like that. So the photo ends with him stood there but you can go further, mesh these two stories together completely, have him twirl and fall backwards, gazing up at that story sky with a smile. Have his fall mirror hers. At the moment, as pretty as this whole piece is, I don't feel bad about his death. It feels fitting that he should fall and I'm thinking of ways that he could die better rather than begging you not to kill him.

I've never been too great with overall comments but I think you get the idea. This is good but I'd love to see it better. If you have questions on any specific part, feel free to pm me and ask me to take a closer look. Hope this helps a little,

Heather xx

Edited.

The last flash-back needs a lot of help. Anyone willing to rip it to shreds?

Thanks for the reviews, guys!

~JFW1415

I like this story, how it's split up between the present and the past. And, I like the imagery. My mind didn't exactly put the picture together while I was reading, but you did an awesome job of describing it and blending it into the story.

One nitpick I do have is the rating, because of the F-word. I'm just weird like that...

Waves splashing against rocks, the dock, each other, creating a foam cover.

Gulls crying out to each other, looking for food, killing, scavenging.

I didn't bother stripping out of my suit, figuring it would help weigh me down.

But I walk forward, convincing myself that my jacket is thick, made for Autumn, and that my shoes are big and heavy.

But she's the constant. She's right there, right in front of me.

Actually, it will probably feel like shit, having my lungs fill up with water, my clothes weigh me down, darkness everywhere.

She fell in, got caught up by the currents, hit her head on a rock.

I got some type of temporary amnesia when I hit my head. I couldn't even remember her for a few months.

The last thing I think of is her face with her beautiful smile flashing by, just like on the day it happened when my head was so dizzy I couldn't see anything, just another tree that flashed by every once in a while.

Then I jump, and pray that no one saves me this time.

I like it! When I read the entire thing and saw the picture at the end, the whole story sort of just flashed through my mind.

I second what bittersweet said too. I got confused on that part and had to take time to skim back in case I missed some important points.

I thought that the girl died in the end and that's why he's jumping in too. Although I don't have much objection on why he kills himself, I think it would be better if there was more than one reason.

The title is good, well, for me that is.

Good luck!

Hello JFW! I've just got one mistake to show you...

She ignored me, just threw her arms above her head and spun. Her yellow curls – golden under the afternoon sun – lifted off her shoulders, flying around her, spinning and spinning along with her, beckoning me to come, too.

"Then it's dancing!" Her smile was huge, lighting up her pale face. She was all I could see. The rest of the world – the bridge, the trees, the moon – they all flashed by too quickly to be seen. But she's the constant. She's right there, right in front of me.

This was really good. I was able to get the picture before I reached it because it was kind of obvious (what else would have happend), but it was really interesting.

I found this bit:

Later on, the doctors filled me in on what happened.

She fell in, got caught up by the currents, hit her head on a rock.

I like it, really it's actually very interesting and the title drew me in, great job. I think this will be fine for a contest :]]
wish I could be a bit more help

-Max

I really like the beginning. "A great day to do this..." What a bizarrely optimisic thought to think about the situation. Makes me love it even more.

I also really like the mix between what the main character is doing now and the flash backs. It's a hard thing to do without there being any awkwardness, and you've done it beautifully.

I know I shouldn't do it. I know I'm being a stupid coward, taking the easy way out, but isn't that what everyone does? Run away from what hurts? Doing whatever brings the least amount of pain? It's just… it's easier this way, you know? I know it's not right, but it is easier.

I doubt this will feel good. Actually, it will probably feel like shit, having my lungs fill up with water, my clothes weigh me down, darkness everywhere.

But it can't be worse than not doing it.

Hmm... I have mixed feelings about this. All at once, I want to feel sad because you're taking your life away, right? But some of this fluff that just makes it pathetic (and not in the character but the writing itself):

I know I shouldn't do it. I know I'm being a stupid coward, taking the easy way out, but isn't that what everyone does? Run away from what hurts? Doing whatever brings the least amount of pain? It's just??it's easier this way, you know? I know it's not right, but it is easier.

I doubt this will feel good. Actually, it will probably feel like shit, having my lungs fill up with water, my clothes weigh me down, darkness everywhere.

But it can't be worse than not doing it.

Then I jump, and pray that no one saves me this time.