40 Ounces of Olde English "800" - Writers Forum

Diverse · 06-10-2007, 07:35 PM

It's late, and the house is empty. I hear your footsteps as you stagger down the hall. I turn my music down, knowing you are about to scream. I hear you twist the doorknob, straining against the lock, banging on the door. I don't answer. I just turn my music down. You bang again, and yell for me to open the door. I sigh, pushing myself out of my chair, moving towards the door. Opening the door I witness you standing there, a bottle of malt liquor in your hand.

Unbalanced you hold onto the doorway as I imagine you letting go, being out of my life forever. You take one last guzzle before you talk, me pretending to give a crap. I don't hear a word being said, because it is hard to concentrate when a grown man is spraying me with his breath. I nod, raising an eyebrow at you as you take another sip. You ask me what I am listening to, what's that bullshit blasting on the stereo. I roll my eyes, telling you the song for the hundredth time in my life. You simply raise an eyebrow, asking me who sings it. I tell you, once again, who it was by, who all the songs I listen to are by. You look at me confused, swaying in the hall. You take another sip, I sniff the air. You ask me is there a problem. I tell you the kitchen is on fire.

You fall for it every time.

I expect you to return, and that you do. You have a fresh bottle of malt liquor in your hand, the top already off. I stare at you with disgust as you take a long guzzle, and you smile at me. Your speech is slurred; and I take another deep sigh, getting comfortable. I prepare to hear the hour long speech you give me every single night. I mock you as I turn my back, nodding as if I understand. I sit with much irk, you continuing to ramble on with your 'One day' speech. I laugh at all the parts you laugh about, as if I really care. I counter-talk, wasting my time, but you realize nothing, and I ask you questions just to get you out of my room faster. I deal with this every night. I miss the old you, but I am afraid to tell you. I see you as a dependent stranger in this house, the same stranger who ran Ma away. But I won't let you run me away.

I hide your liquor; you fuss at me, telling me to give it back. You threaten to beat me, I threaten to beat you back. You ramble on, slamming your door. I throw the bottle away, and you slap me across the face. I give you a glare, as you turn back, continuing on to your resting place.

The morning has come, you don't even remember the night before. I smile, saying 'Hi dad'. This is my regular routine. You smile back, rubbing your head. You wince at the pain, telling me you hate to drink. But I can't tell. I nod, saying I understand.

I hear your footsteps, I turn the music down. I sit through your speech, and you ramble until you walk out of my room. I hide your liquor, you slap me in the face. You smile, saying good-morning. I smile back, wishing death upon you.

-------------
A few notes:

I honestly found it almost impossible to strain my brain to place something as a monologue... It does switch from night to day soon, but that's just the way I am I guess. I thought about getting into his dream he had, but I have to take time to put that together. But other than that, I think you guys made this story even better =]

Voodoo · 06-23-2007, 10:53 AM

Quote:

Originally Posted by Diverse

It's late. The house is empty. Its late, and the house is empty.But Rid the but, start with "then"then I hear your footsteps,no comma as you stagger down the hall. I turn my music down, knowing that is whatget rid of "that is what" you are about to scream. I hear you turn the locked doorknob, I hear you twist the doorknnob, straining against the lock, banging on the doorbanging on the door. I don't answer. I just turn my music down. I ignore the din, that jazzy raucous, opting to turn my music "?down?"You bang again, and yell for me to open the door. I sigh, pushing myself out of my chair, opening the door. She can't raise from the chair whilst opening the doorYou stand there, a bottle of malt liquor in your hand. You know hot to get to my heart, Diverse.

Unbalanced; you hold onto the doorway for dear life. dear life is too much, get rid of the semicolon after unbalancedI imagine you letting go, being out of my life forever. Yourno r in you take one last guzzle before you talk, me pretending to give a craprewrite that. an exampl: He swigs a final time, preparing to speak, or mutter, whichever the drunkard's vernacular. I don't hear a word being said, because it is hard to concentrate when a grown man is spraying me with his liquorish brings to mind the pleasant scent licorice, don't use that word breath. I nod, and you take another sipperhaps you've an eyebrow raised?. You ask me what I am listening to, what's that 'bull' its okay to say shit. Look, I'l say it. Bullshit. Its liberatingblasting on the stereo. I roll my eyes, telling you the song for the one-hundredth you can say hundredth time in my life. You simply raise an eyebrow, asking me who sings it. I tell you, once again, for the millionth time hundredth and millionth? no, no who it was by. Who all the songs I listen to is by connect the choppy sentences together, love. You look confusingly"You look at me, confused" at me, swaying in the hall. You take another sip, I sniff the air. You ask me is there a problem. I tell you the kitchen is on fire.
You fall for it every time.

I expect you to return, and that you do. You have a fresh bottle of malt liquor in your hand, theeither rid it of the, or add an is top already off. You take a long guzzle, and you smile at me. Your speech is slurred, no and, use semicolonand I take another deep sigh, getting comfortable. I prepare to hear youruse "the", it fits with with "you" hour long speech you give me every single night. I mock you as I turn my backrid it of "on you" on you, nodding as if I understand. I sit in irkmakes little sense, love., andyou continuingcontinue to ramble on with your 'One day' speech. I laugh at all the parts you laugh about, as if I really care. I counter-talkI provide counterplay to your words, interest feigned, wasting my time, but you realize nothing, drunk that you are your phrases, and I ask you questions just to get you out of my room faster. I deal with this every night. I miss the old you, but I am afraid to tell you. I miss the old you, the good you, not this advent of horros, this dependent stranger in my house,You ran Ma away, andbut I won't let you run me away. I hide your liquor,; you fuss at me, telling me to give it back. You threaten to beat me, I threaten to beat you back. Thats a laughYou ramble on, slamming your door. I throw the bottle away, andyou slap me across the face. I give you a glare, and you turn yourback to your resting place.

Too fast, from night to morning. Add some more internal monologue

The morning has come, you don't even remember the night before. I smile, saying 'Hi dad'. This is my regular routine. You smile back, rubbing your head. You wince at the pain, telling me you hate to drink. But I can't tell. I nod, saying I understand.

I hear your footsteps, I turn the music down. I sit through your speech, and you ramble until you walk out of my room. I hide your liquor, you slap me in the face. You smile, saying good-morning. I smile back, wishing death upon you.That one did make me laugh.

Azmakna · 06-23-2007, 11:19 AM

i've been keeping my eye on your work and i have to say that this is a far more honest piece than the others. it's more natural and more powerful because of that. i would advise you to pursue this voice

do not change to this:

Quote:

He swigs a final time, preparing to speak, or mutter, whichever the drunkard's vernacular

with respect to German, this would destroy the voice, and that is a terrible sentence in any style

Quote:

You take one last guzzle before you talk, me pretending to give a crap

a lot better!

Voodoo · 06-23-2007, 11:21 AM

A compliment, from him.

I still love, "...wishing death upon you."

You just REALLY have to work on your grammar. When you're writing, you'd best fix the grammar while you're doing it, so the sentense will be more intuitive the first go around.

Azmakna · 06-23-2007, 11:29 AM

ye i agree with German on this one. get that grammar sorted out. keep that voice (AT ALL COST) and you will be getting far more favourable responses in the future. this aint bad at all.

Voodoo · 06-23-2007, 11:38 AM

with respect where its due, 'me pretending to give a crap' burdens the voice.

But he's still bang on.

Azmakna · 06-23-2007, 11:40 AM

she...

Quote:

me pretending to give a crap.

could you explain to me how this burdens the voice?

Voodoo · 06-23-2007, 11:42 AM

Its bad form, even for simple monologue.

Azmakna · 06-23-2007, 11:45 AM

why is it bad form?

Voodoo · 06-23-2007, 11:49 AM

Because me pretending to give a crap is bad form, Azmakna. It doesn't fit in with the story, though its simple like it.

But its only one line, let us not create discord again over such a trifle.

That was my attempt at form.

Diverse · 06-23-2007, 11:53 AM

Ah... nothing like my best buds having it out...

*Ahem*

I know grammar is a problem, but I never word processed much of my work, I just copy and paste from my blogs (and they don't word check)...

Voodoo · 06-23-2007, 11:55 AM

You're on again.

At least your work is getting some crit. I've little else to do but bitch with people on the debates right now.

Diverse · 06-23-2007, 11:58 AM

Miss me?

I haven't heard from Az in awhile, it's depressing!!!

Voice is a must, I understand.

Voodoo · 06-23-2007, 12:00 PM

You make me happy, Diverse.

Az will come back. They always do.

Azmakna · 06-23-2007, 12:08 PM

Quote:

Originally Posted by German Voodoo

You make me happy, Diverse.

Az will come back. They always do.

i work with words fella, don't forget that...