Young Writers Society

Good Morning/Afternoon/Evening/Night(whichever one it is in your part of the world),

Hi! I'm here to leave a quick review!!

Anyway let's get right to it,

In a tiny town, there lived a girl who took a detour across every journey she set off on. Making a detour helps to outrun the existential, ordinary happenings a human may face. She would take a diversion off the path to reach the supermarket, or a jaunt on the beachside to arrive at school. Most of the time, it was fair to assume, she didn’t make it to her intended destination. Most of the time you could find her wandering until the gloaming settled over the town.

It was a very small municipality, and most of the occupants were proud to call it a city. Yet, a few would call it a mere hamlet, or village, and the rest of the townspeople shouted them down. A few angry citizens went as far to throw rotten fruits, or toads, at those outrageous people. How dare they call their great and extensive city a meager hamlet, or village!

The girl had a name, but she didn’t talk to other people often enough for it to stick. But, her parents and few friends called her Lela on occasion. Of course, the only point of a name is for others to be able to tell you what to do. Lela wasn’t the type of girl who enjoyed or even put up with others telling her what to do. She did enjoy the quiet lapping waves of the pebble-strewn bay. Also, the muffled green silence of the woods behind her house. Wandering was her vitality, taking detours to stray from the path.

Her parents were decent folks. They told her to be back soon after the sun set and never to be outside when the stars came out. Her parents had little to no contact with the outer world. They were as superstitious as anyone living in the middle of nowhere could be. Which is to say, very superstitious. They told Lela, “The stars are always watching and judging, and bring ill fortune to those who stare for too long. It's best not to be outside in the dark at all. In the darkness is when all animals turn feral. In the dark the moon makes the ocean rise up and crash against the beach, crushing all who stay on it. That is why sand is so small and broken apart in the day.”

Lela wasn’t sure whether to believe her parents’ conjectures or not, but they meant well. Besides, death by a feral cat or a savage tortoise was not how she wanted to go. So every night she sprinted back inside as soon as the sun went down. Then she tried not to look out of any window at the stars while inside.

Now, it was summertime. The trees were awake and a hazy, comfortable silence hung over the humid forest. Lela spent most of her time by the beach, where the water was ceaseless and cool. Sand, stress, and bloody washed away with ease. One late afternoon, a slow-moving July or August against a blue sky, Lela stayed out longer than usual.

The sun was glowing over the water. The sky was settling into darkness. A toad croaked, and she looked down to find it sitting by her yellow boots, looking up at her. The toad was bright red and its blinking eyes seemed to glow with a milky light. She hadn’t seen a toad look like that before. But, she expected there were many things on the planet she hadn’t seen before and didn’t much mind it.

There was something about the clouds and the sluggish movement of the waves that night. They beckoned Lela to stay in the open. She hung back in the gap between the sand and the trees. There were no visible stars among the thick layers of clouds. Though darkness reigned, she could feel that her good fortune was waiting outside.

There was an old lighthouse a little way down the coast. It was rusty and it usually looked abandoned. A few times Lela could have sworn she saw moving silhouettes against windows at the top of the tower. The searchlight had not worked as long as she could remember and it cast no light across the dark water. The clouds shuttered in on Lela.

I really enjoyed reading this piece... You've set up a good background and given just enough information to catch the reader's interest. Your style of description is unique, and as a result, eye-catching. Perhaps you should add in more metaphors and similes to paint a clearer picture?
Eagerly waiting for the next installment...

I think you're very good at establishing a mood with your selective description. With only a few details about the town, for example, I feel like I've stayed there for a few days and have a pretty good feel for it. I think it's an interesting choice that you went for no dialogue and few specific actions, instead letting the details you include fill the substance. This is a unique way to execute a story, and I think you do a pretty good job of covering ground in the story and keeping it interesting. Still, I would make sure going forward that there is enough conflict and that the reader is invested in the conflict since dialogue is generally harder to walk away from as a reader. That is, unless you're writing this story more for style-over-substance art than entertainment.

Anyway, I digress. I like your prose as a whole, but I think some of your more informal sentences sort of ruin the quiet fantasy of your description. For example, you write: "The only point of a name is for others to be able to tell you what to do. Lela wasn’t the type of girl who enjoyed or even put up with others telling her what to do. She did enjoy the quiet lapping waves of the pebble-strewn bay." There's an incongruity of styles between the first two sentences and the third. The first two wouldn't be out of place in ordinary speech, while the third is in line with the style of your other description. Of course, it's kind of hard to maintain the style you have, but I think it would make your writing so much more effective if you kept that fantastical element while avoiding the sentences that people would say in everyday language.

Overall, it's a great start, I think. Good luck, and I look forward to the next installment!

You have a good sense of description, let's get that out of the way first. Though I have my gripes with the work, I feel like it's strongpoint lies clearly in it's description--there's a certain character to each word said, and while I was reading through the description of the municipality, I only realized afterwards that it didn't have a name. Despite that, it was incredibly memorable in its own way, familiar in a sense that you could almost believe it as someone's funny anecdote about their hometown. It's one thing to characterize an area as small but proud, it's another to say that it insists to be called a city and would openly tease people who refuse to call it a city. There's more action, more proof in that description, and ultimately I think that's why it was so memorable.

However, I will also say that the funny sentence might be a little overkill.

It was a very small municipality, and most of the occupants were proud to call it a city. Yet, a few would call it a mere hamlet, or village, and the rest of the townspeople shouted them down. A few angry citizens went as far to throw rotten fruits, or toads, at those outrageous people. How dare they call their great and extensive city a meager hamlet, or village!

The stars are always watching and judging, and bring ill fortune to those who stare for too long. (...) "

Of course, the only point of a name is for others to be able to tell you what to do.