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!!

First Impression: Okayyy so this was quite a lot. I don't know if I've ever really run into something that starts with a monologue quite this long without anything to break it up. I honestly don't fully know if it works here cause there so much to it and it seems to try and do so many emotions at once that ultimately it ends up fully bringing across only just the one or two and leaves the rest behind.

Anyway let's get right to it,

The color of my life is red. It pulses, explodes, jarring pain and violent love. It tempts Snow White, burns her lips with tabasco sauce and red pepper juice. We all know the story, and we whisper, “Don’t do it”, and we watch as she does it anyway. It’s the feeling of velvet on your skin, rich and overwhelming and heated. It loves and it destroys and it collapses.

The color of my life is orange. It pops, sparks, fizzing fragility and fleeting moments. It floats dying leaves gently to the ground, burns our noses with the smell of spice and loneliness. We all love the colors, wait to watch the trees sag to the ground, shedding their tears, and we crunch them underfoot. It’s the feeling of emptiness and longing, deep sunsets and tall moons. It exposes and it carves and it stings.

The color of my life is yellow. It bursts, melts, gentle whispers and sticky honey. It plays with sunshine, dances in the road and ignores all the cars. It’s the softness of a butterfly carried along by the breeze, caution signs and lightning strikes. It’s the melody of the birds flying through the air, sunflowers growing to face each other. It sings and it cries and it feels.

The color of my life is green. It gasps, screams, racing heart and broken head. It shelters the lost, dark shadows hiding faces and reflective eyes. People pick flowers to watch them fall apart, a small breath of the world they know they’ll never see. It grows wild, entangling and encompassing and climbing up the bark. It overtakes and it suffocates and it lives.

The color of my life is blue. It drowns, overcomes, bubbles underwater and muffled desperation. It holds your face, whispers, “it’s okay to let go,” drains the tears from your eyes and pulls the sobs from your throat. I want to hide from it, the all-knowing infinity, the cloudless sky and the endless sea. It tugs at our guts, lulls us to safety, rips us apart. It soothes and it swells and it falls.

The color of my life is purple. It crystalizes, hardens, mounting grief and formless compassion. It resonates through memories, quiet lavender and open fields. It is the place we have never been but the one we all strive for, wraps a cooling wind around us for comfort and boils a pot of tea. It’s the calm smell in the air that puts us at ease, glass bottles clinking together as we riffle through the shelves. It mends and it heals and it lasts.

When the colors are combined, people wish for a rainbow. That isn’t what they make. They fight and strangle one another, scar and wound. Things become muddied, indistinct, dulled. A grayness overshadows, expansive and thrashing. It meets us in an alleyway, hot kisses and rough brick against our backs. It blinds us and burns us, holds our gaze as it runs us over and paralyzes us. You had a dream to be a mother, a teacher, an adventurer. You raced up trees and giggled and stole cookies. You longed to fit in and you longed to stand out. It writes letters to the girl who moved away, pounds on the door of heads and bleeds white-hot pain from eyes.

I am not sure my life means anything. When a leaf shakes in the breeze, the last on bare branches, is it bravery or foolishness? I am not here anymore— I am not sure that I exist. The migraines hammer nails into my skull, and the glowing stars on the walls are stabbingly bright. I never knew such a soft glow could feel like this. Felix will be back soon. He gets off work at five. But I do not want him to see me like this— I do not want to be like this. I am not sure I even want to be.

You flash through my mind again, your smile and small hands on hips, wiggling with untamable energy and joy. The dare in your voice, watching you try to prove so hard you belonged. How could you not see you did? How could you not see you did more than me? I must’ve been lost, even then. I can’t remember it, but I think I had to be. I can’t remember a time before this, before you. Did a time like that exist? Does a time like that ever exist for people like us, people like me?

I wonder if there was a time before the grayness. I wonder if there was a time before the colors melted, swirling and pooling together down the sides of a canvas. Could they be pointed to individually? Could they be called out by name? They are too intertwined now, too connected and linked. I do not think I could separate them if I tried— I do not think I would. The grayness is dull and faded, and still my eyes burn in a completely darkened room. How much worse would this pain be in the full light of day? In the full light of a rainbow this bright, gnawing, starving and desperate? I don’t think I could bear it. I don’t think I can bear it as it is.

Every time I close my eyes, I hear you saying my name. You shortened it, sped past it with fast-moving lips, earnest to say every thought you had in your head. “Clay!” A squeal, a scream, a hug barreling into me, child bodies knocked to the ground and the air knocked out of me. That innocence that I strive for, the one I wish I could yank back, the one the colors stole, the one you grabbed and ran away with in a childhood game of chicken. It’s okay. I know you didn’t take it on purpose— I forced it into your hands, blinding sun and glowing stars. A growing grayness that stains like coffee on teeth.

I do not think I can live like this. I do not think I can live. Felix will be back soon— but my brain hurts too much to think, and my eyes burn too much to look for the good in this. I’ve looked for too long. I just want to rest. The glowing stars on the ceiling draw tears to my eyes, and I want to tear them down. Oh God, please let it not end like this. Please, I do not want it to end like this. I do not want it to end. Kill me tomorrow— let me live tonight.

Hey there winter! your progress when planning this story was super interesting and compelling, so I was wanting to follow this story as soon as it started! Excited to finally read and review this

as a side note, you were thinking about the title of your project for awhile, and I just wanted to say that I think this is good title! Love your book cover! The color is just amazing (fun fact: a lot of movie covers use similar color thematics (except it's orange and blue instead of red and blue) because of the contrast. Also, I'm looking at silv's review below mine, and she and I said pretty similar things about your cover, which I think is pretty telling on how good your cover and title combo is

Your introduction is so unique. It caught me off guard, ngl. Not only am I not used to present tense or first person in my readings, Your first paragraph reads to me like a poem more than prose, and it confuses me as much as poetry xD

However, and I say this while thoroughly enjoying what you've presented so far, like poetry, this beginning color prose is very thick with description and hard to read, and it drags on for about half of this chapter. While that's only 500 words, it is enough for me to feel like it goes on for a bit too long. I feel like giving a paragraph to each color is a bit too long. Perhaps combining them for a bit less descriptions and flowery language. You could do 2-2-2 or 1-2-3/1-2-2-1 for more of a symbolic nature. Just to have it flow a bit faster and smoother.

Also, heh gay.

When the colors are combined, people wish for a rainbow. That isn’t what they make. They fight and strangle one another, scar and wound. Things become muddied, indistinct, dulled. A grayness overshadows, expansive and thrashing. It meets us in an alleyway, hot kisses and rough brick against our backs. It blinds us and burns us, holds our gaze as it runs us over and paralyzes us. You had a dream to be a mother, a teacher, an adventurer. You raced up trees and giggled and stole cookies. You longed to fit in and you longed to stand out. It writes letters to the girl who moved away, pounds on the door of heads and bleeds white-hot pain from eyes.When the colors are combined, people wish for a rainbow. That isn’t what they make. They fight and strangle one another, scar and wound. Things become muddied, indistinct, dulled. A grayness overshadows, expansive and thrashing. It meets us in an alleyway, hot kisses and rough brick against our backs. It blinds us and burns us, holds our gaze as it runs us over and paralyzes us. You had a dream to be a mother, a teacher, an adventurer. You raced up trees and giggled and stole cookies. You longed to fit in and you longed to stand out. It writes letters to the girl who moved away, pounds on the door of heads and bleeds white-hot pain from eyes.

Kill me tomorrow— let me live tonight.

Hey winter! You've got a great start to your story and I am super excited to review this <3

Since the cover is part of this work and is wonderfully evocative, I might start with that. My first thought when I saw the combination of the background image and the title was "there's been a tragedy here". I'm not sure what made me think that right away, but it definitely had something to do with the cars and vehicles (I think those are motorcycles in the middle but I'm playing it safe) being stopped/pulled over at night, which generally means a bad thing has happened if the lights are still on. When it's paired with the desperate plea of the title in the innocent font that kindergarten writing practice textbooks have (whew that brings back memories), it gives the impression that something's gone horribly wrong despite that plea, live we've witnessed an accident or a loss.

Another thing the title evokes for me: it feels like one of those stories that happens in the space of a few hours over one night/day, sort of like They Both Die at the End by Adam Silvera (not sure if you've read, in which case I apologize for the reference, but it's a very sad book that even has the same tragic vibe this is giving me). I have no idea if that's your plan or if I interpreted what you were going for in the cover, but I like the impression I'm getting so far!

It tempts Snow White, burns her lips with tabasco sauce and red pepper juice. We all know the story, and we whisper, “Don’t do it”, and we watch as she does it anyway.

It’s the softness of a butterfly carried along by the breeze, caution signs and lightning strikes.

The color of my life is green. It gasps, screams, racing heart and broken head. It shelters the lost, dark shadows hiding faces and reflective eyes. People pick flowers to watch them fall apart, a small breath of the world they know they’ll never see. It grows wild, entangling and encompassing and climbing up the bark. It overtakes and it suffocates and it lives.

When the colors are combined, people wish for a rainbow. That isn’t what they make. They fight and strangle one another, scar and wound. Things become muddied, indistinct, dulled. A grayness overshadows, expansive and thrashing.

You had a dream to be a mother, a teacher, an adventurer. You raced up trees and giggled and stole cookies. You longed to fit in and you longed to stand out. It writes letters to the girl who moved away, pounds on the door of heads and bleeds white-hot pain from eyes.

Felix will be back soon. He gets off work at five. But I do not want him to see me like this— I do not want to be like this. I am not sure I even want to be.

Oh God, please let it not end like this. Please, I do not want it to end like this. I do not want it to end. Kill me tomorrow— let me live tonight.

Hello!

RandomTalks here with a short review!

This was definitely a very intense start to the novel! I am not sure if you intended this as a prologue, but it definitely has all the ingredients of one. It pulls us into your narrative, evoking emotions and sensations rather than pulling us in the direction of the plot. In fact, there is hardly any mention of the plot until the very end, and even then its just a vague mention of names and events in our narrator's life that isn't strong enough to give us a concrete idea of the plot, but is ambiguous enough to evoke a sense of curiosity. It expresses a feeling, a mood rather than a plot and I felt that I got a glimpse of the narrator's mind, their inner workings and mental state (I am using 'they' as the gender wasn't very clear to me).

The first six paragraphs, describing the narrator's life in colors are almost poetic in their repetition of the format and the similar framing of the sentences. Its interesting how the narrator starts by saying that their life is a particular color, but then the following thoughts they present have no resemblance or connection to their life. They are general thoughts, that are more like a reflection of the world rather than the narrator's life (except for maybe in the final description of the color purple). I am not sure if that was a creative choice, but considering that the first sentence reads more like a definite statement from the narrator, you might want to show some kind of a connection in the following thoughts.

The idea of the colors intrigued me very much. I wonder if they represent the themes of the story and if they will turn up at some point in the novel to justify the emphasis on them now. I personally would love to make that connection as it would make the story all the more poignant for me. For the moment though, I realized that a recurring theme in the descriptions of the colors is despair and a resignation to make do with what is left and remaining. All the colors, except for yellow (which still reflects some positive in the ideas of growth and perseverance), reflect a sense of deep sadness and the negative implications of life.

The color of my life is green. It gasps, screams, racing heart and broken head.

They are too intertwined now, too connected and linked. I do not think I could separate them if I tried— I do not think I would.

Honestly as soon as I read this I was like: well that'd make a good stage monologue. I will freely admit that the only Arthur Miller play I'm familiar with is The Crucible, but there's something in the language and easy change between subjects (which all eventually point to one theme) that makes me think of his writing.

...it might also be the 'Oh God's and the tragedy.

Anyway, hi LSS buddy!!

I'm not much of a feelings reviewer (I get caught up in close reading and some of the impact is often lost on me), but I do know my way around word choice and sequencing, and maybe we can extrapolate some emotions out of that.

My first area of consideration: was it your goal that the colors would feel kind of indistinct from each other? It might make some sense, given the theme of grayness you lay out in the second half of the chapter, but if that wasn't the goal, you might want to see what you can do to make the color paragraphs more distinct. The exact repetition of format and the fact that the words and sentences are all about the same size in each really muddles up the different feelings you are trying to create with the words themselves. Remember that contrast is made not only in the meaning of words, but in the precise way you use them.

Also, are you planning on doing something with the difference between pigment mixing (which does make grey/brown) and light mixing (which would create white light)? Just a theory about where this could go thematically.

Lastly, I am so intrigued by the name drops. I think that also gave me a lot of theater monologue vibes haha. Can't wait to see what kind of style you pull out for the actual chapters .

Until next time,
-Vento