the attic - Writers Forum

Amber Leaf · 12-19-2007, 05:46 PM

ignore the title really. im wondering if anyone could give me any advice about writing in this style and wether ive got it right or not. im writing a story about a girl slowly loosing it (well its a bit more than that but shes hearing voices). its from her point of view and the one thats on paper at the moment is more drawn out and has different characters voices in it.

A summer of resent - each sun filled day spent sat up in an attic - away from the racket of the gangs rollicking amongst the flats. Up in my deep starboard cabin I tried to ignore all around me. Rows over pins and witness to sins, to burning, to yearning for the roof to fly away and spiral into the clear sky. Couldn’t be sure that he wasn’t near to catch me so just make do and sit in the corner.

Near the stairs to warn her when footsteps were near.

Never a moment to reflect on the day. Through the square, angled hole to all possibilities often stood, looming over me, him. I often wondered did he want to win who I am. I could have the corner. All bunched up next to my bookcase. I’d be quite and he’d have a whole four rooms to himself (five if you included the kitchen) but he only wanted my corner.

I warned her that this would happen. She should have known what I was thinking if she loved me.

Warm summer nights mean glorious parties and my heart was racing to dance at a few. He knew the line would fuck me but never the less it did and wasn’t the least impressed. Now if I’d been blessed with a calm nature I wouldn’t have hissed with hate when he stole. I wouldn’t have even thought it was him unless he got defensive.

On the whole he’s a good guy.

Every night I would cry when I got home from work. Never a cheerful hello; just woe and betide and a fight over a bit of powder left from the weekend; or with a housemate, a friend. It never ended the amount of people who couldn’t be trusted. I lusted over freedom.

She deserves to be treat like this. She did this to him too. He’s an idiot for still being close to her. He did this to her. Its not like he doesn’t deserve it.

Eventually there was no-one but me and him. The cabin turned to the storeroom and the fever grew. He knew what to do and I cracked up. He never shut up. Coming back over and over until it ended again and again.

But nobody ever wanted him.

Malone · 12-19-2007, 11:21 PM

Alright...too choppy and vague even for me. I'm guessing they're some kind of drug addicts? I got the cocaine stuff, and the stealing, and formed the opinion they're always strung out? I liked the man's doom to keep returning. I think the MC occasionally addresses herself as a third person?
This just doesn't read well. I hate to say it, but you need more words.

Amber Leaf · 12-20-2007, 01:41 PM

thats ok. it was a bit rushed. its just to see if im capable of getting the voice in. i dont relly want to use something obvious like italics and am stuck for some way to introduce it. this is a more in depth start that i wrote a while ago. i did post it in the main section at the time but got no response and carried on writing regardless. im up to chapter 11 and have also wrote the odd later one based on having the right mood at the right time. ive wrote on paper a kind of web where the characters mingle in realtion to each other and it centres round the plot (the paths of the web). anyway id just like a bit of crit because im not sure if im just wasting my time or not.

When Eddy woke up - his neck cramped from the uncomfortable navy-blue cushion provided by the airline. He could almost feel the heat of the desert. The air-conditioning in the plane was stifling and made him sweat. It was certain. Every day he would take the medicine needed to reach the vacuous state that was necessary to sleep. A seven hour journey required just one Mixpiox tablet to ensure a definite two hours.

The transition into consciousness made Eddy rapidly sit up with a start; causing him to bang his head on the seat in front. It hurt.

His vision turned to a grey blur and a black and white rainbow either side slowly melted away to reveal the clarity of the figure beside him. It wasn’t her; wasn’t Stella beside him but now he saw her – crystal clear. It was Siobian. Her naturally red hair, youth-full face and large hazel eyes looked at him mournfully. Why was she looking so upset?WHERE ARE YOU?Jolting up out of his seat he reached out with his right hand to touch her enamel skin. As his hand drew towards her face he saw it pass through as though the woman sat beside him was not real but just a ghostly vaporization of a person. The expression on her face then changed to one of confusion.“You’re not meant to be here yet?” She said.“Where am I?” He asked. The last thing he remembered was being sat on a plane. But to where? With whom? Pain arose in the frontal lobe of his brain as he tried to make sense of the situation.“I’ll always love you, you know.” The phantom declared her eyes full of compassion for his torment.“Who are you?” He knew her name and deep inside him he felt warmth towards her.“You’ve arrived too soon.”“Arrived where? I was on a flight. I’m going… I mean ….What’s going on?”Siobian brought her face towards his as though she was going to kiss him on the lips, paused and said; “Will I always be the girl of your dreams?”EDDY, SNAP OUT OF IT!“Of my dreams?” Eddy, utterly bamboozled by the question wondered if she were right. This must be a dream after all. Of course, with the Mixpiox tablets he took then there was no chance that he could be dreaming. Maybe he was dying? If this was death then….Why did he know her name?The auburn haired beauty beside him drew back realizing that he had not managed to figure out her identity. He was almost certain that she was with-holding a tear in her eye.“I’ll always be here waiting for you.” She said and then her form changed to that of particles and then into the form of Stella and he remembered the flight to Canada, the Hineti machine and a world full of reasons for the encounter that had just occurred. All he had to do was just get to see the machine and then maybe his questions would be answered.

shraga · 12-20-2007, 02:14 PM

Too be honest it sounds like it would be better as a poem rather than a prose. Its a bit more abstract than a regukar story

Amber Leaf · 12-20-2007, 02:21 PM

i wish i could seperate the two.

lion's pride · 12-21-2007, 06:05 PM

That first part reminded me of the feeling i used to get when i was in high school and I used to spend the summer nights getting high on my barn roof and watching the stars. I guess that makes me crazy, but I already knew i was anyway. I thought it was a little choppy, but decent. Writing in that particular style is never an exact science.

Amber Leaf · 12-21-2007, 07:44 PM

i think i need an artist because the storey would be so much easier to manipulate if i could get some visuals in there too.

its actually harder to get an artist to draw what you want them to bring your storey to life than writing the storey in the first place.