Young Writers Society

2152 A.D.

“Granny’s here! Granny’s here!” shouts one of the children, pointing to the monitor with glee. The cry is taken up by the other two. Their parents come swiftly from the next room. At ninety-six, it is best not to keep Granny waiting.

“Open,” commands the father. The door swings open, admitting the wizened old lady. Her chair automatically wheels forwards into the apartment.

“Hi Granny!” The children shower her with kisses and hugs.

“That’s a Sierra I see!” she says, kissing the excited little girl, “and a Canyon over there?” a pudgy little boy receives an affectionate pat on the head. “And that one seems to be a Brook!” The smallest child bounces up and down with excitement as she receives a quick squeeze. Words and kisses are exchanged between Granny and the parents. Then everybody enters the living room and settles themselves on the synthetic gray sofa and chairs.

Later that afternoon, Sierra, the eldest and most verbal of the three youngsters, demands:

“Granny, tell us a story!”

“What about, dearest?”

Sierra ponders this for a moment, then replies:

“Tell us about when you were little!”

Granny thinks for a few moments, trying to recall. It seems so long ago. She stares out the window, buying time. The sky is smoggy as ever, as it has been since The Switch. It is fitting somehow: gray sky against gray buildings planted firmly in the gray ground. However, the sky brings back a memory.

“When I was little the sky was blue,” she begins. The little ones lean in closer, intrigued. Canyon’s eyes are wide and shocked.

“Blue?” asks Sierra.

“Blue like…like…” she is trying to think of something natural that is blue. Finally it comes to her, “blue like your mother’s eyes,” she explains. Sierra’s mouth forms an o of surprise at the idea.

“The sky was blue,” continues Granny, “and filled with puffy white clouds. As white as – as clean dishes straight out of the purifier, and puffy as cotton candy. None of the thick smog we have now.

“In my day the ground was covered with grass and the dirt-”

“Grass?” interrupts Sierra.

“Grass was green like your father’s eyes and shaped in little blades, but not sharp. You could run on it without shoes on.”

The children gasp. Today to go without shoes would be to end up full of splinters and cuts with your feet as black as if you had trod in one of the coal factories.

“And the dirt was soft underneath your feet.”

“Granny, what is dirt?”

Granny is puzzled at this. How to describe dirt? Eventually she says:

“Dirt is like animal dung but clean.” She cannot think of anything else to say about it. The children look horrified at the idea.

“But clean, oh so clean. And soft and squishy under your feet. And the grass needed the dirt to grow.

“Back then there were clean, natural lakes. And you could go canoeing or kayaking or swimming.”

“Canoeing?”

The simple question makes Granny think of a day long, long ago. A day when she and her parents had gone canoeing and she had stood up in the boat. How they had tipped over and she had thought her parents would be angry with her, but when they surfaced they were laughing. She brushes a tear from her cheek as she remembers her parents. Of course, they are long gone now. She wrenches herself back to the present. Yes, canoes.

“A canoe is a boat…like a hover-car that you push along in the water. Back then the water was clean and sparkly. And it wasn’t contained with a plastic cover, but open to the elements. It smelled lovely, too, not like dirt and burnt coal. We used to go boating every weekend, and sometimes we would swim.”

“Didn’t you get burns?” asked Sierra, awestruck.

“The water back then hadn’t nearly as many chemicals as now. You didn’t have to worry about acid burns or infected cuts.”

All this talk of her childhood has opened a tap. Now the information comes easily. It is no longer hard to recall. Memories of all varieties come rushing back in. Her head feels clearer than it has in years.

“In my day we had trees, too,” she continues enthusiastically.

“Not metal trees like there are now, but real living trees. As living as you and I. They couldn’t move, but they could grow, and grow they did. When I was little trees grew as tall as buildings and taller. They had branches and leaves, and you could climb up in a tree and sit in its arms.”

A memory of climbing up the tall pine tree in her back yard and poking her head out very near the top arrives. And of her mother being worried that she would tumble down. But she had not been afraid, for the tree held her and would never, never let her fall.

“Granny,” says Sierra seriously, “we want to know more about trees.” The other two nod in agreement. Even their parents are finally listening attentively, hanging on the old woman’s words.

“Trees,” continues Granny, “are neither plant nor animal but something much older and more important. In the old days, it was trees that made air for us to breathe. Trees grow slowly, very slowly. My pine tree was at least a hundred years old, with another hundred to go. A tree was your friend, and it would hold you in its branches always and forever. It would protect you as long as you needed it. And it was a wonderful confidant, for it listened well but never told a soul.”

For a moment there is silence in the room, as they all ponder over Granny’s words. She has woven a magic spell among the family.

After what seems like a very, very long time, Sierra breaks the silence in a small voice full of wonder.

“Granny, I want to plant a tree.” Granny considers her for a moment. Is it possible? Can she share the magic with her granddaughter? Finally, it comes to her. She commands:

“Wallet!” Her wheelchair complies, unearthing Granny’s gray wallet from some deep recess and opening it for her. With remarkably steady hands for her age, Granny pulls out all the bills she has. These she carefully organizes and hands to Sierra, who looks awe struck.

“Take these, child, and go down to the market. They will claim not to have a tree, for it is a rarity and very expensive. You must show them your money and ask again. When they have given it to you, and mind that they give it to you in a pot big enough for it to grow in until we find some land for it, you must bring it straight back here. Then I will show you how to care for it.”

After the children have gone to bed their mother approaches Granny as she sits in her wheelchair, staring vacantly out the window. There are no stars now. But Granny can remember a time when the sky was full of them, tiny pinpoints of light. And she can remember a time when they were barely visible, because the world was becoming enshrouded in smog. And she knows that now her grandchildren and their children will never see them, except in pictures. Her daughter’s voice breaks her out of her thoughts.

“Are you sure you want to give Sierra all of your savings?” she asks.

“Well, I’m not going to need them,” she replies reasonably, “I’ll be gone soon enough and then no amount of money can help me.”

Her daughter stares at her for a while, then nods. She understands.


The next day, Sierra returns to the house on foot. Her hover-car is obediently toting the tree. It is a small thing, and not too healthy looking. Maybe four feet tall, and with none to many leaves. A baby. A maple, though, and that a good sign. Maples are hardy.

Now comes the tricky part. The sun rarely shows which is why plants cannot grow here. Granny explains to the little girl exactly where her growing lamp is. The one that gives plants what they need for photosynthesis. Under her grandmother’s strict directions, Sierra sets up the lamp so that it shines on her little maple tree.

The two move back to survey their handiwork. The maple is small now, but will soon grow. The family will now be helping to clean the air for others.

“It’s beautiful,” Sierra whispers.

Granny hugs her tight. The maple tree helps her recall many things from when she was young. She remembers climbing with her friends to the top of the maple tree in her backyard. She remembers hanging up bird feeders and trying to keep the squirrels away. But now one memory swims to the forefront. She remembers, for the first time in years, a day when she was very young. She remembers the day that her grandmother helped her plant a tree in their front yard. A maple tree.

Hey there! I really love the unique and different environment you created here. That really gave a good spark to this short story, and left me curious to see where it was going. Of course, though, I do have a few suggestions!

Choose your Tense Wisely

Your story is written in the present tense, and it actually took me a while to realize that. But once I did notice it, I couldn't get my mind off how irritating it was. The present tense is only good if A) You have a reason for it B) you can write in it without the reader noticing it's any different from what they usually read. Since most of us are very used to read things in the past tense, once someone writes in the present tense it feels really weird. Unless you have a really goot reason for keeping this in the present tense, I'd suggest you rewrite it into the past.

I keep reading because ...

You need to give your readers a reason to keep reading, a reason to be interested. You don't want to encourage them to put your story down. One of the primary ways writers give readers a reason to continue is conflict, something that's unresolved. However, in this story, you don't have any conflict. You're just telling a story. Now, I'm sure you're thinking, "Isn't that what I'm supposed to be doing?" But, as I said! You can't just tell us a story, you have to give us a reason to want to listen.

What if the reason the grandmother came over was to talk to her children (the parents) about what to do with her savings? She needs the savings to keep alive for another 10 years, and her children want her to have a surgery/procedure/whatever that will keep her alive, but the grandmother has already decided to give the money to the children. Rather than this just being about the grandmother telling the children about her past (interesting, but not enough), it would also be about what the grandmother finally decides to do with her money - and how this affects her children.

Or, there's any number of other things you could do with this. Either way, you need to find some way to add conflict, mystery, or greater interest to your story.

How you feelin'?

One thing I noticed about your story is that it's written in a very specific way. You tell us what people do (actions) and you have dialogue. Which is great... but you need something more. What I'm really talking about here is mood, but mood is really complicated on it's own. Mood is affected by a lot of other things, so I'm just going to talk about some other things.

What is the setting like? You gave us a lot of the setting in reference to the differences between now and the grandmother's childhood, but what do the character's feel the setting is like? Not just outside, but in the house. Is the house, big, small? Does it reflects the parents wealth, or lack there of? (putting more meaning, or less, on the money.) Can you give us some smaller details that develop these characters further?

How are all these characters feeling right now? The parents just seem to stand by idly listening to their grandmother. All the kids sit around enthralled. One cries over a deer, which in my opinion seems over dramatic. The child has no idea what a deer is, and what the grandma said isn't even emotionally stirring, just factual, so why cry? Are any of the children bored? Do they want candy? Are they sleeping?

Basically, you just need to add more to your story than actions and dialogue. Give it some life! Spruce it up a bit!

Hope all this helps, best of luck!

Hi Sarebear! I’m Lily. I’m sure we haven’t met yet, but, well, now we have!

Now, as far as this story goes, Suz made a lot of good points, all of the points I would have made, but I really wanted to re-enforce the last one because, at least I think, it’s very important.

For a moment there is silence in the room, as they all ponder over Granny’s words. She has woven a magic spell among the family.

You’re just telling us this. Flat out. Why not describe the family woven in this magic spell? Tell us about wide eyed children, heads cocked attentively to one side. You don’t want to tell us that family is like. You want to describe how they act. How they act leads readers to understanding how these characters feel, and you don’t have to flat out tell us.


Also, describe the children a little more. I mean, how old are they? Sierra struck me as being maybe six or seven at the beginning but by the end I figured she might have been a far bit older. When you know about how old a character is, it often explains their actions. If a four year old asks for a piece of candy, for instance, it’s different then if a fifteen year old asks for a piece of candy. You know what I mean?

Anyways, go in, explore the story, and write! Writing is a learning experience after all.

~lilymoore

Personally I don't think that the tense of the story gets in the way of the presentation. I do, however, agree that it needs more tug to it. It's critical to keep a reader going. I want to keep this short so I'll just be brief. I enjoyed the story, and I liked the message in it. With just a little expanding it could be marvelous. Keep trying. Editing and revision is key. Don't get discouraged.

Interesting story sarebear! I'm going to make some comments, but you don't have to take notice of all of them, as my personal opinion tends to lean heavily in the direction of "less information".

sarebear wrote:2152 A.D.

“Granny’s here! Granny’s here!” shouts one of the children, pointing to the monitor with glee. The cry is taken up by the other two. Their parents come swiftly from the next room. At ninety-six, it is best not to keep Granny waiting.

Some things here seem unnecessary.
-- "with glee"; the child's words and pointing to the monitor seem to imply the glee.
-- "swiftly", because adverbs are often unnecessary.
I like "it is best not to keep Granny waiting".

“Open,” commands the father. The door swings open, admitting the wizened old lady. Her chair automatically wheels forwards into the apartment.

"Automatically" may be unnecessary here; the chair wheeling, as opposed to being wheeled, implies that it is automatic.

“Hi Granny!” The children shower her with kisses and hugs.

“That’s a Sierra I see!” she says, kissing the excited little girl, “and a Canyon over there?” a pudgy little boy receives an affectionate pat on the head. “And that one seems to be a Brook!” The smallest child bounces up and down with excitement as she receives a quick squeeze.

I like these names; they seem futuristic without being contrived.

Words and kisses are exchanged between Granny and the parents. Then everybody enters the living room and settles themselves on the synthetic gray sofa and chairs.

Later that afternoon, Sierra, the eldest and most verbal of the three youngsters, demands:

I think Sierra's actions imply her personality; it doesn't need to be introduced with "most verbal". But "eldest" gives some necessary information.

“Granny, tell us a story!”

“What about, dearest?”

Sierra ponders this for a moment, then replies:

“Tell us about when you were little!”

Granny thinks for a few moments, trying to recall. It seems so long ago. She stares out the window, buying time. The sky is smoggy as ever, as it has been since The Switch. It is fitting somehow: gray sky against gray buildings planted firmly in the gray ground. However, the sky brings back a memory.

The text in bold: I think "it seems so long ago" and Granny's pause implies it is hard to recall without needing to say "trying to recall". The text in italics might be better off later; and also, the story doesn't explain what The Switch is (unless this is part of a larger story and it's revealed later?).

“When I was little the sky was blue,” she begins. The little ones lean in closer, intrigued. Canyon’s eyes are wide and shocked.

Wide eyes reveal shock, so you may not need to say "and shocked".

“Blue?” asks Sierra.

“Blue like…like…” she is trying to think of something natural that is blue. Finally it comes to her, “blue like your mother’s eyes,” she explains. Sierra’s mouth forms an o of surprise at the idea.

Again, it's probably not necessary to explain every character motive. The fact that she thinks so long about it implies that there are few natural blue things left.

“The sky was blue,” continues Granny, “and filled with puffy white clouds. As white as – as clean dishes straight out of the purifier, and puffy as cotton candy. None of the thick smog we have now.

Relating to the "none... we have now" sentence I have bolded, I also think this is unnecessary. The grey sky has already been mentioned, and if the sky is grey and that is what the characters are used to, it's unlikely they'd mention it specifically.

“In my day the ground was covered with grass and the dirt-”

“Grass?” interrupts Sierra.

“Grass was green like your father’s eyes and shaped in little blades, but not sharp. You could run on it without shoes on.”

The children gasp. Today to go without shoes would be to end up full of splinters and cuts with your feet as black as if you had trod in one of the coal factories.

Good sentence here. The coal factories implies what is powering this world, although "factories" may be the wrong term for a place where coal is refined (unless they're synthesising it) -- you might need to do some research on coal mining and production.

“And the dirt was soft underneath your feet.”

“Granny, what is dirt?”

Granny is puzzled at this. How to describe dirt? Eventually she says:

“Dirt is like animal dung but clean.” She cannot think of anything else to say about it.The children look horrified at the idea.

I like the fact that she can't explain what dirt is, although, again, I think the bolded text is unnecessary (her difficulty describing it shows that this is the only thing she can think to say). Also, this world you've created seems fairly industrial; have the children had enough contact with animals to understand what dung is?

“But clean, oh so clean. And soft and squishy under your feet. And the grass needed the dirt to grow.

“Back then there were clean, natural lakes. And you could go canoeing or kayaking or swimming.”

“Canoeing?”

The simple question makes Granny think of a day long, long ago. A day when she and her parents had gone canoeing and she had stood up in the boat. How they had tipped over and she had thought her parents would be angry with her, but when they surfaced they were laughing. She brushes a tear from her cheek as she remembers her parents. Of course, they are long gone now. She wrenches herself back to the present. Yes, canoes.

I like how you've immediately created the idea of her parents being good natured through this one short flashback. I think her brushing away a tear at the memory implies that her parents are deceased, meaning the bold text is less necessary.

“A canoe is a boat…like a hover-car that you push along in the water. Back then the water was clean and sparkly. And it wasn’t contained with a plastic cover, but open to the elements. It smelled lovely, too, not like dirt and burnt coal. We used to go boating every weekend, and sometimes we would swim.”

I like this flashback story, too, and again, her trouble describing things we see as ordinary shows how far removed the children's world is from now.

“Didn’t you get burns?” asked Sierra, awestruck.

“The water back then hadn’t nearly as many chemicals as now. You didn’t have to worry about acid burns or infected cuts.”

"Didn't you get burns?" is somewhat disturbing -- in a good way, I mean, showing how horrible Sierra's world is, that water causes burns. But, the bolded text seems to explain things too much -- is there a way you could imply chemicals, acid burns and infected cuts, without saying it?

All this talk of her childhood has opened a tap. Now the information comes easily. It is no longer hard to recall. Memories of all varieties come rushing back in. Her head feels clearer than it has in years.

This paragraph seems to repeat the same idea several times. I think the bolded text may be unnecessary, as well, as the other three sentences say the same thing, but in a more story-like way.

“In my day we had trees, too,” she continues enthusiastically.

“Not metal trees like there are now, but real living trees.

Enthusiastically -- an adverb. You don't need to delete every single adverb, but think about whether they're needed, or could be replaced by a stronger verb (eg. "shouted" instead of "said loudly"). And also, "not metal trees" suggests that metal trees are the norm now, so the second part of that phrase is also possibly unnecessary.

As living as you and I. They couldn’t move, but they could grow, and grow they did. When I was little trees grew as tall as buildings and taller. They had branches and leaves, and you could climb up in a tree and sit in its arms.”

I just love this image of sitting in a tree's arms! It's beautiful.

A memory of climbing up the tall pine tree in her back yard and poking her head out very near the top arrives.

This sentence includes a very long separation between the noun "a memory" and the verb "arrives". Rearranging the elements in this sentence might make it flow more smoothly (eg. "A memory arrives of climbing...").

And of her mother being worried that she would tumble down. But she had not been afraid, for the tree held her and would never, never let her fall.

“Granny,” says Sierra seriously, “we want to know more about trees.” The other two nod in agreement. Even their parents are finally listening attentively, hanging on the old woman’s words.

"Seriously" is another adverb. Sierra saying "we want to know more about trees" shows her child-like seriousness well, and without the "seriously", I think this would be more touching. Also, "finally listening attentively" contains two adverbs, with "attentively" the most unnecessary, as listening implies attentiveness.

“Trees,” continues Granny, “are neither plant nor animal but something much older and more important.

I like how Granny diverges from the scientific description of trees and bestows them with an almost mystical importance.

In the old days, it was trees that made air for us to breathe. Trees grow slowly, very slowly. My pine tree was at least a hundred years old, with another hundred to go. A tree was your friend, and it would hold you in its branches always and forever. It would protect you as long as you needed it. And it was a wonderful confidant, for it listened well but never told a soul.”

This is a lovely paragraph, so much stands out as good descriptions -- "another hundred to go", "protect you", "confidant". You have done an excellent job of showing Granny's love for and connection with trees through her beautiful descriptions of them.

For a moment there is silence in the room, as they all ponder over Granny’s words. She has woven a magic spell among the family.

I think the silence, and especially the "magic spell" implies that they are pondering Granny's words.

After what seems like a very, very long time, Sierra breaks the silence in a small voice full of wonder.

“Granny, I want to plant a tree.”

Just to note: this idea is based on my personal preferences, which may not be your preferences or other reader's preferences. The above quote seems to be the turning point of your story, from flashbacks to the children's present reality. If this were to go for a "minimalist" style in turning points, I would delete everything but, "Granny, I want to plant a tree" as a way to create maximum impact.

Granny considers her for a moment. Is it possible? Can she share the magic with her granddaughter? Finally, it comes to her. She commands:

“Wallet!” Her wheelchair complies, unearthing Granny’s gray wallet from some deep recess and opening it for her. With remarkably steady hands for her age, Granny pulls out all the bills she has. These she carefully organizes and hands to Sierra, who looks awe struck.

I think "who looks awe struck" is not adding to this sentence. It might be better of having a separate sentence showing Sierra's surprise.

“Take these, child, and go down to the market. They will claim not to have a tree, for it is a rarity and very expensive. You must show them your money and ask again.

I like the idea of the tree being so important it is concealed. This sentence makes me a little unsure of the world being created, however. If there's a market, there must be countryside somewhere growing the food, where presumably there would be trees. While it would be possible to have a world with only "cash crops" (food crops) growing in huge warehouses or something similar, in this case it would probably be sold at a large shopping centre rather than a market.

Also, the world you've built seems very "gritty", but this seems in reverse of that, with Sierra being allowed to go to the market by herself.

When they have given it to you, and mind that they give it to you in a pot big enough for it to grow in until we find some land for it, you must bring it straight back here. Then I will show you how to care for it.”

After the children have gone to bed their mother approaches Granny as she sits in her wheelchair, staring vacantly out the window. There are no stars now. But Granny can remember a time when the sky was full of them, tiny pinpoints of light. And she can remember a time when they were barely visible, because the world was becoming enshrouded in smog. And she knows that now her grandchildren and their children will never see them, except in pictures. Her daughter’s voice breaks her out of her thoughts.

“Are you sure you want to give Sierra all of your savings?” she asks.

“Well, I’m not going to need them,” she replies reasonably, “I’ll be gone soon enough and then no amount of money can help me.”

Her daughter stares at her for a while, then nods. She understands.


The next day, Sierra returns to the house on foot. Her hover-car is obediently toting the tree. It is a small thing, and not too healthy looking. Maybe four feet tall, and with none to many leaves. A baby. A maple, though, and that a good sign. Maples are hardy.

I like this paragraph above with th description of the tree. You're capturing the older, formal style of Granny's thoughts well throughout this story.

Now comes the tricky part. The sun rarely shows which is why plants cannot grow here. Granny explains to the little girl exactly where her growing lamp is. The one that gives plants what they need for photosynthesis. Under her grandmother’s strict directions, Sierra sets up the lamp so that it shines on her little maple tree.

I think the bolded text is unnecessary, as the fact that they need a special lamp suggests that the tree cannot grow naturally, and "the sun rarely shows" tells us why.

A final query about this: Granny's growing lamp seems easy to access, so it makes me wonder why others haven't got similar set-ups (other people would probably miss trees too). It's half-explained, in Sierra having to find the lamp, that it is quite old. Something like needing to repair the old lamp, or get a special fitting to attach it to a modern power plug, would make its appearance and rarity more realistic.

The two move back to survey their handiwork. The maple is small now, but will soon grow. The family will now be helping to clean the air for others.

“It’s beautiful,” Sierra whispers.

Granny hugs her tight. The maple tree helps her recall many things from when she was young. She remembers climbing with her friends to the top of the maple tree in her backyard. She remembers hanging up bird feeders and trying to keep the squirrels away. But now one memory swims to the forefront. She remembers, for the first time in years, a day when she was very young. She remembers the day that her grandmother helped her plant a tree in their front yard. A maple tree.

I love the flashback here and the parallels to Granny's own life.

Overall, a great story with some beautiful descriptions and characters. Remember that my points, especially about what is or is not necessary, are only a guide. I understand that, especially if this is part of a larger story, there may be things that look unimportant but are needed as clues to future events, or things like that.

Wonderful story; keep it up!