Board Thread:Writer's Workshop/@comment-27905100-20160908163636/@comment-28266772-20160909133655

As a kid, my family had a cabin out on Vancouver Island, in the Parksville area. It wasn’t very large, in fact it was a tiny, five room bungalow. Not much, but it was near the ocean, as well as getting [the subject/action relationship here is a bit muddled – try “and gets quite a bit…”] quite a bit of sun during the summer months when we were there [when you think about it, it’s clear that this cabin will get the same amount of sun regardless of who’s there]. The inside always smelled strongly of cedar, and was heavily decorated with small items we found from the beach. There was a false seagull hanging from the roof, as well as some owls woven from hard rope. In short, [In short -> this feels weird] it was a great place to have in the summer, but it came with one huge downside. Now this might not seem like a huge deal, but when we came and left, we had to turn the water on and off. Not much, right? Yeah, it wouldn’t be, except for a few things, like the fact that' [this formatting isn’t necessary. You can just write it in the natural prose format used already. If you insist on a list you should put a colon after ‘that’]'

The knob to turn the water on was under the cabin.

And the only way to get under the cabin was through a dog door I could barely fit through.

And the doggy door swung closed once you got through, trapping you in the dark.

And the knob was on the opposite side of the cabin from the door.

All of this, plus the fact that the only defense against the seemingly all-consuming darkness, was a tiny crank flashlight, as we had no batteries '[By emphasizing that you have no batteries you bring attention to the plothole – “Just buy some fucking batteries” – you’re better off just saying that you had a crank flashlight without a justification; also you use a lot of commas. Try reading your story aloud with a one second pause for each comma, and see if it really helps. I too am guilty of using a shit load of commas]'. It was pretty scary in there, and I was usually the one to do this, as my dad was too big to fit, and my mother was [busy] making sure the water was working by turning a faucet off and on. I hated doing it, but turning the water on and off didn’t hurt me, and summers there were great, so I just kept my mouth shut about it. Normally, I just held my breath, and sucked it up.

But…

There was that one summer…

I was thirteen, just coming out of the eighth grade, when my family arrived at the place. I practically burst out of our 2001 dodge minivan, eager to get in the ocean (Trust me [no capital], after a cramped, ten-hour car ride, you would be too). I opened up the hatch-back and grabbed my bag, lugging it inside. The strong smell of cedar hit me in the nose like a hard slap. Laying the bag down on the hardwood floor, I dragged it to the master bedroom. As I did so, I looked around, seeing familiar sights that had been ingrained in my memory from years of coming to the cabin. I was so excited to be back that I completely forgot about everything I had to do. I walked back into the kitchen, stretching, and saw my mother playing with the faucet. With a start, I realized I hadn’t turned on the water. I walked into the kitchen, trying to seem like I had forgotten all about it. I was never a very good liar, though, and she saw straight through me. ‘Oh, there you are,’ she said, still turning the faucet back and forth. ‘Get down there and turn on the water, the flashlight’s next to the stove.’



I walked over, and grabbed the mini-crank flashlight, its cold plastic giving me goosebumps around my hand. I hated this chore, but I knew I had to do it every time we came, so I opened the door, and walked outside. Sighing, I went down the steps, and around the back of the cabin, the grass silencing my footsteps [I like this line]. I opened the hinged door, and gave my light a few cranks, then squeezed inside. I looked around, though I couldn’t see much of anything, as my weak little light hardly made a difference in the inky-black crawlspace. The door slammed shut behind me with a fierce slam, as if jaws were closing, swallowing me inside. I jumped at the noise, and looked around into the abyss of dark. I looked straight ahead, shining my flashlight at the knob. The mildew covered brass sparkled back, the dampness adding to the shine [I like this]. The scent of rotting wood and decay filled my nostrils, making me gag[and this]]. I closed my eyes, then took a deep breath, and held it. Shining the weak beam around, I looked for anything that might be dangerous. Nothing wandered into my sight, but my nerves weren’t calmed by this. At this point I had nearly made it to the knob, when suddenly, my light went out. I had put my light down so that I could turn the handle, but in this darkness I couldn’t find the flashlight. I panicked, and then started fumbling around for my flashlight. I had become disoriented, and had no idea where anything was, and I thought to myself, what if I die here? What if something in the dark finds me?

My heart started to pound, and I looked around, and scrabbled for my flashlight. It may have been my imagination, but at this point, I felt almost as if something breathing down my neck. Something almost human, but not quite. But, just as I was sure I was done for in there, I felt my flashlight, sitting there in the dark. I picked it up and cranked it as hard as I could, and I turned it on, just in time to find something dashing out of my beam of light. I couldn’t really tell what it was, but from what I saw, it looked almost human. [repetition of ‘almost human’] I opened the water, and got the hell out of there.

I haven’t been under there sense. Now, that’s not to say that I haven’t gone back to the cabin, but it’s always been my sister who’s turned the water on and off since then. I do wonder about her, though, and how she’s holding up, as well as the fact that she’s never said anything about seeing something while she’s turning on the water, or the scratching that I sometimes hear from under the place.

-

Mechanical issues – you over rely on commas but other than that I noticed very few mechanical errors. Sometimes your sentence structure is a bit funny but it’s never incorrect so I didn’t note it.

Style issues – this language seems appropriate for the age bracket of the character.mOverall the style is alright, some of the imagery is certainly functional and even interesting, although it feels sparse.

<p class="MsoNormal">Plot issues – this is where the story falls down. Your story can be split into a few distinct parts. First, you establish the location and the hook (having to turn the water on and off). Second you go to the setting and actively describe it. Third, you go under the cabin and describe it. Fourth, you see something ‘almost human’. I think you’re trying to go for realism but there’s no pay-off and that’s a problem. You also need to consider cohesive writing – everything must have a purpose. You create two settings and describe them both in detail but why? There’s a lot to go into here but the basic gist of it is that a story is composed of characters, setting, theme, mood/atmosphere, and plot. Every word should contribute directly to one of those things, and each of those things should also reflect and inform at least one of the others (more is better though). Setting should inform plot. The second setting (the crawlspace) informs the plot. But the first does not. Why do I need to know what’s hanging in the cabin? Why do I need to know how many rooms it has?

<p class="MsoNormal">Strip that out and you have a premise, a crawlspace, and an unseen thing. That needs to be elaborated on to create a fully-fledged story. Don’t be afraid to just dive into it and get nasty. This is a horror story don’t be bound by reality. Take your talent for imagery and coherent writing and apply it to something a little more interesting than a raccoon that some teen mistook for a monster.