Instructor Response

You’ve got great images in this beginning, you’ve got action, and you’ve got the plot moving well. You’ve introduced characters, too. Well done. If you’re happy with what you’ve done, forget what I’m about to say. For this reader, and as a teacher, there are craft issues that I think need to be addressed, and that is how I’ve approached my critique. Your writing style needs to be clear to make the story easily accessible. Here are some suggestions that may be generalized to your writing to improve readability, credibility, and acceptance.

I looked up. The man at the other end of the carriage stared, speaking. From the torrent [of what?] I grasped only rivulets of meaning. Not my name. Just my nerves, jumpiness. [What is this? He grasped his “nerves, jumpiness”? Make sure you’re carrying the reader logically from idea to idea, image to image, etc.] I lowered my head, avoiding his full mouth, dark eyes. Every man here seemed familiar. In the line of a shoulder, stubble on a pale jaw, I saw Rafael. He was everywhere, a thousand when I thought there was only one. [This idea is great. Just say it better. Don’t make the reader stop to try to figure it out.]

The wooden carriage lurched, gaining speed.  A broken window, boarded over, rattled. In the dim light, I saw my reflection amidst timeworn gilt and red paint, flickering like a silent film in the darkness. [This imagery is not clear enough to make the simile effective. And “timeworn” is not the right word, and “gilt” will be interpreted here as “guilt” by some readers, and the confusion will frustrate. And is the action in “dim light” or “darkness”? These words are similar but different enough to question the credibility of the description of the scene. Try to pay attention to these details in revision, especially in an opening; collectively these details will fail to engage a reader, which is distressing because the reader knows you have good story stuff going here . . . he or she just can’t grasp it.] My coat pulled tightly round me, face taut under a wool cap, hurtling though the tunnel in the shabby train. [This fragment of a sentence needs a verb to be effective.]

Mend and make do, my father would say. That’s what we did in the war. [This seems removed from the story at this stage, like finding a piece of a nut shell in a chocolate-almond candy bar. And the italics increase the importance of the sentences, making them even more distracting. But it’s the disparate idea and new character that are out of place.]

The man had picked me out. I could pass, here in Caracas. People trusted the dark hair, let me go unnoticed. But when I looked up, the focus sharpened. Que ojos bonitos, breathed a bookseller on the street. Such beautiful eyes, blue. Eyes closed, mouth shut, I could pass as Venezuelan. They [You’re in first person and here you switch to third person. It’s a narrator function that doesn’t fit into telling. Couldn’t you just use “I” with the same effect?] stared at Zahra, but for her beauty. Soft copper skin, black hair. She kept her secret until she spoke.  [This is actually backstory. And it’s a little confusing. All secrets are kept until they are spoken. It seems obvious, so you are not adding to characterization. Maybe you could take the approach of revealing a characteristic, rather than a past action. Her secret

The man staggered closer, [to what or whom?] clutching the handstraps. I couldn’t understand him, what he wanted from me.

It’s an advantage, Zahra said, To be relieved of the obligation to respond to men, acknowledge their desires. [If she said this, put it in quotes. If she thought this, it can’t be written in this way. You’re in first person and the first person can’t know another person’s inner thoughts. It’s a credibility issue that most readers won’t accept. Use italics when your reader is inside the brain of the character, and that is possible only in third person (a narrator function). You could present the thought through the first-person perception: “I imagined . . . I guessed . . . Her eyes seemed to reveal her thought to me . . .” etc.]

I stood, moved away. The man jeered, voice rising against the shriek of the brakes, taking his last shot [Help the reader visualize what happened; it would only take a word or two. At whom? Why? A gunshot? The way it is is obscure and leaves the reader wondering, even frustrated, and may stop the reading at this point.] as the train stopped at the station. I slipped out to the platform, alone, without looking back. [Is the protagonist shot? Would he be “calmer” and getting better?] I was getting better, calmer. I had made it this far. [This is a sentence the author is using to create suspense. It is manipulation of the reader that can and should be avoided. Be specific and give information that furthers story advancement or meaning. Maybe something like “two years on the run. Will he try again?”]

You can ignore all that I’ve said, continue with what you’re doing, and be successful as a storyteller. So don’t be discouraged. If there is something useful in the comments, use it and ignore the rest. You’re a good writer, and you’ve got a good story!

Thanks for the submission.

WHC

Instructor Response

Cathryn,

Wow, this is really improved. You’ve focused the narration. Imagery is clarified. You’ve got characterization, tension, and conflict (inner). And you’ve incorporated backstory effectively while the front story is moving along (nice).

For learning about improvement still, think about (1) subjective judgments with modifiers that briefly change POV (highlighted), (2) too many words that detract from image building, and (3) how impact prose usually equals succinct prose.

Suicide Bridge

New River Gorge

West Virginia

Rodney pushed past the visitors, some viewing the gorge through with high-powered binoculars, other and snapping pictures with expensive cameras, [This is an example of how subtle shifts in POV can muddy a writer’s style. “Expensive” and “high-powered” are judgments, and here they seem out of place in Rodney’s perception. It seems the author (narrator too) needed to make this judgment about cameras and binoculars–because of POV shift–at the expense of a mood shift, and the judgment doesn’t relate to Rodney or advance meaning of setting imagery. And the word “cameras” is not needed when minor characters are “snapping” and therefore is redundant and excessive, affecting the scene value.] and strode to the waist-high, wooden barrier fencing surrounding the observation deck. His shaking fingers gripped the wooden, top railing. [Good work]

He leaned over the rail. Long, greasy strands of long, hair fell across his face. [Be sure modifiers, here “long” and “greasy,” modify the best word. It clarifies the image.] The lush greenness of the steep canyon’s vegetation splashed with autumnal yellows and reds; the rust-colored single-arch bridge spanning the New River foaming with whitewater rapids: a breathtaking vista. [This is authorial and not an effective abstract judgment. Keep the perspective suitable for Rodney to keep reader in scene.]

His heart thumped. That’s it. That’s the bridge. [This internalization is effective.]

He had visited  “suicide bridges” on the West coast: George Washington Memorial Bridge; Golden Gate Bridge; San Diego-Coronado Bridge, but the New River Gorge Bridge was unique: relatively isolated; lacking guard rails; no barriers breaking the body’s descent.

Loud, uncontrollable laughter burst from his lips. [This reaction is hard to understand and not well expressed, detracting from the dialogue statement. Try something like, “He moaned uncontrollably.] “Tonight,” he said.

The man beside Rodney stowed his  camera in a black case dangling from a strap around his neck, grasped his companion’s elbow, and steered her away from the railing.  [When revising, ask: Does this relate to the story adequately? Does the reader want to know this detail? There is, I admit, possible foreshadowing but the imagery is delivered elsewhere. If you want something in here for pacing, think of something significant for the story.] 

An hour later, Rodney jogged to his car parked at the Visitor’s Center. He finished the remains of a cheeseburger, drank dregs of cold coffee from a Styrofoam cup.

Would anyone miss him? Will anyone miss me? Rodney fumbled in the crumpled cigarette pack lying on the dash.

His mother? Too busy. Clubs, church, and committees. Playing grannie to his brother’s kids. Rodney struck a match and lit his last cigarette.

Friends–fed up listening to complaints, bailing him out of jail, lending money–deserted him. Rodney exhaled cigarette smoke through his nostrils.

He’d pawned the engagement ring his fiancé returned and bought smack. Rodney flicked the cigarette butt out the open car window and leaned back in the seat.

The sun slowly sank behind the hazy blue-tinged mountains.  [It’s the action, not the imagery, that is important here.] He closed his eyes waiting for the dark.

Very good work. Be sure to strive with the best words for logical progression of scene ideation. You’ve handled backstory, internalization, and significant scenic imagery well.

All the best,

Bill Coles

1/1/19

Instructor Response

You’ve got action and conflict underway. You are building characterization. And all that you’ve created makes the reader interested in what is coming next. Good work!

The way that her curly hair stuck out in all different directions made it so that people knew without a doubt Margaret was batshit crazy. She had been talking with her friend Eliza,

“He had three brothers, I swear,” Margaret said thinking back. This is understood.

“Nah,” Eliza argued, “Only two, he only ever had two brothers.” Eliza was so certain that she had to agree to disagree, meanwhile, Margaret went on about his three brothers. Eliza kept her mouth shut; it was very dangerous to disagree with her friend.

“What ever happened to him? or his brothers?” Margaret went on.

“I don’t know,” Eliza admitted.

Margaret had finally stopped talking when, the very him, of whom they were talking about walked into the coffee house. They were both very silent because the man, was Eliza’s ex- fiance, and Eliza was still bitter, Margaret was bitter too because the bastard had hurt her sweet friend Eliza, the nicest woman she had ever known.

“Did you want me to go talk to him?” Margaret asked. “And by talk to him, I mean pour hot coffee all over him.” She added.

“No, no!” Said Eliza, “ But tell me something. Does he see me?” Margaret looked over at him, only to find that he was guiding a woman to go sit with him, his hand on the small of her back. They sat by the fireplace, where Eliza’s back was to them. Margaret’s look of disgust, made Eliza all too curious. “What?” This is very good, I think. She asked when she could no longer bare Margaret’s silence, she turned in her chair to take a look for herself. He was getting cozy with a pretty brunette. She turned around to face Margaret. “Now,” Eliza said, “Now you can pour that hot coffee all over him and his new muse.”

Thanks,
Bill

Instructor Response

Good work. I’ll suggest some changes and try to express my reasoning. With as much talent and craft skills as you have, I’d like to help you see how a reader might be more engaged in these crucial opening lines. I’ll use color coding: green for narrative looking back to the past. Blue for exposition. Highlight for in scene. I’ll leave dialogue as is but make comments and suggestions. Overall, there is too much expressed, and not enough focus on engaging. You’ve done an excellent job on who, where, and what! I’ll give some examples, not necessarily to be used but as possibilities to show what I mean about grabbing the reader and focusing on story. I’ll use some of the essentials given in the assignment directions and some references. I’ll underline when I’m commenting on the writing.

Trent told me about the day the cops came. He’d heard them coming up the front porch, realised what they had come for, and jumped onto his computer to wipe the hard drive clean. Then they began pounding at the front door.

I woke from the commotion and stepped out of my room about the same time Chris stumbled out of his. Ahead of him, through the opaque glass which framed the front door, I could see the fluoro vests of the officers. I walked toward Chris who was trembling and whining in confusion. In keeping with his midlife crisis, he disallowed responsible thought processes. [The last two sentences are information too early for this beginning. Overall, there is a shift in story time, and a lot of information that could be used later, even in some of the characterization. See below.]

 “Darien, what the fuck is going on?” [This needs attribution. It is important to leave no question as to who is speaking.]

“Go into your room and close the door.” I glanced at his marijuana-print shorts. [This information is too early. And it is not clear if he’s a user, a dealer, or just likes the shape of the leaf. You could straighten all this out at another time. To suggest it here weakens the opening I use for momentum in the example below.] “They’ve no reason to search in there.”  This is too obvious and sounds like fill. Need to be succinct in the opening.

Chris scurried [not the right word. Chris doesn’t sound like the scurry type. This would be an opportunity to got more accurate characterization in a single well-chosen word.]  back into his musky lair. The cops hammered at the door again.

“Hello?” came a woman’s voice. It was loud, firm and reasonable. “We’ve got a warrant for the arrest of Trent Cooper. Please open the door or we will forcibly enter.” [Work to keep dialogue succinct and story specific. See Dialogue, and Improving Dialogue essays.]

I stood at the front. [Of what? Be specific.] Trent’s door was ajar and I pushed it open. He was at his desk with his face in his palms, black hair twisted through pale fingers. [Too wordy for a beginning.]

“Trent, I’m gonna open up,” I said. He didn’t move. I turned the lock. on the front door. The door was pushed open from the other side and I stumbled back. [How about something like: “I turned the lock; the cops barged in.” In action, excessive words dilute the intensity.]

Here’s what I see as essentials for this opening:

                1. Introducing “I” and Chris. Darien too. Not clear about his role. A woman, not clear where she is in scene or who she is. Outside? A cop. Trent. [There are a lot of people and it’s not clear where they all are—many in different places and not clear how the front door relates to the other doors mentioned, and why and how all these people are related.

                2. Cops come.

                3. “I” decides to open front door and cops come in.

See how, with a little reorganization, you might increase threat and mystery.

We were all inside the house—Chris, Helen, Darien, Trent, and me. There was loud pounding on the front door. Through the glass window I could see cops in riot gear. “What the fuck?” Trent said from inside his room. “Jesus,” Chris said, sweeping packets of marijuana off the coffee table and stuffing them under the sofa. I turned the lock on the door. Trent came toward me and hit my arm. Too late. The cops burst in. 

Not great, but I hope it demonstrates bare-bones action, introducing characters and exposition, and shortened dialogue.

Recommend reading: Dialogue and Momentum

WHC

Instructor Response

He puts down his beer and looks across the highway at the towers that rise white, clean, straight, monolithic.  They run on and down the valley, sunlit and neatly staggered, diminishing into the distance.  He turned to his wife sitting next to him. (I’d move the next two paragraphs to the end, after the dialogue. The exchange is engaging; the narrative description and internalization are good, but maybe too slow to keep a reader with you. I’ve moved them to show what I mean.)

“It’s crazy, isn’t it?  How ignorant we are here?”

“I know.  I keep thinking, ‘This must be what it’s like to be illiterate.’”

He follows his wife’s eyes past the towers to the squatting green mountains.

“It’s cleared up.”

“From the rain,” she says.  “It’s worth being stuck inside for a day when it’s like this after.”

He nods.

“This time a year ago…” he says. “I hate to even think about it.”

“Me, too.”

“I wonder if we’d have had the guts to do this.”

“I think so.  It made it an easy decision.” She says.

“A non-decision.”

“Right.”

The valley runs straight and precisely north-south here, as if intentionally designed with the purpose of channeling the southern inhabitants into Seoul, thirty miles north.  Bikepath, river, subway, and highway all hum together day and night like power lines transmitting a pulsing human energy along their circuits.  He feels he is separate from this energy, a witness with the wisdom of an outsider.  His ignorance of the specific, the menial, he likes to think, gives him a clairvoyant’s vision of the whole.  Good!

Of course he knows this is a fantasy, a way of coping with the overwhelming not-knowingness, but it’s a fun game, a repartee with himself  he’s talking to his wife that goes perfectly with the beer and the moment.  It’s a Sunday and beautiful You describe the scene well. Don’t use generalizations when not needed. The objective description is excellent and makes “beautiful” redundant. However, if you restructure the sentence so that it’s more in his voice and point of view, not so much a “narrator” statement, it could be characterization about whether his subjective interpretation is that of everyone, and this would be characterization. Minute stuff, but important for good writing.) The haze is light and the sky blue; the sun warms gently and is cut just so by a soft between-seasons breeze that is intermittent enough to be appreciated.  He feels a slight glow on his cheeks from the drink and the sunlight.  Like the description, and perfect for placing the reader in a setting.

A really good beginning. Makes the reader look forward to what’s coming.

All the best,

WHC

Instructor Response

Very well done. You got all your information in, and presented it in a logical and graceful progression. I’m especially impressed that the story suspense is started while you were still loyal to the action of what happened in the time line. Imagery is good and just enough but not too much. Impressive.

Thanks for the submission.
Bill

Instructor Response

Nicely done. You’ve effectively created the story world and given a narrator perspective for the storytelling. You’ve effectively introduced Roy. The writing flows. As I know you know well, very soon story needs to be introduced. I suggest you see it in terms of conflict, and decide too if the story will be plot oriented or character based. If character based, you’ll probably want to begin to feel and think with Roy. Be sure it’s clear to the reader what the character’s dilemma is. If plot based, you’ll want to stay in the perspective of the narrator, or Roy. But you’ll need to get exactly what the threat to the status quo is.

Good work. You’ve succeeded very well.

WHC

Instructor Response

Sometimes a meaningful life moment sneaks into our lives and we don’t even know it happened until much later. Especially if  when you’re a fourteen year old boy.

            On a chilly morning in April, I climbed the eight porch-steps to my house on the hilly side of Church Avenue. With my Post Gazettes delivered, I had just enough time to change clothes and grab some breakfast.  [This deleted information breaks the action.] As my eye-level rose above the top step, [note how this imagery is impossible to see in the mind. Could you make the image more of the boy and the step thing a clearer indication of how far away he was from the flicker? An eye above the front step sees a flicker of something dash under the porch. How did that occur? Wouldn’t it be more likely when the eye was closer to ground level? See what I mean? It’s confusing but an important detail to get your reader engaged.]  I caught a flicker of something dash under the porch. Perhaps it was a flash of a face. For a moment, I thought I saw two eerie eyes staring at me.

            It was dark. Just my imagination, I told myself. Still, I peeked, to be sure, stooping for several moments, peering into the dark enclosure. Satisfied, I hurried into the house to get ready for school.

            On my way to school, I played the incident back in my mind. I really believed I saw something. I remembered leaving my baseball glove under the porch. I’d be really pissed if that was stolen. I should have checked more thoroughly, got a flashlight, inspected every nook and cranny.

Excellent. You have a good idea and good presentation. A lot of information is seamlessly supplied. Here is a suggestion for improvement. Can you get the imagery and setting absolutely clear for the reader? And can you make the boy’s reaction stronger? The idea is that there may be something under the porch. The protagonist is not afraid, I mean, he thinks about it casually and later he suspects somebody might have stolen his baseball glove. But a clear picture of the scene (the porch—is it huge where a cougar could hide? is it low where a rabid raccoon would hide?) helps the reader imagine.

On a chilly morning in April, On a chilly April morning, [unnecessary word—accumulative effect deadens the writing]

I caught a flicker of something dash under the porch.  Does a flicker dash? It flicks, doesn’t it? And do you want to use the word “something”? It’s abstract when it represents an opportunity to engage the reader. Not using it would work—let flicker do its job. Maybe “I glimpsed a flicker . . .”? Accuracy is important. 

Perhaps it was a flash of a face. For a moment, I thought I saw two eerie eyes staring at me.  Even in the imagination, the writing is unclear. The only thing he really sees is a flicker and dark (dark twice). He imagines a face and “eerie” eyes? To really be effective, what are the specific details that cause him to imagine a face, and why would he imagine eerie eyes when nothing else about the incident seems to make him even slightly apprehensive? The “eerie” does indicate he has a little worry, I admit, but with a little more descriptive specificity, and more solid understanding of his emotional state, the reader would get more from the imagination and respond more.

            It was dark. Just my imagination, I told myself. Still, I peeked, to be sure, stooping for several moments, peering into the dark enclosure.  “Dark” doesn’t do much for the reader. And you use it twice. A missed opportunity to help the reader visualize. “I could barely see the outline of a cardboard box with a torn lid,” or, “Nothing moved that I could see where the underside of the steps blocked the light that seeped through the cracks in the porch floor,” or, “I couldn’t see a face or eyes, but it was so dark I would only see it if it was three feet away and looking right at me.” Not right, but do you see my attempt to stimulate setting?

It was dark. Just my imagination, I told myself. Still, I peeked, to be sure, stooping for several moments, peering into the dark enclosure. Satisfied, I hurried into the house to get ready for school.

            On my way to school, I played the incident back in my mind. I really believed I saw something. I remembered leaving my baseball glove under the porch. I’d be really pissed if that was stolen. I should have checked more thoroughly, got a flashlight, inspected every nook and cranny.  This paragraph is fine. But there are opportunities. It doesn’t have much emotional content that is useful. What if the reader knew in some way that the glove was his dead father’s baseball glove when the father played for the Dodgers before he was injured and had to collect garbage for a living? That’s stupid, but I’m trying to make the glove and its potential loss important for the boy so the reader begins to feel for him. Also, there’s an opportunity for fear. It has to do with credibility and characterization. The boy treats all this pretty casually. It does characterize him to an extent in a passive way, and is good from that standpoint. But to engage the reader, what if he was scared out of his wits? Afraid there was a dead body being eaten by rats. Or a terrorist with a bomb and the flicker had been glint off the timer? Or that the neighbor’s pit bull had followed him and was waiting for a chance to attack. Or that his little sister afflicted with autism had disappeared again and he had failed to think she might be alone under the porch in the dark and damp, and she might die. Of course it doesn’t have to be so drastic; just a little apprehension or worry could be effective. But it’s something that would hold the reader to the story.

You write a very well and tell a good story. I go into all this detail to help you recognize opportunities to stand out from the crowd as a writer and storyteller. You have that kind of potential!

Thanks for the submission.

Bill Coles

Instructor Response

Sometimes, the force of two contrasting emotions could pull apart the fabric of the human heart. Yes, very effective opening sentence. Marin felt it acutely each time she walked through the door. Going well, but you’ve put her through a door into what? In the next sentence you refer to “behind these walls.” Slightly confusing. Suggest you have her go through the door into a house or a room or something. Then “these walls” would flow. Her reality was carved into the lines of the faces behind these walls. So she dreaded them, but she loved them, too. Great! The two emotions dread and love.   In the daytime, they were all the family she had.  This is confusing. Why in the daytime? Wouldn’t the family be there in the nighttime? Or are you referring to nighttime dreams when she didn’t think about them? This is good, but it needs to be clearer. What are you trying to convey and what is the purpose for the story? Carry the reader through your thinking as an author without obscurities that disrupt their flow of understanding.

“I’m home,” she said, slinging her backpack off at the foot of the stairs.  Well done. For me, you achieve the purpose, in this sentence, of orienting me to place very well, and giving me information about her age (with backpack) without frank exposition.

“Hi honey!” Her father’s voice sounded raw, coated with a thin layer of enthusiasm that dripped away in the air between them. “How was school?”  Great too. The reader is in scene and learns about the father and his characteristics, and you’ve nicely set the emotional tone of the scene. This is high quality.

“The same.”

She climbed the stairs slowly, thankful at least for the comfort of home, where no one watched her. It felt like busting out of a mold. Here, she breathed without thinking. On the outside, she focused always on her breathing, pulling in air and compressing it into a sphere, which she pictured in her belly, like an empty womb. When she breathed, only the sphere moved, not her shoulders, not her back, not her chest. To this point, you’re going great. You’ve poetically captured feeling in these sentences, and provided valuable characterization. But be careful about what comes next. You go into backstory about an experience that taught her she is invisible to others at times. It is effective, and a very nice touch. But consider if this is the right place for it. As backstory, it stops the action and flow of the scene. And the juxtaposition of this backstory next to the trick she’s learned with her breathing (also nicely done–it rounds out how desperate she is to control what rages within her, and we want to find out!) doesn’t fit. That is, the next idea about invisibility, for the reader, is a non sequitur. You might consider carrying on with her breathing and significance to the story line you’ve got going with leaving the father and going to her room. You could expand those ideas. It is true, invisibility could be used here, but it would need to be presented in a different way to be maximally effective. In essence, the lizard backstory stops the movement of the segment and it doesn’t seem to connect to the nicely developed ideation of what proceeds.  It was a trick she learned years ago on a hike with her Girl Scout troop. Just off the path, she’d spotted a dust-colored lizard, and cried out. At her cry, the lizard flattened itself against rock. She tried pointing it out to the others, who had gathered around her in excitement. But the lizard did not move, and was invisible on the stone. In moments, her troop moved on. People never wait for long, Marin thought. If you learn to be still, they will look right through you.

This is really excellent, and without hyperbole, you are an excellent fiction writer. I’ve taken an idea-by-idea progression through this segment to suggest how, in revision, you might go through your work. Look to what you’re providing for your reader, imagine what they will be taking away from your writing, and particularly look for inappropriate story-logical thinking disruptions, which will confuse the reader about action, motivations, emotional arcs, and consistent characterization, or at least come across as not quite as good as they would like. And you are good. I think this type of thinking in revision could raise you to a level that would please both reader and you.

All the best.

WHC

Instructor Response

Excellent work. You have incorporated many principles very effectively. Now I suggest you put this beginning away, and mark your calendar to return in three to four months. Make up other stories as you work on the other assignments. When you return to this story beginning, you’ll have an entirely new perspective, almost as if reading it for the first time. You’ll discover revisions and new things to be said to achieve your goals. And you will have learned a lot of new ideas in the interim that may be applied.

Go on now to other assignments. Keep making up new stories. Imagine new scenes. Keep writing scenes for practice. And when you’re not writing, imagine stories as you go through each day. Try to approach your story imagining not as describing a happening or event but as a protagonist struggling against odds toward some resolution. (This is true for entire stories, but you should also try to apply the idea to individual scenes.) Stories have a beginning (information and conflict), a middle (action precipitated by conflict), and an end (resolution of the conflict with some new realization of what it means to be human and live in our world). When you make up stories with this underlying structure, your story gains momentum and interest, and gives the reader pleasure. So if you find your stories flat and uninteresting, go back and learn to imagine and create conflict at every level in the story. It’s how good storytellers succeed. You might also make up stories on the spot and tell them to friends and family–see what their reactions are. The tendency early is to tell a story like:

Little Red Riding Hood went to her grandma’s house at the other side of the dense forest, and when she got there grandma was dead, devoured by some animal. It was just awful! NOT GOOD.

But look what you can do, as a storyteller.

Little Red Riding Hood’s mother told her to go through the forest to grandma’s house and not speak to anyone . . . and NOT to linger! There are dangers in the woods! Little Red met a wolf on her journey and told him she was going to grandma’s house. Then she stopped to pick flowers for grandma and enjoy the warm day. When she got to grandma’s house, granny didn’t look or talk the same. Something wasn’t quite right. And you know what happened next? Well . . .  IMPROVED

See how insertion of conflict (encounter with a carnivorous animal and Red’s disobeying her mother) has added action, suspense, and meaning into an otherwise listless story?

Keep working. I admire your determination and know you will be rewarded with the development of a writing and storytelling style that you’ll be pleased with.

All the best,

WHC

Instructor Response

She made up her mind to destroy everything that reminded her of him. She puffed and murmured beneath her twitched lips. She tried to pull off her engagement ring from her finger, but she could not. She twisted her ring finger with her slender right hand and somehow managed to pull it off with a jerk. She suddenly closed her kitchen cabinet with a bang and some utensils inside it seemed to clutter. She quickly wiped her hot tears that came down her cheeks with her right elbow. She did not notice the scratch on her finger and the sudden gush of fresh blood on her white skin. She did not care that little cut; she was already wounded from inside.

Excellent work. Let’s dissect this paragraph. First, what are the important ideas expressed? destroy everything that reminded her / she was already wounded / she’s engaged/ she’s angry. Now consider the action presented: puffed and murmured beneath her twitched lips / taking off engagement ring / closing cabinet / wiped tears / scratch on finger–cut. Exposition. In kitchen. Engaged.

Let’s do the same for the next two paragraphs.

She wanted to brush off every moment she was with him in all those five years from her mind and soul, but she could not. The more she tried to forget him the more her thoughts wandered towards him. Earlier, his smell, his touch, and every of his breath soothed her like a fragrant ointment and gave her strength to live. Now, they all had made her vulnerable. She could not fight back her grief. Life seemed to fall apart and she could do nothing.

Ideas: can’t forget him / grief. Exposition: Five-year relationship. He pleased her. Action: all internal. No action.

She trembled when her thoughts took her back to the past. How dare he could ever treat her like that?  She gasped and kneeled down on the kitchen floor.  She did not care about her red tear-rimmed eyes; she seemed too lost to forget her presence. The milk boiled and spilled down on the gas stove and then on the ground. She could not smell the burnt utensil; nor could she see the spilled milk on the floor beside her.

Ideas: anger / denying she cares / Action: kneeling / milk boiling over

Now look to the effect of the scene on the reader and ask: Is the scene producing the maximum effect you desire? You’re beginning your story, and you probably want to introduce your character(s). Does the reader form an image of the character, know her name, know anything about her other than she’s having a reaction to a man’s treatment of her? (You don’t have to do this in the opening, but it often helps engage the reader.) Does the reader know why she’s hurt and angry? Did he dump her? Cheat on her? Kill her cat? Seduce her sister? etc.

In the story beginning, you may want to present the story conflict too, or a hint of it. Could the beginning express what she will be struggling with in the story and foreshadow some change that will occur? (Will she commit suicide, or mangle her lover, or flush the expensive ring down the toilet, or fall in love with someone else, or learn that her denials of caring are useless in easing her pain . . . just a few ideas to help you determine what you might want the story to say. You don’t need to give the story away, just tweak interest, if you have time and space.)

In revision, you may want to ask about the amount of telling (and time) used to present an idea. She’s angry and hurt. Are there too many or too few internal revelations expressing that idea? In essence, are there redundancies. Also ask if the ideas expressed, such as her slender hand, are right for the moment in your story beginning. True, it tells the reader something about the protagonist, but is it the best image for the moment? Does being slender have anything to do with what will happen, or reveal something about her that will be important to the plot? (At this moment, slender seems to work against the idea that she’s having trouble getting her ring off. She might be fat from overeating due to the stress of her relationship, or she might have deforming arthritis that makes her unattractive and makes her breakup all the more important because she doesn’t have further potential.) These may not be useful, but it’s the idea that there is potential for even a single adjective to work for the story. And when something doesn’t work, it has a negative effect on the reader.)

You may want to look at the action. Crying, removing ring, closing cabinet, spilling milk, etc. Could different actions better support the story and her emotional state? Removing the ring seems to fit nicely. The cut, however, seems an act of fatalism created to allow the author to compare the protagonist’s lack of distress to the bleeding of her heart. Ask if this is the most effective way to let the reader know her pain. If it is not effective, it may push the reader away from accepting the protagonist’s emotions–that is, those emotions may seem contrived. If that seems reasonable to you as the author, look for new ways to present the idea. Or you might remove it since the emotion is repeated many times and you could choose the best presentation for the depth of her hurt. Ask also if the action with the milk has any clear relation to your story and character. Is there a metaphorical advantage? Would some action regarding the ring, or some other object symbolic to the person, her reaction, or love lost in general be a better choice? In making these actions contribute to story progression and meaning, an author will heighten reader enjoyment.

Note, too, that there is an abrupt change of narration at the end. “The milk boiled and spilled down the gas stove and then on the ground. She could not smell the burnt utensil; nor could she see the spilled milk on the floor beside her.” It may not be obvious when you first reread it, but notice how the story narration moves from inside the character’s ideas and feelings being told, to another narrator. (Through negative construction of the character not seeing and smelling, the narration has to come from someone else since the character can’t narrate a negative . . . she can’t say what she didn’t smell or see if she didn’t experience it. It may seem minuscule and unimportant, but it is how writers create effective story prose.) This is a subtle shift in POV, and is not necessarily wrong, but it can jolt the readers and keep them from becoming deeply engaged in the story at this point.

It is a judgment call depending on how important setting is to story, but ask if you want the reader anchored in setting. Does the kitchen serve, without development or expansion, the purpose you want for the story? For example, would a kitchen-on-fire-after-an angry-burst-caused-stove-accident-to-ignite-curtains idea engage the reader more by immediate involvement of the reader? (Why? What will happen? Will she be all right?) Wonder about outcome. Could that be what you want to achieve? Or would some setting that would imply the later action of the story have a stronger effect? Could she be waiting in the shadows of her lover’s parking spot at his condominium, implying she’s waiting to do something, for example?

In prose storytelling, because you don’t have the visual effects of plays or movies, specificity is important. Look for concrete rather than abstract, specific rather than general. “How dare he treat her like that?” might be more effective by presenting what he did. “He hit her on the head with a bat” is bad treatment, too much, but you get the idea.

Finally, look to the telling of emotion. Telling is: “not care” “wounded” “vulnerable” “grief.” In the use of prose to present emotion and idea transfer to the reader, showing is usually more effective than telling. You seem to show with: . . . his smell, his touch, his breath . . . gave her strength to live. It takes more time to show than to tell, and good judgment is needed to maintain appropriate pacing. But showing is best when appropriate.

These comments are detailed to give you ideas for revision. There may be the tendency to feel discouraged. Don’t allow that to happen! You’ve succeeded well. The analysis is simply to present alternatives for consideration; these are not mandates for improvement.

Thanks for sharing your work!

WHC

Instructor Response

You’ve achieved excellent momentum–you’ve carried the reader through a period of story time, delivering essential and related-to-scene story information within the scene action–and you’ve engaged the reader firmly with an admirable sense of drama. The reader wants to know more, wants to know what happened, and feels sympathetic to Annalisa’s plight. Here are a few things to consider as alternatives.

1. Scene veracity and word choice. You have a woman on a bed. It is assumed she’s lying face down, but for the reader’s image development it might help to indicate how she is lying. (It makes a difference in what she would feel and how she would feel it. Bleeding from the back against a mattress is different than bleeding unhindered, for example.). You are in her point of view. She has been whipped. In assessing your scene, would she feel gushing blood from back wounds? Isn’t gushing like oil from a ruptured BP oil line: lots of oil and fast? Would back wounds, where there are no major arteries, gush? Would a heartbeat be perceived as causing a gushing from a back wound? Would “ooze” or something like it be a better choice? This has to do with veracity. You don’t want the reader thinking, even subconsciously, could this have happened? Readers are more engaged if they believe the scene could have happened in the real world. They tend to have more sympathy with real people than animated or fantasy characters, especially in literary fiction, where the expectations are for character-based fiction. If there are images or ideas that don’t make sense or lack logic, their intensity of involvement is lessened. So in revision, always check for credibility of the situation and images you create.

2. Backstory positioning. In the second sentence you are internal–in Annalisa’s mind–and you are in backstory. It’s done effectively. But you might ask: What is the effect of backstory on the scene action? And since this is a beginning, when you have engaged a reader’s interest in the progression of the story by describing the feelings of a woman, her thoughts about her tormentor, and her motivation, does information unrelated to the immediate moment add to the scene? This information is essentially exposition (introducing Josh, exploring possible motivations, etc.). Then you slip back into immediacy of in-scene writing, providing information about her dilemma: she can’t reach a phone, she is praying, she muses about dying. What if you delivered your information with a slightly different structure? What if you engaged the reader with what is happening in the scene: the bleeding, trying to get off the bed, praying, seeing lights, someone coming, speaking her name, and leaving, her inability to call out to let them know she’s there and needs help. Things seem to be moving along. Then she’s abandoned by someone she doesn’t recognize but who knows her, and she’s afraid of dying. What’s going to happen next?

            This might all be done before dropping into backstory about who tried to kill her, and Josh and the whip and what he did to her before. (Remember, we know she doesn’t die; in this point of view she’s telling the story from a later time, so she has to live. So the tension is not whether she dies or not, but what happens.) You can deliver backstory in the next few paragraphs, choosing one of many techniques: exposition, narrative description, dialogue, internal reflection, continued in-scene action, etc.

            To effectively analyze your scenes, you can ask yourself: Is that possible? Is there a more effective placement of information? Will that require suspension of disbelief (the veracity issue)? Is the plot momentum logical? Is there a better word to create the effect I need? Is there too much in this scene and I need to cut or replace ideas and images?

3. Energy dissipation. This suggestion addresses scene energy. You’ve created high energy (and dramatic tension) in the scene. But it suddenly drops off at the end when the mysterious person drives off. Consider why. You’ve introduced a nice bit of tension in this unknown voice who calls out her name but she doesn’t know who it is. But is this nice tension in conflict with the tension of the immediate action? That is, will she be found and will the bleeding be stopped to save her? When you’ve chosen the scene to address dramatic action, will the momentum you’ve created be continued, or augmented, by introducing other significant mysteries too early and too fast (who the stranger is and why he/she came and how they know her? and why did Josh do this and where is he and will he be punished for his crimes? are examples). This might be too much to envelop in a single opening scene that has engendered significant momentum. Addressing this idea could help maintain the energy at the level you’ve established.

You’ve done a great job. My suggestions are for learning through choice of alternatives rather than demanding implementation. You’ve got the potential for a lifetime of enjoyable writing, an enviable gift. WHC

Instructor Response

Excellent work. You establish a strong voice immediately, and you pull the reader in in the first paragraph. And kudos for starting in action.

You might reexamine the effect of the second paragraph. [The immediate past is but a blur of grief. Time it is to erase that which has gone before. It must be as nothing, to be forgotten, best never to be remembered.] You’ve inserted summary information, a suggested backstory with a time shift from story present, and with a touch of mystery. All good information, but it stops the reader–mainly with the time shift–and disengages him or her from the beautiful effect you’ve created in scene. Readers will enjoy being with the “I” in this opening. Let them stay with the “I” in the story movement. You are, after all, very skillfully creating an interesting and provocative scene, and the scene you’ve created really conveys the sense of loneliness and grief, so consider letting it do its work without interruption. Your choice of imagery and action is excellent.

It is common for writers to open in scene with effective action and exposition, then immediately fall into backstory, halting the reader’s involvement. It can be effective, but rarely, and it is usually not worth the time and effort to make it work.

Suggestion: move information in the second paragraph to be presented later, or maybe just delete it for now. The last sentence [No ships mitigate the loneliness of the scene, or the emptiness that I feel.] effectively gives much of the information that is in the second paragraph.

And if you present the second paragraph later, consider your method of presentation. Telling intense feelings is not as effective as showing. And in first person, telling emotions is particularly tricky; the character seems to be trying to demand sympathy, which can flow into sentimentality. (An objective third person alleviates this problem somewhat, but loses the first-person advantages). Not that you should change this paragraph much if you insert this idea elsewhere, but just consider delivering the “grief” and its need “to be erased” through some sort of action, either in the dramatic present, or dramatic backstory “present,” so that actions, or dialogue, can be developed to show grief to the reader. It seems too important for brief narrative description. You have the skill, and the impact will be greater.

This is very good writing. Thanks for participating. WHC