Feedback on a short story

R.D. aka MR.D

I'm sorry if this has been asked before.

Where is the best place to get some critique on a short story?
Can i post it here or can any one recommend an online community that i could do that in?

i generally trust the good people of boards so any advice is welcomed!

EileenG

There are some good critiquers on Boards.

How long is your short story? Do you have a home in mind for it?

Beckala

You need an editors services. they look over your work and tell you professionally how it sounds or if grammer and spelling ok.

Try New Perspective. I used her before, very reasonable rates considering shes really good.

Email her and see what she quotes you that won't cost you anything good luck

freelancewordsmith@yahoo.ie permission got from owner to display address

Plus if you post it on line someone might steal your idea or story

R.D. aka MR.D

I'm not really that worried about people stealing my idea. I don't have the money at the moment for professional editing services.

The story is just over 1000 words.

Should I just post it here or so i need to link to it or something?

EileenG

That short, you could post it here.

R.D. aka MR.D

Okay well, here it is. It's untitled right now. Any feedback negative or positive would be greatly appreciated.










Eight people dressed in their finest clothes gathered around a huddled shivering wreck. It was exactly 10.45 am. One brave parishioner reached out his hand to touch what was on the ground. He was pretty sure it was just another drunken mess left over from Saturday night’s debauchery, a normal hazard for a Church beside three pubs. This man on the ground was different somehow.
The brave parishioner made contact with the sheep skin coat that covered the bundle of human being. His hand was shaking because he did not want to find that this bundle was in fact another dead homeless person. He had read in the paper about those kinds of people, they freeze to death or die of drug overdoses. He certainly didn’t want to be involved in the inevitable chaos that would ensue. He had a golf game planned.
The group stepped back in horror when the bundle revealed a deathly white face. The eyes were red and the face was gaunt. It was the sadness of the face that struck them. It was not the usual face of the junkies that had increasingly begun to hang around this suburb. The bundle’s face seemed to carry the sadness of the world. A common thought occurred to them all simultaneously, what happened to this lost soul.
The huddled mess was Tim Longform. He had not been drinking last night; in fact, he had not been drinking for the past three weeks. He was in front of the Church that morning for a reason that he did not understand. He had felt drawn to it since the day that Cheryl went away.
When he realised that there was a group formed around him he started. He got up slowly and offered apologies to the shocked faces. Tim wondered where this well dressed group came from. For the first time in three weeks he knew what day it was. It was Sunday. The Church bells confirmed this.
The bell made his stomach churn. It was ominous and over-bearing. He shuffled forward in the direction of his house. It was only a house to him now. His home had disappeared when Cheryl had. As he passed many mass goers, the churning in his stomach lessened. He was drawn to the church but it made him sick. He couldn’t shake what he had seen there. As he stumbled down Hickey Avenue towards the three story semi-detached house that used to be a home, he had to stop to vomit. He thought; why did this happen to me?
Cheryl was always the brave one or maybe she had no sense. The moment she heard about the legend of St. Martin’s church she was set on testing it out. After they had left the pub that very night she started to pester Tim about it.

‘Oh come on, you chicken’ ‘It’ll be funny!’
‘No’

This exchange happened a few more times that month until Tim finally gave in. He thought to himself that he was the one being stupid believing in such a silly old story.
It was September 28th, it was a cold night but there was no rain. Tim and Cheryl started the night by eating chorizo and cheese sandwiches and some cider. They met the others at 9.30. The evening finished pretty early at 11.30. Walking hand in hand down Brick Avenue, Tim couldn’t help but feel a little confused. He had had a few drinks so was feeling fuzzy behind the eyes but he knew that Brick Avenue was their normal way home.

‘Cheryl, where are we going?’
‘We’re taking the scenic route.’
‘It’s cold.’
Cheryl didn’t respond. She had her mind set on testing her theory out. Tonight was the night.
They reached Cheryl’s destination, St. Martin’s Church. It finally dawned on Tim what her intentions were.

‘Cheryl, seriously?’
‘Oh come on, you chicken. It’ll be funny.’

There was no hesitation or doubt in her voice. She knew that nothing would happen.

‘There is only one flaw in your plan, my dear. It’s only 11.56.’

Cheryl smiled; she had finally gotten her way. Tim was going to do it too. Her fascination with this Church story started as a mild curiosity about a myth but it had turned in to a test of how brave her Tim really was, if at all.

‘Let’s wait the four minutes.’

Tim leaned up against a red brick wall. Cheryl looked at her watch and grinned.

‘It’s midnight’
‘So it is.’
‘I’ll go first’
‘Don’t trip on anything’

Cheryl approached the door of the church still smiling. Tim leaned against the wall. She started walking backwards around the church. As she passed the door again she held up a finger, smiled and mouthed ‘one’. Tim rolled his eyes. ‘Two’. Tim started to smile, why had he been so worried. It was all so silly. As he saw Cheryl emerge from the dark to finish her three laps, he stepped away from the wall and walked towards her. She reached the church door and Tim reached out for her hand. The street light above the door flashed three times and went out. The darkness surrounded the couple.
Cheryl felt Tim’s hand in hers. As her eyes adjusted to light, she looked up and could see his face. She started to speak but she felt something grab her other hand. She turned her head but could not make out what she saw to her left. Tim started to speak but it sounded like distortion as she focused on the shape to her side.
Tim joked that he could be wrong after all. Cheryl looked pale in the moonlight. She looked away from him and he could make out her face changing. She looked confused, like she was trying to see something that wasn't there. She screamed so loudly that Tim flinched and let go of her hand. Cheryl threw herself violently up against the church door. Her eyes were twice their size now. Tim tried to approach her but she dropped to the ground. He called out her name. He dropped down and took her face in his hands. She looked up at him and he saw recognition in her eyes. She opened her mouth and said;

‘I was wrong, it’s real.’

EileenG

It has potential.

I'd drop the first bit, all the stuff about the parishenors surrounding the bundle on the ground. If you must have it, keep it to a line or two.

Stay in Tim's pov throughout. You jump from one head to another in a confusing way.

For me, the story picked up when Tim and Cheryl left the pub and headed for the church. The stuff before was a bit of a chore to wade thought, after that it flowed.

I'm not sure what happened in the church or what the legend was. What happened to her?

alfa beta

that kept me reading - well done

think it might be better if written in a purely chronological way where you start out with something (dialogue based perhaps) that develops the obvious tension between the two main characters and gives their relationship a bit more grounding - ie: something that explores the whole "she wants him to prove he's not a chicken and he's having doubts but wants to impress her" side of things.

those two characters need to run the story from the start and I'd agree with eileen about the bit outside the church and the bundle on the ground etc not really working that well.

personally i liked the end and the way the 'legend' wasn't explained, nor was what the girl saw described - but rather you left it up to the reader to fill in the gaps. I read a novel once where the whole plot was based around the potential revelation of the contents of a letter. Amazingly the contents were never revealed to the reader and yet the plot still worked perfectly.

Thanks for posting.

Oryx

The story itself is interesting, and nicely mysterious, but your style is a little rat-a-tat-tat, very jerky with a lot of tell and not enough show. Some small things: you mention the bundle was shaking but then someone wonders if it's a dead person. Dead people don't shake. You say Tim was confused going down Brick avenue, but it is his normal way home? Why is he confused? Other than that just some punctuation issues.

I agree jumping from one POV to another is annoying particularly at the end where your shift from Tim to Cheryl wrecks the nice tension you have building. Describe her from his pov only, don't get inside her head.