PDA

View Full Version : Those Who Follow Me



Crash_Tomas
January 16th, 2011, 06:09 AM
This is a story that doesn’t end well because there really isn’t an end to it. I’m not even sure there’s a true beginning; somewhere I can start that covers everything and encapsulates the situation, doing it true justice. Like most, it involves a girl. I guess that is all one needs to understand my plight.

My name is Else and she was in my head long before I met her. And she’ll be there until the day I die. Her name can be anything you like. Perhaps she’ll be the daughter of a beautiful Goddess in Greek myths or maybe just a piece of you that was taken away at birth. Whatever her name is, whatever you are, you’ll never be the same once you find her.

“Else?” she said. Her voice was soft and sweet. My name came off her lips.

“Yeah?” I replied, struggling to hold a secure tone. I wonder if she heard my heart.

“Do you really feel like your soul is old?”

“Where did you hear that?” I answered.

We were sitting outside at night. The stars overhead could hardly be seen in the city light, but I knew they were there.

“I know you,” she began, “There’s just something about the way you are. You’re… you’re different.”

“Different than what?”

“Everyone. I can’t help but think that you might be crazy.”

“All the right ones are.”

“Especially when you say things like that.” She laughed. “You confuse me.”

I waited a second or so before responding. “I don’t mean to.”

“I know.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. It’s wonderful.” She smiled, her brown eyes darker in the moonlight. Her hand moved to her face, about to brush some hair out of the way. I stopped her.

“No. It’s perfect that way.”

My mind wandered back to when I first met her. Probably two years before this. I’d never even asked her out on a date. I worked after school, at a restaurant near JFK Park. It was my first job when I was 17 and I had to have worked there for two years before she showed up. I don’t know exactly how I never saw her before. She lived in the same city as me and was the same age. I eventually found out we went to the same middle school. But, I don’t remember ever seeing her.

I was taking the trash out of the kitchen when she walked through the front door already dressed in her waitress uniform. The bag broke in my hand and started spilling out used cups and plates. I scrambled to get another bag and heard a peculiar sound. Laughter. Nothing big, but a small, soft giggle that I immediately knew belonged to her. I ended up getting another bag open and covered my mishap. Something made me think: I have to know her name.

Over the course of our two years working together, I found out a lot about her. But for that duration of our relationship, she had a boyfriend and I was wonderstruck by her.

“You’re just different than anybody I know,” she told me, bringing my thoughts back to the present time.

“I don’t feel like I’m different.”

“Well, you are.”

“I’m not so sure I should be.”

“I am.” She leaned back onto the grass and looked up at the sky. I was still sitting across from her. “Who is Else?” she asked, not looking at me.

“I am.”

“But who are you?” Her head tilted to see me.

“I am the one.”

She laughed.

“I’m serious,” I said.

“I know you are.” Her brown hair was usually tied back in a ponytail, but that night she wore it down. She was free that way, I guess.

“Melanie?” I asked.

“Else?” she teased.

“I like you,” I said, hoping that I wouldn’t puke up my entire dinner. My stomach was nervous and my heart beat heavily. I felt completely and utterly miserable, but I didn’t regret telling her.

“I like you too,” she replied.

I leaned back, on the side of her.

She grabbed my hand and we stayed watching the stars together.
_______

Not Done yet. But I figure I'd share. It's pretty self-explanatory. Let me know what you think. =)

caelum
January 16th, 2011, 06:22 AM
This was a pleasant read. The scene didn't jar me and wasn't a chore. A basic way you could add tension is to create a problem that gets dragged out and resolved at the end. Maybe you could play up the fact that he's been meaning to tell her he liked her for a while now, and the asking was a big relief.

Got a few nits and ideas for you,


My name is Else and she was in my head long before I met her. And she’ll be there until the day I die.I'd consider removing the "And" at the start of the second sentence.



But for that duration of our relationship, she had a boyfriend and I was wonderstruck by her. I'd consider saying "I was wonderstuck" at a different point. It doesn't seem to follow logically in this sentence.

Crash_Tomas
January 16th, 2011, 06:33 AM
Thanks. I'm planning to really put a lot into this. Don't want to write it blindly, so I'm taking it slow. This was a week ago burst of writing that I remembered I had.

So, yeah. Enough small excuses. I appreciate the ideas.

writerchk
January 16th, 2011, 05:49 PM
My name is Else and she (she who is she?) was in my head long before I met her. And she’ll be there until the day I die. Her name can be anything you like. Perhaps she’ll be the daughter of a beautiful Goddess in Greek myths or maybe just a piece of you that was taken away at birth. Whatever her name is, whatever you are, you’ll never be the same once you find (again who is her?)her.

“Else?” she said. Her voice was soft and sweet (what pitch was it is else lost in it). My name came off her lips how where her lips describe them).

“Yeah?” I replied, struggling to hold a secure tone (why was else struggling how did it feel). I wonder if she heard my heart.

“Do you really feel like your soul is old?” (What? I have no clue how this fits but I do get confused easily)

“Where did you hear that?” I answered.

We were sitting outside at night (what time where were you sitting?). The star overhead could hardly be seen in the city light, but I knew they were there.

“I know you,” she began, “There’s just something about the way you are. You’re… you’re different.” (no need to repeat the you're the .... are enough)

“Different than what?”

“Everyone. I can’t help but think that you might be crazy.(use a bigger word then crazy perhaps insane)”

“All the right ones are.”

“Especially when you say things like that.” She laughed. “You confuse me.” (how does else confuse her??)

I waited a second or so before responding. “I don’t mean to.”

“I know.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. It’s wonderful.” She smiled, her brown eyes darker in the moonlight. Her hand moved to her face, about to brush some hair ( what color was her hair? was it curly?) out of the way. I stopped her.

“No. It’s perfect that way.”

My mind wandered back to when I first met her. Probably two years before this. I’d never even asked her out on a date. I worked after school, at a restaurant ( what kind of restaurant?) near JFK Park. It was my first job when I was 17 and I had to have worked there for two years before she showed up (what?? 2 years does that mean u started working when you were 15??). I don’t know exactly how I never saw her before. She lived in the same city (what city does Else live in? What is it like their is it busy?) as me and was the same age (what age were you?). I eventually found out we went to the same middle school.(same middle school WHAT? first you were at least 15 when you met her you were in high school) But, I don’t remember ever seeing her.

I was taking the trash (what ammout of trash was it was it a lot did it have a odor?) out of the kitchen when she walked through the front door already dressed in her waitress uniform. The bag broke in my hand and started spilling out used cups and plates(how many used cups in plates a little or a lot help people paint a picture). I scrambled to get another bag and heard a peculiar sound. Laughter. Nothing big, but a small, soft giggle that I immediately knew belonged to her. I ended up getting another bag open and covered my mishap. Something made me think: I have to know her name. (this part could serve as the intro possibly)

Over the course of our two years working together, I found out a lot about her (what did you find out about her? what is she like). But for that duration of our relationship, she had a boyfriend and I was wonder struck by her.

“You’re just different than anybody I know (anybody is a singular so everybody or another plural would be better),” she told me, bringing my thoughts back to the present time.

“I don’t feel like I’m different.”

“Well, you are.”

“I’m not so sure I should be.”

“I am.” She leaned back onto the grass (how was the grass was it green?)and looked up at the sky (what did the sky look like?). I was still sitting across from her. “Who is Else?” she asked, not looking at me.

“I am.”

“But who are you?” Her head tilted to see me (how did she tilt her head did she tilt it slowly?).

“I am the one.”

She laughed (how did she laugh describe her laugh).

“I’m serious,” I said.

“I know you are.” Her brown hair was usually tied back in a ponytail, but that night she wore it down. She was free (how was she free?) that way, I guess.

“Melanie?” I asked.

“Else?” she teased.

“I like you,” I said, hoping that I wouldn’t puke up my entire dinner (what did you dinner consist of?). My stomach was nervous and my heart beat heavily. I felt completely and utterly miserable, but I didn’t regret telling her.

“I like you too,” she replied (how did she reply did she reply bluntly or sweetly) .

I leaned back, on the side of her (which side of her right or left).

She grabbed ( how did she grab your hand swiftly or with caution) my hand and we stayed watching the stars together.
_______

your story was well written just needs a little more describing words Happy Writing :)

DimWest
January 16th, 2011, 07:36 PM
I agree with writerchk, but you kept me interested I'd be happy to read more.

Bilston Blue
January 16th, 2011, 09:07 PM
Hi C_T, this was a nice read, easy on the eyes, and clearly moving forward. I suppose this is more of a critique of the critique provided by writerchk. More description is needed it says, though I disagree.

Some examples: Description of the grass? The colour? Give the reader some credit, let them figure out the colour of grass, and I'll assume it's dry as the characters are sitting / lying on it.

What did his dinner consist of? Unimportant. The hope of not puking his dinner up is made known to enlighten the reader as to his state of nervousness.

Does it matter what the trash consisted of, and how much of it there was? What did the sky look like? Which side of her did he sit? How did she tilt her head?

There are too many questions. Ask people who prefer reading novels over watching films why they do so, and many of them will say the film leaves them with no room to use their imagination, and the story on paper means just that, they can use their imagination. The reader must be allowed to see the things for him/herself. Too much description can spoil the flow of the story, and in this story there is a flow, especially in the short but sweet snatches of dialogue. The flow of the conversation should enable the reader to hear how the words sound, and I get that in this story. The use of strong verbs means description is unnecessary; for example, 'She grabbed my hand...' The use of the word grabbed suggests it wasn't cautious, or slow, or gentle. A grab is sudden and firm. A good verb dismisses the need for an explanation.

In simple terms I think less can be more. Read Hemingway, not for the stories, more for the style, and the succinctness.

On another note, I think to critique someones work in what seems such a brutal way (and I accept it is merely opinion based and not fact) and yet to litter your own writing with countless spelling, punctuation and grammar mistakes is a little hypocritical. No offence intended. We writers are sensitive creatures, maybe when pulling someone's work apart you might point out some strong points to the piece, as a counter-balance.

Nice piece Crash_Tomas

Scott

Crash_Tomas
January 17th, 2011, 05:59 AM
Hey. Thanks to all of you. And yeah, Scott. I agree with you personally. That's what I thought of upon reading her critique. But didn't know if I was just making excuses, haha. I tend to let fewer words say way more than they should. Like Hemingway. Especially for pieces that don't really have an antagonist. or at least this part doesn't.