Young Writers Society

Reviews and likes are greatly appreciated.

Rated for drug and alcohol use.




Chloe,


When did we go from catching lizards and hosting teddy-bear tea parties to smoking, lying, drinking and kissing?

It definitely wasn't a sudden change, an over-night magic spell that changed us from bright-eyed children to the teenagers our parents warned us about. We were like super-heroes, but a different sort; extraodrinarily good when teachers or parents were watching and extraordinarily bad once parents were asleep and windows could be unlatched.

You were reaching valedictorian status, Nina was on her way to becoming a prima ballerina, Daniel flying to Los Angeles, New York, San Fransisco for violin recitals monthly and even me and Aiden beating school, then district then state records on the baseball team.

Then night fell and we would shed our genius, dancer, musician, athlete skins and slither to whatever rave was being held that night at whatever club we could get into with our cheap fake I.Ds. We would drink a bit on the way there, beer or whiskey or rum or anything we could get our hands on, just until our eyes were glassy and everything seemed hilarious.

The guys dressed averagely in the same jeans we wore to school, the same shirt our mothers folded earlier that day but you girls swapped Aeropostale and Abercrombie tees for skin-tight dresses in every color in the rainbow, short enough to make us look twice but long enough to keep our imaginations in check. Your heels were high and your lips slightly redder, your eyes slightly bigger, your hair slightly shinnier and everything just slightly better.

We would dance so close, you'd have thought we were melded together, people we barely knew became our best friends, the music so loud our eardrums popped and our hearts pounded in sync, but that was okay because there were no consequences to anything, to lighting another blunt, to staying out until 3 or 4 in the morning, to hooking up in a bathroom or a closet or Jessica Mendels' parents' bedroom.

We were magic. Nothing could touch us, nothing could hurt us. We were made of titanium, so divorces and dance teachers who expected the impossible and tired fingers that couldn't move fast enough over the strings and mothers who spent her nights mourning someone who never really existed to you didn't exist. Those thoughts were plunged far back into your mind, where yellow-white lines of crank and the half-empty bottle of Jack Daniels could make you forget.

Not that we did the crank, of course. Meth wasn't for us; we had tried it a few times, inhaling the powdery crystals, allowing them to dance up our nose and make us fly. We stopped because the crash was the worst feeling in the universe and because we were afraid of crank, afraid of shooting so high we might never come down.

We preferred pot, loved the way it made our hearts beat faster but slower, how everything seemed quiet but so loud, how it made us feel so alive, how the smoke mixed with beer and sweat and perfume and lip stick was the best thing in the world and no one ever wanted it to end.

But when it did, we would slip back into our windows, wash off the remnants of the night and put back our masks for the next day, so when we woke, exhausted and hungry, and our mothers asked how we slept, we could say it was the best we ever had.

Of course, the magic wears off and the titanium rusts because sometimes it wasn't enough and we would puke in the bushes, or spend the night sobbing into our knees or drink a little too much, smoke a little too much and lose control.

I remember once you were dancing with some guy and he was being too rough, pulling you away from the dance floor and towards the staircase. You were doe-eyed and naive, not noticing how old he really was, still thinking everything was oh-so-very-funny and that it was just a big joke. I was dancing with a girl, tall with long auburn hair and these dark, smoldering eyes; I pushed her away and tried reaching you. I was pushing through the crowd, but you had already went through the door and I could no longer see you.

Aiden, who had distangled Nina from whoever she was grinding with, was also shoving his way to the door and when we reached it, he was the one opening it and he was the one who threw the guy against the wall like he weighed three pounds. He was the one who punched and kicked the guy until he was nothing but a bloody, moaning mess on the floor. He was the one who took you from where you were crying and shaking in Nina's arms, your tights ripped at the thighs and your hair messy and tangled, and hoisted you up, bridal-style outside and in the cold, November air.

He walked across the street to the park and gently set you down on a green bench; Nina had went to get our coats and Aiden took his and covered you with it. You were still crying and Aiden sat next to you and you collapsed in his arms.

I did nothing. I wanted to, I wanted to sink my fist into that guy's mouth, I wanted to comfort you and I wanted you to love me as you began to love him after that night, but Aiden was faster, always had been and always will be one step ahead. The next morning, you barely remembered the details of the night, but I suppose Aiden's heroism imprinted on your memory and that was all that mattered.

Sometimes I would wake up, either alone or with some girl on someone's couch, red cups and cigarette butts littering the floor, with my head feeling like how Zeus' must have felt when Athena ripped it in two and the strangest feeling that I was going to regret the night before. I would force myself up, in search of the bathroom, where extra-stregth Tylenol would be hiding in medicine cabinets, pop three pills in my mouth without water and go back to couch. My head would still be pounding and my eyes would tear; it was at times like these that sleep was like fog or smoke, a tangible, real thing but impossible to grasp.

And sometimes I would wake and find you, in a bedroom with a blanket covering your body, loosely wrapped around Aiden, with your hair tousled and your make-up smeared. I would go over to you and push back your hair, kiss your forehead and leave, finding an empty bed or couch to sleep on, my head pounding and eyes tearing for an entirely different reason.

I think it was those moments that always made me go out again the next night. Only so, maybe once I would wake up and find you, breathing softly, the magic from last night gone, looking like a little girl playing in mommy's make-up, next to me. Only so, maybe once I could close my eyes and go back to sleep satisfied.

Even when we hit senior year and college was the glaring elephant in the room, we still went out every once in a while, on my request.

We'd get drunk, get high, laughlaughlove then morning would come and even surrounded by sleeping people, I'd still be alone.


Tyler.



Next chapter is right heeere.

H'lo Jas. Fancy meeting you here. I've come to lend a review! (No duh.)

H'okay, I guess I'll begin with the obvious 'what I liked about this', as it seems to be a ritual of mine in reviewing. Now, as I said before in my previous review, I loved that little That 70's Show type bit. The whole teenage/grunge youth thing can really work for you I think. Maybe it has something to do with your personality, but I definitely like it. When in doubt, I think you'll find that it may in fact help carry the weight of your inspiration when you're having trouble pushing through the story. Channel it! Embrace it. Because I love it. Make it better than the American version of Skins. You'll definitely pull in your readers, my friend.

Now, I am a bit worried as to where this story may be going. As of yet, it's seeming a bit aimless to me. I think that when starting out, you had a sound base to run with. You have a deceased character and all of her friends who remain living their lives and whatnot. I'm not sure what your intentions fully were, or what you exactly planned to do with the whole climax of this, but if I could make a suggestion? I think you should stay level with Chloe's character at all times. Never let her disappear or become a weightless character in the story. Keep her bold and present. And when you have these flashbacks from her friends, try adding some presence to them as well. Keep the characters remembering them in tune with what they are thinking about with the reader. You might not be winning anything big as far as contributing to the story if there's no solid method to the flashbacks and memories. They should all grow intertwined and form a whole by the end of this story.

I noticed quite a bit of punctuational/grammatical errors scattered about. Proofread, my dude. Puh-lease go back through this once or twice with a fine-tooth comb and weed out all the little mistakes. It'll clean up your writing even before you start to really edit, you know? Overall, I think you've made another sufficient chapter. All of your chapters happen to shape well together. The only thing I would probably bring to light is make sure you know where you're headed with this story. Don't aimlessly strut along, at least not with the entire story. You may soon hit a block where the story seems cool, but it might also lose its purpose. For example, what is the purpose or Chloe's death so far? How did it occur exactly? What are some contributors to the reason she is dead, and what is the deal between her and loverboy really. ;P Just some food for thought.

I don't doubt that you'll make this into something interesting. Give it some edge, and keep strutting along like you do, Jassy dear.

-Smylin' <3

Jas,

I actually want to go back and read the previous chapters. I found that all the characters were hard to keep up with, but that's my fault for reviewing this without reading the previous chapters. First of all:

When did we go from catching lizards and hosting teddy-bear tea parties to smoking, lying, drinking, partying and kissing?

Loved this start. You have a great voice right from the start of this, which made me grasp the narrator a lot more. He wasn't really in many scenes - I mean, what we really got here were just flashbacks, but I deeply cared for these characters - just the way that it "speaks" was enough to make me care. I can tell that you have quite a handle of the story and the characters.

San Fransisco for violin recitals monthly

Monthly violin recitals? I know you said not to review for grammar, but I couldn't help myself :3 The rest of it flowed so smoothly for a draft you threw out in minutes and this was especially jarring. Anyway, that's not really grammar is it? Just switching the words around.

you girls swapped Aeropostale and Abercrombie tees for skin-tight dresses in every color in the rainbow, short enough to make us look twice but long enough to keep our imaginations in check. Your heels were high and your lips slightly redder, your eyes slightly bigger, your hair slightly shinnier and everything just slightly better.

I loved this. As a girl, certainly refreshing to get the guy's take. The descriptions you used throughout were great, the part about sleep being intangible - unable to grasp - absolutely lovely. It really contributed to the mood, I think. Somehow, and I'm not sure quite how...you painted the use of drugs and alcohol in a glamorous light (at least at first)- and yet, despite that, I felt pity for Tyler. I can't decide whether this pity I feel was for his current existence or for him losing the girl. Arg. I'm going to have to go back to do a re-read of this.

Seriously, this is amazing.

~ As always Audy

Hey Jas, Stella here!

I. NITPICKS

When did we go from catching lizards and hosting teddy-bear tea parties to smoking, lying, drinking, partying and kissing?

"partying" doesn't seem as... non-innocent as the rest.

Daniel flying to Los Angelos, New York, San Fransisco for monthly violin recitals and even me and Aiden beating school, then district then state records on the baseball team.

Los Angeles and also, you drop the "was"s here when you had them in previous clauses.

Then night fall and we would shed our genius,

Night fall, she say.

for skin-tight dresses in every color in the rainbow, short enough to make us look twice but long enough to keep our imaginations in check.

So you're describing the whole loss of innocence thing- rainbow colours aren't what I associate with that.

Jessica Mendel's parents bedroom.

parents'

and mothers who spent her nights similar to yours didn't exist,

rephrase this.

Meth wasn't for us silly high-school kids,

I'm just pointing this line out to say more on later.

wash off the remanents of the night

remnants.

the red exit sign glaring in my face.

Wait, where's Tyler standing at this moment in time.

always has and always will be one step ahead.

Something about tenses here is wrong, but I don't know which way you want to correct it...

to regret the last night.

the night before?

It was an ending and a beginning.

But neither of them was right.

I know you're nervous about this ending and I know I should be encouraging and all but... I don't like it either. xD *high five* It's like, a cliché, but the cliché doesn't fit. If you've been blocked then that's okay, it happens to everyone and it's not a big deal since it's a one-off. But firstly I have no idea what you're saying and secondly even if I did I don't think I would like it. So... find something better?

II. REMINISCING

So my main issue here is that it sounds like Tyler is an old man. See that line I picked out and said to remember for future reference? That's the kind of thing I'm talking about. Now, as far as I'm aware, Tyler's not an old man, he's writing these letters just after Chloe died. But he's got so much perspective and distance and I just don't think it's working particularly well. If he's an eighteen year old boy then you'd think he'd be less... I don't know. Logical and "ooh-how-badly-behaved-we-were" about it. He wouldn't be talking about them as high-school students as they were, he'd be talking about them as the people that they are. Unless of course this is written from far in the future...

III. OVERALL

I didn't like it quite as much as other chapters but it was still very enjoyable- just not my favourite.

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

-Stella x

I would force myself up, in search of the bathroom, where extra-stregth Tylenol would be hiding in medicine cabinets, pop three pills in my mouth without water and go back to couch.

*strength-typo

As a short story, I really enjoyed this piece. It was well-written and beautifully crafted. I adored it. I love your use of language like the skins metaphor you used. I don't have much to say, so happy writing!

-Crescent

My goodness, Jas. I don't think one "like" button is enough.

Word choice

You've got a great grasp of the right words to use -- really the main thing I'd bring up is "laughlaughlove" because you haven't used that kind of word-melding before in the piece. Either try to incorporate it sooner so it isn't such a surprise when the reader reaches it, or use a normal word. I think it's too jarring to be used so close to the end of the chapter where you should be more focused on the cadence of the piece.

I loved the imagery of "a little girl playing in mommy's make-up" -- that really hit home because it's something that everyone can identify with. If you keep that in mind in your description in general then that would help keep it at the same excellent standard.

Action

I guess my only *possible* complaint is that there is very little conflict between characters in this piece. It's only towards the end that we get that incredible expression of emotion between Tyler and Chloe, and I guess that's the only place I can really criticise.

Unfortunately (for me, not for you) the piece is still so incredibly engaging! It's a reasonably long chapter, but I couldn't stop reading because it was so interesting. I think, as a one-off slower paced chapter, this works quite nicely. I definitely don't want to see you totally overhaul this -- it works so well as it is. But for later chapters / things to keep in mind when redrafting, perhaps it'd be worth keeping in mind that the reader identifies most with conflict between characters.

Overall

Ohgod I really liked this. I know you're looking for harsh criticism, but I just don't have any. It was engaging, well written, and incredibly powerful, which is more than I see in many published books. Hopefully you have a decent overarching plot and know where this story is going -- if not then it would be a horrible waste to see it die!

If you want me to take an overview of the story in general then please come back to my WRFF thread and I'll see what I can do. Until then, take care!


Charlie

Hey Jas!

I am here to review again!

Here, here, I think you've got a good novel. You're using concepts which could definitely interest teenagers. I am liking the ideas you have, of course and the point which is better than that is how you're portraying them. You're not giving us info dump, not at all, and whatever you're writing is never a stress to read.

Besides that, what I am really liking about this is how you're showing us Tyler's and Chloe's relationship. They have never been straight lovers, but somewhere down the line their friendship has given way for emotions which are of love. Even that is not being told straight cut and I love it. I like twisted love stories, where people are confused if it's love or not. You know, I've always liked such stories.

Also, it seems like you've done your research. I had written a story or novel about drugs, and I think you had even read it, but somewhere my story was not a bit realistic. Then I had not done my research properly(I know, it's lame of me) and then I searched Net for the info on similar topic for another story I was doing. I looked through most of the sites, but I didn't get the info I needed, so that piece never really progressed. But it's all there in your piece. Without writing a thesis about it, you've shown us the exact and pretty picture of the situation, and bravo for that.


I don't really have much to say, honestly. You're an excellent writer as I've already said millions of times before and I think that it's actually so great that you're continuing with the novel. I've always loved reading your work.

I know some reviewers think the story is a bit slow, and it's time we got to some real action but I think it's actually the correct speed you've picked up. I think you're building a strong edifice for the novel to be written on. And more than anything, I am loving the read. The kind of story you have here is actually alluring, and I hope you all the luck.


Actually, I do have one thing to say. Somewhere in a spoiler you said that you're trying to make up your mind about having letters from Nina(or some other girl; I forgot the name) too. I think you should go ahead with that. No doubt, Chloe and Tyler are the real characters, but I think somebody else's take on their relationship, on both the characters is maybe necessary. If not anything else, I would like it that way for I love having multiple characters' POV. Having a single POV or even double is sort of updated. Don't give these POVs large space in the novel, but I'd definitely like if you give them little space.


Alright, that's all I had to say. Great work, YWS's lovely writer.

Keep Writing,
Mia

Hey Jas!

So there's not much that I can really say without being repetitive, but I just wanted to comment saying how much I'm enjoying this story. The tension that's building between Tyler and Chloe is really realistic, and so sad as the reader knows that nothing can come of it now that Chloe's dead. It's like we're seeing all of the 'should have, could have' moments. They're sad to read, but at the same time they're great. They reflect the relationship well and like I said before, they're realistic. I'm sure we can all look back on memories and think, 'If only I'd said...' or 'I should have...'

I do want to bring up some of the things that have already been said.

I think you should definitely listen to SmylinG and keep Chloe in every single chapter, even if it's only a thought that one of the character's has about her. You need to keep her present, after all, she is the focus of this story.

I'm finding myself becoming a bit restless, wanting to know why and how Chloe died. She's one, if not the, main character and I feel like there's a big part of the story missing with us not knowing anything about her death. Of course, this is only the second chapter, so there's loads of time yet, but I'd still bear it in mind that you'll need to reveal something soon or else some readers may get bored.

I know you don't want any points on grammar, but I did see a few instances where you used 'went' where you should have used 'gone' E.g -

I was pushing through the crowd, but you had already went through the door and I could no longer see you.

There a quite a lot of run on sentences in there too, but you'll be able to spot them when you edit no problem.

I hope this helps!

xDudettex

hey Jas! Here again for another review!

I really enjoyed this chapter! It was so sad, and really makes me feel for Tyler though part of me still feels like I shouldn't feel *so* bad for him. Like there's something looming about him that we don't know quite yet that might make us like him less. But for now I really like him, and feel so sad for him. Poor lonely guy. I also really like the parallels between the last chapter and this letter, with both of them ending up alone. It works really well here.

Onto the nitpicks!

We were made of titanium, so divorces and dance teachers who expected the impossible and tired fingers that couldn't move fast enough over the bow and mothers who spent her nights doing things far worse than you didn't exist, were plunged far back into your mind, where yellow-white lines of crank and the half-empty bottle of Jack Daniels could make you forget.

This sentence is way too long. I read it and found myself getting lost throughout it, particularly in the bolded section. Sometimes long sentences work, but they need to be handled carefully or they can get too long, too long-winded, and too packed full of information. This sentence can easily be broken up and retain the same effect:

We were made of titanium. Divorces and dance teachers who expected the impossible and tired fingers that couldn't move fast enough over the bow and mothers who spent their nights doing things far worse than you did... these things didn't exist. They were plunged far back into your mind where yellow-white lines of crank and the half-empty bottle of Jack Daniels could make you forget.

Something like that breaks everything into much more manageable and readable pieces, and will greatly improve the way it is read and understood by the reader.

The only other thing is I'm still confused about the relationships between the characters. So Chloe was with Aiden? Did I miss something and just assume Nina was with Aiden? If I didn't miss something, then some clarification might be needed. But if I'm the only one having a hard time managing this then it's probably just my own issue. xD Anyways, great chapter! On to the next!

Keep Writing!

-Lauren-

We were made of titanium, so divorces and dance teachers who expected the impossible and tired fingers that couldn't move fast enough over the bow and mothers who spent her nights doing things far worse than you didn't exist, were plunged far back into your mind, where yellow-white lines of crank and the half-empty bottle of Jack Daniels could make you forget.

-This really stuck out to me, but only because I play violin. Your fingers don't move over the bow; they move over the fingerboard. But "tired fingers that couldn't move fast enough over the fingerboard" sounds a bit awkward, so I'd suggest using "strings" or "from string to string" instead. Anything but bow, really.

We preferred weed, loved the way it made our hearts beat faster but slower, how everything seemed quiet but so loud, how it made us feel so alive, how the smoke mixed with beer and sweat and perfume and lip stick was the best thing in the world and no one ever wanted it to end.

-Keep this in mind, please.

There's so much I don't know. I'm assuming Chloe's already died and that Tyler is writing these "letters" as some sort of personal therapy. Depending on whether I'm right or wrong (or to what degree I'm right/wrong), you may want to just ignore the rest of this.

Okay, I want you to see something:

When did we go from catching lizards and hosting teddy-bear tea parties to smoking, lying, drinking and kissing?

It definitely wasn't a sudden change, an over-night magic spell that changed us from bright-eyed children to the teenagers our parents warned us about. We were like super-heroes, but a different sort; extraodrinarily good when teachers or parents were watching and extraordinarily bad once parents were asleep and windows could be unlatched.

You were reaching valedictorian status, Nina was on her way to becoming a prima ballerina, Daniel flying to Los Angeles, New York, San Fransisco for violin recitals monthly and even me and Aiden beating school, then district then state records on the baseball team.

Then night fell and we would shed our genius, dancer, musician, athlete skins and slither to whatever rave was being held that night at whatever club we could get into with our cheap fake I.Ds. We would drink a bit on the way there, beer or whiskey or rum or anything we could get our hands on, just until our eyes were glassy and everything seemed hilarious.

The guys dressed averagely in the same jeans we wore to school, the same shirt our mothers folded earlier that day but you girls swapped Aeropostale and Abercrombie tees for skin-tight dresses in every color in the rainbow, short enough to make us look twice but long enough to keep our imaginations in check. Your heels were high and your lips slightly redder, your eyes slightly bigger, your hair slightly shinnier and everything just slightly better.

We would dance so close, you'd have thought we were melded together, people we barely knew became our best friends, the music so loud our eardrums popped and our hearts pounded in sync, but that was okay because there were no consequences to anything, to lighting another blunt, to staying out until 3 or 4 in the morning, to hooking up in a bathroom or a closet or Jessica Mendels' parents bedroom.

We were magic. Nothing could touch us, nothing could hurt us. We were made of titanium, so divorces and dance teachers who expected the impossible and tired fingers that couldn't move fast enough over the bow and mothers who spent her nights doing things far worse than you didn't exist, were plunged far back into your mind, where yellow-white lines of crank and the half-empty bottle of Jack Daniels could make you forget.

Not that we did the crank, of course. Meth wasn't for us; we had tried it a few times, inhaling the powdery cystals, allowing them to dance up our nose and make us fly. We stopped because the crash was the worst feeling in the universe and because we were afraid of crank, afraid of shooting so high we might never come down.

We preferred weed, loved the way it made our hearts beat faster but slower, how everything seemed quiet but so loud, how it made us feel so alive, how the smoke mixed with beer and sweat and perfume and lip stick was the best thing in the world and no one ever wanted it to end.

But when it did, we would slip back into our windows, wash off the remnants of the night and put back our masks for the next day, so when we woke, exhausted and hungry, and our mothers asked how we slept, we could say it was the best we ever had.

Of course, the magic wears off and the titanium rusts because sometimes it wasn't enough and we would puke in the bushes, or spend the night sobbing into our knees or drink a little too much, smoke a little too much and lose control.

I remember once you were dancing with some guy and he was being too rough, pulling you away from the dance floor and towards the staircase. I was dancing with a girl, tall with long auburn hair and these dark, smoldering eyes; I pushed her away and tried reaching you. You were pushing back, but his hand was grasped tightly around your wrist and you weren't big enough to stop him. I was pushing through the crowd, but you had already went through the door and I could no longer see you.

Aiden, who had distangled Nina from whoever she was grinding with, was also shoving his way to the door and when we reached it, he was the one opening it and he was the one who threw the guy against the wall like he weighed three pounds. He was the one who punched and kicked the guy until he was nothing but a bloody, moaning mess on the floor. He was the one who took you from where you were crying and shaking in Nina's arms and hoisted you up, bridal-style outside and in the cold, November air.

He walked across the street to the park and gently set you down on a green bench; Nina had went to get our coats and Aiden took his and covered you with it. You were still crying and Aiden sat next to you and you collapsed in his arms.

I did nothing. I wanted to, I wanted to sink my fist into that guy's mouth, I wanted to comfort you and I wanted you to love me as you began to love him after that night, but Aiden was faster, always had been and always will be one step ahead.

Sometimes I would wake up, either alone or with some girl on someone's couch, red cups and cigarette butts littering the floor, with my head feeling like how Zeus' must have felt when Athena ripped it in two and the strangest feeling that I was going to regret the night before. I would force myself up, in search of the bathroom, where extra-stregth Tylenol would be hiding in medicine cabinets, pop three pills in my mouth without water and go back to couch. My head would still be pounding and my eyes would tear; it was at times like these that sleep was like fog or smoke, a tangible, real thing but impossible to grasp.

And sometimes I would wake and find you, in a bedroom with a blanket covering your body, loosely wrapped around Aiden, with your hair tousled and your make-up smeared. I would go over to you and push back your hair, kiss your forehead and leave, finding an empty bed or couch to sleep on, my head pounding and eyes tearing for an entirely different reason.

I think it was those moments that always made me go out again the next night. Only so, maybe once I would wake up and find you, breathing softly, the magic from last night gone, looking like a little girl playing in mommy's make-up, next to me. Only so, maybe once I could close my eyes and go back to sleep satisfied.

Even when we hit senior year and college was the glaring elephant in the room, we still went out every once in a while, on my request.

We'd get drunk, get high, laughlaughlove then morning would come and even surrounded by sleeping people, I'd still be alone.

I bolded everything that Chloe doesn't already know, and I italicized everything you can sneak in because of the wonderfulness of the phrase "I remember..."

Everything else, Chloe already knows, and Tyler is acting like she doesn't. In other words, it looks like poorly disguised exposition.

Remember that quote I told you about? I like what you did there. The thing that ruins it for me is your use of we. If Tyler is telling this to Chloe, dead or alive, I find it unusual that he would talk about things they both know. Look at all the other we's in the paragraphs I didn't use any formatting on. Because he makes so painfully obvious they both know exactly what he's talking about, I can't help but feel as if its only purpose is to reveal these things to the reader. Which immediately takes me out of the story. Think about that as a metaphor for every other sentence that has a we in it.

Now, look at the italicized portion. Chloe already knows about that as well, but it's allowable for two reasons. First, Tyler starts by saying "I remember..." This clearly shows that he's relating a memory, like you'd talk to a friend about the time the both of you went to an amusement park. He doesn't just tell her about it without acknowledging that she already knows. Second, crucially, it's not just him relating a memory. It functions as a segue into what Chloe doesn't know, or, at least, what was Tyler's exclusive knowledge at the time. Then his thoughts are expanded, and through his own words, both the reader and Chloe (if she were to read the letter) learn much about Tyler's character.

And that is what you're aiming for. You need these letters to reveal to the reader as much as they do to the character they're meant for. Otherwise, there's no reason for Tyler to write these at all. And that leaves the reader going, "Well, you're just putting it in the form of a letter for the effect." And because that becomes obvious, any effect is lost.

Also, I'd like to point out just how much of this letter, by that logic, would have been pointless for him to write.

In short, these letters need to be realistic. They need to seem like actual letters. Right now, it seems as though they'd be better served in the form of first-person introspection. That's the easy way out, though, and I'd like to see you continue with the letters. It's such an intensely personal format, for both the sender and the receiver, that if you do it perfectly, the characters will seem far more real to the reader.

If you noticed, I didn't say much about your actual writing--that's because it's great. I love what you're doing in almost every respect--characterization, plot, style--but I think you could be using your skill much more efficiently, and the current questionability of this format is definitely detracting from it.

Hi Jas,
Here as requested!

It's been ages I've been saying that I wanna get to this, but NaNoWriMo, exams, life etc just got in the way. Thanks for asking me to review it, I would've forgotten to otherwise. Well I kinda did :*

What Went Well

I always got the impression that Chloe was a 'good' character. Well she still is, but I didn't exactly expect her to do THIS! xD I think that's a good thing though. We're learning more about Chloe without it being from her POV. Who'd have expected her to go and do pot or Meth? Definitely not me! xD

Your opening line:

You wrote:When did we go from catching lizards and hosting teddy-bear tea parties to smoking, lying, drinking and kissing?

Perfect way to make the change.

Description and Characterisation wise was great here too. There is something I do want to point out about Tyler.

Even Better If

Someone mentioned it, but Tyler IS sounding a bit like an old man. I think what you could do - but he'd still sound like one - is if he'd mention how he misses her, how he can't believe it was so close, that kind of thing. Maybe that it all felt like a dream. How he wishes it was still here and how he wishes that Chloe's death never happened.

Leading onto my next point, 2 and a half chapters in and - unless I've missed something extremely subtle - we've not gotten any hints on what happened before the funeral, how she died. Hints - not a recount - would be brilliant, keeping us more hooked in the hope that we'll find out in the next chapter, like teasers spread here and there. Maybe like a hint on that they had a final kiss before her death or something.

Finally. You said that they kissed before. If this doesn't feel right, ignore it, but if they used to kiss... why doesn't Tyler add an 'x' at the end or something?


Overall comments
Overall, you've got a great chapter here. I'm shocked that you posted this 37 seconds after finishing writing it with no editing or anything. It was really really good!

I'm off to read the next one. Keep Writing!

'Blues