New York

It's still got a lot of work to be done, but I really wanted to know if I should continue to write.

    I awoke to the sound of a rain forest. The room was dark, but not dark enough I couldn't see. She was asleep on her stomach next to me. It had been four months since deciding what to do. Heaven and earth were very hard places to get along with. I sat up after staring at the ceiling for quite some time and finally decided it was time to get up. My flat was modern, minimalist and clean. The only thing I owned a lot of were books, tea, mugs and coffee, not discluding coffee creamer. I was an addict to my sorrowful and still life. I loved the quiet mornings, reading the news paper or finishing a good book. I had all day everyday to move as I pleased. It was the young life I had always new I would have. The only thing different from my thoughts was my companion. She had just kinda snuck in in the night like a stray and now I was stuck and happy with being so.
    I walked down the hall and into the marbled counter kitchen. I grabbed my coffee from the freezer, something my father told me to do, and made the best coffee New York would ever see. For two years while I wrote my first novel, I worked in a small cafe as a barrista. It turned out I had a real knack for drinks.
    I had picked all the books that fell out of the two boxes up and put them on shelves. While my companion folded the boxes and stored them in the empty closet. That night was something insane.
   I poured my coffee adding a lot of creamer and then I picked Water For Elephants up and turned to the last few pages. It was about six-thirty when I finished. My companion wasn't a morning person. Which was alright with me, seeing as I loved my quiet, but lately she'd been making the effort to get up around sevenish. She'd also adapted to my life style quite well and continued to explore my slowly growing library.
   At seven-fifteen my companion walked out in my t-shirt and a pair of nickers and let me make her coffee. She had the cutest eyes in the morning. I'd noticed that all the time. It was my favorite look of hers.
   "Did you sleep well?" I asked. She nodded.
   "Is the coffee, okay?" I asked. She nodded.
   "Is that my shirt?" I asked. She smiled and nodded.
    "It's cute on you." I mentioned as I grabbed my third cup of coffee an retreated to the breakfast nook.
   My companion stood sipping her coffee and staring at the morning news paper I had left out. I finished my book a few minutes later pushed it aside. She just smiled at me when see noticed.
   "Did you like it?" She asked.
   "Yes, thanks for getting it for me." I said. She smiled and turned back to the paper. I just sat there staring at her legs. They were very pretty, along with her feet. I watched her for a long time actually. I had always enjoyed studying people, and picking up on their small habits. My companion had a lot of them. She'd rub her right foot over the top of her left when she stood bare foot. She'd lean her head on her right hand when she read a book. She'd multitask when cleaning grabbing and doing three different things at the same time. And she'd smile and make faces like she was thinking through everything and seeing how it played out. I loved catching her doing all these things.
   After a few more minutes passed I picked myself up and walked over to her. I wrapped my hands around her waist and pulled her close into me. I smelled her hair and kissed her neck making her set the paper aside and drop the empty coffee mug in the sink. She gripped the marble counter and let me kiss and press my hands into her back and sides. She leaned her head back and I pushed her into the counter and moved my hands down and under her shirt. I felt her warm stomach and gripped her firmly in a hug.
    "Damn Vesper!" She said as I moved my lips down to her back and pushed her even harder into the counter. And then I stopped. Teasing her.
   "Damn you!" She said lightly. She kissed me. "Your driving me crazy."
   
     Hand in hand we walked through the streets of New York. It was cold and the wind swept through our hair. A small cafe stood beneath the raining sky. All dry and warm and welcoming. I pulled her into the shelter and we both helped each off with our jackets. Hanging them by the door, we settled into a small table in the vacant looking place. We were right by the window watching all the people pass. Buisness men and women. Mothers, soccor moms. Jocks and teenage blonde girls. Children, boys on bikes. They never ended. It somewhat felt wrong, something about the sight of thousands passing by. No one recognized me which was great, for I had not exactly come out with my companion before, unless walking in the park.
   She had braided her hair and dressed in black with shades. She told me we had to be ninjas and hide from my adoring public. She also said that she liked sneaking around with me. I was still left wondering everyday when this wouldn't be fun anymore. Or did I actually make the mistake of finding a girl for my soulmate? She certainly seemed to love the life I lived. Matter of fact she seemed content in spending time with me and being entirely happy. She liked her job, she bought her own stuff. She wasn't interested in my money or changing my apartment. She even didn't bother me about moving in. Which I had been giving some thought. It would save us a lot of trouble, my flat was closer to her work, she could practically walk. That was another thing, she got me outside and walking again.
   "I think I want tea. Maybe strawberry basil?" My companion said eyeing the list of drinks. I smiled as she gave me her sleepy bedroom eyed look.
   "That sounds good, maybe scones?" I said eyeing the honey blueberry ones.
   "Yes, and maybe toast?" She said eyeing the menu.
   Lana Del Rey came on. It rather fitted with the pouring winter storm that had come up suddenly. I was just glad no one seemed to recognize the cafe or me as they all ran for shelter outside. Taxi's pulled up outside the window and let four or five people in and tore off down the road. Men on motorcycles seemed to be cussing and soon were pulling and pushing their bikes through the thick sludge that formed after a few minutes of heavy snow.
    "Wicked!" My companion exclaimed eyeing the street. A few cars skidded and then things except the storm quieted down. My companion turned back to the menu for a few minutes and then we ordered. I got scared for a moment as I heard someone mention my pen name and then noticed a girl leaving with my book in her hand. Totally oblivious to the fact that the writer had been sitting drinking tea three feet away.
   Back at my flat we both cuddled up on the couch with more tea and a fire. It was electric, but it felt good. The heating system was on continuously as we both were warm blooded lizards inside. In the summer I had talked about going to Arizona and renting a house while I finished my second book to the series I was writing. She liked the idea, but also was considering work. I told her she could do both, fly out on weekends or something. And then she told me she wouldn't be able to afford it, and I said I'd pay for it and she said she didn't accept charity, and I said something along the lines of moving in with me after summer and that seemed to make her blush. And the next thing I knew she had cuddled up to me tighter and laid her head under my chin. Her face bright, sleepy and smiling in the flickering firelight of the dark flat. I knew she had just said yes and she'd be coming with me to Arizona.

Author's Note

Copy Righted. Please enjoy!

Reviews

[JayG]

Okay. Keep in mind that you did ask, and that I really am trying to help.

First, forget the copyright comment or even the symbol. It’s meaningless. All work is copyrighted the moment it’s complete. Registering it only entitles you to sue for damages. And given that you’re not published, someone who would post your work as theirs, or just without permission would hurt only your feelings, something you can’t sue for. Forgetting the cost of suing someone, publishers register it for you because they’re the ones who would be losing money. And if you can’t sell it to a publisher, it’s not going to be on the best seller list self published.

That aside, the problem you face is that you’re using the writing skills we’re all given in school. And though they don’t mention it, there, because we’re being trained to be useful to future employers, and therefore become productive adults, the only writing skills we learn are author-centric and fact-based—designed to inform the reader concisely and accurately.

And that’s exactly what you want IF you’re writing to inform. In other words, we learn only nonfiction writing skills, and never know that, which is quite a whoops—but still, a mistake we all make. After all, who’s to tell us different?

And because we are so deeply trained in nonfiction skills, we think of a story in the same way we would a report or essay, a parade of facts that define the situation. Added to that, we tend to visualize the scene in our mind, and report what we “see happening,” and explain as necessary. But because we already know the story, and the meaning of what’s happening, we tend to leave out what, to us, is obvious. And with that in mind, look at a few lines from the opening paragraph, from the viewpoint of a reader who knows only what the words imply, based on what was said till that point, and that reader’s background:

Fact #1: I awoke to the sound of a rain forest.
Fact #2: The room was dark, but not dark enough I couldn't see.
Fact #3: She was asleep on her stomach next to me.
Fact #4: It had been four months since deciding what to do.

Notice first, that every line is a declarative sentence—a fact—that stands alone.

1. I assume, after having read more, that you meant because of a noise machine, but as it’s read, the reader believes you, and starts out with the idea that the setting is deep in a rain forest. In reality, it’s at an unknown location in New York, at an unknown date/century. So we begin by confusing the reader by telling them something they don’t need to know. Your protagonist woke. He’s used to hearing the noise and so pays no attention to it. And if it doesn’t matter to him, the time it takes me to read about what he’s ignoring serves only to slow the narrative and take the focus from the one who matters. If a line doesn’t develop character, set the scene meaningfully, or move the plot, toss it, because it’s dragging the story like an anchor.

2. Here, you’re giving detail that matters not at all to the story, or even the protagonist. It is, however, what you, the viewer, are noticing. But to your reader, who must assign meaning, it could mean the shades are drawn, that it’s midnight but a nightlight in the hall, or that it’s dusk. But 7:00 am places the reader, so why not have him check the time?

3. Were she hanging like a bat it might tell us something useful and interesting—character development. But she’s asleep. What does her position add?

Never lose sight of the fact that our goal is to entertain. Facts can be interesting, but emotion is entertaining.

But forget all that. He, obviously knows who she is. And he’s our POV character, our avatar. She can’t be all that interesting to him if he doesn’t think of her her by name.

4. So it’s four months since an unknown “we” decided to do something unknown? Given that at this point we don’t know who we are as a person, our place in our society, where we are, or what’s going on, what can this line mean? This is one of the strongest arguments I know of in favor of making the reader live the story, in the moment the protagonist calls now, and to know only what matters to the protagonist in that moment.

We cannot follow an interesting person with a camera. That’s boring because we can’t hear or see a thing. And that includes the narrator and their voice, taking all trace of emotion from the narrator’s words. In short, you cannot “tell” the story on the page because verbal storytelling is a performance art that requires sound and vision, things the page doesn’t provide.

I know that this is a hell of a time to learn that, after all the hard work you’ve done. But think about me. I’d written six unsold novels before I learned this.

There’s little in common between telling a story in parson and on the page. The limitations of the medium see to that. Have your computer read the story aloud and you’ll hear how differently the reader will “hear” the words from the way you would speak them And that doesn’t take into account that the reader can’t see your performance).

On the page, because there are no visuals or audio capability, we need to narrow our focus dramatically.

Look at your first scene. It’s 751 words, which is, roughly, the first three and a half manuscript pages. That many pages takes several minutes to read. And what happened on them? Trivia. Someone who is never called by name wakes and gets out of bed, makes coffee, and drinks it as he reads.

I did that this morning. Why would I pay to read that someone I don’t know did what I might be doing if I wasn’t reading? Would you pay to read my morning wake-up routine? I thought not. :)

Then, the unnamed female wakes and has breakfast while they discuss clothing we can’t see. Yes, that’sd conversation, but is it MEANINGFUL conversation. No.

Then, they may or may not make love.

From a reader’s viewpoint, what happened that’s meaningful enough to the story to be entertaining?

My point? You’re writing a chronicle of events as you follow the character through the day. Thus you begin when the day begins, which is pretty much a guaranteed rejection.

Alfred Hitchcock observed that drama is life without the dull bits. So, instead of conversation we report the essence of it. We report only conversations that matters to plot development. We place the reader on a “self-guiding” trail, on which the writing provides the context necessary to make the movement meaningful as-we-read.

To do that takes specialized knowledge, as in any profession, because as Mark Twain so wisely said, “It ain’t what you don’t know that gets you into trouble. It’s what you know for sure that just ain’t so.”

And here’s the thing: nothing I said has to do with you, your potential as a writer, or the story. You have the desire, which is great. You’ve demonstrated the perseverance, which is necessary. What’s missing is what’s missing from everyone when they turn to recording their stories, a knowledge of the tricks the pros take for granted. And with that, I can help.

For an overview of what a scene is, and how they progress, try this article:
https://jaygreenstein.wordpress.com/2011/06/27/the-grumpy-writing-coach-6/

The skills of writing fiction for the page are emotion-based and character-centric, and designed to entertain. They’re no harder to learn that those we leave our school days with, they’re just focused on a different objective. And like the ones we use every day, they must be learned, honed, and made as automatic as the nonfiction skill set.

A simple solution, though one that’s not easy, because your present skills, used daily for a lifetime, will howl in outrage when you try to change. But that’s true of learning any profession, so it’s time consuming, and annoying, but no big deal.

I’d suggest you dig around in the writing articles in my blog for a feel for what you’re trying to accomplish. They were written with the newer writer in mind.

Then, when you better understand the goals, try this article on viewpoint:
http://www.advancedfictionwriting.com/art/scene.php

It’s a condensation of a technique found in Dwight Swain’s, Techniques of the Selling Writer, the best book on the subject I’ve found to date.

Play with the article till it makes sense. Then, if it seems like something worth pursuing, pick up the book.


I wish my news was better. I know what something like this feels like. But it’s news every successful writer has experienced and coped with. And as Sinclair Lewis said, “It is impossible to discourage the real writers - they don’t give a damn what you say, they’re going to write.”

So hang in there, and keep on writing.

Jay Greenstein
https://jaygreenstein.wordpress.com/category/the-craft-of-writing/

[LeFestinRaven]

Thanks so much! I know I will be rereading this a lot in the next week. It's funny, because now really want to write and perfect the rest of the book.

[LaCherish T.]

I'm so so so so sorry, it took me so long to get back with you for this review. Okay, so I read the other comments and JayG really hit it on the nose. This is a great story and has so much frickin' potential but the lack of detail and use of "nonfiction writing" does make it hard for the reader to follow the story. I am a visual person and I have to be able to see what I'm reading. Although you did give some imagery, for example, "My flat was modern, minimalist and clean." That is good because we get some description of where the location is and what the apartment looks like but it doesn't give us enough. BUT! In another sense, it could be intentional you writing with such lack of detail and being straight to the point because it seems that is how the protagonist is. Seeing that he doesn't give the name of the girl, doesn't describe himself except for little things like he likes to read and drink coffee. That could be something you can play with, because there are a few authors who have amazing works and use this style. Not every sentence has to be extremely long and full of similies, metaphors and imagery. Its okay to say that, "The sky was just blue," you know? (sorry for the caps, I thought of the idea as I was writing the review and just typed it, lol) But I think you can use work on clarifying some things like, I don't know about anyone else, but I didn't know if the protagonist was a boy or girl, but I'm assuming a boy because everyone else is saying "he." It wouldn't hurt to describe him and the girl and to make sure the reader understands what you want them to understand. Like try to read it as if its not your story and you've never read it before, I know it maybe hard but try, it really does help. Sorry if this review was crud and didn't help and again I deeply apologize for reviewing so late. If you need anymore help feel free to message me!

[AliciaB]

The narrator of this story has quite an interesting personality, and I would like to know more about his past in terms of writing his book and why he is so afraid of people recognizing him. I really like how he notices the little habits about people, especially his "companion", although it is odd that he never mentions her name. I guess that adds depth to his character - some things are more important to him than other things that would seem more important to other people. Sorry, that sentence sounded weird... anyway. Moving on. I would suggest going back and checking your grammar, especially punctuation (the bane of all writers). Also, some of the descriptive sentences in the first few paragraphs seem out of place; for example, "Heaven and earth were very hard places to get along with." This is an interesting statement, but it doesn't seem to go along with the rest of what you are talking about. Try to incorporate that in a smoother way, or even leave it for another part of the story.

[LeFestinRaven]

I know my grammar has always been a train wreck! The reason I put in "Heaven and earth were very hard places to get along with." Is that my character is actually a girl. Which I should have made clear. Then again this part isn't exactly the start of my book. So sorry about that. The companion is meant to be nameless, mostly because she doesn't have a huge part in the book. I think of her as more of a desire for my actual character. Anyway thank you so much. It was really appreciated.