Short story introduction (350 words)

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Hi critiquers,

This is the start of a short story (I hope). Any comments welcome but I'd especially value feedback on the flow (if that's the word I want) -- are there sticky bits or disjucturey bits?

I'm not sure you're really the target audience for this, although it does get sff-y later, because it's (sort of) aiming at the style of YA romance. It may have missed by a million miles, of course, but that was the tone I was going for.

Anyway. Enough babbling.

_________


I met my husband when he broke my flatmate's leg. (nice, although - the day he broke - might be better)


I bet you're expecting a story about an accident. A wobbling bicycle, perhaps, on a poorly lit country lane, the a car coming around a corner too quickly: consternation crunch, horror, breathylisers, court cases and acquittal. anxious apologies. Later, tea and scones on the lawn. La di dah. Happily ever after.

I know. With the freckles and the blue eyes I look as if my life takes place in some rural idyll peopled by men with floppy hair, and women in pale dresses.

It doesn't. Sorry to disappoint you.



The man I'd marry I married, kicked in the door of our flat and prowled marched into the kitchen. Richard hadn't even got up from the table when the baseball bat prodded him in the chest. (nice touch on introducing the baseball bat)

"Been six months, Dickie-bird (why bird? - needs a better name IMO)," the intruder said, mock-regretful. "Can't let it go any longer."

"Chris... please, no..."

Chris Baseball man (they haven't been properly introduced yet:)) swung the bat. There was a horrible crack and Richard started screaming. Then Chris he turned and looked at me. It was like being pinned to the wall. A million (million seems a bit too many given you list only two) stupid thoughts ran through my head. I didn't know anyone had eyes that colour... ********* when can I phone the police?... why the hell did I wear red today? What a ****** day to have chosen look-at-me clothes.

"You with him?" ("you with him" doesn't get over the "is he your man" part of the question IMO. It needs something a bit more direct since she is obviously with him in the same room) He nodded at Richard, who was clutching his leg and screaming.

"No." I said, cold with terror, waiting for him to leave before I called an ambulance, and my mum. (what about the thought you might get some of the same)

"Good. Can I take you out?"

"Oh. I'm sorry. I --" The polite lie wouldn't come. I was frozen by his thundercloud eyes, his seriousness, the baseball bat.

"Tonight," he said. "Pick you up at seven." He waited politely as if we were the only people in the room, as if Richard wasn’t yelling himself hoarse a couple of feet away.

I was a nice girl. I had a nice life. I'd never met anyone like him. He made my insides go shivery and liquid. Perhaps that explains it. Something must.

"That would be lovely, thank you," I said.

I stopped being a nice girl, I reckon, sometime around then.


Seemed OK to me

Nice opening IMO

Hope I helped.

TEiN
 
To start with: I really hope you stick with this form, to agree with a bunch of other people. This is brave, and it's interesting, and honestly I don't think people are being sensible if they think violence isn't sexy. Sure, it shouldn't be. But objectively it absolutely is; look around. By not dressing it up, not apologising for it, and not varnishing the truth, you stand a chance of make something not just good but great. Art exacts a price from everyone concerned, and identifying with this woman (who is obviously going to turn out to be a bad girl - and why shouldn't she? It's wearying that the only tough, aggressive and in any way sympathetic characters in fiction always seem to end up being men) is the price the reader has to pay. That's my opinion: stick with it!

I met my husband when he broke my flatmate's leg.

Future husband? The man I would marry? It doesn't scan quite right, because it doesn't establish it's for the first time (you could be meeting him for drinks on Tuesday, when he usually breaks your flatmate's leg!).

I bet you're expecting a story about an accident. A wobbling bicycle, perhaps, on a poorly lit country lane, the car coming around a corner too quickly: consternation, horror, anxious apologies. Later, tea and scones on the lawn. La di dah. Happily ever after.

This is fine, nicely done, well written. The tone is good and the voice is lovely.

I know. With the freckles and the blue eyes I look as if my life takes place in some rural idyll peopled by men with floppy hair, and women in pale dresses.

It doesn't. Sorry to disappoint you.

Maybe an issue for me here is that you're confounding the place with a social status. I don't know. I generally like this very much as well, it just seems to be hinting at living in a bad place (location), rather than a bad place (spiritually, or whatever). A minor quibble.

The man I'd marry kicked in the door of our flat and prowled into the kitchen. Richard hadn't even got up from the table when the baseball bat prodded him in the chest.

I think "I would" not "I'd"; the contraction moves it into the conditional tense rather than the future as I read it (he's a guy I'd like to marry, not he's a guy I will marry). Prowled? It jars for me. I think of prowling as a ground covering search (prowling the sidewalks, prowling the forests, as you wish). If you're going with cat analogies (his feline grace!) don't you mean "stalked" - which is what cats do when they sight prey I think.

"Been six months, Dickie-bird," the intruder said, mock-regretful. "Can't let it go any longer."

"Chris... please, no..."

Chris swung the bat. There was a horrible crack and Richard started screaming. Then Chris turned and looked at me. It was like being pinned to the wall. A million stupid thoughts ran through my head.I didn't know anyone had eyes that colour... ********* when can I phone the police?... why the hell did I wear red today? What a ****** day to have chosen look-at-me clothes.

At the start of the main paragraph, I think "Chris" is repeated too quickly. Using his name in that way is an indicator of familiarity. He can be "the man called Chris" or "the intruder" or whatever - but there's a time warp happening here: yes, he's familiar, but for me it takes me out of the time the story is happening and feels awkward.

I'd be tempted to run "swung the bat" into the next sentence, rather than ending there, just for fluency. I like that this is matter of fact. I like that there's a sense of honesty here. You don't expect her to be getting the warm fuzzies for a brute who's just done that, but it's not only believable, it really sells her as a character.

"You with him?" He nodded at Richard, who was clutching his leg and screaming.

"No." I said, cold with terror, waiting for him to leave before I called an ambulance, and my mum.

"Still" clutching his leg and screaming? You've already said he's screaming in fact. Would he really still be screaming? Maybe moaning or crying, or more likely not, really. An initial scream is believable, going to pieces in front of a woman if he's a tough enough guy to get in with a loan shark in the first place is pushing it? White faced and in shock might work. Or just cut to him motionless with his leg at an unnatural angle? Something anyway.

I like "and my mum" a lot. I would emphasise it by making it another sentence, just because it adds to the (black) humour of the situation.

"Good. Can I take you out?"

"Oh. I'm sorry. I --" The polite lie wouldn't come. I was frozen by his thundercloud eyes, his seriousness, the baseball bat.

I really liked this exchange, and "thundercloud eyes" works really well to convey both electricity, brutality and magnetism. Very deft.

"Tonight," he said. "Pick you up at seven." He waited politely as if we were the only people in the room, as if Richard wasn’t yelling himself hoarse a couple of feet away.

Not sure about Richard yelling himself hoarse. I've seen people break legs and arms playing sport and they generally didn't do much shouting. They drop into a protective position where they are, they go mostly silent, and they writhe a little without moving the bit that's broken. That's my experience anyway. I don't buy this guy bawling his eyes out: I get that he's meant to look like less of a man than this attacker, and all the things that are both interesting, honest, and wrong with that, but you can show him in a submissive broken pose in other ways (tears? fear in his eyes? maybe he looks at her in horror). Emphasise his beta male status some other way I suggest.

I was a nice girl. I had a nice life. I'd never met anyone like him. He made my insides go shivery and liquid. Perhaps that explains it. Something must.

"That would be lovely, thank you," I said. [/SIZE]

I stopped being a nice girl, I reckon, sometime around then.


The only thing that doesn't work for me in all of that is "reckon". I don't know why, it just didn't ring true for the otherwise excellent and polished voice she exhibits. If you just cut "I reckon" (after all, it's obvious it's internal commentary so it's superfluous anyway) it reads a lot better to me.

I really liked this. I would disagree with people who would say this is unsuitable for YA. Is it really your contention that thugs should have sexy, sensitive hearts of gold when they're presented to teen girls? Something a bit more realistic and brutal would be much more easily morally defensible in my opinion: you want to give an honest warning, not pretend these guys are all just waiting for a girl to "save them" (please, anyone who has ever thought that about anyone, go stand in the corner!).
 
It is unsuitable for YA. Put aside the violence (although it's the sort of violence that would put off YA editors) the characters are apparently too old.
 
It wasn't until I read Miss Snark that I realised YA characters have to be YAs. Partly because people like DWJ get away with writing YA novels where you think the characters are YA and then they turn out not to be.

Anyway, I promise this isn't going to get anywhere close to YAs (not that it's really up to me) and if it continues in the state it's in -- half-written at 5,000 words -- it's not going to get anywhere close to anyone :)
 
I wouldn't let it just die.

To me it had the makings of a great "sit com", a kind of 'Good Life; with attitude.

They could both go on to be weekend environmentalist warriors.

Forget the stuffy YA people.

Go for the jugular, get it written.
 
I'm not -- I'm just down to about 100 words a day on it. It starts to go in strange directions.
 
Percival -- I wanted to say thanks for a great critique. You put your finger on several things that had been bothering me. And 'stalking' is just what I see Chris doing.
 
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