Vomit

[nightsispend]

Hi. This is my first post here, but I see these forums as a way to help me improve on a hobby of mine- literature. I mainly enjoy reading, but writing is my way of venting frustration or anxiety. As a warning, my work may be a bit angst-y, but I would appreciate feedback on technique, style, theme, and grammar all the same.

What I've been doing lately is writing a short fiction story based on a picture, and that's where this story comes from.

http://horizontallement.tumblr.com/post/12540659998

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"Wow," I think. "I can't believe I bed a girl like that. I can't believe I'm in a place like this."

The novelty of being nouveau riche had not yet faded. The deep mahogany doorways still glistened with the sweat of my hard work. The cream colored walls were freshly left to set, and the sun shone bright through my windows, shone bright on me, exposing me to the eyes of the world, and for once I was not ashamed.

The champagne seeping through my pores smelled better than the beer I produced in my earlier days. Seeing as how this was now my reality, however, I smiled through the pain and met the gaze of the world with pride in my household.

As I'm thinking this, propped up on my elbows, surveying my wares, I see the girl I met last night, Eva, and instantly my heart sinks.

She is perfect.

I often used to walk the streets lackadaisically and like my friend Nick, I'd, "pick out romantic women from the crowd and imagine that in a few minutes I was going to enter into their lives." My God, how romantic she is. Her brunette ponytail is strong. It doesn't pull her face back, her face is naturally fiery with focus.... What is she focusing on?

I see her looking down at her fingers and they're fumbling with her shirt buttons. Climbing up, climbing higher, but how high can I jump? I search her body and she is still in the black stockings she wore last night. I still have time. I look up.

"Where are you going," I ask before I can help myself, like a child entitled to know where his mother is going.

"I have to go back home, you know?" Her answer is practically cold, and I feel the blackness, the vacuum in which creativity resides, leave me and recede into her.

I am where I am, but it holds no importance. The thing I most covet is her affections, **** affectations. "Love ME," my heart screams, but her shirt is buttoned by now.

In my earlier days I would chase after this girl, but now I know it's for naught. I lay down, escape into the quick thought of how soft my bed is, but my deep exhale brings me back.

"O.k.," I hear, and she stands straight before me, her body asking if she looks presentable.

"You look great. Let me walk you out." She walks in front me. Her legs carrying her with the same effortlessness curtains move with when facing wind. She stops at the door. She smiles. I smile.The good bye is an equation we all remember. I lean in to hug and she reciprocates. We break apart, I leave with her a piece of my heart, I open the door, she takes it, turns back to wave a bye and I smile a smile of "please return", and with that she leaves.

I turn from the now closed door. "Damn, man, things never change, do they?"

[hillwalker]

Well done for taking the plunge to post something on here – I’m guessing you enjoy writing and are enthusiastic about seeing your work on the net so don’t take any criticism personally. It’s all about improving your technique as much as gaining confidence.

This is a bit self-consciously naïve – the ‘Wow’ – ‘She is perfect’ – ‘My God how romantic’ – ‘Damn, man.’ It’s like someone describing a first hot date in their private diary yet wanting to tell the world all about it. Unfortunately it’s old news for most readers and unless you can bring some really fresh insight to the situation it’s not going to be that well received. But full marks for trying at least.

There are a few other points you might want to bear in mind –

1) The title will keep some readers away… and I can’t see the relevance.

2) The opening sentence always gives the reader a clue as to what kind of writer you are. Unfortunately it’s grammatically muddled so not a great way to start.

"Wow," I think. "I can't believe I bed a girl like that…”

I’m not sure what you are trying to say because it is open to a number of misinterpretations:

I can’t believe I have bedded… or am bedding… or am in bed with a girl like this one…

And ‘like that’ could refer to the writer not believing he got lucky with such an attractive girl or not believing he got someone into bed as easily as he did.

You need to set the reader straight right from the first word by making sure your writing is clear and concise.

3) Rather than keeping things simple you have also introduced some rather peculiar images –

doorways glistening ‘with sweat’ suggests a messy workman rather than a hard-working one (can you see why?).

the beer the narrator ‘produced in [his] earlier days’ suggests he once worked as a brewer or somehow excreted it from his body (I’m assuming neither was the case – presumably what you meant was he could only afford to drink beer in his youth).

a ‘strong’ ponytail - and a face ‘fiery with focus’? I’ve no idea what you’re trying to describe here…

and how does one “pick out romantic women”?
Perhaps you mean 'attractive' women that suggests a certain appearance rather than ‘romantic’ that implies a lifestyle or a way of behaving that would not be immediately visible.

4) Finally, this sentence needs major repair work –

In my earlier days I would chase after this girl,- I thought you had only just picked her up from the street but now I know it's for naught. I lay down (should be ‘lie down’ because you're writing in present tense), escape into the quick (sudden?) thought of how soft my bed is, but my deep exhale (’exhalation’) brings me back.

You mention the word angsty – perhaps because the narrator refers to so many deep, meaningful thoughts going through his mind - but this reader is unable to connect with him because these diversions seem extremely false – as if you’re trying to make the character more interesting than he really is:
Why does he feel pain when he surveys his home?
Why does he want to jump high?
How does his creativity (?) transfer from a vacuum (??) into her?

These internalised thought processes are a bit of a mess really. And since we can only picture him in our heads from the information you feed us my impression of him is confused and rather flimsy to say the least.

It’s a story about some rich guy who used to be poor waking up in bed with a beautiful woman he just met who is about to walk out of his life like every other woman has.
There’s not much more there once you take away all his obscure inner thoughts. To make it remotely interesting it needs fleshing out. If you have anything more to offer other than just this very brief episode you need to give it to us because as it stands it’s a little bit weak.

Keep reading because that way you’ll get to pick up how other writers manage to make a story compelling enough to read. And keep writing.

Good luck.

H