Young Writers Society

The Maketu horizon is a ruby crease. The tide creeps to our feet and the gulls are beginning to call high above the beachside fish shop. Dad’s eyes slide away from the horizon. The clouds are dark and high. The sea roars.

We reach ‘The Cut’, hurl our lines, and sit on the big black rocks eyeing the nylon. Hours pass and the tides climb. The air is thick and salty. The waves and gulls provide a cacophonous backdrop but my father is still silent. His face is deeply creased and his cheeks hang low. His thick brow conceals half of each eye and tatters of grey hair hang out from under his beanie.

The clouds stretch to the horizon and the air carries a light fog. The waves are strong and the sea threatens, snapping at our feet. We still sit. I look to dad but his eyes are fixed on the line. Another wave slaps. The sky cracks loudly but we stay. The clouds tear open. The rain is all over us in a second and I want to run. Another wave slaps. A light flashes near the horizon and a few moments later the sky cracks again. His face drips but he is dogged so we stay.

The rain becomes thin. The old man looks pathetic, soaked through and stubborn. The top of his rod bounces. The line is tight. He snaps to his feet and reels furiously. The rod curls as he leans back and coughs. He keeps reeling and swallows hard. He coughs again and his eyes grow wide and mad. A fish bounces and skims in the waves and he reels.

Finally, a silvery fish hangs bouncing on the line. The old man drops the rod and snatches at his chest. His eyes are still wide, and he coughs again. Down on one knee, he looks up through teary eyes. He coughs and pushes off the rocks with a huge fist. He pulls a great knife from the bin and cuts the fish across the gills. He hurls the limp fish in the bin and picks up the gear. We walk and he slaps my back hard. An excitement tears through me. With eyes wide, he wears a mad yellow grin. I now know why for a day a year we leave behind the arrogance of our gift-wrapped life; we are animals, the old man and I. Next year when I have forgotten where we came from, the old man will reel me back in.

The Maketu horizon is a ruby crease. The tide creeps to our feet and the gulls are beginning to call high above the beachside fish shop. Dad’s eyes slide away from the horizon. The clouds are dark and high. The sea roars. (The clouds are dark and high, while the sea roars)

We reach ‘The Cut’, hurl our lines, and sit on the big black rocks eyeing the nylon. Hours pass and the tides climb. The air is thick and salty. The waves and gulls provide a cacophonous backdrop but my father is still silent. His face is deeply creased and his cheeks hang low. His thick brow conceals half of each eye and tatters of grey hair hang out from under his beanie.

The clouds stretch to the horizon and the air carries a light fog. The waves are strong and the sea threatens, snapping at our feet. We still sit. I look to dad but his eyes are fixed on the line. Another wave slaps. The sky cracks loudly but we stay. The clouds tear open. The rain is all over us "in a second" do not really like this and I want to run. Another wave slaps. A light flashes near the horizon and a few moments later the sky cracks again. His face drips but he is dogged so we stay.

The rain becomes thin. The old man looks pathetic, soaked through and stubborn. The top of his rod bounces. The line is tight. He snaps to his feet and reels furiously. The rod curls as he leans back and coughs. He keeps reeling and swallows hard. He coughs again and his eyes grow wide and mad. A fish bounces and skims in the waves and he reels.

Finally, a silvery fish hangs bouncing on the line. The old man drops the rod and snatches at his chest. His eyes are still wide, and he coughs again. Down on one knee, he looks up through teary eyes. He coughs and pushes off the rocks with a huge fist.(this part confused me, I thought he was having a heart attack) He pulls a great knife from the bin and cuts the fish across the gills. He hurls the limp fish in the bin and picks up the gear. We walk and he slaps my back hard. An excitement tears through me. With eyes wide, he wears a mad yellow grin. I now know why for a day a year we leave behind the arrogance of our gift-wrapped life; we are animals, the old man and I. Next year when I have forgotten where we came from, the old man will reel me back in. (nice ending sentence!)

I kinda liked this. It was interesting. Nice story ^_^

Hi

I liked this, don't get me wrong, but it almost seemed more like a descriptive piece of writing rather than a short story...I don't think enough action happened to qualify it as a short story but maybe that's me.

In particular, I liked your use of the short sentences although at one point they did seem to frequent and became monotonous rather than comfortably repetitive...

I hope that makes sense to you!

The clouds are dark and high. The sea roars.

Both of these sentences start with the. Use another word.

We reach ‘The Cut’, hurl our lines

Don't put quotation marks around The Cut.

sit on the big black rocks eyeing the nylon.

Eyeing is spelled eying.

the sea threatens, snapping at our feet.

What does the sea threaten to do?

I look to dad but his eyes are fixed on the line.

Dad should be capitalized and the sentence would sound better if it was look at Dad instead of look to Dad.

Another wave slaps.

What does the wave slap?

The sky cracks loudly but we stay.

There should be a comma after loudly.

The rain is all over us in a second

This sentence would sound better if it was all around us instead of all over us.

Another wave slaps.[/quoet]
You already wrote about the waves.

His face drips but he is dogged so we stay.

Who is he? It isn't clear.

The rain becomes thin.

Rewrite this sentence.

He snaps to his feet and reels furiously.

Snaps isn't exactly the right word to use.

An excitement tears through me.

Since there is more then one tear, the an isn't needed.

Overall, this story is good. You do repeat yourself a lot though, and you should probably read it again and change the parts you already talked about.

If you're going to cut sentences short then I suggest not doing it so often.
Also, some were repetitive such as 'Another wave slaps.'

Readers find repitiiveness annoying even if only done once or twice.

The story itself, in terms of plot and meaning, well done.
Though it often did seem more like a descriptive piece than a short story.

I also don't think it was a short story and rather a descriptive piece but one thing i did like that kept it interesting for me was the use of the present tense. It made it more immediate and although little happened it made everything seem more action pact and shocking. In a short relatively mundane piece like this it helps to keep the story pregressing and i thought it was a good way to do it.

I thought at times you were a little repetative but overall you were very good with your descriptions and i dont thing the story would work if it were any longer as readers would lose interest.

I disagree with some of the other reviews and think that the words used at times really keep the story alive such as the word 'snaps to his feet'.

Overall a good read. Well done.

joshuapaul wrote:Finally, a silvery fish hangs bouncing on the line. The old man drops the rod and snatches at his chest. His eyes are still wide, and he coughs again. Down on one knee, he looks up through teary eyes. He coughs and pushes off the rocks with a huge fist. He pulls a great knife from the bin and cuts the fish across the gills. He hurls the limp fish in the bin and picks up the gear. We walk and he slaps my back hard. An excitement tears through me. With eyes wide, he wears a mad yellow grin. I now know why for a day a year we leave behind the arrogance of our gift-wrapped life; we are animals, the old man and I. Next year when I have forgotten where we came from, the old man will reel me back in.

I thought the action and confusion mixed into an exciting, short story. It pulled me in completely, and the finishing line really hit the spot.

While the piece takes a moment to pull the reader in there's a depth hidden beneath the lines that really kept me reading. The sudden burst of motion and life in the final moments, though rather flat from a real world perspective, gives great impact to the actions of the man in the end.

I felt at points the description of the piece could have been more. The issue isn't of showing, not telling (there's much telling here, but it works from the perspective the piece is in), but I feel there are points in the description of the sea and the world that don't give us enough. The sky cracks, waves roar, but I don't see this, I just get a general picture in my mind. I feel for a piece like this to truly work I must be absorbed into finely detailed imagery.

So aside the complaints of imagery and hook there's really not much I can disagree with. It's a very solid piece. Well done!