Board Thread:Writer's Workshop/@comment-28812725-20160621224207/@comment-28266772-20160622145336

June 16, 1934, New York New York-



Gracie was a young girl, about the age of 14 years [just say fourteen years old] with hair so blonde it truly was the white of snow [eh? Blonde hair is yellow, not white]. Her skin was pale from spending most of her time alone in her room, and her eyes shown [shone] like the sky on a sunny day. She stood short for her age, and had a very slim face, and a slender build with not much meat on her bones. She lived with her father, mother, and little sister Marina [these parents must be stopped from naming any more children]. Marina had peach skin, and was a bit tall for her age, and average weight. The girl was often cheerful and excitable, often running after rabbits in the yard out of curiosity. One day when her parents were gone, Gracie was in charge of watching over the 6 year old [6 year old girl]. She sat in her room, writing in her journal while Marina played outside with their Labrador. She heard the bark of their dog, and knew something was wrong. She stood, closing [closed] the journal and pushing [pushed] it into her drawer, and looked out her window. The dog was tied to a tree with a rope, and barking madly at the woods. She closed her blinds and rushed downstairs and out the door. The day was hot and sticky, making her white dress cling to her. Marina was gone. She called her name, but when she received no reply, [she] proceeded to walk into the woods to see if she was hiding, seeing as she [who?] tended to wonder [wander] off. She found a path she'd not known, and walks [walked] down the dirt trail, dust kicking her small black shoes [awkward wording. Dust doesn’t kick, feet kick] as she called out her beloved sister's name. The afternoon gave way to twilight, and she began to run, until she found a clearing with a big old house in the trees [ambiguous wording, is the house literally in the trees?]. The house looked run down, painted with a cream white, and built with wood, which was rotting and the paint peeling. She saw the lights were on through [what she could see in – all of this is unnecessary] a window, and she rushed to the door. Being the polite girl she was, she brushed off her now dirty dress, [and] knocked [people aren’t polite during instances of child kidnapping]. When nobody came to the door, she crept into the house which was unlocked, due to the keyhole being broken [awkward wording]. She looked around and saw some stairs. She sneaked down them, trying not to hear the creak of the wood as if it would help no one hear her, only to be horrified at the sight that greeted her at the bottom [which is?]. She felt goosebumps run down her limbs, as a sickening chill rushed through her bones from the freezing temperature of the room. Her nostrils stung [really? I visited an abattoir once and my nostrils didn’t even sting] with the smell of blood and death. The stairs led to a [stone] basement, [with stone walls, floor and ceiling – the whole thing is stone, we get it]. The room looked like something from a butcher shop, with meat hanging down from hooks, and a cleaver on a table, a pool of blood around its blade. A freezer laid [lay] in the back of the room, with scalpels and needles laying across it's [its] top. Her sister's mangled body laid [lay] on the floor, laid [lay – don’t repeat words in a sentence unless you have a damn good reason to] in an unnatural position, and a large chunk of her side missing and blood pouring [poured] from the hole, surrounding the body in a crimson blanket. She was dead [yup]. Gracie rushed to her sister, not believing her eyes, but before she could make it to her [you just said she rushed to her, contradicting this sentence. Should be ‘Gracie began to rush to her’ or something like that], she felt herself retch, and [she] bent over shaking. She wobbled to her sister, and shook Marina's body, trying to wake her up. She sobbed as she felt herself close to passing out, as the smell sent her head spinning. She felt someone tap her shoulder and she looked behind her, tears pouring down her face, and she let out an ugly sob. A man with wicked eyes and red on his teeth and shirt smiled at her. "Let's take care of those pretty tears hm?" Before she could say anything, she saw the flash of [a – no need for the indefinite article ‘a’] two needles and felt a sharp pain in her right tear duct [weirdly specific place to feel pain, I assume she was stabbed there?], then her left. She screamed, falling to her side[,] hands over her eyes, as she felt blood pour into her palms. She heard the creak, then slam of the door shutting behind the man's back. She felt blood leak down to her mouth, and some entering her lips [awkward wording]. She found the taste...satisfying, and licked it up. She let more fall down her face as she licked more off her lips. She felt her strength failing after many hours of pain, and let her eyes fall closed, giving in. She heard the man leave but then the door opened a second time, it screeching [screeched] as its hinges tried to keep it on the wall. She couldn't turn to look but heard a gentle yet strong voice say, "Come with me." [New speaker? New line!] It wasn't the man, but someone else entirely. She thought for a moment then replied.

"Okay." [This girl is surprisingly relaxed for someone who’s in a situation that usually precedes sodomy and death, in no particular order. She’s been kidnapped; not sure ‘okay’ cuts it.]

-May 5, 1936, New York New York-



I pulled into the inn parking lot and him and my 8 month pregnant girlfriend [eh? Wording issues. Also if a number is less than ten spell it out], Sarah, got out. We walked inside and she went to put their things away while he talked with the woman behind the counter. [I don’t have a clue how many people are involved in this narrative] As I walked upstairs, I passed a door which, from the corner of my eye, appeared to have no number. Of course I immediately had too [to] look out of curiosity, [numberless doors are a good reason to get curious, after all] so I walked to the door and checked if anyone was watching. I went for the handle, but it only jiggled and appeared to be broken. I bent down and peeked in the key hole and saw a girl about 20 of age, with white hair, pale skin and a white dress,'s [not a clue what this meant to be] back facing him [who?]. Her head suddenly cocked to the right, then the middle, then the left. She repeated the process back and forth, her hair swaying to the side with each movement. I watched for what felt like hours, then shook my head and raised an eyebrow, but ignored it and went back to my room. I told Sarah I was going to hang out with a friend that was going to study for college exams [what? Where? Why?]. She nodded and got ready for bed. I left, only to return later because, as usual, I forgot a book [obviously]. I heard Sarah's heavy breathing from her sleeping and decided to leave the lights off so she wouldn't awaken [wake up]. I searched around in the darkness, feeling around in my bag for the book. It wasn't inside, so I carefully checked her's [hers], then [checked] under my bed. I found it, but [all - delete] while I searched, the hairs on the back of my neck was [were] on end. I constantly had a strange feeling that the heavy breathing was always behind me, but I ignored it. I found the book and left quickly, trying to get rid of the feeling. It stopped when I shut the door. The next morning when I got home, I turned the lights on, and felt my blood run cold as I saw [saw – repetition] Sarah's body mangled [adjective then noun i.e. mangled body, green apple, tall man, etc], and the sheets stiff with dried red [red what?]. A large rip was in her chest where her heart belonged, and her body was so mutilated I didn't recognise her [and yet he did recognize her literally moments ago when he told us it was Sarah]. I looked above the mess, and saw "Aren't you glad you didn't turn the lights on?" in blood on the wall beside her bed. I felt paralysed, yet very drawn to not say anything quite yet [awkwardly worded]. I felt myself walk to the strange door again, not sure why, and peeked in the hole again [doesn’t make any sense why this would happen]. This time all I could see was red. I calmly went downstairs and reported not the murder, but the room to the woman behind the counter, still not knowing why I felt so calm. She raised an eyebrow and cocked her head to the side and asked, "What room? We don't have an unnumbered and none of the doors handles are broken. I finally felt my senses come back, like a wave of terror, and I frantically explained Sarah's murder, breaking into hysterics which tears pouring down my face. The woman was shocked and called the police.



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Since I had to copy/paste your story just to read it I thought I'd actually have some fun writing feedback on this, and have left my notes in your story as annotations lodged within square [ ] brackets.

Overall though this story is riddled with punctuation, grammar, formatting, tense, and story issues. It also makes no sense why anything happens.

You need to go through and read every single piece of style and writing advice on this wikia. You can find the bulk of advice here on basic grammar and sentence structure. I just don't really know where to begin in terms of offering more in-depth advice. If you're interested in writing you need to read more. I've got a few blog posts that also cover, most, of the mistakes you make here. Ranging from poor use of ambiguity the need for a plot to make sense and ways to help build up atmosphere using style and structure.

Also use paragraphs. Walls of text are like the fedora/neck-beard combo of writing.