Content: memoir

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A look back at life in the 1960s as a young man comes of age. The memoir includes reflections on himself, people he knew and the events of that time. I would be looking for input about the writing style, wording and organization of each chapter. Also, did the reader enjoy reading the chapter and want to read more?

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This is about a woman spending a day at the circus when she lives through an event she will never forget. Any and all feedback are welcome however I'm most intrested in making sure the story is easy to follow. Thanks for reading.

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This novel-length memoir details the growth and emotional shifts that occur when a thirtysomething woman decides to turn her husband's sexual fantasy into reality. While there will certainly be some vivid descriptions of sex as the story progresses, it is intended for a mainstream audience. The more detailed the critique, the better. I can take it!

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Revised: The first four chapters have been revised taking reviews into consideration. Also, the original Chapter 3 is now Chapter 2, while 4 is 3, and 2 has the 4 slot - all of which will effect the attached reviews. Does the shuffling help or hinder? This novel is set within an orphanage in North Carolina during the mid fifties and sixties. Though it is basically true, the characters are composite and the time lines may be occasionally altered with some literary license thrown into the mix. I am looking for ANYTHING which might improve the readability, especially with regards to characters, dialogue, description, etc. Thanks!

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Okay, I'm getting back on track. Much of what is to come is already written... I just seem to be having a hard time with the weeks between Amarillo and OK City, and the first half of the trip to OK City. I'm not sure why, except perhaps this time was just so ordinary. Thanks for continuing to stay with me while I struggle through this part!

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Modobenny has been twisting my arm. She has finally convinced me to begin the process of coalescing these stories into a novel format. Some of the chapters are simply cut and paste from the Short Story postings. Others are new. As always, have at it with suggestions. Lord knows, I wouldn't let any of you off the hook. Thanks again, to all who have helped me get even this far. I couldn't have done it without you. Scott

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This story took place two years ago. I still can't talk about it without choking up. Read, offer points and suggestions. My intent is to show what some of these calls do to emergency workers.

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This article had been commissioned for a women's magazine here in Australia. The word count HAS to be 800 words which doesn't leave a lot of room to move! Some advice would be appreciated :) IT has to be sent in by the 30th November, Australian time.

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04/26/08***Book One: The Beat-up Generation. (This revision: New chapters 1 and 2. Eleven chapters added to the end.) —From the ashes of the Beat and Love generations comes the evolution of the ‘Beat Up’ generation.— I had a killer dream when I was thirteen. I dreamt I had found ‘true love,’ and it changed me forever. It changed me during the dream, and after the dream. I never forgot it, and wrote it down in pencil on a yellow tablet a year later. I knew, without a doubt, my destiny. The question for the next thirty-six years was: "When, goddamnit?"****** This is not fiction; it’s the diary of a juvenile peering over the edge of an inferno. STREET... is the acid flashback I was promised. It is also the self-fulfilling prophecy of Just One Guy, whose passion was to live in a state of true harmony. It’s about the charmed life of a dragon in desperate need of a light.***** —“Wild-assed-cynical-seen-it-all-New-York-City-teen goes to bed stoned, wakes up in 1970's Europe with a backpack and a willingness to recapture child-like awe in the world around him...” — HavePenWillScribble****** (The author respectfully requests you start at the beginning.)

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Just remembering my childhood.

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Revised to remove as many 'ing' words as possible, according to mdodson's forum thread Notes from LA Writers' Conference. I had a lot of 'ings'. Feedback on the ones left will be appreciated.

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I wrote this last year but having looked at it, realise how far I have improved in my writing, so decided to polish this up and finally send it off somewhere. Accordingly re-posted :)

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I've written about my life growing up in poverty in the small town of Brighton, Illinois during the 1970's. My book has been compared to Dave Pelzer's "A Child Called It" because we were also reared in an abusive atmosphere where our mother suffered from depression and obesity, but, instead of being an alcoholic, she was a prophetess. God wanted us to go through garbage dumpsters for food and to eventually move to a remote location in Missouri where we lived in a cave for four years. My childhood started out normal with love and respect from two working parents, but it was short-lived because Mom and Dad separated when I was four. Dad didn't pay child support and Mom no longer worked. We lived in cluttered, filthy, hoarding conditions. By the time I was twenty years old, I was six feet three inches tall and weighed one hundred and thirty pounds; I was homeless, depressed, and suffered everyday from headaches to severe migraines and vomiting. I lived through a unique experience that has given me a personal glimpse into the lifestyle and mindset of our nation's poorest people. Billions of people in the world live below the poverty level and nearly nineteen million people in the U.S. suffer from a depressive illness. It's been a long emotional journey for me to write forty-five chapters that begin with my first visits with a mental health counselor and then chronicles the first twenty years of my life. I was educated in the Illinois public school system through the ninth grade when I was pulled from school so we could live a better life for God without the influence of our sinful society. I love my parents, but they are the strangest people I have ever met. I didn't write my memoir out of hate or revenge. I began writing after a counselor suggested it to relieve stress.

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When working in San Francisco you have to ask, “Is pot still illegal?” Young Jason has taken his first hit of marijuana. It's not sitting well with him. Jason also has a date. I sort through the medical issues while tempering the affections of the two lovebirds. In San Francisco, normal is a little different. Before the story, I've included a "Snippet", a totally unrelated flash. I've got these lying around and wanted to get some thoughts on them as well.

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A woman has died and telling the family is my job. While I don't relish the duty, it must be done with a careful choice of words and compassion. Of course, there are other ways to do it, too.

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Let’s just say an abscess doesn’t happen overnight. When Danielle and I get called at three in the morning, the patience line is a little thin. The ambulance is locked inside a parking lot and I must play twenty questions to find the key to the gate. It’s now four in the morning and I blow my top. These are the calls that eat paramedics alive over the years.

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Cupid's arrow strikes a young lad (the author)in this hilarious true story. Only Cupid's aim is a tad off! This is the honest to God true story of what happened to me the moment I realized what GIRLS were! Everything that happens in this story really happened to me on a warm summer day in 1975!

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The cops have found a lady in the communal shower of a hotel. She’s not talking and there is some blood on the floor. Sleep deprived and grumpy, an engine crew, James, and I tromp up the stairs to find out what emergency woke us all up.

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Betty Kay (or is it Kay Betty?) has a nosebleed. She won’t give a straight answer and I am losing my mind just trying to get her name. In the end, I am exhausted after verbally jousting with a difficult patient and even more shocked to find out why her nose started bleeding in the first place.

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Today is my third day at NBW writing school. I have decided to write "A POEM A DAY" to chronicle my time here. I've written a few tests. On day one I wrote "Good bye fears". Day two; "WHY DO WE HIDE". My marks age good, now I've got to make a few friends. I off to social study class, cause in life, every smirk needs a posy to hang."

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A Story About Ultimate Betrayal and Ultimate forgiveness A gut wrenching tale of a mother’s struggle to come to grips with the ultimate evil of Incest.

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I am taking the LEAP today. I have been a reviewer for about a week now, so I've got a real good feel of the neighborhood. I've read tons of great writing, wrote 58 reviews, got 53 replies, more than sixty two points, a smashing rating, and I've got a pretty good ranking for a newbie. Plus I'm among damn good company, I have paid my fees and dues, so, I am ready to graduate to writing class. Hi mates! I am Kulanga.

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It’s time to deliver the baby. Dad’s having a hard time sitting still, Mom is Deaf, and we’re all stuffed inside a ten-foot by four-foot ambulance.

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A destroyer of dreams and dreams resurrected

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Balancing the needs of my patients sometimes leaves an emotional mark that must be faced... after the work is done.

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Damn, this guy’s got…one, two, three… My fingers follow the progression of bullet holes I have found…four, five,…six,…seven holes in him. Who’d he piss off? Daryl Robert Preston has been shot – seven times. It’s EMS at its fastest. The patient is talking when the fire crew, my partner, and I get to him. Problems keep popping up. A helpful firefighter and I have to solve them all at the same time while rocketing to the hospital. Can the patient be saved? He's got eight minutes.

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Seattle Stories Anthology is looking for submissions of short stories and personal essays. I thought I might submit this based on the feedback I get on this site. Does the frame work? Have I tied the end to the beginning? I also need to add about 150 words. Feel free to tell me where the piece is underdeveloped. I'll thank you in advance for telling me quickly since I have to submit by July 1 and leave for vacation tomorrow. Thanks Mike, whatta, murf! Okay, Roisin, loved your suggestion, too, and had to give it a whirl. Re-edited 10 p.m. June 25.

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