Secrets of the Trees - Ch. 1

You have a nice, steady writing style. Good story, so far.

At the beginning though, I think you should indicate right away that it is a shaving razor in question. I had the wrong idea when I first read it.

Nothing [s]is[/s] unique about that. The thing that bugs me the most is that they argue about the stupidest subjects concerning me[s] ever[/s]

This is a bit belated, I think, but I saw chapter two and figured I should read chapter one first, haha. I warn that my edits get pretty in-depth, so if you look this over and don't want the same thing on chapter two, pm me and I'll refrain. Also, please don't take anything I say personally. The internet robs me of my charming tone and doesn't allow the doodles I usually put in people's margins...

Comments in red.

teenweirdo wrote:Secrets of the Trees
Ch. 1
Betrayal

“Ouch!” I cried out in pain saying 'ouch' indicates pain so the rest is superfluous., jumping back. Leaving out I would personally strike the "out"razors on the bathroom counter – bad idea. Blood oozed from my ring finger, dripping down my wrist. Feeling dizzy from the rusty smell, I wadded up a sheet of toilet paper and plunged it onto my throbbing finger. "dripping down my wrist" and "feeling dizzy from the rusty smell" are both too similar in structure to be so close together. I stood there, waiting for the cut to stop bleeding.I'd suggest "waiting for the bleeding to stop"

Great, I thought sourlythe adverb is unnecessary. Just as I am getting ready for bed, I manage to slice myself with my own razor. How relaxing!

Mumbling nonsense to myself, I threw away the scarlet-stained clump of toilet paper and started to wash my wound. The slightest trickle of water made it sting, and I winced. Soap was only going to be used as a last resort. I yawned, knowing I was too tired to do this much longer. I think you need to consider curbing your use of big words. And by big words, I don't mean long ones, really, but words that are not in normal conversation. For instance, if someone asked you what color there shirt was, you would say red. It's much better for the narrator to use simple, concise words unless the scene absolutely calls for it. A scene in which someone nicks themself with a razor does not; this would be a much cleaner read if it went along the lines of "Mumbling to myself, I threw away the blood-stained toilet paper and ran my finger under the tap. When the water touched my cut, I winced. Soap would have to be a last resort." Also, for someone who just injured themselves and thus got a small adrenaline rush, your MC gets sleepy awfully fast.

I had cut "had"always managed to hurt myself for the most ridiculous reasons. This sounds as if she's consciously causing herself pain for little reasons, which I doubt is the real point.Most of the time, it was just because I had been careless. Like right now. I had been shaving my legs and must have left the razor on the counter without putting its cover back on. Another time, I was jump roping with my friends and left my jump rope out on the driveway when I went back inside because I was in a hurry. It was the exact same color as the driveway. When I came outside the next morning, I had completely forgotten about the jump ropes, tripped over the one I had left out and – oops – there went half of my big toe’s skin. Hastiness really hurts.TMI. Just give a general idea. "I always managed to hurt myself in the most ridiculous ways. A razor left on the counter, a jump rope left on the driveway. Carelessness hurts.

After I had cut "had"washed the cut, I closed the bathroom door behind me and started downstairs to get a Band-Aid. My parents were probably fighting. They always fought when I was supposedly ‘asleep’ either "when I was 'asleep'." or 'when I was supposedly asleep.". It kept me awake for hours most nights, which is why I was usually very tired when I woke up. I have never told them about this, and never plan to because usually they were talking about me.

I do not get why I am such a big deal. There is nothing special about me. All I am is a regular fourteen-year-old girl. Nothing is unique about that. The thing that bugs me the most is that they argue about the stupidest subjects concerning me ever. For instance, my parents could not decide whether to put bologna or ham in my sandwich for lunch one night. Dad wanted ham, and Mom wanted bologna. They finally decided to include both meats. Like I really care that much! Gosh. Okay, where is she speaking from? If she's speaking from the future, after things have been revealed through the course of the novel, then she would no longer say that she's normal (I am assuming that there is something special about her or there would be no story). If she's speaking from this point in time, when nothing has been revealed, then your tenses are wrong.

I could hear my parents quarreling arguing or fighting, depending on how loud they are in the living room before my feet touched the kitchen floordoes the stair go into the kitchen? Sorry, that's pretty random, but I thought most stairways were at the front of houses and you would hit the living room before the kitchen when you came down.. Sighing, I sat at the bottom step of the stairs. I would probably never make it to the medicine cabinet fast enough to get a Band-Aid without Mom or Dad catching me eavesdropping. I groaned quietly, waiting for the shouting that always roused me at night to begin. Watch your adverb use

“I don’t think we should, Claudia,” I heard Dad saying. “She could get very angry, and you know what happens when she’s angry…” Cliche

“Tristan, it just isn’t right,” Mom replied fiercely. “You can’t hide something from somebody their whole life, especially your own daughter. It is unethical! We should have told her years ago.”

The hint of confidentiality caught my attention. I had no idea what to think. I cannot believe that they could do this to me, I thought crossly. I hope it isn’t something too serious. I crossed my fingers. If I was lucky, they might have been talking about my only sibling, Jolea, who was just eight years old and exceptionally pretty. But, man, was she an annoying brute! Have you ever in your life called someone a "brute"? It's jolting for a reader to hit a word like that, coming from a 14-year-old girl In my heart, I knew that it was me they were talking about. They almost never talked about Jolea.

“If we never tell AfinaI don't want to offend you, but this name just screams "I'm awesome and will end up with magic powers!", then she won’t ever be begging us to help her find her real parents. It sounds like he's dying for her to beg them to help find her parentsYou know that we don’t know one thing about them! We’d never be able to find them, even if we looked for ten years.”Too exact. If I were the mother, I'd respond "WELL WHAT IF WE LOOKED FOR ELEVEN?!? I HAVE YOU NOW!"

“Still, she has a right to know!”

My eyes were wide, my shoulders tense. Slowly, my jaw dropped in awe "My jaw dropped in awe" or "Slowly, my jaw dropped". Pick one. or just "My jaw dropped", which is what I personally would use.. My real parents? What were they talking about? Was this what I thought it was? Clumsy last sentence

“I don’t care, Claudia.”

“You don’t care about your own daughter?”

“No, I guess I really don’t. I’m sick of this family. We are too poor. You aren’t even decent enough to find yourself one lousy job, and I’m working endlessly just to keep this family going. What a jerkThen, we just fight all night! I should not have held this in. I’ve dealt with this for too long, Claudia – I’m through!” You know what the reader thinks? Well, this reader at least, thinks "good riddance!". There's no horror if the father has been so awful for the entire time (which is short) that the reader's seen him.

“W-what do you mean?” My mother looked bewildered and appalledyou mean... "shocked"? And can she see them? Why can't they see her?. “Tristan, do you really…”

“Yes, I really mean it,” Dad said, his eyebrows furrowed. He picked up his suitcase with one hand So he was packed already? Or is a briefcase?and started rummaging through the files in the folder crate on the kitchen counter with the other. “I’m leaving.”

“T-the children, Tristan,” I heard Mom say in a tiny voice. Say stuttered and cut the actual stuttered writing.“A-afina and J-jolea. They need you. Please stay. Please! At least tell them…”

Dad did not speak. He just simply Adverb!shook his head once. His expression was pained and depressed. After giving one long, hard look at Mom, his eyes full of mixed emotions Like the Rolling Stones song?, Dad threw on his leather jacket and picked up his suitcase. I heard the front door swing open and then swiftlyAdverb! bang shut. The whole house was silent as I watched Dad drive away, a single tear rolling down my cheek. No single tears! Please, for the love of heaven, no single tears! It's so cliche. And where is she, that she can see them fighting, and can see him drive off, but is just sitting on a chair by the kitchen?

Hmm...I won't go to any grammar details or anything of the like since you might be rewriting this.

I haven't read your novel, but I understand what you mean by how you need the beginning to have a setting for the rest of your chapters. Yes, it's very important, and changes everything that comes after it.

I guess I'm thinking this. The split-up is not the focus of the story, but it is what starts the story, yes? Then start it that way, not go into it after a short while. You started your story very casually here, and so it doesn't immediately indicate the split-up as the beginning, but rather as a small development. My opinion: Rewrite it in such away that mentioning the split-up has been done in the very first sentence. Probably something like, "We can never expect when something out of the ordinary is going to happen." or "That night seemed like any other. But it wasn't." which sounds cheesy but hey, you get the point?

I hope you understood my rambling. And other than this, I agree on Prok's comments. Good luck. Hope I've been helpful!

Cheers,
Fye~

p/s: PM me if you like when you're done?

Thanks, Prokaryote. Good critique. The thing is that I already wrote five chapters of this story. And also, this story is going to start being different after a few chapters (I did post this novel in the fantasy section, right?), just the beginning is kind of boring, cliched, and so sudden. This story is not so much about the split-up, actually. I just need it so certain things happen. I don't really know how I should rewrite/add to this chapter.

Hello teenweirdo!

Deleted words indicated by strike-outs; added/modified parts in bold; my commentary in red.

“Ouch!” I cried out in pain, jumping back. Leaving out razors on the bathroom counter – bad idea. Blood oozed from my ring finger, dripping down my wrist. Feeling dizzy from the rusty smell, I wadded up a sheet of toilet paper and plunged it onto my throbbing finger. I stood there, waiting for the cut to stop bleeding.

Great, I thought sourly. [I'm not digging that adverb, personally.] Just as I am getting ready for bed, I manage to slice myself with my own razor. How relaxing!

Mumbling nonsense to myself, I threw away the scarlet-stained clump of toilet paper and started to wash my wound. The slightest trickle of water made it sting, and I winced. Soap was only going to be used as a last resort. I yawned, knowing I was too tired to do this much longer.

I had always managed to hurt myself for the most ridiculous reasons. Most of the time, it was just because I had been careless. Like right now. I had been shaving my legs and must have left the razor on the counter without putting its cover back on. Another time, I was jump roping with my friends and left my jump rope out on the driveway when I went back inside because I was in a hurry. It was the exact same color as the driveway. When I came outside the next morning, I had completely forgotten about the jump ropes, tripped over the one I had left out and – oops – there went half of my big toe’s skin. Hastiness really hurts. [When I was little my big toenail got torn off -- holy crap is that painful. This has no relevance to your story; I just thought I'd share. =)]

After I had washed the cut, I closed the bathroom door behind me and started downstairs to get a Band-Aid. My parents were probably fighting. They always fought when I was supposedly ‘asleep’. It kept me awake for hours most nights, which is why I was usually very tired when I woke up. I have never told them about this, and never plan to because usually they were talking about me.

I do not get why I am such a big deal. There is nothing special about me. All I am is a regular fourteen-year-old girl. Nothing is unique about that. The thing that bugs me the most is that they argue about the stupidest subjects concerning me ever. For instance, my parents could not decide whether to put bologna or ham in my sandwich for lunch one night. Dad wanted ham, and Mom wanted bologna. They finally decided to include both meats. Like I really care that much! Gosh.

I could hear my parents quarreling in the living room before my feet touched the kitchen floor. Sighing, I sat at the bottom step of the stairs. I would probably never make it to the medicine cabinet fast enough to get a Band-Aid without Mom or Dad catching me eavesdropping. I groaned quietly, waiting for the shouting that always roused me at night to begin. ["to begin"? What?]

“I don’t think we should, Claudia,” I heard Dad saying. “She could get very angry, and you know what happens when she’s angry…” [She turns into a giant green monster.]

“Tristan, it just isn’t right,” Mom replied fiercely. “You can’t hide something from somebody their whole life, especially your own daughter. It is unethical! We should have told her years ago.”

The hint of confidentiality caught my attention. I had no idea what to think. I cannot believe that they could do this to me, I thought crossly. I hope it isn’t something too serious. I crossed my fingers. If I was lucky, they might have been talking about my only sibling, Jolea, who was just eight years old and exceptionally pretty. But, man, was she an annoying brute! [I'm not sure "brute" is the best way to describe an eight-year-old. "Brat," more like.] In my heart, I knew that it was me they were talking about. They almost never talked about Jolea.

“If we never tell Afina, then she won’t ever be begging us to help her find her real parents. [s]You know that [/s] We don’t know one thing about them! We’d never be able to find them, even if we looked for ten years.”

“Still, she has a right to know!”

My eyes were wide, my shoulders tense. Slowly, my jaw dropped in awe. My real parents? What were they talking about? Was this what I thought it was?

“I don’t care, Claudia.”

“You don’t care about your own daughter?”

“No, I guess I really don’t. I’m sick of this family. We are too poor. You aren’t even decent enough to find yourself one lousy job, and I’m working endlessly just to keep this family going. Then, we just fight all night! I should not have held this in. I’ve dealt with this for too long, Claudia – I’m through!” [Er... that was out of nowhere.]

“W-what do you mean?” My mother looked bewildered and appalled. “Tristan, do you really…”

“Yes, I really mean it,” Dad said, his eyebrows furrowed. He picked up his suitcase with one hand and started rummaging through the files in the folder crate on the kitchen counter with the other. “I’m leaving.”

“T-the children, Tristan,” I heard Mom say in a tiny voice. “A-afina and J-jolea. They need you. Please stay. Please! At least tell them…”

Dad did not speak. He just simply shook his head once. His expression was pained and depressed. After giving one long, hard look at Mom, his eyes full of mixed emotions, Dad threw on his leather jacket and picked up his suitcase. I heard the front door swing open and then swiftly bang shut. The whole house was silent as I watched Dad drive away, a single tear rolling down my cheek. [Everyone tries that "single tear" garbage, and it never works.]