#1
I'm writing a story of some sort.
I'm unsure of what it shall become.
Work in progress.

updated as of 7/19
well, almost the 19th

Hold It


Breathe in. Step up. The snow on the ledge makes a few soft crunches under my shoes as I position myself. Arid oxygen is plentiful, and has no issues diving into my lungs. It’s a sub-zero toxin freely circulating my body. It stings as it chills my ins and outs, my bones, and self. I finally feel alive; a little too late. My eyes wander down and around. I scan the edge of the world. I scan the edge of my world.

The graffiti appears to have aged as long as the walls have, but she carefully combines elegance and trash. She’s a voice never seen by the travelers who pass underneath her at 70 miles per hour. I’m in no hurry though. I became familiar with her personal life quite quickly, just like every other woman I’ve known. To be honest, she had quite a bit to say, but she couldn’t talk over the screams of the engines racing below me.

Car after car, moan after moan. It’s seems to be a damn contest to see who can go through the overpass first. No, it’s more like they’re trying to get a personal best to justify the reason why they need to rush home in order to waste time bickering and being miserable. They should slow down. Enjoy the solitude. Enjoy the scenery.

There’s no fucking way that they’ll ever notice the graffiti on the overpass. They don’t even see me standing up here. Hell, I don’t blame them. I never knew about all the different graffiti, litter, or the crumbling foundation with its cracks weaving their way around forming an intricate spider web. I never knew about any of that until tonight.

A wind begins to tell me of its presence as it rips through my thick sweatshirt. My skin feels like its on fire. I start shivering. On top of that, my teeth have been chattering like a novelty toy that keeps getting wound up. I fidget around in order to forget about the cold, maybe even build up some heat while I’m at it. Maybe eight seconds pass.

My shoe moves up and over just enough to find an icy spot as it’s looking for that same secure footing it has had for the past 5 minutes. I begin loosing my balance as my other foot begins the process of going up two inches and then going directly back down. My footing slips out from beneath me. This is all happening a little earilier than I had planned but I welcome it. After all, its pretty damn cold out here.

On the way down my head smacks into the side of the overpass. I black out.
Promises meant a lot back then.
Last edited by ninja monkey at Jul 19, 2009,
#2
Quote by ninja monkey
I'm writing a story of some sort.
I'm unsure of what it shall become.
Work in progress.

Hold It


Breathe in. Step Up. The arid oxygen dives into my lungs. Its a sub-zero toxin that I allow to freely circulate my body. I think this would sound better as just "It's a sub-zero toxin freely circulating my body".
It stings as it chills my ins and outs, my bones, and self. "and self" may sound better as "my self". I dunno.
I finally feel alive; a little too late. Look down and around. "Look down and around" sounded a little clumsy to me.
The graffiti combines elegance and trash. She's a voice never seen by the travelers who pass underneath it at 70 miles per hour. I'm in no hurry though.


There are a few suggestions, take them or leave them.
I really liked the last three sentences. It's going in a good direction, whatever it turns out to be.
#3
I agree with the toxin line. It has been changed.
Is there anything you would like me to take a gander at?
Promises meant a lot back then.
#4
Quote by ninja monkey


Hold It


Breathe in. Step Up.When you say step up, where are you stepping up to? That little thought kinda nagged me and kept me from really getting into this. The arid oxygen dives into my lungs. Its a sub-zero toxin freely circulating my body. It stings as it chills my ins and outs, my bones, and self. I finally feel alive; a little too late. Look down and around. The graffiti combines elegance and trash. She's a voice never seen by the travelers who pass underneath it at 70 miles per hour. I'm in no hurry though.



I like this. And other than that thing, which really is a trivial matter since you explain later where you are stepping up to(is it the edge of a rooftop?), I thought it was very well written. I would love to see you develop this into a whole story and see where it goes. Thanks for the crit on my piece
Today I feel electric grey
I hope tomorrow, neon black
#5
I was shooting for a bridge or an overpass or something of the like. But a rooftop is possible.
Promises meant a lot back then.
#6
"The graffiti combines elegance and trash. She's a voice never seen by the travelers who pass underneath it at 70 miles per hour. I'm in no hurry though."

This was my favorite part of it. It created a really cool image in my mind. However, would be more accurate to say she's a "voice never heard" instead of a "voice never seen" since you can't really see a voice? Just a suggestion.

Other that, I really enjoyed it and am excited to see where you are thinking about taking this.
here, My Dear, here it is
#7
Will be kept as seen because you never see the grafitti as you drive by/under. Its a silent voice, only heard if you see/read it.
I understand what your saying, I thought about using seen/heard for a moment or two while writing.
Promises meant a lot back then.
#8
Quote by ninja monkey
I'm writing a story of some sort.
I'm unsure of what it shall become.
Work in progress.

Hold It


Breathe in. Step Up. The arid oxygen dives into my lungs. Its a sub-zero toxin freely circulating my body. It stings as it chills my ins and outs, my bones, and self. I finally feel alive; a little too late. Look down and around. The graffiti combines elegance and trash. She's a voice never seen by the travelers who pass underneath it at 70 miles per hour. I'm in no hurry though.


One thing that really bugged me about this was the short sentences. There was only one sentence of anything coming on to considerable length, and this variation came far too late. For me, anyway. The second thing I didn't like was the very sudden switch from the description of oxygen to the description of graffiti. They were like two completely separate images belonging on different book shelves squeezed together by force - I think, for it to work, we'd either have to know the context, you'd have to lengthen the paragraph and make the transition smoother, or simply put the images in different paragraphs.

That's just my two cents, I'd be interested to see where this goes.

If you wouldn't mind taking a look at:

https://www.ultimate-guitar.com/forum/showthread.php?t=1162168

I'd appreciate it.
#9
I didn't like the jump from first stanza to second. Though, the first stanza did give a nice "at the edge of a canyon" feel that becomes important later.

Otherwise, I hated the 3 "quite"s all together at once. Thought that... blew monkeys. AND the last stanza. It was so blunt. I think you should hide the "edge of demise". Don't tell me, paint it for me. You telling me made me want to punch you for ruining the beautiful scene you'd built as a back drop.
#10
Y'know what?
I'm taking that out of the last part all together.

I'll be writing the second half of this particular scene soon.
That should be able to paint the demise.
This is just setting up the dominoes.
Promises meant a lot back then.
#11
i enjoyed how you captured a snapshot of the whole town itself through good descriptions, getting into people's minds and may i say an interesting setting.
it flowed rather smoothly and though it had a slightly serious tone to it, the language remained casual in a sense. i liked how it takes me through a cornicopia (is that how you spell it?) of emotions along with it, especially when it begins to despise and point out the arrogance of people rushing by.
ill be looking foward to the second half, though i still have yet to decipher the meaning to this part haha

check out my new piece if you will!
https://www.ultimate-guitar.com/forum/showthread.php?t=1165631
Last edited by crisisinheaven at Jul 19, 2009,
#12
Quote by ninja monkey


Hold It


The graffiti appears to have aged as long as the walls have, but she carefully combines elegance and trash. She’s a voice never seen by the travelers who pass underneath her at 70 miles per hour. I’m in no hurry though. I became familiar with her personal life quite quickly, just like every other woman I’ve known. To be honest, she had quite a bit to say, but she couldn’t talk over the screams of the engines racing below me.

Where did this "She" come from? I would be fine with it, except for the fact that it disappears just as quickly and is never mentioned again. It would have been a nice theme to continue through the whole thing.


Car after car, moan after moan. It’s seems to be a damn contest to see who can go through the overpass first. No, it’s more like they’re trying to get a personal best to justify the reason why they need to rush home in order to waste time bickering and being miserable. They should slow down. Enjoy the solitude. Enjoy the scenery.

There’s no fucking way that they’ll ever notice the graffiti on the overpass. They don’t even see me standing up here. Hell, I don’t blame them. I never knew about all the different graffiti, litter, or the crumbling foundation with its cracks weaving their way around forming an intricate spider web. I never knew about any of that until tonight.

A wind begins to tell me of its presence as it rips through my thick sweatshirt. My skin feels like its on fire. I start shivering. On top of that, my teeth have been chattering like a novelty toy that keeps getting wound up. I fidget around in order to forget about the cold, maybe even build up some heat while I’m at it. Maybe eight seconds pass.

When you say the wind begins to "tell" you of its presence, tell seems kind of plain considering all of the imagery surrounding it. I'm sure you could find a better word.


My shoe moves up and over just enough to find an icy spot as it’s looking for that same secure footing it has had for the past 5 minutes. I begin loosing my balance as my other foot begins the process of going up two inches and then going directly back down. My footing slips out from beneath me. This is all happening a little earilier than I had planned but I welcome it. After all, its pretty damn cold out here.

That one sentence is a bit awkward to read. I'm not sure why. Maybe it was just me..Also, being cold has nothing to do with the previous sentence(I mean it does in a roundabout way, but technically it doesn't).



On the way down my head smacks into the side of the overpass. I black out.


I didn't do the first paragraph because I already did it up there. I like how you've developed this. Just a few minor things that I didn't like...other than that, I really enjoyed this.

Today I feel electric grey
I hope tomorrow, neon black
#15
I love all the short sentences. They really make u feel like you're there.
I love the discriptions!!
Keep it up.