Tuesday, April 28, 2009

Runaway Try #2

These are paragraph somewhere a little later in the story. They both on different things

It's happened before. The last time I took the bus after an episode. A lady with her child. Nothing visual like now, a little bump on the cheek . . nothing more. But she looked at me, eyes seering into my heart; exposing my shame and showing the world I was a thing to be pitied. Everything I had accomplished and loved was cleared away, my heart emptied in an instant. I was just a poor girl, that now carried a bruise on my heart, all caused by a two eyes delving into my soul.


-------


Mo could hear the snoring over the metered laugh of the studio audience. She let out a silent sigh of relief; thinking they would never fall asleep. They only had fifteen minutes more to do so or all of her plans would be for naught. The sweat beaded on her face, and as she felt it slide down her brow she swiped it away. Not Now! She knew that if she started sweating, her hair would be a greasy-looking mess for the move, and it could be just the sign for a wary cop or nosey busy-body; any number of which they would encounter on the road, and only one was needed to blow the whole thing and put not only her, but everyone involved in serious jeopardy.

[background you might need to know: she's waiting for two people to fall asleep in front of a tv, so that she can sneak out of the house in order to escape her abuse. She is being helped and she is wearing a wig.]



Sorry that they are kind of random . . . but right now I'm still developing the story, and it has a lot of holes. For the first paragraph: too dramatic? (I think I've been reading too many sappy novels lately) The second: to wordy?

Wednesday, April 22, 2009

Runaway Try #1

The bruises were bad this time. They had been bad other times, usually in places I could cover easily; shoulders, back stomach, arms, legs. Hidden by a sweater, a pair of jeans, a thrown away tripped down the stairs, a noncommittal shrug “clumsy”. These were different, these were bad. Purple and blue blended with puffy green and yellow, from swollen eyelid to chin and brushing the matching blotches that ran from shoulder to the skin under my turtleneck, gashes of pinky flesh flanking my cheekbones (he wore his ring), a knot oddly the shape of Greenland above my right temple. Even after wiping off the blood that had been caught trickling down my eye, and after pouring concealer across my face, it was clear there was no way to diminish it's garishness, much less cover it up, despite what it might say, on the advertisements. Thanks A Lot, CoverGirl.
So I did my best to sweep my hair over the right side of my face, gave myself a half-hearted smile and headed out of the door.



This is from another idea. I know there are a bunch of run-on sentences. I tried to write it like someone would have spoken it looking at themselves and discribing what they saw in the mirror. Did it work? What felling do you think the character is going through? Is it too messy? Any other comments on anything?

Thanks,

Monday, April 13, 2009

Two Paragraphs

You proposed!?! Kyliea stared at him, bug-eyed.
Joreth bit his lip. “ Well, not exactly.”
“Not exactly?”
I asked her father for her hand.”
“And he said yes.”
“No. . . but he gave me an ultimatum. He told me he would give me his blessing if I can save enough to own land.” Joreth stirred the flame, keeping it strong. “It's why I was so willing to take this job so far away from home. When I finish this commission I'll have enough to buy a parcel of land near the Shalim Falls. A good size, just enough to build a homestead.”

Kyliea smiled. She was happy that her older brother had been fortunate enough to find love. Though she hadn't met Carysse, Joreth had painted a picture of her in Kyliea's head. She had been the subject of many of the midnight meetings they shared together in confidence, away from prying ears. The two had met when Joreth had been on a delivery to need town. It was his first time there, and had trouble finding his way to the town's blacksmith's tents. Carysse had helped him find his way. After that Joreth always volunteered to make the delivery to need town, in hopes of seeing her again. And see her again he did. Through his visits he had fallen in love with her.

*So, what do you think? Is the dialogue reasonable? Are things explained fully? Does it leave you with questions?

Thanks,

Saturday, April 11, 2009

Welcome!

I've started this blog as a way to get feedback for my writing. I have always enjoyed creating stories but I never had the ability to successfully translate them into print. Now, as I have found myself with an abundance of free time, I have decided to give it another go. . . and I NEED HELP! So, please, be as brutal as you can be, so long as it's constructive, and hopefully you will enjoy my posts.

Thanks!