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I've been reading some short stories lately and felt like writing myself. Now I'm not very good at it and there's always place to improve but only if there're constructive critics. Thus I thought about starting this thread where people can post their work and discuss it. I hope there are at least some posters who're writing so this won't turn into my personal playground, rather into our playground.
I'll start with a story I wrote today. Keep in mind that I've got absolutely no experience. I somehow think the end is too abruptly, I might need to change that, I just don't know how yet.
British School
She was late. She always is, in fact. No matter how important the meeting is she would always be at least ten minutes late. It became one of her qualities. Usually he’d be very irritated about her attitude but not this night. He didn’t care too much; his thoughts were on other things. Not that they were more important, they weren’t anywhere near the slightest importance.
He thought about how smoothly he sneaked out of the house, like a little ninja dressed in a black outfit. The fact that he got caught several times made him more proud of himself, even though it was only a small achievement. As soon as he reached the front door he had to make up his mind, whether to take his galoshes or not. It was risky to take them along; their wardrobe would always make those funny noises, which usually led into them waking up. He opened the door and for a short moment really wanted to leave them behind, but he couldn’t. Everyone used to laugh about him in school. He was the only kid wearing galoshes and the sole reason he adored them so much was because his father brought them along from his business trip to Reading. They weren’t very beautiful either, unicoloured dark green with two buckles at the top. The soles used to be white once, but as he wore them almost every day they turned very grungy, almost black. “Hey, am I very late dear?” Joyce asked rushing towards him. “The usual ten minutes, Joyce.” he answered sharply. “No need to be mean dear, I was being held up, I’m sorry. Now don’t make a big deal out of it, will you?” she said. Back in first grade, when they met for the first time, everybody was bullying him. Nobody liked him; he had not one friend ever since he moved to this country. He would always sit next to the playfield listening to the trees. More specific to the leaves, that fell off on windy days. It was a terrific sound in his opinion. They climbed up the ladder on the backside of the house. Joyce looked out for a clean spot to put the blanket on while he was listening to the ambience. He could hear every single grain of sand in the wind. The streets were very quiet at this time. Every now and then you’d hear a neon bulb discharge. What he would do is, he’d assign different colours to every tone he’d filter out, making a very neat looking picture in his head. A dynamic one, always changing. Quite in pleasure he couldn’t hear anything else, in particular what Joyce said. “Hey! You listening or what?” she said quite furiously. “Sorry, watcha said?” he answered quickly and a bit embarrassed. “I said the blanket’s ready. You wanna come lay down?” Joyce said in a very low and angry tone. She really didn’t like repeating herself over and over again. Without answering he moved towards her, sat down and took off the, in the dark black looking, galoshes. He really liked them, there wasn’t one day he’d not wear them. “Why are you so quiet today? What’s going on?” she asked him. “I’m so sick. I’m so sick of this British School. I’d rather go back home, this is just so ridiculous. They behave so British, all of them, even though half of them haven’t seen anything beyond the borders of this stupid sandy country. I really miss my friends, how can someone decide to move to this place anyway? Sometimes I could just stab them for the decision they made, the decision they made for me.” He couldn’t concentrate on her words, she’d always complain about anything. Sometimes he thought she just talks for the sake of it. “I’ll get my ass out of this country as soon as possible, and you will join me, wontcha?” she complained while holding his hand tight. “We’ll go back to Manchester and listen to real British people instead of these phonies here. God I’m so sick of them.” “What, what do they look like anyway?” he stuttered. “Tell me, please.” “Wuddaya mean they look like? Who looks what like?” she asked swiftly with a confused expression. “The stars.”
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no time to read it now, but will do if possible, sounds interesting.
constructive ctritics will follow, i promise
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wtf kind of story is this
sounds like teroru wrote this - no content all psychobabble
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On December 21 2006 08:59 exalted wrote: wtf kind of story is this
A short story...sup?
The storyline was ok, but kind of vague. You threw in bits of events here and there, but by the end, I didn't even know the purpose of the stars when the main character asked the girl. I skimmed over it anyways -_-; gj.
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well it's night, it's on a roof, there's a blanket, they lay down, no moaning sounds, figure out what they do =)
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On December 21 2006 09:03 fanta[Rn] wrote: well it's night, it's on a roof, there's a blanket, they lay down, no moaning sounds, figure out what they do =)
Oh yea, I kinda figured that part out -_-. But what was the purpose of the stars? I still don't get it >_<. *I can't read the entire story carefully cuz I'm at work.
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they were lieing there and the boy is blind, so he wants to know what the stars look like since they did this thing (going on the roof, with blanket) in the past aswell (is pointed out in the "the usual ten minutes late" sentence), i know it might be too hard to figure because there are not many details but that's what i intended to, people shall think about it and find their own answers =). Maybe for others the boy is not blind, just wants to listen to the way she describes the stars. There are many possibilities. Like in that mad-picture-thread =)
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to be honest, very eloquate but the storyline lacks a bit of, well, logic
it could've turned out to be better if it were longer, say twice or even three times the length it has now. it won't make it a novel, it would still be a short story xD
i also don't get the star thing at the end, could you clarify that one?
to add the last bit of criticism, you should pay more attention to making it very clear when things happened and who exactly is talking, had to read some passages twice before understanding that, it makes reading less fluent and harder.
but overall, a very well written story for a first try, with no grammar mistakes i can spot, also the vocabulary is outstanding for a non-native speaker i think.
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Anecdote: Professor told in class that every story, in order to be well written must have: some sex, god mention, some highness (earl, baron, whatever) and suscpicious till the very end. Then ordered thr students to write one. After 2-3 minutes one of the students is ready. "Read us, please" professor asked. " - Oh my god, I am pregnant, ejaculated the countess, but I don't know from who!"
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On December 21 2006 09:15 One Page Memory wrote: ..must have: some sex, god mention, some highness (earl, baron, whatever) and suscpicious till the very end.. i fail
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Well according to what I read, the boy must be blind. That is why he asked what the stars looked like.
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my major complaint with the story is nothing happens
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yea the blind guy should definetly bang her. whats up with that?
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Braavos36362 Posts
"Detective" by Hot_Bid
* * * * *
My stomach grumbled. Time to go eat, I thought.
Only on the way from my room to the elevator did I realize I wanted to be a detective. Not for life, but for a few minutes at least. With an easy precision only a detective could manage, I pressed the button deduced to be the one that would summon the elevator that would go "down."
I was correct in my deduction, and quickly was on my way down from the thirteenth floor. The elevator stopped. The little display read "ten" except it was numerical. So it read, "10." I mentally prepared myself for whoever would step in.
Whoosh, I thought when the doors opened.
A normal looking male entered. Brown hair, brown eyes, caucasian. He was wearing a t-shirt, shorts, and slippers. He was carrying a bottle presumably filled with laundry detergent, and laundry bag presumably filled with dirty laundry.
There's only one way to end this mystery, I thought.
"Are you going to do laundry?"
"Yes."
"Are you a robot?"
"No."
I eyed him suspiciously.
Sounds like something a robot would say.
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On December 21 2006 08:59 exalted wrote: wtf kind of story is this
sounds like teroru wrote this - no content all psychobabble you and teroru need to hook up, like squabbling lovers.
good story btw x_X
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Braavos36362 Posts
On December 21 2006 08:59 exalted wrote: wtf kind of story is this
sounds like teroru wrote this - no content all psychobabble i dont get it
edit: do you know whats gayer than teroru? + Show Spoiler +
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United Arab Emirates5090 Posts
um... not bad... any continueation?
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Hot_Bid, that was by far the funniest piece of crap i was ever allowed to read
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On December 21 2006 14:02 Hot_Bid wrote:Show nested quote +On December 21 2006 08:59 exalted wrote: wtf kind of story is this
sounds like teroru wrote this - no content all psychobabble i dont get it edit: do you know whats gayer than teroru? + Show Spoiler + buttsecs*
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even though I'm aware that Hot_Bid's story makes fun of me and my story, I liked it =)
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