Colin

[third man girl]

Grammar, punctuation, spelling? POV, dialogue, description? Metaphors, similies, redundant words? Advice, comments, criticism. Go for it.
(I don't know how to get the type to 'indent')

For info: Posh part of Glasgow. Speaking is Colin, the lawyer, (the oldest of the men in the gang) looking back to his early teens. He’s conscious of being less attractive than his mates, socially at ease with adults, but ill at ease with girls; and he has just fallen for the new girl in school. The girl is Chinese.

Part One

“Truth, Dare, Double-dare, Promise or Command.”
I wanted to change the rules of the game. Whichever way you played it, you had to choose Double-dare at some point. I started at the beginning.
“Truth.”
“Is it true that Richard broke his dog’s neck?”
“It was a papillon. They’re delicate.”
Mingmei was sitting in a low chair in a small room at the back of the house. My mother grandly called it the drawing-room, and it was reserved for entertaining. My sister and I weren’t allowed opposite-sex friends upstairs. Richard was banned too; my mother considered him weird. Clouseau patrolled the windowsill, twitching to escape into the garden.
“Is it true?”
“There was an accident. With a football.”
I thought of the little fine-boned dog, with her butterfly ears, and her soft, silky hair. I remembered how much water had been absorbed by her coat when I’d pulled her from the toilet pan, where Richard had tried to conceal the body.
“Is it true?”
“It’s true.”
Mingmei curled her legs beneath her, in satisfaction. I could lie in bed at night now, and visualise her legs. They weren’t long, but I liked the shape of her calves. When she stood, feet together, her legs were slightly bowed, enough that I could have slipped a hand between them without touching her knees – not completely – but through as far as my knuckles. I had thought about it, on and off, for five weeks now.
“Your turn,” I prompted.
“Command!”
“You’ll do anything I order?”
“Whatever you desire, master.”
I no longer blushed when she said it, but it still gave me a small thrill. Jay would have demanded a kiss. Richard would have had her on the floor.
“Go to the kitchen and bring back two glasses of Coke. With ice.”
She lifted her sandals and padded off, and I watched Clouseau as he roamed, angled, roamed and angled on the painted sill. I levered open the window, and he shot out, tail high. My heart lifted. I was happier now than I’d ever been. School mornings started at eight thirty-five, when Richard and I waited on the pavement for Jay to arrive. He would stride towards us with a girl on either side, each competing for attention. Mingmei would be following on behind, walk, walk, trotting, to keep up. When they reached us, Jay and Richard would pair off, one head tousled-blond, the other, dark-haired, listless. Their banter led the procession, as the two girls walked in the boys’ footsteps, and Mingmei and I would linger behind, sharing the pavement.
We shared everything. Gnawed pencils; dinner-money; A Midsummer Night’s Dream; the teachings of Mr Lee at The Royal Orchid, as he taught me to speak Chinese, and Mingmei to respect her heritage; school-library books. We shared our spectacles or, that is, she borrowed mine, if I set them down in the English class to rub the bridge of my nose. We also wore each other’s rings: a result of a Double-dare, when she’d dared me, not only to remove my grandmother’s wedding band from my pinkie, but to replace it with her great-grandfather’s, which rattled around her middle finger ‘like a bull-ring’.
I had made her ‘Promise’, during the game, to return the rings should our friendship ever disintegrate. She had agreed, a little crossly, and said that true friendship never died. It hadn’t been what I’d wanted to hear. I’d wanted to hear that we could be more than friends. But I wouldn’t push her – I might have pushed her away.
A terrific squawking sounded from the garden, and then ceased, abruptly. I peered through the window and saw Clouseau with the brown crushed feathers of a female blackbird wafting around him. The bird was clamped in the cat’s jaws, its head swinging lightly from a snapped neck. A scream and a sandal sailed through the air, and then Mingmei dashed out, stocking-soled and red-faced. She hurled the second sandal, missed by about twelve metres, and Clouseau took to the treetops to guard his kill. I ran down the hall and through the kitchen into the garden. Mingmei stood rooted, and spat venom.
“I hate that cat.”
“No you don’t.”
“I do! I hate him. He’s a murderer, a torturer. An evil blue monster!”
“He’s a cat. He has to eat.”
“He should eat cat food.”
“He needs a balanced diet.” I picked up one sandal, rummaged beneath the undergrowth for the other.
“Colin. How can you joke about this?”
“I’m not joking. Do you see a smile?” I found the buried sandal and walked over to Mingmei. “He’s a cat; cats chase. Birds get eaten; they expect it.”
“Oh-oh-oh!” Her lips disappeared, like a glacé cherry being sucked into her mouth.
“Oh-oh-oh,” I mimicked. “It’s nature. Learn to live with it.” I passed her the sandals, and she dropped them to the ground, and clutched at my arm for support. I felt the heat of her hand through my shirt.
“You always fight for the bad guy. You should be a defence lawyer when you grow up.”
“When I grow up?”
Her nails pierced my shirt, and she grinned.

Mingmei and I grew closer over the weeks leading up to Christmas. We argued and soothed with equal passion. We spent time with friends, lolling on garden walls, roosting like starlings in the branches of trees, kicking cans on street corners. But, best of all, we enjoyed the evenings as they darkened, as the winter closed in, when it was too chilly or too wet to loiter in driveways. We would sit in the drawing-room, heads together in an aura of Sylph, studying Japanese, Chinese and French. My sister learned to knock before she entered the room. It wasn’t necessary, but it pleased me, and I granted her the same respect in return when The Boyfriend came to call, and she had claimed the room before I had.
“I don’t like The Boyfriend.”
“He’s a decent bloke.” I protested, quite strongly.
“He watches me, when he thinks I’m unaware of it.”
My school-mates did, too. She had hair of blue-black silk. She had the grace of a gazelle. She could say ‘no’.
“He’s all right. He has table manners, and he doesn’t kill dogs.”
Mingmei’s eyes slitted, and I felt as if she’d stabbed me.
“That’s not funny, Colin.”
“Am I laughing?” I cast my mind back to the previous weekend, when Richard had phoned and asked me to meet him in the potting shed at the rear of his garden. He’d warned me not to knock on his door, but to go directly round the back. Richard’s garden was orderly: rotavated, cultivated, harrowed. An acreage of land rather than a haven of tranquillity. But it had been in darkness that I had trod the path, torch in hand, which led to the potting shed. Clouseau padded at my heels, and I shooed him and threw showers of earth at him, until he glared at me in the torch beam, and turned and stotted back to Kirriemoor. Richard had loomed from the black brickwork beyond the path and tugged at my arm. He showed me the body by lantern-light. I lifted the pup with two hands, and held it to my face. There was no heat from its body, no soft puffs of life. I held the pup in one hand, the torch in the other, while Richard dug the soil. The hole was deep, and when he refilled it, the earth lay as flat and as finely powdered as before.
“Jay’s taking the girls to the pictures tonight.” I wanted to break my train of thought. I wanted to put a smile back on her round, bright face.
“Oh! Can we go with them?” Mingmei’s eyes sparkled. She loved going to the cinema.
“If you like.”
“Is Richard going?”
“If his father lets him.”

 

[third man girl]

Colin (Part 2)

We sat in a row approximately two-thirds from the front. This was Mingmei’s limit of vision, even wearing glasses. I bought six cornetto ice-creams from a tall girl with long hair and legs like Jacqueline Murray’s. She didn’t smile the way Jacqueline would have; in fact she looked bored and disinterested. It was the end of the week, and she had probably seen the film five times.
I took my own glasses off and rubbed my nose where the red mark formed. Mingmei had told me once, in the deep end of the swimming-pool as we’d trod water together, that I looked ‘quite handsome’ without my glasses. Now, I removed them at every opportunity. The screen had gone fuzzy, but it didn’t matter. The movie showing was a slapstick comedy, and it was easy to follow the plot by stringing together the blatant innuendoes. Jay and Richard both sat with shoulders hunched low, knees high, and rocked the seats with laughter. I sighed; Richard would have laughed at anything, even a war film. The two girls in the middle chattered to each other, and caused an older couple behind us to mutter and shush.
Mingmei giggled and her leg brushed mine. I could make out the shape of her knees in the darkness, two flesh-coloured rounded bones. They twitched from side to side and sometimes jiggled up and down. She crossed her legs, with room to spare in front, and she adjusted her skirt as it slipped up her thigh.
“Can you see?” she whispered, and her perfume teased my nose.
I shrugged. “What’s to see?”
“Melons,” she replied, with her hand clutching her smile, and Jay, on her other side, sniggered.
“It’s not my kind of film.”
“You’ve got no sense of humour.”
“Yes, I have. But this is childish. You know what’s going to happen, long before it happens.”
“Colin. That is the whole point!”
We glared at each other, and I tried to keep my jaw hard, the way that I had practised in the mirror at home.
“If you would lighten up a bit you wouldn’t look so miserable all the time,” she hissed. And the couple behind tutted.
I slipped my glasses back on, and glanced along the row to see Richard’s girl clutching him in a tight embrace. Richard’s head bobbed and rolled, and I watched as the girl’s fingers fed through his hair, pulling him closer. Jay caught me looking and raised an eyebrow, but he didn’t smile. Mingmei settled lower in her seat; her head was close to my shoulder and her hair gleamed under the dimmed lights spotted overhead. I edged nearer to her, bumped her head slightly, and froze. She shuffled and her head touched my upper arm. Her weight sank against my jacket sleeve, and I wondered, if my arm had been bare, would I have felt the line of her cheekbone, the warmth of her hair, the prick of the stud earring.
We sat, breathing in harmony. The whole row of seats shook as people further along laughed at the crude jokes. Mingmei’s knee relaxed against my leg, and she left it there, pressing into me. I wanted to hold her hand but she had both clasped together in her lap and I didn’t dare to wrestle one free. I turned my head towards Jay, and my chin brushed Mingmei’s forehead. Her skin was on fire. I rubbed my chin gently against her brow, and I was convinced she made a move back, a little nudge as if she was stroking her skin on mine. Before I closed my eyes, I saw Jay’s girl slip her hand inside his shirt, low down, but although he had an arm around her, his eyes were on the big screen, and his face was creased in a permanent grin.

We argued, in Chinese, inside the doorway. Her front porch formed a large, stone cavern with cold, hard quarry-tiles and a high painted ceiling. Mingmei’s voice tinkled like a little bell as we debated the dubious merits of the comedy. She told me I had no sense of fun. I reminded her of the time I’d chased her through the wilderness that was the garden of Kirriemoor. I reminded her of the squeezy bottle I’d armed myself with. I reminded her that we’d drenched the cat, and a statue of Venus, and each other. I reminded her of our wet shirts, and the soapy bubbles and her tears of laughter.
“So why didn’t you laugh at the man in the hot-tub with those women? When their bikini tops floated off?”
“Because it was predictable. I prefer spontaneous.” My voice echoed in the cavern, a boom to her metallic ring.
“Colin, you are the most predictable person I know.” She delivered it as a slap to the face. An insult. And then her tiny red lips widened, and teased. “And the most honourable.”
We said goodnight, and I walked down the lamplit pavement towards Kirriemoor. When I was out of sight of Mingmei’s house, I stood for a while, and waited. Clouseau appeared at my feet, and his blue skinny body streaked around my ankles. I lifted him and rubbed his neck, fearful for his safety at night. I clung to him although he twisted and scratched to escape. I walked back up the street past Mingmei’s house, comforted to see the curtains already drawn shut at her bedroom window, the light glowing within. Then I wandered up to the house on the corner to see if Jay was sitting on his garden wall. But the wall stretched long and low, pale white; desolate. Jay’s bedroom was in darkness, curtains wide. He would be with the girl, and he would tell me in the morning that she had let him go the whole way. Jay and Richard both claimed to have had sex with several girls, several times. I didn’t believe either of them. Their stories varied too much, and none matched the descriptions I’d read in novels.
Clouseau squirmed from my arms and padded off down the street. I followed and attempted to walk as lightly as he did. The soles of my shoes slapped at the black pavement and I tried putting the ball of my foot down before the heel made contact. Jay had told me that this was the way models walked along a catwalk. My feet stopped slapping, but I must have looked like the hunchback of Kirriemoor because Clouseau turned to face me and a ridge of fur spiked along his back. I grabbed him and ran home.
I wondered later, as I lay in bed, at what point I had heard the scream from Richard’s garden.

 

[third man girl]

Colin (Part 3)

Jacqueline’s left hand was on my shoulder, quite high up on my shoulder; so high, in fact, that her finger or, perhaps, her thumb, was brushing my neck. It would be accidental. Her green eyes were level with mine and she said a few words to pass the time while we waited. My right hand rested lightly on her hip, below the waist, which I knew to be ticklish, and my other hand lifted hers to a height that would be comfortable for her. We danced well together. The music began and we waltzed around the school hall, timing ourselves to the rhythm and to each other. I enjoyed the school dances, especially the Christmas parties when the boys decorated the hall with garlands and tinsel, and the girls supplied sandwiches and sausage rolls and Coke bottles filled with shandy.
I danced next with Miss Fraust. It was a ladies’ choice and, although she had chosen me, I would have asked her at some point during the evening because it was considered well-mannered to dance with the teachers. I spun Frosty under my arm, collected her again and whisked her off to the end of the column. Her lips glistened with a glossy orange-red lipstick that enhanced the blue-white of her face; her hair was so pale and wispy that I could see her scalp. She clutched my hand with bony fingers and it was like dancing with a ghost. The music stopped, abruptly, and we thanked each other as I escorted her back to the teachers’ corner. The wooden chairs were empty, grouped around the Christmas tree, with wine bottles clustered like tenpins around their legs. I felt obliged to sit with the teacher for a moment. We exchanged a few words, and the words became a conversation. I missed three dances and I lost my chance to foxtrot the feet off my French teacher.
“Mingmei, would you like to dance?” She sat alone at the back of the hall. Her sandals lay under her chair and she rubbed her feet.
“Uh. No, thanks. I’m danced out.” Beads of perspiration dotted her brow and I passed her a white handkerchief. She mopped at the dampness and held the cloth out.
“Keep it,” I said, and then changed my mind. “Here, I’ll put it in my pocket.” I wanted to take the handkerchief home and breathe her smell, touch myself with it, the way I did with the school scarf I’d borrowed. “You know, if a guy asks you to dance, it’s rude to refuse. Now that you’ve refused me, you have to refuse any others who ask.”
Mingmei sighed. “I’ve danced with every one of them.” And she lifted her hair with two hands to let the air fan her neck. “I’ve even danced with Big Ruddy. My feet never touched the floor. And Richard –”
“What about Richard?” My heart grew cold at the thought of Richard lifting her hand, guiding her hip, dancing without making eye contact.
“He’s asked to take me home. Well . . . he didn’t ask, so much as tell me.” She reached to scrabble beneath the chair for her sandals. As she leaned, the neckline of her dress fell open, and I saw the flushed rounded outline of one breast. Her hair fell low, obscuring my view, and then she sat up suddenly and poked her legs out, long, in front of her. I saw the gap between her knees where my fingers would fit, and imagined Richard prising the knees apart.
“Colin? Are you all right?”
“Ice-cream and shandy. Bad combination.” I stood up, and my collar felt hot around my neck, and the band music receded into the distance. I lurched forward and made for the exit doors. Couples moulded into single bodies. They ignored me as I passed: the dancers in the hall; the tight, groping shapes in the corridor; a thrusting oblong in the stairwell. The fire-door clattered as I banged my leg against the metal bar, and I fell into the playground as if I’d been spewed from the school. The cold air chilled the sweat on my body, and the blackness lifted as I sat hunkered low. I heard steps behind me. Fingers touched my shoulder.
“Colin?” Jay’s voice. Concerned. “Why did you run out?”
“Did I run?” I couldn’t remember running.
“Don’t you feel well? Will I bring a teacher?”
“Only if it’s Mademoiselle Delouche.” I forced a smile, and let Jay help me to my feet. He released me, and caught me again quickly. His strength surprised me. He drew me back into the school and led me from the lit end of the corridor towards the blue-grey silence. I had walked the route by day a thousand times, and yet our footsteps echoed louder at night; the cheer had left this end of the building and the smell of disinfectant irritated the lining of my nose. The music from the party oscillated from far off as the big doors repeatedly crashed open and banged shut. We turned a corner and dropped into an eerie blue haze.
“Is it smoky?” I asked Jay.
His hair shimmered pale as he shook his head. “No. Just dark.” and he gripped my arm to prevent me walking further. We leaned our backs to the corridor wall, and slid, as one, down the inky-blue bricks to the floor. Our shoulders rubbed, and if I’d been huddled in the darkness with any other friend but Jay, I would have shuffled aside.

Excerpt from Colin’s story

 

[tugger]

Hi Writer!

Well, this post put a big, goofy grin on my face. I can't wait to read it. But due to the fact that I'm at work and would prefer to take my time reading it in a more conducive atmosphere, do you mind if I print it out so I can read it this evening? I'll tell you my thoughts in the morning.

Thanks, brave one.

 

[Litany]

Only read the first bit so far. I'll read the rest another time. It's awfully good. I can admit, now that I have something nice to say, that the poetry hasn't really been floating my boat, but more down to personal preference than your writing abilities. But the story is really good. Very well written indeed. I like it. Too snoozy to finish it just yet though.

 

[third man girl]

do you mind if I print it out so I can read it this evening? I'll tell you my thoughts in the morning.

Thanks, brave one.

Yes. You can print it out. Of course, you can. Please be cruelly honest because . . . well, just because I need you to be.

Third Man Girl

 

[tugger]

Thanks. Can't wait to read it closely. I promise to be honest. But, sorry, I don't do cruel.

 

[third man girl]

I can admit, . . . that the poetry hasn't really been floating my boat, but more down to personal preference than your writing abilities.

Thank you, Litany. You probably have no idea how good it is to hear that. I knew the poetry had to have two sides to it, and to only hear that people liked it, to be honest, made me doubt myself even more. There is no music, literature, art, sport, humour, etc, that everyone likes. So I need to hear the balance. That's partly why I wouldn't share my work with people I know - they would be tactful, rather than honest.

The 'writing' has been different from the poetry. The poetry just happened. I really don't understand the technicalities at all, and it is therefore very difficult to judge other peoples' work without making a complete fool of myself. A week ago, I didn't know what a stanza was.

But the writing has, by necessity, had to be learned. I surround myself with books: punctuation, grammar, slang, dictionaries, thesaurus. Thesauruses. Thesauri. Whatever - you'll get the picture

Anyway, thanks again

Third Man Girl

 

[Ashlea]

I'm going to read this more closely later, but my first impression is that you've really captured the details well and realistically.

Everything is in the active rather than passive voice, by which I mean that its all subject followed by predicate, no variation. That's not necessarily a bad thing, just a note on your style. It can say something about your narrator, that he has an orderly mindset. I'll try to think of an author who does it differently, and you can decide if you want to explore and play with sentence order a bit.

 

[Ashlea]

I am astounded at these characters - so skillfully hinted at, well rounded, true to their age. The difference in age between Colin-as-narrator and Colin-as-teenager allow for a greater self-awareness that he had at that age.

I have very few quibbles:

heads together in an aura of Sylph

I don't understand the metaphor/reference here. I also don't know what shandy is, but I assume that's just cultural differences.

Some of the dialogue seems a bit too formal for teenagers but that might be a cultural thing as well.

“He watches me, when he thinks I’m unaware of it.”

This one seemed to stick out, to me.

I'm already very involved with this group. And VERY concerned about Richard. Does Colin have to defend him later in life on murder charges?

 

[third man girl]

It can say something about your narrator, that he has an orderly mindset. .

That made me smile Yes, he works with a very orderly, logical brain. He follows his head when he should follow his heart. He is plain-looking, serious about his school work, always top of the class. I don't mean he's a 'geek' but I can't think of a better word. I guess he would have been called a swot. Do you use that word? Here, in Scotland, it would be used in a slightly derogatory way.

I should have shown you the intro - it might have explained him better.

Third Man Girl

 

[third man girl]

I don't understand the metaphor/reference here. I also don't know what shandy is, but I assume that's just cultural differences.

Some of the dialogue seems a bit too formal for teenagers but that might be a cultural thing as well.

Sylph is the perfume Mingmei wears. I don't know if there is a perfume called Sylph - I just called it that because it seemed like a believable brand name. I had referred to Sylph earlier in the story, during his first meeting with Mingmei (in the intro that you haven't seen).

Shandy is beer/lager mixed with lemonade. In the days when Colin went to school, and particularly the type of school he went to, it would have been necessary to smuggle alcohol in to a party. And the teachers had wine openly on display only because Big Ruddy is a slightly unconventional head-master.

I agree, the speech is formal. This is intentional:
a) Colin comes from a well-off background, and is well-spoken. Many of my other characters come from poorer areas and speak with a stronger dialect, swear a lot, and use slang. I want the difference to be clear as the story progresses.
b) (Again, the intro would have helped you). Mingmei is English, of Chinese descent. She feels out of place in this school. Analogy: the school I went to (not in Glasgow, but in the West of Scotland), had fifteen hundred pupils. We had one black kid. Out of fifteen hundred . . . ! He became the dux of the school, and very popular with boys and girls alike. Mingmei is in the same position; bright, attractive, the only non-white in school. Because she was raised in England – not China, or Scotland – I wanted her speech to be ‘different’ from the Glaswegians. Slightly stilted; precise.

You are right to be worried about Richard. I am, too. But I can’t tell you much more at this point, because this is as far as I have got with Colin’s early days. (I have written other stories about other characters – I will blend them together eventually, when they form the gang.)

To be honest, Jay interests me more. When I reached the point where they slid down the wall together, in the darkness, shoulders touching, I thought – whoa – is he gay? (I know Colin isn’t). Then I read back and looked for signs, and wondered why he hadn’t smiled, or sniggered, in the cinema, when Richard was snogging his girl; why he hadn’t responded when his own girl slid her hand into his shirt; why Colin had expected him to be sitting on the wall waiting for him; why he led Colin into the dark corridor... Clues or red herrings? Who knows.

I don’t plan ahead (I know I should ) ; I just let it happen. That’s what makes it exciting for me; I give the guys conflict and watch them resolve it.
I’ve tried thinking up the endings first, pushing the characters from A to Z, but they rebel! They like to do things their way – not mine. And, anyway, I would lose interest if I already knew the outcome.

Thanks for your comments, Ashlea. I appreciate your help with this.

Third Man Girl

 

[tugger]

Well, Writer, this was a real pleasure. Although I've enjoyed reading your poems and the other small snippets of your writing, it was fun just to sit down and get immersed in something with some meat and context. It's obvious that you are much more comfortable writing prose. It shows. Your style is sophisticated and confident.

It's also obvious that you have lived with these characters as they are so well defined. In this particular piece, I could really identify with Colin, clearly a sympathetic character, but one with flaws that give him depth. One gets the sense that in other places of the story, the other characters — Richard, Jay, etc. — are also drawn out and given that same depth. I thought the interplay between the characters was natural and I liked the understated tone of the dialogue. You make the characters interesting by way of description (I could not have had a clearer picture drawn of Mingmei's legs, I can see them now, as clear as day) as well as their actions. I also liked how animals were introduced and used to make the human characters more human.

On the whole, then, I can find little fault. This certainly was better than any prose I've ever written. What criticisms I do have are relatively minor and inconsequential. Like Ashlea, I did make a note as I was reading that everything was in active voice, and I too stumbled over "aura of Sylph" and did not know what "shandy" was. Also, and this is a pet peeve of mine, please identify the speaker in the very first line. After the initial speaker has been identified, fine, omit speaker ids, but don't make me have to guess right off the bat. Or, three or four lines down, have to stop, go back and say to myself, "Okay, Colin's speaking here, Mingmei here," and so on. That gets the reader off to a flying stop. Your description of Clouseau on the window sill as he "roamed and angled" struck me as a little stilted. I thought, it's a window sill, how far can he roam? And angled? I think a simple "paced, turned, paced, turned" would have better surficed. But, that's just a personal thing. On the other hand, when you say Mingmei has the "grace of a gazelle," that sounded cliche to me. I think you can be a bit more creative there. What else? Wow, that's about it. I did stumble over the reference to Jacqueline Murray in the description of the ice cream girl at the cinema. I wondered if she was some famous person I should know. Then when I got to Colin dancing with Jacqueline at the dance, stupid me put two and two together.

Really, Writer, I liked this very much. Very much. Thank you for the privilege of reading and offering my comments. You really have so much talent. I don't know what else to say, except don't stop, don't hide, and don't ever sell yourself short. I hope you allow me to read more about these wonderful characters you have created. I know you're going to deny (with fire in your eyes) that you want to be a published author and that you have no other novels in you but this one (so why not a series of books with these characters?). But when you are on your first U.S. book tour, and you make a stop in the Midwest, I'll be the first in line asking you to autograph my copy.

 

[third man girl]

Well, Writer, this was a real pleasure.

Thank you for taking the time to read and respond.

you have lived with these characters as they are so well defined.

Colin – yes – for years. Not the others – they are ‘bit’ players who arrived in my head a few weeks ago.

(I could not have had a clearer picture drawn of Mingmei's legs, I can see them now, as clear as day)

Hmmm . . . that little gap . . .

Well, I like to make my characters a little ‘imperfect’. And that includes the females. It bugs me so much when I read books, and find that the women are, inevitably, stunning. Having said that, since I started writing, I have realised how very hard it is to make women sound attractive if you give them a distinctive feature, eg give a guy a big nose, and he can still be the hero, but give a woman a big nose and suddenly you imagine hooks and warts and witches.
Anyway, my male characters don’t get to be perfect either, because I am a wicked writer If they aren’t particularly good-looking, eg Colin, they are allowed to be smart. Or funny. Or skilled in the art of cat-burglary, or knee-capping. If they are good-looking, I’ll give them something like a brain disorder, or a problem with premature ejaculation

Like Ashlea, I did make a note as I was reading that everything was in active voice

Funnily enough, I only started doing this recently, after coming across a ‘how to write a novel’ site. It was about ‘keeping it active’. Example: Mary ran versus Mary was running.
So I changed my style a bit. Maybe I’ve overdone it?

Please identify the speaker in the very first line.
The "grace of a gazelle," that sounded cliche to me.
"roamed and angled" struck me as a little stilted.

Yep. Fair comments.

I the reference to Jacqueline Murray

Again, like the perfume, she had been referred to in the opening paragraphs that you and Ashlea hadn’t seen.

(so why not a series of books with these characters?)

I’ve had ‘the gang’ in my head for years and lived with their exploits, but I'm not confident about writing about action-packed stuff, eg fights, because I haven’t lived it for real (observing and doing, being different). So I began ‘asking’ the guys, individually, about their years before they joined the gang. And I discovered a whole lot more about what makes them the kind of men they are.
So that’s what I’m trying to write: several coming-of-age stories, leading up to the boys forming a gang; and then the continuation of this same gang . . .
‘Bit’ characters, like Richard and Jay, are on short-term contracts
Colin’s personal story will be short and sweet. He’s important (all the gang members are in their own way), but he’s *whisper* a bit dull. I’m having a lot more fun with the others . . .

I know you're going to deny (with fire in your eyes)

Must be that damned candle again

Thanks, Poet, for your advice.

 

[piedro]

TMG

i dont claim to be a book critic. however ,using the limited book knowledge that i have , i can clearly state without any bias that this was absolutely awesome.

with such a short excerpt, you have made the personalities of colin, jay , richard and mingmei crystal clear to the me. i could actually put myself in colin's place and look at it all from his point of view. maybe that has something to do with the fact that i am a bit like him. the story never slacked off at any point neither was it contrary to teenagers' lives. i liked colin's interaction with the cat the most , clutching her so that she doent run away

sorry , but i cant advice you in any way as i dont have any criticisms to make about your writing style apart from those mentioned already

i obviously dont know as much about the characters as you do but this is what i inferred:-
richard is a criminal type who will be the first to join the street gang. colin will do so out of some compulsion but i think that wont be due to richard but mingmei.
jay is NOT GAY i totally believe that he has had sex with many girls , not so sure about Richard. he doesnt respond when the girl slid her hand in his shirt as he was quite used to that and he has that kind of intellect to be amused by slapstick.
why do i get the feeling that mingmei will go far away from colin?

of course , you can change all that and make me look like an idiot
you have left me craving for more. please get writing fast
Thank you

 

[third man girl]

piedro, first off, it’s nice that you have jumped back into the book forum again. You have been much too quiet of late

Secondly, I love the animation that comes through in your writing

Thirdly, it’s nice to get feedback from someone of your age! You are right about being a bit like Colin. I can picture you both, head to head, in a heated argument in some debating class. And then you would both smile, shake hands politely, and walk away, best of friends. Colin is also respectful of his family; loyal; understanding; and forgiving of his friends’ faults. I believe that could be you?

Anyway Thank you for your analysis of my story. (I prefer to use the word ‘analysis’ with you, rather than ‘critique’, because I know you read with intuition. )

You might have got the boys a bit mixed up, ie Richard and Jay, when they were at the cinema. That is my fault – too many characters, girlfriends with no names, cornetti vendors – confusing But I think you have the gist of it. I honestly can’t tell you whether Jay is gay/bisexual or not, because I don’t know myself yet. But, yes , he has had sex with lots of girls.

Richard will not join the gang. Only Colin makes it through to the second part of my book. But I believe that Colin learned compassion, during his early days, because of his friend Richard. Colin knew why Richard was not a pleasant person. He was Richard’s confidant; he knew why he was hurting those around him. Like many ‘wicked’ people, Richard was a victim, too. Colin did not condone his behaviour, but stuck by him – simply because he was his friend.

why do i get the feeling that mingmei will go far away from colin?

Because you are reading with intuition again

Colin and Mingmei are two young people, intelligent, much in love, but scared to admit their love for each other...
... but I’ll let them have a degree of fun before she vanishes from his life

Oh, btw. You have hurt Clouseau’s feelings Clouseau is male

Third Man Girl