helllp. advice on my creative writing peice. PLEASE READ. (1 Viewer)

[picklexx]

this is my creative writing piece for physical journeys;; its not quite finished. advice is great. please be kind, i'm only doing standard && i hate writing =[




"...each affects the other and the other affects the next, the world is full of stories, but the stories are all one...."
- Mitch Albom

He wasn't bitter, but then again he wasn't anything at this very moment, at this very moment, he was dying. His is a journey that begins were most believe theirs ends. Yet every ending is a new beginning, we just may not know it at the time.

Jacob Bucket wasn't a remarkable man, He wasn't someone you'd tend to notice, he had a family sure, maybe even friends, but he seemed more often than not, to fade into the ugly linoleum wallpaper. But here lying under the harshness of the mid-December sun he didn't fade. Here lying at the end of Ashbury Pier, he was apparently, remarkable.

The last few hours of Jacob's life were spent in a state of rather ironic normalcy. The impending events of the late morning, completely unbeknown to the short, graying groundskeeper, would cast a shadow of disbelief over the inhabitants of the famous pier that morning. The pier had long since past its expiry date, the boardwalk was slowly decaying and every second railing seemed to be loose. This was in part due to the lack of funds allocated to preserving this old family attraction, and in part due to the groundskeeper’s old age. After 50 odd years, Jacob was as much a part of the pier as the rusted nails who seemed to be just holding the entire structure together. This was his home, the old Ashbury Pier. This was his story, and as long as he could remember every part of his life, his story had involved the Ashbury Pier, so it seems fitting that his last moments would involve the old decaying Pier too.

No-one could be sure of exactly how this man came to be, lying face up, at the end of Ashbury Pier, No-one could be sure of exactly who this man was. Even so, we could all be sure that at this point in Jacob’s life, or end of life, he was not fading into any ugly linoleum wallpaper. People stopped, shocked looked graced the faces of those who were not hurried away by ambulance personal, Children expecting an uneventful day at the old pier now had an impressively morbid story to tell their classmates on their return and others stood back, silent tears displayed on sun burnt cheeks, for man they would inadvertently never know.

Jacob’s death wasn’t of a heroic theme; it really wasn’t worth mentioning at all. It is his journey after his death where we shall begin. [/FONT]
Death is a complicated concept at the best of times, but when faced with this obviously uncomfortable situation, in all reality most would, like Jacob, be in short entirely overwhelmed. After living a life for so many years that rarely copped any surprises, this particular emotion, held a very unfamiliar feeling.



--- TO BE CONTINUED.. any suggestions would be great.

 

[DownInFlames]

this is my creative writing piece for physical journeys;; its not quite finished. advice is great. please be kind, i'm only doing standard && i hate writing =[




"...each affects the other and the other affects the next, the world is full of stories, but the stories are all one...."

- Mitch Albom​

He wasn't bitter, but then again he wasn't anything at this very moment, at this very moment, he was dying. His is a journey that begins were most believe theirs ends. Yet every ending is a new beginning, we just may not know it at the time.

Jacob Bucket wasn't a remarkable man, He wasn't someone you'd tend to notice, he had a family sure, maybe even friends, but he seemed more often than not, to fade into the ugly linoleum wallpaper. But here lying under the harshness of the mid-December sun he didn't fade. Here lying at the end of Ashbury Pier, he was apparently, remarkable.

The last few hours of Jacob's life were spent in a state of rather ironic normalcy. The impending events of the late morning, completely unbeknown to the short, graying groundskeeper, would cast a shadow of disbelief over the inhabitants of the famous pier that morning. The pier had long since past its expiry date, the boardwalk was slowly decaying and every second railing seemed to be loose. This was in part due to the lack of funds allocated to preserving this old family attraction, and in part due to the groundskeeper’s old age. After 50 odd years, Jacob was as much a part of the pier as the rusted nails who seemed to be just holding the entire structure together. This was his home, the old Ashbury Pier. This was his story, and as long as he could remember every part of his life, his story had involved the Ashbury Pier, so it seems fitting that his last moments would involve the old decaying Pier too.

No-one could be sure of exactly how this man came to be, lying face up, at the end of Ashbury Pier, No-one could be sure of exactly who this man was. Even so, we could all be sure that at this point in Jacob’s life, or end of life, he was not fading into any ugly linoleum wallpaper. People stopped, shocked looked graced the faces of those who were not hurried away by ambulance personal, Children expecting an uneventful day at the old pier now had an impressively morbid story to tell their classmates on their return and others stood back, silent tears displayed on sun burnt cheeks, for man they would inadvertently never know.
Jacob’s death wasn’t of a heroic theme; it really wasn’t worth mentioning at all. It is his journey after his death where we shall begin.
Death is a complicated concept at the best of times, but when faced with this obviously uncomfortable situation, in all reality most would, like Jacob, be in short entirely overwhelmed. After living a life for so many years that rarely copped any surprises, this particular emotion, held a very unfamiliar feeling.

--- TO BE CONTINUED.. any suggestions would be great.

This is a fantastic start to your story. The concept is great, as even though you've addressed the topic of death you've steered clear of a cliche.
My only suggestion for this piece is that you need to watch your spelling, punctuation and occasionally your word choice. Use punctuation to your advantage, to add impact where it's needed, or make the piece flow. Suggestions below:





He wasn't bitter. But then again he wasn't anything at this very moment. He was dying. His is a journey that begins were most believe theirs ends. Yet every ending is a new beginning. We simply may not know it at the time.

Jacob Bucket wasn't a remarkable man. He wasn't someone you'd tend to notice. He had a family, for sure. Maybe even friends. But he seemed, more often than not, to fade into the ugly linoleum wallpaper. Here, though, lying under the harshness of the mid-December sun, he didn't fade. Here, lying at the end of Ashbury Pier, he was remarkable.

The last few hours of Jacob's life were spent in a state of rather ironic normalcy. The impending events of the late morning, completely unbeknown to the short, graying groundskeeper, would cast a shadow of disbelief over the inhabitants of the pier that morning. The pier had long since passed its expiry date, the boardwalk slowly decaying and every second railing hanging loose. This was in part due to the lack of funds allocated to preserving this old family attraction, and in part due to the groundskeeper’s old age. After 50 odd years, Jacob was as much a part of the pier as the rusted nails which seemed to only just holding the structure together. This was his home, the old Ashbury Pier. This was his story, and as long as he could remember every part of his life, his story, had involved the Ashbury Pier. It seems fitting that the final chapter of his life would be played out on the decaying Pier.

No-one could be sure of exactly how the man came to be lying face up at the end of Ashbury Pier. No-one could be sure, exactly, who the man was. Even so, we could all be sure that at this point in Jacob’s life, or end of life, he was not fading into any backdrop. People stopped, and a shocked looked graced the faces of those who were not hurried away by ambulance personnel. Children expecting an uneventful day at the old pier now had an impressively morbid story to tell their classmates upon their return. Others stood back, silent tears rolling across sun burnt cheeks, for a man they would, inadvertently, never know.

 

[jazzmuzik]

this is lovely

reminded me immediatly of "Tuesdays with Morrie"
before i even noticed your quote was Mitch Albom!

or not...theres a story i've read very similar to this... what was your inspiration?

i know! "the five people you meet in heaven" thats its name...