As yarn spinners, we spend a lot of energy trying to make sure we show our stories instead of telling them, but this story shows us that sometimes, telling is the way to go. Telling works perfectly in this personal journal approach of getting your message said.
To be honest, and this has nothing to do with your writing talent, the first thing I did when I opened your chapter was wince.[e: shock} You need to do something about the formatting. The lack of paragraph breaks makes it nearly impossible to keep one's place. Consider your readers and make it easy for them. Reading a story should be a smooth flow. Many of us do not have the patience nor drive to work very hard at it.
You have enough conflict and suspense here to build this short piece into a full-length novel. Keep working on this. It could be a great outline for a romance novel's backstory.
The metaphors like 'first steps full of hop'
prompt us to sit, and sip a whiskey sour.
Attention drifts to feeling life's long scope,
and read the verse again, within the hour.
Goodbye…No time to squander on lost nerve.
Although such words can prove confusing when
a poet searches sanity's reserve,
in public, with a bright, well-guided pen.
And now, we see spilt milk—no words withheld,
until the reader feels the same way, too.
We sat to wait. The secret silence swelled,
then shrank beneath the weight of that adieu.
A tough assignment to take on alone.
'Twer me, I'd stumble o're the dial-tone.
Both Jack and Jill have learned but who can tell
with dragons everywhere dispensing dread.
Tradition has it both the children fell
but can we trust a single word they said?
One dragon placed a hand upon his hip,
grinning, watched them tumble to the bottom,
His smirked enhanced, curled his upper lip,
and said, "By George, I think we have got 'em."
The dragons chased them all the way back home
where Jill but giggled, while Jack held his head.
When Mamma patched up Jack's poor aching dome
She turned attention to Jill's lack of dread.
When reading Easop's world and all that stuff,
we can't believe a single bit is true.
For skill with words is never quite enough,
to shake the fantasy from what they do.
The green of hope arrives to Issac's cheer
within the crack of logic seen before.
The surface splits but there is more to hear
as weeds peek out and give us hope for more
A clueless optimist, his thoughts appear
and send forth shouts of "I'm on top again."
It shatters as old Enoch strips his cheer,
and douses his unbridled plans to win.
But now, the stage is set for quite a show,
and we can see that Isaac needs a hand
to bring his high horse down and let him grow
to magemanship magnificent and grand
This prologue sets the stage. (we know not what)
But Isaac must now show us what he's got.
The nightmare of a jealous hand exposed.
It leaves the rival growers on their own,
to find a proper moment when deposed,
to grow the giant fruit, although unshown.
Zucchini, large and green would win the show,
but it must keep its face behind the fence.
The smashing green-eyed hand can never know
its whims and notions wild and so intense.
That damage from the past, we often say,
can never quite be shoved beneath the rug.
The broken squash will never win the day.
The smashing hand's left one more hole he’s dug.
But just think of the sweet and juicy pie,
so satisfying to both mouth and eye.
What a delightful cautionary tale. You have allowed Theresa s second chance and given the readers an excellent picture of her chagrin and all the things she imagined might happen to her as a result of her indiscretion. Showing Lucy's lack of concern also helped to fill in the reader's view of the overall story.
What a delightfully imaginative story. It not only provides an excellent outline but gives you a super base to find those opportunities for improvement that we all need to locate to build those first telling, wordy, and repetitive yarns into short stories.
Let's take a look at the opening:
It feels like yesterday when I turned 16, and it turned my entire life upside down. Not realizing it until it was too late, but my family was hiding a big secret. We’re called the seekers and were from an ancient line who have the power to change things before they happen.
The first paragraph contains four uses of the word 'it'. Undefined pronouns can turn an exciting segment into a boring drag. Why not open with action and save the important information in that paragraph to feed into the story after it's off and running?
Paragraph three seems like a better place to start the story. All the information from the opening fits nicely at that point. Use caution to avoid wordiness such as 'On my birthday, I received the most significant gift in the world—the family heirloom, which is a mirror.
I watch in fascination as they dance,
The spider and that other nowhere bug.
Starvation forces all to take a chance,
on eating, or to take that final slug.
We kids, accustomed to our daily joy,
know nothing of those lowly creature's strife.
We jump and run as any normal boy,
unthinking of the others hapless life.
One moment and that nature’s scene is gone,
Its light a harsh reality of truth.
I know I'm not the course and jagged one,
I pick the pig's remains out of my tooth.
Just then, the smell of flowers from the plain
drifts in and grab my thoughts fully away.
No further minding of that spider’s pain,
just tracing trophies of my day at play.
Some sadness for the fantasy I lost
but not a moment more on nature’s cost
Wow! I never suspected it for a minute, but now, it is clear as a foggy day in December.
We all waited for years for the world to end on December 12, 2012, as prophesized by the Incas. When that date seemed to pass with no event we thought we'd missed the boat.
Little did we know. The apocalypse did occur and we were all killed and then restored by the third in command, the delightfully imaginative, Archangel Marc.
As often happens when great power rules
a winning strategy brings only grief.
The God of Storms smiles down at nodding fools
They jump right in to seek her quick relief.
Now, back at home, the Hell God steals the show
But drops the ball and starts another track.
Distraction lets Marc's soaring ego grow.
He grabs the reigns. They'll never get 'em back.
The flooding of the Earth has worked it's way.
His sidekick does his best, but there's a hitch.
The puddles left behind have won the day
and tossed the same old folks back in the ditch.
One trouble with a real cop drama like you portray is that there are none of the PC required characters. You mentioned the missing Marine, but what about the kick-ass female detective which has become a necessary element? Or, you might gain forgiveness, if you stick in an autistic savant who is smart enough to know better than to call the police.
For love, we often search both site and soul
for confirmation hidden 'neath a shrug
But such a notion can't reduce the role,
bestowed on us by lifelong holes we’ve dug.
But trusting love to show us how to fall
onto a path that we've not seen before
with other hopeful shadows on the wall
perhaps they've found the one we’re searching for.
In truth, it’s watching others in so deep
that lets us see the truthful moment’s gem
It's left there so that we can finally reap
the joy of thinking we’ve found one of them.
Perhaps these few words, spoken from the heart,
will give our moving on the proper start.
As beginning writers, we spend a lot of thought on the subject of showing vs telling: ‘Show don’t tell’ examples are everywhere. One place where telling is indeed useful is at the start of a book. But, it can often be built into the action of the story where it can speed up time and narrate unimportant transitions and avoid boring the reader.
When telling, is it often hard to avoid the twin bugaboos of wordiness and repetition. Sometimes, one can even leave out the telling narration and feed the information in as actions by the character. Mix showing and telling to add tone and mood. You might consider using a combination of showing and telling to move the opening along and still give all the information that the reader needs.
Although I believe the 'New Year's Eve' transition would be a better starting point for this tale, The Opening, as presented, has interesting lines and could benefit from tightening to reduce the wordiness and bring the action to the fore.
Olivia, was a relatively normal girl, who just happened to have psychic powers. The first power she discovered, and the only one she knew she hadof until she was nearingnearly her 21st birthday, was the power to hear the voices of the voiceless. She could understand words coming from people who could not speak. Despite her wanting to believe she could understand animals, it was apparent that her ability only applied to humans and possibly humanoid beings from other worlds and dimensions. She first discovered it at the age of 19 when she and her friends were exploring an abandoned insane asylum on a Sunday afternoon. They heard footstepsFootsteps and crashing sounds coming from the floor above convinced them. They were just about to leave in case it was the sound of a police officer, but Olivia stopped them:
That suggestion would reduce the word count for the segment from 138 to 97 and thus speed up the opening.
I know this little tidbit can't be much help, but I hope you find something useful in it.
It seems, from the wee bit we know so far that you have the beginnings of a story worth building, beating at the inside of your brain, trying to find a way out. My guess is that one day soon, it will find the exit and rush forth with a shout.
You ask if you are at the right place. I assure you that you are. We have several excellent novel reviewers, (I am not claiming to be one of them) but it may take you a while to learn which offer suggestions that fit with your style and with issues you are ready to address.
Please accept this lack of review as a welcome to WDC and with my one suggestion:
The length of your submission is good, for our purposes here but I'd suggest that you give attention to paragraph breaks to add a bit of white space to make the page easier to read.
Let us know by your response what you'd like to hear. Is it comments on ways to make your work more likely to be accepted by a publisher, suggestions for dialogue use, ways to avoid wordiness, repetition, or SPAG issues? Someone will probably address a lot of issues. (if we notice them) So, respond to comments and tell us if we are looking in the right corner.
In my portfolio, you'll find an item titled Prologue to Olyvia up a Creek It could give you an idea of what I think a story opening should do, and what sort of suggestions I might make.
You've grabbed my muse and shook him with this flash
You've forced my thoughts of some unbranded smile
You open with a jolt of coming crash
without a touch of caution--for the while
But then, although the fragile shard is broke,
no hesitation draws our thoughts astray.
There moves encouragement behind the cloak
and twists the tender notions which we play
Now is it true denouement at the end
or do we hold solution by a thread?
Their knowledge of the facts sneaks past the bend
Don’t sweat the thoughts one thinks after he's dead
There seems no limit to the stuff we read.
We know your wild story has now been freed.
What a delightful way to inspire your audience. I like the idea of supporting you so, the 99 cent idea didn't fly with me. I instead purchased The Seal of God at its full price of $9.99.
thank you for the inspiration and for the excellent book of ideas.
Yoo our understanding of history, nature, roads, architecture, and a lot of other things. It's a shame you felt it necessary to toss in the twenty-first century PC nonsense about its negative effects on the environment. But then, everyone's entitled to their religious view.
Consumption by a need for other's thought.
This verse reveals imagination wild.
A vivid picture of what doubts have wrought,
gross, gory and defined, but not defiled
With tenderness not getting in the way,
and unaware, at all of tears he's shed.
The poison in the song can ruin one’s day
and plant a foot upon a place we dread.
Without the least regret, he's flunked the test.
"I've shed my fur as a satyr." And yet,
it's time to make a pact and do your best.
What is fate’s final word? 'You wanna bet?
The broken treaty flaunts another kind
of haunting, which you'll never leave behind
No there's a turn in luck that really paid off, but we don't know if John has learned his lesson at the track. Will he still be looking for the big payoff and mess up his relationship with Jeanne? There is plenty of potential left for the next round or to turn this into the opening for a full-length novel.
You open with a statement, loud and clear,
to keep us reading on to find the why.
But on we go. It's Luke that we first hear.
We see the same old thing and start to sigh.
Then, from the shadows of the middle lines,
as Luke gets help from Mathew—Peter, too
the story takes the turn that it defines.
My thrashing guilt delivers marks of blue.
Fight not the flesh, but spirit, so you say,
where wickedness builds traps that we all know.
Will unbelievers change and save the day?
Or will God's Word now simply end the show.
The turn delivered in the final line,
is one that needs no magic to define.
Henry Augustus must have been an interesting man. You have given us an excellent picture of his life and the twist and turns he had to negotiate as he made his way through one of the most exciting times in recent centuries.
I like the way you separated the segments to give each more emphasis.
You've given us just what the title expects us to find. A pair of sad eyes reflecting on things that might account for the sadness. This is a good job of making sure the reader knows the inner conflicts of the sad-eyed boy. But that is not a story.
The sad eyes at the beginning are still contemplating the sad situation with Regret. Perhaps, if the sad-eyed boy did something at the beginning to show his sad state of mind and then considered those various issues which brought about his sadness, he could either end the story being less sad or more sad. The story would then be the change in his perspective.
Good luck with this. There is a story here if you can find a way to let his character show and change.
As often is the case with Jacky’s tales
this one reveals imagination wild.
It happens, and the picture seldom fails.
to show us things implanted when a child.
This time, it's dentistry behind the door,
which leads us to the place breezes blow
and time gone by walks right across the floor
to tickle thoughts of what now has to grow.
The new and happy view that will attest
to how we fit the world (lest we forget)
The story lets ol' grumpy do his best,
then yanks the rug and says 'You wanna bet?'
The yarn goes on, creating something new
that leaves behind a tale we hope is true.
When Paddy's Day comes around next
Let's send him a personal text
If he's got what it takes
to get rid of snakes.
the damn things have got me perplexed.
Some folks tell us that snakes are Okay
It's nature at work so they say
I hear that we need 'em
but don't ever feed 'em
Let's wait for St. Paddy to pray
While pondering the purple rain and life,
I watch the swirls of hair and falling leaves.
Then find the soothing balm for natures strife
within the lonesome wind-song as it grieves.
When wind call out for me, I hear my name
and flutter, stammer, beg to still my cries.
But I shriek even louder in the flame
as desperation spews from both my eyes.
The angels ride the wind into the past,
to blind me to the rain, which cannot last.
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