Name: Chelsea Billings
Title: LOST IN TRANSITION
Genre: Young Adult Contemporary
Revision:
Chapter 1
June- Summer after Freshman Year
Waiting for Bus to Camp
So here I sit, in a Safeway parking lot early in the morning, waiting to board a bus to a leadership camp 4 ½ hours away in the middle of a forest. I won’t know anyone there and will be the only student from my high school, Baytown, which doesn’t feel like it’s really even my school.
The weather is typical for a northwest Washington morning, even in the summertime. A low, thin layer of fog hangs overhead, and the air is misty. It’s not particularly cold outside, but I still can’t help but shiver. That’s one of the side effects of being underweight: I’m constantly cold. I take a deep breath and run my hand through my long blonde hair that reaches almost to my waist. About a dozen other kids have gathered in the parking lot. I smile and wave at a few of them, but stay sitting on the bench alone. This is the part where they will begin to group up, and I would rather stay by myself than risk being rejected. I’ll wait for someone to come to me.
The bus pulls in just a few feet away from the Starbucks across the parking lot. I momentarily daydream about a Starbucks scone, but I don’t consider getting one. It’s safer that way. That probably sounds crazy- how could a scone be unsafe? But it’s not the scone itself that would make me uncomfortable. It’s the fact that eating one would be out of my routine, and my routine is what gives me a sense of security, what makes me feel grounded. When I use the word “unsafe”, I don’t mean I actually think I would be in danger, but it would leave me with a nagging feeling and make me feel “off” for the next several hours, maybe even the rest of the day. I’d rather not deal with that.
I know it’s weird. But controlling what I eat makes me feel in control. Some days I feel the need to be stricter with it than others. Today is one of those days.
We put our duffel bags under the bus and get nametags before we get on. They’re the stick-on kind that say “Hello, my name is…” I write my name, Vanessa, and draw a small butterfly underneath it. I thought my relationship with Dean was going to be like a butterfly: it started as a friendship, and I thought it would grow into something more, just like a butterfly starts as a caterpillar and morphs into a butterfly. All the signs were there. How could I have been so wrong?
A girl with shoulder-length brown hair who looks to be about my age boards the bus, looking around for an empty seat. Just as I’m feeling like a loser for sitting here alone, she interrupts my thoughts. “Is this seat taken?” she asks.
I smile and shake my head. “No, go ahead.” I am overwhelmed with a feeling of relief.
I wasn’t always like this. I used to have someone to sit with, a place where I belonged. I never used to over-analyze these kinds of situations, like some kind of pathetic social outcast. It’s interesting how when you have someone to sit with, or stand with, or eat lunch with, you don’t give it a second’s thought, but when you don’t have anyone to do those things with, it’s all you can think about. It also feels like everyone in whatever situation you are in is watching you, and knows you don’t have anyone to hang out with, and is thinking about what a loser you are and wondering what might possibly be wrong with you.
The girl breaks my thoughts again. “Thanks,” she says, setting her purse down on the floor. “I’m Rochelle.” She puts out her hand.
I am struck by this gesture. I probably extended my hand to a dozen people during my first few weeks at Green Valley, only to be met with stares, the kind that read, we don’t shake hands in high school. That’s for, like, making business deals or something. At Green Valley I always got the feeling that you were already supposed to know who people were before you actually met them. Then when you had a conversation with them, you were supposed to know the right things to talk about, and you were supposed to talk about them using some kind of secret language. I was apparently absent the day they taught this language. I don’t care about that anymore, though. But Rochelle shaking my hand and introducing herself is still a refreshing change.
People have told me that, considering everything that happened last year- the covered area before school, the lunch table, homecoming- God, homecoming- and especially that last day in the principal’s office- they can’t believe I haven’t cried a single tear. They’ve said things like “It’s okay to cry” and “It’s okay to feel it”. What they don’t understand is that I’m not going to cry, because there’s nothing to cry about, and there’s nothing to feel. I’m fine. It’s fine. Everything is fine. I have told so many people that over the course of the past year (even Rene- as if she has any idea what I went through last year), and I don’t know why no one believes me. It’s like everyone is waiting for me to crack or something. Which isn’t going to happen, because I’m fine. I transferred schools. So what? People change schools all the time. Sure, it’s usually because their family moves or something, not because they want to leave, but who cares? It’s the same outcome, and it doesn’t matter. None of it matters. I’ve moved on. I had moved on before I even left, and I’m not looking back, because I don’t need to. I’m fine.
“I’m Vanessa,” I say, shaking her hand.
“Nice to meet you,” she says. Another noteworthy pleasantry.
“Nice to meet you, too,” I respond.
Why am I going on this trip, you may ask? Old Me (that’s me Before Transferring Schools) would have thrived on this kind of adventure. Old Me was the class president, and loved to be in front of crowds and give speeches and plan dances and do random things without caring what anyone else thought. Old Me also seized any opportunity to make new friends, and came away from any summer camp situation with a list of phone numbers and screen names of people to keep in touch with throughout the school year. That’s who I used to be, and I want to be that person again. That’s why in the spring, I signed up to take leadership in the fall. And when I was selected as a candidate to go on this trip over the summer, I decided to go, despite the fact that every other camp I’ve ever gone to, I had at least one friend with me. Going on this trip also means missing swimming for a week, which, up until last week, would have been hard for me to wrap my mind around, but I can’t imagine facing Dean now. And to think that just last week, we had planned to talk on the phone while I was away at camp… yeah, that definitely won’t be happening now.
Title: LOST IN TRANSITION
Genre: Young Adult Contemporary
Revision:
Chapter 1
June- Summer after Freshman Year
Waiting for Bus to Camp
So here I sit, in a Safeway parking lot early in the morning, waiting to board a bus to a leadership camp 4 ½ hours away in the middle of a forest. I won’t know anyone there and will be the only student from my high school, Baytown, which doesn’t feel like it’s really even my school.
The weather is typical for a northwest Washington morning, even in the summertime. A low, thin layer of fog hangs overhead, and the air is misty. It’s not particularly cold outside, but I still can’t help but shiver. That’s one of the side effects of being underweight: I’m constantly cold. I take a deep breath and run my hand through my long blonde hair that reaches almost to my waist. About a dozen other kids have gathered in the parking lot. I smile and wave at a few of them, but stay sitting on the bench alone. This is the part where they will begin to group up, and I would rather stay by myself than risk being rejected. I’ll wait for someone to come to me.
The bus pulls in just a few feet away from the Starbucks across the parking lot. I momentarily daydream about a Starbucks scone, but I don’t consider getting one. It’s safer that way. That probably sounds crazy- how could a scone be unsafe? But it’s not the scone itself that would make me uncomfortable. It’s the fact that eating one would be out of my routine, and my routine is what gives me a sense of security, what makes me feel grounded. When I use the word “unsafe”, I don’t mean I actually think I would be in danger, but it would leave me with a nagging feeling and make me feel “off” for the next several hours, maybe even the rest of the day. I’d rather not deal with that.
I know it’s weird. But controlling what I eat makes me feel in control. Some days I feel the need to be stricter with it than others. Today is one of those days.
We put our duffel bags under the bus and get nametags before we get on. They’re the stick-on kind that say “Hello, my name is…” I write my name, Vanessa, and draw a small butterfly underneath it. I thought my relationship with Dean was going to be like a butterfly: it started as a friendship, and I thought it would grow into something more, just like a butterfly starts as a caterpillar and morphs into a butterfly. All the signs were there. How could I have been so wrong?
A girl with shoulder-length brown hair who looks to be about my age boards the bus, looking around for an empty seat. Just as I’m feeling like a loser for sitting here alone, she interrupts my thoughts. “Is this seat taken?” she asks.
I smile and shake my head. “No, go ahead.” I am overwhelmed with a feeling of relief.
I wasn’t always like this. I used to have someone to sit with, a place where I belonged. I never used to over-analyze these kinds of situations, like some kind of pathetic social outcast. It’s interesting how when you have someone to sit with, or stand with, or eat lunch with, you don’t give it a second’s thought, but when you don’t have anyone to do those things with, it’s all you can think about. It also feels like everyone in whatever situation you are in is watching you, and knows you don’t have anyone to hang out with, and is thinking about what a loser you are and wondering what might possibly be wrong with you.
The girl breaks my thoughts again. “Thanks,” she says, setting her purse down on the floor. “I’m Rochelle.” She puts out her hand.
I am struck by this gesture. I probably extended my hand to a dozen people during my first few weeks at Green Valley, only to be met with stares, the kind that read, we don’t shake hands in high school. That’s for, like, making business deals or something. At Green Valley I always got the feeling that you were already supposed to know who people were before you actually met them. Then when you had a conversation with them, you were supposed to know the right things to talk about, and you were supposed to talk about them using some kind of secret language. I was apparently absent the day they taught this language. I don’t care about that anymore, though. But Rochelle shaking my hand and introducing herself is still a refreshing change.
People have told me that, considering everything that happened last year- the covered area before school, the lunch table, homecoming- God, homecoming- and especially that last day in the principal’s office- they can’t believe I haven’t cried a single tear. They’ve said things like “It’s okay to cry” and “It’s okay to feel it”. What they don’t understand is that I’m not going to cry, because there’s nothing to cry about, and there’s nothing to feel. I’m fine. It’s fine. Everything is fine. I have told so many people that over the course of the past year (even Rene- as if she has any idea what I went through last year), and I don’t know why no one believes me. It’s like everyone is waiting for me to crack or something. Which isn’t going to happen, because I’m fine. I transferred schools. So what? People change schools all the time. Sure, it’s usually because their family moves or something, not because they want to leave, but who cares? It’s the same outcome, and it doesn’t matter. None of it matters. I’ve moved on. I had moved on before I even left, and I’m not looking back, because I don’t need to. I’m fine.
“I’m Vanessa,” I say, shaking her hand.
“Nice to meet you,” she says. Another noteworthy pleasantry.
“Nice to meet you, too,” I respond.
Why am I going on this trip, you may ask? Old Me (that’s me Before Transferring Schools) would have thrived on this kind of adventure. Old Me was the class president, and loved to be in front of crowds and give speeches and plan dances and do random things without caring what anyone else thought. Old Me also seized any opportunity to make new friends, and came away from any summer camp situation with a list of phone numbers and screen names of people to keep in touch with throughout the school year. That’s who I used to be, and I want to be that person again. That’s why in the spring, I signed up to take leadership in the fall. And when I was selected as a candidate to go on this trip over the summer, I decided to go, despite the fact that every other camp I’ve ever gone to, I had at least one friend with me. Going on this trip also means missing swimming for a week, which, up until last week, would have been hard for me to wrap my mind around, but I can’t imagine facing Dean now. And to think that just last week, we had planned to talk on the phone while I was away at camp… yeah, that definitely won’t be happening now.
Great job on this revision! It flows much better. I think there's still not enough showing, not enough action to really pull me in. There's few places where Vanessa's inner thoughts could be tightened a little like the paragraph that begins with "The bus pulls in a few feet away from the Starbucks". The last 2 sentences of that paragraph explaining the word unsafe felt redundant to me. My eyes wanted to skip over it. And I would say the same of the paragraph that begins with "I wasn't always like this." That very last sentence is long and a little hard to follow as well. I don't think you need it.
ReplyDeleteMaybe some of the information in the last paragraph could be subtly hinted at or explained through dialogue with Rochelle.
I really like how this is flowing though. Such a great jump from the first version!
Thank you Amanda! I appreciate this feedback! I am working on getting a good grasp of "showing" vs "telling" and will continue to work on it! :)
DeleteI’m really enjoying this rewrite. You’ve done an excellent job of giving us hints as to what’s happened without slamming us with too much information. I want to know what this tragedy is and what happened at homecoming, but I don’t feel like you’re deliberately leaving out information. It will come in time.
ReplyDeleteOccasionally you repeat a word a little too often, such as ‘year.’
So is this supposed to be a diary or just an internal monologue? There’s a lot of information that’s critical to the reader, but a person wouldn’t mention when relating a story, such as their own hair color. Does that make sense? That’s the hard part about writing in the first person, you have to let us know what your character looks like in a way that doesn’t make it sound like they’re describing themselves to a police sketch artist. You’ve done this well, but maybe work on it a tad more.
I really, really like Vanessa’s personality quirks, especially her need for routine, shaking hands, and the way something as simple as a scone can upset her. This catches my interest as a reader.
Nice way to introduce Rochelle (though the bus seat is just a tad cliché). And I like how Vanessa has a solid goal in mind for her summer plans. Well done.
Brian, thank you very much for your feedback. To answer your question, the info is meant to be internal thoughts. Vanessa lives largely "in her head", and that's part of her struggle with anxiety. I want the reader to feel like they're in her head so they can understand why she does the things she does. Do you think that can work? Or do I need to consider re-structuring the story so it's more of a journal?
ReplyDeleteAgain, thank you very much for your time. Your feedback is much appreciated!
No, I think the internal monologue is just fine. Just make sure she's talking to herself, not the reader. Good luck with this, I really enjoyed the bit I got to read!
DeleteThanks so much!!
DeleteHi Chelsea,
ReplyDeleteI was totally hooked with the "1st chapter" on your original version. This re-write has lost some of her teen gritty attitude, and I think the voice has been watered down some. I moved a lot as a kid/teen, so pretending to be "fine" was very realistic to me. That has been sadly lost in this version.
I like the flow better in this account. The thoughts about needing control, like eating or not eating, and routine are great! It does make me wonder if she's anorexic...
I agree with Amanda, some of the descriptive paragraphs were too long. Let the reader fill in the blanks some, otherwise it comes across less sympathetic to the reader, more like a lecture.
I like the internal dialogue. Great to see inside someone's mind. However, it needs more action to show us her feelings. 60-80% of communication is nonverbal.What do the other kids see when they look at her? What does Rochelle see that makes her want to sit there? Little things go a long way; Vanessa could bite her lip or twirl her hair to show us she's nervous about being alone.
Enjoyed this version. Details sprinkled about allowed me to visualize her when she scooched over on the bus. The scone illustrated her need for control. I liked how you slowed down and gave details with the name tag. I especially like the line, "I used to have someone to sit with, a place where I belonged. I never used to over-analyze these kinds of situations, like some kind of pathetic social outcast." I'm intrigued by the last paragraph about the new me, old me, and Dean. I want to know more which is good because that means I'll keep on reading.
ReplyDeleteHi Chelsea!
ReplyDeleteWow, I really like this version. Her internal dialogue seems authentic and the anxiety she feels comes through. I, too, wonder if she has an eating disorder. And in the third paragraph, it almost sounds like she has a touch of OCD because she repeats words (Is this on purpose? ...a Starbucks scone...could a scone be unsafe... it's not the scone...) and talks about how important her routine is. So, yeah, her anxiety is coming through, and it almost seems like it's more than normal. Is her "issue" going to be part of the story? If so, that's great and you can make this clear in your pitch.
Otherwise, I agree with the comments above: a little more showing versus telling, more nonverbal cues, etc.
I'm intrigued by her "old" self and the new one, and also her relationship with Dean. I'd want to read on to see where this leads.
Good luck!
Hi Chelsea,
ReplyDeleteThis is a VAST improvement! As a few people have already mentioned, there is still a bit of telling and the balance of action to internal monologue is still a little off. There's no "rule" but you want the monologue to bounce from the action. It should never just be said. For example, if someone says, "Get on the bus," that's when she'd look at it and maybe the sign on it and think it doesn't even feel like her school. And maybe she'd think about how long the drive is because it looks cramped and uncomfortable. Of if someone shakes her hand, that's when she thinks about how awkward she feels. Basically, you need a reason for her to think everything she thinks. You can get away with a lot of internal thought if you bounce things this way.
Finally, just be careful that she is not talking to the reader. She has to think things the way she would think them and not speak them. So when you write, "Why am I going on this trip, you may ask?" -- this is not how someone would think because there is no "you" in their head...well, unless they have a mental health issue, but that's another story...
Holly
Hi Chelsea,
ReplyDeleteThis is a VAST improvement! As a few people have already mentioned, there is still a bit of telling and the balance of action to internal monologue is still a little off. There's no "rule" but you want the monologue to bounce from the action. It should never just be said. For example, if someone says, "Get on the bus," that's when she'd look at it and maybe the sign on it and think it doesn't even feel like her school. And maybe she'd think about how long the drive is because it looks cramped and uncomfortable. Of if someone shakes her hand, that's when she thinks about how awkward she feels. Basically, you need a reason for her to think everything she thinks. You can get away with a lot of internal thought if you bounce things this way.
Finally, just be careful that she is not talking to the reader. She has to think things the way she would think them and not speak them. So when you write, "Why am I going on this trip, you may ask?" -- this is not how someone would think because there is no "you" in their head...well, unless they have a mental health issue, but that's another story...
Holly