Maryann was walking to the near by Shop Mart, deciding whether or not she should get a new vacuum cleaner. Knowing her OCD would eventually take over her mind she decided that she would buy one of the best vacuums they had (and not keep it in the closet). Half way to the store the rain had began to stop, she paused for a moment to put down her umbrella and fix her newly ironed dress. It was one of her favorites; it was decorated in flowers of all kinds and very brightly colored. After fixing her dress she lightly fluffed her hair and began to walk down the street once more.
But once again she was stopped, but this time by a homeless man who lived out side of the local tavern. “Got any spare change?” he asked his voice gruff, deep, and scary sounding.
“Why, I don’t give money out to homeless people. It’s not fault you lost all your money flushing it down the toilet on drugs and alcohol.” She said with what she thought was a comforting smile on her face.
As Maryann began to walk away, the homeless man grabbed her arm pulling her full force right up to his grimy face. “Look here, for such a pretty Miss as your self I suspect you got some money in that little change purse your holding right there.” He said glancing at the small purse that dangled around Maryann’s helpless body.
Maryann felt tears, fear, and some other feeling she couldn’t describe rush to her body. She screamed at the top of her lungs trying to pull away, and grab for her pepper spray she kept handy in her purse for occasions like this. But she couldn’t loosen the homeless mans strange overpowering strength. He had an urgent look in his eye, like if he didn’t get her money she was going to have to pay in some other way. And she knew one way to get what you wanted was by killing them. Now that the thought that this strange man could be driven to the idea of killing her for her money she struggled even harder, she began to hit him with her umbrella.
When the man began to realize that she was hitting him with the metal point of her umbrella, he tried to keep hold of her but the reoccurring blows to his head were starting to take a toll. Still screaming and hitting him with the umbrella, Maryann felt his grip around her arm loosen she pulled her wrist away from him and ran. She ran as fast as she could. She ran past the Shop Mart forgetting the reason why she had decided to venture out that dreary day.
She ran until she came to Independence Ave. and King Dr. at this corner she stopped. She stopped because across the street she spotted a young girl. The girl had brown hair, but half of it had fallen out. She had large gray eyes that almost looked like an old unclean windows. Last she was in a hospital robe, and she was soaking wet. The girl almost looked waterlogged. Her face was gray, what little hair she had stuck to her dead cold face. The hospital robe clung to body like a corset. She didn’t wear any shoes, so her feet were covered in a thick layer of mud. In some corners of her face and body moss and algae clung as if she were a tree. The girl looked no older than fifteen.
Not acknowledging Maryann the girl just stood there looking both ways down the street as if she were going to cross or as if she were waiting for a bus that would never come.
Upon seeing the girl, Maryann realized she hadn’t checked the local newspaper that day to see if there had been any deaths lately. Apparently there had. Seeing that ghost often showed them selves to Maryann long ago she decided not to panic if this happens. So going through her steps in her head Maryann sought out a local newspaper stand, bought a newspaper and a magazine, and walked home (avoiding the tavern).
When Maryann got home she checked her one room apartment for any sign that some one had broken into her domain then she went and sat down in her tall backed puffy chair and pulled out the Obituaries. Looking down the line of what almost felt like death row Maryann found one girl that matched the girl she saw, except it wasn’t in the Obituaries column. In a small column on the side of the paper was the picture of a girl. The column said:
Beth McCruin a patient at Gregger Hospital was reported missing yesterday morning. When Ms.McCruins’ nurse went into her patients room to give her, her morning breakfast and medicine the nurse was shocked to fine her patient not in bed. After alerting the parents and the police, Beth still has not been found. The police are giving no information to how Beth escaped her room or if she was took against her will. If you see her please call the downtown Riverville station.
Sitting in her plush chair Maryann had only just begun to notice that it had started to rain again. Maryann was in shock. She had never had a case like this. A girl who was missing, but the girl was really dead! And no one knew! Except Maryann and Beth’s killer of course were the only ones who knew. And because Maryann only received ghost of people who were murdered she knew that there had to be a killer out there.
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125,018 Literary Works • 672,857 Reviews
Comments and corrections in red.
All right. Let's get to the heart of my comments above, okay?
First, I'll make it absolutely clear to you and anyone else reading this review: "began to" is among the number one killers of prose. You want to exterminate it unless it's completely necessary. Take them out, and you'll see your prose improve tenfold.
Now, in my comments above, I was rambling about how your character was unsympathetic. But judging from the title, you mean to write her this way. She's not supposed to be a good person, am I right?
Just because your character is morally reprehensible doesn't mean he's unsympathetic. Look at Hannibal Lecter. People like him despite his uncanny addiction to human flesh.
There are two ways to make an 'evil' character sympathetic, or at least, to have him engage the reader long enough for the reader to finish the story: one, you give hm admirable traits in addition to the terrible ones. Nathan Bransford explains it better than I can ever hope to. You should read the whole post if you have the time, but if you're just skimming this review quickly, then this basically sums up the post:
Charisma minus actions = the redeemability meter
The higher your character is on the redeemability meter, the more sympathetic he becomes.
There is, however, one other way Nathan didn't mention in his post. I've read books about terrible characters so morally repulsive I wouldn't touch them with a stick. Sure, they had charisma, but they ranked pretty low on the redeemability meter.
What kept me reading?
They had it coming, and the authors made sure I knew it. Their lives were a train wreck so horrible I simply couldn't tear my gaze away, and I had to see what was going on. You're going to have to make me hate your character a lot, but you'll need to make me pity him more than I hate him (or in this case, her).
The challenge a reader issues to an author who dares to write an evil character is simple: make me care. Easier said than done.
Now, the next bit I'll tackle is show vs tell. Telling is not entirely horrible; you need it sometimes. But what, exactly, is showing, not telling?
I believe it was Chekhov who once said, "“Don't tell me the moon is shining; show me the glint of light on broken glass." Do you get me (him)?
Here's another example.
Telling:
Showing:
She sounds much more sick in the second, don't you think?
I also have an issue with your prose. Your style is, bluntly put, bland. >.O It's stiff. Note that when you read a novel, especially the best ones, their prose simply flows. Reading comes as naturally as breathing when you read the best authors. I'm not saying these authors are naturals; they probably worked their butts off revising until their prose became perfect.
Lastly, your theme veered into a different direction in the middle of that. I have no idea what you were trying to accomplish in the first scene when it turns out you're actually trying to talk about the supernatural. Your first scene has nothing to do with the theme. Someone once told me that every scene in a movie/novel reinforces the theme of the entire thing. After he said that, whenever I read a novel, I realize he was right. Every single scene must serve a purpose, either to drive the plot forward (and a plot is a series of interconnected events, and that hobo incident didn't seem to have anything to do with the rest of the narrative), to provide character development, or to drill the plot in further. Preferably a mixture of two of the above.
So, I hope this review helped! Remember it's only my opinion, though, so don't take it as anything definitive. If you have any questions, just feel free to PM me.
Sincerely,
Octave