The Perfect Tan

[Anonymous No.1833187]

I'm writing a short story for creative writing, /lit/
Help me out why don't you? Is the narration style too unnatural for first person reflecting on a past event? This is the first page. THANKS?

The rays of August approaching its finish bombarded two pairs of nude breasts that stared back up into the endless blue sky. The owners of the breasts were friends of Warren’s, I deduced—the visitors from Holland he had mentioned.
Stretched out on two parallel chaises on the balcony of his apartment, the women were golden statues, unaware of the heroism of their figures, the jutting contours of their hips and shoulders. Beneath huge, matching pairs of sunglasses and matching bikini bottoms, each glistened—white, solar refractions delineating the curving ridges of their skeletons. The light on their sleek flesh reminded me of the light that writhes in confused entropy on the surface of a swimming pool; only, it would have to be a swimming pool frozen, just for a moment in time, in the seducing stasis of a photograph. In the past, I had prided myself on my ability to endure seduction, abhor it. But here, I stood hypnotized, confounded, ogling the two figures on the balcony.

[Anonymous No.1833191]

>>1833187
“Absolutely perfect, aren’t they? Just look at the color.” Warren had been watching me stare at them from the window. “Not a day over nineteen, either of them.”
“They’re nice,” I said. I couldn’t think of anything else. Then, I said something that probably seemed to proclaim my interest in the girls. I immediately wished to take this back. “How long will they stay out there?”
“Oh. As long as the sun does. Maybe longer,” Warren grinned. “Don’t worry—they won’t get burned. They’ve got lotions. Yes, you should have seen them in June. Pale as ghosts. Go out there if you’d like to. Introduce yourself. They’re very friendly if you don’t stand in their light.” Warren pointed his finger at one of the glowing statue women. “Bianca.” Then, with easy deliberation he put his finger on the other. “Gretl.”
“It looks too hot for me. But thanks for the offer.” I affected a weak chuckle.
“M’aving a drink.” Warren placed his palm on my shoulder. “Will you have a bourbon?”

That's as far as I've got. Go at it. That beer, by the way, tastes like cheesy feet.

[Anonymous No.1833199]

Basically, what I think is going to happen next is, the hero is going to have a few drinks and get brave. Then he'll wander out onto the deck to start talking to the girls, but they don't say anything to him. At first he thinks they're asleep or ignoring him. But he touches them, and they're completely stiff.

Any criticism is helpful. Thanks again!

[Anonymous No.1833208]

I quite it like, it's seems well written. Reminds me a bit of Ian McEwan with the sciency language ("entropy") and voyeurism. I can't really think of anything constructive to say unfortunately, but I thought I'd give you my opinion just to let you know I read and enjoyed it.

[Anonymous No.1833215]

>>1833208

thank you! that someone liked it gives me the will to keep writing so that's helpful.

[Anonymous No.1833324]

Read your story. Every phrase you've heard anywhere else is unoriginal. Use an original phrase instead. Think about the consonance and overall feel of your words. Currently, they are disjointed and don't serve to build an atmosphere. Just on glance through I'd throw out "bombarded" and "ogling". As a specific suggestion, I'd suggest changing "The rays of August approaching its finish" to "The rays of an August nearly spent" as I think it's a subtler method of conveying the same feeling. Also, don't (in any story you write, really) be thinking of your protagonist as a hero. You've got some nice ideas, keep working on the wordcraft and you'll be writing good pieces.

[Anonymous No.1833525]

>>1833324

Thanks for this. Could you elaborate a little?

>Every phrase you've heard anywhere else is unoriginal. Use an original phrase instead.

Not sure what you mean by that. I'm going to go over the story now and try to make it flow a little better.

[Anonymous No.1833551]

Where can I purchase for myself a bottle of this "Great Gatsbeer"?

[Anonymous No.1833584]

>>1833551

It's from a small brewery near my cottage. I think they're available at the beer store.

[Anonymous No.1833604]

Me and a couple of friends just spent about half an hour deconstructing your first sentence. I don't know if that says more about us or about how bad that sentence is. Anyway, general consensus seems to be that your choice of verbs sucks. Light doesn't bombard, breasts don't stare. You might get away with one or the other, but both in the first sentence just throws the reader.

If I had to rephrase, and I do, I'd go with "The light of late summer reflected off two pairs of nude breasts and into my eyes." Can't be bothered to do the rest.

[Anonymous No.1833667]

>>1833604

preciate it.

Okay, so I know you're probably not going to give my thread anymore regard, but to me it really seems like breasts that are 'staring' are doing something specific. But if that doesn't make sense to the reader, I supposed it's not really valid. I'd like to keep it if I can.

How does this grab you?

"The sun of August’s end showcased two pairs of nude breasts that stared back up into an endless blue sky. The owners of the breasts were friends of Warren’s, I deduced—the visitors from Holland he had mentioned. "

[Anonymous No.1833712]

This is my next part.
----------
We’d intended to drink at a club later on that night but I felt compelled to accept. So all afternoon, we sat in what Warren called his social room and drank his vintage wines, which, as he explained to me, were some of the best he owned—and they were good. Before that day, I knew very little about vintage wines, but as we sipped them, Warren suggested to me their delicate nuances with almost encyclopedic flair, and I accepted what he said with increasing willingness. He offered me glass after glass, but eventually I felt too overcome with dizzying heat. I had, somewhere between proposing to my host that one wine was nutty and insisting that another was fruity, floated into the sensation of being glued to the sweet-smelling black leather of Warren’s couches. He excused me to go to the bathroom.