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[bahihs]

I started writing a thing yesterday, and now it's 14 pages (~4500 words) long. When it's finished, I want it to be a nonfiction story about how growing up in a technological age, surrounded by the Internet has affected my growth and development as an individual. I'm wondering if people at large would be interested in that sort of thing, because I'm thinking I might actually have enough to publish an eBook by the time I reach the present day. Currently it covers the first eight or so years of my life in very rough detail.

Growing Up Digital

Pretty cool. One word of advice, don't let up. Keep writing it even after you've reached the present day. For one, you might find that you run out steam after awhile (maybe just lack of interest, maybe writer's block, maybe you're too busy, whatever it is) and for another you might find that once you do get to the present, you need more material. Its better to wait and continue to write and be patient, then immediately publish.

Also, you might find that the content is less than 14 pages (given changes in font size, spacing etc.) and the content seems a little rushed at times (though given that you are describing yourself when you were very young, it is to be expected; all my memories from my formative years have been obliterated). May I suggest getting in contact with people who knew you at that time, for a different perspective (and perhaps even details you've forgotten)?

It is very nostalgic though, I've been through several of the same things you have (constant moving, obsession with videogames, getting into trouble - though for different reasons, the emulator and the dial-up bit made me sigh wistfully - those were the days...), I'd like to read more. And that's about the best compliment a writer can get, so...keep it up!

[itisnotlogical]

Thank you very much, that was very encouraging I've reached a really hazy point in my memories, so yeah I'll probably need to do a little digging before I can write anything more from the point that I'm at. I might skip ahead a bit for the sake of keeping my pace up. I'll primarily be working on that Google document, so you can read there for any changes

I worry that I'm being too dramatic. Especially when I'm describing Halo and Runescape and how much of an impact they had on me, I can imagine people cringing at how obsessed I was over those games. At the same time though, I feel like it's necessary to get across the point that these had a big influence on shaping myself and how I view the world.

[Urist McScoopbeard]

Thank you very much, that was very encouraging I've reached a really hazy point in my memories, so yeah I'll probably need to do a little digging before I can write anything more from the point that I'm at. I might skip ahead a bit for the sake of keeping my pace up. I'll primarily be working on that Google document, so you can read there for any changes

I worry that I'm being too dramatic. Especially when I'm describing Halo and Runescape and how much of an impact they had on me, I can imagine people cringing at how obsessed I was over those games. At the same time though, I feel like it's necessary to get across the point that these had a big influence on shaping myself and how I view the world.

I actually wrote my college application essay on how I was addicted to videogames and tge struggles with myself and depression I went through to turn over a new leaf. Wasnt an amazing essay, but it did get me in to University of Miami.

But anyways, I just wanted to say, write it how you want to, for those of us who grew up playing videogames instead of sports they ARE pretty dramatic and have profound influences on us.

[AlStar]

It's been a good long while since I was last in this thread (I blame my current job blocking the forums). I'm in the process of writing several different things that I hope will eventually turn into stories, but here's what I've currently got of my most recent one (any thoughts/criticisms/etc. welcome):

Spoiler (click to show/hide)

Steam blew out of the crack in Anthony’s armor, hissing and whistling like some kind of demented teakettle, shattering the once silent night. From all sides shouts of alarm rang out, and the sharp metallic crack of weapons being readied filled the air. The snap-hum of a floodlight coming online rang through the night, and the all-concealing darkness was suddenly cleaved by a large circle of light panning along the length of the wall, stopping suddenly as it outlined the large mottled figure clinging there by one oversized metal hand, the other hanging uselessly as if palsied, superheated water dripping from its fingers like blood, mist billowing in the cold air. A panel on the figure’s chest was flung open, and a small human hand reached out, slapping a patch over the break in the armor, cutting off the teakettle howl instantly. The sudden silence that followed lasted only for a moment, as the roar of a blunderbuss filled the air, followed momentarily by the whine of projectiles as they bounced off the wall, breaking off small fragments of rock, and the figure, leaving grooves of bright metal in their path.

“Well, it looks like the stealthy approach is right out; time to try something different,” Anthony muttered to himself, releasing his grip on the wall. The ground rushed up alarmingly quickly; paving stones buckling with a loud crack as the armor’s heavy feet hit the ground, slamming Anthony’s wiry frame against the (insufficiently) padded inside, and bathing his eyes in red light as warning indicators flared into sullen existence, silently scolding him.

Another roar reverberated through the night air, signaling that additional guards had gotten into firing position. Moving quickly, Anthony reached down to his leg with his armor while simultaneously flicking a switch with his hand. In a practiced motion, the electromagnet holding the massive, giant-sized, solid steel hammer deactivated just as the armor’s hand closed around the handle, activating a different magnet which stuck the heavy weapon to the armor more securely than any glue.

From his towering ten feet height, the guards, merely human, wearing breastplates over chain and leather, looked like children. Children wielding weapons that could trivially turn an unarmored man into so much ground meat, granted, but Anthony, although he might be called many things, was certainly not unarmored. In two long strides, Anthony was before the first guard. The man, to his credit, did not waver as the metallic giant loomed over him, calmly firing the large-bored weapon he carried with a flash of fire and cloud of smoke. Deadly flechettes howled as they bit into unyielding armor, glancing off with a furious whine.

Cutting a path through the smoke, the giant’s hammer flew in a long arc, impacting the man’s breastplate with terrible force, caving in the gleaming metal as it launched the guard off his feet and into the uncompromising wall beside him with a horrible crunch of broken bones. The man’s body ricocheted off to the side, lost from view, leaving only a smear of blood that shone a bright red in the fierce light of the spotlight.

Anthony spared a moment to glance around him, and it quickly became apparent that things were starting to spiral rapidly out of control. From seemingly all directions, dark figures were suddenly illuminated by bursts of gunfire, and even over those waves of sound, it was possible to hear the hum of electricity, massive capacitors building up to capacity, which he knew would signal the fortress’s main defenses coming online.

Making a snap decision, Anthony turned away from the building, deadly projectiles continuing to pepper the air around him, and started to run towards the dark woods beyond with the long strides his armor allowed him. Some of the red warning lights, still unhappy from the fall, started flashing as delicate mechanisms in the armor’s legs and feet were bent and deformed beyond tolerances by the hard usage demanded of them.

[bahihs]

It's been a good long while since I was last in this thread (I blame my current job blocking the forums). I'm in the process of writing several different things that I hope will eventually turn into stories, but here's what I've currently got of my most recent one (any thoughts/criticisms/etc. welcome):

Spoiler: My edits to the story (click to show/hide)

Steam blew out of the crack in Anthony’s armor, hissing and whistling like some kind of demented [a] teakettle, shattering the once silent night. {From all sides shouts of alarm rang out}->{Shouts rang out from all sides}, and the sharp metallic crack of [readying] weapons being readied filled the air. The snap-hum of a floodlight coming online rang(syn) through the night, and the all-concealing darkness was suddenly cleaved by a large circle of light panning along the length of the wall, stopping suddenly as it outlined the large mottled figure clinging there by one(an) oversized metal hand[.] [T]he other [hand] {hanging}->{hung} uselessly as if palsied[;] super-heated water {dripping}->{dripped} from its fingers like blood, [turning to] mist [that] {billowing}->{billowed} in the cold air. A panel on the figure’s chest was flung open, and a small human hand reached out, slapping a patch over the break in the armor, cutting off the teakettle howl instantly. The suddensilence that followed lasted only for a moment, as the roar of a blunderbuss filled the air, followed momentarily by the whine of projectiles as they bounced [bouncing] off the wall [and] breaking off small fragments of rock, and the figure, leaving grooves of bright metal in their path.

“Well, it looks like the stealthy approach is right out; time to try something different,” Anthony muttered to himself, releasing his grip on the wall. The ground rushed up alarmingly quickly; paving stones {buckling}->{buckled} with a loud crack as the armor’s heavy feet hit the ground, slamming Anthony’s wiry frame against the (insufficiently) padded inside[.]{and bathing his eyes in red light as warning indicators flared into sullen existence, silently scolding him.}->{Warning indicators flared into sullen existence, bathing his eyes in red light and silently scolding him}.

Another roar reverberated through the night air, signaling that additional guards had gotten into firing position. Moving quickly, Anthony reached down to his leg with his armor while simultaneously flicking a switch with his hand. In a practiced motion, {the electromagnet holding the massive, giant-sized, solid steel hammer deactivated just as the armor’s hand closed around the handle}->{the armor’s hand gripped the massive steel hammer just as the electromagnet holding it, deactivated}[; this] {activating}->{activated} a different magnet[,] which stuck the heavy weapon to the armor more securely than any glue #Use a unique simile or just remove it entirely.  .

From his towering ten feet height, the guards, merely human, wearing breastplates over chain and leather, looked like children. Children[,] wielding weapons that could trivially turn an unarmored man into so much ground meat, granted, but Anthony, although he might be called was many things, was certainly not unarmored. In two long strides, Anthony was before the first guard. The man, to his credit, did not waver as the metallic giant loomed over him [and] calmly {firing}->{fired} the large-bored weapon he carried[,] with a flash of fire and a cloud of smoke. Deadly [The] flechettes howled as they bit into unyielding armor, glancing off with a furious whine.

Cutting a path through the smoke, the giant’s hammer flew in a long arc, impacting the man’s breastplate with terrible force [and] caving in the gleaming metal as it launched the guard off his feet and into the uncompromising wall beside him[.] with [There was] a horrible crunch of broken bones. The man’s body ricocheted off to the side, lost from view, leaving only a smear of blood that shone a bright red in the fierce light of the spotlight.

Anthony spared a moment to glance around him, and it quickly became apparent that things were starting to spiral rapidly out of control. From seemingly all directions, dark figures were suddenly illuminated by bursts of gunfire, and even over those waves of sound, it was possible to hear the hum of electricity[-]massive capacitors building up to capacity, which he knew would signal[ing] the fortress’s main defenses coming online.

Making a (snap decision)#Cliched, use a different expression#, Anthony turned away from the building. Deadly projectiles {continuing}->{continued} to pepper the air around him, as [he] started to run towards the dark woods beyond with the long strides his armor allowed him. Some of the red warning lights, still unhappy from the fall, started {flashing}->{to flash} as delicate mechanisms in the armor’s legs and feet were bent and deformed beyond [their] tolerance by the hard usage demanded of them.

Alright, I've given very little critique in this thread so I think its time I change that.

My critique is divided into two areas:
1. The writing
2. The story

For #1, take a look at my edits under the spoiler above. Here is a key to various marks used:

{}->{} = Rearrangement of a string or a change in its tense
[] = Added string
string(string)= Replace old string with (enclosed string)
string= Self explanatory: delete the string
() ##= #Comment refers to# (enclosed string)
(syn)= Use a synonym instead of the (word)

I edited following Orwell's 6 rules of writing: taken from Politics and the English Language as well as the guidelines set forth in Strunk and White (link should be in the OP of this thread). The main problem here seems to be with excessive use of adjectives and adverbs and some cliched expressions/similes (one or two). There are also too many constructions with multiple dependent clauses, leading to long-winded sentences. A few is fine, but there are too many in this short piece. The word choice (particularly with verbs) is excellent (no jargon, no long words), and the writing leans toward imagery which is always good. Passive voice is used in some places, which should be avoided.

Now as for #2: Very scenic, but little substance. It's very difficult to know what's going on from this snippet. Clear sense of a steampunk/siege setting but there is no "story" to speak of with something so short. Can't really comment on this until more is written.

Feel free to ask me questions regarding the edits (here or PM, I don't mind either).

[Arx]

I'd just like to observe that I personally absolutely detest that style of critiquing. Everything that follows is entirely based on opinion:

I can't speak for everyone, obviously, but to me it looks like you've basically reworked the piece to use your writing voice, which is bad. Also, you've edited according to a completely arbitrary set of rules. So, uh, you've edited it to be in a combination of your voice and George Orwell's, which I'm inclined to say will only stifle creativity in writing style. Also, I know that I much prefer to be able to rework my own stories, and not be handed an edited version for two reasons: the first is that you as the editor don't understand the subtleties of the author's intentions, and the second is that it's (for me) better for improvement to work over the piece personally. (And I don't even know what this counts as except not particularly mature, but I find it amusing that you used the passive voice to criticise their use of passive voice. Was that intentional?)

I am by no means going to tell you not to do that, but I am going to ask that you not do it to my stories. Everything you said apart from the edited version I'm okay with, though.

[GiglameshDespair]

To be honest, I agree with bahihs.

For an action scene, you tend to have very long sentences, which makes everything feel slow. But he said it much more thoroughly than i did.

[bahihs]

I'd just like to observe that I personally absolutely detest that style of critiquing. Everything that follows is entirely based on opinion:

I can't speak for everyone, obviously, but to me it looks like you've basically reworked the piece to use your writing voice, which is bad. Also, you've edited according to a completely arbitrary set of rules. So, uh, you've edited it to be in a combination of your voice and George Orwell's, which I'm inclined to say will only stifle creativity in writing style. Also, I know that I much prefer to be able to rework my own stories, and not be handed an edited version for two reasons: the first is that you as the editor don't understand the subtleties of the author's intentions, and the second is that it's (for me) better for improvement to work over the piece personally. (And I don't even know what this counts as except not particularly mature, but I find it amusing that you used the passive voice to criticise their use of passive voice. Was that intentional?)

I am by no means going to tell you not to do that, but I am going to ask that you not do it to my stories. Everything you said apart from the edited version I'm okay with, though.

I am sorry that I offended you. Let me address some of the points you raised to at least justify myself (a little):

1. "I can't speak for everyone, obviously, but to me it looks like you've basically reworked the piece to use your writing voice, which is bad"

I haven't done that actually, if I had, there would be greater changes in syntax, word choice, word order etc. etc. Furthermore, I wouldn't consider myself to have a "voice". Truly enduring writers have a "voice"; its beyond good or bad writing.

2. "So, uh, you've edited it to be in a combination of your voice and George Orwell's, which I'm inclined to say will only stifle creativity in writing style."

If I've edited to fit Orwell's voice (again see above regarding voice), then it can only be for the better. Orwell is generally considered to be a great writer (one of the "enduring writers" I just spoke of) and if one's writing is similar to his, its a helluva good start. Also, I disagree that emulation will "stifle creativity". This is a very common misconception, both in art (copying drawings or emulating technique) and in writing. The reason is simple, "writing style" emerges from emulation. By copying the style of various authors you begin to construct your own, this is not merely my own opinion but that of many other accomplished writers.  In any case, I don't believe I was enforcing any "style" or "voice", since the rules I used are more or less universal (i.e recommended by all professional writers).

3. " Also, I know that I much prefer to be able to rework my own stories, and not be handed an edited version for two reasons: the first is that you as the editor don't understand the subtleties of the author's intentions, and the second is that it's (for me) better for improvement to work over the piece personally. "

Fair enough, but given the medium, I find its just faster to edit everything first, then work out the authors meaning in subsequent posts. My edits are by no means the final word, there are the start to a discussion where such subtitles can be explored. I also give some reasons for my edits, which I made sure were grounded in the universal rules I spoke of above.

4. "(And I don't even know what this counts as except not particularly mature, but I find it amusing that you used the passive voice to criticise their use of passive voice. Was that intentional?)"

Did I lol? And no it wasn't intentional, I'm just a little more lax when it comes writing something which is not going to be critiqued.

5. "I am by no means going to tell you not to do that, but I am going to ask that you not do it to my stories"

I'm sorry you feel that way. I did put a lot of effort into editing the mentioned piece (something like 2 hours) and I would do the same for yours. However, if you don't want me critiquing your stories, that's totally fine. I'm just trying to help lol, I didn't mean to step on anyone's toes.   

EDIT: Actually, as I re-read my edits I can see several things that I missed on my first pass.
EDIT: Ok, I fixed them.

[Arx]

Oh, I have no objection whatsoever to you critiquing my stories. I'd just prefer you didn't edit them. I guess it bothers me in part because I tend to choose my words very carefully based on connotations and stuff and be pretty protective of my writing. It's not just a statement that certain things need to be improved, it's a statement that you know exactly how to improve the things.

I tend towards thinking the strictures of the language you're writing in are the only hard-and-fast rules of writing, and even those aren't hard or fast. This kind of conflicts with editing things according to a set of rules, even a good one. It's like editing poetry so that all the lines are end stopped and it rhymes in couplets; it's not inherently bad poetry, but...

I'm okay with rules, but thoroughly against following them in all circumstances and as though they cannot cause problems.

Please, critique away. As I said, everything you said that wasn't the editing I am okay with (and agree with), and I can see the reasoning behind the editing. I just have something of a knee-jerk reaction to a) rules claiming to be universally improving and b) editing of more than grammar. The latter is probably because almost all of my experience with it in my own stories has been bad.

On consideration, I should really just have gone with cherrypicking your edits if you did edit one of my stories and not brought this up. Oh well.

[bahihs]

Oh, I have no objection whatsoever to you critiquing my stories. I'd just prefer you didn't edit them. I guess it bothers me in part because I tend to choose my words very carefully based on connotations and stuff and be pretty protective of my writing. It's not just a statement that certain things need to be improved, it's a statement that you know exactly how to improve the things.

I tend towards thinking the strictures of the language you're writing in are the only hard-and-fast rules of writing, and even those aren't hard or fast. This kind of conflicts with editing things according to a set of rules, even a good one. It's like editing poetry so that all the lines are end stopped and it rhymes in couplets; it's not inherently bad poetry, but...

I'm okay with rules, but thoroughly against following them in all circumstances and as though they cannot cause problems.

Please, critique away. As I said, everything you said that wasn't the editing I am okay with (and agree with), and I can see the reasoning behind the editing. I just have something of a knee-jerk reaction to a) rules claiming to be universally improving and b) editing of more than grammar. The latter is probably because almost all of my experience with it in my own stories has been bad.

On consideration, I should really just have gone with cherrypicking your edits if you did edit one of my stories and not brought this up. Oh well.

I'm afraid I can't seriously critique any writing without editing it. 90% of my "critique" are the edits I make (90% of the time/effort is also spent on editing). You'll have to take the good with the bad, I'm afraid.

Word choice is important (if you look at the edited piece, I left in the adjective "towering" in "...towering ten feet height..." mostly because of the alteration and assonance) and I try to tiptoe around it when I can.

I don't think you should be protective of your writing, but I think that is more a difference in philosophy than anything else (I feel this stifles "style" and "voice"). It's also very difficult to do.

I don't know exactly how to improve things. In fact, in the edited piece, I have mostly kept the authors original words, only adding words to ensure grammatical correctness. Most of the time I've removed or rearranged the words. My edits are suggestions, not commandments. They are a starting point, not the finish line.

Rules are good things. You follow them until you see their purpose, then you break them as necessary. One of my favorite authors is James Joyce and he is one of the biggest rule-breakers there is (to the point that his writing is almost incomprehensible), but he can do that because he so thoroughly understands the purpose of the rules. The point is, none of us here are good enough to claim we don't need the rules (if we were why would we be here? We'd already be accomplished authors). In any case, the rules are more like guidelines: rails toward good writing, not a replacement for good writing.

[Parsely]

I'd just like to observe that I personally absolutely detest that style of critiquing. Everything that follows is entirely based on opinion:

I can't speak for everyone, obviously, but to me it looks like you've basically reworked the piece to use your writing voice, which is bad. Also, you've edited according to a completely arbitrary set of rules. So, uh, you've edited it to be in a combination of your voice and George Orwell's, which I'm inclined to say will only stifle creativity in writing style. Also, I know that I much prefer to be able to rework my own stories, and not be handed an edited version for two reasons: the first is that you as the editor don't understand the subtleties of the author's intentions, and the second is that it's (for me) better for improvement to work over the piece personally. (And I don't even know what this counts as except not particularly mature, but I find it amusing that you used the passive voice to criticise their use of passive voice. Was that intentional?)

I am by no means going to tell you not to do that, but I am going to ask that you not do it to my stories. Everything you said apart from the edited version I'm okay with, though.

To me it seemed like an objective criticism (except for the bits about cliched mannerisms). He makes fundamental points using constructive editing. Run on sentences are grammatical errors and objectively wrong. It's no different than pointing out the mistakes with your finger and telling him about it. And aside from that, since when are we not supposed to offer our subjective opinions on a piece of writing based on the way we write?

[Arx]

There's a reason my post is liberally scattered with emphasis on the fact that it's my opinion, and why I'd rather not be critiqued like that. I explained why I disliked it, and in my second post said that I would actually probably be okay with it.

At no point did I say it was objecticely bad, or at least I tried very hard to avoid giving that impression, and I stated repeatedly that I was okay with things like grammatical editing and that I agreed with the meat of their critique. I was very much triyng not to make it seem like they shouldn't ever offer criticism like that, but rather explain why I personally dislike it.

bahihs and everyone else, I apologise; this was poorly thought through. Can we go back to writing?

[bahihs]

There's a reason my post is liberally scattered with emphasis on the fact that it's my opinion, and why I'd rather not be critiqued like that. I explained why I disliked it, and in my second post said that I would actually probably be okay with it.

At no point did I say it was objecticely bad, or at least I tried very hard to avoid giving that impression, and I stated repeatedly that I was okay with things like grammatical editing and that I agreed with the meat of their critique. I was very much triyng not to make it seem like they shouldn't ever offer criticism like that, but rather explain why I personally dislike it.

bahihs and everyone else, I apologise; this was poorly thought through. Can we go back to writing?

Np Arx, water under the bridge (I never took offence in the first place, so nothing to apologize for). Lets get back to writing!

[AlStar]

Well, for what it's worth, I appreciate the time you put into looking at my piece bahihs - thanks.

Looking over your edits, I've got a problem with using too many adverbs - it's a known problem, which tends to come up in my first drafts. I also tend to repeat words, although it looks like I managed to mostly avoid that particular pitfall this time around.

[Urist McScoopbeard]

I have a bit of a cognitive bias against adjectives in that I think that the more you use them the more you tell and don't show. There's some basis in fact in it, but mostly it's just being picky. It is however, a good exercise to partake in; wherever you see an adjective in the story see if you can describe the action in a sentence or two to paint a more vivid image.

Anyways, take some poetry:

Spoiler (click to show/hide)

There is a pit in a long forgotten realm
where angels go to die.
I fell there once, but did not land
and forever into madness I did owe fortune’s chance to lightly fly.
In that saintly sadness I wallowed whither the breaths of life were liquid
and in just a moment, in the blink of just one eye,
I found my life a lie.

In that weightless darkness I began to drown
and but for one softly saintly voice
I had drawn my lungs with liquid void and had myself dragged down.
My eyes had closed, and but for that blink, I may have well been still.
To then waken once in that place where death is done,
I wondered rather what had happened and where the time had gone
and found that my one blink had been a lifetime nigh.

I wandered further throughout the place where once life had me forgotten
and whether I was dead or not seemed not at all to matter.
I travelled still to that broken pit,
where the angels go to die,
and found there still an angel yet so full of radiant fire.
She gave to me a light, that shines out through my chest
and I should always wear it yet, and hope dearly for the best.

She left some time ago, and I can’t help but feel sad.
I finally left the pit once more for the land of flame,
but can never call it home or feel quite the same.
Sometimes I return to the pit that has been long forgotten,
where the angels go to die,
and stand there on the edge and wait to, in tepid resignation,
Fiercely, sadly cry.

If you don't like poetry, take some flash fiction:

Spoiler (click to show/hide)

        “Take those off this instant, young man!” scolded the nun as she stiffly strode across the spartan waiting room. “God is watching.” Diego just sat there idly, swinging his feet back and forth, feeling his loose sandals bounce off his soles. He sat hunched over, all the weight in his shoulders; the chair was too big for him, and he sat on the edge looking bored.

   “What?” Diego asked with big eyes, “Take off what?” he spouted as he frantically looked himself over. He kept pulling the back of his shirt trying to feel if someone had left something there. The nun stopped advancing on Diego for a moment to grab a pair of clunky shoes hidden away in one of the few drawers scattered around the room and explained,

   “Your sandals. They are an affront to god, and I will not tolerate them… not on my watch.” Practically shoving them in to Diego’s lap. They looked blackish and gritty, like some unseen dirt was ruining the glossy finish. Without thinking, Diego quickly put them on leaving them unlaced and looked hopefully back at the towering nun. “That will have to do for now.” she said and hastily returned to her desk in the corner, sharply placing her prescription glasses on her nose and looking very hawkish. Diego tried swinging his legs again, but it felt all wrong and he soon stopped. He looked all around at the blue-green, felt-padded walls for something to pass the time, but they seemed even more strict and unforgiving than the attendant nun. Every few minutes or so Diego glanced at her in that way when you are trying to grab someone’s attention even though you don’t want to. Around the third or fourth time she began to notice and eventually caught him square in the act, stunning him with a stare that could pierce your soul. “Well?” She asked poignantly, like Diego was going to ruin her evening with his presumed question, “What do you want? Spit it out.” Truth be told, Diego didn’t know what he wanted to ask, or that he wanted to ask anything at all, but he felt terrified about what the nun would do if he didn’t say anything. So he asked,

   “Why is my mom here?” watching the nun from beneath his brow.

   “Well if you want to talk, you had best come over here young man.” The nun stated matter-of-factly. “It’s rude to talk across a room.” So, Diego pushed himself off his chair and walked to the nun’s fortress-like desk, climbing back up on to a nearby chair. “So you want to know why your mother is here, hm? Well, I’ll tell you my child.” Diego, didn’t like how she said that, and hoped that this terrible nun did not think he was her child, but said nothing. “Your mother…” She began in a polite-enough kind of way, “Is a whore.” Diego frowned. He didn’t know exactly what it meant to be a whore, but his mom had always been amazing. “You see, she is possessed by a demon, and she came here to have it exorcised. Do you know what exorcism is? It’s when the demon is cast out of the body and she is brought back in to the light of god, child. Doesn’t that sound magnificent?” Diego was unsure of what to say so he just said,

   “Yes.” but he didn’t think his mom was a whore, she always made him food and played with him. How could she be a whore? Diego sat head-down for a while and thought about this, but eventually he back at the nun who had resumed reading some unknown book. Diego was going to ask another question, but the nun looked so flushed and bothered that he thought that another question might make her explode. Instead he just looked at his feet. After what seemed like hours, Diego looked around for something to do, surely there was something to distract him for a few minutes. He looked at the nun’s desk, he didn’t see anything fun right away, but eventually found a few old tin miniatures lined up on the edge. He considered them for a moment before reaching out for them,

   “Hey!” he heard, causing him to look at the red-faced nun, “what do you think you’re doing?” she questioned, before lunging forward to reprimand him. In the process, her left hand slipped and she half fell on to the table. While the nun was fine, a few of her ‘books’ slid off the table. Diego glanced at them. Some in latin, others with boring titles, but one caught his eye. It fell off the desk slowly and late, and came to a halt on top of all the others. It read “HUSTLER” in large, bolded print. Diego looked back at the nun, who had also since frozen in her tracks and looked at the magazine. She snapped back to him and they met each other’s gaze. Diego still didn’t like her and knew that she would beat him for this and that she didn’t like Diego either, but an odd sense of understanding came over them, a perfect clarity of the relationships between Diego, his mother, and the nun. “How dare you, I’ll teach you to-“ the nun began, interrupted by the timely jangling of the nearby door handle. She glared viscously at him and then swept all of her fallen items under the desk and straightened her robes, trying to look presentable. Out of the door way came Diego’s mother followed closely by a flushed priest, who was beginning to sweat.

   “I think we’re done here sister Margarine, Francesca is pure once again.” He said with some snark and a shake of his body, “Please! See her out for me?” he said and returned to the inner chambers of the building. Francesca scooped up Diego with a roar and made him laugh heartily. She asked sister Margarine,

   “How was he?” To which she angrily replied,

   “Perfect.”

I've already had a workshop on this last piece and it's become apparent that there are some errors in paragraph formatting, which I have yet to fix, and also that it needs some cleaning up. But I figured i'd post it anyways. The original story was just about Diego and his sandals, but thing just kind of changed. I think I might rewrite it to focus more on the sandals and fix some POV problems.

Anyways, have fun, go to town, etc. etc. always looking for critique.