views on first ch of chic lit kinda long

roxychix

having a go at writing at the mo here are the ch1 in both any criticism welcome but a shrinking violet is a chic lit so kinda of mushy
"legends do come through"

Maybe Myths Do Come True:
From the day I set foot on these numinous planes I have had my life mapped out for me and a path I to must follow like a classic mythological hero. Go here, do this, aim for the best and make everyone proud. Even my name has strong mythical background and my parents choose it because they wanted a daughter who embodied the qualities of such a name – gift of comfort and ease, eternal flow of time and to hold the nature of divinity – but they never deliberated that this name would haunt me till the moment I take my final breathe. How bad must it be you must be asking yourselves? Well the answer to that question is simple. When you grow up in a house surrounded by every manuscript, artefact and archives from the classical world you to would learn the great predecessors who carried this name and wish that you could live up to it.
My input into my life has been very limited and for some reason I have got to where I am without making any of my own decisions. I can get that freshly cut grass smell that reminds that summer is near approaching and a smile comes to my face. Summer is the one season that I know is truly blessed; with its long stretch in the evenings, the weather not that we get much of it here in Ireland and remembrance of fond memories of times gone by but these feelings are always tarnished with some project my father thinks would interest me. Seasons, days, stories and fables have always been something that has been ruined for me. My father insisted that I know what is really out there and as a child while other children were being told stories of Hansel and Gretel, I was being told mythical proven tales. I remember clearly one birthday pleading even begging my father to buy me the latest electronic fighter plane which you build yourself and learn to fly- I was your typical tomboy- but I never did get what I wanted.
I remember the anticipation I felt on the day of my tenth birthday, I remember how big I felt going into double figures and the excited that burned within me. I skipped down the stairs jumped the last two and ran into kitchen greeting both parents with a kiss on each cheek, I sit at the table feet swinging as I was too small to reach the floor and start to question my parents hoping they would remember that this was a special day- the birth of their only daughter.
“Mum, did anything come for me in the post today? Did nan or pops ring?”
“sweetheart why would they do that?”
“Mum, stop messing you must remember what today is?”
“no, darling, hold on............ is it...........oh yes........ I know what it is now. It the feast of saint anne i better go down to the shrine and say a few prayers”
“Shauna, stop playing with the girls head”
..................................................................................................


"A shrinking violet"
It is that time of year again the summer has ended and everyone is going back to either college or school and I am no different. As I walk the dogs along the beach, I watch the waves hit off the sand and rocks, and I dart my eyes over to McIver’s point and watch the perfect set flow into the reef. Jealousy creeps upon me as I watch the foreigners or “blow ins” (as I like to call them) ohhing and ahhing at the marvel of our local surfer stud who rides the wave with great force, like a performing seal who has to entertain his audience. To be fair he is good but his ego for me is the flaw that makes you overlook his talent. The airs he is achieving and his last cutback was well above that of the others out there in the line up with him. When I last spoke to him, he informed me, he was going to Oz, to try his chances to gain sponsorship over there and he asked, “Would I miss him!”
The sun is now setting and it is still warm enough to go out without a jacket. I let out a sharp whistle to the dogs, take off my flip-flops, and start to paddle so I can dip my feet one last time into the Atlantic before I head off to the concrete streets of Dublin. Since I have left school, I have returned every summer from Uni to this one place to work, surf, and play and to catch up with old friends. They always wonder why come back when you could spend your summers travelling and take the opportunities you can get because when you get into the rat race or the real world you will never get the same time off to experience it again. I always reply “contentment” but one could also say safety. I have never been one to be too out daring I still to this day wince a little when I see a rollercoaster and that feeling I get when you are turning a little too fast.
The water feels cold between my toes but as I know all, too well it will soon warm up. Rinca insists that I throw her ball and returns looking less than impressed that I am not giving her much of a chase. A smile comes to my face as I try to take it all in one last time before I step out of the water and back onto the soft sand. As I head towards my car, Michael the lifeguard who is closing up for the night calls out to me “Izzy, I bet you’ll miss watching that when you’re in the big smoke”, I laugh back at him “probably have to spend more time at the side of the liffey then I usually do listening to sound of the water and then in my head I’ll probably hear you shouting “Shams how many times have I told you do not to go passed the beach flags they are there to keep you safe”. We both laugh - it is true though.
“Man, I will not miss saying that this winter” Michael says. “You’re going to Bali for the winter right, Mick, lucky for some, while some of us have to slave over the ould books”. “Don’t be blaming me if you’re a slave to education some of us don’t want to grow up”. “Ah fec off Mick has there ever been a time that you have not ripped the piss out of me” I say jokingly. “You going to head to Ronnies for a few later, Izzy or are you leaving tonight”. “Nah might fit in a few before I go but when you say that we always end up not coming home till sometime the following day” I laugh. “Right sure I’ll see you there tonight then, Iz” “Ok, Mick, see ya then”.
As I walk to the car Rinca decides, she does not want to go home she must know I am leaving tomorrow: they always say that animals can sense these things. Good old Linsky jumps into the car and after a couple of persuasive moves Rinca finds herself beside her partner in crime in a sandy backseat. I start the engine and take one last look at sea and of course, the lovely Joel and I ask if I had fallen for his advances where would I be now. Probably I would be the pretty blonde chick watching him and holding a towel; screaming like a cheerleader everytime that he achieved his perfect floater. What happened there I hear you ask but as I like to say is that Izzy McCormack and men do not seem to go. My mother likes to say is that noone is ever good enough and no one will ever fit into “My Life” or the “Izzy Pod”.
Now don’t worry it’s not because I am some sort of feminist bra burning Amazon warrior ( as there is nothing wrong with that; without them we would never had girl power, oh the nineties!) or that I think that every man is out to see what he can get off us naive women. It’s just that no one can compare to one fella who sets my heart racing everytime I see him, think about him or talk about,( I know your all probably thinking she now bordering on stalker line crazy ) but it just seems that I put up a wall thinking I will never fully have him and whats the point of trying with someone else.
My phones starts to beep, it’s a text from Lindsey saying that work was hell today and that I missed the usual daily routine of selling wetsuits to spoilt little brats whose parents insist, will use it every weekend and that they want to get a lot of growing room out of it. When you just want to shout at them, I have been doing this job for so long and that I measure up kids like yours everyday and you want growing, do you want your child to freeze to death. When I first arrived to work at Groms Surf Shop as a know-it-all teenager not wanting to spend my days serving people, when I could have been at the beach, hanging with my friends or trying to perfect my position. It was obvious to everyone apparently including myself that I did not want to be there and only doing so on my parents wishes to have their first-born out from under their feet and also in hand not having to pay the pocket money I demanded every Saturday from them.
That summer was the “worst of my life” not only had my “serious “boyfriend of three weeks (by serious I mean we were at the holding hands stage of our relationship) broken up with me and started going out with my nemesis Lindsey Corbett. I also had my parents breathing down my neck because I didn’t do so well in a school report and to top it off I had to go and work in a hell hole of a surf shop with the boyfriend stealing bitch Lindsey Corbett as my new work colleague. How I went home crying to mum that night saying I was not going back tomorrow because in my little adolescent mind my life was over and it was all her fault for bringing me up. Oh how times change; after that summer Lindsey and me became friends (and only because that prick of a boyfriend I had lost, dumped her for some chick that looked like Sarah Michelle Gellar from Buffy the vampire fame). We spent our evenings legging it from work down to the beach, boards in our arms trying to catch the last good set of the evening before it would get to dark and we would have to give up and go home, hungry and exhausted. To this day Pete “Our Boss” likes to remind me of my first day with reference to my meeting with a customer “what wax best suits this water temperature and I replied “how would I know it’s just wax you could use candle for all I care and what sort of question is that anyway”. Thankfully the customer just laughed and said “hold onto this one she’s going to be a comedienne one day but she’s probably right it’s just wax”. Ah good times.
Everyone wonders why I spent nearly eight years there but all I can say is they are my second family. The memories are constant always clear and good and never a day went by that we did not laugh our socks off. The only downside was having to refill booties relentlessly and having the guys ask over and over again “what would you do if I gave you a million euro”- “would you lick a ducks arse, pick up ****” apologises for the language it’s just they had a passion for bowel movements. Yesterday was my last day and as from next June I am officially an adult, it’s been a long time coming and I have took every opportunity to avoid getting to this stage from completing my undergraduate degree and going on to do a postgrad after postgrad, MA Hdip BA you name it I think I have it. I think I like the way my name look with all of them attached – Ms. Izzy Melanie McCormack BA Hdip MA- when I suggested to mum that I should get my doctorate she laughed and said well I hope you are paying for it.
As I drive down Castle Street I notice that all the souvenir shops are nearly closed for the winter and when you see that Cafe Oileann is closed you know the winter is finally here. Again my phone continues to beep – the worst invention that was created when you do not want to be disturbed or hounded by pestering people- the screen flashes Mark, I grin a little knowing that someone who likes me is just calling to say hi. Such a nice guy but he is not “Stephen”, why do I compare everybody to him it’s not that we had the greatest romance of the century, stuff that John Donne would write or the Yeats would compare to “cloths of heaven”, it was more an Emily Dickinson “Hope is the thing with feathers” meaning hope birches itself on your soul and it’s there and will never leave you.

dubscribe

First impressions... your sentences are too long. See if you can sharpen them more.

elleA

roxychix wrote: »

having a go at writing at the mo here are the ch1 in both any criticism welcome but a shrinking violet is a chic lit so kinda of mushy
"legends do come through"

Maybe Myths Do Come True:
From the day I set foot on these numinous planes I have had my life mapped out for me and a path I to must follow like a classic mythological hero. Go here, do this, aim for the best and make everyone proud. Even my name has strong mythical background and my parents choose it because they wanted a daughter who embodied the qualities of such a name – gift of comfort and ease, eternal flow of time and to hold the nature of divinity – but they never deliberated that this name would haunt me till the moment I take my final breathe. How bad must it be you must be asking yourselves? Well the answer to that question is simple. When you grow up in a house surrounded by every manuscript, artefact and archives from the classical world you to would learn the great predecessors who carried this name and wish that you could live up to it.
My input into my life has been very limited and for some reason I have got to where I am without making any of my own decisions. I can get that freshly cut grass smell that reminds that summer is near approaching and a smile comes to my face. Summer is the one season that I know is truly blessed; with its long stretch in the evenings, the weather not that we get much of it here in Ireland and remembrance of fond memories of times gone by but these feelings are always tarnished with some project my father thinks would interest me. Seasons, days, stories and fables have always been something that has been ruined for me. My father insisted that I know what is really out there and as a child while other children were being told stories of Hansel and Gretel, I was being told mythical proven tales. I remember clearly one birthday pleading even begging my father to buy me the latest electronic fighter plane which you build yourself and learn to fly- I was your typical tomboy- but I never did get what I wanted.
I remember the anticipation I felt on the day of my tenth birthday, I remember how big I felt going into double figures and the excited that burned within me. I skipped down the stairs jumped the last two and ran into kitchen greeting both parents with a kiss on each cheek, I sit at the table feet swinging as I was too small to reach the floor and start to question my parents hoping they would remember that this was a special day- the birth of their only daughter.
“Mum, did anything come for me in the post today? Did nan or pops ring?”
“sweetheart why would they do that?”
“Mum, stop messing you must remember what today is?”
“no, darling, hold on............ is it...........oh yes........ I know what it is now. It the feast of saint anne i better go down to the shrine and say a few prayers”
“Shauna, stop playing with the girls head”

Have to agree with dubsribe that your sentences are too long. The punctuation is inconsistent overall. I constantly had to stop and re-read sentences because of incorrect punctuation or a lack of punctuation altogether. However, even as a rough draft I think this has potential. I'd be interested in reading a little bit more of it to see if it fulfills any of the potential. Best of luck with it...
..................................................................................................

roxychix wrote: »

"A shrinking violet"
It is that time of year again the summer has ended and everyone is going back to either college or school and I am no different. As I walk the dogs along the beach, I watch the waves hit off the sand and rocks, and I dart my eyes over to McIver’s point and watch the perfect set flow into the reef. Jealousy creeps upon me as I watch the foreigners or “blow ins” (as I like to call them) ohhing and ahhing at the marvel of our local surfer stud who rides the wave with great force, like a performing seal who has to entertain his audience. To be fair he is good but his ego for me is the flaw that makes you overlook his talent. The airs he is achieving and his last cutback was well above that of the others out there in the line up with him. When I last spoke to him, he informed me, he was going to Oz, to try his chances to gain sponsorship over there and he asked, “Would I miss him!”
The sun is now setting and it is still warm enough to go out without a jacket. I let out a sharp whistle to the dogs, take off my flip-flops, and start to paddle so I can dip my feet one last time into the Atlantic before I head off to the concrete streets of Dublin. Since I have left school, I have returned every summer from Uni to this one place to work, surf, and play and to catch up with old friends. They always wonder why come back when you could spend your summers travelling and take the opportunities you can get because when you get into the rat race or the real world you will never get the same time off to experience it again. I always reply “contentment” but one could also say safety. I have never been one to be too out daring I still to this day wince a little when I see a rollercoaster and that feeling I get when you are turning a little too fast.
The water feels cold between my toes but as I know all, too well it will soon warm up. Rinca insists that I throw her ball and returns looking less than impressed that I am not giving her much of a chase. A smile comes to my face as I try to take it all in one last time before I step out of the water and back onto the soft sand. As I head towards my car, Michael the lifeguard who is closing up for the night calls out to me “Izzy, I bet you’ll miss watching that when you’re in the big smoke”, I laugh back at him “probably have to spend more time at the side of the liffey then I usually do listening to sound of the water and then in my head I’ll probably hear you shouting “Shams how many times have I told you do not to go passed the beach flags they are there to keep you safe”. We both laugh - it is true though.
“Man, I will not miss saying that this winter” Michael says. “You’re going to Bali for the winter right, Mick, lucky for some, while some of us have to slave over the ould books”. “Don’t be blaming me if you’re a slave to education some of us don’t want to grow up”. “Ah fec off Mick has there ever been a time that you have not ripped the piss out of me” I say jokingly. “You going to head to Ronnies for a few later, Izzy or are you leaving tonight”. “Nah might fit in a few before I go but when you say that we always end up not coming home till sometime the following day” I laugh. “Right sure I’ll see you there tonight then, Iz” “Ok, Mick, see ya then”.
As I walk to the car Rinca decides, she does not want to go home she must know I am leaving tomorrow: they always say that animals can sense these things. Good old Linsky jumps into the car and after a couple of persuasive moves Rinca finds herself beside her partner in crime in a sandy backseat. I start the engine and take one last look at sea and of course, the lovely Joel and I ask if I had fallen for his advances where would I be now. Probably I would be the pretty blonde chick watching him and holding a towel; screaming like a cheerleader everytime that he achieved his perfect floater. What happened there I hear you ask but as I like to say is that Izzy McCormack and men do not seem to go. My mother likes to say is that noone is ever good enough and no one will ever fit into “My Life” or the “Izzy Pod”.
Now don’t worry it’s not because I am some sort of feminist bra burning Amazon warrior ( as there is nothing wrong with that; without them we would never had girl power, oh the nineties!) or that I think that every man is out to see what he can get off us naive women. It’s just that no one can compare to one fella who sets my heart racing everytime I see him, think about him or talk about,( I know your all probably thinking she now bordering on stalker line crazy ) but it just seems that I put up a wall thinking I will never fully have him and whats the point of trying with someone else.
My phones starts to beep, it’s a text from Lindsey saying that work was hell today and that I missed the usual daily routine of selling wetsuits to spoilt little brats whose parents insist, will use it every weekend and that they want to get a lot of growing room out of it. When you just want to shout at them, I have been doing this job for so long and that I measure up kids like yours everyday and you want growing, do you want your child to freeze to death. When I first arrived to work at Groms Surf Shop as a know-it-all teenager not wanting to spend my days serving people, when I could have been at the beach, hanging with my friends or trying to perfect my position. It was obvious to everyone apparently including myself that I did not want to be there and only doing so on my parents wishes to have their first-born out from under their feet and also in hand not having to pay the pocket money I demanded every Saturday from them.
That summer was the “worst of my life” not only had my “serious “boyfriend of three weeks (by serious I mean we were at the holding hands stage of our relationship) broken up with me and started going out with my nemesis Lindsey Corbett. I also had my parents breathing down my neck because I didn’t do so well in a school report and to top it off I had to go and work in a hell hole of a surf shop with the boyfriend stealing bitch Lindsey Corbett as my new work colleague. How I went home crying to mum that night saying I was not going back tomorrow because in my little adolescent mind my life was over and it was all her fault for bringing me up. Oh how times change; after that summer Lindsey and me became friends (and only because that prick of a boyfriend I had lost, dumped her for some chick that looked like Sarah Michelle Gellar from Buffy the vampire fame). We spent our evenings legging it from work down to the beach, boards in our arms trying to catch the last good set of the evening before it would get to dark and we would have to give up and go home, hungry and exhausted. To this day Pete “Our Boss” likes to remind me of my first day with reference to my meeting with a customer “what wax best suits this water temperature and I replied “how would I know it’s just wax you could use candle for all I care and what sort of question is that anyway”. Thankfully the customer just laughed and said “hold onto this one she’s going to be a comedienne one day but she’s probably right it’s just wax”. Ah good times.
Everyone wonders why I spent nearly eight years there but all I can say is they are my second family. The memories are constant always clear and good and never a day went by that we did not laugh our socks off. The only downside was having to refill booties relentlessly and having the guys ask over and over again “what would you do if I gave you a million euro”- “would you lick a ducks arse, pick up ****” apologises for the language it’s just they had a passion for bowel movements. Yesterday was my last day and as from next June I am officially an adult, it’s been a long time coming and I have took every opportunity to avoid getting to this stage from completing my undergraduate degree and going on to do a postgrad after postgrad, MA Hdip BA you name it I think I have it. I think I like the way my name look with all of them attached – Ms. Izzy Melanie McCormack BA Hdip MA- when I suggested to mum that I should get my doctorate she laughed and said well I hope you are paying for it.
As I drive down Castle Street I notice that all the souvenir shops are nearly closed for the winter and when you see that Cafe Oileann is closed you know the winter is finally here. Again my phone continues to beep – the worst invention that was created when you do not want to be disturbed or hounded by pestering people- the screen flashes Mark, I grin a little knowing that someone who likes me is just calling to say hi. Such a nice guy but he is not “Stephen”, why do I compare everybody to him it’s not that we had the greatest romance of the century, stuff that John Donne would write or the Yeats would compare to “cloths of heaven”, it was more an Emily Dickinson “Hope is the thing with feathers” meaning hope birches itself on your soul and it’s there and will never leave you.

The punctuation is much better in this story. Not perfect, but much better! I would say it flows more naturally too. I have to admit though that I found it very hard to read it to the end. It wasn't capturing my attention at all. That just could be down to different tastes. In general, I'm a big fan of chic lit. My secret vice ...but this just wasn't doing it for me. Sorry...

roxychix

tha great thanks for the info on long sentences your not the first to say it i really need to stop being so long winded

rockbeer

I'm not convinced I'd describe this as chick lit - these pieces read more like memoirs to me. If that's the effect you're going for then fine, but to work as fiction I think they would need a lot of tightening up. Especially the first one.

The second piece is much better but still very memoir-like, the question being why would anyone want to read the memoir of an apparently unremarkable 18 year old? You need to find something to pull the reader in, to make us care more about your character and what happens to her.

The core problem to me is that the main character in both pieces sounds like it might in fact be you. And although we're only seeing small sections of what I imagine will turn out to be longer pieces, this central character's voice seems overly strong, to the exclusion of everything else. I'd be concerned that other characters and the plot might turn out to be a little flat by comparison.

You can obviously write, but I would suggest thinking a lot about pacing and structure. What story do you want to tell? Your descriptions are good but to me they don't seem to be serving the story so much as getting in the way of it. Oh, and as others have said, there are quite a few punctuation and technical errors. I'd give it a thorough re-read and see how many basic mistakes you can find.

What's a numinous plane?

roxychix

thanks for help have reahrough the pieces again and can see the mistakes i made. will try and change them but never any good at proof reading is there anywhere you can actually get someone to do that for you

fabbydabby

I think that you are going to have to GET good at proofreading if you want anyone to take your writing seriously

I am not an accomplished writer by any means, so take my advise with a pinch of salt if you wish, but my approach to the writing business is that a finished piece should be exactly how you want it to be. It should read exactly the way you want it with every word counting and no errors... The way you would submit it to a competition or a publisher.

This often means reading it over and over, chopping and changing and tweaking bits that are wrong, or that simply don't work or that you don't like.

That's proofreading and it's part of it!!