Young Writers Society

When you attempt to find the sum of your life’s moments and condense it into a single word and that singular descriptor can only be violence, or death, or tragedy, there’s probably something wrong with your life. Unfortunately for me, I came to that realization within moments of the end of my own. The muzzle of a pistol tapping repeatedly (and painfully) against my skull reminded me of the presence of my killer, as though I could have forgotten he was there.

I sat on the couch of my own living room, in the apartment suite I rented in Los Angeles. City of Angels, indeed. I, however, would not be among them when my killer finally bought me a one-way ticket to the judge’s table. My life (take your pick of the aforementioned words to describe it) was far too…interesting to make it into heaven. People have many, many metaphors for life. Life’s rough, get a helmet. Life is a roller coaster. Life is like a box of chocolate. My life is most akin to the rapids of a river of blood, with me caught helpless in its deadly current. I tread water as best as I could, but without anything to keep me afloat, I had been doomed from the start.

The soft but firm cushions gave slightly under my weight as I shifted. I looked up from my hands and into the flat screen television to see my killer. He followed my gaze unconsciously, and our eyes met for as moment. I held his gaze fiercely and smirked, ensuring that he realized exactly who he was holding his gun on, and what it meant to kill me.

He knew.

His eyes were as dead as mine. This was a man whose life was as pathetic as my own, who had been driven mad by the constant violence and ever-present threat of a quick, painful premature death. Interestingly enough, though, he too knew that nothing in this world was premature.

God—Yaweh, Allah—was as omnipotent and all-knowing as the Christians—Jews, Muslims—thought, and more. He was the ultimate architect; a craftsman with no peer; an author whose pages made up the very pages of reality and whose cast was many millions of times that of Dostoyefski’s Masterpiece. Everything happened because He planned it that way. He was the Heavenly Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit. He was also a kid with a magnifying glass—and we, his ants.

My killer knew that somehow, at the end of it all, none of this was his fault, and that he had had no choice in the matter from the very beginning. He couldn’t have stopped his parents brutal murder, or his unwitting participation in a bank heist gone terribly wrong, sending his life spiraling into control. And though he was armed with that knowledge, he was still human. Somewhere inside, he wanted to kill himself as much as he had to kill me.

His finger tightened on the trigger, the pistol’s hammer raising like the axe of an executioner hovering for one fatal swing. I closed my eyes and awaited the next act of wanton violence--the final chapter in a book penned in blood--my own explosive demise.

Oh, wow, Buscador: this is fantastic!

Your mc's voice is crystal clear and quite strong. I'm very intrigued by his life, his past and the choices he's made that have led him up to this point.

I didn't find anything to nitpick about, and I'm looking forward to reading more of this.

Tanya

Dono! Yours was the first thing on the homepage. So.

I. NITPICKS

Unfortunately for me, I came to that realization within moments of the end of my own.

For some reason, the "my own" seems vaguely out of place, but for the life of me I couldn't tell you what to replace it with.

The muzzle of a pistol tapping repeatedly (and painfully) against my skull reminded me of the presence of my killer, as though I could have forgotten he was there.

So if you can't forget it, why is the gun reminding him? It might be... trying to act as a reminder or something, but it wouldn't actually- oh, I'm just being pedantic now.

My life (take your pick of the aforementioned words to describe it) was far too…interesting to make it into heaven.

But you've already said to choose one of the three, then replaced them with interesting- again, I'm just being annoying. But maybe a little rephrasing.

Life is like a box of chocolate.

chocolates.

God—Yaweh, Allah—was as omnipotent and all-knowing as the Christians—Jews, Muslims—thought, and more. He was the ultimate architect; a craftsman with no peer; an author whose pages made up the very pages of reality and whose cast was many millions of times that of Dostoyefski’s Masterpiece. Everything happened because He planned it that way. He was the Heavenly Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit. He was also a kid with a magnifying glass—and we, his ants.

I'd actually merge this with the paragraph that comes after it. Right now, it's out there on its own and just a bit... random.

II. SO. YOU'RE DYING.

He's taking it pretty well.

No, now, for the most part of this, I really like the tone. It's detached and intelligent and I like it. Really. But when we get to the end and we realise that he's actually being shot, there's no panic. Not that there has to be, just that there isn't... anything. The same goes for the gunman. How long does this take? And the two of them are just sitting there considering their respective fates. It's not that I'm saying they should be panicked, exactly, just that I felt it was that little bit too detached the entire way through. It's not that big a deal though. Just something to think about.

III. OVERALL

I actually really enjoyed that. Just a few small things I think could be better!

Hope I helped, drop me a note if you need anything!

-Stella x

*Liked

Wow, this was soo good! I haven't seen such a good piece on YWS for a while. Unfortunately, this means that I have no nitpicks. Darn.

Hi Buscador!! <- I added another exclamation mark due to the fact that your name already has one so yeah...

Anyway, I'm not going to do a very long review for this since it's a pretty short beginning but I did have one or two things that fluttered around in my mind while I was reading this so I thought I might as well give you a short review. . .

Firstly, I enjoyed this beginning. Your writing is quite flawless and I enjoyed your description and the witty sense that your character portrayed. If I could call it wit, seemed like one of those types of characters to me. Your imagery and wording flowed quite well and the introduction was a great grabber and did it's job well. ^^

God—Yaweh, Allah—was as omnipotent and all-knowing as the Christians—Jews, Muslims—thought, and more. He was the ultimate architect; a craftsman with no peer; an author whose pages made up the very pages of reality and whose cast was many millions of times that of Dostoyefski’s Masterpiece

A small bit of appreciation. I love the way you worded this, it's 'awesome'.

Now, I think Stella mentioned something about feeling detached and I think I'll have to disagree. I don't think you should ponder on that detached feeling so much - as of now really. It's just the first part so it might be a little hard to develop that sort of connection. Especially if it's starting off with a sort of ''ending''. It might just be me but I liked the detached feeling, made me want to know more about the situation and the character and this makes the reader excited, so I liked that.

Also, as far the character goes I think he's just accepting his situation, no? I think you mentioned something about this in the beginning as well. Although I did feel like the scene was dragged and crowded with many thoughts that made it seem like the two were just sitting there and thinking.

Overall, I found this to be quite a nice opener and definitely enjoyable. Sorry I wasn't very helpful but it was a short piece (Excuse). Keep writing and if you have any questions, let me know. ^^

-Pink

God—Yaweh, Allah—was as omnipotent and all-knowing as the Christians—Jews, Muslims—thought, and more. He was the ultimate architect; a craftsman with no peer; an author whose pages made up the very pages of reality and whose cast was many millions of times that of Dostoyefski’s Masterpiece. Everything happened because He planned it that way. He was the Heavenly Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit. He was also a kid with a magnifying glass—and we, his ants.

That and the last were the strongest paragraphs. The MC's calmness seems out of place at first, before this paragraph. Once you bluntly reference religion it seems more realistic. Up until then, it's not so much unrealistic as it is... strange. Almost has a dream-quality to it. Plausible, but not real, or based in reality.

From that point on it gets better. I think the reference to something bigger than the two people in the scene help it out a bit, hint at some back story or chain of events that we're missing that could lead to such calmness. Until you get to that, though, it prevents you from being sucked into the story. It's intriguing, but at the same time, distancing.

After that, though, it gets stronger. Once you're able to sink more into the story, it's not hard to fall in completely. It's a really good start. As a prologue it works well overall. Definitely serves to hook your attention.

Hey Dono

Usually I would start off by going through and listing all the mistakes I found but I'm guessing that you don't really want that, plus other people have already done so.

So I didn't find much at all wrong with this so I'm just going to give you my overall opinions be it good or bad and hope that it helps in some way. I've noticed that other people have mentioned that they feel the calmness with which the main character accepts the situation is distancing and perhaps doesn't let them get into the story. I'm going to pretty much completely disagree. I like the fact that he isn't all panicked and freaking out. Yes that may be what any normal person does when they have a gun to their head but I like the fact that he isn't reacting like a normal person. That for me makes this piece much more interesting and the character much more interesting. For me it makes me want to get to know him more and find out about his life.

I find main characters who are not necessarily 'good' a lot more interesting sometimes. Perhaps someone we shouldn't be sympathising with but do anyway, it gives stories nice little twists. Like the film Brighton Rock where the main character is a murderer who is manipulating a woman to save himself.

I sort of agree that, although it's interesting to hear this character's thoughts, the overall picture is that they are just sat around in a living room for a while and then the other guy just shoots him. It begs the question, well why didn't he just shoot him as soon as he saw him? I get that maybe you are perhaps trying to be ambiguous but it's plot holes like that that drive me nuts. Ok so what if he is waiting to shoot him? What is he waiting for? Is there some sort of small trigger that you can build in that gives him a reason to wait to shoot him? Maybe there is something that sets him off. Thinking about motivations behind what characters do is always important, even for smaller characters. You don't necessarily have to flat out tell me the motivation behind the action but you need to know it. Maybe you do already, but perhaps you need to hint a little about that in this section, even if it's going to be part of a bigger plot later and you are just trying to hold it back.

So I rambled for quite a while there, I hope that helped even a little bit. I'd be interested to see where this story is going. I liked the fact that you didn't actually write him dying in this part. Yeah ok you majorly hinted that he was about to die but still...we didn't see him die, which makes me wonder...

If you have any questions just PM me

Bex x

Dono. Here as requested.

I suppose that I'll start by saying that overall, I really did enjoy this. The voice was so clear, and the writing was excellent. Had this been a completed novel, it was one that I probably would have devoured in half a night.

However, there was one thing that threw me off a little. Like the others, I sort of felt that they were just sitting there for the longest time, thinking about death and their actions. You didn't bring any of the killer's thoughts in, but he seemed to be stalled for the longest time, which brings me to wonder why he's taking so long - is he actually thinking about what he's doing? Like Lindly (More commonly known as beckiw) was saying, is there an actual reason he's waiting to shoot him? I'm don't know, this part just seemed a little bit off to me.

As for where people mentioned detachment, the lack of panic being good or bad - I don't really agree with either side. The fact that he's not panicking seemed good at some points. The religious aspect helped, but if he's going to be burnt to a crisp repeatedly for the rest of his life because he's going to hell, you'd think that he'd feel just a bit of fear. I like the detachment for the most part, but maybe just around the end, there could be a small hint that he's even the slightest bit afraid. In the beginning, though, the detachment in the beginning (in my opinion) was good. It showed us that difference in your character, that he was resigned to his death. But even so, right before the trigger's pulled there might be the briefest moment of, "Oh crap, I'mma die." It doesn't even have to be panic. Regret or remorse that he's about to die will work, too.

However, wedging this panic/regret/remorse anywhere but the end would take away from the over-all dream-like feeling of things. I don't know, I was sort of flip-flopping between his lack of panic being a good thing or a bad thing.

Otherwise, though, like I said above, I really, really did enjoy this piece. I won't ramble on about how amazing the voice or the writing was because you've probably already figured that out.

So, thanks for the read. ^^

~~Cass

Buscador! wrote:When you attempt to find the sum of your life’s moments and condense it into a single word and that singular descriptor can only be violence, or death, or tragedy,(?) there’s probably something wrong with your life. Unfortunately for me(?), I came to that realization within moments of the end of my own(redundant). The muzzle of a pistol tapping repeatedly (and painfully)(?) against my skull reminded me of the presence of my killer, as though I could have forgotten he was there (redundant and odd).

I'm fine with the first sentence until I review it, and then I find weird phrasing and repetitive vocabulary. Also, don't use things that are vague, like the sum of my life's moments....well what is that to me? Is it really something? Is it nothing? Is my life a sum of moments or am I a person who thinks in days? The problem is that the first sentence establishes the premise when you could really shock the reader by admitting there's a dood with a gun next to the narrator later on. Why? Well it's too obvious to just say "Oh, I might die, there is gun, woe is for I!". No, you can do irony, but don't make it that basic. Also, the ? marks are by places where I don't know why you did what you did before them and suggest rethinking the phrase, technique, etc. I read this and it's too much in the narrator's head.

I sat on the couch of my own living room, in the apartment suite I rented in Los Angeles (ok). City of Angels, indeed (? doesn't work, seems weird). I, however, would not be among them when my killer finally bought me a one-way ticket to the judge’s table (ok, this is setting up suspense). My life (take your pick of the aforementioned words to describe it[nononono, don't ever break the fourth wall unless you have damn good reason]) was far too…[ellipses are like STD's...just avoid...them...or ... ... it makes you seem..... too dramatic]interesting to make it into heaven. People have many, many metaphors for life (short sentence like this, just use a colon to combine this and the next). Life’s rough, get a helmet. Life is a roller coaster. Life is like a box of chocolate. My life is most akin (akin? seems odd here, kind of lax when your narrator is going to die) to the rapids of a river of blood, with me caught helpless in its deadly current (too much death. deadly deathly death). I tread water as best as I could, but without anything to keep me afloat, I had been doomed from the start (keep this line).

Again, you're begin redundant and repetitive. I see what you want, though you make some mistakes with the prosaic progression in the narrator's perspective. Not big problems, but they need to be addressed.

The soft but firm cushions gave slightly under my weight as I shifted. I looked up from my hands and into the flat screen television to see my killer. He followed my gaze unconsciously, and our eyes met for as moment. I held his gaze fiercely and smirked, ensuring that he realized exactly who he was holding his gun on, and what it meant to kill me.

He knew.

Eh. Eh. Nononono, that's not good juxtaposition. Don't tell me about the cushions. I want to know more about this narrator. You want to tell me more. I can tell. You're bursting at the seems to tell us about this guy. I mean, why else kill him? Affect the environment through him, not by him. He's got to be the centerpiece here.

His eyes were as dead as mine. This was a man whose life was as pathetic as my own, who had been driven mad by the constant violence and ever-present threat of a quick, painful premature death. Interestingly enough, though, he too knew that nothing in this world was premature.

Hm. Well, you went from seeming like your narrator was strong, to weak? Dead? Odd progression. Again, you need to hint more at who your narrator is. Let us KNOW NOW, don't wait. Build up the suspense to this event. You don't have to reveal the secrets, but you certainly should not make your character seem, weak, or pitiable. No, intrigue us. Draw us in with irony. Hm, last line is ok.

God—Yaweh, Allah—was as omnipotent and all-knowing as the Christians—Jews, Muslims—thought, and more. He was the ultimate architect; a craftsman with no peer; an author whose pages made up the very pages of reality and whose cast was many millions of times that of Dostoyefski’s Masterpiece. Everything happened because He planned it that way. He was the Heavenly Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit. He was also a kid with a magnifying glass—and we, his ants.

Ok. This is fine. I would work on it slightly with some edits, but, right now it's oddly placed and too upfront. This is why I want to know more about your narrator quick and early. This is like getting to third base and we didn't even realize we exist in the same dimension yet. I mean, think about it.

My killer knew that somehow, at the end of it all, none of this was his fault, and that he had had no choice in the matter from the very beginning. He couldn’t have stopped his parents brutal murder, or his unwitting participation in a bank heist gone terribly wrong, sending his life spiraling into control. And though he was armed with that knowledge, he was still human. Somewhere inside, he wanted to kill himself as much as he had to kill me.

His finger tightened on the trigger, the pistol’s hammer raising like the axe of an executioner hovering for one fatal swing. I closed my eyes and awaited the next act of wanton violence--the final chapter in a book penned in blood--my own explosive demise.

OK, again, this is fine. However, you don't have the right build up logically for this to pull at me. You need dialogue, or thought, or action, or revealing introspection or externalization. Too much explanation. Show, don't tell. Cliche, cliche, etc, etc, blah, blah.

There is definitely an idea here worth pursuing but open up more. Give us more so we feel something for the narrator. I would like to see elaboration, rather than hinting. Hope this helps and I have confidence you could make more from this.

As an intro, this is quite good. I am intrigued and want to read more.

I sat on the couch of my own living room, in the apartment suite I rented in Los Angeles. City of Angels, indeed. I, however, would not be among them when my killer finally bought me a one-way ticket to the judge’s table. My life (take your pick of the aforementioned words to describe it) was far too…interesting to make it into heaven. People have many, many metaphors for life. Life’s rough, get a helmet. Life is a roller coaster. Life is like a box of chocolate. My life is most akin to the rapids of a river of blood, with me caught helpless in its deadly current. I tread water as best as I could, but without anything to keep me afloat, I had been doomed from the start.

The soft but firm cushions gave slightly under my weight as I shifted. I looked up from my hands and into the flat screen television to see my killer. He followed my gaze unconsciously, and our eyes met for as moment. I held his gaze fiercely and smirked, ensuring that he realized exactly who he was holding his gun on, and what it meant to kill me.

This part seemed a little confusing. To me it seemed like the killer was trying to kill the guy/girl(I didn't read the summary) through the TV. could you clear that up please. I didn't really understand the reference to the City of Angel's until the second read through. Could you make that a little more clearer please. Otherwise this was a very good beginning. Write more!

Okay. I'm lazy and terrible with prose, so here's a quick-nothing-but-opinion-review. I'm lame like that.
Anyways-- I definitely am liking your character and your obviously write extremely well. I would be careful of over-doing it at parts stylistically, and maybe be a bit more precise with your wording, as it's easy to get lost in spots. You have a great hook though, and I love the reality of the thoughts/character. Really nice development and background. Despite my aversion to novels, I might just follow this one.

And I think you have the skill to break the fourth wall without it being a disaster. If that helps.