Living a life is the consequence of many choices and sacrifices. Just choosing to really live or to become hollow won鈥檛 ever be good enough. Choosing to live in between is what I鈥檝e done. I don鈥檛 have anyone like me to identify with. There are those I envy, and those I look on with disgust. It鈥檚 an uncomfortable between. So lonely is my soul! Neither empty nor full, it gets splashed around and jostled like the pet in its cage. I never knew I made this choice. When did I decide how to live? Now I carry this misery that was never something I wanted.
In my mind鈥檚 eye, the vision is clear. It came to me in a dream. The summary of my life鈥檚 choices and its ultimate outcome. There are two roads; both are clear cut and worn. They come together where I鈥檓 standing, and I know I must choose. I鈥檓 in the desert. An odd one; where each grain is a tiny speck of gold. The glare should blind me, but I don鈥檛 feel a thing. I don鈥檛 even squint. I know it鈥檚 extremely hot; I see in the distance the heat waves distort my vision. But I can鈥檛 feel the desperate, pulsating heat on my skin or the sand against my feet. The two roads are veiled by two velvet curtains. The deepest purple I could ever imagine. I looked up to see what could be holding them here. I can see directly to the stars, and the cloth just continues into eternity. I can鈥檛 figure out where to go. I can鈥檛 go back, and these two roads are my only choice. I stand there, waiting for something to come to me, getting a little frustrated and anxious.
My dream tells me that this is what makes me the in between. Others may let frustration defeat them and just pick something. Others let anxiety overcome them, and pick a route because they can鈥檛 handle the stress. My dreams show me what I do, how I must do things forever. I close my eyes and take a deep breath; sooth apprehension, stroke it into a content slumber. Once I open my eyes again, I see things in a different way. The sun is still bright, but as it burns the sand the rest of the sky is a dark blue. It feels like, and I know it鈥檚 true, that it would take the smallest effort to cast away or see through this veil to the stars. This blue veil is only disrupted by the rich sun and the ominous velvet cloth hanging from eternity, trying to trick me. I can see that because I now know everything has intentions, a truth. I look down at my choices again, and I see growth. Green growth sprouting between my decisions. Grass and trees grow to full sizes in just a few heartbeats. I just know鈥擨 feel鈥攖hat these trees reach farther than eternity鈥攆arther than the ill intentioned velvet. I know it is more than the evil that lurks in eternity. Before knowing I鈥檝e chosen, without any control at all, I walk into this forest. I haven鈥檛 chosen, I鈥檓 in shock. Even though this forest is just as suspicious as the curtains now behind me鈥攂e it more subtle鈥擨 have little room for fear. Just let it go I say, and it is released into an invisible wind, lifting up into nothing.
The choice is made. My sorrow tells me the terrible velvet curtains and beautiful trees played together to trick me into a never ending cave at the end of the grass. I know something makes me different again, although no more answers are given. My dream tells me no more, just that I am to observe and experience. Four golden leaves from a tree at my right fall. I look curiously at them, and remember them from my desert. The gold no longer grains, but existing as these leaves. They glide down and float in front of me. I鈥檓 moving unintentionally again. I put one foot on top of two of the leaves. One supports my heel, and the other the balls of my foot. As I lift my left foot the last two glide right into this position. Somehow, the leaves are still floating, even though my weight is added to them. As I stand, or float, there in my sorrow the leaves move forward and steadily get faster. In a moment I鈥檓 in the sky. The leaves are gone, and I have huge chocolate wings with a golden shimmer, a gift from the sand that are leaves. I find myself flying in haste, with no place to go. I fly just to fly. To fly gives me a feeling of immense freedom and heartache. I know I will never be rid of the heartache. Its become an extension of me. I can feel it now, such a heavy burden that sometimes I just need to cry. My hopes and dreams are the only thing that keeps me in the air and flapping these strong wings. I want to live a life of great adventure and wonder. To fight, to fly high in the sky, do anything and everything there is to do. But my heartache floods me, and I know it鈥檚 my anchor, reminding me I鈥檓 only an in between. How easy it was to forget! I feel that this makes me in between, this anchor. I can鈥檛 lose it though, and the despair that this is a curse adds weight to it. I鈥檓 falling into a dark cloud, despair its name. Trapped, the thick smoke chokes me and has a tight grip around me. Squeezing with all its might, I can鈥檛 bring myself to scream in terror. I struggle, and there is a light that doesn鈥檛 exist where I鈥檝e been blindly looking. So far away is a gentle glow of pearly white. It gets closer, and its timid nature somehow scares away the vicious cloud. It wraps around me in a soft embrace, and suddenly my body jolts forward into it.
Where I am it is night and I notice I鈥檓 wearing a plain white dress. My hair is longer. I now just notice that this all began with me naked and hair cropped to my shoulders. This dress falls to my knees, and my hair to my elbows. I feel changed, about as much as I look. Maybe my heartache retreated with the dark cloud or a new shining weight was added that numbs my anchor. I feel a jolt of shock and worry sweep through me at my anchor鈥檚 increasing additions. If this shining weight is an addition to my heartache, it must be so much worse than anything else. How could it overpower such deep sorrow? A silent enemy is one of the worst, I鈥檝e always thought.
I walk now down a stone path, and as I look up from its rusty and grey colors I see mountains and streams and more trees. It is so beautiful; and I鈥檓 caught. It snared me in it鈥檚 trap. I don鈥檛 fight, I just let what happens happen. This time, it feels right. Like this is where I鈥檓 supposed to go. I drift down the hill I appeared on, and begin wading into a stream, following the current. I follow it for a long time, the water is freezing. I feel like my legs must be transparent by now. For some reason, I don鈥檛 mind. The constant treading through the water allows me some time to think. I am curious how I can feel the cold bite of the water but not the blistering heat of the sun or sand in the desert. A gust of wind blows my hair back and my mind and thoughts are taken away. I continue treading through the stream, but I鈥檓 somewhere else. I don鈥檛 think of anything anymore, I鈥檓 too peaceful now as I ride the wind.
Not long after, I observe from the sky that I walked up another hill possessing one tree that spread out like a fan in all directions for longer than I ever though a tree could. I sit here under it and sleep, living another adventure in my dreams. So this is how I am half living for now. Riding the wind, I know only part of me is enjoying the truths of this dream. The rest of me has to exist without it, and with realities too unsatisfying to accept.
What do you think? Am I any good? Do I have any chance?
There are several elements in what you wrote that indicate an ability to communicate in print. There are also several missing elements public readers expect from "the reading experience."
It all depends, really, what you are aiming to write about. I would categorize what you wrote as an example of Stream of consciousness, or diary writing. Most published work, if that is what you are aiming towards, is topical, or plotted, though many examples of lit including a good deal of poesy, forgo some structural elements, depending on the style.
Many of the respondents comments address this expectation, that some point or purpose beyond an introspective view of ones inner life be explored.
There are several thousand GROUPS on Yahoo that address all the various needs of new writers in developing the differing styles and types of writing, offering review, editing, general advice, marketing, and, support. They are free to join, in the main, and because they are so numerous, doubtless at least some of them would be very helpful in developing and supporting your personal style and interests.
I would suggest that you look into them.
I run one such site myself, where we focus on plotting, writing challenges, critiquing each others work, and even promote some collaborative writing activities. My group, just as an example, focuses on Speculative Fiction (Genre fiction such as Sci-Fi, Horror, Adventure and the like). Other groups specialize in fan fiction, poetry, Historical fiction, romance, etc.
From the Yahoo main page, click on Groups, then indicate your interest in the search field, or just click through the categories and follow your nose. Yahoo ranks (lists) the groups within any one category by the number of members each group has, so if you are interested in exposing yourself to smaller pools of writers, you will have to surf well back through the listed groups to find just the one that suits you.
I am addressing the question within the question here, which I perceive to be at root, a lack of an interested community that is concerned and involved in your interest, willing to provide feedback, support, and advice. Writing does not need to be a "Lonely profession." If you feel moved to write and share it, These groups would be a good place to start.
What do you think? Am I any good? Do I have any chance?
The way you wrote was actually really good, but what you wrote was a problem. I didn't know who was talking or what they were referring to.
Maybe define a little and make it more interesting. Your writing style is good though.
What do you think? Am I any good? Do I have any chance?
Your style of writing is actually very good. I don't really know what the main topic is or where the story is going, but I think that you made the dream part too long and I think that it is not clear enough. But maybe that was the original purpose, so I can't really say that. There was also another problem with the verb tenses. Your whole story is in the present, but this sentence "I looked up to see what could be holding them here." is in the past, so you have to change it.
You can definitely make it to the top with some confidence and effort. Keep up the good work and good luck!!!
What do you think? Am I any good? Do I have any chance?
At first it seemed interesting but after reading a dozen lines or so I began to feel bored. I then skipped through it more quickly and what I read also didn't spark interest. It is clearly an internal dialogue that is important to you but nothing there captures and maintains the reader's interest. There is no clue that promises a reward in the next page or two for enduring this thick treacle.
'The gold no longer grains, but existing as these leaves.' I have no idea what this means.
What do you think? Am I any good? Do I have any chance?
Beautiful %26amp; beatific.
What do you think? Am I any good? Do I have any chance?
Your writing style is good but you'll have to work a little bit to capture and maintain the reader's interest.I liked the passage but didn't enjoy it -- it became a bit confusing and a little slow in the middle.Also,there r some typos(missing punctuation marks,etc) -- but that's Ok,u can refine it after u read it over.And yeah,try not be repititive about the "I-am-an-in-between" point.Or if u have to emphasise the point again,don't repeat the line,use some different words or use comparison.
All in all, u have scope but u'll have to work hard to get there.
Best of luck!
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