remorse

[Tarvaa]

Hi everyone,

I am simply trying to get into the habit of writing. I don't know what to make of anything I write. I don't admire it much, to be honest:nopity:. Anyway, feedback is certainly what I am looking for. I don't really have a title for this but I have to give one. Please enjoy.


Remorse

A fresh morning breeze caressed the beach front. A motley group of trees swayed gently in harmonious tandem, as if indifferent celebration of another new day. A ritual dance repeated unnoticed, like one’s own breathe. Sand wisped up into the air, floating as if free, coming to rest on a bed in obscurity.

The man walked amongst the foam creeping up from the sea. His shoes occasionally swamped in water did not perturb his steady progress. Pulling from his coat pocket, he unraveled a crumpled clod and set to shade his eyes from the low sun. Having read and reread the letter countless times, this crimson confession had lost any real meaning. The realization of actuality was more violent than the reality itself, and accordingly, the man became paralyzed in drifting emotions. Every avenue shutting its gates but still he searched for an opening, a way to escape, like a piece of fifth trapped in a plughole, dancing with the current.

Thin clouds had rolled in from the horizon, tainted orange in the morning light. The first beads of sweats began to swell on the man's forehead and the rising tide was almost always drowning his shoes. He regretted his prior actions, that much was clear. Yet questions remained unanswered as if locked away to be forgotten. He knew that the police would come for him and they too would seek the solution to his unsolvable puzzle. Ill-fitting pieces would be supplied in abundance to complete the picture. The man succumbed to his realization again, but insisted to himself that a blocked road is impassable.

His thoughts were much like this beach, flowing but coming to nothing, free only to be later confined, repeated continuously to reach the same conclusion. It was hopeless. He turned to face the sea, and sat.

[Pierre k31]

Well done. Even the blanks are easy to fill in/imagine using your framework.
The only issue I might have is punctuation. I probably would have used "the man" less often, but these are trivialities.
Good schtuff.

P

[hillwalker]

You write well. I was really captivated by the rather morose, unsettling atmosphere you create - the questions that remain unanswered.

I am sure there is more to this piece if you can bring yourself to add to it.

2 things though -

1] the phrase 'A motley group of trees swayed gently in harmonious tandem.....' is a mixed metaphor that is missing its second half.

'in tandem' usually refers to a pair of (possibly) contrasting elements that still have something in common. You don't tell us what other things the group of trees are in harmony with - presumably because the trees are in harmony with each other (so 'in tandem' is not the right phrase). I hope my clumsy explanation makes sense.

2] your open letter - that you don't know what to make of anything that you write?
You write so well - give yourself some credit. You may feel some of it is trash - so what, you can't expect everything you write to be perfect. But the key is to keep writing anyway - every day - no matter what comes into your head, scribble it down.
It's like a violinist practising to play - he may play for six hours a day, five days a week, and just once every six months he comes up with the perfect performance in his bedroom. Nobody ever gets to hear it because he's still practising.
But at least if you practice your writing every day, when you do come up with that killer line or that wonderful metaphor you will always have a copy - and be able to put it to good use.

Thumbs up - and good luck.

[Tarvaa]

Thank you for your comments and encouragement. They really help.

I wrote this just now. In terms of the story, it comes just before my previous post. It is not a pleasant scene.

They stared at each other from across the table, unable to summon the words they both needed. Silence descended in the kitchen. The man felt that he had entered a deep cave, where his torch had failed leaving him in the dark, with no answer or escape. She was sitting opposite with intensity flashed in her eyes, pertaining to the fierce rejections at her disposal. The candle in the corner flickering in the throes of death, threw light into their features. She bore a face that simultaneously cried out for mercy, but shone with the invincibility of an uncut diamond. She was looking at him as if he were a child, as if he was dependent on others, unable to stand on his own. Besieged as his pride was, under the scope of this condescending scowl, anger rose in him like bubbling magma beneath the earth’s surface. Her utter contempt for him at this moment scalded the air with toxic vapors that he was helpless but to inhale. Eventually, inebriated with anger he launched into a frenzied attack. He jumped across the table, sending the glasses and plates flying. Seized by shock and fear, she could only shuffle backward, but was too slow to escape him. He grabbed her by clothes and pinned her to the floor, his blood-filled face momentarily hung above hers like a vulture waiting for the sign. Tears of fear had begun the streak her makeup.
“What did you expect?” he shouted whilst shaking her violently.
She could make no response; not only had his hand slipped to her neck but also that her whole being had contorted in terror, paralyzing her thoughts and body.
“Nothing to say now!” Again he yelled mercilessly. Barely able to breathe, she merely yelped pathetically, like a dying animal. Then his fist came smashing down onto her face, like a pickaxe on anvil, drawing blood and sending her crashing from his grasp to the floor. He picked up and repeated the actions, until he had exhausted himself. She regained control of herself and took refuge, curled in the corner of the room, silent but for the sound of her sniffing blood in her nose and the sobs of trauma. He slumped backwards and sat legs open, bent at the knee, thoughtless.

Dawn approached and the sky in the window was tinted pink. He picked up a glass and returned it calmly to the table before walking out of the room.

[hillwalker]

Some more vivid descriptions. Your imagery is definitely your strong point.

But there are far too many images to absorb in that first long paragraph. It's like you have a list of wonderful descriptions and metaphors up your sleeve to convey how your two characters feel and you want to use them all up at once in case they go to waste.

It might have been better in a longer piece - interspersing this scene-setting with some more action or dialogue. If you think of a film - the director might focus on one or two images to convey a mood or create an atmosphere but before long he would insert something new to keep the story flowing - then divert our attention to a new image later into the story.

Writing a story can be very much like creating a film - you have to find ways to keep the reader awake!

And I don't think the metaphor of a pick-axe striking an anvil is appropriate since a pick-axe has a sharp point and is normally used to dig up concrete or rocks. One would not normally use the two together. Perhaps a hammer makes more sense.

But like your previous piece it is very well-written - with powerful and original imagery - it just needs a few adjustments.

H