The Word Cloud - Writing Community - Help and advice for writers

‘Come here, you little bugger.’ Having completely ignored any form of reasoning the dog just bolted at top speed, typically in the direction of the muddiest, soggiest and smelliest area of the beach. The big, rusty, old pipe just spewed another hosing of rank shit into the, so called, tourist trap. Trap indeed; Josie knew her day just had to get better.

‘Therapeutic... my arse,’ Josie had meant to have muttered this under her breath; by the look of astonishment on the rather hallowed looking face of the woman walking up from the jetty, she realised she’d inadvertently blurted it out aloud.

‘Morning, looks like a good one.’ Josie had absolutely no idea what this statement was supposed to mean, it was just something to say, probably to disguise her slight embarrassment.

‘Morning, you have a lively one there.’ Josie was assuming the woman was making reference to the dog and not to her turn of phrase. With pleasantries exchanged Josie now took on the task of extraditing the dog, with a bit of bribery and coercion, from its fascination for soggy, floating toilet paper. Mavis, Josie’s next door neighbour who had assured her that looking after her, so called ‘best friend’ for a couple of days, would be very therapeutic, was due back today. Josie would need to get Prince, formerly known as bugger, cleaned up and ready for the happy reunion. Mavis’s E.T.A was about eleven and Josie needed to be at work before two.

‘So I never finished telling you...’ Josie continued with her story;

‘Well it was Cinderella you see; by the time we’d got ourselves sorted it was already past six o’clock, we were supposed to be there by half past, I was just finishing my hair. So, no sooner has he stepped out the door, I hear a thud. He’s gone arse over tit and only goes and breaks his bloody leg... well laugh, of course we didn’t know it was actually broken then, that was later at the A & E. Do you know it’s a nightmare trying to find somewhere to have a smoke in those places? So anyway there he is sat on his arse in the snow and pipes up; I don’t think I’m going to get to the ball do you Josie? Well laugh I nearly pissed me self.’ Sandra was trying to keep up with the rapid-fire account of events while she and Josie were checking the resident list and the pair of them was supposed to be sorting the various sandwiches and afternoon tea paraphernalia onto the trolley. Josie had already had a cigarette break and they had only been on-shift fifteen minutes.

It had been falling throughout the night, white and bleak, although it did feel warmer now; there had been a heavy covering of snow. Huddled together, the warmth was permeating amongst the interlocked bodies, disingenuous, but comfort all the same. The viaduct formed a shelter: they said there would be no escape. Damp, lonely and dislocated, that’s the feeling rotting in my stomach, there is no escape; they were right. Numbers imprinted onto human skin, destruction and lasting psychological deprivation embossed in memory and allowed to fester. A surrendered human force with no currency to trade, just a language of survival; there was plenty of competition. The officers, earlier in the first of the morning light, had past fairly close by; it was still too dangerous for us to even think that it may be safe to come out of hiding. Sofia was now showing the blemishes of the irreversible damage that was to take over our life. There had been no warning; it was a Wednesday evening just like any other, a few of the regulars enjoying a late supper and a few drinks. We didn’t know any of the soldiers; they just burst into the Bistro and demanded to scrutinise everybody’s papers. The truck stunk of urine and stale life. There had been a mistake, Sofia tried to explain this to one of the guards; we couldn’t stop the butt of the rifle; we tried to stop the bleeding...

‘Tea-time Mister Dizzy-bones’, Josie smiled with an exaggerated mock apology; perhaps this was an unnecessary admission of guilt. Sandra interjected, ‘It’s time for tea and biscuits Stan’. Stanley opened his eyes with a mixture of light surprise accompanied by an agitation in his stare. ‘The name is Dziobon, Josie, you pronounce it Job-on:’ Sandra tactfully corrected. Restless, irritated, Stan tried to clear his throat; it was as if the words were caught on the barbed wire of his fragmented memories. A single glassy bead slowly bumped and rolled its way downwards, it hung for a split-second whilst transforming into a watery tear and then just dropped. A dampened slither ran along his crooked nose. ‘Come on Stan we’ve got your favourites, Bourbon Creams.’ Sandra, as she placed the cup with a couple of biscuits in its saucer on the side table to the right of Stan’s armchair, pushed a white crumpled tissue into his half opened palm.

I like it, but am struggling a little with the constantly changing points of view. It could, however, be me! The gist of the story is good and you have a sophisiticated style that appeals to me.

Hi Maryluv,

It is a bit awkward to try and get a full picture and I'm hoping that is the reason behind the struggle with the changing points of view. The streams of consciousness are designed to run parallel with the unfolding story of Sandra and her son. The Josie scenario is just a bit of light relief. I am certainly going to take on board the constantly changing views, they could get confusing. I’ll hang on and see if anyone else is having the same thoughts...

Thanks for taking the time... keep smiling

Hello 7thSon, Sound material that suffers because the narrative is disjointed. It jumps from current, to past, with brick walls in between, and also the thought processes of one character one minute, and another the next. This makes it a difficult section to read. Also there are superfluous words, adjectives and adverbs. To make this sing i think requires: I reckon links/continuity/transition between time frames is needed, so that they are not chunks of text which do not appear connected. This will help flow. If different points of view are necessary, again I reckon these will need links/transition, or the reader, as I was, is likely to be lost. Editing, more is less, to make it concise and flowing. Without the diversion of wordiness, this material will really shine through being free of distraction from narrative. And it wouldn't take much. This is a cracking idea with some fascinating characters, and a different approach and editing would make this striking. Greyowl59 (Charles)

Greyowl,

Firstly thanks for spending your time on my efforts.

The issues you have raised and the encouraging signs you have pointed-out will go a long way to spur me on to knock this piece into shape.

Thanks again Charles.

Keep smiling...