YA DYSTOPIAN: THE WOODLANDS. NOW SHORTER!!

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LaurenNTaylor
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YA DYSTOPIAN: THE WOODLANDS. NOW SHORTER!!

Post by LaurenNTaylor » August 26th, 2012, 1:16 am

Would love some feedback on my first chapter. :)

1. ROSA

It was a slow dust of a day. The earth swirled in mini tornados scratching up the 8 metre walls and slipping back down again. Because in this place there was nothing for the dust to cling to. It skittered across the grass kissing the blades, tearing around the perfectly manicured trees that sat in the front yard of every home. Here in the rings of Pau Brasil nothing settled, nothing ever could.

I shrugged on my grey uniform. It’s ‘cheap and nasty’ fabric as my mother called it when no one was able to hear her, clung to the wrongs parts of me and billowed unflatteringly around the other parts. I didn’t really care; everyone looked the same so it didn’t matter. I let the back of the shirt fall, wincing a little as the rough cloth brushed against my sliced up skin. I couldn’t quite see it but I could feel it lightly with my fingertips, raised ribbons of split flesh. New scabs were already forming over the old scars. I never gave it a chance to heal; soon there would be fresh cuts to add the healing ones. I gathered up my assignment papers and shoved them in my bag; carefully placing the cardboard knife I had made last night between the pages of a textbook, smiling to myself. It looked perfect, I had agonised over making it look exactly right, lifelike. God knows why! My lips fell quickly as I realized today was Friday. Friday was the worst day.

I tried to get out before she saw me but a hand grabbed the back of my shirt and gently halted my stride.

“Rosa, please eat something before you go.” My mother sighed, her hand falling to her side. She looked tired, almost ill, a hazy shade of green sitting just beneath a layer of dark brown skin like she was being diluted. I rolled my eyes at her. “You don’t need to whisper mother, I’m sure Paulo approves of you feeding me, it’s the ‘rules’, remember?”

She nodded, her hand trembling a little as she put the kettle on and started the ridiculously particular process of making tea for her husband so it was just right.

I listened for sounds of Paulo and heard the shower running. I nodded and picked up some toast. As I was spreading a very thin layer of jam on the bread, my mother eyeing my every move, I saw the billow of steam push out into the hall. He was out, and so was I. I slammed two pieces together and made a toast sandwich. Half walking half running out the door, I yelled out, “Have fun sorting apples, Paulo, hope you don’t end up in the off bin with the rest of the rotten ones!”

I turned around and saw my stepfather’s expression as the door rebounded open from me slamming it too hard. He looked furious. Good.

Satisfied, I walked to school following the curve of ring 2 until I reached the first gate. It was chilly and I cursed myself for not bringing a jacket. I sought out a sunny patch on the wall and stood with my back against it, stalling. The wall was warm, where the sun touched it but it always gave me shivers. At least 8 metres tall above ground and 4 metres under, I felt that ‘trapped rat’ feeling and kept moving. I know not everyone felt this way but I couldn’t help it. We were trapped, even if they said it was for our own protection.

When I got to the gate I scanned my wrist tattoo and the gate slowly opened. I passed through it eyes holding contact with the camera that followed my movements. Quietly laughing I stepped backwards, then forwards the small black eye zipping as it tried to follow my sporadic movements. When I was done teasing, it closed behind me only to be forced to creak open for someone else a second later. I wasn’t the only one who was running late. The difference being when the gate opened, the other kids ran through it and sprinted to the school like their life depended on it. I took my time. Being tardy would result in a detention. I needed a detention.

I watched the older kids hanging around outside one of the classrooms. Their backs against the grey-green rendered walls. This would have to be their last day. The five students looked nervous and hopeful. I snorted to myself. There was no hope just change. They were going off the Classes in a few weeks time.

I arrived at the school gate and scanned my wrist again. The double gates opened and I fell into line with the stragglers. The neat rows of concrete classrooms looking dull and uninviting like the rest of the town. As I passed the bigger kids I heard a boy say, “Yeah, I’m hoping for Teaching or maybe Carpentry.” His voice, confident but also resigned.

The girl standing next to him bumped his shoulder affectionately her reddy brown ponytail swinging and brushing his arm lightly, “Maybe we’ll get in together. Wouldn’t it be great to be allocated the same Class?”

The boy shrugged, “Doesn’t much matter, we’ll be separated anyway, you know that.”

Smart, I thought. The girl needed to be shot down now. There was no future for anyone from the same town. The great claw of the Superiors would make sure of that. I imagined it like a sorting machine, kind of like what Paulo did. But instead of bad apples, the Superiors sorted races and Classes. These kids were going to be plucked from Pau Brasil, thrown into the Classes and separated out into Uppers, Middles and Lowers. The boy was right, at the end of training at the Classes, they would certainly be separated. Kids from the same town were not allowed to marry.

As I rounded the corner and made my way into my first class I snatched a glimpse of the hopeful girl’s face. It offended me; her eyes were wide and brimming with moisture. I had little sympathy. This was the way things were; she needed to just accept it. And really, she was lucky. I envied her. At least she was getting out of here soon.

The first few classes went by as they always did. No one sat next to me, not that I cared. I was used to being treated like I radiated some awful smell. You didn’t want to sit next to me. I got in trouble, a lot. And it wasn’t because I was being treated unfairly or the teacher had a grudge against me especially. Trouble just found me. If there was a bad choice to be made I just had to make it, regardless of what would happen after. I couldn’t stop myself.

I was preoccupied anyway. I sat up straight holding onto the edge of my old wooden desk like I was riding a wave. Nervous excitement about my final class blowing imaginary wind through my hair.

Lunch, bell.

As the bell shrilled out across the pathetic yard, I watched a child get dragged by her hair across the plastic lawn. Her little legs struggling to find a foothold so she could stand but just sliding uselessly across the dampness. My stale sandwich stuck in my throat. Tears were streaming down the poor child’s face; she couldn’t have been more than 9 years old. One of the policeman wrenched her head violently trying to pull her to standing and blood appeared at the nape of her neck as the hair pulled out of her skin. I saw her face contort and her small pink mouth form an o as she tried not to scream.

Before I could stop myself I shouted out across the yard, “I think she’s had enough don’t you, you’ll pull her hair right off her head?” People looked at me but didn’t speak. I swear I saw a couple of kids take a few steps back. Both policemen turned their heads my way. One of them sneered at me, his olive skin scrunched around a bulbous nose that twisted at me in disgust. He closed the gap between us in a few long strides. His eyes had that familiar hardness to them that most of the policeman had. His were a stiff set blue, with flecks in them like chipped paint. He laughed as he spoke, looking me up and down, “Are you talking to me girl?” Meeting my eyes he seemed confused as to which one to look at.

Don’t say it, I thought. If only that voice in my head was louder. “I don’t see anyone else trying to scalp a child, do you?”

His expression showed that that was exactly what he had been hoping I would say. He retracted his elbow like he was loading an arrow to a bow and gave me a sharp punch to the stomach, hard enough to hurt but not hard enough to cause any permanent damage. Trained well. Part of my sandwich flew out of my mouth and I doubled over coughing. Feeling the pain spread like a stain soaking into cloth.
Last edited by LaurenNTaylor on September 16th, 2012, 8:54 pm, edited 2 times in total.


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klbritt
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Re: SET IN RUSSIAN WILDERNESS YA DYSTOPIAN: THE WOODLANDS

Post by klbritt » September 11th, 2012, 2:56 pm

the story itself is interesting, but I find it hard to do much critiquing on an excerpt of this size...I think you'd get a better response if you shorten the excerpt considerable - like less than 1,000 words. I had to do that on mine that I posted.

Why is Friday the worst day?

I like that Rosa stood up for the girl and took a beating for it - shows more of her character.
~Kristie

-: Outside of a dog, a book is man's best friend. Inside of a dog it's too dark to read - Groucho Marx :-

http://www.BKRivers.blogspot.com


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klbritt
Posts: 119
Joined: February 2nd, 2012, 11:16 pm
Location: Phoenix, Arizona
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Re: YA DYSTOPIAN: THE WOODLANDS. NOW SHORTER!!

Post by klbritt » September 22nd, 2012, 11:45 pm

My main critique is really to watch the passive voice. You use "was" a lot, which if you go back through your excerpt you'll find if you rework the sentence getting rid of "was", your writing will be that much better. Look for "was", "that", "were", etc.

I've read through your excerpts a few times and am interested in what happens next. I think you've got a great start and with some tightening up the passive voice and giving us bits of back story, you'll be well on your way :)

==========

1. ROSA

It was a slow dust of a day. The earth swirled in mini tornados scratching up the 8 metre walls and slipping back down again. Because in this place there was nothing for the dust to cling to. It skittered across the grass kissing the blades, tearing around the perfectly manicured trees that sat in the front yard of every home. Here in the rings of Pau Brasil nothing settled, nothing ever could.

I shrugged on my grey uniform. It’s ‘cheap and nasty’ fabric as my mother called it when no one was able to hear her, clung to the wrongs parts of me and billowed unflatteringly around the other parts. I didn’t really care; everyone looked the same so it didn’t matter. I let the back of the shirt fall, wincing a little as the rough cloth brushed against my sliced up skin. I couldn’t quite see it but I could feel it lightly with my fingertips, raised ribbons of split flesh. New scabs were already forming over the old scars. I never gave it a chance to heal; soon there would be fresh cuts to add the healing ones. I gathered up my assignment papers and shoved them in my bag; carefully placing the cardboard knife I had made last night between the pages of a textbook, smiling to myself. It looked perfect, I had agonised over making it look exactly right, lifelike. God knows why! My lips fell quickly as I realized today was Friday. Friday was the worst day. {What's the deal with the knife? In your lengthier version you never mentioned it again - why is it important? Also, why is Friday the worst day?}

I tried to get out before she saw me but a hand grabbed the back of my shirt and gently halted my stride.

“Rosa, please eat something before you go.” My mother sighed, her hand falling to her side. She looked tired, almost ill, a hazy shade of green sitting just beneath a layer of dark brown skin like she was being diluted. I rolled my eyes at her. “You don’t need to whisper mother, I’m sure Paulo approves of you feeding me, it’s the ‘rules’, remember?” {Who's rules? Paulo's or the Superiors?}

She nodded, her hand trembling a little as she put the kettle on and started the ridiculously particular process of making tea for her husband so it was just right.

I listened for sounds of Paulo and heard the shower running. I nodded and picked up some toast. As I was spreading a very thin layer of jam on the bread, my mother eyeing my every move, I saw the billow of steam push out into the hall. He was out, and so was I. I slammed two pieces together and made a toast sandwich. Half walking half running out the door, I yelled out, “Have fun sorting apples, Paulo, hope you don’t end up in the off bin with the rest of the rotten ones!”

I turned around and saw my stepfather’s expression as the door rebounded open from me slamming it too hard. He looked furious. Good.

Satisfied, I walked to school following the curve of ring 2 until I reached the first gate. It was chilly and I cursed myself for not bringing a jacket. I sought out a sunny patch on the wall and stood with my back against it, stalling. The wall was warm, where the sun touched it but it always gave me shivers. At least 8 metres tall above ground and 4 metres under, I felt that ‘trapped rat’ feeling and kept moving. I know not everyone felt this way but I couldn’t help it. We were trapped, even if they said it was for our own protection.

When I gotarrived at to the gate I scanned my wrist tattoo and the gate slowly opened. I passed through it eyes holding contact with the camera that followed my movements {This sentence needs reworking - as it reads it doesn't make sense}. Quietly laughing I stepped backwards, then forwards the small black eye zipping as it tried to follow my sporadic movements. When I was done teasing, it closed behind me only to be forced to creak open for someone else a second later. I wasn’t the only one who was running late. The difference being when the gate opened, the other kids ran through it and sprinted to the school like their life depended on it. I took my time. Being tardy would result in a detention. I needed a detention. {Why would she want detention?}

I watched the older kids hanging around outside one of the classrooms. Their backs against the grey-green rendered walls. This would have to be their last day. The five students looked nervous and hopeful. I snorted to myself. There was no hope just change. They were going off the Classes in a few weeks time.

I arrived at the school gate and scanned my wrist again {Really? Two scanners to get into school? Seems a little harsh}. The double gates opened and I fell into line with the stragglers. The neat rows of concrete classrooms looking dull and uninviting like the rest of the town. As I passed the bigger{older?} kids I heard a boy say, “Yeah, I’m hoping for Teaching or maybe Carpentry.” His voice, confident but also resigned.

The girl standing next to him bumped his shoulder affectionately her reddy brown ponytail swinging and brushing his arm lightly, “Maybe we’ll get in together. Wouldn’t it be great to be allocated the same Class?”

The boy shrugged, “Doesn’t much matter, we’ll be separated anyway, you know that.”

Smart, I thought. The girl needed to be shot down now. There was no future for anyone from the same town. The great claw of the Superiors would make sure of that. I imagined it like a sorting machine, kind of like what Paulo did. But instead of bad apples, the Superiors sorted races and Classes. These kids were going to be plucked from Pau Brasil, thrown into the Classes and separated out into Uppers, Middles and Lowers. The boy was right, at the end of training at the Classes, they would certainly be separated. Kids from the same town were not allowed to marry.

As I rounded the corner and made my way into my first class I snatched a glimpse of the hopeful girl’s face. It offended me; her eyes were wide and brimming with moisture. I had little sympathy. This was the way things were; she needed to just accept it. And really, she was lucky. I envied her. At least she was getting out of here soon.

The first few classes went by as they always did. No one sat next to me, not that I cared. I was used to being treated like I radiated some awful smell. You didn’t want to sit next to me. I got in trouble, a lot. And it wasn’t because I was being treated unfairly or the teacher had a grudge against me especially. Trouble just found me. If there was a bad choice to be made I just had to make it, regardless of what would happen after. I couldn’t stop myself.

I was preoccupied anyway. I sat up straight holding onto the edge of my old wooden desk like I was riding a wave. Nervous excitement about my final class blowing imaginary wind through my hair{Not sure what this is supposed to mean...}.

Lunch, bell.

As the bell shrilled out across the pathetic yard, I watched a child get dragged by her hair across the plastic lawn. Her little legs struggling to find a foothold so she could stand but just sliding uselessly across the dampness. My stale sandwich stuck in my throat. Tears were streaming down the poor child’s face; she couldn’t have been more than 9 years old. One of the policeman wrenched her head violently trying to pull her to standing and blood appeared at the nape of her neck as the hair pulled out of her skin. I saw her face contort and her small pink mouth form an o as she tried not to scream.

Before I could stop myself I shouted out across the yard, “I think she’s had enough don’t you?, Yyou’ll pull her hair right off her head.?” People looked at me but didn’t speak. I swear I saw a couple of kids take a few steps back. Both policemen turned their heads my way. One of them sneered at me, his olive skin scrunched around a bulbous nose that twisted at me in disgust. He closed the gap between us in a few long strides. His eyes had that familiar hardness to them that most of the policeman had. His were a stiff set blue, with flecks in them like chipped paint. He laughed as he spoke, looking me up and down, “Are you talking to me girl?” Meeting my eyes he seemed confused as to which one to look at.

Don’t say it, I thought. If only that voice in my head was louder. “I don’t see anyone else trying to scalp a child, do you?” {This line is great!}

His expression showed that that{most often I find using double words like you did here is hard to read} was exactly what he had been hoping I would say. He retracted his elbow like he was loading an arrow to a bow and gave me a sharp punch to the stomach, hard enough to hurt but not hard enough to cause any permanent damage. Trained well. Part of my sandwich flew out of my mouth and I doubled over coughing. Feeling the pain spread like a stain soaking into cloth.
~Kristie

-: Outside of a dog, a book is man's best friend. Inside of a dog it's too dark to read - Groucho Marx :-

http://www.BKRivers.blogspot.com

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