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  1. #1
    Cristina Frankel
    Guest

    New Story: Critique?

    LUPOPHOBIA
    *
    PROLOGUE:
    *
    *** It was a cold night, colder than it should have been during such a blazing, hot month of July. I was supposed to be fishing with my dad, but as he should've guessed before we fell into a frenzy of quarrels, I personally held no desire to do so. Yes, I knew that Dad had planned our "Father, Daughter Bonding Day" for good reasons and, yes, I loved him dearly. Unfortunately, I had no interest in purposely gouging a hook into a poor, defenseless fish. It made me feel guilty and, not to mention, a tad bit queasy as well.
    *** I was in my living room, a room so deceiving by its name, sitting as still as my restless body would allow. It was, without any doubt, a depressing sight. The tattered, opaque curtains that fell around the windows I had reluctantly cleaned, the wooden TV, which I was undeniably sure held no more than two channels, and the long, curving, leather couch that very poorly accompanied the small, wooden rocking chair where I sat, still as ever.
    *** I do not know the reason for what happened next. I have no understanding of what possessed me to get up from my chair, walk out that back screen door and into the dead glow of the full moon. All I knew was that I wanted to. I wanted to feel the cold beams of white light on my pale skin. And it was that want, that need, that lured me into a trap that would change my life forever.
    *
    CHAPTER 1: THE FOREST HAS EYES
    *
    *** I was in the depths of the forest by now, my mind still drowned with the resentful feelings that my Dad's guilt trips sent me on.
    "You never spend time with me anymore, Leila," he would say, his big, brown eyes filled with sorrow.
    *** My mind was having a hard time coming back to life once I had pictured his heartbreaking, wrinkled frown. It had been there so often since my mother, Veronica, died only a year ago from lung cancer, such a horrible attribute to cigarette smoking, and I couldn't help but sometimes feel responsible. I tried, though, I tried whatever I could to make those deep lines go away, but sadly, I was very bad at that one particular job.
    I couldn't say it was always my fault, because it truly wasn't. He was so engulfed in his own depressing thoughts of my mom that he had no time for anyone else. Yet, there was no way I could completely blame him for his constant neglect. Not too long ago I was the exact same way with him. How could people that barely have time for themselves*make room for others?
    *** She was a beautiful woman, Veronica, inside and out. It was difficult for the whole town to get over her death, let alone her dear, loving family. What really got to me though, what could always put me down no matter how happy I was, were the constant comments of my striking resemblance to her. It was true; I could not deny it. We both were blessed with stunning, light blue eyes and our figures, curving but slim, were identical. She, as well as I, had long, plangent brunette hair, which I loved. Even though, its thick, wolf-like texture often made it hard to do anything productive. Of course, that is, besides the classic ponytail and, possibly, a loose, messy bun.
    The only difference I had with my mother was my skin. My skin, unlike hers, which was strangely similar to gold, was white and doll like. I had received this one trait from my father, which I, in return, was eternally grateful for. My skin gave me my individual, my pure self image, and I wouldn't give that up for the world.
    *** It was odd, the forest, so deep and full of life. It made you think and even sometimes made you forget. Forget all your problems to remember when there were no material possessions; no wants or needs, no man at all. When there were merely the birds and the strange bugs fending for themselves. It was what fascinated me about the woods. It was the wild creatures that somehow always had enough knowledge to take care of themselves and, sometimes even care for others.
    The wild often reminded me of how odd human beings are. We have learned, as our brains developed, to care more for our wants, rather than other's needs. I, sadly, was undeniably guilty of this sin. Knowing that I had refused, so selfishly, to accompany my father fishing made me quiver with shame. I did it out of my want to avoid some stupid fish and forgot the fact, as many humans do, that other's needs are much more important than our wants. My father needed me and I had, without even a second thought, stripped him of his needs.
    A noise that came from within the brush snapped my brain back to reality. Carefully, I squinted my eyes against the dark mist, hesitant to find any movement, and slowly tip-toed in the direction of the allusive sound. At first, there was nothing. It was only the soft sway of the wind in the trees. Unfortunately, to my dismay, my eyes had become adjusted to the lack of sunlight and I could see. I could see the piercing white eyes that gave me a horrid chill that ran from the tips of my hair, all the way to the edge of my toes.



  2. #2
    Rogue Mutt
    Guest

    Re: New Story: Critique?

    No, you have to put an extra space between the paragraphs or else it runs together like this.

  3. #3
    Cristina Frankel
    Guest

    Re: New Story: Critique?

    Yes, that's why I said, "Oh, thanks".

  4. #4
    Rogue Mutt
    Guest

    Re: New Story: Critique?

    In the other thread. Doesn't do sh!t for this one.

  5. #5
    Cristina Frankel
    Guest

    Re: New Story: Critique?

    I accidentally posted this one. I would have edited it, but this forum unfortunately doesn't have that particular option.

  6. #6
    Cristina Frankel
    Guest

    Re: New Story: Critique?

    LUPOPHOBIA

    PROLOGUE:

    It was a cold night, colder than it should have been during such a blazing, hot month of July. I was supposed to be fishing with my dad, but as he should've guessed before we fell into a frenzy of quarrels, I personally held no desire to do so. Yes, I knew that Dad had planned our "Father, Daughter Bonding Day" for good reasons and, yes, I loved him dearly. Unfortunately, I had no interest in purposely gouging a hook into a poor, defenseless fish. It made me feel guilty and, not to mention, a tad bit queasy as well.

    I was in my living room, a room so deceiving by its name, sitting as still as my restless body would allow. It was, without any doubt, a depressing sight. The tattered, opaque curtains that fell around the windows I had reluctantly cleaned, the wooden TV, which I was undeniably sure held no more than two channels, and the long, curving, leather couch that very poorly accompanied the small, wooden rocking chair where I sat, still as ever.

    I do not know the reason for what happened next. I have no understanding of what possessed me to get up from my chair, walk out that back screen door and into the dead glow of the full moon. All I knew was that I wanted to. I wanted to feel the cold beams of white light on my pale skin. And it was that want, that need, that lured me into a trap that would change my life forever.

    CHAPTER 1: THE FOREST HAS EYES

    I was in the depths of the forest by now, my mind still drowned with the resentful feelings that my Dad's guilt trips sent me on.
    "You never spend time with me anymore, Leila," he would say, his big, brown eyes filled with sorrow.

    My mind was having a hard time coming back to life once I had pictured his heartbreaking, wrinkled frown. It had been there so often since my mother, Veronica, died only a year ago from lung cancer, such a horrible attribute to cigarette smoking, and I couldn't help but sometimes feel responsible. I tried, though, I tried whatever I could to make those deep lines go away, but sadly, I was very bad at that one particular job.

    I couldn't say it was always my fault, because it truly wasn't. He was so engulfed in his own depressing thoughts of my mom that he had no time for anyone else. Yet, there was no way I could completely blame him for his constant neglect. Not too long ago I was the exact same way with him. How could people that barely have time for themselves make room for others?

    She was a beautiful woman, Veronica, inside and out. It was difficult for the whole town to get over her death, let alone her dear, loving family. What really got to me though, what could always put me down no matter how happy I was, were the constant comments of my striking resemblance to her. It was true; I could not deny it. We both were blessed with stunning, light blue eyes and our figures, curving but slim, were identical. She, as well as I, had long, plangent brunette hair, which I loved. Even though, its thick, wolf-like texture often made it hard to do anything productive. Of course, that is, besides the classic ponytail and, possibly, a loose, messy bun.

    The only difference I had with my mother was my skin. My skin, unlike hers, which was strangely similar to gold, was white and doll like. I had received this one trait from my father, which I, in return, was eternally grateful for. My skin gave me my individual, my pure self image, and I wouldn't give that up for the world.

    It was odd, the forest, so deep and full of life. It made you think and even sometimes made you forget. Forget all your problems to remember when there were no material possessions; no wants or needs, no man at all. When there were merely the birds and the strange bugs fending for themselves. It was what fascinated me about the woods. It was the wild creatures that somehow always had enough knowledge to take care of themselves and, sometimes even care for others.

    The wild often reminded me of how odd human beings are. We have learned, as our brains developed, to care more for our wants, rather than other's needs. I, sadly, was undeniably guilty of this sin. Knowing that I had refused, so selfishly, to accompany my father fishing made me quiver with shame. I did it out of my want to avoid some stupid fish and forgot the fact, as many humans do, that other's needs are much more important than our wants. My father needed me and I had, without even a second thought, stripped him of his needs.

    A noise that came from within the brush snapped my brain back to reality. Carefully, I squinted my eyes against the dark mist, hesitant to find any movement, and slowly tip-toed in the direction of the allusive sound. At first, there was nothing. It was only the soft sway of the wind in the trees. Unfortunately, to my dismay, my eyes had become adjusted to the lack of sunlight and I could see. I could see the piercing white eyes that gave me a horrid chill that ran from the tips of my hair, all the way to the edge of my toes.


    ... There you go. All spaced out and ready to go.

  7. #7
    Keith .
    Guest

    Re: New Story: Critique?

    ... There you go. All spaced out and ready to go.

    You or the story?




    j/k

  8. #8
    Cristina Frankel
    Guest

    Re: New Story: Critique?

    Be as brutal as you want. I've been trying to get feed back from friends and family, but you know how it is. They never want to be truthful because, well, the truth hurts!

  9. #9
    Cristina Frankel
    Guest

    Re: New Story: Critique?

    Hah! Nice one. I was actually thinking that as well, Keith.

  10. #10
    cara k
    Guest

    Re: New Story: Critique?

    Cristina--

    I think you're trying too hard with the description. I want to get into the story, but your writing is filled with adjectives and phrases that clog it up.

    You've given a lot of background, a lot of telling. I'd suggest weaving some of the info into the body of the story, and starting with more action. I don't necessarily mean an action scene so much as something that throws the reader into the plot. Basically, I'd start a lot sooner with the branch snapping and the white eyes.

    Your grammar is pretty good. I only noticed a couple of issues with verb tense regarding Veronica, and some inappropriate commas.

    I really like your paragraphs on the forest, but I think you'll need to cut to the chase more.

    I hope this helps. Good luck.

    --Cara K

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