I've begun the transition of keeping my writing to myself and slowly letting it trickle to the eyes of others. It terrifies me to share what I've written, scared of what others might think. If they hate it, it means I'm a hack - if they loved it, it means they are just being nice. Because when I write, I never feel like its good enough. I'm constantly re-writing sentences as I go, until the words flow like a river - not a trickle, a river. I want a completely fluid flow, so it seems like poetry. I know...hard to achieve...and even though I know I've still not achieved it, I think I may be getting closer everyday.
On story 2, my first chapter went directly to my sister for comment, completely unfinished - that's how excited I was about it. It's been altered quite a bit since then and I'm currently writing Chapter 4. One story 1, I haven't messed with it for a month now and I'm starting to miss my characters! I opened my document last night and started to read some of it, forgetting how many changes I made in the
re-write I did in April on it. Leaving your work for a month and coming back to it is a WONDERFUL thing. WONDERFUL. Before, I had thought it was horrible, unworkable, piece of hack writing - but now reading it after leaving it alone for a while - its not terribly bad. I think it may be workable after all.
And now I'm feeling brave. I want feedback. So - here it is - the first page and a half of Edge of Darkness (working title). Synopsis not written yet. YA paranormal genre.
It's basically about an 17 yr old girl named Juliana who's Mom, Grace, is a paranoid schizophrenic. Grace has been hearing voices for 7 years, but each year they get worse and now she is unable to function at all. One morning, everything changes as the voices not only give a warning, but a strange symbol, signaling an ancient presence that is approaching. The voices her mother hears may be real and as Juliana begins the search on how to save her Mom, she ends up unearthing secrets she never expected to find.
Love it, hate it - whatever - just critique it please. I'm learning as I go here :)
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Chapter 1
Three things plagued my mind this restless night and they all began with the letter “M”. I was looking for answers long before the storm began. It seemed now, I may finally find them.
Sitting up at the window, I swiped the exhilaration from my brow, taking a break from the clarity. As I lowered my knees from my chest, the tools of my healing plopped down onto my lap – an old notebook and a chewed up pencil – the only tools that had been useful since I was child. Words did not grace the page when I was troubled, only lines and shading to show my thoughtful progress.
Sketching had always comforted me in a way that couldn’t be accomplished by writing. My sketches weren’t well done or artist quality; the act of completing them was enough to give me answers, particularly when I didn’t know I had any to find. Even when I was young, I had never kept a diary, held by lock and key, hiding all my thoughts and fears beneath the surface. Simple sketching formed my thinking ground, my zealous release. With a pencil in my hand, I could transform my thoughts into a sketch, and within that sketch, the answers to my problems would appear.
And answers were exactly what I needed tonight.
For the last twenty minutes, lightning bolts had streaked across the night sky, without a drop to follow. Long, jagged cracks followed by thunderous applause fueled the energy in my fingers, the zap of each stroke. The rain had held back so far, but it seemed to drift closer each minute. With each flash, the houses looming down the street came into view, otherwise disturbing the total blackness of the night and while the residents of those houses either hid in their basements or tried to sleep through it, I continued to sit up on my bed, using the storm for inspiration. My view wasn’t obstructed by any trees and looking out, it was impossible to not reel in its glorious effects, as if the light show had been programmed like fireworks, only for me, to calm my unease and my fears.
Flash! The pencil swooped in an arch, right to left. Crack! My hand moved up and diagonally, much like the bishop overtaking the queen in a game of chess. Thunder. The rumbling inspiring a slight shading to the angle the two previous moves created. And like a spell conjured by mother nature herself, the answers I sought started to appear even though I had no idea what they meant: spikes and irregular peaks, sharp triangulars that pierced the page like the lightning pierced the sky.
It continued for twenty minutes, my quest for answers, until the first drop of rain hit the window. With each flash, crack, and rumble, I let out every thought and feeling on that old notebook, hoping and pleading for a clue as to what would come next. Life shouldn’t be this hard for a seventeen year old. Life shouldn’t give you a lemon seed and demand lemonade in ten minutes flat. Life should prepare you, instead of you having to prepare it.
But now the rain began. A drip to silence the pencil’s work for greatness. A drop to crush the healing needed from having to grow up so fast.
The rain suddenly broke free from the heavy clouds and I was left empty of mind, with a half finished drawing and a half hopeful heart.
