Young Writers Society

d@ydre@mer27 wrote:This is a story I wrote last year, to be more truthful a novel , and it's pretty long so I'm going to have to post it in sections. I apologize for any grammatical errors. It is set in Berlin, in the fall of 1941 just as the Nazis are beginning to deport Jews from there. Please review and don't be afraid to criticize!


It had been a grey and dismal day in September the day the letter had arrived addressed to me. < ( Maybe try 'When the letter had arrived adressed to me'?) It had fluttered through the mail slot and floated gently to the braided rug like a delicate snowflake. < ( nicely written! *applause* ) I had been practicing but < ( I? )set my cello aside and rose when I heard the knock on the door. Flutterings of anticipation coursed in my chest as I saw it lying there.
I broke the seal with trembling fingers and nervously scanned it's < ( its. )contents for the news that i < ( I ) so desperately craved. My heart skipped a beat as i < ( I ) saw the opening lines. < ( new paragraph ) > ''Dear Ms. Strauss, after consideration we have decided that we would be honored to have to join us in the position of 2nd cellist.'' A feeling of accomplishment washed over me and I re-read the letter in it's < ( its ) entirety < ( comma? ) scarcely believing the words in front of me. I had waited so long for this.
I fairly < ( err... why 'fairly? I've never heard it used like this before! ) raced to the kitchen where my mother was preparing our supper to share the wonderful news with her. She took the letter from my hands and read it without saying a word. I scanned her face and watched it morphe into an expression of pride and joy. She handed the letter back to me and reached out to me, pulling me into her arms as if I were a small girl once again. < ( paragraph ) > ''Oh my girl, I knew you could do it,'' she said with obvious pride for her eldest and only child. As I drew back she stroked my face and cupped my chin with her hand. ''Ahh < ( comma ) what did i < ( I ) tell you all those years ago?,'' she said to me teasingly. < ( paragraph ) > ''Practice makes perfect.....i < ( I ) remember Mama,'' I replied with a rueful smile. Turning her attention back to the potato she was chopping she grinned, ''And was i right?'' ''Yes Mama, you were right,'' I replied knowing full well I deserved the teasing. Her expression at once grew serious and a look of alarm came over her face. < ( paragraph. A new paragraph is needed with every new speaker. ) > ''The roast!'' She whirled and dashed to the oven, yanking the door open to inspect the contents of the glass dish, a family heirloom. ''Anetke < ( comma ) will you please finish chopping those potatoes,'' she asked over her shoulder. Without a word I moved across the white linoleum to take her place at the cutting board and the mound of the freshly scrubbed and peeled vegetable.
Wielding the large knife I began the methodical task, allowing my mind to sink into thought. Yes, I remembered all to well back when I was ten or twelve and my mother had forced me to begin cello lessons. I, then an established tomboy < ( comma ) had resisted with everything in me. I enjoyed the freedom of the outdoors, and didn't appreciate being confined in old Mr. Wieser's apartment, an elderly gentleman living down the street from us. He smelled of talcum powder and moth balls but he could he ever play the cello. < ( ... what? ) It was the way that he was able to coax the sweet strains and reverberating notes from the instrument that finally won me over. Suddenly I wanted to be able to play the way he did, and I didn't care about not being outdoors anymore. I wanted to be able to make sounds other than the awkward screeches and screams that sounded quite like a woman in child-labor. I was willing, Mr. Wieser was paitient, and so my ability to play grew until there came the day when he said he had taught me all he could. My mother always told me that it was the cello that had transformed me into a lady and I couldn't object. I played constantly from then on, it had become my passion. < ( that last phrase could be its own sentance. ) For my 17th birthday my parents purchased me a brand new cello and I spent a good deal of time in my room admiring it, soaking in the sight and smell of the glossy new wood. After a while my mother suggested that I try out for a place in an orchestra. I had dismissed the idea at first but then it began to appeal to me. I tried out for several different such orchestras < ( comma ) not expecting much. I guess I just figured everyone else was going to be better than me. Months had gone by, and then today.
''Anetke,'' my mother cried out suddenly. I returned to the present and glanced down < ( comma ) suddenly feeling a sharp pain in my hand more particularly my fingers. A bloom of red was spreading quickly over the cutting board, and dripping onto the snow-white linoleum. My hand relaxed on the knife and it clattered to the counter. I hurried to the sink and turned on the water, washing away the blood so as to determine the severity of the gash. My mother had returned to the counter from a side drawer withdrew a roll of bandages. Coming to peer over my shoulder she gave a sigh of relief, it wasn't as bad as the amount of blood had suggested but nevertheless she took my hand in her own and wrapped my fingers in a length of bandage.< ( could have its own sentance )

She handed the letter back to me and reached out to me, pulling me into her arms as if I were a small girl once again.

obvious pride for her eldest and only child

''Dear Ms. Strauss, after consideration we have decided that we would be honored to have to you join us in the position of 2nd secondcellist.''

I fairly raced to the kitchen where my mother was preparing our supper to share the wonderful news with her

d@ydre@mer27 wrote:This is a story I wrote last year, to be more truthful a novel , and it's pretty long so I'm going to have to post it in sections. I apologize for any grammatical errors. It is set in Berlin, in the fall of 1941 just as the Nazis are beginning to deport Jews from there. Please review and don't be afraid to criticize!


It had been a grey and dismal day in September, the day the letter had arrived addressed to me. It had fluttered through the mail slot and floated gently to the braided rug like a delicate snowflake. I had been practicing, but set my cello aside and rose when I heard the knock on the door. Flutterings of anticipation coursed in my chest as I saw it lying there.
I broke the seal with trembling fingers and nervously scanned it's contents for the news that i so desperately craved. My heart skipped a beat as i saw the opening lines. ''Dear Ms. Strauss, after consideration we have decided that we would be honored to have to join us in the position of 2nd I'm not sure if you should write out the word "second" or not. I have no knowledge if using "2nd" is proper in this case. cellist.'' A feeling of accomplishment washed over me and I re-read the letter in it's entirety scarcely believing the words in front of me. I had waited so long for this.
I fairly raced You fairly raced? This sounds a little awkward to me. to the kitchen where my mother was preparing our supper to share the wonderful news with her. She took the letter from my hands and read it without saying a word. I scanned her face and watched it morphe into an expression of pride and joy. She handed the letter back to me and reached out to me [b}The "to me" isn't needed. I already know her mother's reaching out to her.[/b], pulling me into her arms as if I were a small girl once again. Every time someone speaks, you start a new paragraph. Same goes for every new speaker. Example: "I love you," he said. (new paragraph) "I love you, too," I whispered against his chest.''Oh my girl, I knew you could do it,'' she said with obvious pride for her eldest and only child. As I drew back she stroked my face and cupped my chin with her hand. ''Ahh what did i tell you all those years ago?,'' she said to me teasingly. ''Practice makes perfect.....you can't do an ellipsis like this. It has to be a new paragraph. Also, it looks a little more sophisticated if you use a proper ellipses, not a lot of dots.i remember Mama,'' I replied with a rueful smile. Turning her attention back to the potato she was chopping she grinned, ''And was i right?'' ''Yes Mama, you were right,'' I replied, knowing full well I deserved the teasing. Her expression at once grew serious and a look of alarm came over her face. ''The roast!'' She whirled and dashed to the oven, yanking the door open to inspect the contents of the glass dish, a family heirloom. ''Anetke, will you please finish chopping those potatoes,'' She's asking so you need a question mark instead of a comma. she asked over her shoulder. Without a word I moved across the white linoleum to take her place at the cutting board and the mound of the freshly scrubbed and peeled vegetables.
Wielding the large knife, I began the methodical task, allowing my mind to sink into thought. Yes, I remembered all to well back when I was ten or twelve and my mother had forced me to begin cello lessons. I, then an established tomboy, had resisted with everything in me. I enjoyed the freedom of the outdoors, and didn't appreciate being confined in old Mr. Wieser's apartment,I believe instead of a comma, this should be a colon. an elderly gentleman living down the street from us. He smelled of talcum powder and moth balls but he could he ever play the cello. It was the way that he was able to coax the sweet strains and reverberating notes from the instrument that finally won me over. Suddenly, I wanted to be able to play the way he did, and I didn't care about not being outdoors anymore. I wanted to be able to make sounds other than the awkward screeches and screams that sounded quite like a woman in child-labor. I was willing, Mr. Wieser was paitient This should be "patient"., and so my ability to play grew until there came the day when he said he had taught me all he could. My mother always told me that it was the cello that had transformed me into a lady, and I couldn't object. I played constantly from then on, it had become my passion. For my 17th Instead of using the number seventeen, you may want to write out "seventeenth". It looks more sophisticated and professional. birthday, my parents purchased me a brand new cello and I spent a good deal of time in my room admiring it, soaking in the sight and smell of the glossy new wood. After a while my mother suggested that I try out for a place in an orchestra. I had dismissed the idea at first, but then it began to appeal to me. I tried out for several different such orchestras, not expecting much. I guess I just figured everyone else was going to be better than me. Months had gone by, and then today.
''Anetke,'' my mother cried out suddenly. I returned to the present and glanced down suddenly feeling a sharp pain in my hand more particularly my fingers. A bloom of red was spreading quickly over the cutting board, and dripping onto the snow-white linoleum. My hand relaxed on the knife and it clattered to the counter. I hurried to the sink and turned on the water, washing away the blood so as to determine the severity of the gash. My mother had returned to the counter from a side drawer withdrew a roll of bandages. Coming to peer over my shoulder, she gave a sigh of relief,Instead of a comma, it should be a period. it wasn't as bad as the amount of blood had suggested, but nevertheless, she took my hand in her own and wrapped my fingers in a length of bandage.

It had been a grey and dismal day in September the day

scanned it's contents

for the news that i so desperately craved.

My heart skipped a beat as i saw the opening lines.

morphe into an expression of pride and joy.

I, then an established tomboy

wrapped my fingers in a length of bandage.