Critique my writing, please

[Femme Folle]

Critique my writing, please

That would suck. Maybe I should remove that post.

[Lucia Lanigan]

Critique my writing, please

Today's storytelling tips (from Pixar).

[Femme Folle]

Critique my writing, please

Thanks for that link, LL. I've bookmarked it for reference.

I want you all to know that I am taking every word of advice on this thread to heart--you are not posting in vain.

The fifth assignment has now been posted on the class, but the instructor has not even made her comments on the fourth one.

The third assignment was meant to help us find our voice. I'm not sure if it did that for me; based on earlier comments, I think you'll find that it's me, but kind of a milquetoast version of me. But, I'll let you judge for yourselves.

[Femme Folle]

Critique my writing, please

Assignment Three: Individuality

Make a list of five things you hate. These can be grand things, such as world leaders who lie, or these can be relatively minor things, such as carpet. Try to include one or two “hates” that no one else is likely to think of. Feel free to be petty or politically incorrect.

Pick the “hate” on your list that you find most interesting. The most eccentric choice might be best.

Then write a short piece presenting your “hate”—what it is, why you hate it. Write this very much as you would talk to someone you know. If you end up with some “telling,” that’s okay for this kind of thing. And if you find yourself launching into a rant, that’s fine, too.

But try not to go over 500 words.

(If you would rather not write about a hate, write about something you love. Just change “hate” to “love” throughout the assignment.)

What I wrote:

I hate cockroaches. They're dirty. They're disgusting. They spread disease. They contaminate everything they touch. And they're just plain creepy.

I grew up in South Louisiana, where they were a constant nuisance. A house could be so clean that you could eat off the floor and still have cockroaches scurrying this way and that, up the walls and into your ear as you slept. I always preferred to sleep in complete darkness, because if they woke me up in the night with their spiky legs scratching on the curtains, I didn't want to see them. There was no way to keep them out; they were an interminable fact of life.

I didn't grow up with the tiny little roaches that infest a place because of unsanitary conditions, although, in some ways, those are a lot worse--definitely harder to get rid of once they have taken over a place. The cockroaches that tormented me were monsters--Periplaneta Americana--the largest flying species in North America. They did not sneak in through cracks in the walls or around pipes--oh, no--these brazen creatures used the front door. You could empty an entire can of Raid on them, step on them until their guts were smeared all over the bottom of your shoe (if you could bear the crunching noise) and in the length of time it took you to go and get a broom, they would be gone. That's pure unmitigated evil--nothing else would explain it.

One particularly traumatic event happened when I was about twelve. On a typical night before bed, I was sitting cross-legged in my nightgown on a chair at the kitchen table, enjoying milk and cookies with my sisters. Suddenly I was aware of something scratchy in the triangle between my legs. When I looked down, there it was. No-one in the history of mankind has dismounted from a cross-legged position on a chair to a jumping, screaming, jig-dancing position on the floor as fast as I did that night.

Adding insult to injury, all of my screaming, stomping and flailing of arms had absolutely no effect whatsoever on the cockroach, which had simply fallen to the floor. My mom, hearing the commotion, came into the kitchen and managed to step on it before it could run away.

"Oh for heaven's sake, Marian," she said as she crushed it beneath her shoe. I still don't understand how she could have been so nonchalant.

Years later, I decided that the only way I would ever live in peace was to move away--far up north, where the cold winters would provide some measure of natural protection. I lived a happy life in the North, free of cockroaches for over a decade (if you don't count the recurring nightmare). Then one summer day in Battery Park, out of the corner of my eye, I saw something move. And there it was--the familiar brown heat-seeking missile of terror--flying straight for my head.

The jig was up; they'd finally found me.

[Femme Folle]

Critique my writing, please

I think I was with ad hoc, noj and Mrs. noj that day in Battery Park.

[tee rex]

Critique my writing, please

I don't have any profoud lit crit on this one, but if you wanted me to cross my legs, wince, retch and shudder, you certainly succeeded.

[Femme Folle]

Critique my writing, please

It was one of the worst moments of my life.

[tee rex]

Critique my writing, please

One in the toilet bowl is the worst I've had. One in the triangle doesn't bear thinking about.

[Femme Folle]

Critique my writing, please

Here's another week's assignment from the course:

Fiction

Begin writing a short story that opens with this line:

Chris began to question the wisdom of this trip.

Conceive this as a short story that focuses on Chris taking a single journey on a single day. Chris can be either male or female, and you are free to base Chris on yourself, but you don’t have to. You may choose to plan the story out a bit before you start writing, but it’s also fine if you want to just start with that opening line and see where things go. The story will be written in the third person point of view.

Show me the start of your story, just the first 500 words or so. Don’t put any pressure on yourself. This is nothing more than a first draft of a rough idea. It may lead to something you wish to pursue further, or it may not. Either way is fine.

What I wrote:

Chris began to question the wisdom of this trip. Three months ago, it seemed like the right thing to do, but after the conversation yesterday with his sister Lia, he was not so sure.

He stared out of the train's window as it whizzed through the Pennsylvania countryside. Why had he been so certain that he would be welcomed with open arms by the same people who had so viciously banished him from their lives over a decade ago? Why did he care so much what they think of him now, after spending so many years trying to erase them from his mind?

That day was burned into his mind as indelibly as a brand on a cow's hide. What made him think, back then, that his news would be received with anything less than disgust and contempt? On a weekend visit from college, he had bounded joyfully into the living room and happily exclaimed, "I've met someone!"

"Oh, that's wonderful, son!" his mother had replied as she clasped her hands under her chin, big smile on her usually frowning face. "Come sit and tell us all about it."

Why couldn't the conversation have just ended there? Why couldn't his parents have miraculously morphed into the compassionate, open-minded people he had always wanted them to be?

"Well, we met in a class. Our eyes met across the room...it was literally love at first sight. I know how corny that sounds, but it's true--it really happened that way!" He had never in his life seen his parents smile like they did in that moment.

"What's her name? Where is she from?"

The inevitable questions he was hoping to avoid, or at least defer until later in the conversation--after he had had a chance to explain how wonderful it was to finally be in love and be loved in return--came sooner than hoped. What did it matter what someone's name was or where they lived? The only thing that should have truly mattered was that the relationship was making their son feel happy and fulfilled in a way that he had not felt in his entire twenty-seven years on this earth. Did they even care about that?

He took a deep breath before he spoke. "His name is Simon and he is from Buffalo. Well, Syracuse, actually, but his family moved to Buffalo when he was ten."

He knew without looking that the smiles were gone. "His dad is a minister and his mom, she is a teacher...," he continued, hoping to sway them by letting them know that Simon was not some sort of deviant--that he was from what they would consider a normal, upstanding family. As if that knowledge would somehow make them forget the one word upon which their minds were fixated.

The instructor liked it, and even asked me to post it for all the others to read, but she didn't really offer any constructive criticism. I think that's okay though. There are only a couple more weeks left on the course, but I've learned more from OTF and from that Pixar list than I have from her.

I used to think that coming up with a great idea was the hard part; it is not--I'm struggling with finding my own voice. I'll be working on that first.

[kugelrund]

Critique my writing, please

You have a PM, FF - or you will have, as soon as I've written it.

Also, I've recently discovered Scrivener, which is a fantastic tool for anyone who writes - or at least, it suits my way of working. (Chaotic meets anal retentive, versions all over the place, horrendous mish-mash of part-written notes...)

It would take too long to explain why I love it here, but there's a 30 day (non-consecutive) trial. And it's only $40 anyway. I bought it after about ten days' worth of trying it out.

[Femme Folle]

Critique my writing, please

Thanks! I will take a look at Scrivener--from the way you've described it, it might suit my way of working as well. That class certainly did not, and it was a lot more expensive than $40.

[Pietro Paolo Virdis]

Critique my writing, please

I'm sure at least a dozen people have already suggested this, but get a hold of Stephen King's On writing
It's so well written on a topic which is probably difficult to write about without becoming a bit tedious.

[Femme Folle]

Critique my writing, please

Thanks, and yes, I have read that, and I enjoyed reading it. Maybe I should read it again.

[Edie St Pierre]

Critique my writing, please

Good luck with all this, FF. Hope it's still going well.

[Femme Folle]

Critique my writing, please

Thanks, Mat.

I downloaded Scrivener and I think it's a wonderful tool However, I'm still having trouble when it comes to making myself devote time to writing. I discussed this with my shrink on Wednesday, because I can be very focused and disciplined when it comes to getting projects done for work, but when it comes to writing, I procrastinate. The conclusion I came to is that it's all about not having a concrete deadline. Deadlines drive me at work, and I excel under that kind of pressure.

I've tried setting deadlines for myself (not only with writing, but other things, like losing weight), but they don't work because there are no real consequences of missing the deadline. If someone told me that I would absolutely drop dead in 2 weeks if I didn't lose 20 pounds, I'm pretty sure I could do it. I have that kind of determination when I need to--but when if life or job isn't hanging in the balance, I have the resolve of a garden slug.

Then again, maybe garden slugs have more resolve than I do.

[Edie St Pierre]

Critique my writing, please

Writing fiction even if it's semi-autobiographical is really, really, really hard though isn't it? I can write little sketches, but trying to turn them into something with a narrative that feels natural is murderously difficult.

[Edie St Pierre]

Critique my writing, please

I'd like to be more disciplined about it too, basically. I think only writing at certain times of the day, and making sure you always write at that time is the bit of advice that's always rang truest to me.

[Femme Folle]

Critique my writing, please

It is hard! I can have an entire story play out in my head, like a movie, but when I sit down to put it into words, it's daunting--sometimes overwhelming. And that's when my brain says, "Oh, look, the kitchen needs cleaning! Let's go think about writing while washing up."

[Femme Folle]

Critique my writing, please

I'm too impatient. I want to be able to sit down at the computer and get it all done in one go. Everyone knows how realistic that is.

[Edie St Pierre]

Critique my writing, please

A bit of software that would instantly translate your idea into 100,000 words of coherant sentences, paras and a plot would be great wouldn't it.

[Femme Folle]

Critique my writing, please

I would definitely give up one of my kidneys for that.

[Sits]

I hope FF won't mind me resurrecting this thread but I searched for "writing" in thread titles and there it was. I enjoyed both your submissions and some of the advice given. Useful and thought provoking.

Did you do any more FF? Please don't infer any pressure there, purely out of interest. My "novel" has stood at 700 words for about a week.

Edit: removed a superfluous "really"

[Femme Folle]

Wow, I had completely forgotten this thread. I don't mind at all, but I'll have to come back later. I have a conference call in 10 minutes (that I also almost forgot about).

[Sits]

Bloody work eh?