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First chapter of my story...what do u think? (1 Viewer)



Chapter 1
Once upon a time, in a land across the seas, there lived a society. This society was nestled deep in the forest, away from all other forms of civilization and corruption. It’s people were of a peaceful nature, relying on love and music to pull them through times of difficulty. Their children were raised by the whole community, who taught them good manners and a hard work ethic. Women and men were equal in status and worth, and the elders were the leaders, mentors, and most repected in the tribe.

Well, time passed, as time always does, and the children’s children of that old society had grown up and had children of their own. This generation was a truculent one. They questioned the traditions that had been set in place so many years ago, and desired to explore and discover new ways of life. They were the first generation to hunt animals larger than rabbits, and were the founders of a makeshift heirarchy, run by the principles of natural selection.

As the years went on, the stable descennt of ethics and morals continued mercilessly, slowly corroding at every living soul. Buildings were erected, and with them a sense of status. Those who were considered more respectable lived in large buildings, while those less respectable were confined to much smaller spaces. Simultaniously, jeolusy made itself manifest in this formally selfless society. The word “war” was used for the first time to describe the bloody dissention between enemies that had infultrated the land. Diplomats were invented with the resurection of ideals, only to become as corrupt as the issues they faught against. This beautiful spiral danced determinadly downward, exceeding everyone’s expectations of “the worse that could happen,” until almost nothing could phase the callused and jaded people.

Nature was sectioned off into sanctuaries between highways and franchise stores; they suffocated from the pollution. Volunteers established a nonprofit organization to get drugs off the street; it was burned down. Parents tried desperately to enstill the morals within their children that even they couldn’t comprehend; all attempts failed.
This society which began in an oasis of beauty and love had recreated itself into a clogged hell of materialism and instant gratification. The people habitating the area had made this transformation, day by day, choice by choice, chemical by chemical. The conscience became a figment of imagination; just another character in a fairy tale. The people had gotten so far away from their roots that the very story of their conception was revered as metaphorical fiction, rather than as a recount of thier history.

Sound familiar? This society split itself into various factions, the most powerful and ruthless of which came to be known as The United States of America. It’s people were distinctive; distinctively troubled, that is. The atmosphere seemed to be not unlike that of impending doom.

Change scenes- Modern day America: At birth, I was given to an adoption center by the name of FANA in Bogota, Colombia. My mommy was either unaware or disapproving of birth control, and so concieved me, a fifth child, which she and her live-in boyfriend of twelve years could not care for. This event would later cause deep-seated senses of abandomnent and rejection which would take years of intensive therapy to heal, but that all happens later. At three months old I was put on a plane and flown to the good ‘ol USA to live the next seventeen years of my life with my adoptive family.

This family so far consisted of a husband and wife who could not birth a child of thier own. You see, my adoptive father contracted measles as a child, and ever since his salmon just didn’t swim upstream, if you catch my drift. He and my mother tried everything, from fertility doctors to invetro procedures, but nothing worked. After much heartache and sadness, my parents decided to adopt a child. This decision lead to a chain of events too perfect to be considered coincidence; the chain of events was my life, and it’s perfection until this point is in it’s many flaws. After all, perfection is a pleasing conglomeration of attributes which came about in as happenstance a way as the flaws did; therefor, the difference between perfection and imperfection is a blurred and highly subjective one. This bit of philiosophy is one I must implement to make any comment about the perfection of my life seem even remotely plauseable. I do believe that I have walked the path less traveled by, and it has truely made all the difference.

chap 2 Misconceptions
The poem, The Road Less Traveled, is often misunderstood, or at least that is my opinion. At no point in the poem does Mr. Frost mention that the difference was good or bad. He did not make judgements about the road, nor did he speak ill of the road more traveled by. He simply made the observation that taking an alternative path inevitable leads you to an alternative destination. The common misconception is that this destination was, in his case, one of important or signifacant value. It could have been; I do not presume to know exactly what Mr. Frost was thinking when he wrote it. All I can say for sure is that I know words, and the words in that poem are too carefully picked to have any trite or simplistic meaning. When contemplating that poem, I seem to always go back in my memory to a specific time at a local restaurant. All of my dinner partners had ordered the hamburger. I chose, instead, to order the chicken fingers. That is a quintessential example of taking the road less traveled by. Did it make all the difference? As it turns out, the hamburger meat was severely unhealthy to eat, and my friends all had food poisoning for two weeks straight.

Well, actually, that’s a lie. Everyone left that restaurant completely poison-free. But what if they hadn’t? What could have happened as a result of that single, mundane decision not to follow the masses? It is a question I find myself asking every day.

This line of thought finds me wondering also about “better” and “worse” of the two paths. Frost did very little to help me discern which is the better choice, the beaten path, or the road less traveled. I can only assume that he’s making a statement about our society’s frivolous use of the two judgements. Who am I to say what is “good”? I’ll be the first to admit that I haven’t the foggiest, and I’d venture to say that neither do you. I have no problem stating that I happen not to be standing at the pearly gates, passing final judgement on each soul which seeks entrance into the eternal kingdom; chances are, that isn’t in your job description either. Therefor, I can pretty safely say that neither of us is in any position to give the final word on what is right and wrong, better and worse, virtuous and sinful. I have spent the better part of my life trying out the different paths, gauging them on the better-or-worse scale; so far, I have yet to pinpoint any significant difference. Like people, each way of life has its positives and negatives, ups and downs, like a stamp of authenticity.

The misconception of life is that it has to have meaning. This is not to say that life has no meaning, it’s just that... Life is closer to an avant- garde piece than it is a pointalism. The idea is that you take whatever is there for you- that’s why it exists. To challenge preconceived notions, to question that which we take for granted, and most importantly, to stimulate the friction which will spark the human mind, allowing us to blow an ember into flame, which then warms the nourishment for our soul. Or at least that’s what I like to think.

We as human beings are known for our prejudice. No other species can hate without pretense the way we do. Over the years, we have created so many stereotypes, catagories for people to fit into. This catagory hates that catagory, with neither party really stopping to wonder why. It’s a double-edged sword, the gift of cognitive thought. Misconception stems from prejudice, and prejudice from ignorance. This ignorance is truely blissful; I wish every day I had remained in my sunny bubble of ignorant and naiive innocence. Without knowledge there can be no fear (we only fear what we are ignorant to), and that sounds pretty damn good to me. Without fear there are no limits, and without limits, there is no end to a person’s potential. Having burned the bridge to this bliss the second I crossed it, I have found there is only one alternative route back to paradise: the trick is to know without judgement, to love without fear, to dream without limit. If one can simply act as if things are exactly the way they are supposed to be, that ecstacy of complete freedom from fear can be revisited.

It’s my goal to tell this humble story without judgement or agenda. Maybe then I can finally make sense of the circuitous route that has gotten me to where I am, and possibly even find out exactly where that is. Take these thoughts (and this book) for whatever it is worth to you. Being both ADD and very impatient, I doubt my ability to translate already indescribable thoughts and feelings in a fashion that will flow comprehensively. Maybe if I write a whole book, I’ll be able to coax out a precious few sentences that contain some degree of wisdom and insight. Maybe.
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Senior Member
i'd be interested in reading this, if you'd put in line breaks where indents are needed... it's too hard to manage all in one block like that... hugs, maia


Senior Member

first problem i see with this first of all, is that it's rife with typos, misspellings, inapt word choices, grammatical goofs, and other stuff that should have been found and corrected with a good, careful proofread and edit...

second one is that it jumps around all over the place, from a pretty cliche history of mankind/america to personal bio bits, to anecdotal happenings and philosophical musings, and not till we get to the final sentences, do we get the idea that it seems to be meant more as some sort of introduction or preface, than a first 'chapter'...

finally, using ADD as an excuse for writing that may not be very readable, is not going to give most readers any reason to continue reading... if i were you, i'd delete that entire last paragraph and work on correcting all the flaws, whether the result of your 'condition' or not... if you can't, you'll have to find someone to do it for you, to have any chance of hooking an agent or a publisher...

if you'd like a detailed rundown of all that needs fixing here, i'll be glad to do it, but it's too much to tackle in a post, so just send it to me in an email, if you want me to do that...

love and hugs, maia
[email protected]


Stay Encouraged

Your story is interesting but it's kind of hard to understand what it is you're REALLY trying to say. There are MANY typos and grammatically incorrect sentences.

I liked your analogy of the Robert Frost poem (which is one of my absolutel favorites) but I think you need to explain in more detail how that poem relates to your life with SPECIFIC examples.

Did you start writing from a journal or just pick up a pen and started writing chapters?

I had an old journalism professor tell me once that we write like we speak. Try that and see where it leads.