Ok. I'm gonna give you people a sample of a book I'm writing. And I hope you'll either stay the hell out of this thread (if you're not interested) or give me your honest opinion. (Yes, you may totally debunk all my writer ambitions; shatter my hopes to pieces, so long as you give me your honest opinion on this.)
The book is about a raging alcoholic trying to regain some dignity and self-respect in life. Not for himself, but for his son. And yes, the book will have a much nicer ending than the part I'm about to show you. Ok, here goes:
---
The half-eaten marmalade sandwich from last night decided to pull
George's feet away from underneath him. He dropped the bottle and
waved his hands to try and keep balance; reaching for something steady
to hold on to. But the whole room changed it's relative position in a
matter of seconds. As much as he tried to control it, it just wouldn't obey
the laws of physics. That's when the deceatful, tapestried brick wall
seased the opportunity, and threw a crippling blow to the back of his
head. He could hear his own skull crack. The room changed direction and
the floor smacked against his backside hard and without mercy. The
bottle exploded vodka and shattered glass all over him. He was being
mercilessly beaten up by his own apartment. Talk about irony. Surviving
everything he's been through, only to end up like this.
For a moment the haze was so strong that he could barely see through
it. The grayish white roof too bright to look at. He could smell nothing
but his own suffocating body odour, the stench of his dirty underware
lying next to him, and the spilled out vodka. He felt a strong need to
puke. And so he did.
George wasn't aware of how long he had been lying there when the
bedroom door slowly opened from the outside. It brought with it a killing
light that abruptly brought him back to the realisation of his
predicament. Yet, he was unable to get up and away from it. He could
just turn his head side to side. Every attempt he made to sit up was
quickly and harshly worked against by the room shifting it's position such
that he found himself lying flat on the floor again; with more pain
surging through him as the floor not only came up to meet his back, but
pound hard against it everytime.
And the tragedy of it all is that even now, even while lying on the floor
covered in his own dried blood, vomit and vodka, he could think of little
else than having a glass of said liquor. He wanted it now more than
ever. To help him get away from this crazy apartment spinning around
him; mocking him for his weakness. He needed to passout completely.
The pain is unbearable. He begins to laugh for no particular reason.
"Dad?"
Adrian comes walking through the door, but stops still and covers his
mouth when he sees the mess.
"Da-ad?"
His still idolised father lying there, defeated by brick and concrete.
Adrian's eyes filled with tears. He's holding a football under his left arm
and now George remembers. He had promised Adrian that they'd play
football today. He had promised to be sober, and that this was their day.
A deep remorse overtook him completely; almost killed him, but what
did that matter now?
"Do yo-ou need he-elp?", Adrian asked, sobbing.
"Uuh?.. No... no son. Just..." George focused hard to look at Adrian:
"Just leave me alone for a while and everything will be... will be fine.
Ok?"
But George couldn't see what Adrian saw. And despite being so young,
Adrian knew exactly what to do by now. This wasn't the first time. So, it
was just a matter of minutes before the ambulance arrived. And while
they carried him out on the stretcher he looked at Adrian, standing next
to the police officer, and said: "They'll just take me away for a while.
Ok? I'll get better, and then we can play football again." Raising his
voice so that Adrian can hear him as they're carrying him downstairs: "I
promise, son! We'll play football when I get back!"
But Adrian knew that George, his dad, wasn't going to come back any
time soon. Adrian knew, and it made him sad. He couldn't even raise his
voice enough so that George would hear him: "Yes, dad! We'll play
football!", he whispered while looking at his feet, trying so hard not to
burst out in tears.
----
Well. What do you think, people? Should I just keep my day job? 😕
- Joined
- 05 Oct 05
- Moves
- 63425
Originally posted by stocken:'(
Ok. I'm gonna give you people a sample of a book I'm writing. And I hope you'll either stay the hell out of this thread (if you're not interested) or give me your honest opinion. (Yes, you may totally debunk all my writer ambitions; shatter my hopes to pieces, so long as you give me your honest opinion on this.)
The book is about a raging alcoholic trying ...[text shortened]... do you think, people? Should I just keep my day job? 😕
Your mechanics need to be worked on; your verb tenses need to be improved on, too (notice how after the semi-colon, it could stand as a simple sentence in this case). I also spotted a fragment or two in there. But it is only a rough draft so no big deal.
Other than that, you used effective adjectives to describe the situation. I was able to picture what you were saying. If you keep working at it, you will have something.
Originally posted by stockenI don't mean to be cruel cause I like you, stocken, but the story is absolutely horrible.
Ok. I'm gonna give you people a sample of a book I'm writing. And I hope you'll either stay the hell out of this thread (if you're not interested) or give me your honest opinion. (Yes, you may totally debunk all my writer ambitions; shatter my hopes to pieces, so long as you give me your honest opinion on this.)
The book is about a raging alcoholic trying ...[text shortened]... do you think, people? Should I just keep my day job? 😕
Why is it horrible? Cause you try to describe a scene that an alcoholic might go through, but you apparently know nothing about alcoholics.
They do not puke.
They do not have hangovers.
Alcoholics might fall down down, but not the way you describe it - they wouldn't feel the room spinning around them.
Only non-alcoholics who get drunk have those symptoms. Alcoholics don't.
Originally posted by arrakisLet me say it once for all, arrakis : you don't know a **** about what you're talking about but you still pretend to know everything about it.
I don't mean to be cruel cause I like you, stocken, but the story is absolutely horrible.
Why is it horrible? Cause you try to describe a scene that an alcoholic might go through, but you apparently know nothing about alcoholics.
They do not puke.
They do not have hangovers.
Alcoholics might fall down down, but not the way you describe it - they woul ...[text shortened]... ning around them.
Only non-alcoholics who get drunk have those symptoms. Alcoholics don't.
Shut up once for all.
Originally posted by RavelloTell me, oh great alcoholic master🙂 not being an alcoholic (I get sick on three beers) I am curious, I would think an alky would maybe have more tolerance to alcohol but don't see how an alky could avoid getting sick if there was too much consumed. Do you know from first hand experience or observed an alcoholic in action? I haven't had much contact with a real alcoholic.
Let me say it once for all, arrakis : you don't know a **** about what you're talking about but you still pretend to know everything about it.
Shut up once for all.
Originally posted by stockenIt's crap. But keep trying.
Ok. I'm gonna give you people a sample of a book I'm writing. And I hope you'll either stay the hell out of this thread (if you're not interested) or give me your honest opinion. (Yes, you may totally debunk all my writer ambitions; shatter my hopes to pieces, so long as you give me your honest opinion on this.)
The book is about a raging alcoholic trying ...[text shortened]... do you think, people? Should I just keep my day job? 😕
Originally posted by stockenHorror fantasy?
Ok. I'm gonna give you people a sample of a book I'm writing. And I hope you'll either stay the hell out of this thread (if you're not interested) or give me your honest opinion. (Yes, you may totally debunk all my writer ambitions; shatter my hopes to pieces, so long as you give me your honest opinion on this.)
The book is about a raging alcoholic trying ...[text shortened]... do you think, people? Should I just keep my day job? 😕
Oh, i know.
Romance, passion, MARMALADE!!!!!
Originally posted by stockenits ok, a few of the senteces seemed to stop the flow, the ones i quoted seemed to be the stoppers, try finding some other way to say talk about irony, that ought to smoothen it out, nice overall though
. Talk about irony. Surviving
everything he's been through, only to end up like this.
For a moment the haze was so strong that he could barely see through
it. The grayish white roof too bright to look at. He could smell nothing
but his own suffocating body odour, the stench of his dirty underware
lying next to him, and the spilled out vodka. He felt a strong need to
puke. And so he did.