/lit/ - Literature

In the morning, she would grab up a dried, hollowed gourd that she had crafted and head down to the river. The walk was easy, as her trail was well stamped down and soft under her feet. The edge of the river was rocky, but the rocks were all smooth and warm from the sun. She would carefully walk out, with her arms extended and flailing for every loose stone she stepped on. She would dip the gourd into the water, and then takes a deep drink from it, letting the water run down the sides of her face and down her chest.

The giant tree with the dugout had found quite a collection of oddities underneath it, that Chee had brought back from her wanderings. The dried hollow gourd of course, of which Chee was very proud. She liked to look at it and feel its smooth sturdiness. She kept some water in it so she could have a sip without going to the river. There was a small arrangement of unique rocks and minerals. Some were pink and cloudy, some had geometrical growths, and some were smooth and shiny. Chee's favorite was a little blue transparent rock, when held under the sun would sparkle and break apart the light. She would hold this rock up close to her eye and try to see what was causing the sparkle, but so far had found no clues. Chee also had a small armament. A prodigiously dense and straight stick had a pointed, hard rock fastened to the end of it with sinew. The stick was long enough that Chee could climb up into the lower branches of the tree, and keep a roaming predator at bay.

Every day, Chee would walk out along one path or another. They all splintered and dissolved eventually, though over time she had been pushing them farther and farther out. Her favorite path was one that zagged precipitously up and around a hill. For one thrilling segment, there was a sheer drop to one side. Chee always paused, and then pranced quickly across. Farther on, this path opened into a clearing full of tall grass that made Chee sneeze.

Buried at the base of these swaying stalks were red clusters of berries. Chee would rip out a cluster, and holding it by the base, suckle and munch the berry cluster. They tasted sweet and tart. Some clusters would zap her tongue with an unpalatable burst of sourness. These made her spit and spit and rub her tongue. After eating enough berries, her fingers and the skin around her lips would be stained red with dribbling berry juices. She would start her stomping and laughing, smashing down a clearing in the grass to lay on. The grass was so tall that it usually blocked the sun out.

When night came, Chee would tuck herself inside the dugout with a fresh pile of leaves she stripped off the low hanging branches around her. When the leaves dried or withered, or if she peed in her sleep, she would chuck them out of her hole and stamp them down. The sides of her dugout had become compacted and smoothed from her turning and rustling during the night. It made a comfortable little womb, safe from most things that worked the woods in the night.

Chee lived mostly on berries, nuts, roots, crawdads, and grains. On occasion, she would spear a fish floating in the clear shallows of the river. In the hot days, when the sun was out for a long time, food was plenty and easy to find. Chee would eat and eat until her belly was plumped out and she couldn't eat anymore. The food made her tired, so she would sleep in her cool dugout. She would wake up eventually with an urgency, and run out a ways behind her tree and squat down to make earth and water. The release felt nice. She kept a pile of soft green leaves around to clean herself off.

Towards the end of the hot days, she would head out away from the river to find a special tree. Around this time, the tree produced large sweet fruits that were a welcome compliment to her earthy diet. She had to compete with the birds for these fruits. She would regularly find their pits laying in the ground, all the sweet crispiness torn away. But the ones she did secure for herself were a welcome treat. When she bit them, the sweet juices would run along her face and make her hands sticky.

Pretty good, but kinda odd choice of words here and there. "Conditioned with dirt"?

>>3870074
What, never heard of hair conditioned?

>>3870082

not that guy, but it's an odd choice because conditioner is a world apart from what you are describing. you are communicating things which don't gel with the content by using a word like conditioner. there are a fewe more word choices in there which are distracting. pretty good though, man. flows nicely, has a solid progression. good job.

>>3870089
Thank you. The idea with "conditioned with dirt" was that she was unwashed, that it was the dirt and grease that put the finishing touch on her hair. But I can see how it would be awkward. Consider it axed.

>>3870094

it's a small point but an important one, i think. if you were just to say something like her hair was matted with grease and dirt, it would be more appropriate. the word conditioner throws up strong images of cleanliness and modern life, which is the opposite of what you reall want, i think. there are a few more word choices like that in the piece, i won't mention every one (well, one more, "sea of broccoli" -- would she even know what broccoli is? and describing things as oceans is really nice, but it's been done to death. plus the image of a sea of broccoli is pretty silly, so it shifts the tone awkwardly), but just reread and see if anything stands out like conditioner does.

The birds were on edge, and it put Chee on edge too. They would bawk and loose big caws. They would flap up and dive down restlessly. They saw, or smelled, or heard something out there. The rats and dogs sensed it too, they were scampering away from the river.

Chee walked against the gentle current of movement in the woods, towards the river. The sun was rising, though her shaded path to the river was cool and dim. The river itself was illuminated with light, stinging Chee's eyes as she emerged onto the rocky edge. With one stiff hand shielding her eyes, she down the river. A black mound was silhouetted with sunlight, and was slowly working it's way up.

>>3870129
How long is this story supposed to be?

>>3870089
nah but that was a joke, actually.
I got your point, and think you're right.
OP's text isn't bad though.

>>3870060
i have the same problem with "sea of broccoli" that others have with conditioned with dirt. Broccoli is a recent development. there's no way a primitive would think in those terms.

in what sense is she a patron of the woods, or for that matter, is a hog a patron? If she was born without a name. where did she get one? There are slick cows lurking in the river? And berries at the base of grass clusters? Are we talking brambles here? Things that work the woods at night? And why do you need to explain that she has to poop? It makes sense that you'd need to explain about hunting and gathering. but I think we'd take the poop part as read.

>>3870171
Don't worry so much about linking everything to something you have an experience with. It just is what it is. Take it as that.

As for pooping... that is the most crucial part of the story so far. If I don't describe her pooping I have failed.

>>3870141
I have no idea. I'm writing it as I go. When I think of something I'll add it on and post it ;)

>>3870192
Well, for a seventh grader, I'd say you're doing alright. It's hideously clumsy, and the mood is all over the place, but thre is a mood. There's an element of butterfly collecting about the prose, and it seems like bathos, almost, though it's pretty disconnected. And you've gone about as far as you can hope the reader will follow you without at least giving us a glimpse of the story. If your story is good, well-told and paced, everything else can be fixed, broccoli, conditioners and all.

If you're more than halfway through high school, I'd say you need a lot more practicce.

>>3870060
>like some tiny Enkidu
trying way too hard

>>3870283
In an adolescent, this is a decent allusion. This stuff reads like a twelve year old wrote it, but a bright and earnest twelve year old. In a thirty year old, this is just sad, but for someone in middle school, it's encouraging.

>>3870287
Why, yes, hold the kid by the hand and say mistakes are no big deal. Your attitude is similar to a jury on American Idol, "look how tiny that kid is, and trying to sing too!" while ranking a talentless toddler over more capable adults because of how young they are. If someone writes something decent, their age is irrelevant; if they write bad prose, it doesn't matter also. To tell them it's alright because of their age doesn't help them hone their craft one bit, and the first thing a writer should learn is that people will call you out on your shit. Be honest and the kid might learn something that will make him better in the future; patronize them and you're also to blame for how subpar the next generation will be.

To OP, you need to work on how your sentences flow, and reading more should help more than any teacher could. And the part I referenced before, "like some tiny Enkidu", is just ridiculous and comes across as you trying to show off how you learned a thing or two about Sumerian/Babylonian culture in History class last Tuesday... not because you're young, but because it's one-dimensional. There is nothing wrong with making simple analogies if you are not sure of where to go with references. Keep on working.

>>3870301
You're clearly not a teacher. This is good work for an adolescent. you don't hold it up with adult work, no, and you don't compare it to adult work decprecatingly. The fact that a yound person uses an allusion at all, or even remebers who enkidu is, and uses the comparision correctly, is a good sign. It's not a teacher's job, or the job of someone who is asked for advice, to "call you out on your shit", but to point out what you did right, what you did wrong, and tell you how to improve it.

That mentioning Enkidu is showing off is also sily; he doesn't act as though he's saying anything arcane. He assumes the reader would know who enkidu is and that this would create certain associations in his mind, like an allusion is supposed to. He's not treating enkidu like he's something obscure. If he said "She seemed bowed down by the weight of the heavens, like some tiny Atlas." it would be the same thing

>>3870344
You're way too sensitive for your own good. Settle for self-publishing, this is not your game.

OP, watch out for blind leading the blind. Friends are not those who say there's no room for improvement on what you're doing.

>>3870344

I'm >>3870504
here, and I'll add one more thing. Writers aren't wizards, and personal maturity has little to do with writing skill. This kid's work is not going to get magically better when he turns 18 or 21, so you better stop acting like he shouldn't be honing his craft all day every day like editors and such will require of him. People telling someone they're good enough or being honest, even if it means being harsh, might be the difference between a decent author and that girl who wrote Maradonia.

>>3870504
in what way is what I posted sensitive? And isn't sensitivity a good thing? Also, how do you connect advice on prose exercises to the idea that i might be involved in self-publishing in some way? You might be thinking of someone else.

I agree that the OP shouldn't be told there's no room for improvement. Just puzzled about the virtues of insensitivity

.>>3870526
And like the other guy, you miss the point. I'm trying to encourage him to hone his craft. I pointed out seven or eight things he did wrong, and praised the fact that he had done so well. No, I don't believe simple time will accomplish anything wonderful for him, but time combined with exercise and dilligence easily could.

The idea that he might benefit by being "called out on his shit" is what i see as egregious nonsense. Vulgarity and excoriation might be useful techniques in boot camp, but they're not going to help instill perceptivity and flair.

>>3870074
>>3870082
>>3870089
I thought it was perfect word choice.

>>3870192
It is good op. I am genuinely interested.
And for the people who are nitpicking, have you ever heard of the editing process? Op said he's writing as he goes. Editing is like, 50% of writing.

>>3870625
Like i keep saying, it's good for a middle schooler, but it needs work. And the errors aren't the sorts of things you need an editor for. An editor would tell you to scrap it, open with a bit more action, not refer to the character's death in the first line unless they're going to die very very soon, not say the character has no name when you're calling them by one....And broccoli? where's a primitive going to see broccoli? Conditioned hair? It IS the sort of error that a middle-schooler with some talent would make, though, but if the author is writing as he goes along, WHAT is he writing? And why?