Living the Unlived Life

[Angie]

Living the Unlived Life is a story I began toward the beginning of 2006, and I think it's the best story I've ever written. However, I'm in a rut because I was trying to revise it before continuing on and writing the sixth chapter, but I got stuck in a rut. Therefore, I need some help from you guys. I'm going to go ahead and post the things that need to be done, and I'll post the actual story later when I have more time.

(Please use the links below for the most updated version of each chapter.)

Chapter I
Chapter II
Chapter III
Chapter IV
Chapter V
Chapter VI

Things I need help with:

1.) Making the dream chapter longer without ruining it.

2.) Fixing Chapter IV; may need total rewrite, which I will need your help with.

3.) Making the story as a whole less cheesy and awkward.

4.) Helping me find and fix the time tenses thing Froggy mentioned: "You seem to be switching between past and present tenses here...you might want to double check that."

5.) Making some decisions about the story's introduction (almost everyone didn't get the point that she doesn't talk at all for any reasons until a couple of chapters in or until I told them): "I didn't realize at first that the main character wouldn't speak at all, but that was clear by the end."

6.) Proofreading it one last time for grammatical and awkward wording errors.

7.) Rewriting parts that aren't realistic: "It seemed kinda weird to me that she suddenly felt more attached to the world in Chapter 4. It came out of nowhere."

8.) Following what I planned in my A/N: "If you think I don't give enough detail in some area of another, please mention it, but in some cases it is intentional. She doesn't describe her surroundings or write others' dialogue very well in the beginning because she doesn't really pay much attention to them at that point. If I do this right, all her senses will sharpen throughout the story. Also, you don't know what the main character looks like because: 1.) There hasn't been much of an opportunity. 2.) And I want this to be fairly universal so almost anybody in a slightly similar situation can relate."

9.) Making the characters (mainly Emmet, Pru's mom, and especially Met's parents) more real.

10.) Making the incidents in Chapter V more realistic, and maybe making Met's parents meaner while making them less fake-seeming.

11.) Making sure the reader understands that there is a reason for everything that happens (and making sure that there really is a reason for everything that happens). This also goes back to making the progression noticable.

12.) Fixing anything else that needs to be fixed.

I need serious help.

By the way, the first four chapters are slightly revised, and the fifth is not proofread/revised at all.

[Gil Alexander]

Like I said, I'd be glad to help. Maybe not with everything, but with most of the stuff you listed.

[Angie]

Chapter I ~

A/N: Wow, I am really prone to short chapters. . . Anyway, here's the revised (and hopefully better) version! If you've read the orginal, please feel free to tell me if I changed something you don't think should have been changed. Enjoy!

I sat in my little corner just outside the circle of furniture in our living room and held my notebook close to me on my knees as I wrote frantically. If someone who didn’t know me walked in, they would have thought I was angrily trying to poke holes in the paper and break my pen. But I loved my notebooks and pens; they were truly the only friends I could confide in. I merely write quickly because emotions and words and thoughts come at me so fast, I have to grab at them as fast as I can and put them down before they escape my grasp. A net would probably come in very handy during my writing sessions.

I heard the screen door open and the doorknob turn, and I glanced up from my work before going back to my little world. It was my mother getting home from her job as a waitress at a local café, as I had expected.

My mom. She had meant so much to me those past 9 years since my father’s death, and I just hoped she knew it, for the thought hadn’t been spoken in our home for too long. She’s so beautiful, and I don’t just mean her thick black hair or large brown eyes. She accepted me for who I was when no one else would, and she was just about the only person who I could say really knew me.

“You’re going to get to meet Emmet and his brother and friends later tonight.” she said.

I hated it when she talked to me while I was reading or writing because I felt compelled to listen, and the interruption broke my train of thought and threw me off course. Of course, if she only spoke when it was perfectly convenient, I would have never heard a word out of her because I always had a book or pen in my hand. I suppose I liked it that way though; my mother's just who she is, and I don’t think I could have her any other way. She's always kept a balance with me because we’re so different. Though despite our differences, we’ve always remained best friends.

I looked up at her as she continued, “Met and I have been going out for three months now, which is longer than I’ve kept a man since your father, so I figured it was time.”

My father. He and I were very close while he was alive. He wasn’t outgoing or anything like Mom, but he was a very musical man. Ever since I could remember, he would sing me to sleep every night, and once I was old enough, he taught me the piano, the guitar, singing, song writing: everything that was his life apart from his family.

I poised my pen and waited for a moment to hear if she was going to say anything else. After a few seconds, I gathered my scattered mind and went back to making use of the beautiful pen I had gotten for my birthday the year before.

My reverie didn’t last long, for just a moment later, the timer went off in the kitchen, and I got up to go check on dinner.

Mom walked in from the bathroom where she had been changing from her work clothes, “Mmm, something smells great. Is that lasagna? And lemon cake?”

She knew that the question would be rhetorical when directed at me, so she looked over my shoulder into the oven.

“You don’t know how lucky I am that I have a daughter who is so skilled in the culinary arts.” she said, putting an extra flourish on the last two words. She knew better than to tease me like that; I had my passions and self-taught skills, and the last thing I needed was for her to make fun of them. Luckily, she turned it on herself. “If you weren’t, we’d be stuck eating undercooked bacon with burnt toast, lopsided bologna sandwiches, and half-frozen tv dinners every day. I was hoping you’d fix this meal because we always have so many leftovers, so there ought to be enough for Emmet and them.”

I hate to sound selfish, but I had been planning on just reheating it for the next two days so I wouldn’t have to cook again for a while, but it was for guests, so I decided to just find something else for the next few meals.

“So are you going to go to cooking school someday?”

I shook my head.

“Ah, plain old college. Going to major in something artistic?”

Yet again, I shook my head. I wasn’t totally sure what I wanted, but I knew it had to be something that helped others as well as myself. Sure, I was perfectly suited for a job that called for absolutely no social interaction, but that certainly couldn’t be right for me. To some people I seemed like the most frightened and weak person in the world, but they didn’t know me. That wasn’t the kind of person I wanted to be. And I hoped it wasn’t the kind of person I was.

“Oh, so you’re going to be an engineer type?”

I shrugged.

Mom took the cake out to cool while I set the table. I turned around and saw her take the bottom pot out of the cabinet. I leaped to pull her out of the way as the pans came tumbling to the floor.

She waved the little pot with a flustered look, “I was going to make tea...”

I knew that it was no accident. Sometimes she would put herself in mild danger so that I would yell out to her, but she always made the mistake of having me close enough in the vicinity to save her with no words. I knew she was doing it out of love, but I just wasn’t ready to speak yet. I figured it would most likely take time and determination before I could, and I couldn’t just be scared out of it. I didn’t have the hiccups, after all.

As I set out the silverware, I glanced at the timer on the stove. Twenty minutes until the lasagna was done. I was glad because that would allow me a short break to write down an idea I had just had for my term paper I was required to write for school in three months. Before you start laughing your head off, let me say in my own defense that planning ahead always lets me get things done well and on time.

Yes, laugh all you want, but you will soon learn that my trait of getting things done early is not the one that makes me far from normal.

[Angie]

Chapter II ~

A/N: Yikes, I think this one's shorter than the others. . . Maybe if this is ever published (ha!), it will be a chapterless novella. . .

The second I wrote the final period in my notes, I heard the timer go off. I went into the kitchen and nudged Mom, who was frosting the cake with cream cheese icing, aside so I could take the lasagna out. I set it on a couple of potholders on the table, put ice in the glasses, poured the tea into a jug, and went back into the living room to write down another idea that had just come upon me.

Just a short moment later, the doorbell rang, and Mom excitedly came in to answer it.
“Hello, Met. Boys,” she said as she showed a group of men into our home.

I looked up at them as she turned to me, “Pru, this is Met, his brother George, his friend Lowe, and his brother’s friend Tristan. Boys, this is my daughter, Prudence Rivera. I like to call her Pru, and I don’t think she would mind if you did either.”

Perhaps I am a bit prudent, but it sounds so stuffy and old. I certainly do prefer the name Pru.
I nodded a greeting at them and went back to my writing.

Mom showed them their seats, and Met said, “So, your mother tells me you’re pretty smart. Straight A’s since kindergarten and skipped two grades?”

It had little to do with intelligence, but I gave a curt nod nonetheless. Ever since I was seven, I would lock myself in my room or sit in my corner, and that can be very boring if you’ve read every book in the house and haven’t yet discovered the fantastically relieving art of writing. Therefore, in my quest for something to amuse myself, I would get out my schoolbooks and practically memorize them. That, of course, got old once I had read them all about five times each, so I asked my mother to elaborate on the subjects the books taught. Once she had gotten as far as her knowledge bank would allow, I had to know more, so I began to take trips to the library. By keeping that up, I was greatly skilled in calculus and Latin and the like before I was ten.

“Pru, honey, why don’t you go pour the tea into the glasses and serve the lasagna?” said Mom.

I got up and went into the kitchen to do as she said. I suppose she thought I couldn’t hear her from the next room because that was when she started to explain me a bit. She knows me better than anyone else in the world, but I didn’t like her feeling like she had to warn people or tell them why I was how I was. I wanted them to find out who I was on their own; that way they didn’t prejudge me (whether it be in a good or bad way) as much. She praises me with much of her talk, but people should have the opportunity to figure out if I’m a saint or sinner or just a human being without someone telling them what to think right when they meet me.

“She doesn’t talk. . . She hasn’t said a word since- since her father died nine years ago. . . I suppose she’s still grieving.”

It wasn’t just grief. Looking back, I now realize I just needed so desperately to know I had control over something in my life.

I stuck my head out of the swinging door to motion them to come in for dinner so that I could keep a better eye on her.

As we sat down, Mom said, “That girl’s always got a pen in her hand. Sometimes I want to yank it away just to see if they’re attached to each other.”

Oh, how funny.

As they all sat there laughing, and my mom told them more about me, I began realizing something that I had never really, truly thought about before. I was isolated. I had always known that people perceived me as odd, and my refusal to speak was crippling in some situations, but until that moment, as I truly observed them as people and not just examples of human habit that I could write an essay about, it had never really hit me how separated from them I was. Every single person on Earth, even my mother, was in a circle of people living their lives, and I was standing a million miles away from it, unable to push my way to it or call out for help.

“...and then when I asked her if she knew what happened to the cake, with her face covered in chocolate, my little Pru pointed at the dog.”

Go ahead, embarrass me as much as you possibly can.

-No, I’m surely not really that bitter. Go ahead and make fun; if you can laugh at me, why not? At least it might make me feel like I touched someone’s life in some minuscule way. For once.

The talk quieted down for a while as everyone ate their meals. Mom began fidgeting nervously like she was trying to decide on a troubling matter.

“Pru, I have to be honest with you. I had a bit of an alibi when I invited the boys over tonight.” she finally said. She grabbed Emmet’s arm. “I wanted you to meet Met and become acquainted with him and his friends and family because. . . Well, because they’re going to be like family from now on. Honey, we’re engaged.”

That one definitely made me look up.

“So. . . So do you approve?”

I’d only seen the man for the first time half an hour before, but I gave him a look over anyway. Calloused hands; a hard worker. Honest eyes; I knew my mother could use a sincere man. I tried to remember all that Mom had told me about him. He worked at a construction company to pay for college... He was twenty-nine, four years my mom’s junior... He lived in an apartment a few blocks away with his brother... He took her for a walk through the park in the snow on their first date...Even though they had only been dating for a little while, she seemed to really like him, and that was mainly all that really mattered.

I supposed he was suitable enough to marry her, from what I knew. I gave her a reassuring nod before finishing my tea over my jumbled thoughts and going to get ready for bed because I had to go to work in the morning.

[Angie]

Chapter III ~

A/N: Ack, this one's the shortest of them all! It's not even two pages in WordPerfect! I was going to try to make it longer, but I just couldn't figure out how. If you can help me add things to it gracefully, I would love it.

As I changed into my nightgown, I chuckled silently at the fact that my room looked just like the place where I worked: a library. My mom always had begged me to get rid of some of my books so that we would have more space, but I couldn’t even choose one that I was willing to lose, so that was when I built myself a huge bookshelf and stored them all away from her territory.

I sleepily turned my head to look out the window. The image of neighbor’s dog chewing on a bone in their backyard faded from my sight as I saw past it into a field. I squinted to see the details, but I didn’t have to after a moment, for the plain had somehow moved closer. No, I was standing in it. I realized suddenly that it wasn’t a farmer’s field, as I had thought, but a small clearing in a forest.

I shivered and realized that I was still just wearing my nightgown, and snow had begun to fall gently on me. I turned around to go back to my room, but all I saw was forest. Since I apparently couldn’t go back the way I came, I went to the other side of the clearing.

My bare feet crunched on the cold dead flowers that covered the ground as I walked toward the woods. Upon getting a closer look at the tall, lifeless trees, I realized that I had been there before. More than once, in fact. I came there every night in my dreams, at first without the knowledge of my past visits, but then it all would come rushing back to me at once.

I suddenly remembered everything I had known and felt about the place, and it gave me an uneasy feeling. The forest and clearing had absolutely no life to it anywhere, except perhaps in me, but part of me sometimes doubted even that. It was always very windy and icy, and it gave me chills for more reasons than one.

In this place I always felt that something was watching me, noting my every move, though I never heard or saw anything that would indicate such. I would have a terrible fear in the pit of my stomach that it might catch me, and I would have to face it. So throughout the entire dream, I would run, dashing behind trees and taking quick turns, just trying to flee that of which I was blindly terrified.

As usual, I felt that prick on my neck and ran for it like my life depended on it, which at that moment in time, I thought it may very well have. Those woods seemed never-ending for a while, but I soon started to come upon dead ends, trapping me with whatever it was that I feared so much. These barricades were mostly not very noteworthy in appearance, except for one: the waterfall. From a few feet away, it looked like it was running, but as I got closer, I realized that it was frozen, and the sparkle I had seen was from the rays of the never-ending night’s moonlight shining down upon it through the moving trees.

I put my hand on it but drew back as I saw something behind the wall of ice. It was my mother. As I looked closer, I saw my grandmother, and my neighbor Ana, and Emmet, and just about every other person who I’d met in the past few years. They were all having a picnic with the bright sun shining down on their faces as they laughed and talked in the flowers, and my cousins were even trying to catch butterflies down by the rippling creek.

I suddenly noticed that I had lost track of time and stood there longer than I had ever been motionless in my dream world, and then the thought crossed my mind that this was probably a big mistake. With my stomach in a knot to match a sailor’s, not knowing what would happen, I slowly turned around. At first I thought I was looking into a mirror because I saw my face. Then I realizes that I was, in fact, staring at myself. I gasped slightly, and the other me smiled.

She reached for my hand, but before she touched me, I was blinded. The bright sunlight shining through my curtains and the sounds of Mom making bacon in the next room seemed distant at first, but once I realized that I was in my own bed, they were closer than I thought possible. That was a nice feeling.

[Gil Alexander]

Review of Chapter 1-

I'm going to go through and show you things that might help, but don't take it hard if I tell you a lot of things to work on.

Technical/Grammatical -

"If someone who didn’t know me walked in, they would have thought I was angrily trying to poke holes in the paper and break my pen, but of course I wasn’t."

The 'but of course I wasn't' ruins the analogy a bit. I'd take off that phrase; without it, it'll be a bit smoother I think. To keep it flowing, I'd just start the next sentence with the word 'but.'

"I merely write quickly because emotions and words and thoughts come at me so fast, I have to grab at them as fast as I can and put them down before they escape my grasp. A net would probably come in very handy during my writing sessions."

Here's where you start to switch tenses. 'Write' should be 'wrote,' 'have' should be 'had,' 'can' should be 'could, 'would' should be 'would have,' and so on.

Btw, I'm liking it so far ;D

"She’s so beautiful, and I don’t just mean her thick black hair or large brown eyes."

She's should be 'she is,' because the way you have it makes it seem like you're changing tenses again, even if you aren't.


"I hate it when she talks to me while I’m reading or writing because I feel compelled to listen, and the interruption breaks my train of thought and throws me off course. Of course, if she only spoke when it was perfectly convenient, I’d never hear a word out of her because I’ve always got a book or pen in my hand. I suppose I like it this way though; my mother’s just who she is, and I don’t think I could have her any other way. She keeps a balance with me because we’re so different. Though despite our differences, we’re still best friends, of course. "

I'm not sure if you want to switch tenses here, because you're describing how the main character feels, and that might be constant, instead of just how the main character felt in the scene you're describing. So, you can take your pick for tenses but I'd use past if I were you.

"Ever since I could remember, he had sang me to sleep every night"

Should be: "he would sing me to sleep every night"

"My reverie didn’t last long, for just a moment later, the timer went off in the kitchen, and I had to get up to go check on dinner."

Try to make it a little clearer that she went to the kitchen after this, because it was a little confusing to me.

Character -

“You don’t know how lucky I am that I have a daughter who is so skilled in the culinary arts.” she said, putting an extra flourish on the last two words. She knew better than to tease me like that. Luckily, she turned it on herself. “If you weren’t, we’d be stuck eating undercooked bacon with burnt toast, lopsided bologna sandwiches, and half-frozen tv dinners every day. I was hoping you’d fix this meal because we always have so many leftovers, so there ought to be enough for Emmet and them.”

Hey - I like this. It shows a bit about the mom's personality.

You do a great job portraying the main character's personality. Easily, I got from this one chapter that she's antisocial, cynical, artistic, apprehensive, mysterious, but not at all unexciting. She's interesting, and that's what characters need to tick right along.

All in all, a great start. So far, the best thing you're doing right now is developing characters with a few hooks along the way, and that's a good thing to employ in/near the beginning.

[Angie]

The 'but of course I wasn't' ruins the analogy a bit. I'd take off that phrase; without it, it'll be a bit smoother I think. To keep it flowing, I'd just start the next sentence with the word 'but.' - Okay, I'll change that.

Here's where you start to switch tenses. 'Write' should be 'wrote,' 'have' should be 'had,' 'can' should be 'could, 'would' should be 'would have,' and so on. - I did that on purpose because she still writes now, and it's not a thing of the past.

She's should be 'she is,' because the way you have it makes it seem like you're changing tenses again, even if you aren't. - Um, that doesn't really make sense. . .

I'm not sure if you want to switch tenses here, because you're describing how the main character feels, and that might be constant, instead of just how the main character felt in the scene you're describing. So, you can take your pick for tenses but I'd use past if I were you. - Oops! I'll go change that too.

Should be: "he would sing me to sleep every night" - Yeah, that is better.

Try to make it a little clearer that she went to the kitchen after this, because it was a little confusing to me. - It's not obvious when she said the timer went off in the kitchen, and she had to go check on dinner? Hmm, should I change it to that the timer went off in the kitchen, and she got up to check on dinner?

Hey - I like this. It shows a bit about the mom's personality.
You do a great job portraying the main character's personality. Easily, I got from this one chapter that she's antisocial, cynical, artistic, apprehensive, mysterious, but not at all unexciting. She's interesting, and that's what characters need to tick right along.
All in all, a great start. So far, the best thing you're doing right now is developing characters with a few hooks along the way, and that's a good thing to employ in/near the beginning. - Wow, you make me sound like a good writer or something! Thanks! ;D

Thanks again for the review - I think it helped. ;D

[Angie]

Chapter IV ~

A/N: I didn't edit this one much at all because I couldn't figure out how to fix it. Something about the beginning (the revelations and the talk with her mother) just doesn't seem right, like it's forced or rushed or something. Could someone please help me rewrite that part?

That had been the first time I ever let myself finish the dream. I just hoped I could go back to that forest, for I had a feeling that it would be different than before if I did.

That recurring dream became the second awakening for me in the past day. The way I saw it, I was running away from life, locking myself away from everyone and everything that meant anything to me. I suddenly remembered a quote from a movie I once saw, and it made me feel slightly guilty.

A man was talking to a young girl about immortality, trying to make her understand that it isn’t as great as everyone tends to assume, “Don’t be afraid of death. Be afraid of the unlived life.”

For the past nine years, I had led a life in a way that I couldn’t have the gall to call living. I was going through the motions of a life, but because I had shut myself away from the world, I was no more important to people than a tiny speck of dust. After all, what’s the point of everything but to share yourself with others and spread your love to them? Sitting in a corner in silence while everyone enjoys their time together and acts as a big family, that leaves no legacy. But giving the gift of love to those around you, that stays forever. Even after we’re all gone and our names forgotten, the love still passes on.

I wanted to live my life and show the world that I was here for a purpose. I was determined to make sure that no one would ever be able to say that I didn’t live life to its fullest and let everyone know how much I loved them.

I’m in for one hell of a ride, I thought to myself.

I got up and took a quick shower before going into the kitchen for breakfast. I had woken up earlier than normal, so I took my time eating.

Mom took a sip of her coffee, “So, I didn’t get a chance to finish talking about the wedding last night. I was wondering if you’d like to help plan it.”

I nodded and looked at her curiously.

“It might seem like a bit much, but I’ve got ideas for lots of different things you could do. For one, I know that you have a good eye for beauty, so maybe you could make the dresses?”

I nodded and gestured for her to continue.

“Also, you’re very good at and organizing things, so would you help with the planning? You know, send out invitations, set up the family dinner and reception, do the decorations.”

It would be time consuming, but it was for my mom, and I saw it as my opportunity to help along my little self project.

Mom took a sip of her coffee, “We’re going over to Met’s parents’ house tonight for dinner, by the way.”

My stomach jolted. My first opportunity to begin to break the box I was in came so quickly it caught me by surprise. If I was at a dinner, I could try to listen to what everyone was saying and maybe feel like I was a part of it; even though I knew I wouldn’t talk, I knew it might help.
At least it’ll be a small step this time, I thought to myself.

With the conversation finished, I got up to get my things and leave for work. As my shoes clicked to a rhythm on the sidewalk, I looked around at my neighborhood. It was all the same houses and trees and fences, but the colors seemed crisper, and the chirruping birds seemed a little more musical than usual. It was a strange feeling to notice these things with the intensity I was forcing on myself. I had always stared aimlessly, closing off my eyes and ears and mind to my surroundings. It kind felt nice to be a part of something, even just a springtime morning. Though, at the same time, it was a terrifying emotion.

By the time I got to the library, I had come close to humming, but I of course stopped myself. I stepped through the big oak doors and looked around at the place that had become my second home. The usual dread of being in a public place suddenly wiped away the best mood I had been in for years.

I set my bag down behind the counter and began cataloging the books we had got in the week before. Jean, the girl who usually ran the counter, left to go tell some children in the corner to be quiet. My throat tightened, and I tried to mentally will myself invisible until she came back, but that was of course to no avail.

A college-age man with glazed eyes came up and said, “This book says it’s a ‘compilation of memoirs of famous poets of the twentieth century’. What’s a memoir (memo-ear)?”

I normally would have rolled my eyes at this question, but I was too distracted by the fact that he requested an answer that I couldn’t give in a gesture. I hesitated, then pointed to the dictionaries.

“Uh, yeah, so is that like all their poems and stuff?”

I shook my head.

“So what is it?”

I looked around the library, but I couldn’t see Jean anywhere. I wasn’t allowed to leave the counter unattended, so I couldn’t get a dictionary with which to show him; I was trapped. As usual, despite my new resolution, my mind simply wouldn’t allow me to talk. Not then, not to that man.

“Uh, well?”

I hated it when a new person would come to the library; everyone else knew all about me. My nails always dug into my hands, just a little, when I heard the whispers and explanations amongst perfect strangers. I had a feeling it would be worse now that I was really trying to change myself. Luckily, Jean popped up out of nowhere to save the day just then.

“May I help you, sir?”

“Yeah, I was just asking her what a memoir was. Is she always this rude?”

“She just doesn’t talk. Now, a memoirs are basically like an autobiography, a tale of someone’s life as told by them.”

Afraid someone else would put me in that situation again, I grabbed a stack of books and ran off as quickly as I could without toppling them over.

[Gil Alexander]

She's should be 'she is,' because the way you have it makes it seem like you're changing tenses again, even if you aren't. - Um, that doesn't really make sense. . .

It would flow better in my eyes. *shrugs* But I don't fully understand what I was saying either.

It's not obvious when she said the timer went off in the kitchen, and she had to go check on dinner? Hmm, should I change it to that the timer went off in the kitchen, and she got up to check on dinner?

Good idea

Wow, you make me sound like a good writer or something! Thanks!

Thanks again for the review - I think it helped.

Anytime ;D

[Angie]

I still don't get how the flow would be better on that one part if I changed it.

[Gil Alexander]

Lol, you shouldn't change it then.

[Angie]

Chapter V ~ (Totally unrevised and not proofread at all.)

After work I came home and realized that in my distress I had completely forgotten about dinner with Emmet’s family. Luckily, I had time for a quick freshen up before Mom got home, and then we left.

When we arrived, a tall, skinny woman opened the door for us.

“Hello. Mrs. Rivera. Prudence.”

There was something about her stiffness that made me uncomfortable.

Met appeared behind her, “Hey, girls. I see you’ve met my mother.”

He showed us into the dining room where his brother, friends, and a grey-haired man who I assumed to be his father were already seated. His mother came in with a tray of appetizers and tea to prepare us for the meal as we became acquainted with one another.

She sat down and turned to me, “I understand you get very good grades in school.”

I nodded shyly. Why did I have to be the first topic of discussion? It was my mother who was getting married!

“George and Tristan here have always had trouble in school. We, along with Tristan’s parents, think they have learning disabilities. Of course, they could just be lazy.”

She turned to them to give them a reprimanding look.

“I was wondering if you could possible tutor them sometime. Just two or three times a week, mainly in English.”

Great. A language. How convenient.

I wondered to myself whether or not she knew about my silence or if my mother had told her how much I write or something. Was she mocking me?

I cleared that thought out of my mind. I tended to assume people were out to get me, even if they were in reality well-intentioned.

I nodded politely to acknowledge that I would help the boys.

The conversation shifted, and I only half listened to it as I sipped my tea. After a moment I realized this, so I decided to pay attention to it, for the sake of my task.

“So Miranda, Emmet has told me that you work in the food service business.”

“If by that you mean I’m a waitress, then yes,” she smiled at the woman’s attempt at politeness.

“Is this how you have supported yourself and your daughter since your husband died?”

“Yeah, but things worked out for us. We haven’t had a whole lot necessarily, but we’ve been happy. Besides, Pru’s been working at the library the past year or so, so that’s helped some.”

“You force your teenage daughter to support you?”

“No, no, no. I never forced her to take a job; she got up one day and decided to work. She loves books and writing, and we just couldn’t afford to buy everything she wanted, so she took it upon herself to make the money for it, and whatever’s left over she voluntarily gives to me for groceries and bills and such.”

Met’s father turned to me, “So you’re going to be a working girl, are you? What field are you going to go into?”

I gulped, but my mom jumped in, “She’s going to write. She’s always got a pen in her hand, that girl does.”

“Writing? That’s not work. That’s for dreamers. It’ll get you nowhere. Do something useful, something you can be proud of.”

His wife jumped in, “Zachary, be nice to our guests. Pru, what sort of writing are you going to go into?”

Mom couldn’t save me from this one. She didn’t know; I didn’t even know at the time.

“Well?”

Mom tried to tell her about me, “She doesn’t ta-”

“Prudence, do you realize that it is rude to not answer when inquired upon?”

I grimaced and nodded.

“Good, then answer my question.”

I shook my head at her and the frustrating ordeal I knew was about to come.

“And why not?”

I shook my head again and for some reason felt tears well up in my eyes.

“If you will not return my politeness, I am afraid I cannot welcome you so graciously into my home.”

“Mother-”

“Please stay out of this, Emmet. This is between our guests and their hostess.”

“Mrs. Halliwell, I hate to out step my place in your home, but you can’t talk like that to her. She doesn’t speak, and no matter how much she may want to, no matter how mean you are to her, she won’t.”

“There is no excuse for rudeness. If the girl has vocal chords, I will expect her to speak when spoken to. You must teach the girl a lesson. You shouldn’t let this go on.”

I couldn’t take it; I got up and ran outside. I ran as fast and as far as my feet would take me. I kept changing directions, almost as if I were trying to outrun the part of me that wanted to be normal, not wanting to face it at that moment. But of course, I knew I could not and would not ever be normal. I wouldn’t realize it until much time and struggle had passed in my life that perhaps that wasn’t such a bad thing.

I reached my neighborhood and slowed to a steady pace with my heartbeat. I ended up in the park and sat down under a tree. Wrapping my arms around my knees and pulling them close to me, I cried. I cried for my soul trapped in my mind and heart, cried for my mother who always had to help me, cried for my father who I knew wouldn’t have wanted things to turn out this way, cried for those who couldn’t understand, and finally just cried for crying’s sake.

[Angie]

A/N: I am giving up on the revisions for now and just writing. Sorry if the chapter's too short or something; I'm doing it quickly and without reading it over before posting it.

Chapter VI ~

I was walking through my forest again. It wasn't as cold and dead before, but it wasn't exactly full of life. I did like the changes that had happened, though; it wasn't as cold and icy, and I saw a flower bud here and there, and there was a big green bush just ahead of me with one yellow flower sticking out of it.

I bent down to smell the little bit of sunshine poking into my world, but when I got close to it, it recoiled and turned dead. The lifelessness quickly spread through the whole bush, and the buds near it began to wilt. I was quickly growing very cold.

"Pru. . ."

I turned around to see the me that had always chased me in my dreams. It had been so long since I'd heard my voice that I felt like crying.

"Pru. . ."

It was getting colder.

"Pru. Pru. Pru. . ."

Suddenly I saw my mom where I had just been.

"Pru, honey, I've been looking all over town for you!"

Puzzled, I rubbed my eyes and looked around. I was leaning against the slide in the park, my forest now a million miles away.

"Pru, are you okay? You must be freezing."

I waved her off and got up, my joints creaking from stiffness.

"Come on, hon. Let's get you home and forget about this night."

Great idea.

~

When I got to my bed later, I was so groggy that I ended up having a dream that I was sitting on the tree branch outside my window and talking to the birds with no words at all. It was nice.

When I awoke to the blinding sunlight, I turned over and froze - there were voices in the living room.

"Is she here? We kind of need some help on our essays that are due Monday, and our parents made us come right over here when they found out."

Oh no. I didn't know that I was supposed to start tutoring George and Tristan that soon.

I looked at the clock sleepily, and it said 9:30. What sane person would want homework help at 9:30 in the morning during spring break?

"Pru! Pru, wake up! You've got visitors!"

My mom pounded on the door (she couldn't come in because I kept it barred), and I knocked on the wall to show her that I heard.

I got dressed, grabbed some books, and climbed out of my room (I never use the door, so I made a secret entrance). The boys were sitting at the dining room table with their papers out when I found them.

Tristan spoke first, "I have my rough draft done, and he doesn't, so go ahead and look at mine while he finishes his real quick."

I took the paper and pointed a pen at him questioningly to see if I could mark on it, and he nodded.

I marked grammar and spelling mistakes, weak points, and all the like, and after a while he started to look at me curiously.

"Gosh, you're sure writing a lot. . ."

I made two more marks and handed it back to him. He read through it, "Wow, you're strict. . ."

I nodded with a small smile and took George's recently finished paper to look over it.

I had a feeling that somehow this might help.

A/N: I know it seems like the end of this chapter didn't do much, but don't despair; I am going somewhere with it.

[Gil Alexander]

Review of Chapter 2 -

"That of course got old once I had read them all about five times each, so I asked my mother to elaborate on the subjects."

There should be commas around the phrase 'of course' at the beginning. The ending of the sentence is a tad unclear and doesn't flow as well. Try - "so I asked my mother to elaborate on the subjects in the books I read."

“Pru, honey, why don’t you go pour the tea into the glasses and serve the lasagna onto the plates?” said Mom."

People don't usually talk like this; I'd change it to: "Pru, honey, why don't you go pour the tea and serve the lasagna?"

"I got up and went into the kitchen to do as she said. I suppose she thought I couldn’t hear her from the next room because that was when she started to explain me a bit. She knows me better than anyone else in the world, but I didn’t like her feeling like she had to warn people or tell them why I was how I was. I wanted them to find out who I was on their own; that way they didn’t prejudge me (whether it be in a good or bad way) as much. She praises me with much of her talk, but people should have the opportunity to figure out if I’m a saint or sinner or just a human being without someone telling them what to think right when they meet me."

This is really good. You portray this sort of writer very well - one who doesn't talk too much, but can rant and rave on paper and in her mind.

"It wasn’t just grief. I just liked to know I had control over something in my life."

Interesting idea, but the way it's delivered is a bit too subtle. Here's what I would change it to - "It wasn't just grief. When I look back on it now, I realize I just liked to know I had control over something in my life."

"Oh, how funny."

Hehe. ;D

"As they all sat there laughing, and my mom told them more about me, I began realized something that I had never really, truly thought about before."

In the middle, you should pick between writing "I began to realize" or "I realized," not "I began realized." Probably just a typo

"Callused hands"

Check spelling on 'callused' ... I don't think that's the right spelling but I'm not sure.

An awesome update with cool pacing. I like how you show insight into Pru's mind. In your list of things to change, the cheesey part of number 3 is probably only because Pru, the narrator, is melodramatic. Then again, I'm only 2 chapters through, so I can't judge just yet

[Angie]

There should be commas around the phrase 'of course' at the beginning. The ending of the sentence is a tad unclear and doesn't flow as well. Try - "so I asked my mother to elaborate on the subjects in the books I read." - Right-o, cap'n.

People don't usually talk like this; I'd change it to: "Pru, honey, why don't you go pour the tea and serve the lasagna?" - Lol, I know why I made her talk so weird; I was changing around a sentence that was worded differently, and I didn't remember to take out that last part.


This is really good. You portray this sort of writer very well - one who doesn't talk too much, but can rant and rave on paper and in her mind. - Oh, thank you!

In the middle, you should pick between writing "I began to realize" or "I realized," not "I began realized." Probably just a typo - Lol, yeah, this chapter had a lot of rewordings, and I didn't proofread it after I revised it.


Check spelling on 'callused' ... I don't think that's the right spelling but I'm not sure. - Yeah, I remember typing it in to see if word would catch it as a misspelling because it looked odd, but it didn't catch it. I'll go look it up on Merriam-Webster now.

I hope I can keep the pacing how I want it - it's going to be hard. Lol, is melodramatic good or bad in this character?

Anyway, thanks so much for helping me out with this!