CRITIC WANTED: Hesitant writer ISO of honest person who has all the answers to life - Writers Forum

RoundEye · 05-07-2007, 02:41 AM

Hey y’all, what’s up? My name is Tobey, I’m 41, and I was born and raised in New Orleans. What brings me to this forum is that I’ve been told that I have a talent for writing. I am mind boggled by this “talent” word. Hell, it could be argued that Sanjia had talent, but they still sent his ass packing. Sometimes I think writing is nothing more then keystrokes and little black spots on paper. The thing is, I’ve lived a pretty wild life, and I’m damn lucky to still be able to open my eyes in the morning. After a life of hardcore partying, blunt force trauma to my body and my mind, I’ve got some pretty wild stories to tell. My body can’t handle the physical abuse anymore, and I need to find some safe way to earn a few dollars to support my family.

Motorcycles are my Heroin. I’ve had five major bone surgeries, a bone graft in my neck, eighteen pieces of surgical hardware put into me and ten taken out. I’ve also fought and won a horrible addiction to prescription pain killers as a result. I know the bikes are bad for me but the rush is oh-so-good.

So if you could take the time to read the following story I would be grateful. I’m just really looking for an honest critic to tell me if I have any skill at writing, before I spend what little money I have on classes. Maybe some guidance on how to improve my skills some too.

Thanks and on with the show.

Quote:

It was a dark and stormy night…..nah just kidding, it wasn’t, it was sunny and clear outside but I still wasn’t happy about some Nazi Stormtrooper banging on my front door and waking me up. Peeping out the curtain I could see a big black bulldog looking of a lady. Not waiting for me to ask who it was she yells out “Jolanda Smith, child protection services”. Just f**king great, that’s all I needed right now, and Bulldog was barking it so loud that my neighbors could hear it too. That just deepened the bad mood.

Soon as the door opened she started in on me. “I need to come in and assess you and take some pictures!”. That one word struck a nerve, pictures, “pictures of what?” I asked. “You, your house and your son”.

My son? That set the wheel in my head to spinning really fast. It wasn’t like that was going to happen and I let her know it.

“Listen to me” she barked again, “I’m here under court order by the State of Louisiana”. I think ok, what to say next and then yell out “I don’t care if God himself sent you, you ain’t taking any pictures of my boy”. She stormed off all dejected, a smile came to my face but soon as my rear end hit the sofa, the smile was gone though. I realized my dumb ass just declared a friggen Jihad on the state of Louisiana. She’s going to be back, and with cops in tow. Time to get dressed and deal with this quick, fast and in a hurry.

Standing in front of the closet was weird. I’ve never dressed to impress, but now was really the time to scare the crap out of people, and do it in a big way. Black pants, black T-Shirt, and my big, black, badass biker boots. Then the thought came to me of them beating the crap out of me like a white Rodney King. A black leather jacket should soften the baton blows some. Pepper spay what about that? My full face helmet should take care of that, and the shield is tinted too so that they can’t tell where I’m looking. And now for the hard choice, grab the gun or not. Grab the damn thing, the wife always said your just going to explode one day and *poof* you’re gone. Growing old gracefully is not an option.

You can tell at this point I’m not in my right mind and worked into a frenzy. Hell, my son isn’t even within twenty miles of here. He’s at the stable feeding the horses with his “Grammy”. It’s the point of the matter, at least I hope so.

The rocks in the driveway are starting to pop together as the cars roll over them, bulldog is back and with two cop cars in tow. This is going to be so much fun my **** is hard.

Yeah right.

Soon as I step out the door ALL the cars come to a quick stop. Both cops hit the radio, calling for backup I just know it. The hair on the back of my neck is standing up and that has never led to anything good. Just imagine their point of view. They think their going on an easy call, and some crazy bastard steps out on the front porch dressed all in black, standing damn near six-foot seven, a black full-face helmet with red reflective flames, and big, black bad-ass biker boots. Oh and the kicker, I’m holding an AK-47 with a pre-ban thirty round magazine. Now that makes an impression!

Out of all god damned people it has to be Mike in the cop car! A long-time friend of my wife’s and he knows us both well. At this point they are both out of their cars, weapons drawn and ready to shoot anything that blinks, belches or farts. I know he doesn’t want to shoot me, but he doesn’t want to get shot either. So we have us a good ol’ fashioned Mexican stand off here. Mike starts in with “Tobey this isn’t a good thing”, “Tobey please don’t do this”. Tobey this and Tobey that…. blah, blah, blah, for Christ’s sake quit saying my damn name! I’m having a hard enough damn time standing here like Darth Vader, hot as hell, heart beating so hard that I can feel it pounding my temples against the inside of my helmet, and my knees locked so that I don’t pass out. Must be something they teach them in the academy “say their name and say it a lot”, “it helps break them down”. It was sort of pissing me off, but it was because it was working, and I was also thinking that their backup was going to be here any minute on me like white on rice. They were not going to be so nice about it either.
In a moment of weakness or sanity, depends on your outlook on things, I threw down the gun. The cops took me out like rabid superbowl linebackers. I just knew the helmet was going to come in handy somehow. Handcuffed and thrown in the car and it’s off to lockup we go. The only thing that was said outloud the whole way there was by Mike, “you must be out of your god damned mind, you know that!”

Not much can be said for lockup, you’re processed, given an inch-thick plastic covered cot to sleep on and the door is slammed shut. There’s a farting whino in the bed to my right, a singing whino in the bed to my front, and a stainless steel toilet to my left. Hence the need for the fold-out cot, there’s no rack left to sleep on. I’m going to be here a while, and I’m stuck in here with the Musical Methane Brothers. Another “just f**king great” moment.

Sometime the next morning the guard wakes me up by calling out my name and saying “it’s time to go home”. It’s hard to tell what time it was because there’s no clock, everything is painted Gray and lit with fluorescent lights. After seeing the huge ass guard and hearing “it’s time to go home”, I was scared s**tless to step out the cell. I felt safer in jail. The reason being was that I had not seen the judge for my arraignment or even set bail yet. I wasn’t going home, they were going to take my ass out in the swamp, shoot me and feed me to the Alligators because of my crazy antics. After hearing “TIME TO GO NOW!” so loudly that it echoed though the cells, I stepped out a dead man walking.

The last door of four shut and I was free, only to see my wife and Joan standing there. I wish I had a jock strap on, because that’s where they are fixing to kick and stomp. Everything is starting to make sense now too. My wife works for Joan, and Joan has been a lawyer in the Parish for many, many years now. She has a lot of ties, and knows what strings to pull and how far to pull them. The whole damn way home Joan gave me a royal ass chewing. The only two things that stuck out in my mind of that grueling hour, is that she put up $250,000 to get me out and “you must be out of your god damned mind, you know that!” was said again.

So the big day rolls around, it’s my time to stand before the judge and it’s all too real. Man, do I ever hate courtrooms, it’s so much of a contradiction. The people awaiting trail have this somber look on their faces, and all the executioners working there are whispering and laughing in the background. I’m not sure what some of the people before me have done, my mind is too preoccupied to listen intently, but some of them head back out the door, and some of them are handcuffed and disappear into the darkness. I’m only here for a pre-trial hearing, lets just hope that I’m ass hole and elbows out the door after it’s over.

Well….it’s my time to face up to the royal executioner, bend over, put my head on the chopping block and take it like a man. He asks a billion questions and wants a billion honest answers. All I want is a cigarette and out the door of his honor’s royal palace. I’m really starting to get anxious and irritated at this point. Let’s cut to the chase, everything said in court before this is completely irrelevant. He want’s to know what I think about “outward appearances”. Now what in the hell is he alluding to? I’m going to make sure he never asks anybody this again.

So I answer him, “your honor, by all outward appearances you are probably married, I can see that by your wedding ring, and probably at your age have grown children. Also since you are a judge you probably went to law school, became a lawyer, worked your way up to a D.A. then was elected to the chair you are sitting in. BUT all outward appearances aside you could be sitting up there fantasizing about lifting your dress and taking it up the ass by the bailiff”. OH MY GOD! I should have NEVER said that! He stood up banging his gavel and yelling “ORDER IN THE COURT…. ORDER IN THE COURT!” but nobody was saying anything. I had fifty deer stuck in the headlights behind me, and a caffeine laden drill instructor with blue balls in front of me.

He steps down off his chair and orders me into his chambers. I have this “gonna get shot and dumped in the swamp” feeling again. As we sit down he instructs me to thoroughly explain myself and don’t get stupid about it or I’m going to be in his jail so long that I’ll take root like an old Oak tree.

Knowing right where to start I explain to him that all this started with my little trip to the physc ward. Because of my screw up with drugs, by State law I was turned over the C.P.S. (Child Protection Services) and because of MY past indiscretions I did not want my son paying for it, being photographed, or part of some permanent record somewhere.
He’s almost Four years old and I don’t want to explain why Bulldog was taking his picture. There’s no need to make a young child grow up before it’s time to.

After a sigh and a pause that seemed to make time go backwards, he replied, “but a picture is worth a thousand words”.

“In that case send somebody that can write two thousands words to my house”. He thought about what I said for quite a while. Then instructed me to return to court and not to say a single word. No peeps from me, he’s holding the axe and this Rooster wants to keep his head attached. I’ve made my point.

This is where everything gets extremely surreal, the judge ask Mrs. Smith to stand and tells her she better learn to write, because he’s going to grant my wish of no pictures being taken BUT must comply with everything else. After what I told that man he’s doing this? I didn’t know what to think. I do know that I was ass hole and elbows out the door soon as that gavel hit the top of his desk.

On the elevator ride down with my family Joan starts in with her crap. I wish that woman would shut the hell up, or I’m going to puke in the corner of the elevator. My nerves are dead and gone about now, so I stood quietly and zoned it all out. Joan has more cases to attend to so she is going back up in the elevator, and always a lawyer, she’s got to get the last word in. As I stepped out of the elevator she holds the door open and yells out “you really are out of you god damned mind, you know that!” It echoed through the foyer as much as it’s been echoing through my head.

You know something? I might be crazy, but I got what I wanted.

Mike · 05-07-2007, 06:09 AM

The voice is probably the strongest attribute. You need to work on telling the story rather than recounting it. I'd avoid using **** when you/your character wants to cuss. Just say it.
Expressions like "good ol' Mexican stand down" are cliche and racist. But, if that's your character, that's your character.

ChrisF · 05-07-2007, 06:15 AM

Just read it. It was interesting... different style to most authors, and refreshing as a result. I'm not sure if I'd want to read a whole book written so casually, with such emphasis on colloquialisms though.

At the moment there are quite a few typos in there too, and some sentences that don't flow properly (not sure if they're typos or not).

As an example:

Soon as I step out the door ALL the cars come to a quick stop. Both cops hit the radio, calling for backup I just know it. The hair on the back of my neck is standing up and that has never led to anything good. Just imagine their point of view. They think their going on an easy call, and some crazy bastard steps out on the front porch dressed all in black, standing damn near six-foot seven, a black full-face helmet with red reflective flames, and big, black bad-ass biker boots. Oh and the kicker, I’m holding an AK-47 with a pre-ban thirty round magazine. Now that makes an impression!

Actually, that para is a really good example of your writing. I thought the end of it was great... really nice turn of phrase, but it's also got a dysfunctional sentence (the one highlighted) and a very long sentence which is harder to read. Another point (not illustrated here) is repetition of colloquialism. Think you mention "black ass, biker boots" a couple of times, and this reduces the impact of the phrase.

So advice... I think the main point would be to just keep writing, because you'll learn a hell of a lot as you go along (I know I did when I started!). Focus on sentence flow, and perhaps (this is a subjective point) more infrequent, but also more effective use of colloquialisms. A final point is the plot... I don't know how realistic a guy heading out of his house with an AK47, getting bailed for $250,000 and then sorting it all out with a private meeting with a judge is! On an extract from a story, it's fine, but if I read a whole novel like that, I might not be able to suspend my disbelief!

Hope all that helps, Chris.

Foxee · 05-07-2007, 07:30 AM

Welcome, Tobey!

Quote:

Hell, it could be argued that Sanjia had talent, but they still sent his ass packing.

Keep this in mind...it's a great comment on the fact that talent alone (or at least showmanship alone... er... uniqueness alone?) won't get you all the way to where you want to go. It's difficult...elswise we'd all be published writers rolling in the dough.

Loved New Orleans...it was right up there with Vegas, though, when I visited Bourbon Street... definitely has its own vibe, though.

As for your writing I'm running out of time here right now but I skimmed it and I LOVE your writing 'voice'. You've got something there...combine your unique voice with your myriad of experiences...pick up a little polish on the technical aspects of writing... and I think you're going to do really well.

If nothing else, it'll be loads of fun!

Welcome!!

-Foxee

RoundEye · 05-07-2007, 11:47 AM

Thanks for the input y'all.

I'm very sorry that I didn't put in my original post that the story is fiction. I'm not crazy and I'm not about to go Cho on the world.

I've been posting at Speedguide for about seven years and they use a filter for obscene words. That explains the ****, because I just copy and pasted the story from there.

I couldn't think of how to start the story, and I kept feeling like Snoopy perched high on his dog house. The grammatical errors are from my lack of education to be painfully honest. Some of the words had to be split, like "ass hole", to get past the content filter on the other forum. I should have copy and pasted from Word and not from the web, sorry again.

ChrisF, it looks like either you hang around Speedguide or maybe you searched the web for plagiarism. Like many other wanna be writers I don't want a reputation as a plagiarist. I really don't care much what people think about me, but I do not want to be thought of as a thief or a liar. You didn't accuse me of that in any way, I was just throwing that little fact out there, for the world to chew on a bit. I don't steal money and I don't want to steal words.

And for some content to my post, here's another story. Embellished some, but true.

Quote:

It's story time again. For one, I feel like writing and two, I spent some time on the phone with a good friend the other day. And even though I did most of the talking, I did listen.

You never forget the death of a young life, you just try and deal with it the best you can. All bullshit aside, this is real people and I lived through it.

A little foward that the dirty ol' south would love to forget about. Years ago there was Pontchartrain Beach, for the White people, then there was Lincoln Beach, for the Black people.

When I was younger Pontchartrain was still open, but Lincoln was in ruins. It was just like in the movies, old rides never to operate again, a large pool with black water and some crap floating in it a pig wouldn't touch. Broken glass every where, and every now and then the old whino roaming around.

We went in groups, well armed. The hood was far from the best, and you just did a lot better in a group. As a side note, don't pop off a round in an old cinder block bathroom. It doesn't ricochet once like it does in the movies. A bright flash, a thunderous boom, and the slap/crack of the bullet bouncing around maybe three or four times. God, how I ever made it this far, I'll never know.

So Halloween night rolls around, and that's where we are all going. Shaun and I get there first in my car. While waiting for the others we are drinking and fogging up the car with the rest of some killer weed. Nobody shows and we sure as hell ain't going ourselves, even though I have a gun. It may have been a throw down, but it was all I had.

So we head to "the point". A spot where you had a bunch of different hoods trying to party together, but it always ended in a fight, cops or both. Only one way in and one way out. If you were wise, you watched your back, even though everybody was laughing, drinking and having a good ol' time.

It was getting late, for me the party was over. Shaun didn't want to go, no matter how much I begged him to leave. He was pissing off a few people begging for weed and drunk as hell. It was time to go and he just would not go. Not a little guy, I'm a bit over six-two, and we stood eye to eye. He used to blow a mind gasket when we told him he looked like Kurt Cobain, played the hell out of the guitar too, which was rarely far from his side.

So I left leaving Shaun to find his own way home. Never again, have I EVER left a friend behind.

All Saints Day, and I'm hung over as usual after a hard night but I'm off to Shaun's house to start it all over again. He lived about two houses back, behind a Circle K and we used to park our cars there.

Man Shaun really screwed up this time, he got a ride home alright, in a cop car. Sitting on the hood of my car waiting for the cops to leave, I could hear what was happening in between the cars and trucks on the highway behind me. Like a baseball bat to the gut, he wasn't home he was dead. Beat to crap, thrown in the lake and drowned. People going in and out the store thought I was nuts, running around kicking my car, yelling and crying. How could I have left him behind? Why in the fuck did I EVER leave him behind? I mean Christ, come on, I just fucking knew better than that!! Why man, WHY?

His death was never solved, I was almost killed myself trying to find out what happened. That in itself is a long story.

I never want to hear a mother scream and cry for her dead son again!

Over time you learn to live with it but you'll never forget it. Hell, I bet it's been over 25 years ago now. You just never forget, but those that are still alive need you and need you there for them.

Foxee · 05-07-2007, 11:53 AM

Quote:

I couldn't think of how to start the story, and I kept feeling like Snoopy perched high on his dog house. The grammatical errors are from my lack of education to be painfully honest.

Nothing that can't be fixed pretty easily. There are a lot of grammar 'how to' guides in the world, classes you can take (some online for free) and people here on the forums are pretty good at helping, too.

ChrisF · 05-07-2007, 01:07 PM

Hi RoundEye,

I know that you made it clear that you didn't think I'd accused you of plagiarism, but I'm just wondering if that sentiment has made you misconstrue a couple of things that I said. I haven't pasted any of your material into google, and I'm not familiar with "speedguide".

My points re repetition of colloquialisms were just that: because it's an unexpected turn of phrase, it tends to stick in the reader's head a little bit more. This means that when you repeat them, they're rendered less effective, because the reader can remember them from before (and conseqently the second / third use etc sticks out).

Regarding plot, I just meant that the plot to date seemed a little bit unbelievable, and I probably wouldn't want to read a whole book centred around events like that. Having said that, it was enjoyable in an extract, and I think that's a testament to how interesting your writing is.

Hope that clears things up if I've been a bit obtuse,

Chris

RoundEye · 05-07-2007, 01:47 PM

Chris, the reason I thought you may have searched the web is this,

Quote:

It's a long one, and disbelief may be suspended while reading it. Then again it just may be true. It's only a synopsis of a really long story that I'm writing.

Is it fiction or nonfiction?

That’s what I “said” before I posted the story at the other forum. That and your low post count made me think you are a web gypsy like I am. Moving from place to place. I read more into it then there was, sorry.

I guess I’m looking for some type of validation of my writing, before I jump into a half-full pool head first. I’m the type of person who strives to be the best at whatever task I take on. I realize I may never be the best, but it won’t be for lack of trying my hardest.

When I got a job at a Honda motorcycle dealership I had no formal training being a mechanic. I studied the theory of motors, mechanics and speed. Reading, videos, the net whatever I could get my hands on. This led to recognition from Honda corporate for being one of the top 20 mechanics in the United States one year.

If I can apply that mentality to writing, then maybe one day I’ll become a productive citizen in life again.

Thank You for all your time and effort.

Tobey

ChrisF · 05-07-2007, 03:38 PM

That's ok... I wasn't offended... just wanted to clarify my post so that you didn't think I had an ulterior motive. The fact that you have a style which is different is a great thing, and if you build on it, I think you could become a marketable author. It is a VERY difficult industry to make money in though, and there are a lot of people out there (myself included) that think they have something that is strong enough to be published. This means that for an unpublished author competition is obviously very intense, and to make a living from it, you really do need to be exceptional.

RoundEye · 05-07-2007, 03:48 PM

Quote:

Originally Posted by ChrisF

.....you really do need to be exceptional......

.......... well I did ride the short bus to school.

fiona · 05-09-2007, 05:41 PM

I enjoyed it . Think i'd be exhausted after too much of the same.(problem i have myself) ( gotta let the reader breath now and again)
your intro was a great hook and your first line was another . I'd read more
All the best
Fiona
PS been to new orleans a couple of times. found it a great inspiration too

RoundEye · 05-09-2007, 08:58 PM

Quote:

Originally Posted by fiona

....been to new orleans a couple of times. found it a great inspiration too.....

What inspired you the most?