Something I wrote that I'm interested in developing. (short)

Thanks guys.

I should've spotted the Conrad mistake. I'm reading the novel for college.
Locke is just an imaginary place I made up for the sake of the piece. Thinking it's going to be an arts college of some sort, or an area containing one.

Ok slightly edited version with your greatly appreciated feedback and some extra dialogue. Have slight ambitions that I might use this as a starting point for a novel with these characters sometime soon. Trying to get at least two pages a day written anyways. Here's the new, slightly different version.

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-'I saw the best minds of my generation—'

'**** off.'

'I thought you loved all that?' She passes me the joint and throws a ratty copy of Howl on to the floor among empty cans and bottles.

'This is not that generation,' I reply testily. I take a drag and shuffle into a more comfortable position on the uncomfortable two-seater wicker couch we're sitting on.

'So what's this one?' She says, humouring me, looking intently at her Facebook news feed.

'That,' I say, pointing to her laptop screen. 'Is there any water in this gaff? My mouth is seriously dried up like ****ing... I don't even know.' I stand up and walk across the tiny kitchen-cum-living room of Sian's apartment, avoiding the post-party debris of wrappers, cans, and bottles scattered all over the discoloured grey carpet that reeks of months, maybe years, of absorbed cider and stale cigarette smoke. I kill the joint in an overflowing ashtray on the counter. Cold morning light lands on the kitchen-top from the window and hazy ribbons of green smoke coil around one another in the shafts of sunlight. A copy of Conrad's Heart of Darkness is under the ashtray. It looks as if someone has been using the cover to make roaches. I find no clean glasses.

'You'll have to wash one.' she says, looking up from the screen. 'Here, does yer man Twink have a boyfriend?'

'Who's Twink?', I say, washing out a sticky Guinness label pint glass that's obviously been stolen from some pub, probably The Rocky Road.

'Some gay guy. I think he's in your course.'

'Oh my god! A gay that does English. In Locke!'

'Your sarcasm is so unattractive.' She looks back down at the screen. 'I don't think he does yenno, have a boyfriend I mean. He's a ride.'

'And what use is that to you if he's gay?' I say, sitting back down beside her and drinking from the glass.

'None,' she sighs, 'but he's nice to look at.'

'Want some water?' I offer her the glass.

'Nah I think I'm gonna vom. Too many of them screwdrivers last night. I literally feel like my brain is jelly. And I need to clean this place.' She looks around the dishevelled mess of her apartment living room forlornly. Her long, white-blonde hair frames her head in tufts and tangles. She sits owl-like on the two-seater. 'How many people were even here last night?' she asks, putting the laptop on the floor.

'Dunno, like thirty.'

'Nice. And I didn't even get the ride. Wehh.' She falls across me. She smells like sweat and vodka. She starts playing with a loose piece of the wicker chair.

'Nah me neither. We know all of them too well.' I laugh. ' We've rode them all.'

'It's a disaster,' she pouts. She turns around in my lap; her thin body rotates so she can face me.

'Let's go to Godot on Thursday,' She says quickly, eyes lit up.

'Uhh are you actually serious? We spend so much time there. You haven't even got a good chance of getting the ride in that place... wading knee deep through fourteen-year-old baby-gays with fake IDs.'

'I'm not just after the ride, you.' She sits up and walks tiptoe around the cans and bottles towards the kitchenette. 'I just want to go. I'm in the mood, and it's great for dancing.' She starts rolling a cigarette.

'I'll see if I can get the money.'

'Yay. Everyone's going according to Facebook,' she sits back down beside me.

'Ugh, I can't even think about drinking, or Godot, right now.' I put the water down and collapse on her, nestling my head in her lap. She smokes her cigarette and starts to play with my hair.

'Poor Shane. Do you think you're gonna vom?'

Yeah they're supposed to be pretentious and detestable. I'm kind of going for an Easton Ellis-esque style of writing with an unlikable narrator(s) and cast of characters, except in a contemporary Irish setting. I would like to somehow generate sympathy for the protagonist though. I just haven't figured out how without making him unrealistic.

I have ambitions of developing it into a novel but that might be aiming a bit high because I'm busy with college and stuff. I wrote this to kind of test the waters but I enjoyed it a lot and I'm happy with the result. I think the dialogue is a bit wooden though and every time I re-read it I spot new punctuation/grammar/syntax errors which is annoying but sure enough proof-reading and practice and hopefully that will improve.

Thanks for the feedback it's appreciated

jessei wrote: »

Hey I'm no expert
but from the little I know, listen to your mates.
for me 'your sarcasm is so unattractive'. ( iffy)
and..what use to you if he's gay.. (iffy)
maybe don't smoke at a party and listen to the language
Then you've got it...
you're authentic....
listen to the language.
thumbs up

The 'so' in that first sentence should be italicized.
The second sentence is actually "And what use is that to you if he's gay?"

I do listen to my friends and stuff and i don't know what you mean about don't smoke and listen? If that's regarding weed or something I don't actually smoke it :') I do spend a lot of time with people who do though and I do listen to the language and this is pretty much it. Different dynamic of people maybe? ha. I do think the dialogue seems wooden though somehow, which I want to fix, but then again, people in reality don't talk like they do in novels ha

Thanks for the feedback man the dialogue is definitely something I'll look into.