What would you guys give this story out of 15? (2 Viewers)

[georgefren]

yeah. if it was a little less flowery and more striped down it would have gone up imo to about a 13-14.

 

[x.Exhaust.x]

I'd give it a 13-14/15. My only criticisms are to "Show more, not tell", lessen on the emotions, watch out for words which disrupt the flow e.g. "snake", "autonomously". I like it .

And anther one is this: "I transform into a ten-year-old, emerging from the claustrophobic cocoon that is adult life." which just doesn't make sense at all. I find it hard to understand what "claustrophobic cocoon" is...mentally/socially disordered cocoon? And the use of vocab "cocoon" here doesn't work really well.

Er...It does make sense... The adult life is currently consumed within the capitalist society (e.g. the economy growing, infrastructure) with the monotonous working long hours/shifts for wealth, success, prejudices involved etc. In a sense, this can be claustrophobic - closed into societal norms and following them. But in contrast, there is a sense of "child freedom" where you can simply enjoy life, just like going on the "board". You can relate it to the William Butler Yeats poem The Choice, "The perfection of the LIFE, or the WORK".

 

[jennieTalia]

You are not an avid reader are you?

Read Italo Calvino's If on a Winter's Night a Traveler and tell me you still feel the same way.

I love to read.
And I did not mean professional works, I meant the 45 minute stories for the HSC
That is, after all, what this thread is about? Is it not?

 

[bored of sc]

The adult life is currently consumed within the capitalist society (e.g. the economy growing, infrastructure) with the monotonous working long hours/shifts for wealth, success, prejudices involved etc. In a sense, this can be claustrophobic - closed into societal norms and following them. But in contrast, there is a sense of "child freedom" where you can simply enjoy life, just like going on the "board". You can relate it to the William Butler Yeats poem The Choice, "The perfection of the LIFE, or the WORK".

+1 That's exactly what I mean. You're very smart.

 

[-may-cat-]

I love to read.
And I did not mean professional works, I meant the 45 minute stories for the HSC
That is, after all, what this thread is about? Is it not?

I think what she means is its a bit ignorant to imply that all present tense stories would be better off past tense, and so it is.

 

[Freckles14]

Just one question to start... do you like purple? 'Cause that's what colour your prose is.

Adverbs are bad most of the time because they weaken the verbs. Sure it sounds all pretty and English-y but it disrupts your writing. Particularly "Autonomously" - of course you did it autonomously. Duh. And the last sentence of the first paragraph was quite good until the "as if I am a snake" part. Also you seem to really do the triple adjective thing which is a pet hate of mine. Sorry.

Just give me a moment to lose my proof-reader persona...

I liked the "Ghost Town" thing, and especially the line about "Perhaps I am the only ghost in this town". And I think your link to the concept was pretty strong. It reads a little more like a scene than a story, however. Believe me, though - it's not bad (that's reasonably high praise coming from me so you know). The idea when fully explained by x.Exhaust.x is really good - but it'd be even better if you'd expressed it through the piece!

The way it is, I'd give you a 10 or 11, maybe a 12. If you fix up your writing style it'd get a 12 or 13.

Sorry, that all sounds way too critical. I've been proofing for way too long :|

 

[jennieTalia]

I think what she means is its a bit ignorant to imply that all present tense stories would be better off past tense, and so it is.

Perhaps I exaggerated. I am going to be studying Journalism after all. That was a joke .


Ehh, I'm too excited about my course to care.

Either way, the story could get in a high band in any tense. I just believe it would benefit from a trial in the Past.

But heck. Do it your own way. Creative writing is for doing it your way.


They might not even ask for a story

 

[bored of sc]

Ghost Town

The hardest part is starting. But as the wheels hit the concrete and my limbs loosen, I become free. It is a freedom which reactivates my senses and resonates with my soul. Weaving, carving, sliding; I leave an intricate path behind me.

I continue up a fatigued footpath and cross the adjacent street. The spiritless skateboard is ageing. I am too. But thirty-five tumultuous years on I still feel juvenile. I transform into a ten-year-old, emerging from the claustrophobic cocoon that is adult life.

I stop, remaining lethargic as the world turns into a blur. All this time I have been too oblivious to realise the irony. The population is increasing exponentially and this urbanising town is thriving with infrastructure. But I am left with nothing. Nothing but a cacophony of sound waves settling unwillingly within my ear canals. It is dreary and dismal, and I am as lonely as I have ever been. The security of local faces has been replaced with the technological stress of the modern world. Do I have a place in a dog-eat-dog town? A position in the materialised, in the masses? Am I the living dead of this ghost town?

My route begins the same: eastbound until ‘The Point Hotel’. I encounter a virtually deserted primary school and I hear faint melodic fragments being played gracefully by a child. She is blowing into a brass trumpet. It is this moment of innocence that my mind goes for a wonder. I discover that while I try so hard to meet society’s needs I abandon those of my own.

A body of metal, glass and tyres distracts me, enveloping my senses. It is a Holden sedan and the engine is heavy. It accelerates past as exhaust fumes rise up and disperse, creating a toxic sky. I find myself having to follow the movement of the Commodore; I yearn for its power, its authority. I reluctantly return to the girl on the trumpet. She ends the piece; the final note is filled with fragility. Her hair dances delightfully to the tune of her life as the northerly wind continues to throw around leaves and pieces of plastic.

I am now beachside where sounds of laughter spread into the afternoon air. But the laughter is forced; tarnished by the troubles of their lives. I inhale a distinct mixture of alcohol and cigarette smoke. I almost lose balance and awkwardly lean forward to correct myself. Perhaps I am the only ghost in this town.

I move north along a narrow footpath; the cracks in the pavement interrupt the smoothness of the ride. I try to dodge pedestrians as a harsh wind pushes against me, as if to warn me of the forthcoming chaos. They look on with silent disapproval; trying to hide their own insecurities. They all assume an unspoken authority over me. One woman’s eyes locking onto me like a bloodsucking parasite. She systematically moves to the right, obstructing the track I am travelling, forming a barrier. I deposit the majority of the weight in my legs to the board, allowing me to rotate clockwise and I veer to the right. I avoid the potential collision only to tumble forward as my board fails to conquer a stubborn section of sand. As I clutch my jarred hand the woman efficiently adjusts herself before continuing to her destination with her grandiloquent head held high.

A cluster of clouds cover up the sun allowing light to streak across the sky, forming golden stripes against the bleak shades of grey. A man is driving hurriedly along the bitumen. As the sunlight meets his eyes he is swift to respond by putting on a pair of sunglasses. I cannot help but think he is masking the inevitabilities of his life. The act of trying to block out a cruel reality has highlighted his weaknesses, his frustrations. Then I ponder upon whether I am congruent with this character… Do I conform to this, the dominant hegemony?

I forget these thoughts for a moment and skate. Not with reason or purpose, but in contentment. The simplicity relieves my psychological wounds, rekindling my sense of self. But time is becoming ominous. It is speeding up and I cannot hold on. I feel disheartened; gloom creeps into my body eliminating my temporary bliss. They want me to experience a guilty solitude in their mainstream society; restricted by the limitations of time, money and self-interest. Do they understand my predicament? I have a morality, a virtuosity to live out. I have distant dreams to fulfil, a legacy to establish.

If I could be granted one wish it would be to remain a child forever; for this is where eternal hope resides. Children have not been subject to cynicism and superficiality. They are politely naïve, easily fascinated. What arrogance this society has to pass on their prejudices to children.

The skateboard and I arrive home; we both retire from a broken day. The front door squeaks in satisfaction as I enter into a haven of refuge and warmth. I am reminded of my desires for the future – pervasive and lingering. I check the clock on the dust-ridden desk with inquisitiveness. 7:43pm.

As the sun drops lower onto the horizon twilight sets in. This one moment ceases to conform the chronology of life. This single experience fuses into endlessness. All but one thought dissolves and time becomes superfluous. I reminiscence about the schoolgirl, longing to hear the effortlessness of her trumpet’s untarnished melody. I grasp this thought; selfishly but wholeheartedly while the ghouls of the village come out of their hibernation, roaming the streets under a sky of rich darkness.


This version has been editted, especially the ending. Better or worse than before?

 

[jennieTalia]

Ghost Town

The hardest part is starting. But as the wheels hit the concrete and my limbs loosen, I become free. It is a freedom which reactivates my senses and resonates with my soul. Weaving, carving, sliding; I leave an intricate path behind me.

I continue up a fatigued footpath and cross the adjacent street. The spiritless skateboard is ageing. I am too. But thirty-five tumultuous years on I still feel juvenile. I transform into a ten-year-old, emerging from the claustrophobic cocoon that is adult life.

I stop, remaining lethargic as the world turns into a blur. All this time I have been too oblivious to realise the irony. The population is increasing exponentially and this urbanising town is thriving with infrastructure. But I am left with nothing. Nothing but a cacophony of sound waves settling unwillingly within my ear canals. It is dreary and dismal, and I am as lonely as I have ever been. The security of local faces has been replaced with the technological stress of the modern world. Do I have a place in a dog-eat-dog town? A position in the materialised, in the masses? Am I the living dead of this ghost town?

My route begins the same: eastbound until ‘The Point Hotel’. I encounter a virtually deserted primary school and I hear faint melodic fragments being played gracefully by a child. She is blowing into a brass trumpet. It is this moment of innocence that my mind goes for a wonder. I discover that while I try so hard to meet society’s needs I abandon those of my own.

A body of metal, glass and tyres distracts me, enveloping my senses. It is a Holden sedan and the engine is heavy. It accelerates past as exhaust fumes rise up and disperse, creating a toxic sky. I find myself having to follow the movement of the Commodore; I yearn for its power, its authority. I reluctantly return to the girl on the trumpet. She ends the piece; the final note is filled with fragility. Her hair dances delightfully to the tune of her life as the northerly wind continues to throw around leaves and pieces of plastic.

I am now beachside where sounds of laughter spread into the afternoon air. But the laughter is forced; tarnished by the troubles of their lives. I inhale a distinct mixture of alcohol and cigarette smoke. I almost lose balance and awkwardly lean forward to correct myself. Perhaps I am the only ghost in this town.

I move north along a narrow footpath; the cracks in the pavement interrupt the smoothness of the ride. I try to dodge pedestrians as a harsh wind pushes against me, as if to warn me of the forthcoming chaos. They look on with silent disapproval; trying to hide their own insecurities. They all assume an unspoken authority over me. One woman’s eyes locking onto me like a bloodsucking parasite. She systematically moves to the right, obstructing the track I am travelling, forming a barrier. I deposit the majority of the weight in my legs to the board, allowing me to rotate clockwise and I veer to the right. I avoid the potential collision only to tumble forward as my board fails to conquer a stubborn section of sand. As I clutch my jarred hand the woman efficiently adjusts herself before continuing to her destination with her grandiloquent head held high.

A cluster of clouds cover up the sun allowing light to streak across the sky, forming golden stripes against the bleak shades of grey. A man is driving hurriedly along the bitumen. As the sunlight meets his eyes he is swift to respond by putting on a pair of sunglasses. I cannot help but think he is masking the inevitabilities of his life. The act of trying to block out a cruel reality has highlighted his weaknesses, his frustrations. Then I ponder upon whether I am congruent with this character… Do I conform to this, the dominant hegemony?

I forget these thoughts for a moment and skate. Not with reason or purpose, but in contentment. The simplicity relieves my psychological wounds, rekindling my sense of self. But time is becoming ominous. It is speeding up and I cannot hold on. I feel disheartened; gloom creeps into my body eliminating my temporary bliss. They want me to experience a guilty solitude in their mainstream society; restricted by the limitations of time, money and self-interest. Do they understand my predicament? I have a morality, a virtuosity to live out. I have distant dreams to fulfil, a legacy to establish.

If I could be granted one wish it would be to remain a child forever; for this is where eternal hope resides. Children have not been subject to cynicism and superficiality. They are politely naïve, easily fascinated. What arrogance this society has to pass on their prejudices to children.

The skateboard and I arrive home; we both retire from a broken day. The front door squeaks in satisfaction as I enter into a haven of refuge and warmth. I am reminded of my desires for the future – pervasive and lingering. I check the clock on the dust-ridden desk with inquisitiveness. 7:43pm.

As the sun drops lower onto the horizon twilight sets in. This one moment ceases to conform the chronology of life. This single experience fuses into endlessness. All but one thought dissolves and time becomes superfluous. I reminiscence about the schoolgirl, longing to hear the effortlessness of her trumpet’s untarnished melody. I grasp this thought; selfishly but wholeheartedly while the ghouls of the village come out of their hibernation, roaming the streets under a sky of rich darkness.


This version has been editted, especially the ending. Better or worse than before?

Much better imo. Change the "I reminiscence" though, that doesn't make sense . But otherwise, a BEAUTIFUL second round.

 

[bored of sc]

Much better imo. Change the "I reminiscence" though, that doesn't make sense . But otherwise, a BEAUTIFUL second round.

Awesome. As someone said, I tried to not make the end 'fizzle'.

 

[x.Exhaust.x]

+1 Matt . I can't seem to understand/grasp the last sentence though....Any explanations?

 

[bored of sc]

+1 Matt . I can't seem to understand/grasp the last sentence though....Any explanations?

As I continue to embrace the thought of the girl's beautiful trumpet tune and fall off to sleep many people go outside for a night on the town. I call them ghosts awakening from hibernation i.e. their daytime slumber/work etc. That make sense?

Basically a fancy way of saying that people go outside at night to make loud noises, drink alcohol etc.

 

[x.Exhaust.x]

As I continue to embrace the thought of the girl's beautiful trumpet tune and fall off to sleep many people go outside for a night on the town. I call them ghosts awakening from hibernation i.e. their daytime slumber/work etc. That make sense?

Basically a fancy way of saying that people go outside at night to make loud noises, drink alcohol etc.

Ah! I knew it . Thanks for clarifying.

 

[-tal-]

Awesome. As someone said, I tried to not make the end 'fizzle'.

-__-" but honestly, it's a much better ending. More memorable than "I am gratified." Maybe it you could "animate" some parts a little more, but as it is, it's almost perfect.

 

[jiey2k]

u seem to enjoy short sentances

 

[bored of sc]

u seem to enjoy short sentances

Is that a bad thing?

 

[lychnobity]

Is that a bad thing?

No.

 

[kenshinx77]

i have to say too that i am gratified ending is better. it sort of give a sense of accomplishment to the stroy. however overall i would give a 14/15 nice

 

[sophi.love]

this is amazing. i love the concept. are you using it for your hsc. i think its a bad idea putting it on here as SO MANY PEOPLE are going to steal it.
also can you pm me when you get this

 

[electrolysis]

o.o its a pretty good story, the short sentences add a nice dramatic effect, definitely atleast 13-14 out of 15.. good job