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I'm new to writing even though I am now in my mid fifties. I have always wanted to write but, over the years I have either lacked confidence or determination to put pen to paper so to speak.
So for me to even reach this stage is a huge achievement for me. Whether my work is poor or good is of no real concern for me at this point. I am currently experimenting with the ideas that fill my head.
What I am looking for is practical pointers from anyone. Am I structuring the story in the right way? Can I improve on the story by expanding the descriptions of the characters and and plot scenarios?
I have included here a section of my story. So please I welcome all forms of critique. After all I am on a steep learning curve.
Steven, four years old. Sitting at the top of the stairs, covering his ears, crying. Wishing that daddy would stop.
Four years old and subjected to the emotional abuse that has scarred him for life. Yes he remembers too well those early years, and what his father was capable of.
Other than that, Steven was a normal four year old, who attended nursery full time. He enjoyed being at the nursery, playing with other children and the music.
Steven’s father worked in a colliery and his mother worked in an engineering works. It was an era of mills and mines.
He had suffered from convulsions, more or less from birth, and had to take medication to control the seizures. He was also unfortunate to have a lazy eye. His right eye turned inwards.
At this tender age Steven was unaware what love and hate really was. How these feelings would converge in on him and meld into one. The next three years would put paid to that.
“Why the **bleep** is my tea shrivelled up and **bleep**ing dry.” His father shouted as he slapped his mother to the floor. She just lay there sobbing. Father stormed out of the house. He held his breath for a while then turned around to go into the living room. He turned on the t.v. to watch cartoons.
He was listening to his mum clearing up the mess in the kitchen. Steven knew what was going to happen later, and he wasn’t looking forward to going to bed.
“No please Danny, please stop it hurts.” His mum moaned quietly, but he could hear the sounds coming from his parents bedroom. He didn’t understand what they were, all he knew was that daddy was hurting mummy.
He heard his fathers fist hit his mother, and then he heard the noise of his mother falling down the stairs. At this point he was at his door watching what was going on. Hoping that it would be over soon.
And this was how it was for Steven for the next three years.