Gripping despair came over me, with it, bringing the usual blanket of emptiness. The blanket I had grown accustomed to, wrapping myself in its arms since it was the only form of embrace I had. But ever so slowly, the blanket entangles itself between my legs, inching its way ominously up my collarbone, tugging at the nape of my neck.
Interesting introduction! Nice personification and symbolism at play - Definitely effective use of language.
And then my throat tightens. Snaking itself around my throat persistently, I make out through my blurred vision, that the blanket’s length is reaching an end. My head is thick with sounds.
A little awkward use of imagery there. I count seconds; my life slowly reaching an end, reducing to dust in the fabric of time. Losing myself in the fabric of time.
Be careful of repetition of unique phrases like this in such quick succession - Usually (and indeed in this case imo) it comes across a little cheesy. The last thing I feel are my airways tightening, and then everything reduces to black.
Feel like the power is reduced a bit in this second paragraph, it doesn't add a HEAP to what you had in the first paragraph. Might be worth condensing this second bit into the first or something?***
I prepared my tea, looking out into the dreary fog encompassing Deston (I need a better London village name omg) this morning.
I think Deston is okay! The usual hackneys tread past, their hasty veering giving way to the billowing dust. I go for a ‘London Fog’ to suit the perennial abyss of sadness around and inside me. I wasn’t one for grandeur, let alone specialized teas, but I indulged from the tea-box I had been gifted by my late grandmother who gained wealth the moment she turned 19- as per standards in Deston.
Try to use paragraphs to your advantage - I'd break paragraphs here to indicate that you are about to reflect on this aspect of society. Like the euphemistic way you used "gained wealth" too. The arrival of the wealthy and noble Marquis every year was a moment of compliance, where each young woman would seemingly have no choice but to marry these men. Procedural and granted, women bought in to the idea that marrying a man of noble class and engulfing themselves in their riches, would be a better life than an easygoing one at home. But more than that, their desire to conform to the “standard” overshadowed their internal desires and they succumbed to the pressure of leading such a life.
These last few sentences feel a bit conceptually blatant, just beyond the point where I'd go, "Okay, this student is telling me their concept directly." It's not too bad, but it could be better - Try to describe the situation in a way that SHOWS me these things, don't just tell me them.
I too, would have bought in to living in a façade of splendour, admitting myself to my pre-determined fate, just like every young woman in Deston. But since my mother Peyton’s sudden death, which in my memory is tainted with flashes of blood, and her attempts to conceal her agonisisng pain from me before she said goodbye to the world she thought she lived in, and ended it all. I know better than to accept this fate which will lead me to a harrowing struggle with identity, just as my mother faced.
I think it is interesting that you don't go into detail about this seemingly important plot element. It suggests that the character doesn't want to deal with/remember that aspect of their life. It seems insignificant because you don't give it much time - That might suit your purpose!My last conversation with my mother opened my eyes to the fallaciousness of being involved in this “ritualistic” ordeal that had become the ‘done’ thing in Deston.
“Priscilla” my mother started, staring absentmindedly at the makeshift fire we had going on. I smiled politely right on through, encouraging her to continue when she got carried away in thought.
“I wish I had known better when I was young” she admitted, her gaze still fixated on the fire. I felt uneasy as I awaited her next words and let out a cough. An otherwise small cough which reverberated in the silence that was in the space between us.
“But how could you have known better mother. In actual fact, I still am inching towards the prospect of marrying one of them”
Watch that your dialogue is realistic! It was great up to here. Try and picture the conversation taking place: Would YOU, in your characters shoes and in their style, say it this way? Is that dialogue line representative of realistic speech?“PRISCILLA!!”
I flinched.
Love how you are playing with sentence length.
She lowered her tone and shakily retracted, “sorry, I’m just so ashamed of myself” and faltered as a sob constricted her throat.
“But you left him, and you are the best mother I could’ve asked for” I smiled solemnly, digging my nails into the crevases between my thumb and finger to help reduce the urge to cry. A wave of sorrow hit me, and a sharp ache started to fill me- one which could not be shaken. She really was the best mother I could ask for, especially given our circumstances. Many late nights, she would come home, tattered and somewhat displaced as she vented to me about the ill treatment she received from her ex-husband. I didn’t know any better than to offer her hugs and close embrace to make up for my lack of knowing how to console her emotionally. To this day, I can feel her clammy touch and warm alcoholic breath releasing warm wisps into my ear, as she breathed heavily in tears whilst I stood still, seized with impotence (does this make sense?)
I think it does, and I think it works really well to paint the picture!“That doesn’t change the fact that I let myself be mistreated and bought” she cried helplessly. Almost like dejavu, I looked on, motionless.
Realistic dialogue - Watch it Abashedly wiping her tears, she cleared her throat and quavered, “Listen baby, you can’t let others influence you. It can be dangerous otherwise. I should know. Only then will you discover your selfhood, and only then shall you feel the agonizing screams in your head, quieten. Quieter screams” She laughed at the last part.
Realistic dialogue - Watch that you don't let the dialogue become an easy way to communicate your concepts.
And this conversation replays in my head all the time, consuming all my thoughts and leaving me perplexed and in awe. Perplexed at how easily we comply with majority. And in awe of my mother for experiencing such difficulty and yet making sure to warn me of this gullible way with which the young women here, accept the Marquis false promises and how the relationship of power and submission ultimately leads to our internal destruction.
Because of my mother, I know better and I will seek a relationship of mutual affection and equality. A relationship built on underlying respect and one which empowers me, instead of leaving me feeling disconnected.
Concept a little too blatant here.
Because which is worse, to comply with majority whilst rejecting your true self, or experiencing your true self yet being rejected by majority? Because of my mother, I know that belonging is about being accepted for your true self and if you reject your true self, you are throwing away any prospects of belonging.
Using the word belonging in a belonging creative, much like using "discovery" in a discovery creative, should be avoided as much as possible in almost every circumstance. It's just too obvious, you need more subtlety than that.