Archive for November 5, 2010

Question : Any writing critique?
So, I’m working on a short story. The formatting is a little strange on yahoo answers. I’m just getting started, but I would appreciate any and all critique on what I have so far:

The ground itself appeared to be bleeding. Crimson leaves cascaded across the landscape, fluttering atop the overgrown property. An intangible sense of loss filled the air, seeping up the narrow drive towards the faded white house – a house that was once a home. The walls were badly chipped; paint flecks curled away from the wood. The front door seemed to hang on its hinges, knocking gently in the wind.

A mechanical whirr intruded upon the mourning of the land. A bulldozer, painted in shades of garish orange, was crawling towards the small house. Every flower, every tree, every bush and vine, seemed to whisper with indignation. After years of neglect, it was the greenery that had taken possession of the estate, playing gatekeeper to the memories built there over the years. Helpless now, the rhododendrons shed their dewdrop tears freely. And those crimson leaves, the blood of a fatal wound, continued to flow.

This scene, tragic in its desolation, would not have been found so many years ago. The walls of the small house, now dilapidated, once stood glossy and new. Within their confines, a family lived.

“Mangiare,” Paula Julia Rossi Porter declared, lifting her glass into the air. Laughter echoed across the room, melding with the delicate clinking of silverware. Upon her word, every guest had begun to eat. The spread of food, smelling strongly of both garlic and tomatoes, reached from one end of the long table to the other; a sumptuous feast was the perfect pretext for a family gathering.

Paula sat at the head of the table. Streaks of grey now lined her black hair, and the pronounced lines around her eyes had grown along with her family. It was an easy sacrifice. Her youth was long gone, why should her beauty matter? As Paula gazed at her grandsons, now twelve and fifteen respectively, her eyes burned with distinct pride. An expression of smug contentment stole across her face.

“So,” she started, turning towards the newest addition to her table, her nephew Dino, “Where is your new girl, eh? She not want to come visit us?”

The young man shifted uncomfortably in his chair. “Well, I guess she could come by, if you wouldn’t mind her staying with us for a night…” Dino looked down at his pasta, twisting his fork around repeatedly.

“Of course, Dino. She come stay, we cook her food, she never will leave, eh?” She laughed. It was a rich, throaty sound, unrefined and genuine.

“Fornicators!” Paula charged down the front steps, her sturdy legs moving swiftly. Age had not worn down her vigor; she raised her arm above her head as she ran, brandishing a single kitchen pan. “Fornicators!”

Dino scampered down the drive with his girlfriend in tow, a good twenty feet ahead of Paula. The scantily young woman, half dressed in the brisk night air, glanced fearfully behind her. Bare skin gleamed in the moonlight, a blight on the landscape that only fueled Paula’s burning rage.

“You fornicate in my home! You no longer welcome, fornicators!” Her mouth opened in a snarl. Abruptly, she stopped, watching their figures retreat into the darkness. She placed one hand across her heaving chest, and tilted her head upwards, gazing at the stars. “Pah, Jesus help you.”
pride lift chairs

Best answer:

Answer by Budd
This is very good. Most of the stories you read here are written by 14 year olds with a vampire fixation. It was nice to read something of quality for a change.