Where can I go with this?

[liv]

I'd like some advice. This is the beginning of a story that I was writing, and I haven't had a lot of time to think about where I'd like it to go. It's been sitting on the shelf for quite some time now, but I'd just like to know if you think I've written myself into a corner, or where I could possibly go with this. Thank you!


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She pulled down the shade as his car pulled away from her house. It had been so hard to let him go. At first, he would not leave, said he would rather die than abandon her. She knew that he wanted this chance so badly, and losing him was the consequence of the choice she had to make. And she had made it. That was final. She understood how important this opportunity was to him, it was the experience of a lifetime and she had to put away her own selfish feelings and live with the small glimmer of hope she had that she would see him again. If only she could.

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[novella]

It’s a bit of a soap, so you can go anywhere. Just point to a reason why he left, and try not to make it the most obvious one.


1. As she gazed absently down the road, with the falling leaves swirling down onto the neat square lawns, her husband’s van turned the corner. She wondered if he’d seen Giancarlo’s Alfa headed the other way. Even if he had, he probably would pretend he hadn't. Better not to see the truth. That was him all over.



2. The substance abuse counselor said this was the only way. If she gave in, they’d be right back where they’d been two weeks before, with Julian going AWOL every couple of days, coming home spent and broke with that hangdog look in his eyes. She had her own shit to think about, going on tour, keeping Fat Mack’s hand out of her bank account, raising the new litter of puppies.


3. She turned on her heel and went down to the kitchen, flung open the refrigerator and started throwing things onto the counter. Frozen shrimp, okra, tomatoes, celery. Time for a gumbo, a monstrous, life-saving gumbo, a gumbo of epic proportions. She cracked open a bottle of Heinekin and rooted in the meat drawer, pulling out a package of andouille sausages and a hunk of pink ham. The phone rang, and she wiped her hands on her ass and went to answer it. It was going to be a messy night.


4. She called her father. “I did it, dad,” she said. “You got what you wanted. You can tell your gangster friends to lay off.”

5. Ever since his book, "Zen Sex" had come out, life had become unbearable. He'd been hounded by nyphomaniacs and every appearance on the book tour was another gauntlet to run. Strangely, Mustafa seemed to be enjoying it all, but she'd had enough.






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[Stewart]

She pulled down the shade as his car pulled away from her house. It had been so hard to let him go. At first, he would not leave, said he would rather die than abandon her. She knew that he wanted this chance so badly, and losing him was the consequence of the choice she had to make. And she had made it. That was final. She understood how important this opportunity was to him, it was the experience of a lifetime and she had to put away her own selfish feelings and live with the small glimmer of hope she had that she would see him again. If only she could.

Start from scratch. This time show and don't tell, as the old cliche goes.

i.e.

At first, he would not leave, said he would rather die than abandon her.

This should be a scene in itself to demonstrate tension and conflict. You can't summarise something as important as that moment in one line; you have to set the scene, show the emotion on their faces, and describe their feelings as it happens.

 

[Irene Wilde]

She pulled down the shade as his car pulled away from her house. It had been so hard to let him go. At first, he would not leave, said he would rather die than abandon her. She knew that he wanted this chance so badly, and losing him was the consequence of the choice she had to make. And she had made it. That was final. She understood how important this opportunity was to him, it was the experience of a lifetime and she had to put away her own selfish feelings and live with the small glimmer of hope she had that she would see him again. If only she could.

What you have is a paragraph. You can hardly write yourself into a corner in one paragraph.

You've created a nice little twist over the concept of choice. It sounds like he is "choosing" to leave, yet you say it was her choice to make.

The questions that come to mind are:

Who are these people? What's their relationship to each other? What are their personalities?

Also, you've given them very little to do. She's pulled down a shade and he's pulled out of the driveway. I like the psychology of pulling down a shade (over what? Her emotions? Her lust? Her entire being?), but I'd like to see it followed up with something. Does she light a cigarette next? Pour herself a Jack Daniels? Pick up her embroidery? Burst into tears?

There are other details too that could give the reader hints as to who these people are: Is she in a house or an apartment? Maybe an office? What kind of car does he drive? Is there smoke belching out the exhaust? Is it covered in primer? Or is it a Lexus, a Rolls?

Is it day time? Dead of night? Is there a spring rain falling on this departure, or are autumn leaves scuttling across the street? Are we in a college town in New England or the San Fernando Valley of Los Angeles? Are we in Prague, London, the French countryside?

You've got many directions you can move in. Good luck.

Irene Wilde

 

[liv]

This time show and don't tell, as the old cliche goes.

That is the biggest problem I have in my writing, especially according to my Journalism Professor.

Thank you all so much for your feedback, I will put it to good use.