"Stacy"-Prologue - Writers Forum

Magnetic · 05-17-2008, 12:18 AM

This is the prologue for a novel I'm writing called "Stacy". I was going to write this for NaNoWriMo but decided that it was too long and should do it over the summer because I have school in November. The plot will be briefly described in the prologue but I don't want to go into detail. This is NOT a finished piece. It WILL undergo editing, and the addition of new details and such. Just critique the way I introduced the story, and take into account that this was written after a hard week of school at 10 'O clock. Here it goes(the big print is in case Olly Buckle happens to read this):

Prologue

My childhood was not one you usually hear about in stories. No, my parents were drunks, and partial drug users. My mom, after I was born, buckled under the pressure of a newborn that was always whining and resorted to drinking, pawning me off to my dad. Eventually, as could be predicted, he started drinking and gambling. This was the precursor to the horrible string of events I call my life, my reality.
It wasn’t all bad of course they fed me once in awhile. And sometimes I got to go to my aunt and uncles house, which I remembered to be a pleasant couple, no arguing or fighting of any sort. Their house was nice, or at least what I remember of it, it was a traditional sort of house, with white walls and a brownish carpet. The lawn was well kempt: straight hedges, trimmed grass, a sectioned of garden, and a house for the dog. The dog itself was not deserving of the house, all it was good for was bringing mud into the house, and along with any feces it managed to step in.
But that wasn’t enough to keep from damaging myself emotionally. Just enough to where I can still lead a normal life. My parents as drunk as they may have been, were very protective of me, that’s why people didn’t try to take me earlier. Afraid that in their drunken state would try to barricade themselves in the house, or try to kill me or something of that sort. So I had to live with them for another two years till I turned seven. That’s when my grandfather and grandmother decided they would smuggle me to their home in Cancun.
They came one day under the cover of rain and hail, the apartment freezing for lack of a heater. Since my parents happened to have been passed out then, they had the ability to sneak right in a take me. I have no recollection of what had happened after that. It was all a blur, static on video tape, torn out page of a book. But they came and that’s all that matters, and the fact I would get to spend 13 happy years with my grandparents in a lovely house on a beach in Mexico…

Magnetic · 05-17-2008, 12:25 AM

Ishould also say that the main character is a male.

astralis · 05-17-2008, 12:39 AM

It's hard to critique something that does not have much story. I think everything you've written here might be better served if it was layered as exposition in your story.

Why don't you start your story and let us critique that instead?

Magnetic · 05-17-2008, 12:50 AM

Yea that would be better wouldn't it. But unfortunetly if I stay up and do that right now, I'll have to roll the bags under my eyes up off the floor. But I'll write about 10 pages for you guys to critique tomorrow.

astralis · 05-17-2008, 12:56 AM

I understand that. I'll be happy to read your story if you post it.

Ungood · 05-17-2008, 11:17 AM

Quote:

Originally Posted by Magnetic

This is the prologue for a novel I'm writing called "Stacy". I was going to write this for NaNoWriMo but decided that it was too long and should do it over the summer because I have school in November. The plot will be briefly described in the prologue but I don't want to go into detail. This is NOT a finished piece. It WILL undergo editing, and the addition of new details and such. Just critique the way I introduced the story, and take into account that this was written after a hard week of school at 10 'O clock. Here it goes(the big print is in case Olly Buckle happens to read this):

Prologue

My childhood was not one you usually hear about in stories. No, my parents were drunks, and partial drug users. My mom, after I was born, buckled under the pressure of a newborn that was always whining and resorted to drinking, pawning me off to my dad. Eventually, as could be predicted, he started drinking and gambling. This was the precursor to the horrible string of events I call my life, my reality.
It wasn’t all bad of course they fed me once in awhile. And sometimes I got to go to my aunt and uncles house, which I remembered to be a pleasant couple, no arguing or fighting of any sort. Their house was nice, or at least what I remember of it, it was a traditional sort of house, with white walls and a brownish carpet. The lawn was well kempt: straight hedges, trimmed grass, a sectioned of garden, and a house for the dog. The dog itself was not deserving of the house, all it was good for was bringing mud into the house, and along with any feces it managed to step in.
But that wasn’t enough to keep from damaging myself emotionally. Just enough to where I can still lead a normal life. My parents as drunk as they may have been, were very protective of me, that’s why people didn’t try to take me earlier. Afraid that in their drunken state would try to barricade themselves in the house, or try to kill me or something of that sort. So I had to live with them for another two years till I turned seven. That’s when my grandfather and grandmother decided they would smuggle me to their home in Cancun.
They came one day under the cover of rain and hail, the apartment freezing for lack of a heater. Since my parents happened to have been passed out then, they had the ability to sneak right in a take me. I have no recollection of what had happened after that. It was all a blur, static on video tape, torn out page of a book. But they came and that’s all that matters, and the fact I would get to spend 13 happy years with my grandparents in a lovely house on a beach in Mexico…

Ummm ok, I know this is trying to build a "Look at my emotional condition" normally a build up to a guy talking in a jail cell to a reporter of some kind as he tries to explain why he killed those 13 people with a crowbar.

Most of it seems rather "Unrealistic" and that made it near impossible to enjoy it as the build up it was supposed to be.

The Dog part, where he is fussing about the mud is just hard to grip, and the parents being drunks but no mention of him getting his ass whipped seems awfully off as well.

Ungood.

Adamboy · 05-17-2008, 11:43 AM

Obviously, and i'm sure you know, theres the spelling and grammar mistakes. But thats no big deal. It just doesn't seem that interesting. Perhaps if you started with an exciting qoute from when the kid was being smuggled away it might be better, and then explain the life before hand.

I personally don't like first-peson all that much but it could work.