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Author: Subject: First Fiction Workshop Submission: Untitled

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Posts: 37
Registered: 1/8/2003
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  posted on 4/4/2004 at 11:01 AM
An untitled story by: Worthlessliar

As the drowsy light stagers ever so slowly over my shoulders, I turn to see its source. The sky is blushing, and the sun is preparing to rest. The gorgeous scene laid out before me causes my arm to pull my girl closer to me. And as Ra begins to hide, a cold wind takes its place.

I hug Aless to ward off the breeze, but my sheepskin duster is no match for sea winds. With my arms tucked under hers, my lips find their way to that secret spot behind her ear, and both our eyes shut in contentment. Minutes, seconds, or hours pass before my eyes see the fading light again, but in their gaze lays a star, behind my Aless, on the other side of Ocean Drive. Finally, I implore, a time for my long decided plan has arisen, but my increasing glee must be controlled. I hold Aless’s face between my hands now, and the first of my rehearsed statements follows. “Sweetheart, please trust me. Follow my lead and act in ignorance. You’ll understand soon enough.”

I take her hand and pull her through the rising traffic that separates the club life from the ocean life on South Beach. Darting between cars, I grow fearful the star might escape my eye, which she does for many sporadic seconds behind truck cabs and billboards on wheels. But we’ve arrived by the Avalon Hotel, with all its Art Deco glory failing to overpower that glory of Avril Levigne.

Aless sees the object of my vigor and not an inch of jealousy reaches her eye- only understanding. Avril is fading away no more than twenty paces in front of me, standing arm in arm along side Evan Taubenfeld, her lead guitarist. Again, I yank my Aless closer to the star. Nervously, my hand reaches for her shinning shoulder.

My lucky fingers catch a glazing wisp of sweet red hair and a handful of Avril. Her potent self turns on her heels, while Evan turns on his a second later.

I must not have practiced enough, I think to myself, as I see that I am frozen. She’s even more gorgeous in real life. I reviewed all of the pictures of her I had recollected since her rise, and none of the them were as breathtaking as she was now- a sea breeze tickling her features, neon signs battling to reflect her face, and the touch of ice that was pinching her nose and cheeks to make them red. “Thank you, Jack Frost,” I whispered slightly under my breath.

She didn’t catch it. Thank god. “May I help you?” She asked.

I was pulled out of my daze and returned to our scene. Aless was beside me, acting better than I was, and Evan was beside Avril, acting like a bodyguard. I tried hard to deny myself the pleasure of asking the screenplay writer for my next line. “Excuse us, but this night is just too gorgeous to forget, would you mind taking a picture of my girlfriend and I?” I said. My hand slid into my over coat to reveal a Kodak disposable. As I handed it to her, I felt like asking her ‘to make it out to Nick’, but I held back.

She held the cardboard box to her eye and Aless jumped around me (a bit possessively, but still in character). Avril shifted to the left, and then to the right. Then she dropped to one knee. The humanity in this girl seemed unbearable. Hopefully, Aless would assume the default- that I was smiling for her, and not for Avril. But all the photograph will show is the smile.

The flash came, and Avril returned the camera. “That’ll be a good one, I hope,” she said. As I recovered the camera from her grip, my fingers lightly brushed her black leather gloves. I hadn’t even noticed she was wearing gloves because my eyes had been trained on her face for so long. It wasn’t until now that I even noted her clothing. Hiding the top of her gloves was a deep red, rough-leathered coat with black fur lining. It was closed too tightly to see what it covered, but I knew I would like whatever was there. Her legs were draped with a ragged pair of wide jeans that showed age in the rips and tears, but showed freshness in the purity of the black die still holding onto the threads.

I pocketed my camera and spoke again. “Thanks, love. My name is Nicholas, and this is my girlfriend Alessandra.” I extended my hand again, but this time it was empty. She caught it and introduced herself.

“My name is Avril, and this is Evan. He’s not my boyfriend, but he sure acts like it sometimes.” She was shocked to see that our stares held no recognition in either of them.

Evan broke in. “Miami is gorgeous, are you from around here?”

“Trust me, you’re only seeing it’s charm. If you lived here, you wouldn’t dare say anything like that,” said my girlfriend. Those were Aless’s first words of the night- and they were very well done.

“You’re overreacting, dear. Miami does have its downsides, but so does everything. Look at this sky, though. You can’t see a sky like that in many places. But to answer your second question, we are from Miami. What about you?” Why can’t I shut up?

“New York,” chirped Evan.

“Well, Canada Originally.” Avril threw a gaze at him that I couldn’t decipher.

An awkward silence started growing. I lost my place again, and again Aless found it. “Would you like to share a table with us at News Café? Trust me, even when you’re in a pair you’re not safe after dark here.”

“To quote Will Smith- Welcome to Miami, Bienvenidos a Miami.” Why the fuck did I say that?

Avril looked at her watch, then up at Evan. “We’ve got to get back to the hotel by midnight, but yeah, I suppose we can join you.”

“Great, follow us.”

As we led Avril and Evan up Ocean Drive, I spoke about my oncoming admittance to an art college and Aless spoke about her two dogs, Lucky and Shadow. Avril and Evan were quiet throughout most of the five-block journey, presumably because she was wondering if we recognized her fame. Either way, the idea that the slight gusts of air that kept tickling the hair on the back of my neck might have exited her lungs and kissed her lips, excited me.

A few minutes later and a few footsteps farther, we arrived at News Café. With the tourism attacking Miami during this time of year, a seat here is available by appointment only. Luckily, the upgrade from two to four wasn’t out of the question, though I think it was a result of the company we kept.

We were seated inside, near the windows that gave us a marvelous view of the many partiers and yuppies with enough money to sit with a pile of accumulating drinks underneath the awning by the street. Past them lay the beach, and past that laid the waters that had long since been torn form sunlight. The round table provided Aless to my right and Avril to my left. I imagined points gathering as I held out the seat for my girlfriend while Evan just sat himself ignorantly.

Avril’s first move was to remove her jacket. I had waited for what seemed like a decade to see this unveiling, and now that it had come, I wasn’t disappointed. The only thing that separated Avril’s nipples from the rest of the room was a thin layer of cotton, and it seemed that the cold breezes outside had long since kept their attention. I quickly averted my eyes and laid them upon the menu that was forced onto my lap by our waitress. I wished her gone; I wished the whole room outside our table gone. I wished my wishes would come true, but they didn’t.

All around the table we went, and all that we desired were water glasses. Our waitress left and I whispered “thank you” to her at another unintelligible decibel. I turned my head to the celebrity couple. “So, Avril, Evan, what are you two into?”

Avril spoke up first. “Well, I’m in a band with Evan, he plays guitar, and I sing. I also write the songs. We’re pretty popular. I don’t want to sound cocky, but I’m surprised you haven’t heard of us- heard of me. Haven’t you seen everyone else looking at us?”

“Honestly, I just thought they were admiring your beauty. It certainly attracted Aless and I.” Evan’s gaze was failing. I brought his imagination back to the table. “Don’t worry Evan, we think you’re cute, too.” He smiled with smug lips.

“So what kind of music do you guys make? Nick and I really only listen to Goth music, mostly darkwave and ambient. I’m a sucker for a lullaby,” spoke my girl. I felt like thanking Aless, too.

“Actually, we’re kind of pop, country, and general teen angst.” Evan was dripping with jealousy. He’d known Avril for what seemed like an eternity, and he’d never been able to act so nonchalant around her. I was able to read all of this just from his disposition and grimace.

“Well, I love country. Well, not as much as I wish I did, but the darker country gods are rather well known to me, like Johnny Cash. If you ask me, it’s underrated,” I said, pulling at the thread. It was that final statement that gave me what I’d been trying to steal from Avril all night. I found her spot and I massaged it out from under her. I stole her approval. I took it from her smile, the flick of her hair, the depth of her breath, and the decreasing distance between us. But most off all, I took it from her enveloping gaze.

I finally had Avril under my wing and I could play with her as much as I dared for the rest of the night, for as long as I keep her company. I will be her fond memory of Miami, and I will be her reason for return.

I will be her reason for return; this was my intent.

But that’s all a fantasy, and from here on out, the outcome is never the same. The only part I’m sure of is that I will continue to go home with my Alessandra. No matter how fantastic and how repeated my dreams are, none of them will end without her. After all she is my number one fantasy, but Avril Levigne’s recognition is just the whipped topping.

 

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Registered: 31/12/1969
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  posted on 5/4/2004 at 11:16 AM
My problem with everything worthlessliar has ever submitted to the site or asked me to read is that I can't read past the first paragraph.

No seriously, I just can't do it. Something abut the way his first paragraphs always read just puts up a mental block in my mind and I click something to get the story off my screen. I usually figure callei will edit it.

This one is no exception. He always tries to pack too much imagery into the very first paragraph with too many words instead of just a clear, easily imagined scene. At least he's using smaller words than usual in this one - and using them more or less correctly.

I still can't read past that first paragraph though.

 

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  posted on 5/4/2004 at 11:59 AM
Ok... my first piece of constructive criticism is this... when writing from the first person standpoint, one needs to work out different ways to start the sentence other than "I". it is a hard thing to do properly... but throughout your story, you start your sentences "I this and I that" sooo... for the sake or reader sanity... try something new... also... the first paragraph... you are attempting to grab your reader's attention... and honestly... you have three poerful metaphor's clashing there in the opening... pick one of tem and run with it...just my 2 pennies

Feral

 

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  posted on 5/4/2004 at 12:55 PM
Okay, beyond the awkwardness of the first paragraph which has already been covered...

Not to sound like the hippie in the Simpsons, but, Simplify, man! Instead of saying "I recovered my camera from her grip" you can say "I took my camera back." Using fancier language is cool, if done well and done sparingly. But if there is too much of it, it's just hard to get through.

The ending seemed too much like it was tacked on at the last minute to wrap things up. You could have left it off with the whole "I will be her reason for return; this was my intent" sentence and had an ending that was much cleaner. And watch your tense. I'm not saying you can't flip a bitch with your tenses if you are shifting around, but watch how you do it. Otherwise you get left with a paragraph that doesn't sit right with the readers sensibilities.

[Edited on 4/5/2004 by Merry_Widow]

 

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  posted on 5/4/2004 at 08:09 PM
"Write the way you talk, not how you think someone else talks. " this is the advice that tends to get handed out. in this case (because i have talked to you before) i would have to say "write the way other people talk. you dont know what the words mean and it makes you look like a pompous fool".

the thing about using "big words" is that people tend to misuse them (vigor instead of ardor as an example), so check the words you use to make sure they mean what you think they mean. Dont try to take poetic liscense with the language until you know what that language means. yes i am harping on it the same way i have for what 2 years now with everything you send in.

about the plot: the premise is weak, the characters are bland and unloveable, there is no invitation to suspend disbelief, there are large gaps in the believablity, and the word use makes it hard to get any idea what you mean.

oh and its virgin porn. the climax of the story is missing. it also has the halmarks of a "first chapter" in that you dont tell the story, you just set the scene of the story to start.

 

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  posted on 5/4/2004 at 09:59 PM
I think most people have hit on the most obvious thing that needs improvement here, the writing style. Not to beat a dead horse, but the language is way, way overblown. The line between evocative and pretentious can be a blurry one, but I'm going to try and draw it here for you.

"I hug Aless to ward off the breeze, but my sheepskin duster is no match for sea winds."

This is a nice, evocative sentence. It has a simple construction and a consistent metaphor (warding off the wind, not being a match for it). It's direct but with just enough detail to paint a picture.

"Darting between cars, I grow fearful the star might escape my eye, which she does for many sporadic seconds behind truck cabs and billboards on wheels."

This sentence, on the other hand, is very ineffective. It's full of awkward constructions and phrases like "I grow fearful," "escape my eye," and "sporadic seconds." It's unnecessarily complicated, and it makes me grow fearful that the plot of the story will escape my eye for sporadic seconds behind your inscrutable word choices.

So I'm giving you a reading assignment. Raymond Carver's style is the polar opposite of flowery, and I think if you read a few of his stories, it will give you a better sense of the power of simple language. The man has many great short stories, but I particularly like "Cathedral."

The bigger issue with this story, though, is the subject matter. I almost rejected this story on the genre rule (celebrity fantasy? virgin porn?), but in the end I decided it would be better to post it and then discuss why it doesn't work.

This is a big fat case of "consider your audience." There is nothing in this story for anyone who doesn't fantasize about meeting Avril Levigne. This, incidentally, is why most people keep their fantasies to themselves. The only tension here is the question "Will she like me or won't she?" to which the average (non Avril adoring) reader responds, "Who cares?" There are plenty of avenues for conflict and tension open, but you ignore most of them in favor of a simple wish-fulfillment story.



That said, I'd also like to take this opportunity to make two quick comments about, well, the comments: 1. I'd like everyone to keep in mind that we are criticizing the story, not the author. 2. The two big things that make criticism "constructive" are specific examples and solid suggestions for improvement. Let's try to stay constructive.

 

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  posted on 6/4/2004 at 08:29 AM
I'll just say there is a reason why David Lynch makes movies.

 

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  posted on 6/4/2004 at 03:26 PM
I have to agree with everyone that it is very hard to read. Even after reading it multiple times to try to understand what the purpose of the story was I am still left scratching my head. It jumps around like a chaotic thought process too much.

Here are specific things that left me confused:

Evan was dripping with jealousy. He’d known Avril for what seemed like an eternity, and he’d never been able to act so nonchalant around her. I was able to read all of this just from his disposition and grimace.

That is like saying "I could tell that he and his wife had a huge 3 hour fight about the color of his socks because of the way he crossed his legs". You are turning an assumption about the personal relationship between two people into a fact simply by a grimace. It just seems to unrealistic.

I found her spot and I massaged it out from under her. I stole her approval. I took it from her smile, the flick of her hair, the depth of her breath, and the decreasing distance between us. But most off all, I took it from her enveloping gaze.

You make it should like she was drooling on herself and climbing over the table just to be next to you simply because you mentioned Johnny Cash. At this point it becomes too much of a softporn fantasy rather than a realistic situation.

But that’s all a fantasy, and from here on out, the outcome is never the same. The only part I’m sure of is that I will continue to go home with my Alessandra. No matter how fantastic and how repeated my dreams are, none of them will end without her. After all she is my number one fantasy, but Avril Levigne’s recognition is just the whipped topping.

This is what really made me go "huh?". I had to read this three times before I realized you were trying to say it was not a real encounter but a fantasy. That the story was all about some wet dream. But the final sentence makes me wonder which it is yet again. It kinda tosses you up in the air and goes "the end" *dump*.

I think if you toned down the exagerated descriptions and tried to be more real you would find more compliments on your work. People like to read things they can relate to and nobody thinks like you write. Plus you could try to find a solid theme or plot to your story. This one seems to jump around between many but still manages to have none.

 

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  posted on 7/4/2004 at 03:18 AM
Beyond the mixed and flowery metaphors and the elusive sentence structures, the main thing that boggles the mind is this. How did the main character become Avril's wet dream simply by mentioning that he thought country music was underrated? Most of the story seems pretty far-fetched, but that one takes the cake. WorthlessLiar writes that at this point, he can do anything he wants with her, and that she will come back to Miami for him. Why?

And the subject matter itself is pretty weak. It would take amazing writing skill to make a person's obsession with a star into good literature. Someone here (I'm sorry, I forget who) wrote a piece of fiction about Michael Jackson that worked very well, but it grabbed the attention because it was well-written, and took some unexpected twists. This story is dismally predictable. As a story, it fails miserably, and even as a fantasy it lacks imagination.

I'm sorry. I tried so hard to find something nice to say, because I felt so bad that this story recieved nothing but criticism. But I really couldn't.

My advice - pare down your language. Pay attention to your metaphors. Use them sparingly, and only one at a time. And put a little more thought into your subject matter. Try to think - would any girl I know behave the way my heroine did? If not, then why would she? If your characters are not true to life, people will dismiss your story very quickly.

Better luck with your next effort.

 

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  posted on 8/4/2004 at 01:40 PM
I have an interesting question... is english the author's first language?

 

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  posted on 8/4/2004 at 03:34 PM
he claims that it is, but it is clear that close family speak something else.

 

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  posted on 8/4/2004 at 05:51 PM
ok

 

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  posted on 12/4/2004 at 12:25 AM
Don't want to be harsh or anything, but I honestly couldn't get past the second or third paragraph.
The first thing you have to do is write something people will want to read, especially if you want them to read it. After that it's all downhill.

Premise was bad, style was bad, bad bad bad.
Good news is, you have nowhere to go but up!

 

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  posted on 16/7/2004 at 09:04 AM
Sometimes the smallest thing can cause a crush, a flick of the hair the way the neck is positioned the glint of light in the eyes. Anything that one can possibly find aesthetically apealing, even if it is a play on their morals or their own particular tastes.... So that portion is not as far fetched as it may seem, there just needs to be some elaboration upon exactly, well.... everything in a more defined structure.
Next, the characters, ... ahhh, I'm sorry, but if anything, if you just changed Avril to some made up star, then I don't think it would be half bad. But everytime i even read her name her skreechy voice of skater boy came into my head like fingernails on chalkboard.
I did like parts of the description of the starry night, but the first paragraph made it seem as though aless was an imagination, where she was with him and then it kinda gets spacy. The flow of everything, its just not even.
Nice try though.

 

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