It has been a long time since I uploaded anything creative writing wise on this place, heck its been a long time since I have been this active on this place. I write a lot as some of you know, but a few months ago everything I was writing was being given such **** poor reviews that I just stopped sharing any of it. Except I've learnt that if you don't share, you can't get advice, so here, have this, and be brutal <3 Spoiler Treasure Hunt The woman patted her greying hair in its neat bun and smiled fondly as she ran her fingers through the treasure that lay before her. Humming a song to herself she carefully scooped the precious pieces up and deposited them in the ornate wooden chest that lay open in wait at her side. Task finished she closed the lid with a reassuring click and locked the small delicate padlock that sat snugly on a worn handle. The key, small and silver, was hidden in its home inside a pin cushion inside a sewing box inside a drawer inside a cabinet before the chest itself was put away underneath an elegantly furnished dresser. Still humming the same tune to herself she walked with careful steps out of the room, wincing as her joints ached she made her way to a small (albeit comfortably furnished) living room where she eased herself into a worn looking armchair, flicked the TV on and promptly fell asleep. She didn’t notice the staring eyes that watched her from the staircase in the hall. Didn’t notice the way those same eyes positively gleamed as they registered the signs of sleep in the gently snoring woman. Two pairs of eyes, one bright blue and inquisitive, the other pale green and curious. Two pairs of eyes in two faces, cheeky faces, with wide smiles and with a splash of freckles across button noses, that hinted at an unknown mischievousness. Anna and Mickey were siblings, twins to be precise. Aged 7 (and 3 quarters!) and five times their age in inquisitiveness. Like small birds that hunt for the tiniest crumbs in the middle of winter, these two never missed a thing, and one thing they had definitely noticed was the chest that was kept in their grandmother’s room. Since their eyes had first picked up on the shiny lock they had spent their weekly trips to their grandma’s waiting for the moment she would fall asleep so that they could hunt for the desired key. So far they had been unlucky in their searching and had only uncovered ribbons, clothes, a collection of hair pins and an underwear drawer that had left Mickey disgusted and Anna in fits of giggles. This time however, they had paid extra special attention to what the old woman did. They crept down the stairs painfully slowly desperate not to creak even a little; after all, it had been bed time an hour ago at that point Carefully, ever so carefully they crept past the living room, their little hearts missing a beat as their grandmother moved. For one long moment they thought they were done for, for one long moment their heads were filled with a million excuses that they could use to explain why they were stood in the hallway, but luckily for them she turned over in her sleep and soon the sounds of her gentle snoring filtered through to them once more. Breathing deep sighs of relief they continued to creep across to their grandmother’s bedroom. With one glance backwards to check the old woman was still sleeping, they almost ran into the room, lightly skipping over the floorboards that they had learnt would creak when pressed upon. They shuffled over to the cabinet that looked at them innocently as though it had nothing to hide; little fingers grasped the brass handles as the decorated doors were pulled open in eager anticipation. Searching hands pulled at drawers that fit snugly to the side. Searching hands found the pretty wooden sewing box decorated in scenes of mothers and daughters content in the art of embroidery. Two pairs of eyes lit up with anticipation and almost disbelief as they found a small fluffy pin cushion. Two pairs of hands fought to claim the prize. Fingers tugging at the edges of the cushion they each pulled in their own direction until the fabric ripped and both little monsters fell back with a thump as the silver key fell through the air towards the floor. Freeze-frame as two small hearts are barely beating, as eyes are glued to the path of the key as it spirals down to the ground on a small white ribbon, as ears are focusing on the snoring from the living room, both terrified that it would suddenly stop and the game would be up. Thankfully for them, the terrible twosome was lucky again. Their grandma remained lost in her dreams far away from the reality of the two small adventurers on their quest in the room across the hall. Cautiously they allowed themselves to start breathing again as they got to their feet and hid the pincushion back away in its home. The little wooden box was closed and replaced in the drawer. The drawer was shut gently back in the cabinet. The doors were closed with the slightest of creaks. They key lay glinting in the pale light on the floor, as though it was speaking to the children, “Pick me up!†it was saying to them, “Use me!†it was calling, not wanting to disobey they reached for the twisted metal, grinning at one another as they looked at the destiny that lay in their hands. After all this time, they would finally find the treasure! Together they each held a side of the chest and dragged it out from its home underneath the dresser. Their fingertips ran over the decorated engravings of the box before taking deep breaths and taking hold of the padlock. Mickey solemnly handed the key to Anna, who took it with trembling hands. She held the key above the padlock before slowly connecting the two. Turning the metal the twins heard a satisfying click as the padlock sprang open. Placing it to one side they looked at each other wide eyed in anticipation and excitement. Their hands pushed the heavy wooden lid backwards as the light from the moon outside the window shone into the room in such a way that it fell in spotlight beams directly into the box. They leaned over the box barely able to contain themselves as they thought about what they would do with all their treasure. But something wasn’t right! Where were all the diamonds? Where were all the pearls? And aren’t treasure chests meant to be full of pirate gold? Instead there was a bunch of faded enveloped tied up with ribbon, a photo album decorated with silver flowers, rose petals dried and old. Ticket stubs, a cork, in once corner there was even a pair of baby shoes. What was all this junk? The two were horrified as they dug down deeper hoping that the real treasure lay underneath all of the rubbish but all they found was more letters, pieces of material, a small box which contained a lock of hair and some tiny teeth. At the bottom was a framed photograph of someone who looked like their grandmother, except she had brown hair instead of grey, and smooth skin instead of wrinkles, she was stood with a man who looked like their grandfather, except he was tall instead of shrunken. They were both smiling and behind them was a church. Anna scratched at the frame but even that didn’t seem worth anything to the twins. Muttering to themselves angrily the twins dumped everything back in the box; they locked the padlock angrily and shoved the chest back into place before moodily putting the key away. After all that and the treasure was a box of junk! Their grandmother must have been on to them, clearly she had hidden the real treasure somewhere else, yes, they must be it, they thought to themselves as they made an escape back to their rooms. Next time, next time they would make sure to find the real treasure. Diamonds and pearls and gold and gems and jewels, not tickets and letters and photos and ribbons. Still muttering darkly to themselves they fell asleep into dreams of pirates and adventures, blue skies and the open seas. Downstairs their grandmother smiled in her sleep, dreaming peacefully in kaleidoscopic images of her most precious treasures; her memories.
Hmm, I am rather fond of this, despite the storyline being somewhat predictable in that I've read similar tales. At first I was worried that your sentences stretched on too long, but your writing has a particular informal style that seems to be able to carry off odd clauses. I don't know what it is about this, you seem to be looming almost towards using purple prose. This was very sweet, the extra halves and quarters seem so important when you're young =P The taunting personfication of the key was great.
To echo what harriet said; you really are looming towards purple prose. There's something about the wording that seems forced, and I dislike that side of it - the side of which I only picked up through close examination, of course. It isn't too obvious. You really need to use commas more. I got halfway through the second - maybe third - paragraph, and I had already confirmed a distinct lack of comma use. It is, in general, a decent piece. Just be careful; continuity of punctuation deprivation, and excess use of adjectives really does have a knock-on effect to all pieces in regard to quality. Keep it up <3
Purple Prose I don't even know what this is, so I googled it, and I think I get what you mean and yeah, that is one of the reasons I stopped writing, because everyone says that everything I write sounds too forced. Commars Working on, its an ongoing problem that I really have no idea how to resolve except with practice. Though that depends on who reads ****, since some people tell me I use too many and others tell me I use too little, it can confuse a girls head. To be honest I'm actually regretting posting this up, I don't think my confidence has fully got over bombing last time. Thanks for the comments loves <3
As always, I've got few complaints over the letters stuck together to form words that are in turn stuck together to make a coherent set of sentences that you've got here. The story is admittedly more on the cliched side of things but I don't see a problem with that or with the overflowing pathos. Best selling author of all time Charles Dickens got away with the sentimental style, so why not anyone else? So that's my opinion of the plot straight up. Grammatically, I thought it could use some work but it wasn't really distracting from the writing so it was fine. I'm not really a fan of the super familiar style, but it's fine too. Every time you come back after a long break you show that you've not gotten too rusty over the break but there are signs of oxidation. Any issues I might have with this are the kind that only get resolved by continuous writing and feedback anyways. I'm done. Hope that wasn't too strange and incomprehensible sounding.
This made me smile. It was really interesting how you describe everything. And to be honest, this is the least purple prose I've seen in your works. That is improvement, and this means that you're learning to balance it. Even so, I think your other works stood out due to their emotion mixed in with lavish words. I don't think for a second you should stop doing that. I just think that sentences shouldn't solely run with lavish. Writers don't have to be conventional, so go crazy with everything you think might work, and if it doesn't...well, at least you learned something from it. That's key. I must say that you pulled this off really well. It really seems to suit you. As stated earlier, purple prose is mainly frowned upon because it deviates(and often confuses) the meaning of something, in which here I understood everything pretty clearly. Commas should be used where needed. It's grammar. A person can't tell you that there are too much. You could use sentences that use less commas or something, but that just seems kinda pointless to me unless really needed. Things to watch out for should be the overuse of adjectives and punctuation. Comma practice, and the balance of purple prose. As for your last bombing, if you think a person isn't truly giving proper critique, and just in it to screw you over and blow your writing into non-existence. Ignore them. You shouldn't feel blown off by anything hurtful anyone says in regards to your art. It is your expression in process of refining, and no one should take that from you.
Thanks for looking at it. I know it was clichéd, I’ll be honest I find it extremely hard to write something that isn’t darker. I’m trying to spread my wings so to speak but writing happy is harder than I thought it would be. It sounds like I’m making excuses >.< sorry, I’m not trying to. Thanks for commenting, you know I admire your own writing, Thank you for the advice and tips, as well as the support <3 I think that something which negatively affected this piece is that I didn’t really believe in it as I wrote it. It was more that I felt like it was a chore? A need to write something that wasn’t dark/sad like the majority of my other works. So I think I have learnt that you can’t force writing :B sounds obvious I know, but I never fully thought about it before. Thanks again guys
