Unfinished

This is my first attempt at writing in a while, I guess I'm trying to find my voice again, so that's primarily what I was trying to do with this. Please let me know what you think.

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David scaled the fence in one try. He had worked at it for months, tried to meticulously plan the best footing and speed to carry him over. His younger brother, Sam, watched David practice this most afternoons.

“What are you doing that for?” Sam asked some days.

It was a valid question. The fence wasn’t terribly impressive, just eight feet of chain link dividing the street from an empty lot that used to be someone’s yard. There wasn’t anything on the other side that you couldn’t get to by walking around the block, and if they had a little time most 12 year old boys could climb up one side and down the other.

But there was something about it…

David couldn’t stop thinking about jumping the fence lightning fast with as little actual climbing as possible; not like a lizard crawling up a wall, the way most kids climbed fences, but more like a monkey swinging through a tree.

“I don’t know, Sam,” David would reply. He really had considered this question, was almost frightened of it sometimes, but the best answer he figured his brother needed was

“It’s something to do.”

Sam would roll his eyes at the vague never-changing answer and begin to walk the three blocks back home.

Now David was afraid he would never see home again… or Sam. He tried to push the idea out of his head, right now he needed to focus on exactly one thing: Run.

He couldn’t believe it. He had finally been able to jump that fence, had finally needed to, had proved that the summer hadn’t been one colossal waste of time, and he had no time to feel how right he was about the whole thing. He had run fast enough to lose them for a minute, but the adrenaline that made it possible to jump the fence at all was beginning to drain, leaving him exhausted with lungs made of wet fire.

He ran through the empty lot, anxious to come out on the other side and take a random side street so he could rest. As he looked back to see if they were close, he slammed into something that was hard but gave a little, something that would leave diamond shaped bruises across his chest and knocked all the air from his already panicked lungs. Where three days ago there had been an open space, there was now a new chain link fence that proudly proclaimed “Whitaker Construction Incorporated”. Since the last time he'd been there,the odd fence had become a four-sided structure. David scrambled to his hands and knees, sucking in useless mouthfuls of air.

The sounds of a pack of rushed footsteps grew closer.

A very good start, to a very likeable novel! Unique and interesting, I would certainly would love to see more of this! Thanks for sharing!

I like it - very intriguing.

Some neat lines as well - exhausted with lungs made of wet fire. show you have a writer's feel for words.

For such a simple, uncomplicated plot, there's a lot to focus on and ponder over. Great writing.

H

Like a fart coming downwind, here's Jackie.

The best thing this piece has going for it is its simplicity. It doesn't trip itself up on any aspect of technique. But the previous two commenters seemed to receive it enthusiastically, and maybe we can call it a difference in taste, but Jack of Hearts doesn't see what the fuss is about.

So let's talk about this piece and 'your' voice, and see if we can't dig up something compelling.

Quote:

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David scaled the fence in one try. He had worked at it for months, tried to meticulously plan the best footing and speed to carry him over. His younger brother, Sam, watched David practice this most afternoons.

“What are you doing that for?” Sam asked some days.

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There's nothing descriptive here, but we can easily see that it's a 'set up.' This reader knew that adoring the prose itself was out of the question at this point. It's very basic and factual. 'David did X. He had being doing X in some manner. His younger brother often watched.' Informative, yes, artistic value nil so far... (Hey, it's kinda like a prologue-- "Reader, get this now! We can enjoy the story later!")

But this is going to give rise to a greater truth that might benefit you the more, so think about this question for a minute: If this were an actual event that had happened in the world, how would you have told it to someone else?

Quote:

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It was a valid question. The fence wasn’t terribly impressive, just eight feet of chain link dividing the street from an empty lot that used to be someone’s yard. There wasn’t anything on the other side that you couldn’t get to by walking around the block, and if they had a little time most 12 year old boys could climb up one side and down the other.

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... In relating the actual event, would you have said things like 'It was a valid question. The fence wasn't terribly impressive...'? If yes: Nevermind and disregard this whole feedback. As an aside, your use of conversation is as banal as a carciature of a 19th century English gentleman.

If no, welcome to a world where you refused to make a choice.

You put this piece in the third person and the narrator's presence isn't hidden at all. Here's what we know about your narrator: he or she (for some reason, this reader thinks 'he') is a serious voice that dislikes adjectives and adores saying things like 'Not terribly impressive.' as well as making judgements about which questions are valid. 'That's just style,' you might say, 'That's just something to spice up the narrative.' But no it isn't, no it doesn't. It reads more like your idea of what a piece of writing is 'supposed' to read like, rather than actually reading like anything. It reads like dusty imitation of seriousness.

And, unfortunately, it seems archetypal. Meaning it isn't just you. Meaning it isn't just your voice. The grim truth of it is that this reader has personally critiqued a sea of stories told by this exact same third person narrator. The serious guy with verbose, stuffy word patterns and a dislike of imagery. That guy must be working overtime. Do you know what his name is? Default.

What we have is an echo, not a voice. If you wanted a voice, you would have had to have made a decision. If the narrator is to be so visible, with judgements and his extraneous commentary and even use of language in general, well, you'd have to create a narrator as well as a series of events.

So that's why the prose itself is uninteresting. To its benefit, it's mostly based in concrete action and it's simple. Uninspired, but readable.

As for the images themselves, we have a boy practicing jumping a fence for no discernible reason. Finally, one day, there is reason, and he jumps it successfully only to realize there's been another fenced placed before him. He seems to be being chased, and whatever's chasing him is getting nearer. The intrigue is in the notion that the boy himself had no idea why he was learning to jump the fence to begin with.

It's 'unfinished,' so there's that. Surprisingly little is done with the intriguing aspect itself, how he knows to practice jumping the fence in the first place. There's a lot to milk there. As it stands, this is thin. You could fatten it up into something nice if you wanted to. Basic events like those that you've covered here sometimes take up whole chapters of young adult novels, you know. Not that it should be that long or any length, just more developed.






J

thank you hillwalker and wiseman. Jack, thank you for shredding my first attempt at writing in over a year. All very good to know.