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Short Stories Reviews Poetry - Reviews Novels - Reviews Plays - Reviews Screenplays - Reviews Songs - Reviews Non-Fiction - Reviews Essays - Reviews Foreign - Reviews Reference - Reviews Children - Reviews Genres - Reviews		A Fortuitous Meeting by Shelley J Alongi (2) "I really enjoyed the story about the teacher and pilot meeting. You are very talented and the story easily drew me in." -- Ariana Linkletter. "Thank you for your kind comments. I have published two novels which you can find in Ebook form on iBooks or go to http://www.lulu.com/spotlight/Queenofbells712 to view and purchase. I love these Andrew and Anne stories. " -- Shelley, Burkburnett, tx, usa. A Taste Of Death by Frank Dunsmore (1) "Great story." -- Bob. The Animal Prison by L J Milakovic (7) "So that means you are about fourteen. Are you by any chance related to Ivana, Law?--The Advisor" -- JA St.George. "I'm thirteen. I don't know if we are related. My Grandad was originally from Yugoslavia, so is possible. " -- Law. "This reminds me very, very much of a short story I read once called "The Tiger", in a collection of animal stories. Your descriptions are good." -- Wolfa. "This is really good.. I love the way it's written. but it scares me! There's a lady with a pet tiger in my town. yikes" -- Brooklyn Ashe. "For another story, on the lighter-side, also about a tiger, be sure to check out Lawrence Peters' The Dragon And The Tiger-Bob Gets His W.I.S.H. --The Advisor " -- JA St.George. "not bad for a little kid, the emotions come through. your descriptions of the tiger are not very convincing though. halfway through the story i interjected you (the little boy/girl) as the tiger in my head...the story worked well then. keep it up." -- sunny, DC, usa. "This was a good story here you showed how tiger feel like he dosen't have his freedom. Maybe the tighter wants some shade." -- J Harris. Hill Number 18 by Shelley J Alongi (1) "Your story is well written and held my attention. You are a good writer!" -- Bob Ramlo, Placentia, CA, U.S.A.. The Perfect Gift by T J Richards (1) "Nicely written." -- Shelley, Fullerton, ca, usa. The Old Horse by Joan Bentley (1) "Nice imagery." -- Shelley, Fullerton, ca, USA. The Last Leaf by Abby Steed (1) "answer plzzz" -- erick, pampanga, mabalacat, philippines. The Gnome From Alaska by David Soriano (3) "Hello, nice site look this: diamonds earrings xanax medication End ^) See you" -- conducted, Moskow, NY, Hungary. The Band Played On by Sue (Sooz) Simpson (2) "Calloused 1�s Review: The Band Played On Sue (Sooz) Simpson The sweeping rises of neatly kept grassy banks resembled immense Appaloosa horse flanks. The leaves of the aristocratic oak boughs were making stencils for the probing rays of strong afternoon sunlight to dapple the lawns and grasses of the park. *Quite a mouthful, would never play well to an American audience* Couples and family groups, elderly people and children all being drawn by the magnetic pull of the music, urging them towards the bandstand. It was a graceful park, an architect�s triumph and landscapers *Apostrophe* crowning glory. Each weedy sapling had been planted with a century�s forethought. An artists *�* fantasy had been an image of a tree-lined walk. Oaks and beeches bending their heads to whisper to each other over the tops of people passing beneath. He had planned and planted accordingly. The walk opened out into the focal point of the park, a circular clearing large enough to place seating for three hundred people, all facing the central bandstand. A bandstand surrounded by a Lilly-padded *I�m not so certain �lily� needs to be capitalized here.* moat. The conical structure of darkened wood stately in its elegance, strong in its ability to withstand the elements of time, topped with a hexagonal canopy gently sloping to protect the musicians from the worst of the British summer weather. *Excellent use of description, and well placed too since it is obvious that this will become the focal point of the story. Some writers make the mistake of overly describing things that have no importance whatsoever.* They walked in the park that Sunday the way they had during countless other lazy weekends together. Her delicate hand looped under his sleeve and resting lightly on his forearm. The weight of it the merest burden. They walked in silence as all the words had already been spoken. And the band played on. *My editorial eye is prophetically foreseeing the beginning of a motif here. I hope I�m wrong though, it never works that well outside of poetry, and for the post part was laid to rest at the beginning of the 20th century.* It had been force of habit to come here. This was where they always came. They had listened to the band and held hands on many lazy summer afternoons. They walked by the lake and leaned into each *other�s* embrace on nights when the sky covered them from prying eyes with a canopy of Indigo Velvet *Unless the canopy has some sort of marquee sign on it, I don�t see why you need to capitalize this.* . It was here, one crisp winter�s night, when his lips had fist *�fist� he whacked her in the mouth?* brushed hers, his ice-cold nose resting against her cheek. It was here that *as any editor worth his salt will tell you, get rid of �that� in most cases. It adds nothing. There are other cases in your work, but I won�t point them out, since I�ve already mentioned it. Just be sure to look for them.* they had fallen in love. Here as they stood in the deserted bandstand that he had dropped to one knee and asked her to be his bride. And now, here they were again. Today surrounded by other people. People living through their own drama�s *Why is �drama� placed with a possessive apostrophe? Nothing belongs to it in this sentence.* and crisis, or merely stagnating on a Sunday afternoon. And the band played on. *It looks as though I�m unfortunately correct about the use of motif. The author either has a strong background in very old work or in poetry. I�d suggest getting away from that if you want to write for a modern-day drama audience.* He turned to her, his eyes beseeching and it was at that second that the last light of hope burning there flickered and finally sputtered out, leaving only an expression of dull acceptance blinking back at her. And the band played on Her pale hand cupped the weathered brown skin of his face, he leant his cheek into the familiar softness of her touch. She smiled at him. A sweet sad, smile and her clear eyes said the word that her lips could not muster. Those beautiful, blue eyes that had once frightened him with the intensity of passion that smouldered *I�d suggest dropping all non-standard variations of words. I know that they are Old English, and therefore predate modern American English, but you need to remember that you are trying to convey your work to a modern day audience, therefore emulating Shakespeare wouldn�t do.* there. Eyes that had locked his, holding them captive. Not allowing him to break their hold for one second as his need of her had exploded through his body to match hers at the mutual moment of release. Eyes that had not sparked with passion for some time but only managed to convey that one lonely word. Goodbye. Her lips when they touched his cheek were cold. She stood up, leaving him in his seat. He couldn�t have moved if he had tried. He watched her walk away. Her skirt swishing *I�d use any other word �but� swishing* around her legs as she walked. She never once looked back. That was how Freddie remembered her. Walking back into the sunlight. The band had stopped playing. Many years later a different woman walked in the park. She pulled the collar of her fleece tightly round her neck, the clammy wetness of suede gloves touching her under the chin. She shivered. It was a bitterly cold evening. The icy-coldness seemed appropriate to her mood. She had felt compelled to get out of the house. She knew she was not going to be able to cope for much longer living with a man who�s *whose* touch turned her blood to ice. She had almost shuddered tonight as he had moved behind her and groped roughly at her breast. She was scared to stay, scared to leave, scared to breathe. He had pivoted her towards him, his fingers biting into the soft flesh of her upper arms. His leer and harsh feted breath telling her what was on his mind. His vulgar hardness stretching the material of his pants, a small darkened stain showing that he had already past the point where he could be deterred. He had fumbled at the buttons of her shirt mumbling coarse ugly words. His foul breath was causing her to turn her head. The stench of the drinking he�d done at lunchtime now stale and sour, it reflected the ugliness of his mood. Growing impatient with his half-drunken fumbling he had ripped the material apart. He pulled the cups of her bra down so that he breasts fell free and then she resigned herself to what she knew would at least be a brief humiliation. His hot wet mouth had clamped itself to her breast. His hands rucked *Another non-standard word* up the material of her skirt as he forced her back against the sink unit. Her pants were ripped from her body, the elastic cutting into her flesh before giving way with a loud rip. She closed her eyes, and prayed he would at least be quiet. He released himself, from the restricting material of his pants and took her savagely. Using his penis like a road worker might use a phenumatic *I�m torn between deciding whether this is OE or just a misspelling. In any event respell it �pneumatic�* drill. Devoid of all tenderness or love. To think that she had once enjoyed this kind of rough sex, it had been new and exciting. He had been exciting then, the naughty boy she thought she could tame. She had long ago stopped craving a gentle touch and slow soft easy lovemaking. These days all she wanted was to be left alone. It was over in a matter of seconds. A grunt, a shudder a mess to clean up, but done. At least he hadn�t hit her. She had got off lightly. More importantly the kids remained glued to the Television in the next room oblivious to what had just taken place. She thanked the God she didn�t believe in for this small mercy. In the shower she had scrubbed at the raised welts on her thighs where he had gripped her hard during his orgasm. She rubbed soap into the tender bruises on her breasts, amazed that anybody could describe these as �Love bites�. They were the brand of an animal. She had to get free of the house, breathe some fresh air. If she didn�t get out surely she would take a knife to him as he slept. She brushed a tear from her cheek with the glove, her face stung with the biting wind. It was a clean welcome stinging. As she neared the end of the tree walk that led to the bandstand she heard the low rhythmic creaking. It sounded like a child swinging slowly backwards and forewords on a swing. She knew what this was. Knew that it was far more sinister than a child at play. The hairs rose at the back of her neck, and her arms became a mass of gooosepimples *Switch from the British to the American and say �goosebumps�* beneath her thick layers of clothing. She knew what she was going to see as she reached the clearing, yet felt compelled to keep moving forward. The body hanging from the bandstand roof swung slowly to and fro. Head to chest arms limp. The ghost of Freddie Brown should have sent her screaming back along the path, as it had so many others. Yet she felt no fear. All she felt was a dawning enlightenment. She thought of her children. The jogger heard the slow steady creak. She slowed but could not stop. Feeling herself drawn to the bandstand, she knew she was going to see the Ghost of Freddie brown, She was terrified and yet at the same time a little excited. Sarah reached the clearing and screamed. *You throw out names and events at us. Obviously you know who they are and how they are related, but you expect your reader to guess.* Her mother�s body swung from the roof of the bandstand, head to chest, arms limp. Her Stepfather *Unless his name is Stepfather, no caps* had insisted on holding a memorial service in her mother�s memory at the bandstand in the park. He really was a crass, vile little man. *You�re telling not showing, which is especially bad here since it isn�t being narrated by a character, instead it is being narrated omnisciently and therefore why does a non-existent person have such strong feelings to interject into the story?* He had taken her mother, but more than that he had taken the respect she had always had for her mother. How could anyone leave their child to the unwanted attentions of a violent drunkard. *? requiredSarah had never felt less loved. The service droned on, but she had switched off. All she saw was her Mothers �* body swinging backwards and forwards *change to �back and forth�. Her thoughts turned to the length of rope in the garden shed. Later she would carry that same length of rope to the bandstand. She stood with the others to sing Abide with me. Since �Abide with me� appears to be the title of a song, be sure to offset it.* And the band played on. *Alright the story in and of itself is interesting, but what is the point of it? You introduce some fine possible plot threads, but then nonchalantly toss them aside. The story then culminates in the reader asking what the writer wanted to say with the piece.* " -- Cam Davis. "I think the general idea was that this one was left a bit to readr interpretation. Can't really remember what i was trying to say it's a long time since I wrote it. thank you and thanks Cam." -- Sooz, Cumbria, England, Cumbria. Tangled Web by Sue (Sooz) Simpson (4) "Sooz !!!!! Loved it, absolutely brilliant!!!" -- Judith. "Hiya Judith, thanks :-) This isn't one of my favourites it's a bit contrived and daft, but as girl power goes, this one could be a lesson to us all :-) " -- Sooz, Dalton, England, Cumbria. "Gabriele Roeder�s Review: Should she tell him? The question buzzed around her head as she pondered one of the great mysteries of life. Would it be better for him not to know? After all he had no control over the outcome. The end result is always the same regardless *[of] delete* whether he knows or not, its *it's* not as if he can change what IS, what always has been, what always will be. Maybe she should have told him before they made love, given the poor sod a fighting chance, but it all seems so clinical. There you are getting it together, all moody and seductive and then you have to stop the proceedings and say �Oh by the way you do realize�� No *comma* on reflection best not tell him *comma, or full stop* eh, he�ll know soon enough.. She continued cleaning herself before going out to meet her lover. Still she mused over the unfairness of life. She had worked her way through quite a few of the men around and about lately. People were beginning to talk. The men that she met were becoming uncomfortable around her, and yet still they came, still they made their macho advances. It seemed testosterone won out over common sense every time. Her mother had lectured her at length in her calm soothing �mother knows best� voice �Marilynn darling. You really must stop this running around *comma, or full stop* you know, there�s talk. Folk are saying some things about you that aren�t very nice. How do you think that makes me feel. I really do wish you�d find yourself a nice man and settle down. Then � afterwards you raise your children. You are supposed to take one man Marilynn. One� �Oh mother� she had answered �It�s the nineties *comma* everyone�s doing it. Relax comma will you, just be thankful you had a daughter� Her mother had shaken her head sadly. She didn�t like confrontation and had swiftly changed the subject. �It�s Tony Webster�s funeral at two o�clock this afternoon, are you going? His mum�s bought a lovely new black dress� �Huh I don�t think I�ll be very welcome *comma* do you?. Don�t forget *comma* Tony and I had a fling. That woman buys a new black dress every other week� �hHmmm it must be lovely to have so many sons� Marilynn finished tidying herself after their lovemaking and moved towards her lover. He was waiting just a few feet away outside. He knew of course. He had always known. All this time he�d resisted, what made her so different? *something is wrong with this sentence* It was those legs, never had he seen *he had never seen* such a beautiful set of legs. Had to be the legs. He trembled slightly in anticipation *comma* all the hairs down his back erect and quivering. He was scared of course *comma* but he had drunk of the sweet wine, and now he must face the consequences. He saw her elegant foot feeling its way out of the woven entrance. The leg that followed it took his breath away. Then another, and another, and another. He was transfixed. Rooted to the spot. Her beautiful fat swollen body moved towards him, so graceful so elegant, He felt he would explode with love for her. Her red eyes bore into his, holding him captive, *better: full stop* she was easily twice his size. What a woman. What an experience it had been. His knees trembled with the memory. If only� She rose on her back legs, four of her fore legs cutting the air in the graceful dance of death. He saw her fangs situated somewhere in the centre of her mass. The black widow Spider moved over her mate covering him with her mammoth body. With a sigh of sad resignation she began to dine. *I KNEW there was a reason for my arachnophobia LOL. It is an interesting story. Makes the spider sort of human, or is there a bit of a spider in every woman? At first reading I was a bit struck by the change between past tense and present tense, but when I reread the story I thought to detect a pattern in this. Yes, you definitely have to read it twice, to fully understand it. Not wrong with a short story, I'd say. I like it. (But still I'm not going to allow spiders in my flat, GRIN) Corrections in italics. There are some commas missing, but better check whether my corrections are OK. After some of the dialogue lines the full stop is missing, too. I didn't indicate that.* --------- Snickers� Review: As always, Ms. Simpson writes beautifully. As for the twist at the end, I was taken off guard (as I'm sure was intended). I found it odd to be in the mind of a black widow spider ... but very interesting piece of characterization. And nicely tied together with the death of one of her beaus. I didn't get the big about the black dress though. after all, spiders don't wear dresses ..... Nicely written ------------- Wolfa�s Review: All I saw wrong were technical things; commas, etc... My favourite part was definitely: "He saw her elegant foot feeling its way out of the woven entrance. The leg that followed it took his breath away. Then another, and another, and another." Funny and creepy. Well done!:) " -- Cam Davis. "Thanks both .. thanks cam." -- Sooz, Dalton-in-Furness, England, Cumbria. Taking A Chance by Leigh Berry (1) "Very good story." -- Sandra Pirnat. Sweet Child Of Mine by Sue (Sooz) Simpson (1) " Hair Bear & Farm Boy�s Review: *We don�t typically review drama. Our main area of interest to read and co-write being humor, but I�m sure we can get a laugh out of this.* Sweet Child Of Mine.Sue (Sooz) Simpson He was little more than a boy. Puppy fat *Puppy fat, yum that sounds tasty, I love to eat puppies* finally loosing the battle that it had so long dominated to the fresh strong muscle that bulged proudly on belly and calf. The first tentative shadow of bristle that had been hacked rather than shaved some hours earlier. A chin of corned beef *corned beef with a side of puppy fat sounds even tastier* shamelessly adorned with corners of bright pink toilet paper *Gotta get me some of that. A man-child yelling out in exultation �Hey look I shaved today� Hey get to the part where the girl�s shave their pussy. Hey get your mind out of the gutter, I�m talking about Persian cats, those things have to be shaven every summer* He was little more than a boy sitting by his mother�s hospital bed.For three days he had sat at his mothers side *And she said �Hey stop sitting on my side, your weight is killing me.�. Leaving only for very short periods ��* to attend to his hygiene and feeding needs. He hid his tears from the young nurses who fought each other to be the one to attend the sick lady and bat her eyelashes at the good-looking young man. He slept in the hard-backed chair with his head resting on his forearms. His hand closed protectively over his mother�s. He slept little and looked tired and weary.While awake he could hardly bear to look at his mother�s swollen face *Ohhh Jabba jabba. He had been the one to find her. Three days earlier he came home from college. She didn�t answer his shout of �Mum Tulip, Rose, Petunia, other flowers etc.* I�m home, what�s for tea?� Carl confessed that he knew something was wrong. His mother was always there to welcome him home when he got in. He found her collapsed on the floor in the kitchen. *Help I�ve fallen and I can�t get up.* Her purse lay with its entrails bared on the carpet beside her. He hadn�t been able to tell the police how much money �they� had got away with but he knew that his mother�s meagre wage went into the bank on a Friday. By the time Thursday night arrived her purse would hold little more than a few pounds and a handful of shrapnel. She had no chequebook or credit cards. She possessed no gold *Where�s me gold?* and as far as anyone knew she had not recently come into possession of the crown jewels *Pssst take a lookie at my crown jewels, eh, nice huh?* . Carl White�s mother had been beaten to a pulp for less than most young lads would spend on a decent night out. As he told the police, for all he knew the booty *Gotta get me some booty. Booty call time.* might even have been less than the price of a packet of cigarettes. *$578.00 a pack.The first twenty-four hours that Joyce had lain in the coma had been critical. Carl was told to prepare himself for the possibility that she wouldn�t see the night through. He was bereft He was bereft, and I was Farm Boy* , never ate, never slept and never left her side. After the red light first twenty four-hour period had passed Joyce had lifted to a lighter state of unconsciousness. Waking for a moment here and there, groaning out in pain and confusion before drifting back into healing oblivion. Her morphine *�Mmmmm morphine� Hair Bear says happily.* had been upped and she had been moved to a side ward behind the nurse�s station on ward six. Still in the high dependency unit but no longer attached to twenty three wires and tubes. Still �very poorly but stable� was the stock phrase used for patients in that particular bed. A policeman stood guard night and day for the first two days waiting for the moment she was lucid enough to make a statement. *Sure as hell ain�t New York* But as it became apparent that she was neither going to expire nor wake up full of the joys of spring and sing like a blackbird, the constant police presence gave way to intermittent guarding. By the third day their urgency seemed to have diluted to a �call us when she can talk to us � left at the nurses station *Now that�s more like New York cops. And Carl was left to contemplate his frustration and the ineptitude of the local police force.The third time Joyce woke up she moaned out her son�s name. He reached over for her hand and held it gently, willing her to be all right. Frightened to broach the subject of the attack and yet wanting to probe softly to see what she could remember.�Sssshhhh it�s all right Mum Daffodil, Chrysanthemum, Magnolia* , I�m here. Everything�s going to be okay. You�re in hospital and they say you�re going to be just fine. You were burgled *Burgled by the Hamburgler, robble robble* and beaten up, probably by youngsters the police say. Do you remember anything about it Mum?�Joyce screwed up her eyes *She screwed up her eyes, ouch, that must be almost as bad as bolting your eyes closed, or taking a nail gun to them* and winced, trying hard to bring into focus the events that had led her to so much agony. She rested her grey eyes on her son�s face *She ripped them out of her sockets and flung them at his face where they gooeyly stuck* and squeezed his hand with what little strength she could muster. He couldn�t return her smile *because he hadn�t used proper postage* and his eyes filled once again with tears.�I�m so sorry Mum. I�m so damned sorry I wasn�t there when this happened� *And Mum says, �Yeah well you should have been there you little punk!�Her eyes clouded over with pain and she ran back to the nothingness of being unconscious. Whee here I come!The fourth day was an ordeal for Carl. Up until then the nursing staff had managed pretty successfully to hold the press back. If this is a major news story, then this definitely ain�t New York* A statement had been given by one of the big-wig hospital suits *Yes folks a talking suit. Did you know that Farm Boy has talking pants? It�s true* as to the seriousness of the attack and the state of Mrs.Whites health. The press had camped in force in every B&B within a five mile radius of the hospital. *Damn if this is a major major news story, then this gotta be one of this Podunk little towns where ain�t nothing happens* The attack on a defenceless middle aged lady alone in her own house had been big enough news even in these violent times to warrant national coverage. *If they think �that�s� a news story, they should come here sometime.* Every tabloid wanted to get the enraged sons interview or better yet the waking interview scoop with Mrs.White herself. Partly due to the constant hounding *Arf arf. Woof woof* by the press and partly due to the fact that the police hadn�t uncovered a single lead in the case and were getting heavily breathed on from above something had to be seen to be done. It was decided that Carl should go on live television to do an appeal for information.For two hours he was taken away from his mother�s side and coached in what he should say. *I did not have sexual relations with that woman� Miss Lewinsky.* The interview was to go out live to the four major national networks *Which as everyone knows are NBC, CBS, ABC, and the Farm Boy Channel. It would be shown on every news bulletin throughout the day. He was washed and blown dry, covered in claggy My dear Aunt Claggy, god rest her soul* make-up and made to feel ridiculous. *Just like Hair Bear* �Why couldn�t he just get it over with and get back to his mum for chrissake. Yes he knew what he was going to say. No he didn�t need to go through with it one more time, and No thank-you if he drank one more glass of bloody water he would have more to worry about than a moist upper lip.�The interview was not a success and frantic police officers made elaborate �cutting� motions to the cameras. Carl had become very emotional leaping from the teak interview table and overturning it in fury. *Raw monkey fury* Everything had started off okay.�If anyone, anywhere has any information at all about what happened to my mum, I would be very grateful if you will come forward. Any information passed to us will be treated with the strictest conf� and then he had snapped.�I�m going to get the bastards who did this to my mum. And I�m warning you, you scum when I do your�e going to be so sorry you were ever fucking born you sons of bit�� *Oh yea, sure that�s gonna make them give themselves up, uh huh!This was not at all the image they wanted to portray. The poor kid was distraut fair enough but they had been aiming for the sympathy vote, not some raving loony on a vigilante crusade. Carl had been escorted from the room while the TV. Crews loved every second of coverage they were getting. Okay the interview would be cut from the later broadcasts but this one went out live to the lunch time nation. An entire nation dedicated to lunch time. My kinda country.It took a long time to calm Carl down. Even after he had returned to his mother�s sick room he was still ranting at his mother�s friend who had been called to assist in the interview. Joyce woke up twice that afternoon and both times he yelled at her �Mum who did this to you? What did they look like? Can you tell me anything ANYTHING at all that will help me find them. I�m going to kill them for what they did to you�That night he left the hospital on the pretence of going home for some sleep. Two hours later he was involved in a street fight with some local youths that had called him a nutter after seeing the television interview. Carl had never fought before, but it came oddly easy to him. He told the police that it had been target practise for the real battle. Yes be sure to tell the cops that you�re practicing to kill people. I�m sure �that� will always go over well* One of the youths needed hospital treatment for a cut eye. Carl had to be cautioned. The police made every allowance for his state of mind but he just couldn�t be allowed to take his anger out on the general public.That night Joyce had a nightmare. She was lying on the cold tiles of the kitchen floor, her hands raised in a feeble attempt to cover her head. The leg clad in black jeans just kept on kicking her. Kicking, Kicking, Kicking. In her sleep she curled feotally and moaned loudly.The man was still booting her in the face, in the soft yielding flesh of her belly. The nightmare attacker yelled the same word over and over again.� No,No,No,No,No� Andthen the dream abruptly changed she was dishing out cottage pie for Carl. He had just come in from college and everything was nice. Bright yellow lighting. Bright yellow wallpaper her nice bright yellow life. Carl was telling her about the night out he had planned with his mates.Joyce woke up screaming at the top of her voice �Don�t tell me NO!�Carl was at her side in an instant calming, soothing being the good boy that he always was. Such a good boy. Such a comfort. She�d had him late in life. He never blamed her for that. Never blamed her for not being able to give him everything he wanted. All the material things that the other boys had. Some of his friends drove cars already but that was way beyond Joyce�s budget. Carl was a sensible lad and said that once he had finished with his apprenticeship and college he would be able to afford himself a decent car. All his hard work would pay off and then he�d look after her for a change and see that she got some of the nicer things in life. Carl knew it had been tough for his mother bringing him up on her own. He admired her for her strength and happy character. Life had not been easy for them all the time, but they had always had each other and respect and love had seen them through the difficult times.Carl was seventeen now. He had grown into such a son to be proud of.Joyce turned her face into the pillow to hide her tears of shame. She saw Carl�s face again. Then she saw it, as it had been last Thursday when she�d asked him not to go out that night. A beautiful face contorted with ugly rage.�Don�t tell me no you old bitch� joyce closed her eyes to blot out the vision of the size ten boot crashing down towards her face. Copyright � 2000 Sue (Sooz) Simpson Published on the World Wide Web by "www.storymania.com" ------------- Ace Bandage�s Review: Right around this line �The police made every allowance for his state of mind but he just couldn�t be allowed to take his anger out on the general public.� I figured out the �surprise� ending. Perhaps it wasn�t surprising enough or perhaps I�m just too smart for my own good, I don�t know. " -- Cam Davis. Room For One More by Sue (Sooz) Simpson (104) "Normally I wouldn't suggest this. But please remove this story. You may not even realize it, but you are "NOT" telling an original story. You are retelling an urban legend, which is also called not surprisingly "ROOM FOR ONE MORE." I, and most people do not approve of plagiarism, and I do not think the original author would be to thrilled about it either. Please take this down, save what elements you can from it, but "DO NOT" try to pass it off as your own. Most people will recognize that you have plagiarized this work, although you may have attempted to give it a new spin. If you're going to tell this story, you should tell it properly, it has several variations, but there are a few standard elements in the tale, and it works best in brief form: A young man is to meet his friends at the local roller coaster or theme park. During his walk there, the young man is stopped by a hearse (starting to sound familiar Sooz). The driver of the hearse steps out and says to the young man "No need to walk... there's room for one more." Obviously the man is smart enough not to accept the ride. He then meets his friends at the roller coaster park. They agree to go on "the tallest, fastest, scariest" coaster. His friends get on the coaster, until there is one seat left. The young man approaches the coaster, and the ride attendent says to him "Room for one more." What a coincidence, the ride attendant looks just like the hearse driver... must be a twin. The man freaks out and runs the other way, as the roller coaster takes off, the man's buddy's wondering what the hell is wrong with their friend. As the man flees the amusement park, the whole roller coaster comes crashing to the ground. The end. This urban legend is at least 50 years old, that's why it makes me mad that you'd try to pass it off as your own, and get credit from readers for doing so. If there's a point to the story, other than to disuade a person from riding roller coasters (and other contrivances) it is about safety/maintenance on rides, which was a big problem during the 50's with the fly by night theme park organizations, which still exist today. It also teaches writers basic foreshadowing. Please take it down.--The Advisor " -- JA St.George. "Your letter has saddened and disgusted me. I have never cheated or plagerised anyone elses work in my entire life. The only time I have ever come even close to it is with a prayer for my dead Mother which meant nothing at all to her so I re-wrote every word of it to fit my mother. I said in all the blurbs though that it was 'my' take on the old prayer. How dare you presume that you are so all knowing and bloody righteous that you can without any sure knowlege or proof attack someone's good nature in this way. I don't give a damn about the story, I had the idea and I wrote it without ever hearing of your Urban Legend, is that so damned unlikely? We don't hear many American urban legends in the North West of England. Taking the story down is not a problem. what has really annoyed me is that because you've heard a similar, or even a very similar story (that without a doubt pre-dates mine) with the same title, it HAS to be cheating. Don't you think that if I had been cheating I'd have at least changed the title? I've written over three hundred stories, I have a head full of ideas, I don't need or want to steal other peoples work. I have not atempted to give this a 'new spin' and I deeply resent the whole tone of your letter. you say that I may not 'even' realise, indeed I did not realise, I just wrote a story that came into my head like most of my stories do. But then you make it damned clear that you don't believe that. I will be scrapping this story, but I make no apology for 'passing it off' as my own ... it is my own. The fact that someone else wrote the same idea in a simailar way before me is unfortunate for me.I can not prove that this was written in all innocence and after the barbed nastiness in your letter I have no intention of trying to persuade you. If this had been pointed out to me in a more friendly way, then I would have no problem with the request, but your tone, your accusation, and your nastiness stink. I don't know if you've ever been accused of cheating before, if you have, more importantly if you have and its unfounded accusation, then you will know that it is extreemly unplesasant. I'd like all my stuff removed from the site please. " -- Sooz, Dalton, Cumbria, England. "JA St.George, You have no proof that this story was intentionally plagiarized. it is a fact and an element of fiction writing that there are no new stories only different slants on ideas. You should NOT directly accuse (and that is what you are doing) another person of such a thing WITHOUT getting a bit of proof other than a 50 year old story written along the same lines. If you are and advisor to this site (or indeed perhaps an administrator etc.) then I think you should learn to put your theories in a more tactful manor. I think you should be VERY careful in future, never accuse outright. It might prove your downfall." -- Richard Harris, Birmingham, UK. "Your first reviewer seems to have some difficulty understanding the concepts 'myth' and 'plagiarism'. Plagiarism involves one author deliberately passing off the work of another author as his/her own. Myths (urban or otherwise) have no single author and no-one owns their copyright. It is not possible to plagiarize a myth. Everyone is free to use and adapt them in any way they wish. Otherwise every writer who ever retold a myth, from Homer on, would be a plagiarist. The American version has similarities to a British folk-tale, and is therefore probably hundreds of years old, rather than fifty. Does that make the American version plagiarism? The story above may share the theme of the myth, but the issue of whether the writer ever came across any of the its versions is therefore irrelevant, because though the theme may be traditional, the story itself is new." -- Moya Green, Tamworth, UK. "It seems unlikely, as the author states � whom I declare here to �know�, in the Internet sense � that she could have knowingly plagiarised some obscure American Urban Legend. That she would do so and then post the results on a predominantly American-used website seems equally unimaginable. Sooz is a prolific author and I have read most of what she has written and posted online and I see no difference in either style or content between this and any other piece of her work I have previously read. Accordingly I have no doubt whatsoever that this piece originated in her own imagination and any similarity to this supposed Legend piece is purely coincidental. Your manner, sir, in broaching your concerns leaves a great deal to be desired. In the UK it is considered libellous to publish an unfounded statement such as yours and my advice to Miss Simpson would be to sue for slander. Yours never to darken your portal again, Andy Cobweb " -- cobweb, London, United Kingdom. "I think the discourtesy and arrogance of the way this "Advisor" has attacked one of the finest writers on Storymania demands some kind of reply from the administrators and owners of this site. I value freedom of speech more than most but I do not believe that it gives people the right to accuse others falsely and without a shred of evidence of things they have not done. I don't know whether or not this written libel by the (naturally) anonymous "Advisor" is actionable or not, it may well be, but I think that the editors and owners of this site should at the very least step in and disassociate themselves from this vitriolic garbage and apologize to Sue for the distress that it has obviously caused her. The trouble with complete freedom of speech is that it presupposes a certain degree of common decency and intelligence which not everyone possesses. If this kind of thing is acceptable on Storymania it is perhaps time that more of us than just Sue considered our position" -- David Gardiner, London, England. "Actually David, it's me who would like to appologise. I got very confused. I thought 'The Advisor' actually runs the site. Therefore I thought his review had come from Story Mania itself not from one member. That's why I wanted to disassociate myself from the site. I've had an e-mail from the site saying that 'The Advisor' is actually nothing to do with them. I didn't realise and I think other people probably think he's part of the team as well. Hence the reason I got so stroppy :-) I'm still hurt and annoyed at the nastiness in that review but it's only one person's opinion. I'm leaving the story because to take it off is an admission that I've done something dishonest and I haven't. Obviously there is a story very similar written before mine and I aknowlege that. The site people also said that I can delete the review, I'm going to let that stand as well because he is as entitled to his opinion as I am to mine. Thank-you to the SM people for clearing up the confusion, and thanks to the people who have shown their support. It really is nasty to be accused of cheating. " -- Sooz, Dalton, Cumbria, England. "Here's one of the sites I'd suggest going to, for another "Room for One More" story: http://www.snopes2.com/horrors/ghosts/onemore.htm, I'll see if I can return with further examples." -- JA St.George. "And here's another example from a book of English Folk Tales, no less: http://www.btinternet.com/~tiddyogg/room.htm" -- JA St.George. "There sure is a lot of British anti-American sentiment here. That's the only reason I can think they'd get on him like that, since he is right and all. He may not be the official advisor here, but he's the only one you've got, too bad you've made sure he can no longer advice writers who need it here. Thanks alot. I still had alot more questions to ask, but now there's no longer an Advisor. I guess we can all thank Sooz for that." -- Cadillac Blonde. "I'd just like to say that I think Storymania shot itself in the foot by removing the Advisor. JA was alot of help to many writers here, though even he claimed he was the unofficial advisor, actually several times, and I don't know what Mr. Gardiner means by him being anonymous, since his name is right next to Advisor??? Many of the newbies may not remember what it was like when you used to ask a question only to have it never answered, but I do, and soon you will too once again. Unfortunately Storymania can only go downhill because of what Sooz and her people have done to sabotage it. I however will do my best to critique other people's work now that the "Advisor" is gone. Though I have very little time for it, sorry. And I suppose there will be even less reviews than there is now. I sure wish it was way back in the day when this was a review friendly site. " -- Markus. "Come on people. No need to get hostile. Obviously she plaguerized this work from a title that nobody knows who authored it, and sure she had the Advisor-man removed from the board, and the board will probably spiral down even further because of it, but the Advisor-man had it coming. I mean he's always in other people's stories, telling them how to improve it, or telling them that hating certain races isn't okay, or generally sticking his nose where nobody asked him to. Without him this site will probably go down in a blaze of glory, but I don't give a damn. I mean can't we all just get along? " -- Bob. "Wow! Single-handedly ruining a man's life after all the work he's put in and destroying an entire website. Now that's a tall order. Hee hee hee, just kidding of course. Those two other works look similar, but yours is an original take on it. I'm sure you probably just heard or read something similar, and not intentionally plaguerize it. Good luck, and it may take me awhile to read the other 300 some stories you say you have." -- Patina Williams. "Two points ... 1 I never asked for the removal of The Advisor. He has every right to his opinion. 2 I have never heard of the other stories and reiterate that the idea was my own. It's proven that someone did it before me and no doubt did it better, but I have done nothing wrong. Perhaps if the Advisor had'nt been so damned nasty and unplesant then non of this would have happened. I'm withdrawing from this discussion. thank-you." -- Sooz, Dalton, Cumbria, England. "I cannot believe you could argue about this. A myth or fairytale has no copywright and the plot for the story Sooz used is so simple anyone could have invented it. A child even. Think of all the writers who've done variations on Sleeping Beauty , the 3 bears, with or without knowing it. and to infer that this forum has shown anti-american attitudes is just looking for lumps. I hope you choke on your lumps!" -- freda. "and as this is a review page, I'd like to say I enjoyed the story. I think Sooz is a real story teller, and good at building up suspense and maintaining interest. " -- freda. "I completely agree with what you and your friends have said. In fact it inspired me to post my own story in the New Titles. Please check out "Goldilocks and the Three Bears" thanx I appreciate it." -- Patina Williams. "You guys really ought defend me too. They took down my story, probably claiming it was plagiarized as well, though you all said that wasn't possible." -- Patina Williams. "Freda, seems to be slightly incorrect. I myself tried to do a variation on a fairy tale theme and it was wiped out by the administration. It appears Patina Williams did as well. Of course, don't take my word for it. By all means try one of your own." -- David. "I recall hearing a tale similar to this, not exactly the same though, mind you, when I was a kid at a fireside outing in upper Colorado, only it was like this Advisor guy said, where it dealt with a hearse and a roller coaster. I think the story was from Scary Stories to Tell in the Dark, but I ain't sure, it's been what 20 years. Anyhow, it's a good story, both versions." -- big al, Salt Lake City, Utah. "Just because it's a recycled story, with new names doesn't make it plagiarism." -- Tomcat. "Hqve you posted this else where!? I recail reading, nbut forgot wear." -- Arnonoldo Masif. "Translation please." -- Anonymous. "Look Arnonoldo, Sooz is a total b!tch and will never respond to your question, so don't expect an answer anytime soon pal." -- Anonymous #2. "Sorry Arnonoldo, Yes I have posted it eslewhere. It's also on ABCTales and Getoutthere, but since being accused of cheating I haven't posted it anywhere else and don't intend to." -- Sooz, Dalton, England, Cumbria. "Halo Ms. Simpson. I read on message board about this piece. I have found time to read, and now I comment. My english ist gut, und Ich habe lived in America for seven years now. I enjoy how American authors write prose, but I find British Isle authors to be too flowery in their wording. I know not how to explain. Too many adjective perhaps. Much like JK Rowling author of Harry Potter books in structure of sound. Also I comment on controversy your work has received. I see where Advisor has point and I must side with him, having read very similar work of American. Also it appear this man be right about site collapsing, perhaps it connected, I know not, but I am told he no longer advise here. " -- Oslava Gunnarsdatter. "It's pretty simple baby, St.George took his ball and went home, and now the place is falling around down our ears, though the roof started sagging long ago. Anyway, how the hell do I get rid of all these stupid messages people keep sending. Once sumbody posts something in one of these reviews columns I get a stupid message letting me know about it and where. Leave me alone or I'll release my pet Uga on you again." -- Anonymous. "Hey there fellow Anonymous, I see that we're both back here again. You have no idea how many people confuse us, despite the fact that your the misanthrope and I'm the poor gal who was forced to use Anonymous because some of the bastards on this site didn't like my reviews and threatened to hunt me down. I don't even know why I bother to stick around to help some of the better ones, even if it is just with a favorable comment or two. I probably won't much longer, now that I know this ain't the only site on the net. Anyhow Anonymous #1, in those notification messages that we all get there's a place at the bottom where you can choose to sign-off from receiving them. Just thought you might like to know, not that you'll appreciate it any." -- Anonymous #2. "Wait a minute, I thought Advisor-man was a DUDE, and they told me he was YOU!" -- Anonymous . "As far as I know he is, but I ain't him. Storymania thinks everybody is everybody else because they're stupid, and that's just one of the things about this site that really ticks me off, and why I use Anonymous in the first place. Next thing ya know they'll say I'm you, and we're Sooz. Anyhow I've had enough chit-chat for one night, and I think I'll make this may farewell post, I mean I ain't accomplishing diddley squat here anyway and no one reads my work. I woiuld say that you're getting the "anonymous" all to yourself Anonymous, but I think there's at least two others hanging about. Ha ha sucks to be you." -- Anonymous #2. "So long nerd girl, and don't bother coming back." -- Anonymous. "Get her Uga, and make sure she don't come back!" -- Anonymous. "Uga uga uga!" -- Pet Uga. "Uga uga achhhhh!" -- Pet Uga. "Schlorp! Yum, yum. Uga tastes good, it was good to eat. Me escape from Jack Brown's Goblin series and now eats everything!" -- Grunt Woggler. "That nerd girl didn't know what she's talking about, I received yet another one of these stupid confirmations and I can't find the place at the bottom where you sign off from getting them... Hey! What's this! What happened to Uga? Uga! You ate my uga! You bastard! Yeiiaaaaaah!" -- Anonymous. "Schlorp! Yum, yum. Anonymous tastes good too. Me now eats things elsewhere." -- Grunt Woggler. "Well, I read through your story Room For One More, and then I read through all your reviews (which I believe took even longer than reading the story). Please don't take this the wrong way Susan, but it is almost dead on with a version I've seen with the same title. I'll be politically savvy by saying it is a good story whoever wrote it." -- kristy. "Me back now. Me wonder why people come here often. Me only want to eat story!" -- Grunt Woggler. "Two reasons as far as I can tell, my hungry friend who almost ate me in the other column. First, in the message board there's this big ole controversial post that was put up a long time ago, and second people like to look at works that have some wild number of reviews alongside of them. They wonder why a story has 5,000 reviews when those around it have 3 at best." -- Kym Kendrick. "Why have you not said anything about copied story? Schlorp!" -- Grunt Woggler. "I assume you're addressing that to me. To answer your question I've read the piece, and yes I do have my firm opinions about it, but I am wiser than to express them, and especially not in this very review column. I do however think that since you have stated your comments rather clearly that you should move on." -- Kym Kendrick. "Hello I've read your story, and saw all the controversy it brought. I want you to know that I really liked it and am impartial. I think it would be a good idea to bring it to a fresh audience of completely impartial editors. I belong to a group that consists of some of the best writers/editors out there. I'm sure they'd be able to say definitively who's right and who's wrong here. That is if you'll let me post this in its complete form to my group. I can then tell you exactly what they think. That would once and for all settle this argument. " -- Cam . "Hello Cam. Thanks for your post. As you may be aware most of the above posts are made by only one person.I'm not sure if you are he in another ruse or are as you say an unbiased reader. to be honest I have no interest in the story. It's not one that I'm proud of and am sick of all the fuss. there was never any doubt that this story has the same storyline as the ones mentioned above, that is proven.But as I've stated above 'my' story came from my imagination and I left it to stand (along with all the comments banal and intelligent) as a matter of principal, because to take it down would be admitting that I had done something dishonest. The story has become something of an embarrassment to me, but I stand by what I've said all along that I did nothing wrong. I hope this doesn't cause offense but I'd much rather you took one of my pieces that I'm proud of to your site for review because I really don't care now whether people think I stole the story or not. some think I did, some believe that I didn't, I know that I didn't and that's all that matters to me though I was terribly hurt at the time. So if you want to take it as a debatting issue then please feel free. Thank-you for your post, I'd be happy to hear more about your site. :-) " -- Sooz, Dalton-in-furness, England, Cumbria. "Well, it is a group, not a site. When I first started writing I was lost so I sought out a writers' group where I could display passages to other like-minded writers. Several great writing communities exist both on and off-line, but things in my life just don't work out for me to go to an in-person one. I found one that was looking to round off its membership on-line and managed to get in. We communicate by email forwarding system. I don't know of any on-line groups starting up now, but you might want to look around. Take care." -- Cam. "BTW, since I'm feeling generous I'll take all your work, the good the bad and the ugly (please know what I mean :-)) since it wouldn't be fair to you to just take this piece, and it wouldn't be fair to take the others and leave this one, and show it off (in complete form and with your name). Then I'll come back to you. I know it seems like a lot of work, but since I really want to work to become a professional in-house editor I kinda need the experience, and besides it looks like you're tired of being trashed by non-reviews. One way or the other you'll get a review on every piece, though I can't guarantee you'll like it, these people are pretty tough. " -- Cam. "Hi Sooz...geez, just a little crowded in here. It's a pity most of the comments are of no use to you. Anyway, I was going to read the story, but it took me too long to read the reviews, so I'll have to read the story next time, and then I'll tell you what I think of it. I did, however, want to post a message, because I couldn't help but notice this Advisor guy calling for the story to be removed, on the grounds that it was a rip-off of something else he had read. He then proceded to name an example, which he believes is the original. Well, it's not. I haven't read the story, but from the plot he described, it sounds similar to a 'true story' I read in a ghost book a while back. Now, unfortunately I've given the book away, so I can't give you the precise name of the person or the story. But I can still remember it, so here goes...the original was set in the early 1900s or late 1800s--again, I can't remember the names and dates. It was just when the first elevators were used, so anyone who knows when that was, will know what the correct date is. Anyway, the owner of a large building had a dream the previous night, in which he heard a noise outside his window. When he opened the window, he saw a man sitting on a horse. Behind the horse was a coffin. Right then--as the man looked out of his window--the man on the horse turned to him. Now we move forward to the following day. The working day is over, and the man is standing outside the elevator, waiting for the doors to open. When they do, the first face the man sees is that of the horserider from his dream. Petrified, he refused to climb into the lift, even though his friends tease him and laugh. The doors close, and the lift goes down. The man is still standing outside the doors when the lift crashes to the floor. Everyone inside died. Right, that's what I can remember. For those of you who are thinking I made this up, I'm sure a little research on the Internet will prove my story to be true. I wish I could recall the name of the book--I think it was something like 'the Guinness book of ghost stories'...I can't be sure though. All I know is that the story the Advisor claims to be an original, is not. And if so, then, applying the Advisor's own advise, surely all other tales taken from the original should be removed. Besides, was Stephen King the first to write about a haunted house, or Vampires?! I think not. And he also won't be the last. They say that all stories can be traced back to seven original ideas. If that is true, and once again if we had to listen to the Advisor, then everything written since then is void. I think not. ps, Sooz, I promise to come back and read the story, then post a comment. Just thought this might help. Cheers. " -- Rob Bell. "Once again I've been dragged back to this site, kicking and screaming. Hopefully I can finally put an end to it, though I thought I had elsewhere on this board long ago. First off Rob, I completely agree with you. There is such a thing as a work being based on another, which is very different from a work that is copied word-for-word idea-for-idea. For example, though Frankenstein Unbound is based on Frankenstein "it is not" Frankenstein. My choice of wording, which seems like eons ago, was poor, and I only intended to do much as what you have done, and point out dramatic similarity between work that has come before. Many writers do not like writing such similar material to something well-known if they did so intentionally or not. Such coincidences don't get published and are thus a waste of the writer's time unless the material is very unique, springing from the same source idea. I stand firm in my final point, which I close further discussion on the topic by saying this is in actuality a good story, "not" the first to use this plot and related themes, but a good story and unique in and of itself. I'd also like to add that many of the rude comments above people may confusedly attribute to me, but I can assure you the problem persona lies elsewhere (I have better things to do with my time and another site then continuously attack people). I also wanted to thank Rob for pointing out yet another branch of this tale. I don't want to use that information to hurt Sooz, I just find it interesting for my own sake since the story and it's multiple versions, including this one by Sooz, are so well ingrained in me. I wish you both well, and you are welcome to visit the www.WritersBBS.com anytime you wish. " -- JA St.George. "When it rains it pours. For those in the know I am Markus Smith better known as the Quotesmith. I was involved in this post as well, LONG AGO. To be honest I wasn't as riled up as some of the others toward it, and didn't see the big deal. My attitudes have since shifted dramatically since my first posts on this board from neutral to what I believe are helpful. JA was actually the one to bring me to this board, and despite repeated attempts he has not yet gotten me to commit to further going to the BBS, though I tout it for him often. My internet service is set up so that whenever someone responds to a particular thread that I've been involved in, I will receive a message. As I said, when it rains, it pours. First I saw the message by Mr. Bell, then one by JA. I will make a deal with you JA. Since you may not ever read this, I'll contact you directly by email to see if you accept. How could you refuse?" -- Quotesmith. "Here is a quote taken from the Advisor, listed by Sooz under "A Little Assistance Please." Quote: "Well, I don't know about that Anonymous. I did however look as you insisted and saw that your "prompting" had caused Sooz to answer some questions that have obviously been posed for awhile. Whether she would've answered them without your "help" is beyond me. As for what has transpired between Ms. Simpson and myself on this board, I'm sure there is no love loss between us, but I don't despise her, in fact I've written several updates across the board stating that plagiarism wasn't the correct word to use. I still hold firmly that the work in question "Room For One More" is unoriginal in the same sense that "Teen Wolf" is based on "I Was a Teenage Werewolf" or "Frankenstein Unbound" is based on "Frankenstein," but I know longer refer to "Room For One More" as plagiarism (albeit title), because the content is an altered version or inexact match to a story that has been circulated for two centuries. I hope that answers your question Anon. As for helping her, I help many in need, even if they spit on me for it, (others than Sooz), so yes I suppose that does make me a touch crazy as one gentleman on the board as pointed out, but I will not be an ass when I "can" actually help someone." -- JA St.George. (2002-11-5) --End Quote-- Hopefully this helps you my friend." -- Quotesmith. "Well, sorry, Sooz, but now I will post a comment that is of no help to you writing. I've just read the replies by Quotesmith and JA St.George, and I want to say this, to the both of them: I've been reading the message board and a lot of the reviews posted, and I've come across a large amount of them arguing about who JA St.George is, and also if Quotesmith is the same person. So far, I haven't gotten involved for one simple reason: does it really matter? I mean, come on, everyone is here is learn the craft and try to become published authors. Now, if that is your goal, then you have to judge yourself against the best. I've read almost all of JA St.George and Quotesmith's reviews, and I've found them to be insightful and intelligent, and I think their commments can only help the writers (although I will add that I've not always agreed with them, but that is personal opinion). I can't understand why, if everyone is here to learn, they are fighting and wasting so much time on this issue, when all these guys(or guy) are doing is being tough and honest. I'll say what they have said before: if you want to be a writer, learn to take critism. But to take it a step further: if you get a bad review (now I'm talking about a real review, not some pimple-studded teenager whose only aim is to insult)don't be in too much of a hurry to do everything that person says; after all, it's only his opinion. But if everyone says the same thing, well, bud, start chopping and changing. At the end of the day, if your writing isn't able to stand up to the best, and you're not willing to let people such as JA and Quotesmith compare it to the best, then do yourself a favour and hammer a large spike into the wall, because when and if you do start submitting your work, you're going to need an extra strong rod to hang all the rejections you'll get--might I add that those rejections will be printed and will contain no advice. I think this site needs more reviewers such as JA and Quotesmith. That's all I have to say on this subject. I will not enter into an argument with every petty person who reads this, and I will not reply to insults, such as those previously posted. After all, if you want to waste your time writing these threads, be my guest...I prefer to spend my time writing stories." -- Robert Bell. "Thank you JA, that is very nice of you. If your original post had been as polite as this one I wouldn't have taken offense at all and would have taken the story straight off. I've since been posting my stuff on another site and have left 'Room For One more' off. Thank-you." -- Sooz, Dalton-in-furness, England, Cumbria. "Hi there. I was reading Randy's post in the message board, and it brought this piece to my attention. I'd never seen it before, and completely missed all the controversy surrounding it. It's funny because St. George has been nothing but good to me, but a do agree he does have a tendency to speak his mind, though I think he's learned to think it over a bit before opening his mouth and intentionally or accidentally hurting someone. Anyway, I was wondering about your blind girl character. Was this to show that the handicapped, especially the blind are just as capable as any of us with sight, or was it done because you just needed a very sympathetic person to be in mortal danger?" -- Samantha. "Oh, and by the way, when "did" this review column first start? It looks like it's been going strong for a long time now. Just curious as always." -- Samantha. "Oh yeah, silly me, I almost forgot, I thought the story was ok, but it just didn't quite satisfy me. I sure hope you don't go and review my junk now, just after I gave such a lame review. Sorry! :-)" -- Samantha. "Good lord you sure got a mess of reviews packed in here. Pretty soon they're going to run out of space to cram it all into. I haven't read any of the reviews you got since they go on all night apparently, but I imagine they say nothing but good news about how great this story is. One of the finer things I've ever read on this site, though the themes running throughout it are spooky as hell." -- Randy. "Whatever you do Susan, don't ever remove any of the posts you've gotten on this piece. It's good to show the writers on this site who obey the rules and use it for legitimate reasons the difference between ignorant posters and the really good ones." -- Stephanie. "Since I agree with the posters who mentioned this work is based directly on another, I want to keep my mouth shut about it, since I don't want to open a whole new can of worms. But I did give it a quick read through, and thought it much better than my own writing. Perhaps one day I'll be able to achieve what some of the other writers I've seen can do." -- Jennie Osmander . "Frigteningly Cooooool!!!" -- Mystical Chicken. "This sucked like a dirt devil." -- Franky two legs. "Gawd! I was going to say that I hope Nic doesn't get ahold of this piece for your own sake, or that Bunny in Ibiza one, but it appears he might already have." -- Melanie. "And blew like a windemere." -- Louie six toes. "I also wanted to let you know that I'm taking your advice, and for Brooklyn's sake I'm going to stop posting. I doubt this will stop all the evil posts, but hopefully it will cut down on some of the arguments that seem to go nowhere. At the very least they make a certain person, not to name names, look very foolish... cough coughNic cough cough." -- Melanie. "I'm going to be doing the very same as Melanie for the same reasons too. It would probably be a good idea to tell everybody that I was one of the four known Anonymous posters." -- Anonymous. "That leaves just me!!! You run like rabbits and rightly so at my awesomeness! Begone cowards! I rule the board now!" -- Kream Korn. "Of this whole thing. The only thing I agree with is that all of this should be left to stand, even the foolish parts that were written after Stephanie commented on them. It does indeed show how foolish some people can make themselves. I wonder if they are aware of just how foolish they are. Perhaps they should cool off for awhile, and then with a clear head come back and read what they have written then perhaps if they have any sensibilities about them they will wonder whatever possessed them to write such drivel. This will undoubtedly be the last you will hear of me as well, since someone on this board has decided to commandeer by online handle for this particular board, and thinks it sadly amusing to masquerade as me." -- Fact Man. "I'm fact man, I likes to play with myself. Doopey doopey doop!" -- fact man. "Nic rules! He's the biggest badass m-fer around! All you other wannabes can't come close to anything Nic can put out, so don't try." -- Kream Korn. "You are so right I do rule. I wear the crown arounds here baby so don't forget who the hell you're playing with. Those who can't handle the best die like the rest. " -- Nic. "Hello again Sooz. I was here at Storymania once, but didn't take notice of your work until now, when it was recently mentioned on the message board. From the way you speak in general you have a nice quality about putting words together, so I hoped the same might be true of your work. To be honest certain pieces as the Ibiza and the Aunt Nasty ones confuse me, and I'm uncertain if they are intended as humor, or are symbolic in nature, and perhaps only have relevance to the authoress herself. As for this piece I read it, and read through a sampling of the reviews. Whether a person believes you copied this or not is perhaps irrelevant, but I do wonder how the idea was inspired in you, obviously since this is a very important story you must remember. Would you please be willing to share. I wouldn't mind knowing the thought processes behind it, and it would help to answer Randy's question of what helps to make a good story. " -- maple. "Hello haven't read any of the reviews but READER'S REVIEWS (70) DISCLAIMER: STORYMANIA DOES NOT PROVIDE AND IS NOT RESPONSIBLE FOR REVIEWS. ALL REVIEWS ARE PROVIDED BY NON-ASSOCIATED that's alot. You must be doing something right." -- Lora. "I think that everybody who reads this piece really ought to read "all" the reviews too, despite there being "ALOT" of them. The reviews seem to be as much a part of this piece as the piece itself, and I don't think anybody can argue on that. People like Randy and Lora only get half the story. Most of the reviews on this story weren't caused by how great this story is, though it is ok, they were caused by all the controversy surrounding it. What it does go to show is that controversy is one way to get a lot of reviews. Just like all the controversy springing from this story probably was the impetus that brang many of the writers here into a tight-nit community battling together against negative reviews. All right I've said all that I've got to say. Peace out!" -- Samantha. "This has ceased to be an embarrassment to me.Now it's just plain ridiculous and I'm pretty much keeping out of it. I do thank the people who have genuinely commented on the story eithing in support, because of the writing, or because they believe that I did steal this piece (their opinion is just as valid). However I wanted to reply to Maple because his/her's was a valuable question. Agony/Ibiza just a feble attempt at humour. This thread it bringing out all the worst pieces.I know this is going to invoke a load of rubbish on those stories too, but I would much rather the people wanting to comment (properly) on this piece went to something I'm actually proud of. Here's a sample few that come to mind. Mourning Glory, Picture holes, you are my sunshine, Grounded,Finding Fleur,Thirteenth Station, Lizard's Leap, Better The Devil You know. Far better use of time than this. Okay where did this piece come from? (apart from America about a million years ago) With short stories I usually start with a title. That's my normal way of writing. This may have been generated by GOT's title of the week or may have been one of my own I can't remember that. Then I think about the title, see if there's any twist on the words, any alternative definition of them than the usual one. I got to thinking about places for people with only one seat left in them and then came to the fairground ride. It went from there. The thing with the blind girl was a bit of both.I am a care in the community nurse and work with all kinds of disabilities. I see a lot of disadvantaged people doing a lot of amazing things. I based her losely on a client and wanted to show an independant feisty woman. I also wanted a character that the reader would care about. So both really. Lots of stories have prophetic dreams, this was my attempt at it. Fairground, one seat left, blind girl, the rest of the story more or less told itself. I agree entirely that if something seems like too much of a co-incidence then it usually is. But let me just tell you a truth stranger than fiction story. I finished my second novel recently. I have it copyrighted and it was sent out to my publisher, in it's rough diamond state mid December before I had even re-worked the ending because I wasn'tpleased with the frist draft so it wasn't even finished properly. Though the story remained exactly the same. My story pre-dated a news report by about two weeks later, but it was storyboarded and people told the synopsis, (and shown it, so it's proven) two years before. A news item broke after my book went out. Something that has never happened before. the person had the name Eve. The story is an integral part of my book and my character even has the same name as the person it happened to. (christian name that is) Strange? me stealing again? I can proove one hundred percent mine came first, just like the American Room came before mine. Sometimes it happens. As it is because my book was already with the publisher, I can use it as a marketing point for my book. This event is only a very small part of the plot but it was amazingly co-incidental. " -- Sooz, Dalton-in-furness, England, Cumbria. "This is sort of related, so I'm posting it here. Then I'm gonna run before people start throwing tomatoes at me for posting non-reviews in the reviews. Don't you think it's interesting that when many of the readers and the writers that maybe had posted one or two stories, that when they left nobody much cared, but then when people like Jack Brown and Saber Kane left, those same people stood up, and went HUH?!" -- Mystical Chicken. "I don't understand. A few times now you've said that you're not particularly proud of this piece and a few others. Is there any specific reason as to why, or have I missed it? If you're not proud of them then I must honestly ask why you put them up to begin with and put your name to them. And if you found yourself later finding them not good representations of your work, why did you leave them up... posterity? I can understand why you might leave this piece up, but what of the others? I just don't understand why you would say "This piece is complete, so I'm not asking for an edit, I just want to place it here though I don't want anything more to do with it" That seems strange to me, just like someone had dropped a naughty child off at a corner store told them to wait there and purposely never came back." -- The Other Susan... Susan Seladochi. "I read this piece, because everyone was talking about it. However I didn't care for it, because I'm all about characterization, and believe that is what drives plot. All the characters except for Mel were written marginally, which I suppose you could argue you could get away with in a short story, but I still don't have to like it. I also wanted to commend JA St. George. He seems to be a very wise man, and seems to have grown for this experience, perhaps other such posters who negatively post on this board will learn from his example. Speak your mind, but speak it well." -- Paige Davis. "Dear anonymous What the hell is the point of telling us your leaving when we don't even know who you are. " -- Rob. "Four anonymous and you bastards still couldn't take down the man. Hos please you better bow down on both knees. " -- Nic. "Excellent work here Sooz!" -- Pattie Ann. "Give me a break. You weren't inspired by nothing. Why don't you just tell us the source where you ripped this off of before I have to use the Luftwaffe on your country again. What's next. No wait, let me guess, how about a story where a guy is driving along, and picks up a girl hitchhiker, and when he lets her off she disappears and when he asks the people who live at the house they say their daughter has been dead for years. Or how about a woman who is bitten by snakes in a jacket she's trying on at the Burlington Coat Factory. Or maybe one about two young lovers in a parked car alone at night who are terrorized by a man with a claw hand. Hell I could go on all night. " -- Springtime Hitler, action figure with kunfu grip., berlin, germany circa 1945. "Read your story. Good stuff here. Also read the first five reviews and a few of the last reviews, maybe I'll read the whole thing to get a better idea of just what the hell happened, but not tonight. Anyway, it seems that this Advisor guy was rude and inconsiderate of the way you felt, despite making a valid point (this story has been done before, but I'm sure you probably already know that by now), but even so he seems like a downright saint compared to some of the other posts I've seen around here." -- Camel Stop. "I noticed that I keep getting emails from Storymania where it says what people wrote in the reviews columns and in the message board, strange. Anyway I saw your name Camel Stop and this very message, and I wanted to ask you if you don't mind. Where did you get a moniker like that. If it is a real name I'm sorry I don't mean to make fun, but it just sounds odd." -- Pattie Ann. "I'm getting the same thing with the email notices, but I think there's a way to shut it off. Check the entirety of the message you get. Anyway a long time before I became a LC, I was a newbie marine in the original Persian Gulf conflict Desert Shield, which later into it became Desert Storm. That was 12 years ago, and at that time I didn't know which end of the gun to fire out of! Anyhow, my unit was deployed in occupied Kuwait and the team leaders thought it might be funny if they could get a bunch of us green boot scum to try and ride camels. My real name is John Bjornsson, but since nobody can pronounce it, and soon was changed when I yelled out "Camel Stop!" The name stuck." -- Camel Stop. "You've ridden a camel. What's it like?" -- Pattie Ann. "Well they're kind of tall and stupid looking. They also sway more than a horse, and smell three times as bad as a horse." -- Camel Stop. "Can't say I've ridden either, not too many horses in Seattle or camels." -- Patti Ann. "I think everybody should at least once in their life, but that's just me. Anyhow I think we should move this conversation to the message board if we want to continue it, I'm sure Sooz Simpson has had enough of us babbling incessantly in her review column." -- Camel Stop. "Here's another fine example of Storymania failing us with their constant logic errors. This story has only been reviewed 27 times according to the logic controls, and yet it's pretty darn clear, that there is 88 (including this one) reviews of the story, count em if you don't believe the review logic control (and I rarely do). How can it have only been seen 27 times if it has been reviewed three times as many times, the answer is that it can't. This site's logic controls are so messed up. Especially when you consider that the Top Title Hitter of all time around here is Edward Crayley's "Alien" at 1,010 hits when it only has a measley 39 reviews. Logically this story should be the winner of that spot, but this is Storymania where sense and reason seem to have no purpose." -- Blue Eyed Blackie. "This is my last post in the reviews, promise Sooz. I just wanted to respond to Blue Eyed Blackie. Sir you are using false logic. You are correct when you say that the hits should be at least eighty-eight, and probably should be higher due to the fact that more people have read this than reviewed it, and since the number of reviewers is so astronomical it would stand to reason that all those people in addition to the ones who merely read it would make the number of hits much higher. So though obviously it hasn't been seen a mere 27 times, we really don't know how much it has been seen over 88 times. Therefore it could easily be 90 hits, nowhere near that other writer's 1,010 hits. But I do agree that it is strange you can get that few of reviews for that many hits, that's mind boggling, it makes this piece look like people have forgotten it when compared to that number. There could be a variety of reasons for it though like maybe he didn't like a few of the reviews he got, like oh say a few million of them, or maybe every day for six whole months he just sat at the computer and did nothing but enter the hit key on his own work. And I thought I had no life. Ha ha. :-)" -- Patti Ann. "Remember everyone, the karma that you put out will return to you ten-fold in the same. You put out positive energy there will be a return of positive energy, but if you put out negative, than only negative energy can and will return to you. In short be nice." -- Karma. "Do you really believe that?" -- Anonymous. "Yes." -- Karma. "Dear Sooz, I believe that Storymania is currently working on the problem of getting rid of this negative poster Nic, hopefully soon newcomers such as I and veterans such as you will not have to deal with such b.s." -- Sylvia. "Very nifty, so says the fabulous..." -- Mr. 50. "Is sylvia a idiot or did she not realize Nic left. I guess being a pothead hurts her mind. Obviously she doesn't realize people can't be forced to do anything here." -- anonymous. "good job!" -- Walsh. "In my humble opinion after inspecting this story I've come to the humble conclusion that this story is about as good as eating a big ole moose terd." -- Hans Blix Chief Weapons Inspector. "I think she likes turds" -- scary larry. "Hello Ms. Simpson, I�ve returned as promised. It has taken quite some time to present all of your pieces to my email writing group, but I�ve gotten commentary upon each and every piece, the exceptions of course being ones that ran over 4,000 words or that have been done by you in the interim. As you will see the reviews upon your work vary greatly, but hopefully much of it should help you in your writing experience. Ben�s Review: *Hi, I've chosen this story as it was properly paragraphed. The other one you posted wasn't and it makes for hard reading. Good one, good ending. I liked it, it�s the best version of the Dream Warning tale sans the elevator or roller-coaster I�ve ever read. I've made some remarks below, as I do feel it needs a little tightening up. Kind regards,* Mike had stopped here abruptly, as he became aware of his boss looking at him as though he�d sprouted a second head that spoke only Japanese. *:o)* The six of them messed around, laughing and joking amongst themselves and with the people before and behind them in the queue. *Perhaps a simple 'in line' would be good here. You've already used 'queue' in the previous sentence.* The day was fantastic and everybody on the planet seemed to be in good spirits. Soon they were at the head of the queue.*the next ones up?* Dave and Sandra, Sally and Jenn all walked the gangplank onto the big ship and seated themselves at the very back. There was only one space left on the ride, beside Sally. �Hey mate, you okay?� said his new-found friend with the �Super Stud� T-shirt. *Huh?* Mike didn�t answer, he was already pushing his way against the crowd to �freedom�.*No quotation marks* The ship lurched a second time, one of its huge girder arms coming loose from its mooring. Mike watched in stupefied horror as the boat discharged its passengers. He watched them disembark messily onto the concrete sixty feet below. So many broken bodies, but Mike only saw the one. *Perhaps you could add a little more slo-mo action of how the ride came apart?* ---------------- Angela O�s Review: *Hi :) I'm kinda new to the horror forum, I used to lurk here about a year ago and I never really posted. So here's my input* The rest of the week flew past in a blur of meetings and presentations; he made his monthly bonus and the sun shone. He was the golden child of Spencer, Spencer and Hartley and it seemed as though his life was charmed. *What's the point of this paragraph? It seems like a very quick transition from being in the shower to being the next week. If you're trying to show that he forgets about the dream, maybe after he's in the shower, he gets a phone call about his presentation, starts talking about work, and then forgets about the dream.....and so on. Then put in this paragraph about the rest of the week flying by...* On Friday night he met the gang in the pub. Mel felt good in his arms, and he was so proud of his clever girlfriend. There may have been girls in the pub that night who were more classically beautiful, but none could hold a candle to his Mel when it came to comfortable prettiness, quiet intelligence and bright personality. *I just have to comment that after reading the rest of the story, I don't know if I would classify Mel as "quiet", even in referring to her intelligence. She seems pretty outspoken, is she not?* She was tiny and slim and she felt so small and vulnerable in the circle of his huge arms. Mike felt very protective towards her, which would have mortified Mel had she known. She may only be little but she considered herself a force to be reckoned with, and had a tidy temper on her. *Try: "She may have been little, but she considered herself....* Mike had stopped here abruptly, as he became aware of his boss looking at him as though he�d sprouted a second head that spoke only Japanese. *Hahaha! This is good, and I like Mike's description!* *I am a bit confused as to the timeline here. First they went to the theme park and did some dancing in the evening. Then it was the next day. Are they still at the theme park - because I thought you said they would be there for one day. Then he reminisces(?) about talking to his boss at work, but it made me think that he was actually at work. Then there's the paragraph about Mel's 4 senses. I have a suggestion: Could you break up the reminiscing with some dialogue to show that they are still at the theme park? Intersperse some "showing" with the "telling"?* Mike watched silently as his world did just that. *Horrible, creepy ending! :( I love theme park rides, but my fear is exactly that! I think you set up the relationship between Mike and Mel very well, and made me feel their devotion for each other. I think the characters are described very well too. So my only (minor) nitpick is a bit more "showing" maybe? Good job :) Cheers, Angela 0>:)* ------------------ Bravoxray�s Review: Very pleased by this story. For me, what scares the piss out of me is what can happen. I don't fly for this reason. I don't get on stupid roller coaster rides for this reason. I'm a bit of a chicken. Excellent job of setting up my concern for the characters and expecting the end, but not wanted to read about it. Good job. ------------------- Shalomar�s Review: This reminded me very much of another story. Not to suggest the author didn�t create this piece as original work, but I do recall hearing a very similar tale. The story�s good, but I wouldn�t try to publish it seeing as how it might be viewed as too similar to the work I�m thinking of. -------------------- Red 33�s Review: wonderfully written...as far as what it reminds me of...i can only think of the twilight zone. ------------------- -----Bizzy-----�s Review: Sad but very well written. No chance of this being bought up by the Alton Towers Promotional Brochure Team, but I'm sure a lot of other people will be happy to take a look at it :o} Suggestions (and that's all they are because the piece is pretty slick as it stands): "He saw the sickening crunch as much as heard it. And he heard the horror etched on the faces of the riders. Those sounds and visions would come back to him daily for the rest of his life." Great paragraph. ('Heard the horror etched onto the faces'? 'Saw the horror', surely?) No matter what, don't remove or change the paragraph greatly or you'll lose the impact it has. It doesn't tell us the ship is about to fly loose, it shows us. We all have this horrible feeling that's what's about to happen and the first sentence alone is a slap in the face - a sudden realisation that bad things do happen. And to anyone who's seen a serious accident, the whole paragraph is spot on. I must be sick because I'd have liked to have seen more dramatic scenes of the passengers flying from the ship. Heads knocking together, people clinging to their seats...which makes me think - don't they have safety frames come down in front of them? So maybe they'd be stuck there hanging for while before the ship crashes to the ground and the impact sends people flying back into the air. Just a thought. Sad that Mel should have been involved. I felt sorry for the poor girl. I'm not sure if that's good or bad. It's life, but I'm uncertain if perhaps some readers might feel it was undeserved and unfair. Good tension builing story. Like I said before, Sooz is a competent writer. :o} ---------------- Audrey�s Review: In fact, this had got to the point of the ridiculous. One day he was in a meeting with his boss. He asked Mike*,casually,* what sort of day it was. though he�d sprouted a second head that spoke only Japanese. *lol* Suddenly Mike froze. The man�s words had broken his dream. *I didn't quite get this. Perhaps it would be better to say something like brought his dream to the forefront of his mind. Just a suggestion.* " -- Cameron "Cam" Davis. " *Hello Sooz. It came to my attention that you had just received a 99th post for this story, so I thought in a way it would be almost poetic if I were to round it off at 100 since I made the very first post. I�ll finish what I began by now critiquing the rest of the work. I�ve decided to take a page from Ms. Davis� playbook, and I�ll be using the asterisks to indicate corrections within a copy of the story.Room For One MoreSue (Sooz) Simpson Mike woke from a troubled sleep with the same phrase playing over and over in his mind: �Room for one more!� He stood in the shower, mentally preparing for his ten-thirty presentation, and yet Eliminate �yet�* still those four words ran through his head, breaking each thought into fragments and making it impossible to concentrate. The hot needles of smarting *Eliminate the word �smarting� since �the hot needles� does an accurate job of description.* water rained upon his skull, stimulating hair follicles, blood cells and endorphins. He should feel good but for some reason he was perturbed.*Change to disturbed, sounds better.His dream came back to him with a jolt as he reached out for the shower gel. A big man with a round face leaning over the side of a boat. Fragment (consider revising)* People below him all reaching out, desperate to get on the boat before� *An ellipses is used to indicate missing word(s)* before what? Before they drowned in the icy waters, he supposed. Despite the heat from his *Though it is technically accurate as is, I�d change �his� to �the�* water, Mike shuddered involuntarily *Perhaps 'involuntarily' isn't needed here. I�ve never seen anyone shudder voluntarily.* and his sponge skimmed over the goose pimples that had broken out along his thigh.The rest of the week flew past in a blur of meetings and presentations; he made his monthly bonus and the sun shone. He was the golden child of Spencer, Spencer and Hartley *Though I�m aware the formatting of Storymania won�t let you accomplish it on here, be sure to italicize titles.* and it seemed as though his life was charmed. *The change from the shower scene to this quick overview of the rest of his week seemed a bit sudden. How about moving the Spencer, Spencer and Hartley info into an extra paragraph? Loosely drop the info when he's dressing up to go to work?On Friday night he met the gang in the pub. Mel I�d switch the wording of this sentence a bit. Thought the name �Mel� is also a shortened female version of �Melissa� Stateside, one gets the immediate impression something homoerotic might be going on. Perhaps not the best for this particular story. Then they say �Oh it�s a girl, just a shortened version of the name.�* felt good in his arms, and he was so proud of his clever *While this is an interesting statement about her, something like �clever� is usually either following-up or immediately preceding an explanation of why this is the case, since it isn�t self-explanatory such as how she looked or what she was wearing.* girlfriend. There may have been girls in the pub that night who were more classically beautiful, *How about just plain 'pretty'. I don't know what 'classically beautiful' is :)* but none could hold a candle to his Mel when it came to comfortable prettiness, ,*and then drop 'comfortable prettiness' here?quiet intelligence and bright personality. She was tiny and slim and she felt so small and vulnerable in the circle of his huge arms. Mike felt very protective towards her, which would have mortified Mel had she known. She may Isn't that a change of tense?* only *Eliminate �only�* be little but she considered herself a force to be reckoned with, and had a tidy temper on her. Mel had been blind since birth and God help anyone who tried to label her handicapped. She knew life no other way than the way it was and she coped just fine, *I don't think there is a need for the quotation marks.* �thank you very much.� *The last two sentences would be much better in action rather than just exposition, if you really wanted to draw out the character.It was decided that Eliminate �that�* the next morning the six friends would get together for a day at the theme park just south of Shorehampton. The evening ended for Mike on a glow from a little too much lager and an oozy warm feeling that had to do with smooching round the dance floor with Mel.*I�m not sure, but I think this is called misplaced modifiers. Here the sentence says he and Mel were kissing the dance floor. I don�t think that�s what you meant.By lunchtime the next day, his voice was hoarse from describing all the colours and sights to Mel.�Oh, oh,� she would say, jumping up and down excitedly, �what does it look like? What does it look like Mike?� Perhaps add that she could hear the cheery sounds of the many attractions?After six months of going steady with Mel, Mike�s powers of description had improved in Replace �in� with �by�* leaps and bounds. �It�s big� just didn�t work. Mel would want to know how big. If he dared to say something was beautiful, lovely, pretty, hideous or disgusting, Mel would turn to him with a frown of disapproval and he had to go into lengthy observations of why he thought it so. Now he automatically described everything as they went along.In fact, this had got to the point of the ridiculous. One day he was in a meeting with his boss. He asked Mike casually what sort of day it was.�Well,� Mike began, �the sun is not yet completely risen, it�s resting just above the rooftops as though it�s taking a rest before going any further. The clouds are light and look as soft as a comfortable pillow, there�s not a hint of thunder, and the breeze is blowing the honeysuckle on its vine.�Mike had stopped here *Replace �here� with �there�* abruptly, as he became aware of his boss looking at him as though he�d sprouted a second head that spoke only Japanese. His colour had continued to rise as he hastily explained that his girlfriend was blind. Mel would have killed him for that. She hated people being warned in advance of meeting her, as she said they were already prepared to walk on eggshells round *around?* her. Mike smiled now at the memory of that day, before embarking on a description of the rapid ride. Of course the words meant little to Mel; she already had her four senses � though Mike disputed that point and argued five because of her uncanny perception. They gave her all the stimulation that she could have. In truth she just loved to hear Mike�s enthusiasm as he detailed their surroundings for her. She didn�t know what sunshine looked like, but she never tired of hearing Mike describe it for her. �Oh no Mel, not another roller-coaster. Please give a poor guy a break, I can�t take much more. It�s all right for you, you can�t see the world looming up at you at a million miles an hour, or the slightly green faces of the people getting off them��Oh c�mon you big wuss, show me what you�re made of.�Mike lowered his voice and gripped her tightly round the waist. �When I get you home tonight Miss, you�ll be left in no doubt as to what I�m made of.� �Ooh, promises, promises�, she giggled.The others were making their way over to the �Pirate Ship�. �Come on you two love birds,� shouted Sandra, �The queue�s not too long for this ride.�The six of them messed around, laughing and joking amongst themselves and with the people before *before and after, fore and aft, and in front and behind are all appropriate sets, but before and behind aren�t* and behind them in the queue. The day was fantastic and everybody on the planet seemed to be in good spirits. Soon they were at the head of the queue. Dave and Sandra, Sally and Jenn all walked the gangplank onto the big ship and seated themselves at the very back. There was only one space left on the ride, beside Sally.�C�mon Mel, get your sea-legs. *sea legs* I�ll tell you when to wave to Mike from the top.�Mel�s eyes shone with excitement; she was unaware how transparently feelings showed on her face and therefore she made no attempt to hide them. She hesitated. �Nah, you�re all right Sal, I�ll take a rain check on this one. See you when you get off.��Oh for God�s sake Mel, Mike will survive two minutes without you, you know. His world isn�t going to collapse if you go on a ride without him.��Go on you,� murmured Mike against her slightly moist neck, �I�ll be waiting to escort her ladyship off when it�s finished.� �Room for a little one� said the ride attendant. He looked down at Mel and she shook her head. Mike never failed to be impressed by her perception; she could always �feel� when people were looking at her. Often she would blush crimson and say �Mike, you have been staring at me for five minutes. Stop it.�The man moved his gaze over the queue and announced in a louder voice, �Room for one more!��Here Mate!� Mike drew his attention back. �My girlfriend�s changed her mind.� Mike gave Mel a gentle push in the small of her back, as Sally came forward to take her hand and guide her into the seat.Suddenly Mike froze. The man�s words had broken his dream. A feeling of mind-numbing foreboding spread from the tips of his toes to disperse throughout his body, before spilling out of his mouth in a gurgled, �Mel, no!�It was too late; the man had secured the safety gates and the ride was already beginning its slow progress into the swinging arc it would become. Gently, it moved in an easy swaying motion backwards and forwards. Each movement brought the ship out at a greater angle. .*arc?Mike felt physically sick. He began to hyperventilate. He had to get out from the top of the queue of people; all those hot bodies pressing up against him. He had to get out.�Hey mate, you okay?� said his new-found newfound* friend with the �Super Stud� T-shirt. Mike didn�t answer, he was already pushing his way against the crowd to �freedom�. Once he had barged his way through the claustrophobic barriers and back into the cooling breeze, he tried to regain some semblance of rationale. What was happening to him?�Hey big fella,� shouted a Neanderthal from behind him, �most people puke when they get off a ride, not before they�ve got on.� Mike heard the baboon laughing with his mates.Okay, come on now. Get a grip Mikey. It was only a stupid dream and had nothing to do with fair rides, it was about a shipwreck for Christ�s sake. He laughed at his overactive imagination and tried to forget the man of *Here�s another homoerotic sounding phrase �the man of his dream.� Change �of� to �from�* his dream and his striking resemblance to the ride attendantHe took some strong deep draughts of soothing air and felt his diaphragm expanding with the healing oxygen. Gradually he heard his heartbeat slowing as it pounded less and less in his ears, and he began to feel better. He had promised to wave to Mel, so he looked up at the ship sailing through the air at an alarming height above him. It had almost reached its zenith and he watched as he saw Mel held tightly against the back of her seat by the G-force. She was laughing generously and looked as happy as he had ever seen her. Mike liked the way she �laughed big�; there was nothing mealy-mouthed about his Mel. He shouted loudly, smiling and waved like a lunatic but his voice was taken away on the wind and lost amongst the clouds.The ship was in its descent. He lip-read Mel mouthing his name and grinned as he saw her waving against gravity.He saw the sickening crunch *How can one see a noise?* as much as heard it. And he heard the horror etched on the faces *How can one hear looks?* of the riders. Those sounds and visions would come back to him daily for the rest of his life.Mel�s eyes were open wide and her mouth stretched in a scream that he felt both low down in his gut, and higher up in the left side of his chest.The ship lurched a second time, one of its huge girder arms coming loose from its mooring. Mike watched in stupefied horror as the boat discharged its passengers. He watched them disembark messily onto the concrete sixty feet below. So many broken bodies, but Mike only saw the one.Mike thought back five minutes to Sally�s words: �Mike�s world isn�t going to collapse if you go on the ride without him.�Mike watched silently as his world did just that. *It does what it sets out to achieve. A story doesn�t necessarily have to end happy or tragic to be a story, but it must make the reader feel something. With 100 posts in response to this story it has definitely achieved the goal of making people feel something in regards to it.* " -- JA St. George. "Again so much trouble. Thank you all very much. I greatly appreciate it. Sooz. " -- Sooz, Dalton-in-furness, England, Cumbria. "Just so you know, all of the reviews are now posted. Also many people in my group asked many different questions and you'll find them throughout the messages. Oh yeah before I forget, I don't want to ask for much for what I've done for you, but it would be great if you'd take a gander at my cousin's story "The Moribund." Paige Davis is a writer just like me, but she came to the online writing world a little later than myself, and by that time my online group had already been filled, so she had to come here instead. I know you're not a rude person, so that seems pretty fair and reasonable to me, one critique for my cousin for the 50+ reviews you've received. I haven't yet told my cousin, because I wasn't sure you'd agree to it, even they you did have it listed you'd be interested in fair trade critiques. Instead if you'll do that it'll be a great surprise for her, and I just know she'll love it. Take care." -- Cameron Davis. "How can this story hsve 103 reviews now and only 29 hits? It doesn't make sense. " -- Steven. "Somebody explained it above. Storymania's broken." -- maple. Return Of The Hellcat (Erotica May Be Offensive) by Sue (Sooz) Simpson (7) "I can�t believe you have no reviews for this one. It must be the sex taboo. Come to think of it, it is rather difficult to critique, but I must say the story was well written and I was quite impressed with your ability to dance freely on the edge of erotica without falling off into the abyss of porn. This piece proves that your talent is unrestricted by genre, which means your talent flows like water regardless of the terrain. And, not to inconvenience you, but when you have the time, would you please email me a map to this particular sorceress� cave? Much obliged. " -- STORM, TEXAS, USA. "You gave "fair warning" and still I could not resist! This piece despite the nature of it's erotic content is excellent example of creative fiction! It was bold, powerful and uniquely imaginative work who's main charactor the Sorceress comes alive for the reader in the most unusual way. She is the embodiement of the true power of women everywhere! What more can I say! I only wish I could write this...you never cease to amazed me." -- Monte. "Storm, just wander to the bottom of any big hill, naked would be good but that's optional, and if the good lady wants you she'll find you ... on the other hand the police might get to you first :-) Thanks. " -- Sooz, Dalton-in-Furness, England, Cumbria. "Thanks Monte, I want to try as many styles of writing as possible and if you want to make good pastry then you have to be prepared to get your hands in there and give it a good knead. what I didn't want with this was filth, I wanted to write it hard and dirty but with a sensuality that kept it clean ...ish. don't know if I suceeded but I'm not ashamed of it. Thank-you." -- Sooz, Dalton-in-Furness, England, Cumbria. "Damn I need a cigarette and I dont smoke....hehe" -- Michelle. "Oh good a lady reader.. or a frech reader hmm why do names have to be so confusing? Assuming for now you are a lady, good on you, it's about time women stood up and admitted that we like a good sensual story too. Here let me light that for you, tis a bit rough on the old eyes this one. " -- Sooz, Dalton-in-furness, England, Cumbria. "Too long for my group to review, my apologies." -- Cam Davis. Pact Of Joy. by Sue (Sooz) Simpson (2) "RG Meyer�s Review: Pact Of Joy. Sue (Sooz) Simpson Hannah clawed her way through the thick barrier of dry ice smoke. She could barely make out the misty grey silhouettes of apparitions moving in the gloom. �Come on girl, don�t you back out now, you can do it, she said to herself. *She either spoke the words or she did not, make up your mind.* She couldn�t believe this had been her idea. In the comforting bright light and security of her bedroom it had *Unnecessary use of the word had.* seemed wildly adventurous, while at the same time offering some safety. Now it seemed ludicrous that *Unnecessary use of the word that.* she had suggested it. She had �known� Nat for some months now, but this was their first meeting. They had become gradually more open and close as little parts of their lives and experience had been revealed one layer at a time, and yet so little was actually disclosed. Was it possible to be so drawn to someone you had never met? Common sense had told her to ground her feelings to reality. This was nothing more than two friends meeting for a drink. �Blitz� was the new gothic-themed nightclub that had recently opened in town. Hannah had never been, never really wanted to go, but she had wanted to impress Nat. He was always writing to tell her of some wild night or other that he had indulged in, while she spent most evenings sitting at home reading. This had been her act of defiance against the hermit she had become. Now her defiance was rapidly making its way out of the door behind her, leaving a feeling of �Oh my god, what are you doing, meeting a strange man in a strange place where you obviously don�t fit in? Crazy!� She peered through the throat-constricting smoke in search of the bar. He had offered to meet her outside; hell, he had initially offered to pick her up at home. Why had she felt such a need to show him what an independent woman of 2000 she was? Picking her way through the seething mass of writhing bodies -- too much flesh, too little clothing, and all so black -- she moved nervously up to the bar. A creature of indeterminate gender dressed in black asked what it could get her. The voice was giving away no clues. �Oh�er, um��. She was thrown; the bartender had pounced before she had even had a chance to think about what to order. �The lady would like a glass of dry white wine please?� �Sure thing Nat, ice?� He had swooped in from nowhere. She had the vision of a raven having flown down from one of the podiums. �Hannah, we meet at last. It�s so good to see you.� This wasn�t how it was supposed to be; she felt herself floundering. She had wanted to be composed, confident, come across as someone who wasn�t to be messed with. Instead he had launched himself at her when she was unprepared, bailed her out with the colourful bar person and ordered for her without even asking what she would like. All the clever opening gambits to the game of flirtation that she had practised *practiced* deserted her. She couldn�t think of a thing to say. Blushing furiously, she managed a muffled �Hello.� �So, my lady of the night, she of the thousand written words, is a shy one. Well well.� He was poking fun at her. She lowered her head, willing herself to come up with just one suitable retort. Nothing was forthcoming so she muttered a �thank you� as he handed her the drink. He had told her he wasn�t familiar with the place and yet the bartender had known his name. How? �Shall we find a table?� It wasn�t a question, it was a command. He lifted his drink and had already begun to move away. His hand was warm against the small of her back as he guided her over to a secluded table and indicated that she sit into the corner, where they would not be disturbed. She sat, took a sip of her drink and tried not to let her distaste show on her face like a schoolgirl trying something new and unpleasant. For the first time she risked a proper look at him. He was grinning broadly, his arm spread casually across the back of the bench seat. He appeared relaxed and comfortable, while she felt ridiculous. For the next half hour he filled the awkward silence with pleasant chat about himself and his upbringing. He asked few questions of her, and she was grateful as it gave her time to compose herself. Although the conversation was mainly geared towards him, she felt that he had been aware of her awkwardness and was allowing her some time to adjust and become more comfortable. He seemed to ooze good manners and courtesy, in a brash sort of way. He told her that he had been born and raised in Greece, on a little island off the mainland, where the sun had finished what ancestry had begun. He was dark skinned, with brilliant white teeth and moody, almost aggressive eyes. He wore his confidence with the same air as his citric, slightly sickly aftershave, and his arrogance fit him as snugly as his tight black jeans. His name was Natas, heir to a string of Greek tavernas sprouting all over the Northwest, but his friends called him Nat. When the waitresses passed he called them to replenish their glasses. Three more glasses of wine were brought in rapid succession as he talked. They weren�t tasting nearly so bad now and a warm tinge was spreading throughout the inside of her chest. She tried to buy the fifth round but Nat wouldn�t hear of it. This irritated her but she let it go for now. The night was young and she was beginning to enjoy herself despite the rough start. Maybe she could begin to turn the tables and regain some control of the evening. �So Hannah, tell me about you. I have completely monopolised the conversation. Your turn.� �Well, there�s not much to tell really. I�ve told you almost everything about me in our emails� she lied, not wanting to discuss her past with this man who had become so close, but now seemed like a stranger. �Oh come on, there�s a lot going on in there that you haven�t told me. You have such sad eyes Hannah. Are you happy*A question deserves a question mark. They look like this �?�� She smiled again the turn of events were running away with her, she felt manipulated and drawn. �Of course I�m happy. I have a good job, a nice house, everything I need and some of what I�d like� He put his forefinger under her chin and drew her face level with his, His eyes not only met hers, but felt as though they penetrated them. �Oh sure, on the surface you tootle along presenting the world with a semi-convincing fa�ade of contentment, but what about real happiness? What about passion, dreams ambition? What about your soul Hannah, is it filled with joy, or does it fester beneath your breast withering with lack of stimuli, barren of true happiness?� She reached for her seventh -- or was it eighth? -- glass of wine and slugged off half the flute in a smooth fluid swallow. It lubricated her dry throat and what had been bitter now seemed mellow and pleasant. He was confusing her, or the wine was confusing her. What was all this talk of true happiness? What was he getting at? She took another drink and tried to focus her reply; probably more chance of that than focusing her gaze. �I told you, I�m happy. Why do you doubt me? Do you think that because I have no man in my life I must automatically be some frustrated old box of desiccated coconut?� She giggled at her simile and nearly choked on the drink of wine she had just taken. �I�m deliriously happy, blissfully happy. Wonderfully, totally, madly happy.� She choked back an alcohol-induced self-pitying sob. �My life�s a mess and I�m miserable. There. Happy now? Is that what you wanted to hear?� �Oh God I�m drunk� she thought When one�s lips are moving they are speaking. When their lips are not moving, they are not speaking.. �Please Nat excuse me, I�m sorry, I think I need to just freshen up a bit.� He stood to let her pass and pretended not to notice that she staggered against the wall slightly as she passed. She didn�t see his satisfied smirk as she walked away from him. In the Ladies, she splashed her face with cold water, looked in the mirror and cursed the cosmetic company who told a pack of lies about their new �Waterproof Wonder� range of make-up. She looked like Chi-Chi the panda. �With a bit of luck, by the time I sort this lot out he�ll have made a quick escape and be gone and then I can go home and forget this awful experience ever happened� she thought. The door burst open abruptly, making Hannah jump. Her eyeliner shot off her lower eye rim and gave her cheek a rather tribal look with the long black line that now adorned it. She wet yet another piece of tissue and dabbed at her cheek as the lady who had raced in checked all the stalls; she seemed agitated and Hannah watched her through the mirror. �Excuse me love� the other woman asked, �You haven�t seen a short girl with purple hair have you, I can�t find her and am beginning to get worried� Hannah tried her best not to slur her words as she told the woman that her friend hadn�t been in for at least the last five minutes. �Hope you find her� she said to the other woman�s retreating behind. Hannah took a final look in the mirror, stuck her tongue out, and called the bleary eyed reflection gazing back at her a drunken bum. �Oh well, can�t hide in here all night I suppose.� She felt almost human, and managed a more-or-less perpendicular walk back to the table, where Nat was waiting for her with a warm smile on his face. �Here, drink this, it�ll make you feel better.� �What is it?� she asked, eyeing the glass distrustfully. �Fresh orange juice.� He grinned up at her boyishly and she managed a return smile, though she was still irritated that she had allowed herself to get so drunk. �I can make you eternally happy Hannah�, he blurted out suddenly. �Oh yes, and on what assumption do you base this theory?� Emboldened by the wine she flirted with her eyes. �Not that I�m disagreeing with you of course.� �Because, my dear Hannah, I am Beelzebub, a.k.a the Devil, Lucifer, Satan. I can make your wildest dreams come true in return for nothing more than a little loyalty.� She laughed at his sincere expression. What a strange man he was. Why didn�t he just say he fancied her and wanted to be with her? She was happy to play along. �So my lord and master, eternal happiness eh? And what do you want in return, my soul I suppose? That�s the way it works isn�t it? You do your genie impression and grant my greatest desire in return for my soul.� �That is exactly right my dear. With a simple handshake, from this moment on you need never feel a single moment of heartache or sadness.� �A handshake, how very formal. Don�t I have to sign an aged scroll in my blood or something?� He laughed and his eyes twinkled. �Silly girl, you�ve been reading too many horror stories. No, a handshake will do.� Hannah pouted, enjoying the game. �Oh, I�d rather seal our pact with a kiss.� �As you wish, as long as you understand the rules. Eternal happiness and in return I come for you at the end of your days.� You are aware that you�ve completely contradicted yourself? First the guy was born in Greece, and now he�s supposedly the immortal Satan. He moved nearer and snaked his arm gently round her shoulders, drawing her closer to him. He smiled down into her face as their lips slid closer together. �Do we have a deal?� he whispered seductively. �Oh yes� she breathed as his mouth closed over hers. Everything after that sped past in a blur. Nat said she looked tired. Told her they had all of eternity to be together and that she should go home and get some rest. She should have been disappointed that he didn�t at least offer to walk her home, but she was too blissfully happy to care. �I�ve got your number,� he said as he left her at the club doorway. Had she been less happy, maybe she�d have noticed that he didn�t kiss her goodnight. �Tomorrow is another day,� she thought, �we have all eternity to be together.� She didn�t hear from Nat again. The emails she sent were returned to her by his service provider, and he never called. She didn�t mind though, she just put it down to a pleasant night that wasn�t to be repeated. The first �occurrence�, as she came to call them, happened just three months later. Her little dog Misty was killed on the road outside her house. Misty�s pretty, smoky-grey fur was matted with blood and she whimpered pitifully as Hannah held her in her arms. Hannah was happy that she died quickly, happy that she didn�t linger and was happy that � happy that � well, she was just happy, that�s all. Her mother lost her fight against breast cancer a year later. Hannah was so happy that it was finally over, that her mother wouldn�t have to endure any more misery. She smiled as her mother died, she was so happy. Her life had changed. She was happy, blissfully happy. She felt no pain, no suffering, and no sadness. She laughed at sad films and in the face of adversity and at others� misfortune. She met a man, Greg. He was a good man, a kind man, but the relationship floundered. He said that she had no feelings, no tenderness, and no soul. Hannah was happy; he wasn�t the one for her, so it was best that they should part. It was three years after the night at Blitz that Hannah slashed her wrists while standing on the clifftop cliff-top. She stood watching the waves crashing onto the rocks way below and dragged the steel razor-blade along the length of her carpal arteries many times. She was so damned happy. So bloody happy. In the old days when she was sad she used to come here and it would lift her spirits, make her feel happier. That was so ironic; all she wanted to feel was some pain, some contrast to this cursed euphoria that blighted her days. She laughed maniacally as the blood spurted from her ravaged wrists. She was so happy. A figure appeared over the rise. She knew it was Satan, she had been expecting him. �Hello Natas. You got me good, you bastard.� She smiled without any signs of malice. She looked so happy standing there in her blood-soaked clothes. Another job well done. �Hello Hannah. How have you been my dear?� �I�ve been happy thank-you�, she said politely. �Very damned happy.� A single tear coursed down her cheek in spite of her happiness, losing itself in the laughter lines at the corner of her mouth. She giggled softly and wilted into the arms of the dark man who had come to take her. " -- Cam Davis. "Ignoring the sarcasm of the review, I'll just say thank you for your time and superior knowlege. thanks Cam." -- Sooz, Dalton-in-Furness, England, Cumbria. Out Of Print by Sue (Sooz) Simpson (3) "This story should be put "out of print."" -- Cole. "Harver�s Review: As moderator of this email forwarding group I�ve reserved the right to edit out any comments/reviews on works that I do not feel are appropriate. Therefore I�ve deleted all of the �humorous� posts that stated the reviewer could not comment on this particular piece because it was �out of print� and therefore not available. If you are to participate in this email-forwarding group I ask you to give concrete answers that will benefit the writer whom you comment upon. You have my blessing to serve your point with humor, but I ask that you deliver something more than some short quip or unhelpful remark. I will now do my own review of this piece. A short story, just like its novel counterpart must always have a beginning, middle, and end; in short a plot. Things happen within this story, but it fails to meet the requirements of having a plot, things happen, but nothing really occurs as if it was taken from a snippet of what occurred during someone�s day. An incident. On a more positive note, what does happen within the story is somewhat confusing but also mystifying and I have highlighted in blue sections of the text where I thought description was particularly well-handled compared to where adjectives seemed to overburden the words they were supposed to help modify. I�d also suggest to the author to be more aware of sliding from one time period to another in a more cohesive manner. I�d recommend �Strunk and White.� I�ve also interspersed some comments throughout the original text. Out Of Print Sue (Sooz) Simpson artin Part of this name was cut off pushed open the stiff door of the town library and inhaled deeply. The familiar smell held out its welcoming arms to him and he embraced it eagerly cut �eagerly�. He found that cut �that� he could separate the two distinct ingredients of the library�s aroma. First, and perhaps the stronger of the two scents, was the musty smell of age weary books, leafed through by a thousand eager cut �eager� hands. This was the smell of history; a musty, dusty, Use either �musty� or �dusty.� Using both clutters. reminiscent nose-tickling smell of time. It was wonderful, and reminded Martin of attics and locked trunks. No matter how much sparkle, new paint and polish the library was given, this smell would not be defeated, and prevailed to welcome visitors. The second part of the smell was the exciting waft of brand new books; virgin territory never before explored. He loved it when �his� date stamp was the first to blemish the inside cover of a new copy. Either the writer has dated this work by putting it in an earlier period of America, or the setting is outside the US. Today the library was having an �out of print� sale, a sort of annual spring clean, a metaphorical throwing out of the age old tomes that had lain on the shelves for a hundred years without being read or borrowed; or several months at least. Old novels that were thumb worn and weary eliminate �and weary�, read so many times that eliminate �that� the pages were in danger of disintegrating to dust with just one more page turn. Books on fly tying, lace making, favourite highland walks I get the impression the author of this piece is either Scottish or English, or has a grasp of the markers of OE. Children�s books, reference books and books of indeterminate nature, unsold in last year�s sale. He would describe himself as a man of the written word, an avid reader since early childhood. He had developed a deep love and knowledge of period drama, and revelled only one �l� in the works of Dickens, identified with Edward Gorey Here you say Edward Gorey, and later you say Edmund Vorey. Did you confuse yourself? Or are these two writers with very similar sounding names?, and emulated Poe. At the age of twenty-nine, he could confidently call himself a �writer�. He wrote freelance for a couple of small newspapers, had columns in several other magazines of small notoriety, and was the proud author of four novels. As yet he was still waiting patiently with his hook baited for �the big one�, but it wouldn�t be long; he could taste it. He had done the groundwork, gone hungry, amassed a shoebox full of rejection slips and gone head to head with countless agents and publishers. He was still hungry and the big one was but words away. Martin was a deceptive man to look at I�d reword this to reduce confusion for the reader, perhaps ��deceptive looking man;� but since that also seems to conjure up the wrong image, perhaps a much more simple �he was not as he appeared� or �he was more/less what he appeared�; a deep thinker hiding in the body of an amiable clown. He looked much younger than his twenty-nine years and could pass for a second-year student attending one of the three sixth-form colleges I�m almost convinced now that the author here is from the British isles. It is ashame I�ll never know though in the area. Only when you were close enough to study the depth and maturity behind the lovely This is odd adjective use in drama. It is not usually used for omniscient p.o.v. and is usually reserved for a female�s p.o.v. or perhaps a homosexual male�s. Knowing nothing at all about the author, in order to keep this review unbiased I couldn�t say grey eyes did you get an inkling of a more accurate guess at his age. He dressed only in black. With the exception of his Calvin Klein underwear, every item of clothing he possessed came from charity shops. Black boots, jeans, t-shirts, waistcoats, always topped with a long black trench coat. Summer or winter, his attire never altered. He wore his coat open and it would flap against his well-made legs, and cling either side of a broad and surprisingly firm chest. He was lucky, in that his build was gained carelessly with complete disregard for physical activity. The only body part he worked out regularly was his brain. Martin stood tall and strong, with chestnut hair that sprang in soft curls flowing down to his mid back and caught at the nape of his neck in a loose pony tail. Privately, he was a quiet introspective man, losing himself for hours at a time in the lands of his imagination. Nice use of character contrast Socially, he was a loveable fool. Loud and brash, playing to his audience and loving any self-deprecating attention that came his way. Today though, he had what he called his �ferret head� on, and would spend the next few hours pouring over the unloved and unwanted books, burying his head in box after box of old literature, confident in the hope of finding treasures and bargains a-plenty. He strode across the polished floor and smirked as his right boot squeaked loudly with every tread. Each person he passed would look up, either irritated or made curious by the pervasive noise, only to be completely disarmed by the wide and charming smile he gave them. Some two hours later, Martin was lost to time and space. He lived only within the square foot that he occupied; anything beyond had faded from his reality and he was in a blissful world of words and illustration. That was when he came across the greatest treasure of the day. Buried between an old encyclopaedia A very Latinate spelling, not necessarily wrong, but �encyclopedia� would be more appropriate for most audiences. and something in Hebrew was the small thin book. He saw recognized it instantly for what it was and grasped at it avariciously unneeded adverb. Like a parched man at a desert oasis, he began turning the pages quickly but with reverence. His eyes glinted with pleasure and he couldn�t contain a small chuckle of merriment over his find. It was an Edmund Vorey original, first printed in 1936, and it was in excellent condition. Each page had only two sentences of verse with a black line drawing illustration opposite. Martin was delighted. The book was titled �The Man in Black�. Flicking back to the start of the story, he read aloud to himself, but very quietly. � Journey�s end, roaming the land on a book-bound quest, Future traveller, stranger here, mysterious in long black vest.� The page opposite showed a crude drawing of a tall thin man. �Looking up and face to face, the past was who he that day met, He gazed upon what�s gone, replaced, but didn�t recognise it yet.� This picture showed the man with a pencil-thin hand shielding his eyes. Martin turned without lowering the book, determined to make his purchase and be on his way so that eliminate �that� he could better peruse his stash from the comfort of his armchair back at home. He was so deeply engrossed that eliminate �that� he almost collided with a child who had entered the isle from the opposite direction and was gazing at him with the open-eyed curiosity of a teenager. �Oi, watch out Mister, you nearly `ad me over then.Look for �Stein� to better help you with your diction� Martin noticed the boy for the first time. He was lanky and thin same thing, with strawberry blonde hair that fell over his face like an unwashed curtain. Lively blue eyes glittered up at him from beneath the heavy fringe. �Sorry mate, I didn�t see you there. I�ve just found this really exciting book that�s pretty old and very rare.� This was typical of Martin. He would talk to anybody at any time; he didn�t notice age, so therefore addressed every child as though they were on a mental level with himselfreduce to simply �him�. Kids were drawn to him, and although he professed to not particularly like children, they worshipped the ground he walked on. He would spark conversations with strangers about matters of interest to him, and expect them to hop on the same wave of enthusiasm that he straddled, and enjoy the ride. He threw the child one of his smiles that opened a door of instant camaraderie. �How old are you kid, and hey, why aren�t you at school?� � I�m fifteen an` school�s boring, all them equations `n stuff. I like it in here. I like reading and I�m going to be a writer one day. This piece is somewhat confused but if I�m reading it correctly, these incidents should be happening in the 1930s, therefore would someone of either the US or Britain at that time use the word �stuff� it seems akin to using �far out man!�� Martin saw himself fifteen years earlier. �Is that right? I bet you do too matey Arggh Matey! I�m Pirate Harver. Ummm sorry I couldn�t resist. Yeah, I never used to go to school much either. You know mate, you can learn everything you need to know right here. Who did what to whom, and who was shagging who and when.� The lad laughed, and for want of a bigger audience, Martin decided to stick around for a few minutes and entertain his sole fan. �Hey! There were two nuns in the bath right? And one says to the other, �where�s the soap?� Get it? �Where�s the soap?�� The lad looked at him blankly. �Oh never mind kid, just hang on to it and try it again in a couple of years, it�s a killer.� �You aren�t from around here are you?� the boy asked Martin. It struck Martin that the lad was a funny kid, pensive and thoughtful, older than his years. Martin lived only two minutes up the road, but felt a million miles away from the experiences of a fifteen-year-old. �That�s right kid,� he said enigmatically, �I�m from another time and place, a whole different bloody lifetime.� The child�s eyes widened. �I�m not surprised, I knew you were different.� Martin smirked at the lad. �You don�t know the half of it mate.� Apparently neither does the reader. Confusion abounds. They chatted for another five minutes or so and then Martin grew bored of the conversation. The book had grown warm in his palm and he was itching to get back home to read it. �Anyway, nice meeting you kid, see you round sometime.� He paid for the books that eliminate �that� he had bought and was thrilled that eliminate �that� his �special� book had only cost him fifty pence. On the way home he smiled at everyone he passed. Today was a good day. Some months later, where at, or is the question when at? Martin rose to a morning of strong sunlight and enthusiastic birdsong. It was a feel-good day. The town was holding a �country fair� this afternoon and he thought he might wander along, take in the river for an hour, have some lunch and then see if there were any bargains to be had. Most of the stalls would be filled with overly priced hand-crafted handcrafted goods, but he might pick up something interesting, and if not it was something to do. Some of the traditional crafts they exhibited at the fair were really interesting and gave him useful insight into the �olde ways� for his books. After dining on an excellent Ploughman�s lunch and partaking of a nice Merlot, Martin felt in add �an�** extremely buoyant mood. He mulled through the crowds at the fair saying �good afternoon�, and browsing the stalls. The stallholders initially loved him because he was full of interest and asked pertinent questions, but they frowned after him when, after doing their best to sell their wares, he walked away with a jaunty �that�s fascinating, thank-you for your time.� He watched the judging of the dray horses in all their finery. Big sturdy Shires and Clydesdales that snorted twin plumes of steam from their nostrils like mythical dragons. He bought a black cotton scarf and a piece of homemade gingerbread for his afternoon tea. Martin was just thinking about making his way home when a child in the crowd caught his eye. �Hey kid! How�re you doin`? Remember me? We met in the library one day. You�re going to be the next Steve King, right?� The lad�s face brightened in recognition and again they passed a pleasant few minutes. On the way home, �quaint� was the word that kept coming back to Martin when he thought about the serious young lad. ~~ That night the young Edmund Vorey sat at his writing desk. He wanted to write and only had a little while left before the light from his candle was gone; it had almost burned down to the saucer it stood on. His mother only allowed him two candles a week. Edmund dipped his quill and began with the date, �6th July in the year 19 hundred and thirty-five.� And then he continued, tongue protruding from the corner of his mouth as he wrote in deep concentration, his thick blonde hair falling over his eyes. �He appeared at the country fair. The travelling man in black, Came here from the future, then vanished slowly back.� ~~ Martin munched on the moist gingerbread and flicked idly through the Vorey book for the ninetieth time; it always made him smile. As he read, his brow furrowed and a kid with tousled hair came into his mind. He read the familiar words and they held new meaning. �He appeared at the country fair, the travelling *only one �l�* man in black.� Feverish with excitement Martin rushed upstairs and booted up his computer. That night he began the �big one.� The one that made his fortune and took him to the top of the best seller *bestseller* list. It was entitled �Child of yesterday� " -- Cam Davis. "Thank you. you have given me plenty to think about there. Thanks Cam." -- Sooz, Dalton, England, Cumbria. One-Man Race by Sue (Sooz) Simpson (3) "Archmage Darksphere�s Review: Here are some things i've noticed: He counted slowly to ten before exhaling smoothly, and then he flexed the muscles in his arms, feeling his strength, testing his strength, knowing his strength.the word 'strength' is repeated a few times He must not fall from the bike; he would loose lose, not loosethe race. Interesting storyline. ------------- Josh�s Review: Not enough here to draw me in. I especially crash landed when he started the race and two sentences later was past the half-way point. I also didn't care for the quip about the overbearing father. Not enough development or relevance to the story. I'm sure the writer likes lithe man-like 14-year-old boys, but the reader needs more than that. Too much telling here, too much description, not enough of a hook for the reader. Keep trying, and get a collection of modern short stories from the local library. Compare your development to those of others and try to pinpoint your failings in comparison. Then write it again, and again. -------------- Raqad�s Review: This is a good sketch to start from in telling a story, an idea, but only an outline. The blindness is the "punch line" but it only adds to the list of things we know about the boy. I personally am not drawn in enough to care about him or whether or not he falls in the next show--he's not real enough to get emotionally involved, and that's what I want to do in a story! "I also didn't care for the quip about the overbearing father. Not enough development or relevance to the story." That, too. Also, reading more from other authors can never be a bad thing, even if they aren't modern; the more well rounded the reading is, the better. " -- Cam Davis. "Thanks you all for the reviews. I resent your quip Josh about me liking young boys. Review my work fine ...but please you ond't know me so lease stick to reviewing my work and not making personal assumptions about me. http://members.lycos.co.uk/suesimpson/ " -- Sooz, Dalton, England, Cumbria. "wow, nice story. very intriguing premise. i was on a tightrope myself, i thought you were going to let him fall in the end. actually at first i thought the story was about a bike race. you need to proofread and correct some of the sentences. also, being presumptous here, but sometimes you add too much un-needed detail. the line really doesn't belong and i kinda lost the thread of the story here "Beads of sweat jumped from either side of his brow and hair line, like water shaken from a dog emerging from a river." rest it was great. i am going to read more of your work. i also checked out your website. wow, a mom of two, that explains the 14yr. old description bit, which the guy above thought was a sexual reference. keep up the good work." -- sunny, dc, usa. A Darker Night by Albert Davis (3) "Hi there, Patina Williams, author of Steel Princess here. You seem to like �purple prose� a lot with all that �I die I weep! I weep I die!� stuff. But that�s ok, may not be my thing personally, but alotta people like that. Your grammar and punctuation is perfect, except in a few minor spots: The light now lays on the floor it�s edges sharp and clear (nothing belongs to it, therefore no possessive apostrophe), Descarte (Don�t you mean Descartes?), and my shoes are in total darkness; I can no longer see them. (Capitalize), fair ta middle�n (Your dialect is too thick here for me to understand." -- Patina Williams. "Nice piece, well written. I like the contrast between his ego's. The only thing about this that really didn't ring true at lal was his reaction on waking up. To calmly shower and go to work after waking up like that? I'd have liked more self-interogation. Other than that a good read. Thank-you." -- Sooz, Dalton, Cumbria, England. "i liked it. i found i could relate with the characters feelings from night. Also i thought it neat how on the surface the officer seemed happy, just like with most people i think" -- nikki, bc, canada. Would You Like To Swing On A Star by Lisa Petro (1) "I considered critiquing this piece, but since there was no sign of you asking for it, I didn't want to intrude and make you accidentally angry. However if you do want one, and end up receiving this message I can be contacted at [email protected] and I will do all I can to help you. Until then I will sing to you for no apparent reason: Would you like to swing on a star, carry moon beams home in a jar and be better off than you are, or would you rather be a fish?" -- JA St. George. The Elves And The Preacher by Norman A Rubin (1) "Definitely a "feel good" story!" -- Eileen Boutelle. Roch by Sunny (1) "You are a poor excuse for a human being.How have you escaped suicide with the warped mind you have. Someone should blow up your computer, because you do not write, you make swill " -- wendle, cleveland, Ohio. Mourning Glory by Sue (Sooz) Simpson (5) "Very powerful and memorable story, beautifully told. Evokes the pain of growing up and letting go of dreams and facing an ugly adult reality. One of your best (which is saying a great deal)." -- David Gardiner, London, England. "Thanks David this is one of my very early pieces, but it's always been one of my favourites. I'm reading at the ABCTales do and this is one of the pieces I'm considering. Wish I could make my mind up I haven't a clue what to read. Thank-you. " -- Sooz, Dalton-in-Furness, England, Cumbria. "Sooz, Another winner here mate! Read this story Sooz, the world has a way of stealing away the beauty and innocence of the child in all of us! The message here is painfully clear, well written, flows well and concludes with a surprising a powerful punch! Great Job!!! :-) " -- Monte, USA. " Homespun�s Review: Mourning GlorySue (Sooz) Simpson The raggedy little girl, who was really a beautiful princess but didn�t know it, walked into the golden meadow where all the delicate flowers turned their heads to the gilded sun. She called out the name �Glory� twice and her voice tinkled on the wind like the sweetest bell.And so he came.The magnificent stallion rose to the crest of the hill and came into view. He stood for a moment, a dark silhouette against the sun. His eyes cast over the meadow that he patrolled as his own, and he saw his beloved raggedy princess.And so he was motion.His flaxen mane and tail, crimped and flowing, blew behind *Ain�t nobody gonna know what the heck you�re talking about* him in the breeze that *the word �that� usually drags any sentence down when it is an extra-baggage word, rather than being useful* was purely of his making. The tensioned body blurred as he thundered down the meadow, his flight lightning fast while his gentle feet never harmed even a single flower head; for they were his flowers *This reeks more of fantasy rather than drama, where you�ve purposely placed it by the way. If it were based on any kind of reality those flowers would be mashed regardless.. A cone of exertion �A cone of exertion� bizarre description that doesn�t allow a reader to form an image in their mind.* steamed from each of his wide, soft nostrils, and his eyes never left the little girl who meant everything in the world to him.And so he was still. *Hopelessly broken sentence.He nickered �nickered� what�s that????* as he came to a stop in front of her, bowing his head and easing his velvet nose towards her stubby fingers.�Oh Glory, I have missed you.�The huge white stallion, fully *putting �fully� in there like that makes this passage read all wrong, I�d reword it.* two times taller than the raggedy princess, nuzzled her with all the gentleness of a kitten. She stood on tiptoe to run her hand down his warm, damp neck, his silken mane cascading over to tickle the back of her hand, the horse nuzzling his lips over the little girl�s leg. She giggled as the sticking-out *odd non-standard word, ill-placed.* hairs tickled her kneecap, and she let her face fall gently against his withers *keep in mind your audience. Is this piece written only for horse people who would know what �withers� is?* , listening to the great lungs as they drew in and expelled air.And so they were loved. *Broken and oddly worded sentence.The raggedy princess grabbed a handful of hair that was as soft as spun wool. �Ready boy?� she asked, and then she vaulted, light as confetti and as eliminate �as�* graceful as a ballerina, onto the stallion�s back. She leaned forward and hugged the gentle beast around his pure white neck. He pawed *horse�s have hoofs, can an animal void of paws, paw anything?* the ground, anxious to be off, flying towards whichever adventure awaited them. The raggedy princess was the best rider in the kingdom. She adjusted her seat, moving forward onto her pubic bone *this description has no place in this story �pubic bone�????, she dropped her lower leg, extending the calf muscle so that the horse�s body was in contact with her own from seat to ankle. She sat erect but loose, ready to cushion the pressure of the tumbling ground through the length of her spine, and her hands tingled as she loosely grasped the horse�s mane. She was ready. He was ready.And so they were ready. Oh look yet another broken sentence, that adds no information to the story, what a surprise.She twitched her calf muscle almost imperceptibly into the horse�s flank, but it was the only aid Glory needed to be given. Child and horse merged into the scenery of the enchanted kingdom and they outran the wind just for the pure joy of flight.Shortly they came to the King�s Castle. �Oh no Glory, the castle is on fire, whatever are we to do?� This line of dialogue comes out of left field. I�d put in some minor exposition about a fire, before erupting into dialogue.They charged across the lowered drawbridge, a guard of honour misspelled that, remove the �u�* of crackling flame overhead. *That line makes no sense.* Paying no heed to danger -- for together they were invincible -- they set about saving people�s lives. One by one the raggedy princess lifted the castle occupants to safety. Again and again they thundered over the blazing drawbridge carrying people to safety on Glory�s broad back.The Crown Prince was so grateful to the beautiful raggedy princess that at first he didn�t notice her stunning beauty. When he did, he fell instantly in love with her. He held her in his arms and swore that she would be his bride�just as soon as she was old enough!But for now the girl and her horse had more adventures to ride and more lives to save in the beautiful kingdom, and so they rode away into the sunlight. *Typically you say riding off into the sunset, sunlight fails to make much sense.~~The little girl breathed a contented sigh and snuggled into her father�s deep chest. She kept her eyes tightly closed so that she wouldn�t notice that the kingdom had vanished. She didn�t want to see the dingy, cold room, lit only by a single naked lightbulb. She wanted to continue riding her horse so as not to notice the fingers that rose from her knee. *�the finger that rose from her knee� ???She was the raggedy princess; that was her life, in the meadow, with the flowers and Glory. This was only her waking nightmare, something to be endured until next time her father breathed plumes of whisky and was �in the mood� to take her to the enchanted kingdom. What came after wasn�t so bad really; this is truly sick. I�m trying very hard to critique the story and only the story, but it is really hard not to make comments about what kind of mind would�ve written something like this.* it was better than the other bad stuff when he hit her until she couldn�t remember anything. No. it wasn�t so bad, because all the time that it happened he would promise that one day she would really own Glory. He would be her own real-life horse.Glory stayed with the raggedy princess through all the early years, and one day, one wonderful glorious day, she was given a date when Glory would be hers. On her sixteenth birthday he would be brought to the gate with a big yellow ribbon round his neck. That made the �thing� bearable for a few more years.They never found out about the �thing�. She never talked about that for many years, but they did find out about the other stuff, about him hurting her when he lost his temper and she was taken away. Glory went too, and the raggedy princess and her horse rode in the meadow and roamed the kingdom while the doctor spoke about detachment.He was allowed to write sometimes, *Who wrote sometimes?* and sometimes he did and sometimes he didn�t. The routine was always the same: in from lessons and get changed and then run down to the common room to see if there was any mail. The queue round the mail table was usually huge, and she would be pushed out of the way. It didn�t matter. Nothing mattered really.She didn�t need to look for her name on an envelope as the others did. He was the only person who ever wrote and then only about four times in five years, but every single day she would go through the routine of looking to see if there was a letter for her. When there was she was never surprised, just as she was not surprised if there was not, *Reword this* because it didn�t matter one way or the other really. On those few occasions when there was a letter, there it would be standing right out from all the other kids� letters, the sloping writing big and flamboyant; the showman on display. She knew how it would begin.�To my Dearest Darling Daughter.� And it always signed off with�All my Love and XXX�s Your Ever Loving Dad.� *I just though you should know that this line reminds me greatly of the Fantastic Four�s Thing, where he says �I�m the ever loving Thing.� Do you really want to confuse the two?It never varied. She would read the letter over until the paper wasted beneath her hands. This was not to glean every word, or to search for love in the carefully blotted ink, but merely to have something to read. It didn�t really matter what. They had stopped her from reading. Initially she had spent too much time reading. In fact she had spent all her free time reading, never talking or interacting with anyone, just reading. It didn�t matter what really, anything would do.She carried his letter full of woe in her pocket, taking it out and reading it although she knew every word, every syllable and every punctuation mark off by heart. Then she would carefully fold it up, slot it into its envelope and put it back in her pocket. She would count to a hundred and then take the envelope out of her pocket, carefully read the letter through and then fold it up and put it away again.The letters would tell her that he thought he was going to die soon. He always said that he was going to die soon. She didn�t want him to die soon. He couldn�t die soon. He had promised to buy Glory for her on her sixteenth birthday; after that it didn�t matter really, but he couldn�t die yet. So she continued to read his letter and to worry about him dying soon.There would always be a paragraph about Glory. This was her favourite favorite* bit. �Have saved a carrot for Glory� he would say. That meant that *eliminate �that�* he was going to buy the horse didn�t it? He wouldn�t save a carrot for a horse that wasn�t coming one day, would he?*Nowhere in North America that I know of would they allow a known child-abuser to have �any� contact with his/her abused child.* She was released from that hateful place three days before her sixteenth birthday. For three days she went to stay with temporary foster parents; her fifteenth set to date. And then a placement was found for her in a half-way house if she wanted it.�Ooh,� said the foster �Mother�, who�s name she couldn�t remember, �that�ll be nice dear. Just think, all those other young people your age starting out with their whole lives ahead of them. How exciting eh?�She chose not to take the placement. She was an adult now. Free of the welfare state. There was a provision order against him going anywhere near her. But she went to him. It was her birthday. She had dreamed of this day since she was six years old and Glory had first become real.He wasn�t tied to the gate yet. No magnificent white stallion with a pretty yellow bow. Someone must be delivering him. He would come soon. Today was the day.Her father was drunk, she made him some lunch. She hadn�t seen him in over five years. He hadn�t changed. She waited for him to mention Glory. Surely he must know it was her sixteenth birthday today. He hadn�t really known who she was, but it didn�t matter really as long as he had remembered to buy Glory.�Dad?��Yes?��When�s Glory coming?�He laughed. He laughed until he hawked, *He became a hawk???* and then he spat a huge length of cloying phlegm into the back of the open fire. It hung on the flue-pull like some malignant epiglottis *This word is going to be far too highbrow for the average reader. Who are you targeting this piece to?* swinging in a blackened throat. She watched it transfixed.�them psy�psy � psy-cho wotsits said you was nuts. It was a fairytale you stupid bitch. Don�t you know that? It was just a story. Jesus! You are one stupid bastard aren�t you? It was just a story. Hey and don�t think you�re staying here, I had enough of you when you were a whining kid. Go on, bugger off.�The raggedy princess lay beside the still form of the beautiful white stallion. His chest was stained red from the spear that the black knight had killed him with. The knight rode away on his black horse, laughing. The raggedy princess hugged Glory and wept ten years of misery upon his neck. And so she was alone. " -- Cam Davis. "Firstly homespun thank you for taking the time to review my story. I agreed with maybe a fifth of what you said ... but hey it's my story so I'm allowed to! I found your tone insulting, your ego immense, and the world you live in to be far too pretty to allow an abuse-victim anywhere near. How the hell dare you call me sick for wirting about a subject that I know inside and out.In my opinion and it's only my opinion but this is one of the best things I have ever witten because it's written from life and truth .. and if it's not pretty enough for your clean litle world then I'm so very sorry. Shit happens lady (or man) ... and this is my way of dealing with it. Thanks Cam. " -- Sooz, Dalton-in-Furness, England, Cumbria. Mortar Doesn't Breathe. by Sue (Sooz) Simpson (2) "Funny 1�s Review: Bilbo, Bilbo, Bilbo the Birthday Clown!" -- Cam Davis. "Ehmm..m. Sehr gut Seite! Ich sage innig..!:) bmw" -- BMW, ..., ..., .... Making My Way Back To You. by Sue (Sooz) Simpson (4) "Very well-drawn central character and a clever compressed, almost stream-of-consciousness style of writing from inside the head of the main protagonist. Her feelings of guilt and anger and her inability to confront her son with the true consequences of his carelessness are all beautifully portrayed. But then the author goes for a slightly pinned-on supernatural ending which I thought wasn't necessary and didn't improve the story. I thought there was more than enough in the inner life of the mother without the trick ending which seemed to lower the tone somewhat." -- David Gardiner, London, England. "Thanks David, this one is personal and every word up until the ending is just as it happened. I think I wanted the ending to be true, my little fairy tale. I still feel guilty about Jinny she was only ten months old. " -- Sooz, Dalton-in-Furness, England, Cumbria. " Achy�s Review: Making My Way Back To You.Sue (Sooz) Simpson Making My Way Back To You�SHUT THE DOOR� *It is incorrect to put words all in caps unless it is something that is being read off something like �STORE SALE� or �CAUTION POLICE LINE DON�T CROSS!� In normal exposition and dialogue using all caps gives the appearance of shouting, which is not something you want, even if your character �is� shouting. It is best just to indicate in the exposition that the character is shouting.How many times had she yelled that over the last two weeks? She smiled as the two boisterous seven-year-olds came hurtling into the house. Good job of indicating just how the boys were boisterous with an action�Can we have a snack and a drink please Mum, we�re staaaaarving. Maybe someone in this group will be able to say with more definitiveness, but I believe when you wish to stretch out a word, you need to use hyphens. Maybe, maybe not, does anyone else want to clarify? Anybody? Mike? Shalomar?* � This was her son Marty�s *offset Marty�s with commas* usual greeting.�Umm� backed up *this is kind of like using �he yawned.� I�ve never heard anyone yawn anything, and I�ve never heard anyone back up anything.* Carl �My mum says we�ve eaten her out of house `an home�She grinned at the two lads as she busied herself making a future pile of washing up *A fellow countryman I see. I was born in Dover, and lived in Liverpool until I turned 19 when I took a job with an American firm. I�m 38 now, so it�s been awhile since I�ve been there. Obviously there will be no way for you to reply to this question, but I�ll ask it anyway. Still abysmal weather as ever in the Queen�s country hey?* BEFORE the evening meal. It�s true what they say, she mused lads do only stop eating long enough to givecheek.She was so happy that Marty had found himself a friend. They had been here fourmonths now and the natives were luke-warm at best and downright unfriendly ifhonesty were to be uttered. *It�s interesting how you put that, I�ve learned to say �if truth be told� myself* Marty had met Carl down the prom, *I�m curious, do you mean promenade, or prom/ball. In the U.S. highschools put on dance ceremonies also called proms.* while walking Judythe dog *surround �the dog� in commas* two weeks ago, and the two had become inseparable. Sally had also becomefriendly with Val, Carl�s mum, *Begin new sentence.* it was shaping up into a nice foursome. Unfortunatelyas sods *�* law would decree the friendship was to be short lived as that coming weekendVal and Carl were moving half way across the country. Coincidentally they weremoving just a few miles from where Sal and Marty had just moved. *I think it might be a good idea to add �from� on the end of this sentenceThe pair of loveable reprobates wolfed down their roast chicken and sweetcornsandwiches, munched happily on melting chocolate biscuits, and guzzled half a litre ofdiet coke. Before scraping their chairs back from the table noisily the word �scraping� pretty well takes care of things, so drop �noisily� since to me it is only an irritance of a word.* , and announcing atthe usual jacked decibel level that they were going out.�Not before you wash your hands and faces you�re not.� *The mother must say this, but you give no indication that she did.The lads swapped that long-suffering �Oh why were we inflicted with mothers� look the way you have it written it indicates that the �look� belongs to more than one mother. I don�t believe this is what you intended to indicate at all. You may have meant that the boys gave a look regarding mothers, but that is not what you have said* ,and grudgingly slouched over to the sink. Their aversion to soap and water becomingapparent as they fell into competition to see who could become, clean enough tosatisfy Attilla-the-Mum, while actually using the least amount of soap, and remaining asdry as possible. *How old are these lads anyway?The water not only didn�t dampen their faces, but it left their spirits untouched too,and soon they were battling for position as they ran headlong down the hall to thefront door.�SHUT THE DOOR BEHIND YOU PLEASE!� The bellow like a cow in labour, I should point out once again, then if this piece is ever intended for an American market, publishing houses do not have a fleet of editors at your disposal, and they do not take you by the hand and help you to edit for suitability of the market. Harsh, yes, but that is the reality of it. So if you do submit to American market you must have perfect copy and must be well-versed in American English. This will include various things from dropping the �u� in many of your words such as �labour� and �humour� to saying �Mom� instead of �Mum.� I�m not precisely sure where you can get help with this, but I�d strongly suggest you do some footwork on the subject if you have intentions to publish on this side of the Pond. Many writers such as J.K. Rowlings did, so I bring up the point.* was almost a reflex action now. They lived on a mainroad, the garden improperly fenced, until the funds could be found to get the workdone. Marty had been coached over the months to shut the door behind him, to keepthe dog from making an untimely bid for freedom.She winced as she heard the resounding slam of the door as they blasted off down thedrive. She turned to the minor mountain of pots in the sink. Footsteps pounding down the hall.�Can we have the Super-Soaker out please Sue.� *separate your exposition from your quote.* Carl�s face was upturned with that pleading expression that *eliminate second �that* all young children mastered by the time they were four.Marty�s face pressed up *eliminate �up�* against the patio doors, *Begin new sentence.* he�d walked down the path to the back door.Two boys bustling *suggest eliminating �bustling�* and shoving as they went off down the back garden to Carl�s house.The *They* were gone.A sickening screech of brakes, of tires, bracing themselves for traction on the busy mainroad. *This is obviously placed here like this in order to startle, but it makes for bad grammar since it seems to jump out of nowhereStanding in the dining room...Knowing. I�m assuming it is the mother standing, but you don�t indicate. I�m also assuming that the mother is knowing something tragic has occurred. Please notice that I�m doing a great deal of assuming.* A numb second, the last numb second for sometime. A second of wishing she didn�thave to go, didn�t have to move, didn�t have to leave this calming silence.Running. Running full pelt *Even being British I�m not familiar with your use of this word. Apparently you intend it to mean �fast,� but typically the word �pelt� in all English uses from Canada to the U.S. to Australia to South Africa means the skinned hide of an animal, which hardly seems appropriate here.* through the house. Down the drive. Straight into the road.The man standing by the open car door shaking *your tense has changed from past to present* his head.�It just came from nowhere.�The lady already weeping loud tears, hiding her face in her hands.Kneeling, to pick up my soft, sleek bundle. Got to get rid of them, these murderingstrangers. Must make them go.At least it isn�t the kids.At least it isn�t the kids. *The last four paragraphs are cluttered and make very little sense. You cannot tell who is doing/thinking what, where, or when�I�m a nurse� Sally said. Small, mirthless laugh � Not a lot of difference between adog and a person, she�s fine, its not serious. She�s just in shock. Few minor bumps, A split second assessment? Wow, is she a nurse or God? How does she know the extent of the dog�s injury just from a moment�s glance. Is she a human x-ray machine?* I�llget the vet. No please don�t feel ... It was entirely my fault. Please don�t worry. She�llbe Ok�. Halfway back up the drive with her in my arms. Forced to take their phonenumber. Promise to ring later. *The problem I really had with this scene, is that you did indicate through foreshadowing that Sally was afraid her dog might get out, and something bad happen, but never throughout this entire scene, do you indicate that �this� is �her� dog. It could easily be a neighbor�s.* �Yes I promise, yes, yes of course I�ll let you know�Sanctuary.She doesn�t have to pretend anymore. *Odd confusion of tenses* She lays the dying dog gently on the bed in thedownstairs bedroom. Dog licks her hand. Stares at the blood dripping from her soiled hands. A shake of the head to clear the threatening fugue. Ring the vet. Blood stainedreceiver.�Please hurry.�Lying on the bed cradling the dog. Respiration�s so weak. Head loose, held steadyagainst her breast.�Please hurry.� Respiration�s gone.�No, oh please god NO.�Laying her flat on the bed. Head to the dog�s breast, watching for a rising chest.Listening for the slightest wheeze of air. Licking the palm of her hand and running itdown her cheek. *Terribly confusing even for the most diligent of reader to muddle through. I kept getting the impression that Sally was licking the dog* Face to snout. Waiting to feel the coolness of air on her damp cheek.Nothing.Tilting the head, pulling forward the protruding tongue. finger swipe of the mouth.Blood, so much blood. Turning her head to the side, a large intake of air, then covering the whole of Judy�ssnout and mouth with her own mouth, a deep steady exhalation into the dog. Breathingprecious Oxygen into Judy, feeling the lungs inflate.Spitting a mouthful of blood onto the cream bedroom carpet. Moving from the dead mouth, placing her left-hand *the left palm would obviously be on the hand, so you can eliminate �hand�* palm down over the right and lacing her fingers. Where?Where the hell to compress.�Just below the sternum, come on girl think, think, not too hard now, easy as if shewere a child, not too much force.�She placed her entwined hands on the still warm silky *�still� �warm� �silky� far too many adjectives* underside of her limp dog.Fifteen rapid compression�s *Ask yourself why you placed an apostrophe in that word* and then back to the mouth for one steady respiration. Stop.Look. Listen Repeat.Fifteen minutes. Twenty. The heart isn�t going to start. Doesn�t matter. Don�t worry just keep oxygen flowing to the brain. Keep the body working.�Where�s the bloody vet.��Cough, Sorry Cough, heavy traffic. *Muddled?????* Got here as soon as I could. Nothing more to bedone. She�s gone I�m afraid. Forty-eight pounds please. Sorry�She was tempted to drop the money to the floor and watch the parasite scramble for it.He never even touched her. Never even tried.Visitors. Too late to stop them, already on their way. Beef Wellington burned black.House smells of charred remains. Judy wrapped in sheet in the shed. A night of stiltedsentences, broken conversation. *In an attempt to make this �quick� you�ve made it very muddledMarty had been through such a difficult couple of years. The divorce, The divorce was disowned???* being disownedby his father. Moving, Moving, Moving. Trying to settle, trying to find �home�. Toomuch for him to cope with. Can�t possibly tell him the truth, and yet she had never liedto him before. If one day the truth came out, how would he ever trust her again?The lads come pounding in.�Where�s Jude?�Truth. Lie. Tick Tock. Truth. Lie. Tick Tock.Too long a pause. Answer him. Answer him dammit!Can hardly stand to look at Carl. So innocent so unaware. She feels the anger wellingup, rising like gorge in her thorax, and she swallows it down. Only a child. He�s onlya child. Bloody super-Soaker.�Mum� Fear whining through the word. Needing re-assurance. �Mum where�s Judy?��Well my darling,� herding them out of the room before they see the bloodstain by thebed behind the door. Holding his hand and guiding him to the stairs. She sits and pullshim into the protective circle of her arm. Carl flanks her on the other side and leans into be cuddled too, sensing drama. Two scared little boys. She wants to push the �otherchild� away. Stamps down hard on the urge. Just a child. Stop blaming him.Wrapping an arm round each of them and drawing them down onto the stairs besideher. Adopting silly voice.�Well lads, that Judy�s been a silly billy, she�s had a right adventure. You�ll neverbelieve what she�s gone and done to herself. I left the front door open didn�t I?� *It sounds as if the mother has gone completely mad�Oh Muuuum.��I know, I�m a Dunderklunken.� Our made up word, meaning daft and ditsy, If you feel the need to have to explain things to a reader in a way that is self-evident than that is not good* but very loveable. The two pairs of cleareyes still showing fear, but hopeful, trusting, it was going to be OK, Mum was goofingaround so it can�t be serious.�...Anyway she ran out into the road, thought she was super dog, and just ran into acar outside. Oh it�s nothing much, just a sore leg, but she�s had to go to the vets, andshe�ll be staying for a day or two until she�s better. *There is no end-quote on this sentence, so it must go on forever right?No Marty, your best mate there, left the door wide open, didn�t I say? Didn�t I say a thousand times to close the door. Stupid child. Stupid damned child. Swallowing down the anger, smiling. Just a child. Why should it matter if he is just a child? At worst a child wouldn�t understand. The truth hurts but children too have not only a responsibility to hear it, but a basic human right to.A little tear or two from Marty, and then a big watery smile, after more assurances thatshe would be all right.�She�ll be all right mate, My dad stood on my dogs foot `an she didn�t die, come onlets play dustbin men.�That was enough for him to take on board for now. In a few days when Carl and Valhad left, that would be soon enough to tell him of the plans to re-home Judy for herown safety. How she�d be going to a farm, with lots of fields and open places to play.Doggie heaven. Just a little slice of Doggie heaven.Party atmosphere. A second meal thrown together in shock, forgot two of theguests are Veggies. Third time lucky a hurried visit to the Chippy. Laughing a littletoo loudly. Explaining about the daft dog hurting herself and the meal being ruinedwhile she drove her to her �holiday� at the vets. �Oh yes of course, She�ll be fine,nothing serious.��Nothing serious, only death.�A deep feeling of shame, not being able to tell even close friends what really happened.Sitting round the table, six bottles of Melon Breezer. Swallowing down again the globof emotion that threatened to vomit itself all over the assembled. Cracking a sick joke,that they should be re-named Capillary Breezers. The colour of blood. The colour ofthe blood staining the bedroom carpet. Laughing heartily. As usual the clown. Wantingthem all to just go away. Wanting to let the mask slip that�s a very unusual phrase �let the mask slip.� I believe I�ve heard it only once before, not sure where though, perhaps it was your work as well.* . Wanting to slide down a walland let the force of emotion that was almost suffocating her out.Marty�s asleep. They�ve gone. It�s cool in the garden, the moon bearing witness to herdeception. She�s stiff and unyielding as Sal lays her beneath the roses. Sitting again at the dining table. Collar smelling of leather and Judy, name-tagproclaiming the beloved name. Half a bottle of Vodka, its level receding as the tearsincrease.Thursday had started like any other. Usual routine of school, work, chores. It hadended in misery. Friday and Saturday were bearable. Just. A facade through the daygiving way to wretched tears at night. Sunday night, lying in bed. Tossing and turning.Too many times asking when Jude would be home. Tomorrow after school, she�d tellhim Judy had gone to the farm.A scratch at the door. Another, urgent, insistent scrabbling to get in. A yap.Dreaming. Got to be dreaming�Moving as if in a trance to the door. Knowing who was at the other side.She came in thinner, collarless, and hungry. *Alright, one of us has gone insane, and I�d like to believe it is not me. Isn�t the dog dead?For the rest of her days she walked with a limp, but she was the same old Judy. Stillwent berserk if you said �Risk it for a biscuit� or �Ta ta�s� Still gave high fives withthe grace and elegance of a ballerina. Still deigned to give Sal three inches of her bed,as she lay beside her. The only difference was the grudging respect she had gained forthe road outside the house, realising it seemed that she is not superdog.They talked occasionally of digging up the Rose beds. Marty said he�d do it in summerbreak from collage, college* build a conservatory there. Sal said that she liked the roses, butmaybe it�s just that she was scared of what she�d find under there.Or perhaps what she wouldn�t find! -------------- Bob the Slob�s Review: �Can we have the Super-Soaker out please Sue.� (OK, shouldn�t there be a question mark on the end of this, since it is a question? And isn�t Super-Soaker supposed to have one of those TM widgets on the backside of it? And how in the heck did the woman go from being called Sal/Sally to Sue?) -------------- Flapjack�s Review: Bob, I can�t say for certain if this was intentional or accidental on the writer�s part, but it could just be a variant on the name. You know like when you call John, Jack :-) or James, Jim, or in your case Robert, Bob. --------------- Bob the Slob�s Review: I know all about that Jack, but if that�s the case it is poorly indicated, and I don�t think it works in such a short piece to use different names for the same person. It�s OK to use Ms. Daniels instead of Patty all the time in a short fic, but I don�t think calling the same Patty, Barbara, makes any sense at all. ---------------- Shalomar�s Review: A great deal of clipped lines that made for confusing reading, and a really creepy wrap-up with a living-dead dog. " -- Cam Davis. "Thanks all, the name thing wasn't intentional it was my brain going on a ditz-out-walkabout when it shoud have been concentrating. Sooz http://members.lycos.co.uk/suesimpson/ " -- Sooz, Dalton-in-Furness, England, Cumbria. Madness Becomes You by Sue (Sooz) Simpson (4) "Though the story hinges on the description of the mad women, and this is grotesque and well written, it would have been more compelling if a story of how she got into her situation was weaved into the description of the character. " -- Sally Field. "Hiya Sally, Yes I could have gone on and on with this one, but I've often been accused of waffleing on too long, so I like to have a mix of longer and shorter pieces. At the time I thought that this one could have benefitted rom some history, but managed to hold its own without it. I suppose her story isn't so uncommon. I see her as being used and abused by a string of men who didn't deserve her, maybe she liked a drop too much whiskey in the morning before breakfast, or maybe one day a little bit of her brain went on holiday and she turned overnight. you decide :-) " -- Sooz, Dalton-in-Furness, England, Cumbria. "Archmage Darksphere�s Review: Its kinda...scary. :( shudders and tries to set mind on doing homework " -- Cam Davis. "It's terrifying because some people are locked into just that kind of life with no way out. I hope I wrote her well because she deservees to be told. http://members.lycos.co.uk/suesimpson/ " -- Sooz, Dalton-in-Furness, England, Cumbria. Little Bird by Sue (Sooz) Simpson (2) "Cartoon Hero�s Review: *A story about a hooker, my favorite kind.* Little Bird Sue (Sooz) Simpson Brutally it forced her back into the meagre *meager* shelter of the wall and flattened against her body, mauling her in exactly the same way that others would do later that night. Dan had always had a soft heart. As a child he brought in numerous broken birds; *Since it�s a semicolon and not a period, reduce to �little�* Little fledglings with smashed wings and rapid heartbeats. He pulled up at the kerb-side *curbside. Some of the phrases, such as �Sometimes Sapphire ended the week with the salt of thirty dicks on her lips.,� �Dan was ashamed as he felt his penis pushing stiffly against the front of his pants.� and this gem ��Fucked up jerk�, she yelled at the man�s back, before sniffing and allowing the collected snot to slide thickly down her throat.� will not be appealing for a general audience.* " -- Cam Davis. "I don't think my writing will ever be for general tastes. I always try to write whatever I'm writing just the way I see it. I always believe in being true to your character and that means realism. Thanks :-) " -- Sooz, Dalton-in-Furness, England, Cumbria. Knockers by Sue (Sooz) Simpson (4) "Well-drawn characters brought together in a situation which seems familiar and predictable and then veers off in an unexpected direction right at the end. Has the quality of a parable about it. Very well written. The only thing I would say is that I'm not sure if the surprise ending actually added anything to the story. It was already developing in a satisfying way and the inversion at the end seemed to spoil somewhat what had gone before." -- David Gardiner, London, England. "Thanks David .. oh and I'd love to read your new story, I'll write to you about it later. I'm not sure where 'that other place' is hanging out now, it had a few changes. So if you could send me the latest link please. I'll bring the fatted calf with me :-) " -- Sooz, Dalton, England, Cumbria. "Hummel Collector�s Review: Awful, awful, awful with all of that dialectal speech. It hurt to read such horribly phonetically spelled words, I couldn�t get past the skewed words to read the actual story. ------- Archmage Darksphere�s Review: Another interesting piece... actually i liked most of the pieces Ms Sue wrote. ----------- Albe�s Review: I enjoyed this story. I saw a few misplaced words here or there, but still the story is well written. Question: Is Mrs. Hale supposed to be British or Irish? If so, the dialectal speech fits this character perfectly. --------- Hummel Collector�s Review: It doesn�t matter the ethnicity of the character. Dialectal speech is always wrong, with the only exception being slang. ----------- Snickers� Review: I agree with KB, Sooz writes some very interesting pieces. The dialect is very good. Overall I found it well done, but have included a few minor points: The weeds were lying in wait across the path, conspiring as much with the mountainous dog turds as with the enemy lurking behind the dingy curtains for a chance to cause trouble. *We never did see the tell-tale dog ... and is the enemy waiting to cause trouble or trying to avoid it?* She tiptoed through the debris, configuring her features into a serene tableau that gave the impression that nothing would shake this woman, that whatever life -- and in particular this sodding job -- threw at her she would handle without batting an eyelid or disturbing a hair on her totally capable head. The officious-looking woman with the ledger of doom *a little too much all at once. Can we break up these two descriptions?* rapped hard on the doorknocker *she knocked on the doorknocker? Maybe with the doorknocker?* : Rat-a-tat tat. She waited, imagining the occupants scurrying round like little mice hiding under sofas and beds in their attempt to appear out. Harder still this time: RAT-A-TAT TAT; the same tune percussed *percussed might be a strange verb here, it makes sense, its very descriptive, but I think I might go with something a little more common, perhaps rang out?* into a hundred doors twice a week. Still she waited, painfully aware of the heel of her too-new shoe rubbing relentlessly against the tender flesh of her foot; there would be blisters on her blisters by the time she got home. Oh, the sheer ecstasy and joy that a cup of milky coffee and a long hot soapy bubble bath would bring. ---------- Raqad�s Review: Knockers The weeds were lying in wait across the path, conspiring as much with the mountainous dog turds *This description is very awkward--it look me several times to figure out what was going on.* as with the enemy *"as with" is awkward phrasing, and it seems a little out of character for our collector to think of her as an enemy. nor does the client end up causing trouble per se, so a misleading way to introduce...* lurking behind the dingy curtains for a chance to cause trouble. She tiptoed through the debris, *In fact, if you skip the first paragraph and just begin with this, the act of her tiptoeing through dog turds would be quite vivid.* configuring her features into a serene tableau that gave the impression that nothing would shake this woman, that whatever life -- and in particular this sodding job -- threw at her she would handle without batting an eyelid or disturbing a hair on her totally capable head.*This seems to be a breaking of the voice, like someone else describing her. She may be capable, but it should be shown from her POV.* The officious-looking woman with the ledger of doom *Again, a breaking of voice, unless she's thinking mockingly of herself a bit, but that isn't clear.* rapped hard on the doorknocker: Rat-a-tat tat. She waited, imagining the occupants scurrying round like little mice hiding under sofas and beds in their attempt to appear out. Harder still this time: RAT-A-TAT TAT *I really like this--the big Rat . . . which signifies a polite sound, only loud.; the same tune percussed into a hundred doors twice a week. Still she waited, painfully aware of the heel of her too-new shoe rubbing relentlessly against the tender flesh of her foot; there would be blisters on her blisters by the time she got home. Oh, the sheer ecstasy and joy that a cup of milky coffee Didn't you say "cuppa" before? I liked that better.* and a long hot soapy bubble bath would bring. The door was finally flung open, the tenant *I'm assuming she would know her name, going there to collect and all. It'd add a lot to the story to give her a great name, and make it more personal.* obviously realising her �keep quiet and she�ll think we�re not in� ploy had not worked, as indeed it had not worked on the previous two occasions that the collector *Again, by the end of the story, I'm really annoyed we still don't even know who she is.* had called. The lady of the house had decided direct confrontation was the only way to go. *Maybe, because of so many comments to herself, you could incorporate the collector's thoughts instead of just telling us, which you do do some below.* �Y�ll `ave t� come back next week, Ah can�t pay yer.� The collector looked down ominously into her ledger. �Well Mrs. Hale, you did faithfully promise a payment this week. We can�t carry on like this you know. You are now quite seriously in arrears *I love that word! I can't imagine trying to collect from someone and using it. It always makes me laugh..� �Well I�ve got a fella bringin` me some money next week. I�ll giy yer summat then.� While too much dialogue is a bad thing, muddles things up a bit, I like its use here--like she really does talk muddled and kind of difficult to understand.* �I�m sorry Mrs. Hale *Ok, ok, so there is a name, didn't notice first time . . ., but I�m afraid that is just not good enough. This is the third week you�ve tried to send me away without a payment, and if I don�t get a result my boss is going to think I�m not up to the job, now isn�t he?� I like this.* �Listen, yer snotty old cow, I `AVEN�T GOT ANY MONEY! So what yer gonna do about it?� Hmm, now this was a good question, and one that was rapidly occurring to the collector too. What was she going to do about it? *. . . . etc etc etc.* Her feet were bare, kept warm only by the overspilling mounds of flesh on her lower legs. Her ankles had long since disappeared and her purple legs were severely ulcerated. Dirt was ingrained into the creases of the lady�s neck, and her overshot jowls had caused a nasty, sore-looking sweat rash to spread under her chins. *An entirely too adept description! ugh! :]* *etc etc again . . .* Her little joke was unappreciated. �You cheeky bitch� the other woman blustered. �I�m going to knife yer in a minute if you don�t just piss off.� The collector again looked down at her little black book, this time in an effort not to grin. She felt the muscles at the corners of her mouth trying their damnedest to defy her and lead her into trouble. The thought of this tired lady pulling some manky old bread knife on her with last year�s ketchup still clinging to it amused her *Very well done little confrontation. Amusing yet a very realistic exchange.. Her eyes glanced down towards her pocket, and she thought about the Balisong in her pants, a Japanese butterfly knife with an eight-inch blade. If she concentrated hard on it, she could even feel its reassuring weight rubbing against her outer thigh. In this area, gangs of youths watched the collectors, learned their rounds and then lay in wait on cold dark rainy nights to relieve them of their night�s takings. The bosses were on the point of laying all the woman collectors off; three times in the last year at the company�s expense, extravagant bouquets of flowers had been delivered to wards in the local hospital where some unfortunate woman was recuperating. This was one collector who was not going to be their next victim I like this characterization versus her being taken later.. The thought that the lady could pull a knife on her before she could draw and prepare her �Balli� was a funny one. But that sounded cocky, and that is not how our collector Our? Another breaking of the voice.* wanted to appear to her clients. She had struggled enough in her own life to know that life isn�t always easy, and the pits of debt are lined with slippery mucus that makes it almost impossible to crawl out. She wanted to try and help her clients out of those pits. Wanted to befriend them, she hoped that she would be approachable, that if someone couldn�t �pay up or else� one week then it would be all right to leave it until the next. Parting with some of the pittance their benefits allowed was never going to be a happy experience for these people, but she hoped that she could help make it a painless one. At that moment a feral urchin of about twelve squeezed passed his mother�s frame, and glared balefully at the collector. *Good dialogue with her and the boy--good way to show all characters in an unexpected exchange.* *Do they really call them knockers? Do they still come to the house? That's great!* �What the hell are you?� said the client, �Florence Nightingale of the knockers?� �No I just like kids and shoes.� �Eh?� said the client. �Well, if he cleans the path, my new shoes aren�t going to get ruined are they?� *Great! ;]* For the first time the woman�s grin was genuine. �So,� said the collector, *Watch punctuation. "* are you ready to talk now?� The woman bristled. �Listen.�*"Listen," said . . .* Said the collector �You give me just one measly pound, and then I�ll tell you why you feel good about it.� The client laughed bitterly. �So you think I�m going to feel good about giving you money?� �Yep, it�ll be the best quid you�ve spent all week.� �Go on then. I�m biting.� The client�s eyes had opened with a look of interest, and her retort showed for the first time a shrewd and nippy *Great word.* intelligence that had previously been hidden beneath the heavily cowled eyes. �Okay. You owe just short of three grand. I know you are on benefits and so that must seem like an insurmountable amount to pay back. So you hide from it; *Commas, not semi-colons?* avoid it; push it from your mind and cover your worry with a tough �couldn�t care less� attitude.� She held up her hand to stem the woman�s angry response. �If you paid me just one pound, it�s the first step in getting this bloody millstone from around your neck. Gradually, week by week, you will see the balance come down, and you can feel good that you have the self-respect to want to get out of the debt you�ve landed in. Of course it�d take years to pay off three grand at one pound a week, so later when you feel more confident about it we can increase the payments, and before you know it you won�t have to suffer my ugly mug on your doorstep every Monday night.� *etc etc the end Great dialogue! I really enjoyed this--sorry if that was more input than you wanted. I get a little long winded. I love the British setting--you didn't have to write it out for us, just using regular words and nothing contrived, but it adds a lot to collector's character and the feel of the story. The only thing that really struck me was the first paragraph and some of the voicing, but it was great. Thanks.* ---------- Edwind�s Review: *Well done. POV questions: Most of this piece reads third person limited, but there are a couple lines that shift to third person omnicient.* The officious-looking woman with the ledger of doom rapped hard on the doorknocker: Rat-a-tat tat. The lady of the house had decided direct confrontation was the only way to go. *Where your main piece is POV Sue, this one paragraph jarringly switches to Mrs. Hale:* The client leaned against the back of the closed front door and fingered the rumpled twenty-pound note in her hand. Pete was turning into a right chip off the old block, that do gooding, frigging` collector hadn?t felt a thing. She must remember to tell his dad about it next visiting day at the nick. *One sentense jarred me as convoluted and hard to understand:* ?Okay. You owe just short of three grand. I know you are on benefits and *so that must seem like* an insurmountable amount to pay back. *In this one case there is the question of plural or singular:* She had struggled enough in her own life to know that life isn?t always easy, and the pits of debt are *were?* lined with slippery mucus that makes it almost impossible to crawl out. *The only other comment I have is about the placement of commas. I would recommend a general re-read with this in mind. A few examples:* this woman, that whatever life -- and in particular this sodding job -- threw at her *,* she would handle without batting an eyelid or She smiled at the client *--,--* with what she hoped was a look that said that although she was sympathetic to the woman?s plight, she was going to take no messing from her. Of course it?d take years to pay off three grand at one pound a week, so later when you feel more confident about it we can increase the payments, and before you know it *,* you won?t have to suffer my ugly mug on your doorstep every Monday night.? " -- Cam Davis. "Wow a real mis-match of good and bad here. Just goes to show that what one person hates another one likes and writing really is down to personal taste at the end of the day. Thanks all and thanks Cam." -- Sooz, Dalton, England, Cumbria. Just The Ticket by Sue (Sooz) Simpson (1) "Just the Ticket, was too big for my group to review, sorry." -- Cam Davis. I've Always Wanted To Write... But! by Sue (Sooz) Simpson (4) "Interesting, I sense alot of happiness, cimplaining perhaps a bit belabored. Your ending is very inspiring and happy...good luck" -- mary. "Thanks Mary. Is there anything you would like me to review? " -- Sooz, Dalton, England, Cumbria. "Gary Robson�s Review: *Wow. That's deep for so early in the morning �grin�. The sentiment is good. The words are very good. You use a lot of evocative phrases. The punctuation and sentence structure need a lot of work. Here are some examples:* ...there is room for everyone. For many religions, many creeds, colours, and peoples in this vast world of ours. *Since the second part of this is a sentence fragment, why not attach them with different punctuation instead of breaking it there? Also, what does "peoples" mean in this context?* How can I write clean the filth, and squalor and decay. *Either a comma or an "and" after filth, but not both. And shouldn't this end in a question mark?* ...someone who has hit the bottom, The pain in those eyes... *If you're using a comma, don't capitalize the next word.* I can write on a page �Homes for all�... *Should be a comma after "page." This applies in several other places as well.* ...Help me please� What nightmares roam their rooms... *Need a period after please, and a comma before it.* Is it possible to write away peoples pain? *"Peoples" should be "People's."* " -- Cam Davis. "Thank you for your time and trouble. Thanks Cam. " -- Sooz, Dalton-in-Furness, England, Cumbria. Is The Toilet Roll Half Full Or Half Empty by Sue (Sooz) Simpson (2) "Darksphere�s Review: Yyea, its not bad. Who had never felt that way? " -- Cam Davis. "Thanks to you and Cam. " -- Sooz, Dalton, England, Cumbria. Airport Interrogation by Bryan Caron (1) "I like your story, it needs some trimming, sentences rearranged to make it smoother, but it's a great story." -- Shelley, Fullerton, Ca, USA. A Story With No Beginning by Bryan Caron (1) "That was so cute! I liked the writer's fight with clich�s, because many writers have to battle this everyday. " -- Vianne-Marie Fortier, Philadelphia. A Date With Destiny by Stephanie Siegfred (1) "This is absolutely the best short story I've read since visiting this site. You are truly a wonderfully, gifted writer. Your story was very sad. The way that little girl was treated and sexually abused by her mother and father is enough to make anyone cry as well as reflect upon the evils of the world." -- Alberta , Atlanta . The Waiting Man by Dave Furniss (1) "Very enigmatic. Who was he - a madman, a paid assassin? We are left to draw our own conclusions. Powerful stuff," -- Moya Green, Tamworth, UK. The Heart Of The Storm by C G L Davies (3) "Hey - this is interesting. I like all of your stuff, really, it requires a reader to use his/her imagination... - by the way, A Chance Reunion made me cry! Good job :)" -- Brooklyn Ashes. "It might be worth it to you to seek out Branson Storm. He'd probably get a kick out of something poetic and 'storm' related.--The Advisor" -- JA St.George. "Ms. Davies, please allow me to thank you for your kindness in taking the time to read my work and, furthermore, for commenting on it with such afflatus. I have read your descriptive piece, �The Heart of the Storm�, and though I am no critic and have no ambitions toward critiquing works of other writers, as I am just a lowly writer myself, I will try to shed some light on your work that will hopefully be of some help to you. Before getting into the piece itself, I�d like you to know that the main impression I got from your writing was that you are a serious writer in youthful blossom, videlicet, you write for yourself and not for a particular market. In my opinion this is the only way to write. It is also the best way to avoid compromise and, therefore, mediocrity. Now, onward through the fog� �The Heart of the Storm�: I�m a bit confused as to how you folks in Wales judge the distance of a storm from your particular place on the planet. I say this because of the second and third sentence in the second paragraph, �Then once again a mighty crack of thunder then a low grumble. I counted six seconds before the lightning came again.� Sixth sentence same paragraph, �Suddenly I heard the thunder again and counted just two seconds before the thunder.� You may just be being descriptive, or there is most likely a reason for your counting the seconds of interim, as if to judge the distance of the storm. If the latter is so, the final word of the sixth sentence, �thunder� should be changed to �lightning�. For my own personal interest, is this the way storm distance is calculated in Wales, thunder-count-lightning? I am curious because here in Texas we count seconds between the initial strike of lightning and the crash of thunder. It has worked well all my life, but if the opposite works for you then, by all means, please fill me in. I would like to encourage you to do three things with your writing: 1. Avoid the obvious, i.e., �I began to think that the world wouldn�t really notice me if I was gone, except my friends and family of course.� When you ad, �� except my friends and family of course.� You�re placing an obvious in with a bold statement, thus taking away from the impact of your original thought of not being missed by the world. Also, you might remove the word �me� from the sentence, as the world cannot notice something that does not exist. 2. Steer clear of predictability at all costs. Please keep in mind that this is just my opinion, but the black cat seems a little too much, as though you are attempting to cover all the bases in your description. Instead of a black cat, you might try a boy from a nearby village, holding out in the rain in hopes of some acknowledgement from you and how you pity him because it would never work out between the two of you for whatever reason. 3. Rework your wording until you feel it says absolutely everything you wish in the most comprehensive and rhythmic way possible. Fourth paragraph, second sentence, �There was nobody about in cars driving along the main road outside my house like there normally were.� Again, this is my opinion only, but I would take the sentence that begins this paragraph, flip it and let it bleed into the one that follows, i.e., �Except for the rain, it was deathly still outside, not one car had passed along the normally busy road just outside my window.� My favorite part of this piece was your decision ��to tell everyone that I loved them more often in case I didn�t get a chance again.� To me this shows that you are one who can learn from the teachings of nature and that you were able to let something positive come into your life from something so overpowering as a �particularly vicious storm.� I see great promise in your work because, from this particular piece, you have written for your own satisfaction, as if your heart cries out to be heard, even if only heard by you. If this is so then continue down this path and fear not what others may say about your work. Allow necessity to be the inspiration for that which you write and your work will ultimately purify itself. Growth is a process that we cannot avoid; therefore we must embrace and nurture it. I hope that this has been of some help to you. Keep writing and know that my best wishes are with you. " -- STORM, TEXAS, USA. The Day I Killed Ryan Watts... by Lawrence Peters (3) "HAHA!! Nice one man =) the stuff I write is pretty morbid but it keeps me sane! The story is... intriguing, if only everyone could die in that way!" -- Ryan Watts, Bournemouth, UK. "LOL, ry's a friend of mine (dont argue ry) and I like this very much. check out my stuff if u like under the same name :)" -- C G L Davies. "LOL my name is ryuan watts as well when i googled my name this came up i was like wow someone really hates me " -- Ryan Watts, West Cornwall, Ct, USA. P.S.-I Love You by Pauline A White (1) "Good story idea, but you are very inconsistent. You take your reader all over the place. You should consider rewriting it with more concentration and breaking up your paragraphs. " -- firstborn. Peter by Nathaniel Perhay (2) "This is an interesting story but I advise you to check your spelling and punctuation as it all seems to run into each other a bit..otherwise keep it up. " -- C G L Davies. "I didn't read all of it, but it just sounded like a 12 year old wrote it for school. So maybe you could work on that, but i really don't know shit so i don't know." -- Moses M. Constable. One More Fallen' by Jordan S Wilson (1) "Good job! I like your story. Maybe you will recieve this review from me -- if you do let me know how!" -- Caitlin, Tigard, OR, USA. Noone To Nowhere by Alina Marquez (11) "This was a great story. The graphic imagery brought the scenes of the Greyhound sharply into focus. I think the authoress has a great and profitable career ahead of her." -- Hannah, Stillwater, OK. "I really think that this story has hit the spot. When it comes to a passing romance, this is the ultimate " if only " romance. It made me long to hop on the nearest Greyhound myself!" -- Debby, Manhatten, NY. "Dude! What a cool story! This story is the bomb! " -- Kevin, Perry, OK. "I really enjoyed this story, ja? Ich musse tell all of mein Fruende. Great story for an American!" -- Caroline, Munich, Bayern. "I really thought this here story was jist too cool. I done told all of my cousins that they should start saving there money fer a Greyhound trip!" -- Bonnie, Clyde , Arkansas. "I thought that this story was so romantic! It almost made me cry the first two times I read it! I'm so inspired by it. It gives me hope that someday I too will have a grand romance." -- Cynthia, Beverly Hills, CA. "You know, no matter how many times I read this story, it doesn't change. I've read it three times now, and it always brings up the same mental images. The what ifs, the reality, the trueness of the story remain the same. No matter how many times I read it, it will always be real." -- Hannah, Stw, OK. "This enchanting tale of two strangers and their brief moment in time together is a fine example of literature. The descriptions, while a little much at times, are very detailed and realistic. This young author clearly knows what she's doing! I certainly hope that she writes more wonderful stories!" -- Dana, Miami, FL. "Great! Wonderful! Amazing! Extraordinary! Two thumbs up! (Is that appropriate for a story? If it isn't I don't care...this story deserves it!) That was simply a well-written, fantastic story! Good job! :)" -- The Bibliophile, The Middle of, Nowhere. "I found this story to be overly cliche and melodramatic. Whoever wrote this was on some good stuff at the time - hormones?" -- Austin, OKC, OK, USA. " I wonder if "Austin" thinks of any piece of literature without chemical help. Is it now neccessary to be "on" something to write anything well? Apparently, Austin the Aristarch thinks it is. Other than that unpleasent interlude, it is an enjoyable story. I congratulate the authoress on her descriptive talents." -- Liz, Hershey, PA. Ghosts... by Lawrence Peters (2) "Very interesting and thought-provoking. I like." -- Mistina. "Intriguing, lingers in the mind ... well written ... I enjoyed this ..." -- Judith Goff. From Backbay Chronicles - Visiting Day by Pauline A White (1) "Pauline, I find your sentences to be choppy and quite adolescent. Your sentences also lack the proper structure that is required for writers. However,I do find your story's idea to be a good one as the unnamed protagonist reminisces about church revivals of her childhood,but the bad sentence structure fails to put in the mind of a young girl who is preparing for a solo at her church revival. I also found some inconsistancies in your story as well. For instance,if the young girl lived in the south how could she and her "Aunt Eloise" possibly live in the sam apartment building in Brooklyn? The idea is good, but the story must be revamped." -- simone . Dogsbody by Moya Green (1) "An astute insight into dogs and our relationships to them. Well written and funny. I enjoyed reading this one. Thanks" -- Sooz, Dalton, Cumbria, England. Baby Secrets... by Lawrence Peters (1) "I like this, it's funny! Keep it up :)The ending is great!" -- C G L Davies. There are 44 title entries with reviews on this page. Go to page: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31 32 33 34 35 36 37 38 39 40 41 42 43 44 45 46 47 48 49 50

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