What's your impression of my writing style?

This is the start of story I have yet to finish.

 The women jumped off her tower porch wearing a bath robe, which fanned out around her falling body, but without so much sound as a flapping cape.  
 Only moments before, Hadley Madison had been having his breakfast, spreading jam on his toast, five floors below the jumper, Mrs. Myers, whom he had come to know as “the borrower of things.”    
 Hadley Madison had a great view of the early morning sun rising over the hills of the rock quarry, but now a bumble bee would not let him enjoy it. It must have been attracted to the jam, because it sway dancing over his dinner tray. Hadley did not swat at it, he simply did a duck and weave, or what a boxer might do when feinting.   
 “Buzz off,” he finally said. “Go do your buzzing down the lane, you buzzer.”
 The bee landed on his nose, and he did what most people would naturally do when paralyzed with fright, he crossed his eyes to look at it. 
 In that very instant, the women went sailing by, on her way to death, mumbling what he could only guess was a very fast prayer.
 Hadley Madison, forgetting about the potential bee sting, snapped his neck sideways to catch a glimpse of the falling figure. Their eyes met just before she passed his railing, and he could of sworn she was being flirtatious. She landed on the parking lot with a smack and a crunch and her limbs went like a Nazi symbol and her head rolled off.  
 Looking down, Hadley Madison said, under his breath, almost to himself, “You never gave me back my spatchala.”

What do you think of my writing style?

How would you rate the start of this story?

Cheeky. A bit overly so.

It didn’t suck, though. I’d read more. :slight_smile:

cheeky. ok I can accept that.

Anyone else care to chime in?

Hmmm…

um, thanks?

yeah. :wink:

Comic: everyday scenario with great descriptions and images and of course a the apparently ‘laid back flirtacious’ sucide of ‘the borrower of things’.

Where are you going to take this?

This is a decent sketch. I particularly liked the breakfast and the bee. A situation occuring all around my house over the past few weeks.

:smiley:

obee kaybee

Kev, Kev, Kev…
I suffer from analophobia – a fear of bad analogies – so I’ll only focus on my condition.

Bad Analogy No. 1:

Her bath robe was not a cape so why would you want to tell us that it didn’t sound like a flapping cape? I’m sure it didn’t sound like a passing train either… or a gust of summer wind or…

It reminded me of this gem: “The little boat gently drifted across the pond exactly the way a bowling ball wouldn’t.” (anon student)

I know what you’re trying to say: The bath robe didn’t make a sound… so say that.

Then comes… Bad Analogy No. 2:

If an analogy makes you laugh – especially when a poor woman is flayed on the ground below – it ain’t a good analogy.

So my advice? Only use analogies sparingly and when you do, make sure they add something that really needs to be said. If you can explain something directly, do it. Keep writing (and reading). It’s the only way to improve. :wink:

Here are some of my favourite bad (funny) analogies:

[list]“He was as tall as a six-foot three-inch tree.” (or 3 two-foot one inch trees :wink:)

“Her eyes were like two brown circles with big black dots in the center” (You mean she had brown eyes? :astonished: )

“The red brick wall was the color of a brick-red crayola crayon” (Wow! That’s a coincidence :sunglasses: )

“The hailstones leaped from the pavement, just like maggots when you fry them in hot grease.” (ahh, how I remember how those maggots used to leap when we fried them in hot grease :smiley:)

“She caught your eye like one of those pointy hook latches that used to dangle from screen doors and would fly up whenever you banged the door open again.” (the curled hooks or the square shaped ones? :-k)

“McBride fell 12 stories, hitting the pavement like a Hefty Bag filled with vegetable soup.” (They don’t sell Hefty Bags here, so I have no idea what one filled with vegetable soup would sound like :cry: )

“John and Mary had never met. They were like two hummingbirds who had also never met.” (I guess they just ‘hovered’ in different areas :wink: )

“Her date was pleasant enough, but she knew that if her life was a movie this guy would be burried in the credits as something like “Second Tall Man.” (and in his movie she would appear in the end credits as the “Spoilt Uptight Bitch Who Thought Her Shit Didn’t Stink” :evilfun: [/list:u]

.

:laughing:

Priceless.

(Like some item that can’t be priced, and is consequently without a price…)

you know, I have a rule about telling the reader “something is not” or “something didn’t happend” and that is to not do. I violated my own rule and you picked up on it, thank you. I’ll rethink the nazi thing, for sure.

Well the story revolves around a character that has trouble understanding the gravity of situations, as seen by the suicide, but its a very delicate job not offending the reader with his “apparent” insensitivity. I would need more examples to prove that he’s simply unaware. Brain damaged almost.

I dont know where I’m going with it yet. just sketches in my head. thanks for your comment.

The effect I was hoping to achieve with that last line was a laugh. I hope priceless got a chuckle out of ya.

I liked it.

As for your writing style. I say, ‘bee-eee-ee yourself’

“A woman leapt from the tower, her thin bath-robe rippling around her earth-bound form like a second skin half-shed.”

Perfect.

“Hadley Madison had a glorious view of the early morning sun rising over the hills of the rock quarry, or would have, had the bumble bee allowed him to enjoy it. It must have been attracted to the jam, because it swayed and lurched over his dinner tray, wings a rawcous blur. Hadley did not swat at it, he simply did a duck and weave, an aged boxer feinting.”

Perfect, funny.

[i]"Hadley Madison, forgetting the potential bee sting, craned his neck sideways to glimpse the falling figure. Their eyes met just before she passed his railing, and he could of sworn she was being flirtatious. Tart.

She landed on the parking lot with a dull butcher’s crunch; pale limbs strewn in a swashtika-sprawl.

Looking down, Hadley Madison said, under his breath, almost to himself, “Tch - Never did give me back my spatchula.”[/i]

Readable, but split it up more and sometimes less is more.

Good beginning. =D>

Tabula Rasa, thanks for taking the time to show improvements. I liked almost everything you improved. I bet you’d make a fine editor. Ever thought of that profession?

No problems Kevconman, and thanks for the pm. I teach writing amongst other things, at university here in Turkey.

Well, I’m gonna post some skectch art here, and I’d love to know how you think I compare to some of your students. If you feel like, that is.