" brevity is the soul of wit"
So I posted my first draft of "ambrosia" to facebook to get comments back from my friends about what they think, questions, problems etc.
I got really good feedback from them like a rushed climax, more motivation needed for Andrea to take the vial and Clair to show it to her. I agree with everything.
My biggest problem is the one thing I can't change: the stupid 500 word limit!!!!
I know if I had more words, I could totally flesh out the characters and give more background to Clair and her whole becoming immortal thing, but I can't.
It's very frustrating because when the idea first hit me, it was a whole rush of thoughts and emotion that I couldn't write it down fast enough and when I did, the words were so perfect I didn't want to touch them.Now I have to clip out words, change ideas, delete characters and personality traits... all little things that when I step back and read the new draft, I feel like it's not the same story anymore. "ambrosia" just seems... blah.
I was so hopeful and excited that this was going to be the year I had a real chance at winning the Seventeen fiction contest and now that just went down the drain... with all the rain we've been having in Chandler.
I think the idea is just too much for a short short story and I'm afraid to risk it with this one. But that means I have to go back and come up with a whole nother story idea? ahhhhhhhh
This is the part I hate about writing. Feeling like you wasted your time with a story that used to mean so much to you at one point and wondering if it's best to move on or stick with it.So should I should keep going or not? This is draft 2 after adjusting to everyone's comments. It's right now 499 words.... yeah, I'm pushing it, badly.
The sky was a hushed tone of purple and we owned it. The two of us, licking the frosting off our chocolate cupcakes, hair sprawled across the lawn. Me, the quiet bookworm and Clair, the lone beauty, who strangely plucked me like a wildflower to be her companion. I never understood why. So that night, I asked her.
"What's your secret?"
Her eyes glowed for a moment, like they only did for Clair.
" My secret for what? My beautiful garden?"
She waved her hands towards the shriveled flowers and laughed. " No, I mean the secret to you. You could do whatever you want, be someone, but instead you hang out with me like you have nothing better to do. I feel like you’re hiding; you’re alone."
Clair tossed her amber hair over her shoulder. "What do you want, Andrea?” I winced. "I just want to know why this house is always empty."
" This house has been empty for fifty years and always will be," she whispered. "I like it that way."
The cupcake in my mouth suddenly tasted like dirt.
“What?”
Clair looked as if there was something clenching her insides, her eyes shrunk.
“God, I can’t believe I’m doing this,” she said.
She pulled out a slender gold vial.
“What’s that?” I asked.
“ My real secret,” she muttered.
“I remember paying all of five pennies for it from an old peddler. ‘Jus’ one drop an’ you’ll live forever, lass.’ I was sixteen, March 1892.”
“This is a story, right?”
Clair laughed bitterly.
“Oh, stop being so dramatic. When I tell you the truth, you can feel it in your bones.”
I believed her. I always had.
“I didn’t know what forever meant, not even after my parents died from pneumonia. There’s no start or end. It’s really a feeling. A horrible feeling…But you can change that. Drink this and we’ll be best friends forever, I promise.”
I looked away sheepishly.
“Forget about college,” Clair said, frowning. “It’s worthless. I can tell you everything you need to know. I’ve lived it. The world just gets older and stupider.”
“What about my family?”
“I’m your family,” she said,
She looked desperate and determined all at once. I was looking at a stranger.
“I’ve never shared this with anyone; you’re the only one I’ve ever trusted.”
“I-I need to think about this, okay? Alone?”
She pushed the glass into my palm and walked away.
Poor Clair. After hundreds of years, who was I to deny her happiness? She had chosen me after all. If I could only have an ounce of what she had, I could be just as wonderful…
I twisted open the cork. The water like electric rushed to be poured into my veins. I closed my eyes. Let it drop .The liquid flushed down the petals and stems into the soil, giving Clair the beautiful everlasting garden—and friend—she needed. The one I was only sorry I could never be.
"What's your secret?"
Her eyes glowed for a moment, like they only did for Clair.
" My secret for what? My beautiful garden?"
She waved her hands towards the shriveled flowers and laughed. " No, I mean the secret to you. You could do whatever you want, be someone, but instead you hang out with me like you have nothing better to do. I feel like you’re hiding; you’re alone."
Clair tossed her amber hair over her shoulder. "What do you want, Andrea?” I winced. "I just want to know why this house is always empty."
" This house has been empty for fifty years and always will be," she whispered. "I like it that way."
The cupcake in my mouth suddenly tasted like dirt.
“What?”
Clair looked as if there was something clenching her insides, her eyes shrunk.
“God, I can’t believe I’m doing this,” she said.
She pulled out a slender gold vial.
“What’s that?” I asked.
“ My real secret,” she muttered.
“I remember paying all of five pennies for it from an old peddler. ‘Jus’ one drop an’ you’ll live forever, lass.’ I was sixteen, March 1892.”
“This is a story, right?”
Clair laughed bitterly.
“Oh, stop being so dramatic. When I tell you the truth, you can feel it in your bones.”
I believed her. I always had.
“I didn’t know what forever meant, not even after my parents died from pneumonia. There’s no start or end. It’s really a feeling. A horrible feeling…But you can change that. Drink this and we’ll be best friends forever, I promise.”
I looked away sheepishly.
“Forget about college,” Clair said, frowning. “It’s worthless. I can tell you everything you need to know. I’ve lived it. The world just gets older and stupider.”
“What about my family?”
“I’m your family,” she said,
She looked desperate and determined all at once. I was looking at a stranger.
“I’ve never shared this with anyone; you’re the only one I’ve ever trusted.”
“I-I need to think about this, okay? Alone?”
She pushed the glass into my palm and walked away.
Poor Clair. After hundreds of years, who was I to deny her happiness? She had chosen me after all. If I could only have an ounce of what she had, I could be just as wonderful…
I twisted open the cork. The water like electric rushed to be poured into my veins. I closed my eyes. Let it drop .The liquid flushed down the petals and stems into the soil, giving Clair the beautiful everlasting garden—and friend—she needed. The one I was only sorry I could never be.
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