Young Writers Society

icequeen_786 wrote:And it'd really help if you guys, if anyone knows, could tell me what a court summons would say? I need it for a new story I'm writing, and I really don't know how to write it. I'd be forever indebted to you if anyone can give me the format!

Hey Icequeen,
I don't usually read long stories on the computer, but yours kept me gripped. I agree that you should add in more narrative and desribe the funeral. I you need any info on funerals just ask me.
You have a very good writing style!
Your making me jealous now! Only joking!
See you around!
Charlotte
XXXXXXXXX

Heather,

Thank you! That's very helpful!!

As I have never actually been to a funeral, I really didn't know what it would be like. So I just didn't write anything about the funeral just in case I wrote it all retarded, and people were like, "Um...interesting funeral this girl has, here..."

Anyways.

She does have enemies. A lot. That's in her life story, though, and I didn't want to add them into this part because...I don't know. It'd be kind of weird for everyone to be saying how good she was, and then, at her FUNERAL, there's this one chick who goes "Yeah, that Teri was a right pain in the ass."

Pardon my language.

No, but I know what you mean. I'll probably have to re-write this...like I said, it was an English assignment. I didn't bother writing it properly because my teacher is kind of clueless, and there'd really be no point.

Right. So. Thanks a lot!

And it'd really help if you guys, if anyone knows, could tell me what a court summons would say? I need it for a new story I'm writing, and I really don't know how to write it. I'd be forever indebted to you if anyone can give me the format!

Thank so much, everyone!

-Icequeen

Hey there! I think separating this into different points of view was a good idea but you don't tell much of a story through it. Now if each of the characters not only gave the reader their emotions and thoughts on Teri but also part of the story of the funeral, I think that would be better. You could start it with the mother saying how she had chosen the coffin in fact, rather than having that later on and then describe the journey to the church, the flowers, the service and the actual burying. That would add more narrative to the piece and help hold the sections together.

I also agree with developing the individual personalities. Maybe add in a little dialogue and interaction between the characters which would link and separate them at the same time. And it would give your reader more views on how the others are reacting to the death.

Your use of repetition was very good but try not to use it so much because that's part of the reasons all your characters seem so similar. And some more imagery would be nice. At the moment, you're really just telling of a character's death and how the others feel but there needs to be more than that. Thoughts and feeling are great but a lot can be shown through their actions. It might be interesting to present one of the characters as quite cold and uncaring through the others' eyes and then show how she/he really feels when you come to telling the story from their point of view. Or even the other way around. Have a character seem very distraught but be secretly not so bothered.

You see, having good views of Tera is fine but everyone has deeper shades to them and it's more realistic to give her an enemy or two and much more interesting.

Just a few things for you to think about. If you decide to develop this further or add to it then I'd love to take another look because it has great potential.

Heather xx

Oh.

Oh wow. (You can see that I'm trying out the whole space-out-paragraphs thing )

Thanks, you guys.

That actually really helps me!!

I'll keep all your advice in mind for the next time I try writing something.

Azila, I actually did think about making Brian jealous of her, but then I thought that he couldn't be jealous of her...I mean, she was so nice to him.

Anyways...thanks so much, you guys!

Oh, and I'm not trying to sound cocky or anything, but...it'll be a sad, sad day when you find a spelling mistake in my work. I'm serious. I'd kill myself.
(As I said in my introduction, I have a wee bit of an unhealthy obsession with spelling!!!)

Anywho, thanks so much, you guys!

-Icequeen

This was a really touching, refreshing little piece of writing, I do declare! I love the way the story is told merely from the point of view of different characters and (unlike LayleunRisen) think that the lack of other narrative adds to the uniqueness of it.

I do agree with others who have reviewed in that you should definitely try to show the characterizations in the narrative. This will be difficult to do, but well worth your time and effort. It was something that I noticed right away while reading it. Maybe someone can be a tad jealous of Teri, showing that they might be a little insecure... another person's reaction would be determination to be more like their recent friend, showing dedication and devotion. You know what I mean. Just as long as you don't do it too much it will make this a masterpiece.

I couldn't find any line-by-line grammar or spelling mistakes, so very good on that, but I do have one little comment. It wasn't so much a problem with this story because of the format, but as a general rule on the YWS you should space out your paragraphs like I am in my review. For example, rather than this:

icequeen_786 wrote:It hurts to talk about her using the past tense.
It hurts to talk about her.
It hurts to talk.
It hurts.

icequeen_786 wrote:It hurts to talk about her using the past tense.

It hurts to talk about her.

It hurts to talk.

It hurts.

This is really pretty, an awesome way of showing what an impact people can have on life. In a few words, you've shown what this girl was like.

I loved the metaphor at the end. My only complaint would be that you let it run through the whole story, although I appreciate that that would be really difficult to do, so don't worry about it...

Is it just me, or does this have a Lovely Bones feel to it?

A very interesting writing style. Different form anything I've ever read. That's good. There were a few glitches and a whole lot of good things.

The Glitches:

I think the only thing that was a little off was your voice. The characters were taking over the story, you should be in there too, the narrator. They all made sense and fitted together but I think that maybe you should be in there to tell the story too. Put up a setting, the funeral, and put everyone standing around the casket. Then, go around the room from person to person, then let them tell their story.

The Goodies:

You have an excellent writing style. Very unique and entertaining. Your imagery is good and it had a certain something that kept me reading. Personally I don't like reading long things on the computer but this one kept my eyes glued. And now they hurt but that's beside the point. Keep writing and try out different styles until you find one you absolutely adore.

~Lupe

I really liked this! I'll come back for a proper crit later, as I have to go to bed. Good job!

Oh, thank you, thank you, THANK YOU.
Lol I was afraid no one would like it!
No, it isn't based on a personal experience as, thankfully, no one very close to me has ever passed away.
Yeah, a few friends who read this story also told me the same thing: you don't really get much of the characters'personalities, the way I've written it. I was actually aiming to make them all seem slightly alike in their pain, because they all have one thing in common now.
I guess I did it a bit too much . They do all sound like the same person, don't they?
Oh and by the way,this isn't my first story: it's just my first story posted up YWS . I've actually been writing since I was six (I'm almost fourteen now).
Teri's Necklace was actually a short story for a school assignment, but, at the urging of friends, I posted it up on YWS.
There's a whole story behind this. A year or two ago, I started writing about Teri when she was alive, and how she met Jon. It was actually a romance story, at first. The conflict of the story was that even though Jon was infatuated with Teri, she wouldn't give him the time of day.
Then I thought, But why? Why wouldn't she like the most popular guy in school?
And that's how the whole tumor thing came to life.
Unfortunately my computer crashed and her story got deleted, but I'll start writing it again as soon as I can.
Anyways, thanks!!
-Icequeen

Oh wow. I liked this. Such a neat way of weaving a story, through everyone else's perspectives. I really got into this, it was very well written. Is this based on a personal experience? It sounds very personal, but that may just be because of how it was written.

My only slight complaint is that I would love to have the character's personalities more evident in their different points of views. Your voice, as the author, should be the one that shines through the strongest, but I'd like to see more characterization, because right now, it could pass for just one person the whole time. It's really tough though to get voices in first person, but still have them as your own.

Well done! I'm sure I missed something that should be changed, but I'm sure someone else will find it. Good job, you're an excellent writer, for any age, and exspecially for your first story.

- Dreami ^.^

(Oh, and by the way, the names at the top of every section are the POVs)

REBECCA MANNING
My sweet Teri, who’d been so full of life, is now lying cold in a box.
The white coffin sits there in the middle of our circle, and I itch to rip the lid off and shake my daughter awake. How can she be dead? It’s unthinkable. She can’t be dead; just last week she made Brian his birthday cake. She almost burned it, but it didn’t worry her. Nothing ever bothers Teri. She can always laugh things off.
Bothered, not bothers. Could, not can. That’s what I meant to say.
It hurts to talk about her using the past tense.
It hurts to talk about her.
It hurts to talk.
It hurts.

THOMAS MANNING
It isn’t like her death creeped up on us. I knew she was dying. She knew she was dying. We all knew she was dying. We’ve all known it for years; eight years, to be exact. But never, not in my most horrendous nightmares, did I imagine she would die so soon. She was so young; too young to die. It very nearly makes me sick.
I taught Teri how to ride a two-wheeler. I taught her how to play chess. I was the one who sat and argued with her about politics every night. Teri was such a strict conservative.
The thought almost makes me smile.
But then I remember that she’s dead, she’s gone, and she isn’t going to come back.
What right do I have to smile?

BRIAN MANNING
Teri. Teri. Teri. Teri.
Her name beats through me as if it’s my heartbeat. My genius big sister, dead. That’s impossible, I think. She can’t be dead. It’s ridiculous! I could laugh at that, that’s how ridiculous it is.
My parents never really told me what was wrong with Teri. I was only six when she was diagnosed, and they hid it from me. I guess they kept hiding it from me out of habit, because I’m fourteen now and only after she died have they spoken to me freely about the cause of her death. If you can call it speaking. Mom stares at everything but sees nothing, and Dad walks around like a zombie, muttering random things. Everything makes them cry.
Teri had a brain tumor. When she was eight and I was six, she was standing on the balcony when it collapsed. She fractured her skull. While they were x-raying her head, the doctors found a little black dot wedged in the grooves of her brain. Yeah, it was a brain tumor. Mom and Dad had her treated with just about everything, but the most the doctors could do was slow the tumor’s growth. It grew anyways, though, even if it grew really slowly.
She was very nearly a genius. Only in grade ten, and yet half her courses were twelfth-grade courses. Weird, isn’t it? Weird that she was so smart, even with the brain tumor. Weird that someone so smart would die because of something in her brain. But that’s life for you. Completely weird.
And never fair.

JONATHAN GREGORY
I catch sight of Rebecca’s face and my heart wrenches. Teri looked exactly like her, just younger and with green eyes instead of blue ones. Deep green, green like lush grass.
It looks odd to see tears running down a face so similar to Teri’s. I’d never seen her cry. Not until last November. The day she’d told me what was wrong with her.
“I don’t want to die yet, Jon,” she’d whispered, her face streaked with tears. In my shock I’d almost reached out to touch her face, just to check and see if the tears were really there, when I stopped myself. Of course they were there. Teri was a normal person, no matter how extraordinary she seemed. Every normal person cries.
And when people cry, they need someone to hold them and just wait for their tears to dry out.
So that’s what I did. And she told me what was wrong. She was feeling worse and worse daily, sometimes nearly fainting. Her headaches were worsening regularly.
“I can feel it growing in my brain,” she’d said, shuddering, her brows furrowing. Metastasis. What an awful word. What an awful thing!
And poor Teri. Feeling the tumor grow was akin to seeing her death draw closer daily-- until finally it grew so close that she could shake Death’s hand. And, on August 16th, she did.
The tumor was the size of an apple when she died.

CHLOE RICHARDSON
I take a deep breath, trying to calm myself down. I look around to distract myself, seeing who’s here and who isn’t. There’s me, my parents, my sisters Claire and Crystal, Teri’s family, Jon and his family. I’m not surprised to see him here; he loved Teri, he really did. And although she never let anyone know, I know she loved him too.
Just about half the town is here. Why shouldn’t they be? Teri was-- is --a part of our town’s history. She’d lived here since she was born, as I have. She contributed more than all the citizens have ever contributed together. Everyone should be paying their respects to her.
I know it isn’t fair, or nice, of me to say that I’m angry, but it’s the truth. I’m extremely angry. At Teri. I’m almost ashamed to think it.
How could she do this to us? To me? How could she just have let herself die? Teri and I had been inseparable since birth. Secretly, I sometimes thought that our souls were actually two parts of the same soul, that’s why we fit together so well. She was the closest person to me in my entire life. I knew everything about her. And I know that she would never have given up, never as long as she lived. Why would she suddenly have given up the will to survive? Why had she given in? It wasn’t like her, not like her at all. She would have fought the tumor away.
She was the constant in my life, a lively whirlwind of energy.
If the constant in your life is gone, does it mean that your life has stopped?
Because that’s sure what it feels like.

REBECCA MANNING
I chose her coffin. I picked white because it just seemed like the right colour. White, the colour of innocence, peace, purity, and calm. Everything that Teri stood for. She loved the colour white.
I suppose I can’t rightly say that she was a calm child, because she wasn’t. She was rather boisterous and wild. Not wild in a party-every-night-and-get-stoned way, but in more of a live-your-life-to-the-fullest way. Everything made her laugh. She could find something funny in every situation. I’m not exaggerating. Like I said, nothing ever worried my daughter. She just laughed everything off.
I just wish I’d had more time with her. Sixteen years isn’t enough time to spend with your only child, the only child you’ve ever had and ever will have. Brian, of course, is also my child, and I love him immensely, but still, it isn’t the same. He’s adopted. Just take one look at the slight, blonde young boy and you can immediately tell that he’s adopted. Teri was ours, though. Ours from the very very beginning. She was actually quite a miracle, too, because Thomas and I had believed that we weren’t ever going to have kids of our own.
And then along came Teri.
How can I live without her? How can this have happened? The doctors said that the tumor’s growth had been almost completely stopped.
But it hadn’t.
And now my baby’s dead.

THOMAS MANNING
We used to watch police shows on TV together. 24, CSI, Criminal Minds, Prison Break, you name it. We watched them all. Teri could always guess the ending halfway through the show. I always told her, Teri, one day you’ll make a great detective. Better than Sherlock Holmes, better than Nancy Drew, even better than Columbo.
“Detective Teresa Manning,” she’d said, smiling. “I like it!”
But she never got the chance.
Looking back on it now, though, I think Teri was always prepared to die. She never said anything to us about not wanting to die, and she never complained about any of the treatments; not even when she had to undergo chemotherapy. When the doctors said that there was no hope, she was going to die eventually, she never even opened her mouth to protest. I never saw her cry about it. She was so strong.
But, like they said, there was no hope for her.
And now, there’s absolutely no hope.
All our hopes died with Teri.

BRIAN MANNING
When Mom and Dad told me I was adopted, Teri was the one who helped me understand. A family is a group of people who love each other and take care of each other no matter what happens, she’d said. It didn’t matter who my birth parents were, because my real parents were the ones who’d taken care of me and loved me unconditionally from the time I joined their family. And my biological parents? They hadn’t seen me since I was six months old. So it didn’t matter that I was adopted; I was a true Manning through and through. That’s what Teri told me.
And she was right.
But the truth is, I was always second best to Teri. Teri was always the most loved, the most cherished child. Even the cat liked her more than he liked anyone else! To be honest, though, it never really bothered me. Why? Because it was impossible to stand next to Teri and not be second best every time. So it didn’t bother me.
I suppose that now she’s gone, I’ll still be second best. Second best not to Teri, because she’s dead, but second best to her memory.
And frankly, I think I’m in the right place.
How can I ever be better than the girl whom everyone loved? How can I ever be better than the lovable girl who spent her free time in the children’s hospital?
The answer: I can’t.
And I’m quite happy to be second in my parent’s eyes, thank you very much.
I owe that much to Teri.

JONATHAN GREGORY
I was her first boyfriend. We met two years ago, when she was fourteen. I adored her; she was pretty, smart, and absolutely hilarious.
Of course, she wouldn’t even give me the time of day.
Eventually, though, we did start going out. And during those two years, she never once let on that she was sick; that she was dying. It’s hard to believe, really. If I was the one who was sick, I probably would have died from worry and overreacting. Not Teri, though.
She once told me that the thing that scared her the most was dying and leaving behind someone who loves you. She hadn’t wanted to get involved with me at first for that reason. “How can I die peacefully,” she asked, “when I know that I’m hurting someone? How can I accept death after loving someone? See, that’s the benefit of dying young; you’re too young to fall in love with anyone else. And when I die, I’m going to accept my death, and I’m not going to be afraid of it.”
But she didn’t want to die. No one does. She didn’t want to die, but for the sake of everyone around her, she pretended to be okay with dying.
“Because if I show that I’m not okay with my death, then how can I expect others to be okay with it?”
She couldn’t. You know why? Because it was impossible. No one was ever okay with her dying, and no one ever will be.
Teri’s worst fear has come true. She’s died, leaving behind someone who loves her.
But it isn’t just me.
It’s the whole town.

CHLOE RICHARDSON
I used to have this gorgeous blue necklace, one that Teri bought for me when we were on holiday in Cuba. It was my absolute favourite, and I never went anywhere without it. You could tell just by looking at it that it was made with extreme care and professionalism. The beads were very small; some bigger than others, but the majority of them were tiny. It very nearly makes me dizzy just to think of all the time and hard work put into that one necklace.
One day the necklace broke. I don’t know what was wrong with it; it seemed like the string just snapped. I had two options, and I didn’t like either of them: either pick up all the little beads and make the necklace again (which would take forever), or just vacuum the beads up and forget about them (which would break my heart). I took a third option; pick up all the beads I could find and put them into the jewelry box. I collected them kind of carelessly, though, and I’m pretty sure there are still some tiny little glass beads rolling around under my bed.
We were like that necklace, all of us who knew and loved Teri. We were all the little beads, scrupulously slipped onto the necklace with love and care and kindness.
Teri was the string holding us together.
But suddenly Teri died, the string snapped, and all the tiny little beads were scattered haphazardly across the bedroom floor.
This time, I’m going to do the right thing. I’m going to pick up all the beads, even the tiniest of them, and I’m not going to stop looking until I’ve found every single one. And then I’m going to slide every single solitary bead back onto the necklace, no matter how long it takes. This time, though, the string won’t be Teri, but rather it’ll be the memory of her that will hold us together.
Because someday, somehow, we’re going to get better. Not anytime soon, probably, but we will. And when we do, we’ll have Teri to thank for it.
Someday, we’ll be whole again.
END

Yay!
Sure, I will.
It's a short story though.
SO, here goes!!

Umm, sure, I'll read it. ^.^ If you can review mine in exchange, that would be great.