To everyone about to read this story, including, hopefully, these four victims (don't worry, it's not a horror story):

Singelli :
darthyoda :
mourinhosgum :
Sword legion :

And anyone else interested! Here's a story I wrote recently, but it doesn't have a title and may need some improvements. I liked the whole "Jean ValJean" pun, but I felt it doesn't fit perfectly in the context of this story. If you have any suggestions, I will listen, and may implement them if I figure out a great way to do so! NEWAYS, HERE IT IS LADIES AND GENTLEMEN!

John Valerie Johnston was gone. AGAIN.

That’s all his mother could bring herself to think when she awoke that morning. No doubt he was hanging with Mark’s gang again.

“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAUUUUGGGGGH!” She threw her hands up in disgust.

Her husband woke up to the sound of her frustration. He knew what was up...and he knew to keep silent. He sat up while pondering what led his family this direction.

He and his son were tight as pals can be...but as John grew older, so too did his resentment towards his mother grow. She often refused to partake in activities he enjoyed, such as playing video games or throwing a football. She would help organize his activities and take him to events, but that was about as far as she would allow herself to “bond” with him.

In comparison, whenever John asked his dad to do something with him, he always seemed willing and able, even after he got a demanding and exhausting (pun intended) job as a truck driver. He was proud of the fact that he loved his son.

But shortly after he got that job, his son began to hang with Mark. That Summer, Mark and John started a gang, of which Mark was made the leader. Mark and the gang bashed mailboxes in from the window of Mark’s car, played ding-dong ditch at many a house, and TP’d hundreds of trees...until John showed up one day with a can of washable pink spray-paint.

It was bliss. Jeremy’s father let them spray-paint the side of his house, as long as they stayed out of trouble and washed up afterwards. Mark’s wealthy parents gave him a large allowance, so they never were wanting for as much paint as they wanted. John’s dad even told him it was harmless and encouraged him to, although he never said this in front of his wife. She had debilitating arthritis and often needed help around the house. She therefore viewed John’s choice as an act of blatant rebellion. It didn’t matter to her whether he damaged property or not: He was gone.

On the day John’s dad sat up in bed pondering what to do, the gang had planned to practice their squeaky clean brand of graffiti again. But Jeremy was out for a doctor’s visit with his mother. The rest of the gang, too, all seemed to have something that got in the way. All except John. That morning, Mark had left him with several spray cans of paint to use in case he wasn’t able to show up with the cans he showed up with each week. He told John that he only trusted him with the back-up cans, since he was the second-in-command and had suggested this idea in the first place.

With this thought in mind, John went to work. He loved to work with the gang and collaborate, but painting alone seemed to give him a clarity of mind he never found with the gang. He knew at that moment what he wanted to paint: He knew WHO he wanted to paint. He became absorbed with the work...so absorbed he didn’t see the police officer standing behind him.

He had been betrayed. Mark had left him with non-washable spray paint, the same kind used in public graffiti earlier that day. The police made him scrub both sets of graffiti until he couldn’t scrub anymore. Later that night, they brought him home and explained the situation as they saw it.

“Figures,” was all his mother had to say about it all.

John was silent that night.

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John’s silence seemed to last the whole summer. His father tried to get him to open up, but to no avail. John simply would not talk.

His mother had less to complain about, though. She was getting the help she wanted now, and her home looked cleaner than it ever did. John’s silence meant she never heard complaints from him...but she never heard “thanks”, either.

Although his father was away more often, he too got to spend more time with his son. Whenever he asked John if he wanted to go out and pass the football or ride bikes together, his son would simply nod and follow. John participated in these activities with nearly as much vigor as he ever had, and even smiled on occasion. But behind that smile John’s father could see an ever-present sorrow.

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John’s mother grew ever grouchier. He returned to school, leaving her alone with the house again. She had become quite dependent on him, to the point that she could only work up enough strength to eat, sleep, and do her own dishes. Whenever he came home, she would provide her son with a list of all of the chores that were not completed that day and go lie down to watch TV shows on Netflix. On Saturdays, she took the whole day for herself. She refused to go to church on Sundays, and would leave transportation in the hands of John’s father. If he wasn’t off work, John didn’t go to church that day.

In the wake of this, John’s father begged his boss for more time off to go see his family, but this was not granted. Too many people wanted his position, and the company was busier than ever. Whenever they called for him, he would still need to come in and go to work if he wanted to keep his job.

On one particularly stressful day, he had finished his route. When he arrived back at the workplace, his boss decided to keep him a while longer. His boss was very pleased with his tireless work, and decided he would make an exception: He offered him either a raise or a few days off to see his family. Immediately, he chose the latter.

When he arrived at home, he greeted his wife with a kiss and asked where their son was. He was directed to the kitchen...but his son wasn’t there. He searched the entire house, but couldn’t find his son. He began to panic, but calmed down when he told himself John must have gone for a walk. He waited for several hours, but his son didn’t show up. The panic returned. He immediately ran outside the house to search for him...and found his son spray-painting the back of their home. As soon as he saw a spray-paint can in his son’s hand, he knew he wouldn’t tell his wife.

“Whatcha doin’ there, son?”, his dad asked.

“I’m making a picture. For mother.” He broke his silence.

His dad, taken aback for a moment but ultimately pleased that John had spoken, continued. “What’s it about?”

“It’s a picture…” He hesitated, but decided to finish what he was saying. “Of her. It’s almost finished.”

“Oh.” His dad wasn’t sure whether to be pleased or afraid that his son was painting a portrait of his wife on their wall. He noticed two important features was missing, though. “You left out her mouth...and her hands look like they should be holding something. Why is that?”

“I…” John couldn’t finish.

Seeing his distress, his dad changed the subject. “I know it wasn’t you that did that graffiti downtown. You and the gang were too tight...and I noticed that Mark’s face looked uneasy when he came to give you a ride to Jeremy’s house that day.”

John nodded. “You wanna talk about it now?”, his dad asked. John shook his head.

“Alright. I’m going to bed. I’ll see you tomorrow morning...son.”, he said with a smile. And with that, he was gone, leaving his son alone.

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That night, after he supposed his wife was asleep, he whispered to her, “John talked to me today. I think that in his own way, he loves you. But despite his lack of words, you have become even more silent than he. I miss your smile, Honey...I miss it so much…”

She had no sleep that night.

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It was picture day, and John woke up early to prepare, hoping not to wake his family. Yet he was astounded by the sight of his mother ironing a shirt in their living room. On the chair next to her were freshly ironed pants, neatly folded, and on the table was a pink carnation immersed in water. She appeared to be in pain, and yet on her face were the slight bearings of a smile. Her face was freshly wet from the streaks of tears that had run down it.

“Mom…”, John started.

His mom turned to him and began to weep again. “I’m so sorry, honey. I know I’ve hurt you so much for so long. Will you ever forgive me?” John nodded with a smile. His mother beamed.

John still said little that morning, but as he was about to proceed through the door, he turned slightly to look at his mom directly in the face and whisper, “Mom...thank you.”

______________________________________________________________________________

Picture day, 9:15 AM. The school’s hired photographers took a single picture of John smiling at a camera. Yet the smile in the picture was not his own. At that moment, John knew what he must do. He ran home.

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Later that afternoon, his mom and dad sat on their front porch talking about their son and their future together. Their eyes drifted for a while to the children playing on the sidewalk across the street. School would be out shortly. Yet to their astonishment, their own child was darting hurriedly down the sidewalk in the direction of these children. John excitedly looked across the street, smiling and waving at his parents.

“I had an idea for my picture!” He shouted to them.

“What picture?” His mom asked.

“It’s…” His dad began.

But he never got to finish. John, in his haste to make it back home, darted into the path of an oncoming vehicle.

“John!” His mom shouted.

They pushed him into their car and rushed him immediately to the hospital a few blocks away...but they were too late. The doctors declared that John would die any moment.

“Please tell me...what was John saying...before he was hit?” His mom asked.

“There...was a picture that John started painting on our back wall...He almost finished it. I think it’s best if you see it yourself.” His dad replied.

No more words were spoken until John’s passing.

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As soon as John was pronounced dead, she ran to the brick back wall of their home. She forgot her frail body and it seemed to her that she was running faster than she ever had before.

When she arrived, she was astounded to find that the final picture John drew was of HER. But the face remained expressionless, and the hands remained empty...
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Fifteen years later, a newlywed couple moved into their new house together. The man wanted a child. His wife didn’t.

She knew what it was like to have children. She had been in two previous marriages. Both fell apart, but not before she had produced those she called “devils”. She was quite a devil as she was growing up. She still was.

So the moment they moved in, she ordered her husband to scrub off the portrait lining their house.

He reluctantly grabbed a sponge and suds and began to scrub. He scrubbed and scrubbed the painting until he could scrub no more. He surveyed his work. Portions were left. His wife would not be pleased. Nevertheless, he went inside to face her wrath, leaving behind the remnants of the picture.

All that remained of the picture were a smile and a pink carnation.

supernerd117 :

Would you like me to be honest?

Sword legion : Absolutely. Please be as honest as you have to. Feel free to share ANYTHING that you feel needs improved, and into as much detail as you need to. I recognize I have a lot of talent, but I don't have a lot of skill. So, this may be my best short story idea to date, but it's definitely not polished enough.

supernerd117 :

Here's what I think. I hope this embetters you for your own benefit and this wasn't too much. XD


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The story, I can see you put a lot of work into, It has a total of 2,000 words. That's a good start at least, however, still terribly difficult to tell a good story in so few.

As far as praise and criticism, (which I only give in hopes of you betterment) I can list what follows:



-- 1. Mechanical

You told the story very mechanically, as if a list of events recorded by an automatic registering system. The thing about this style of writing, is it lists things, but doesn't portray them.

How can we move from a mechanical listing of events in order to telling them?

By using action.

It may be a lot of work, and this is ultimately why stories are so long, but it's worth it, and keep people much more entertained + interested.

If you tell an event as if it had been recorded it becomes dull, but if you're telling the story as if it's happening right now and from a few characters perspectives, as they find out more information by their own human senses and limitations It'll indefinitely drive readers in.

See what I mean?



-- 2. Weak Characters

I felt that the characters in the story were a bit extreme, I guess it's more that I just don't like that stuff, but eeehhh.

I just don't like these kind of stories, making it hard to judge and help you fairly, so with that being said, keep in mind as I talk about this stuff, that these just aren't my kind of stories period.

The mom has health problems and is self centered. This makes her just unpleasant to read about. John's. . . . stupidity in being involved in a gang makes him a weak and unlikable character. His dad just going along with things to the point of letting him paint the side of his house just to wash it off again makes him into another weak character as well, and just. . . unlikable as well.

Although characters getting over their problems is a small element of story making, I find the heat of moral confusion does a lot better. Like How Shadow, or Regulus refuse to become complete heroes, cuase they don't trust the good side, and they see hypocrisy in their ranks. This makes their clashes and moral conversations much more involving. And by giving both Heroes and anti heroes reasoning for their actions, they both become strong, (for sticking to their guns) and likeable.

No one likes weak characters, everyone likes strong ones. Not perfect ones mind you, but those who stand up and aren't taken by the flow. Those are many people's favorites.

See what I mean here?

In your story, no one stood up as a tether against destruction. They just. . . all kindof went and acted weak, save one small change with the son, John, who, is still weak for me to really like at all.



-- 3. Lack of description

I have this problem too.

you need to describe environments as a character walks into them, however, I can't name many places where you should have done this cause of the lack of times we actually got to view the story from a "first person perspective." Within the story. So.

If your writing this as a historical account, then you did fine, but I take this as an attempt to do a story, which is why I would be pointing this out here.

Describe characters, their situations. Use lots of verbs and adjetives in colorful manner.

Even pictures are great if you have the time to draw them and can do so well, At least when it comes to characters that's how I prefer to do so, it saves a lot confusion actually.

Elsewhere you'll have to rely on your words.


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In the end, I think you have the mark of someone who is able to write, it was a bit difficult to judge for because of my unfamiliarity with these kinds of stories, (I mostly do hi tech and fantasy, plus I don't like movies like the story you wrote looking back on them.)

In spite of that, I think you should take this post to heart, I do my best to remove taste form the judgement, but to do so 100% is impossible. I would show me another story if you make one sometime, and don't try to write the whole thing in one post or chapter. Just relax, and write maybe the opening to a story. You know, chapter 1? That would help me judge you a lot better and give advice, plus you'd have room to actually do some of the things that I listed above rather than just tell the whole tale in as compact a way as possible, which is what harmed this story the most.


My apologies if this comes across as harsh, as it was meant to not come across in any such way.

Good luck with your future writing!

Sword legion : It absolutely did not come off as harsh, but as your opinions (several of which I agree with a lot!). I didn't agree with all of it, but I certainly agree that it can come across as dull and boring. I wrote it mainly to convey a point (it's a parable, per se), but didn't put as much effort embellishing or making the story interesting (although I did want that, as well). I didn't write these characters to make them very likable, though. I made them to illustrate a point. I guess what I'm hoping for is to illustrate my point in the best (but not necessarily the most enjoyable in the short run) way to my audience. People rarely change in an instant. What I was grasping at is the idea that the mother in this story also does not change in an instant. She actually becomes worse. And I know I can't effectively show all of it with a story this short (although I'm not necessarily wanting to show all of it).

What I want to show is that she had a desire to change, but had dulled her senses for so long that she needed something extra to remind her. Her character, I see now (Thanks to you!) is much too flat for most of the story. Her motivation is not sufficiently detailed and can appear to be unlikely to the reader. Her too quick change of heart is pretty much a miracle, but God is not mentioned. If she never loved her son, how would she understand what love is now? I did not go into this, and that was a huge mistake. I also realize a good portion of my audience may not believe in God, and I don't want to be off-putting or too zealous in my portrayals of change of heart. Yet I have struggled with that decision. I don't know how far I should go into portrayals of prayer, belief, etc. I want to focus more on the desire to change for the best(since I believe that can and will lead to a belief in God) than the belief itself. Certain stories that never mention God may be more Christian, in my opinion, than others that mentions His name on many occasions.

The side characters (such as Mark), I don't want to embellish upon too much, since the focus is on the family, most notably the relationship between mother and son. But I do want it to support and uphold the focus of the story, and make it more significant, rather than just a thing to hang the plot on. This may actually mean mentioning this part of the story LESS. I dunno.

supernerd117 :

Of course.

Don't worry about putting your religious views in too much. And I agree that certain stories that never mention God are often more Christian like. A story that portrays an inarguable truth never has to state it directly. It just happens, and is there. That's the best kindof moral in a story.

I think you've got what it takes to write a story, just practice, lot's and lots. I got good at this and roleplaying cause of my imagination as a kid, (And as you can imagine, 8 year olds have some pretty silly stories, and actually some half decent ones in certain concepts.)

Practice Practice Practice, those are the magic words!

So keep it up, and if you write a story more of my style, I can probably give you a better evaluation, though it should go with a warning that if you choose to do that, it should come from your heart and not a carbon produced product chasing after my own interests.

Seems my criticism has allowed you to evaluate your story even better than I could. That's good, I was a worried about being somewhat off, but you got the idea. Keep it up, and great attitude when it comes to taking advice. It'll get you many area's in life. It's why I'm where I'm at today.