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| Amateur Pond maker... will this work? So, I just bought like 70 of these concrete blocks. www.homedepot.com/Outdoors-Garden-Center-Landscaping-Supplies-Garden-Wall-Blocks/h_d1/N-5yc1vZ1xglZaq6v/R-100333178/h_d2/ProductDisplay?langId=-1&storeId=10051&catalogId=10053 Made a 7ft diameter circle. I put pond liners on the 2nd level of the blocks and put a pump in the middle to spray with an adapter. It works perfectly... but... how can I make it better? This is for a school dance decoration, so we're trying to make it extremely fancy. I kind of want another fountain in the middle and I have this fountain at home: www.google.com/imgres?imgurl=www.uniquegardensandgifts.com/productImages/fs/3635FR_LG.JPG&imgrefurl=www.uniquegardensandgifts.com/Two-Tier-Large-Girl-and-Boy-Under-Umbrella-on-Tulip-Leaf-Fountain-with-26-Inch-Spray-Ring/cid84skuMASS-3635FR&usg=__0725bEU1jiXs5nC3dK2pcYq-W4o=&h=445&w=330&sz=108&hl=en&start=0&zoom=1&tbnid=cQJ59Ks8tdUXHM:&tbnh=135&tbnw=100&prev=/images%3Fq%3Dgirl%2Band%2Bboy%2Bumbrella%2Bfountain%26um%3D1%26hl%3Den%26client%3Dfirefox-a%26sa%3DN%26rls%3Dorg.mozilla:en-US:official%26biw%3D1920%26bih%3D885%26tbs%3Disch:1&um=1&itbs=1&iact=hc&vpx=626&vpy=148&dur=45&hovh=261&hovw=193&tx=115&ty=109&ei=i5boTNXxNsL_lgeU8NzcCw&oei=epboTKWXM4aasAOxlrGxCw&esq=3&page=1&ndsp=75&ved=1t:429,r:5,s:0 Do you think I can put that in the middle, take off the boy and the girl part and put a pump in the tier to let it spray even higher? Of course there will be a need for another pump at the bottom to get the water back to tier 2 so get the pump can function. Suggestions? Any do you know any good lighting for the pump so when it shoots out, the water will be in light. Sort of like this: www.pondsolutions.com/images/Pond_Jet_Floating_Pump_and_Fountain.jpg |
| If the spray goes higher than 1/2 the diameter of the pond, it will splash out so watch out for that. I would avoid another pump and any more tiers or you will end up having to fill up your pond constantly. Wind can also blow the spray out - another reason for keeping it lower. |
| Which of my stories would you want to read? I'm an amateur, aspiring writer =P and these are some of the stories I've written, or at least written part of. Which one would you want to read most, based on the description? (If you want to know more, just tell me!) • EVER – a girl wakes up, not knowing who she is at all…until a mysterious stranger shows up and tries to help her pick up her life where she let off… • THE DIAMOND LETTERS – all the mysteries of magic are explained in one book, but there are two problems: it’s possessed by a teenage girl who doesn’t understand what it is, and the pages are all blank… • NIGHTSHADE – the queen of the darkness hates her job, but it’s not something she can get out of easily… • OBITUARY – when you’re Death’s only daughter, life never was going to be easy… • MOONLIGHT SYMPHONY – come dance to the Moonlight Symphony, for only its faerie musicians can answer your fears... • OCEAN – what do you do when the only person you ever loved is gone forever…and you helped them disappear? • STEPHANIE BLUE – Stephanie hasn’t spoken since she was found that fateful day, age three, in the pouring rain…but when she starts speaking, everything is going to change… • CANDY LEE – Lee Candy’s life is boring and miserable…until he crosses the path of an usual girl with his exact name in reverse – the strange and fiery Candy Lee! |
| I'm intrigued by all of them actually! I would read Ever and Ocean first, they are the kind of books i would usually go for. If your stories are as good as they sound- well done! |
| How does this sound for the beginning of a book? Is this a good beginning for a book? I know that this is probably just amateur, however I would appreciate any criticism/advice that you may have. Tell me it is wonderful or tell me it sucks, just be honest. Thanks all! She carries her books with a certain reverence, as if they are more sacred than life itself. I watch her, sometimes from a distance, sometimes right at her side. Watch her go to the book store every weekend, never buying anything. Just looking at the books. Holding the books. Smelling the books. She told me once that she loved the smell of new books. She has her own small collection of books at her home. No more than 20 books sit lonely on the towering bookcase in her room. Which brings me to another aspect of her – her bedroom. Her bedroom is her sanctuary. The only place she has to get away from the turmoil of the outside world. It is here that she retreats into the dusty corner of her closet and reads the crisp pages of her books. The walls are covered in nonsense. By nonsense, I mean drawings, postcards, magazine photos and the like. Pure nonsense. Nothing matches in her room, yet it all seems to flow in some cohesive manner. The walls are a beautiful shamrock green. Her bed coverings are bright pink. The curtains are a light brown, the color of a sandy beach. And the carpet has so many stains on it you aren’t sure what color it is. The fan is broken, and the room is so hot you sweat just standing there. The bookcase must be seven feet tall, and she can’t even reach the top shelf. But she loves her room and everything in it, just the way it is. In a way, her room reflects her. Random. Spontaneous. Perfect. She is my best friend. She saved my life, yet she doesn’t know it. And I love her. She is short, not much more than five feet tall, with light brown hair, and a spunky attitude. If you watch her, you will notice that she is always making people laugh. Always. Almost as if laughter just generates from her skin and is secreted into the air. She loves to tell jokes, mainly at the expense of others, but never truly hurting them. She always knows just when to stop, never taking things too far. I’m her favorite person to pick on. This would bother most people. Not me. I love it. Love her company. The smell of her hair when she walks by. Her voice. She doesn’t have a girly voice. In fact, it is rather deep, for a girl. And it has a hint of French accent. I love the way she writes her name. And what a perfect name it is. Elle Molyneux. Beautifully French, just like her. Most girls write their words with curly-ques and large letters. Not her. She has small, almost microscopic handwriting. And it is neat. Not girly. Just neat. I mentioned before that she is French. She speaks French. She looks French. She is French. She has never been to France. She promised me that as soon as we graduate from college, she is going to take me to France. That is what she likes to read about most. France. From what she has told me, it sounds magnificent. She wants to live there someday, and she wants me to go with her. To be perfectly honest, I want to go with her. I don’t know what I would do without her. I can’t imagine what life would be like without Elle Molyneux. She makes life interesting. |
| Better than "Once Upon A Time"!~~ |
| Publishing a Fiction Book? I've seen a lot of questions like this, but none of them really fit what I'm looking for. I'm a "budding writer", and would really like to publish some of my work. I'm actually quite young, only 12, but I've had my parents and friends say how good my writing is. I'm way too self-conscious to show it to my teachers, but I'm pretty confident with it, and it's around 100 pages long, shaping up to be around 150 when I finish. I've edited it to the best of my ability, and I understand that it probably WON'T get published, but I want to try anyway. I take a lot of pride in the fact that I impress adults with my writing, and have been recently inspired by an author named Amelia Atwater-Rhodes, who wrote "In the Forests of the Night" when she was 13, and has proceeded to write some of the best books I've ever read, namely the Kiesha'ra series. I'm not trying to make money, nor am I writing just to publish it. If I DID make some money, it would probably go into a college fund or something, unless my more greedy tendencies took over :) So, technically what I'm asking is this: Do you think it's reasonable for me to want to publish? Any tips on publishing? And, finally (and most importantly) What are some good publishers that I could contact? I'm also pretty...amateur at this stuff, so knowing the finer details on HOW to publish would be nice too.... And I want to do a traditional publishing, not self-publishing or anything. Preferably something that won't cost any money. Feel free to criticize, encourage, or anything that you're feeling about this! As long as I know you're not directly trying to knock a poor little girl's dreams down (me), it's good! |
| Without seeing your writing I can't say if it's reasonable for you to want to publish. Well, most people who write think they'd like to publish. I guess your question should be, is it realistic for you to want to publish. It's good that you're going into this with moderate to low expectations. There are millions of aspiring authors out there all with the same dream and only a small fraction of them ever actually make it. But you might be one of those small few, perhaps not now but if you keep writing and improving perhaps in a few years, so yeah, it's reasonable. Tips. Hmm. For starters, if you ever encounter anyone - publisher, agent, etc - who charges you ANY amount of money for ANYTHING you should be running the opposite direction. They're either dishonest, scammers, or don't know what they're doing. Don't be sucked in by the justification that it's a "reading fee" to assess your manuscript or anything like that. Real publishing with real professionals won't cost you a cent, no matter what. Other than that, it's a waiting game. You submit and wait and wait and wait. So you have to be patient. You also have to be persistent. Just because one publisher doesn't want your story doesn't mean someone else won't. So don't take your first rejection as a death knell. You have to keep at it. Also, if you're fortunate enough to get a rejection accompanied by a *reason* and not just a form letter take that reason to heart. Actual feedback is rare so don't waste it if you get it. If they tell you that there's too much passive voice then go through and get rid of it (where appropriate). You need a thick skin to be an author. People are going to criticize but look at it as a way to improve, not something said with malice. Finally, I strongly encourage you to show your work to an English teacher. Not to knock your friends and family but they likely won't see writing problems like a teacher will and they're also more prone to sugar coat their opinion. If you're really that confident then this should just be confirmation. Okay, regarding an actual publisher. Firstly, it depends on the genre you're writing. If it's sf/fantasy don't submit it to a publisher that does true crime or romance, etc. Publishers only do certain genres and they aren't looking to branch out into new ones. Secondly, since you don't have an agent you need to pursue publishers that accept unsolicited manuscripts. Or, you need to find an agent (which is a lot like finding a publisher, actually). There are three resources that will help you to find the good publishers and/or agents. Preditors and Editors (database of publishers, agents, etc, you should always check here to see if someone's listed and if they're "recommended" or "strongly not recommended" etc): www.anotherealm.com/prededitors/ Writer's Beware: www.sfwa.org/for-authors/writer-b… Thumbs Down Agents (according to Writer's Beware): www.sfwa.org/for-authors/writer-b… Thumbs Down Publishers (ditto): accrispin.blogspot.com/2007/02/ha… Writer's Market (book): this is like the phone book of the publishing industry; I suggest if you're serious you either buy it (about $20) or see if you can get it at the library. Here: www.amazon.com/2010-Writers-Marke… A forum discussion of some publishers that accept unsolicited manuscripts: www.sffchronicles.co.uk/forum/466… (a publisher's site will state explicitly whether they accept unsolicited or not, don't assume this is an exhaustive list) 17 Reasons Manuscripts are Rejected: theadventurouswriter.com/blogwrit… Finally, since you're young and I assume that's the audience you're writing for Random House runs an annual contest for "first young adult novel." This is huge because Random House is huge and they don't accept unsolicited manuscripts. It's a way to get your foot in the door so you might want to check it out. Here: www.randomhouse.com/guys/writingc… Lastly, when it comes time to submit make sure you follow the submission guidelines to the letter. There's no faster way to get your MS thrown into the round file (ie, garbage bin) than not following their instructions. And don't try to be fancy or send anything other than the MS. They just want your story, that's all. I'll finish by saying good luck. I hope this was helpful to you. Regards. |
| 8th Grade Dance Help? I'm a little new to this, please help, because you know you were me once (:? THIS IS VERY LONG, BUT PLEEEASE READ! Okay. So, this May, our school is holding a dance for an end-of-the-year get-together for all of the 8th Graders. But it's more than just a "get-together." There's going to be a photographer, and a DJ, you know. All that typical stuff. And ALL the girls take it seriously at my school. All the girls are going to wear a nice dress. All the adults are thinking, "It's just a little dance. No big deal!" But it IS a big deal. To us, at least! Come on! It's our first dance ever! We've been waiting for this since the day we walked into 6th Grade for the first time! ANYWAYS. I managed to get a nice dress. This is my dress I'm going to wear (PLEASE LOOK AT THESE LINKS SO THAT YOU CAN HELP ME) : www.forever21.com/product.asp?catalog%5Fname=FOREVER21&category%5Fname=ComingSoon%5FPromdresses&product%5Fid=2080734273&showBACK=OK And, unfortunately, no strapless dresses are allowed, but I found this cute cardigan to go over it? (I'm going to leave a few of the buttons down though, so that you can still see the dress). Here's the cardigan....: www.forever21.com/product.asp?catalog%5Fname=FOREVER21&category%5Fname=sw%5Fcardigans&product%5Fid=2066926887&Page=3&pgcount=25 And I got a headband too, to go with my dress. I couldn't find a picture, because it's not on the website yet. But it's thin, with a black bow, and like sheer, fishnet-looking material with black polka dots underneath the bow. It matches the dress. So, I'm a little nervous. Will this outfit look okay? Is it corny? Or worse, ugly? I thought it looked pretty cute together, but I don't know. :/ I need other people's opinions! By the way, the dance's theme is "NIGHT IN PARIS." I thought this outfit looked pretty Parisian to me. But, I need help on hair and makeup. Should I curl my hair? Wave it? (It's naturally straight, and it reaches about 2-3 inches past my shoulders). Up in a bun, or down? I was thinking some soft curls maybe? What do you think....? And what kind of makeup do I wear? What colors? Eyeliner, mascara, blush, etc? Should the makeup be a dramatic, glamorous look? Or a softer, more natural look? WHAT DO I DO!??! I NEED HELP, PEOPLE! TELL ME EVERYTHING YOU KNOW THAT COULD POSSIBLY HELP ME!!! PLEASE!?! I BEG OF YOU!!! :O I normally look pretty plain everyday. I usually wear skinny jeans and T-shirts to school, and as far as my usual makeup routine, I wear bronzer, black eyeliner, mascara, and some lip gloss. People aren't really used to seeing me all dressy, and I just want a way to transform myself, you know? I want to walk in the door, and people think, "Is that really her?" Which most likely won't happen, but I just want to TRY to look as nice and as possible :) So, any kind of advice you've got about how to do my hair, or what kind of makeup look I should go for would be VERY helpful. If you want to share some links, I would LOVE that. Like if you see a tutorial for a makeup look that you think would go nice with my outfit, PLEASE SEND A LINK TO IT! :D Oh, and this info. might help with figuring out which makeup would fit me best: My hair is Platinum Blonde..It's naturally dirty blonde, but I look weird with dirty blonde hair...so yeah....now it's platinum blonde lol.. I have slightly large blue eyes, and my skin is just a little bit lighter than an Olive shade. I have a big nose :( so I need makeup that will draw attention to other areas of my face, like maybe my eyes? I don't know. I'm helpless when it comes to this stuff. I'm an amateur. :O I'm just an average 8th grade girl who doesn't want to look like a whore-y clown for her first dance ;] Lol. SO, HELP, PUHH-LEASE! :D THANK YOU! |
| Gurrrlll i know how you feel. lol. Im in 8th grade and my first dance was a few months ago. Dont sweat it, everything will be fine. lol. Well the dress is cute as well as the cardigan(: Soft curls is always cute expecially on blonde girls. You should go with a soft glamourous look, nothing to dramatic. I have a makeup tutorial video for you but ill give you some links for similar makeup (it will be alot cheaper.) Video: www.youtube.com/user/MichellePhan… For the eyeshadows, Costal Sceants 88 pallette (about $20.) www.coastalscents.com/cfwebstore/… and for the eyeliner, you should use www.jessesgirlcosmetics.com/produ… and for mascera you could use your own but i reccomend Lash stoletto. It really makes your lashes long. And thats pretty much it..so good luck! I hope my advice helped! |
| I have a horrible jealousy/complexity issue and it's making me miserable? First off, I know this question's probably going to have me come across as jealous, bitter and probably not very nice. I know that; but just so you know, I've never felt this way before. And it's over something so silly, that I feel I'm being a drama queen. It's also over something I'm a very huge fan of, however. So, I'm 16, a girl; and I'm a huge fan of a certain fandom. It's not very popular, but I've found online friends through it who've become so important to me and I talk to them every day. I've found fan fiction, fan art and roleplaying through it, and all of those things are now hobbies I adore. I feel like I've become such a huge fan of this fandom, and it's kind of like...the only thing I've *had* for a while, after I dropped out of high school due to some issues with horrible people, and losing all my friends. So this plays a big part in my life. Anyways, I use deviantART quite often, and not long ago...maybe a few months back, I found two users on there who appear to be just as huge on the fandom as I am. For SOME reason, this has really angered me over time. Since it's not a very popular fandom; their fan art of it is pretty much the most popular on there. They're great artists, no way will I deny that. Maybe that's part of the reason why I'm jealous, because I'm an amateur. So, they're popular, they have tonnes of page views; but the thing that makes me mad the most is that they act like they represent mine and my best friends favourite characters. They claimed them in every single DA crew and almost act like they *are* them. It's hard for me to put into words, but I'm such a diehard fan of the characters, that it enrages me how these users act like THEY own them, almost. And being that the users are so popular and talented, I feel like I'm insignificant in comparison. I don't enjoy art anymore. All I can think about when I'm drawing is that I HAVE to try and make it better than theirs. Bear in mind, these users haven't been active on the site for FOUR YEARS, so I really shouldn't be upset. But I am. I'm going to try and explain how the thought of them makes me feel. It almost brings me to tears of anger. I had a dream last night about them becoming active on the site again. I'm constantly feeling such hate towards them because *I* want to be the biggest fan of these characters. No joke, I actually asked a question on here asking 'how to hack a deviantart account' so I could delete them from the site, as retarded as that sounds. I probably sound like a real brat, but this is just how I feel, and I really can't help it. Obviously, these users aren't active anymore. I can't delete their accounts, that's probably illegal anyway. But the fact that I can't even enjoy a fandom I'm passionate for, without somehow coming across them, frustrates me so so much. Okay so, now I've explained myself...does anyone know what I can *do* about this? I hate feeling angry and jealous and like I need to be better than them. Why can't I just enjoy the art, enjoy the fandom and leave it at that? I don't even know. I'm not crazy, I assure you, and I've never been like this before. But they just make me feel so insignificant. Any help? I'll be so grateful to anyone who answers this. |
| Tis is way too long to plough through! If you could condense this, maybe we could answer it...Good Luck... |
| Let me bounce an idea off of you? Brief synopsis: A decade or two from now, the internet is more prevalent in society than at any time in the past, and that of course means internet porn is too. The most popular kind of porn is amateur stuff, and the phenomenon of the day is a series of social networking sites dedicated to allowing couples to broadcast their sex-lives over the internet. They get rated by the viewers, get popular, and try to find their way to fame. It's incredibly popular, and the sex gets increasingly twisted, as people become desperate to push the envelope. The main characters are a young couple who's page is gaining in popularity, but it eventually plateaus. They look for ways to keep their success going, and the girl (who will turn out the be the more twisted one) suggest a snuff film. Long story short, she convinces her BF to let her find someone from the local college eager to get on their popular page. He buys the supplies and she gets a local college student, a seemingly naive Liberal arts major. They plan to film it and move to Venezuela, where the amateur sex craze is catching on and they have a policy of non-extradition to the U.S. They set her up and the guy thinks it's going according to plan, but they girls drug him, and he realizes he's the one set up to die on film, but he's so twisted he accepts it, even comes to yearn for it as the girls torture him. He dies horribly, but as the video hits the net, it disgusts people so much that the amateur sex sites begin to lose popularity, and the level of violence in them goes down, so maybe some good came out of it. Long question, I'm sorry, just had an idea and need some feed back |
| The whole idea of snuff films is sickening in the extreme. I watched 8 mm over ten years ago, and still feel awful about it. Investigations into Third World prostitution have revealed that killing vulnerable girls for some man's sexual gratification does go on. The whole thing makes me heartsick. So, while your story sounds interesting in a ghoulish sort of way, and while I'm sure a lot of people would be interested in a book such as you describe, I would never read it. |
| Please critique the start of my story and tell me if it has improved? The assassin sat at the stainless steel table just waiting for the click of the lock. He tilted back on his chair smiling happily; they would finally let him use the powers he possessed. Despite having little light in the room he could still see everything around him clearly. He sat in a small room with a wall of mirror facing him; he already guessed why it was there. He studied his reflection; his coarse black hair was dirty and unkempt. His dark black eyes were cloudy like a fog had formed in his head, he wondered sometimes if that fog was there for a reason, he tried to focus his train of thought on the memories that wear clouded, but nothing came, anger arose in him. His skin was pale almost white. The last time he had really looked at himself he disliked what he saw, that he remembered. He could not understand why he liked what he saw now. Something has changed, he thought rubbing his temples. The walls were stainless steel as well as the floor; they weren’t taking any chances with him. He furrowed his brow, then smiled he was going to be realised; he would be free to roam as he wished for a small think in return, someone’s life. “Click” he stood up and kicked the chair across the room. It hit the wall with tremendous force, breaking the chair in two. He became very frustrated with humans and right now was no acception, why had they kept him so long he thought. He turned his back on the door; he already sensed that an amateur had come to address him. A face appeared in the doorway, freckles covered her nose. Her blue eyes scanned the room; nervously she glanced at the broken chair. She pushed through the door and slowly wandered over to the table. She flicked her red hair nervously, eyeing the assassin up and down, sizing him up, and deciding whether the rumours were true. He looked quite normal she thought, she didn’t understand why they all said he was immortal. She decided to play it safe. She placed the folder on the table and backed away quickly to the door. She was just about to exit when he said, “do I get paid?” his voice was rough. “Well?” he questioned grunting as he did. “Um...I don’t... I will check” the girl stuttered, as she rushed out the door, a click could be heard as she locked it. He grabbed the table in anger and threw it at the door. It made a loud crack and sent pieces of table flying in all directions. He always got frustrated when dealing with other people, they were so unknowing of all that made his life, they feared it and so they feared him. Sighing he picking up the folder. He knew it was unlikely he got paid, they would bring him back to the organisation anyway, and where would he spend the money? These had better be the best around he thought. He flicked open the first page, he scanned it for a second then yelled “guyren!?” “Your freedom is enough... that’s what I was told t-t-to say” The small freckled girl stood back out of his way. He knew this was true but something he had longed to ask someone slowly slipped out “but if I fail, will I not just be dragged back her, and what about when I have finished, they probably plan to kill me anyway” he said sadly, his voice sounded distant, his mind was wandering again. The wind blew the girls hair around wildly. The roof top was no place for an intern she thought with almost tears in her eyes. He stood there with one weapon; one weapon that could inflict any sort of pain, torture, and he was supposes to be proud to have it in his possession. The problem is, he thought, I’m not. Trees stretched as far as the eye could see, it was going to be a long flight for the assassin and he was not happy about that. Mountains decorated the scenery making it almost impossible for anyone to track their way to the corporation’s location, except the assassin. He spread his long dark wings, letting the wind ruffle his feathers. He could hear the intern gasping but he ignored her, this was going to be my moment he thought. He leapt of the building letting the wind take him for a second before he stroked down then up, a voice could be heard in his ear piece as they said “we will be in touch in 24 hours for more mission info, we will be tracking your location so do what you wish carefully, we will track you down and eliminate you if we have to” He sniggered you would like that he thought. He rose hire into the air, the mountains where growing bigger as he headed north towards the nearest town, the chip they had inserted into his brain must be working, maps where being fed into his brain, maps of towns, cities, pictures of the teenagers he was to eliminate. He was angry about that he got his first real job and he was killing some stupid guys. He shrugged it off reminding himself to |
| I'm a little confused with what's going on and it just seems cluttered. The language and the words you choose seem to fit the idea of your story well; it's great :] But you have many grammar mistakes like "acception" which should be exception and "hire" should be higher. i guess you just need to improve the organization of the whole writing and clear some of the ambiguous details or some extra that you don't really need. i like that you didn't reveal who this man was immediately until the end, by the way. good luck with your writing! |
| Can you critique my flash-fiction/short story? "The Death of My Guyhood" I was seven years old when I met him. My family had just moved to the tight-knit community of a hopelessly rural town. Seven seems young now, but I remember it as a perfectly mature age. He was all of ten and the object of every little girl’s desire. He was the best-loved of the town-boys. I recall many girls fighting like mad cats for his affections. I’ve never been a lover of competitions and stayed far away from their battling frenzies. He was always a loud, obnoxious guy which did not particularly endear him to me. I hated any noise invading my personal space. One day, I excused myself from the town church service and hurried outside to go grab my baby sister’s bottle from the car. On the way, I took the opportunity of being alone to belt out my favorite lyrics. Closing the door, I jumped in surprise. He was leaning against the vehicle in as much confidence as a now-eleven-year-old could muster. His arms were crossed and his face marked with a sly grin. Blood rushed to my cheeks. His look said it all: “Aha, I’ve finally seen a crack in your shell.” From that moment, changes in our daily interactions appeared. He followed me around town just to open every door for me. He stole my diary and returned it to me with a note that he had enjoyed my poetry. He sat close to me and wouldn’t let any of the other boys near. Still, I was shy and wasn’t going to exert myself until I heard him say the words “I love you.” When I was thirteen, I was swinging idly on the park bench, trailing one bare foot on the ground and the other knee tucked up close to the alarming developments occurring in my chest. Heavily absorbed in a nineteenth-century novel, I hadn’t realized that he was standing over me, calling my name. Frustrated, he knocked the book out of my hand and kept my hand in his grip. “Why won’t you ever listen to me?” he protested. I looked into his deep brown eyes. Instantly, I felt my soul seared by their vulnerable expression. He leaned forward quickly and planted a swift kiss on my chapped lips. It knocked the breath right out of me. We both waited hesitantly, startled by the happening. Ducking his head abashedly, he dashed away. We rarely spoke again, and we certainly didn’t exchange love you’s. I wonder what would have happened if we did. I focused on school work and preparing for college and developing my own little amateur business. He soon dashed off to explore the world, hiking through several obscure countries. I’m sixteen now as I sit here in the town church. In the pew ahead of me, his following of lovers are sobbing violently. His coffin lies near the pulpit, shrouded in bouquets, shut tightly—they say the car accident left his body terribly mangled. His parents comfort each other. I sit in the back with my family in the un-relatives section. Tears escape from my eyes, and I struggle to contain them. Why should I mourn for him? Wouldn’t others despise me for weeping? They thought I only barely knew him. An ache clutches at my heart. There is something I feel for him that can never be forgotten. I don’t know if you would call it love. I’ve never loved someone before. Had he loved me? We form a line to express our condolences to his family. I pause for a moment. If this had been some cheesy movie, she would have handed me a three-page note discovered amongst his belongings detailing how his sincerest affections for me magnified since that kiss. But his mother stares at me blankly. I give her the customary hug and pass by the coffin, running my palm along the oak edge. For just a minute, I imagine it to be a prominent cheekbone, mentally adding tanned leathery skin and the beginnings of a light brown beard. I do not know if he loved me, or I, him. All I know is that he was the dearest part of my guyhood. An abundance of cherished memories. I bow my head in respect for the dead, the death of him and the death of my guyhood. I raise my head, tears dried. This is my coming-of-age story. |
| I thought it was really good. Great job :) |
| What do you think of my short story? I posted it on here a few months ago, but I recently tweaked it quite a bit. The Death of My Guyhood The inside of the church is beautiful. It’s Christmastime and green and red garlands grace the tops of stained-glass windows. The setting sun streams in through the glass image of lilies-of-the-valley, casting a kaleidoscope of colors on our expectant faces. I have always wanted to get married during the holiday season. I was seven years old when I met him. It seems young now, but I remember it as a perfectly mature age. He was all of ten and the object of every little girl’s desire. He was the best-loved of the town-boys. I recall many girls fighting like mad cats for his affections. I’ve never been a lover of competitions and stayed far away from their battling frenzies. He was always a loud, obnoxious guy which did not particularly endear him to me. I hated any noise invading my personal space. One day, my mother sent me out from the town church service to grab my baby sister’s bottle from the car. En route, I took the opportunity of being alone to belt out my favorite lyrics. Closing the car door, I jumped in surprise. He was leaning against the vehicle in as much confidence as a now-eleven-year-old could muster. His arms were crossed and his face marked with a sly grin. Blood rushed to my cheeks. His look said it all: “Aha, I’ve finally seen a crack in your shell. From that moment, changes in our daily interactions appeared. He followed me around town just to open every door for me. He stole my diary and returned it to me with a note that he had enjoyed my poetry. He sat close to me and wouldn’t let any of the other boys near. Still, I was shy and wasn’t going to exert myself until I heard him say the words “I love you.” When I was thirteen, I was swinging idly on the park bench, trailing one bare foot on the ground and the other knee tucked up close to the alarming developments occurring in my chest. Heavily absorbed in a nineteenth-century novel, I hadn’t realized that he was standing over me, calling my name. Frustrated, he knocked the book out of my hand and kept my hand in his grip. “Why won’t you ever listen to me?” he protested. I looked into his deep brown eyes. Instantly, I felt my soul seared by their vulnerable expression. He leaned forward quickly and planted a swift kiss on my chapped lips. It knocked the breath right out of me. We both waited hesitantly, startled by this happening. Ducking his head abashedly, he dashed away. We rarely spoke again, and we certainly didn’t exchange love you’s. I wonder what would have happened if we did. I focused on school work and preparing for college and developing my own little amateur business. He soon ventured off to explore the world, hiking through several obscure countries. I’m sixteen now as I sit here in the town church. In the pew ahead of me, his following of lovers are sobbing violently. Shrouds of bouquets circle the coffin. The wooden box is shut tightly—they said the car accident left his body terribly mangled. His parents comfort each other. I sit in the back with my family in the un-relatives section. Tears escape from my eyes, and I struggle to contain them. Why should I mourn for him? Wouldn’t others despise me for weeping? They thought I only barely knew him. An ache clutched at my heart. There is something I feel for him that can never be forgotten. I don’t know if you would call it love. I’ve never loved someone before. Did he still love me? We form a line to express our condolences to his family. I pause for a moment. If this had been some cheesy movie, she would have handed me a three-page note discovered amongst his belongings detailing how his sincerest affections for me magnified since that kiss. But his mother only stares at me blankly. I give her the customary hug and pass by the coffin, running my palm along the oak edge. For just a minute, I imagined it to be a prominent cheekbone, mentally adding tanned leathery skin and the beginnings of a light brown beard. I do not know if he loved me still or I, him. All I know is that he was the dearest part of my guyhood. An abundance of cherished memories. I bow my head in respect for the dead, the death of him and the death of my guyhood. I raise my head, tears dried. This is my coming-of-age story. |
| Very nice, thanks for sharing. |