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Young Writers Society



Cracks in the Sidewalk

by bennetteddie


I had started from my home as I have in the past, surrendering to the familiar urge to walk while watching the tops of my shoes. The scene around me was just as typical that evening as ever; with cookie-cutter houses facing an empty and ill-lit street, I was given all the more the reason to watch my feet treading on the concrete sidewalk.

At first watching my feet was just the product of boredom, a way to pass the time while I endured my self-inflicted "alone time", but it soon became the source of a strange sense of control. As I took each step I began to critique the step before it and plan for the one following it. I took delicate measure to avoid the numerous cracks in the sidewalk and made sure that each step taken was as graceful and idyllic as the last. I did this for quite some time until a speeding car that seemed unaware of my presence nearly struck me as I hastily walked across the road. After a brief moment to compose myself, a curse word, and a chuckle at the thought of walking gracefully in a world full of bad drivers I realized that I had left suburbia and entered a part of town that I did not recognize.

The road was even more dark and dreary in this strange new place than that of the world I had left behind me with perfect steps. A street sign was visible in the distance, stating that I had been walking on "Life Road", but even knowing this failed to give me an idea of how to get back to the comforts of familiarity. My heart was beating almost as quickly as the thoughts raced through my head as I trekked back the way I had come. After a good half-hour I was pierced with dread as I became increasingly aware of the fact that I did not know two crucial things: where I was going or what my destination looked like. I suddenly became very angry with the home builders who created the houses that looked so alike that I thought I had found my home three different times; from then on I just kept walking, hoping that god, kismet, or what have you would grant me the simple gift of something I could associate with home.

A few minutes later my request was granted as I came across the ancient blind lady that I knew lived a few houses down from myself and her equally ancient seeing eye dog as they walked together. At seeing this I began pondering at which was the one really being walked, but quickly brushed the thought out of my head as I had more serious things to think about. My pulse began to slow as I realized that the old lady and her dog were my ticket out of this unfamiliar place and to the confines of my bedroom walls. I walked behind her at a safe distance so to avoid conversation but close enough to never lose sight of her. As the three of us walked I began to notice things I had never noticed before: a stream set next to a forest that looked as if it might of served as a muse for a Kinkade painting, an old house with missing shingles and chipped paint that looked shockingly perfect in all of it's imperfection, and an empty field that laid out endless opportunities as to what might one day be there and what had been there in the past. Although all of these places had existed far longer than I had been sucking in air or pulsing blood through my veins and even though I had passed these places countless times in my idle walks I had never truly witnessed them. Strange that a blind woman should be the one that forced me to view them.

Out of the corner of my eye I saw the old lady and her old dog turn from the sidewalk onto a driveway and through a front door which must have belonged to her. I knew I was close and paused to scope the houses around me. At first they again seemed to all look the same. It took a great deal of thought to remember simple things about the place I had left only hours before that might give me some indication as to what was mine and what was not. At last I saw the house that had failed to take down it's Christmas lights despite the warming weather of early March, with the beat-up Saturn in it's garage, and the orange tree in it's front yard. I mouthed a silent "thank you" to the woman and her dog and walked toward the house I knew all too well and yet could hardly pick out of a line up. As I neared the doorway of the house, the doorway to all I knew, I stopped. I turned to face the empty street once more, walked a few paces, and sat on the damp grass. For an hour I mentally traced every detail of every house within my vision, straining my eyes to pick up the slightest detail despite the growing darkness around me and aided by a street lantern on the corner that I had never noticed before. When every detail had been noted and every flaw appreciated I retired for the evening.

I walk to that once unfamiliar place everyday, down to the Life Road street sign and back again; I never look down to the cracks on the sidewalk or make note of how graceful my steps are, instead I observe the stream and the forest, the perfectly imperfect house, the empty field and all the people and places between them. Sometimes I even see the little old blind lady and her dog as we walk up and down the same stretch of road.


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Tue Dec 30, 2008 10:48 pm
JFW1415 wrote a review...



I did enjoy this story. It had a good turning point and a different set of characters, and I think you can use that to your advantage to draw your readers in. However, there were two things that bothered me about this piece.

The first problem I had was with the change of the man's perspective of life. Yes, it's great that he changed his ways – I typically kill off my characters rather than solve their problems, which is a terrible habit. The only thing is, we didn't really see why he changed. Yes, he saw the other side of life, but we didn't go through this change with him. Slow down a bit, show us his thoughts, his reactions.

Remember people don't change immediately. Maybe have him scoff at the lady the first day, then go back on his own many days after. And when he finally does change, ending the story on the woman in the background silently watching would be awesome. :)

The other thing that bothered me was that you only focused on what you wanted us to see. Remember that there's a whole world out there. Is it chilly? Sunny? Are people blasting music in their houses? Are birds chirping? Show us details – let us feel like we're there. Let our eyes see everything, not just certain things. Use all the senses. :)

PM me for anything, si?

~JFW1415




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Mon Dec 29, 2008 8:53 pm
StellaThomas wrote a review...



Hey there Ed (that's your new name, says I!) and welcome to YWS! Allow me to introduce myself, I'm Stella or whatever variation you like, happy, bright and critique extraordinaire.

Okay, now I notice that your review count is at zero. Not good enough! We like people to do two reviews before they start posting their own work. So you need to do those. After all, it's only fair, right?

Now, to the review!

I. NITPICKS

Nitpicks is our way of saying the little details that bug us but normal people would pay no heed to.

I had started from my home as I have in the past, surrendering to the familiar urge to walk while watching the tops of my shoes.


Tense is a little off, I would change have to had.

from then on I just kept walking, hoping that god, kismet, or what have you would grant me the simple gift of something I could associate with home.


God has a capital G.

few houses down from myself and her equally ancient seeing eye dog as they walked together.


Guide dogs retire when they get old.

perfect in all of it's imperfection,


its, not it's.

At last I saw the house that had failed to take down it's Christmas lights


its

[quote]Saturn in it's garage, and the orange tree in it's front yard.[quote]

both its.

Okay...

II. IT'S IT AND ITS IT, ISN'T IT?

Okay... let's look at it like this: its is a word like his or hers. But it's is like he's or she's. That's how I remember it.

III. REALITY CHECK

He forgets which house is his? Why? How? How has he survived every other day, every other time he's walked? Is it particularly likely that he doesn't know which number is his own? Also, how does he know how many houses away the old lady lives?

IV. CHARACTERISATION

Characters make the story for me, and I'm getting no readings on your MC. Who is he? Where does he live? How old is he? Family? We don't even know the most basic things about him...

V. OVERALL

I was a bit bored, to tell you the truth. There's not a whole lot of interest. Try sprucing it up. Separate your paragraphs. Build your climax more, and engage your reader. You can certainly write, so just write something more interesting.

Hope I helped, and feel free to PM me if you have any questions!

-Stella.




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Mon Dec 29, 2008 8:26 pm
sofi wrote a review...



Hi there :D

Alright, if I'm completely honest, I didn't particularly enjoy this. There was nothing which particularly pulled me into the story. I found the last two paragraphs picked up a bit, but right at the end is really too late.

All you really did in the piece was describe what he sees as he walks down the street and, as Angel said, this could be expanded into so much more. What he's thinking about, why he went on the walk, why he's forgotten it etc. etc.

In general, your sentences seemed quite wooden and there wasn't much variation with sentence structure which made it sound quite repetitive and gave it a very 'and then he did this, and then he looked at this and it made him sad...' kind of quality.

I think this piece has a really huge amount of potential and you've got a very basic skeletal structure which you could build around so much more and really make it into an interesting absorbing piece. You've got the tools to do it! :D

Sofi.

P.S. For every piece you post, you should review at least two other on the site and keep it a 2:1 ratio, just for future reference, but welcome :D I hope you like it. Head over to the Welcome forum if you have any questions about anything etc. and the Greeters (anyone with a blue name, like myself) will be more than happy to help and tell you about the site. :D




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Mon Dec 29, 2008 6:05 pm
bennetteddie says...



Angel,

Thank you very much for all of the constructive criticism. I hashed this piece out at about two this morning and haven't got around to a lot of editing just yet. I agree that this work could be much more than it currently is. I will keep your points in mind as I go through the process of critiquing it.

Sincerely,
Edward




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Mon Dec 29, 2008 5:54 pm
Angel of Death wrote a review...



Hey there! Welcome to YWS, I'm Angel of Death but you can call me Angel.

I really am on two sides of the fence with this one. I liked it but then I hated it. I have no sense of who your character is and I know this supposed to be a short story but it can be fleshed out just a little.

I had started from my home as I have in the past, surrendering to the familiar urge to walk while watching the tops of my shoes. The scene around me was just as typical that evening as ever; with cookie-cutter houses facing an empty and ill-lit street, I was given all the more the reason to watch my feet treading on the concrete sidewalk.

At first watching my feet was just the product of boredom, a way to pass the time while I endured my self-inflicted "alone time", but it soon became the source of a strange sense of control. As I took each step I began to critique the step before it and plan for the one following it. I took delicate measure to avoid the numerous cracks in the sidewalk and made sure that each step taken was as graceful and idyllic as the last. I did this for quite some time until a speeding car that seemed unaware of my presence nearly struck me as I hastily walked across the road.


These bits were really boring to me, but I always trust that someone can pull me in at some point of the story, so I kept reading. Note: Find a way to hook the reader from the beginning. Your character seems robotic and when he cursed and chuckled, I was like 'Oh okay he's human' Humanize him (or her)

It all seems very odd that your MC would forget where they lived. Unless it was a new home and he just moved there so he's not as familiarized with it. Or maybe he has short term memory and if that was the case why would he go on the walk? Also, if he found it boring why would he go on this walk, wouldn't it make sense for him to do something else that he enjoyed? And finally, why does he go on walks? What happens at his house that makes him want to leave it and forget it?

I know I may be reading too much into this but this has a lot of potential to be something bigger than what this is. Short stories have a lot of elements. Utilize those elements.

Ta,

~Angel





The fear of death follows from the fear of life. A man who lives fully is prepared to die at any time.
— Mark Twain