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writers_loftHi, I'm applying to a creative writing course at university and my favourite uni has requested samples of my writing, so it's really important that I make this perfect. Constructive criticism is my best friend. Please rip it apart, be picky, let me know what you think. Thanks!
“Long Distance” - draft one
“Can’t you just stay?” I ask.
“I’ll be back again before you know it,” you say, looking down at me, forcing a smile.
Another month apart. The time spreads out before us. It is cold, so cold that it’s infiltrating this moment, its fingers brushing down our spines, filling us with sadness and despair.
I look at you, stare hard, trying to drink your image in, demanding more, more, more of my eyes. I just want to make these final seconds really count, to really appreciate you while I still have you...
...The curve of your lips, the colour of your skin, the sadness in your eyes.
“Can’t I just stay?” you ask.
I flash you a weak smile but can’t reply: the train is in the distance; the smooth electronic swoosh turns my stomach. In unison, we both squeeze the other’s hand.
You kiss m and tears well up in my closed eyes, escaping the confines of my lids, and running down my cheeks. But I’ll savour this moment. Your kiss. The hot, heady rush. Your hands in my hair. Your scent.
And then kiss is over.
And then it’s done.
I can barely see you through my tears, and I curse myself for wasting these last few seconds crying. There will be time for that later. Your hand slips out of mine.
Can’t you just stay?
You walk away. I stay where I am.
You press the open button on the train door. My hand stays open, fingers stretched, leaving a space for yours to come and lace back through.
And for just one moment, I think that I might never move, that I’ll stay right here, with my fingers left open, waiting for you to come back again and fill the spaces. But you look back at me and something in your expression makes all irrationality evaporate. You will come back to me. You will. You will. You will.
So my hand raises and waves you goodbye. And a spark of happiness is lit somewhere inside my chest, and it pushes away the cold expanse of time. I have you, no matter what distance prevents me from seeing your eyes, or kissing your lips, or holding your hand. I have you, and that is enough.
“Long Distance” - draft one
“Can’t you just stay?” I ask.
“I’ll be back again before you know it,” you say, looking down at me, forcing a smile.
Another month apart. The time spreads out before us. It is cold, so cold that it’s infiltrating this moment, its fingers brushing down our spines, filling us with sadness and despair.
I look at you, stare hard, trying to drink your image in, demanding more, more, more of my eyes. I just want to make these final seconds really count, to really appreciate you while I still have you...
...The curve of your lips, the colour of your skin, the sadness in your eyes.
“Can’t I just stay?” you ask.
I flash you a weak smile but can’t reply: the train is in the distance; the smooth electronic swoosh turns my stomach. In unison, we both squeeze the other’s hand.
You kiss m and tears well up in my closed eyes, escaping the confines of my lids, and running down my cheeks. But I’ll savour this moment. Your kiss. The hot, heady rush. Your hands in my hair. Your scent.
And then kiss is over.
And then it’s done.
I can barely see you through my tears, and I curse myself for wasting these last few seconds crying. There will be time for that later. Your hand slips out of mine.
Can’t you just stay?
You walk away. I stay where I am.
You press the open button on the train door. My hand stays open, fingers stretched, leaving a space for yours to come and lace back through.
And for just one moment, I think that I might never move, that I’ll stay right here, with my fingers left open, waiting for you to come back again and fill the spaces. But you look back at me and something in your expression makes all irrationality evaporate. You will come back to me. You will. You will. You will.
So my hand raises and waves you goodbye. And a spark of happiness is lit somewhere inside my chest, and it pushes away the cold expanse of time. I have you, no matter what distance prevents me from seeing your eyes, or kissing your lips, or holding your hand. I have you, and that is enough.
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no subject
Date: 2010-12-09 05:15 pm (UTC)Noticed one typo which you might want to catch: "You kiss m and tears well up in my closed eyes". It's not really critique but pointing it out just in case.
If this were my own writing I would feel tempted to change the start of "It is cold, so cold that it’s infiltrating this moment", to "It's cold", it's a stylistic thing really though and I tend to go for a fairly fluid style of writing, so. It's not vital or anything. Just what I'd do.
Also, totally stylistic again but I might change the word "swoosh" when describing the noise of the train because the trains I know don't tend to make smooth noises. They tend to judder and chug and clankity-clank. XD I live in a super-rural part of Britain though, meaning the trains here are old and bad-tempered.
To be honest I don't think you have much to worry about. Good luck in your application! I've received four offers so far and I'm super chuffed. :D
no subject
Date: 2011-01-27 08:59 am (UTC)The story that immediately jumps to mind that you might look at is Ernest Hemmingway's "Hills Like White Elephants". There the reader gets a pretty clear picture of these two people and the situation although nothing is ever blatantly stated. Here it feels like I'm looking through a series of other folks' snapshots: they might be pretty but they don't have a lot of resonance because I don't know what they mean.