Not famous – nope, have done nothing of worth
Not rich – Hmmmmm, struggle to buy groceries
Not particularly good looking – still have own boobs, cellulite, and occasional whisker
Not sports star- can’t even watch it on TV
“Great” thought Paris, “haven’t got a shit show in hell, basically”
She shut down the computer, wandered into the kitchen and poured herself yet another glass of Chateau de Crap. Sipping as delicately as a dehydrated Bedouin, Paris asked herself the serious question. Capital S, capital Q.
“Is it worth it”.
The little voices in her head immediately began replying…..worrying really, when you thought about it. Isn’t that called borderline personality disorder? All vying for attention, she had to do some serious refereeing. The most vocal of course, was Ego. Ego immediately glossed over reality with a dulcet golden syrupy “Of course it is, you’re amazing”. It was how Paris imagined it would sound if George Clooney was speaking directly at her, over a candle lit dinner – after the oysters. Pure heaven, however as likely as losing her muffin top in a week without exercise - or booze for that matter.
The other voices that managed to get a word in were slightly more realistic, damn them. The whiney arsed voice of Reason piped up next – God, how Paris hated this one. "Look, you're gonna die eventually. Would you rather die now when you're utterly despondent and death would free you from your misery, or would you rather become a rich, famous, good-looking sports star and then die when you finally have something to live for?"
"Id said, "Even if that made sense she should drain the bottle and go pick up a handsome ex-con with tattoos and enjoy her last night."
Ego yelled, "You two are pathetic. Paris has everything going for her she just needs--"
"Screw you," Superego said, jamming his fist into Ego's face. A brawl erupted and went on until Id yelled, "Hold it. Where's Paris?"
"She was sitting right there," Ego said. If anything's happened to--"
"False alarm," Id said. "It's two o'clock." They went into the living room. Paris was right where she always was at two, sitting on the couch with her bottle of wine and her cigarette, watching her soaps.
Opening: Elle Wilman.....Continuation: Evil Editor
I love the continuation. :) One thing that confused me a bit is that the story seemed like it was in first person, then switched to third.
This has very interesting content but is technically dreadful. I'd read on if it was punctuated properly. It might be worth taking a class or investing in a decent tutor or editor.
The little voices in her head immediately began replying...worrying, really, when you thought about it. Isn't that called borderline personality disorder? All vying for attention. She had to do some serious refereeing. The most vocal, of course, was Ego. Ego immediately glossed over reality with a dulcet, golden, syrupy, "Of course it is. You’re amazing." It was how Paris imagined it would sound if George Clooney was speaking directly at her, over a candlelit dinner...after the oysters. Pure heaven; however, as likely as losing her muffin top in a week without exercise--or booze for that matter.
Word ver = "stalin". Seriously.
You're using Paris as a woman's name. I always thought of it as a male name but that's OK. Names are flexible that way.
This woman is seriously schizophrenic, isn't she? And so the writing demonstrates that.
I think it goes a little long and gets a little too crazed. When it hit that bit about the voice of "reason," I thought it was satire. With craziness you have to pick and choose the level of crazy.
A teensy bit of this voice is good.
Going on quite as long as it does makes me fear this will end up as one of those TSTL chick-lit books, where the supposed heroine has taken insecure-loser to a whole new depth and yet still gets the guy/job/prize.
Starting right off with the heroine mentally complaining about what a loser she is doesn't do a lot to get me on her side. I like the layers of her psyche joining the discussion, but I think maybe seeing that first before her litany of Loserdom would grab me better. If I wanted to listen to a woman complain about her unsatisfying life, I'd put a tape recorder in my office. ;)
For an opening where nothing much happens, this has such great voice that I'm reading on anyway.
We really need to sort your punctuation out:
...among other things. This is the sort of thing where a good grammar book would make a huge difference.
Your punctuation should show off your writing, not distract from it.
reason was really Super Ego, but she renamed him. And Id piped in with her two dimes worth. It was very unreasonable of them, all three arguing with each other. Paris chugged more wine and refused to get drawn in. She went back to the computer. At times like this she was grateful for love.com. Chatting with strangers looking for "love" was better than listening to those three turkeys. She signed on and drank deeply. It helped.
"Yes it's worth it you hoe. Then you'll die attempting it and I'll be free of your pointless, blithering existence."
That was new. Ego and Reason never agreed.
"That settles it. I'll learn to juggle chainsaws for tomorrow's Talent Contest."
--The Invisible Writer
umm, no, it isn't called borderine personality disorder.
hate these situations where you have to guess whether it's intentional.
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