Young Writers Society

This story should be set in the third person. It looks like what you are trying to achieve in the first chaper is the establishing of the idea that all those at the Academy are the same and do not question their place. However, the first chapter gave me the impression not of a student in a repressive Academy, but of a student in any normal private school. But, if you switch to the third person and barely change anything else, I think you'll give the impression of an unthinking, yet somehow unique student.

In any case, I like how you opened this up. It was kind of spooky, and you provide the background information in a concise manner. The very beginning is excellent; it grabbed my attention right away.

haha almighty site admin. You're funny. Thank you for the crit, I'll consider it. Should I just post the next section here? well I guess I will...

This is a horrible crime. To be caught conceiving ideas, ways to separate ourselves from each other is a crime payable with death or solitary confinement until we are of a good age to reproduce.
Reproduce. That is the sole purpose for a woman, to reproduce. Those who cannot are sent to harsh labor camps and worked to death quickly and efficiently. We must make at least ten children within our first fifteen years of partnership. I know not who my partner shall be.
I stand up. Just as I do so, the iron door is unbolted, and it swings open. The guardian is here. She nods at me. I bow at the waist. Then with her stick she guides me into the line. It is not long. Only three other Nameless are before me. They stare strait ahead, soulless.
I hope that I have a soul.
We stop, pick up more girls, carry one, stop, pick up more girls, and carry on. The never-ending cycle. It is six thirty when we get to the Serving room. I sit at my usual spot, and spoon my oatmeal to my mouth. We are all thin, exactly one hundred and ten pounds. The tall girls have a harder time achieving this feat, but it isn’t difficult for me. I’m only 5’5, a very good height. Average. The tall girls are often put into Shrinkers. Short girls are stretched to the correct size. I’m lucky in that part. They don’t try to mess with my skeletal structure.
But they do think I’m too beautiful. They used to break my nose, and cut my arms when I was thirteen, to try to make me average. My nose is as it has always been, but I still carry the scars, covered by my long sleeved blouse.
I think I used to be blonde, when I was a young girl. Blonde, with blue eyes. Now I have brown hair, and brown eyes. The same shade of hair as every other girl I’ve seen. The same color of eyes. It is redundant.
A bell tolls. The room clears out, save for five of us. We begin to pick up the trays, and start on Clean-up Duty. I am to become a Dishwasher when I grow up, and my partner shall work in the fields, growing corn and such. I am told that I’m lucky, since I don’t have to work in a factory like many other women.
I care not either way. I request to use the restroom, and the guardian agrees. I walk slowly down the long hallway to the restroom. As I pass by, I look down the hallway where the Glass separates my partner and I.
Then, I make up my mind. On my way back from the restroom I shall walk down that hall, and look at the boys, close up! This idea sends chills down my spine. I look forward to seeing them.
I open the door to the restroom, and look down the long line of toilets. There are no curtains to cover them, and one girl at the end of the room is using one. We are used to this lack of privacy. There is a wash basin at the end of the room, small, gray, porcelain. It is refilled but once a day, and the water is usually gone when I get to it. It is early. There will still be water to wash with.
I use the restroom, and as I do a few girls who will be Cleaners come in, and begin to scrub the floors and wash the toilets. I finish and leave them to their work, deciding to wash my hands in the sink when I do the dishes.
I run down the hallway, and sharply cut off to the Glass. I’m excited. I run down the hall. They want us to see the boys, I tell myself. Why else would they make the Glass?
My heart is beating quickly. I am almost to the Glass! I can see a few boys in the hallway already! I look back to the hall, but no one is coming anyway. Then, I peer into the boy’s hallway. It is similar to ours; a long hallway leads to the Glass. Three boys have ventured down here, seeking adventure no doubt. Hoping to see what is rumored of.
I inspect them carefully. One of them has very curly hair, and I believe it’s naturally brown from his complexion. He’s tried to tame it, but it still waves about his ears. I smile at him. He smiles back, pleasantly.
His friends step back, shocked at the sight of me. Tremors run down my spine, and chills of excitement, too. They’ll want me in the Serving Room. Still, I step forward as he does, and touch the Glass with my small, pale hand. His, large and tanned, touches it and only the Glass separate us. I smile at him, and he smiles back.
I wonder, is it soundproof? I look back to the hall, but no one comes, so I smile and say; “Anna,” though my voice is ever so soft.
He raises his eyebrows. He’s read my lips. The boy turns to his friends, and says something. They run away. Then he looks both ways, though there are only gray walls on either side of us. He presses his forehead against the glass, and mouths, “Trent.”
I smile, and touch my forehead to the Glass as well. There is a silent bond between us. We have both chosen secret names for ourselves.
Suddenly, I hear footsteps in the hall. My eyes widen, and I duck down, trying to hide in the corner. Trent ducks too; he’s read my fear. The hallway is dimly lit, a forbidden passage made to tempt us, so that we can only gaze at each other from a far.
It’s a guardian! She’ll be wondering where I am. If I’m not in the restroom when she gets there, she’ll know that I’ve gone off course. I sigh as she passes, and resign myself to solitary confinement.
I stand up, and tap the Glass softly. Trent arises. He smiles at me, and I smile back, then shrug softly. “Go,” I mouth.
He nods, and turns to go. Then, he turns back to me and touches the glass with his middle three fingers in a sad goodbye.
I run down the hallway, and make my way back to the Serving Room. But it’s too late; I hear the guardian’s footsteps from behind. She grabs my shoulder roughly, and pushes me back to my room.

***

Trent


It was hard to convince my mates to come with me on this adventure, and though we did during our short break, we were a bit taken aback by the girl we saw. I’ve ventured to the Glass many times and none of the girls have ever been brave enough to come near it.
She was beautiful. I’ve never seen one like her. Oh, they’re all like her in a way, I suppose. All of them with that dark brown hair, and placid eyes. They’re all pale on the other side of the Glass. On our side, there are plenty of skin colors, ranging from very light to nearly black. We’re segregated from each other, though. They think the darker ones shouldn’t touch the light colored boys. I think it’s stupid. We all work together.
I’m to work the fields when I graduate, I’m told. We have a miniature work camp behind the Academy, where we garden and plant, and tend to the animals. In the summers I hay, while the Masters watch over us with horsewhips, but during the winters I muck out the horses stalls, and feed the chickens and sheep. The camp provides food for the Academy, but the girls tend to the cleaning and cooking. When we’re asleep, a group of them comes over, and they mop the hallways and wash our dishes, and sterilize the toilets.
It’s time for me to go outside, and start haying. I’ve finished my First Meal, but it wasn’t nearly enough to suffice. I’m hungry. We’re all skin and bones over here. Skin, bones, and muscles. I jog down the hallway, and run to the Dorms, which sleep a hundred boys in one large, barn-like room. There are six of these Dorms. I’m in the fifth. I jog to my bed, which is a little ways down, and yank on my work clothes. Big, brown cloth pants and a white tunic, which hangs slack off my skeletal frame. My stomach growls, and I ignore it as I slide on a worn pair of leather shoes.
The Masters are shouting at the boys who are filing out. I’m bound to be at the end of the line, which could mean the butt of the whip across my jaw. But I’m lucky this time, able to join the crowd undetected.
It’s chilly outside, but this will last only an hour or so. It gets hot in the day, especially now, around mid-summer. I grab a pitchfork and jog out to the field. A few wagons are located around the area I’m working on. I don’t roll the hay; I only lift it and stack it on the wagon. This work is exhausting, and by mid-morning my arms are aching. I wonder when they’ll send the young boy; we call him Water, out to the field.
It’s getting hot out. I wish I was allowed to take off my shirt, but I’m not. Finally, Water comes out with a bucket and a tin ladle, and runs back and forth between sections. He makes his way to mine, slowly enough, and hands me the ladle. I smile at him, and drink my full ration, before handing it back.
My thoughts drift to that girl, again. She said her name is, was it Hannah? No, I think she mouthed Anna. Anna. I roll the name over on my tongue, taste it. I like it. I wonder if she likes the name that I made up for myself. It was when a few of my friends and I got tired of not knowing how to identify each other. Of course, there was the “Student 3C0089” idea that the Professors used to use. And the Masters just yell, “Hey, Boy!” when they want to get our attention.
But Jay, Rick and I all made up names one night, together. I had been digging trenches for the cows, and I sort of liked the way the word trench sounds. I twisted it around and made Trent. Rick, well he said he just liked the word, but really he wasn’t all that original. Normally he polishes the horse tack in winter, so he made a word that half- rhymed. And Jay bales the hay.
We don’t use our names around the Masters, we rarely speak them to each other. But it makes me feel safe, like I’m a person, not Student 3C0089. Anna. I wonder how she made that name up? I can’t think of anything it rhymes with.
The Second Meal bell rings, a sweet relief. My muscles are aching and I’m tired. My face is moist with sweat, and I’m breathing heavily. I wish they would give us a ten minute break somewhere between breakfast and lunch, but they don’t. Lunch is simple, two carrots, a tall glass of milk, and a thick sort of mush. I don’t care how bad it tastes, there’s meat, beans and rice in the mush, and it fills me up. I’ve been horribly hungry lately. I think I’m having a growth spurt or something. The Masters won’t like that. When Asha- the boy who shovels ashes from the fireplaces every night- hit his growth spurt last year, they beat him over the head with the butt of the horsewhip every night, as though that would make him stop growing once he reached 5’10. It didn’t, he’s six feet tall now and barely fourteen, but it did knock him out cold. He didn’t mind though, it got him out of work for the day, and he got an extra glass of milk to make him feel better.
The girls, they say they have a machine that you have to lay in every night, and they set it to a certain number, 5’7 I think it is, and if they keep growing at night it’ll smash their brains out. Most of them stopped growing, I think.
Once Second Meal is over we’re shoved to the entrance of the Shower Room. We strip and walk into it, each with a bar of soap pressed into our hands. They hate it when we smell. The shower lasts three minutes-long enough for us to get clean, then we’re herded into our Dorms, naked. They’ll wash the clothes later.
I guess we would be embarrassed or something about the whole process, but we’re all used to it. We change into our dress clothes, and make our way to the classes.




sorry was that too long? uh...just tell me if it was I'm not sure how long it's suppossed to be for each post. anyway that's all I have. I kind of dumped the story but I want to get back on it. thank you!

I've given you all my critique already, Misty. Even after the second time, it's pretty good. I want more! Peez!

(sorry, z, if you want I'll give you the link to my critiqe....)

Excellent story!

Wow, these kids have it rough, huh? I agree with Nate that you should change it to the third person.

"We are used to this lack of privacy." If they've been living like this since before they can probably remember, how do they know what privacy is? Changing the story to the third person would easily fix this. Also, I'm assuming they've never heard real names before, so how do they come up with such normal names like "Anna" and "Trent?"

All in all, an excellent story that, when modified a bit, could become even better.

Oooh... i like your story... But the only thing I have noticed is the the thing Randy pointed out... I am currently working on a extremly, super duper, really loooooooooooooooooooong science fiction story. Anyway, I think I'll see if their is other good work of yours that I can comment.

uhm...ty. I'll check your story out. I haven't worked on this in like, a month. I always kill stories like that.

What an interesting story.

I've always loved those stories that kind of have that conspiracy feel to them.

I'd like to see more. I personally wouldn't have an idea of what more to write about, but, maybe you have an idea.

YAY!

I'm working on a story very much like this, so let's see if I can help you...

The way this critique will be, just to be different, very fragmented. This is because I'm commenting on it as I read it. With that said, let's continue!

Misty Lynn wrote:The Nameless
Introduction:
“We don’t know why we’re here. We don’t remember when we got here. We don’t know what’s going on. We know that we are each other. I am my friend. She is I. We have become each other. There is no individuality. We know nothing but that we are told. We are one. The Nameless.”
**
There were boys and there were girls at the Academy. They saw each other for the sake of knowing that they were different, but only through the glass wall that separated them. Those at the Academy were kept within the gray brick walls. There were no windows. Every girl had shoulder length brown hair, which was dyed and trimmed once a month. They had foregone eye surgery to change the color to brown, and each wore a collared white shirt, knee length black skirt and white knee socks.
The boys wore a similar uniform- white collared shirts and black dress pants. Their hair was cut at the same length and combed over to the side. They had brown hair. All of them. They didn’t know why. Their eyes were brown, too.
Their ages ranged from thirteen to nineteen. Those who turned twenty were given a partner of the opposite and released to work camps, told only that they must work and reproduce.
Their children were taken away at the age of one and a half, after the mother and father were useless to the Government. The children were sent to the Nurseries, raised by men and women specifically chosen to be emotionless in the upbringing of the children
When they were ten, they were sent to Primary School, until they were thirteen. Then, they were sent to the Academy.
The Government had many of these Academy. They were cunning in training the youth to be Nameless. But not all of them were so. A few slipped under fence. A few insisted that they were human, allowed to be so.

My first thought after reading that was, is this needed? Think about it. One of the chief mistake a writer makes is when they say to themseLves, "OMG! My reader is never going to understand me! I must explain every single detail at the beginning." This is wrong. It forces too many details in the reader's face and this tends to have the opposite effect. Instead of saying, "Oh! I want to read more of the story!" they say, "Oh great... this reads like a textbook. And it does! A textbook must be concise and reveal facts in a very straight way. When you write a story, this is the last thing you want to do. This is why introductions and prologues are frowned upon in the writing community. Good for textbooks, bad for novels.

So what can you do instead? Try explaining it slowly as you go along. Reveal one thing and then another, and don't be afraid that your reader doesn't know anything at first. Not knowing a lot can be very intriguing and can keep a reader on a cliff hanger. "What happens next?!" they think as they turn to the next page, their hearts beating in suspense.

And then you don't have to reveal it at all! It's kind of a jip if you think about it. We writers spend so much time working out all the details and then all our research ends up amounting to nothing at all. For instance, for a story I am writing, one of the characters is dying from cirrhosis. To make it seem real to everyone, I researched about cirrhosis and for a while my life was centered around my research of this liver failure problem. Every waking free time was spent absorbing knowledge, finding out short-term remedies, how it affects the liver, what side-effects it had, everything you can think of. Will this help my story? I suppose in the long run it will since I will be able to write about a character realistically. Even though I spent hours and hours of research, I will not put anymore information in it than needed. Most likely, the most I will need is something like this:

"Don't you know? Cirrhosis means his liver isn't functionalanymore. He'll die soon."

She paled. 'What!"

It hardly seems fair! I don't get to bombard my readers with interesting facts. Even so, this is all that is necessary. Don't tack on information that can get in the way of the actual story. Lead the reader gently into it. Of course, you can have a problem of revealing too little, but I wouldn't worry about this.

Chapter One:
I rise from my cot, and carefully fold my gray blankets at the foot of the bed. My nightgown trails the floor as I walk to the shower to make ready for the day.

The last thing you want to do with your story is to make the present tense jump out at the reader. It can be very irritating and they may want to stop. For instance, "rise" is not a good word since it draws attention that this is a story in the present tense. Once again, ease the reader in the story. For instance, my family and I were at the ocean and I got to dip my feet in it. Big mistake. The ocean was cold. When the water splashed on me accidentally, I was shivering. However, when I got my wet suit on and gradually went into the ocean, I was fine. Your first sentence should be someone putting a wet suit on, not a blast of cold water hitting them.

Of course, certain writings might need this blast of cold water first. Yours doesn't. You will want to introduce the scene and setting, and the best way to introduce a scene in a strange, horrible society is to introduce the normal and then twist it. You have tried to do this, but you need to make the transition better.

Nights are always solitary here at the Academy. My cell is small and cramped, made entirely of cement. The cold seeps through my socks and onto my feet as I undress and turn on the shower. There is no shower curtain, just a small table with a basin and bowl and a toilet at the corner of my cell. I sometimes worry that a guardian will enter as I shower.
We aren’t allowed to use the restroom without their consent, and each person is allotted only two showers a week. Punishments are strict for breaking these rules.

The last sentence is passive. It would be stronger in the active tense.

I never do. The cold water rushes onto my face and I quickly take the small bar of soap, and wash my underarms and privates.

Privates is a lame word to use in this sentence. Be specific or leave it out entirely.

Then I shave my legs and armpits as quickly as I can with the feeble razor. The blade isn’t sharp. They’re worried someone will intentionally hurt themselves with it.
Pain is joy.

Whoa... that last sentence seems really out of place. It sounds like you're trying to put a wonderful line in their that is insightful and will make your audiences wowed. Don't. As hard as it can be, philosophical statements should be guarded against. Sometimes you will want to put these statements in, but be careful about using them. If they seem out of place to you, delete them.

A small break from the monotony of the days.

Oh! So that was your point. It looked seperated when I quoted them, for some strange reason. Nevertheless, these statements should be combined. Fragments, though useful, can look rather pathetic if they're used like this. You might be able to get away with this, so do what you want.

But does this fit? I don't think so. It seems like an author just stating a philosophical scene because it sounds cool. Don't do this. The best way you can make a point is to describe it in the context in the story. For instance, you wrote, "Then I shave my legs and armpits as quickly as I can with the feeble razor. The blade isn’t sharp. They’re worried someone will intentionally hurt themselves with it." That drove the point in much better. Why? Because it was in the context of the story. You involved the characters in it and it made it better, simply because of this character interaction.

My ashen hair is limp on my shoulders as I scrub it with the scentless shampoo. Just as the last of it is rinsed from my hair, the water turns off on cue. One minute and a half is all the time we are allowed for showering.

Hehehe... I would not be able to live in this society.

I towel off with the scrap of fabric on my shelf, and quickly dress. Then I brush my hair with the weak comb.

The adjective "weak" does nothing within the sentence, plus you say the same thing underneath it with more concrete terms. Delete the weak adjectives and keep the concrete terms.

My hair is too thick, and I am constantly reprimanded for this. They sliced off half of it from underneath, but it grows back too quickly.
My hair tumbles on my shoulders in a feminine way, curling softly at the edges. This is forbidden. It separates me from the others. I brush it into a small ponytail at the base of my neck, before pouring a bit of water from my basin into the porcelain bow and washing my face.
My shoes are hard. They don’t give us time to wear them in before changing them. The guardians take care to make everyone the same. Sameness is prized above all else. Even the guardians are the same. They each wear navy suits with brass buttons and knee length skirts, stiff and formal. They used to wear their hair in tight buns atop their heads, but recently the Government decided that they should shave it off. I am only grateful that they allow us to keep our hair.

The opinion seems out of place. She hasn't given any opinon so far, why should she bring out her opinions now? Delete it.

I sit down on my cot, and fold my hands on my lap.

Delete the comma between the two clauses.

A clock ticks inside my head. I have three minutes until I must rise in front of my door. It will be opened by a guardian, and I will join the line behind her, hands at my side, which will be led to the breakfast room.

Delet the comma between "It will be opened by a guardian, and I will..." It isn't necessary. Also, the "which will be led to the breakfast room" sounds awkward because there isn't a real subject in that part of the sentence. Maybe if you seperate this and give it a subject it will sound smoother.

Breakfast has been the same since I came here. Watery oatmeal and skim milk.
I don’t know what day it is. All days have been the same since my arrival. Weeks blend into months, which become years. They say my birthday is tomorrow. Birthdays mean nothing, just that we are a year closer to work.
They say I will be seventeen. Seventeen is a good year. It means I will soon be introduced to my partner. They want us to know our partners, so that we can be accustomed to making children. They care not about love. They care that there are more of us. More humans to turn into Beings, without feeling, joy, love, or happiness.
My internal clock ticks. One minute is left before the day begins. Another monotonous day that means nothing. A day just like yesterday. A day like tomorrow.
But I have a secret. I have something which gives me hope. I close my eyes, and whisper softly, “Anna.” I smile inwardly. It is a contortion of my own imagination. Because I have decided that it is my name. I smile, and say it again. “Anna. My name is Anna.”
*

WOW! Both our characters (my character who is similar to yours in the story similar to yours) are known as Anna. Scary, scary stuff.

So, what did I think of it? Truth be told, I liked it. Yes, I know, I gave you lots of critiques, but I only do that with stories that I like, so consider yourself one of the lucky ones.

One thing that I liked about it was you refrained from opinions (except that one part I told you about) and then finally at the end you revealed a startling character advancement. I say startling because you drew out the scene very well and then the last paragraph was like, "WOW!" And not just because of that freaky coincidence either. You don't need an introduction, Misty. You do fine without it.

Keep at it! This seems to be a good story.

I'll let this story sink in a little bit more before I comment on the other stuff, but I will come back.

Their children were taken away at the age of one and a half, after the mother and father were useless to the Government. The children were sent to the Nurseries, raised by men and women specifically chosen to be emotionless in the upbringing of the children
When they were ten, they were sent to Primary School, until they were thirteen. Then, they were sent to the Academy.

Before you continue, give some explanation on how she can have an opinion on anything. If this is all she knows, how does she know that anything is better? It seems out of character. If you keep a guy in a cave for his entire lifetime, and then show him the sky, he won't know what it is, unless it has been explained to him, which is unlikely in this situation.

Most of my comments stream from this. I'll post one for you so you understand what I'm looking at.

My cell is small and cramped, made entirely of cement.

How would she know what a cell is? If she has lived in it for a long time, how would she figure out it is cramped?

Hopefully, we get some reason for this.

Another thing, and that is formating. Check this out:

Text Size 18

Introduction vs. Introduction

Pretty clear on which is better. It isn't necessarily critical to the story, but it makes it a little easier on the reader.[/quote]

i hate really harsh critiques that make me feel like a total loser. thanks though, Snoink. your opinions are appreciated...just with a slight wince every other line

I love this Misty, the Introduction is very spooky, though I think it should be a prolouge insted.

[qoute="Misty Lynn"]Those who turned twenty were given a partner of the opposite and released to work camps, told only that they must work and reproduce.[/qoute]

I think you ment opposite sex, not just opposite. Or, it could just be oppiste I guess.

[qoute="Misty Lynn"]It didn’t, he’s six feet tall now and barely fourteen, but it did knock him out cold. He didn’t mind though, it got him out of work for the day, and he got an extra glass of milk to make him feel better. [/qoute]

Make him feel better? why would they care how he feels? you create backround as if no one cares about the students, and then you say that. It just doesn't fit. And I don't think it needs to be in the third person. Though it will make it read better. But it isn't neccisary. But this is really good! I love it! write more please!!!

No! Don't kill it! Please write more, it's really really good. And don't change to third person either. It's great the way it is.

You really need to finish this thing girl. It is amazing and I really want to read more.

This was good! I don't have any comments for the grammatical or spelling side, and the other reviewers have pretty much taken care of what I found. Third person would definitely be a good idea, and you need to make paragraphs and space the out. I also found that stylistically, your use of two or three word sentences, (other than the fact that they are grammatically incorrect) makes the paragraphs seem choppy. Apart from that, I really liked this. It was fairly well written and the idea is very good. The poor kids have it kinda rough........

Hi Misty!

I loved reading this! It's so creepy, yet so fun to read! I was sucked in from beginning to end and am still bouncing, waiting for more.

I do not agree with Snoink; I do not think it reads like a textbook (although I've never actually read a textbook, being the homeschooler I am, but I think I know what she means) I like the amount of detail. And I did want to flip the pages (I was slightly disappointed upon realizing that there were no pages, but the scroll on the side of the screen was an alright substitute). Anyway, if I keep going at this pace, I'll never finish this critique... I better get moving!

Sometimes your sentences are way to short. It's okay to do it once in a while for effect, but try to blend some together with semi-colons at the very least.

They had brown hair. All of them. They didn’t know why. Their eyes were brown, too.

Lost of little sentences here, and also, you might add after "They didn't know why" something to the effect of "and they didn't want to know."

Those who turned twenty were given a partner of the opposite and released to work camps, told only that they must work and reproduce.

Say opposite sex, or opposite gender.

The Government had many of these Academy.

Academies? Or perhaps you meant to say something else?