like my story so far? be honest!!!?
I couldnâ€™t stop smiling from ear to ear and I couldnâ€™t seem to stop jumping up and down in my leather seat of my cousin, Jimmyâ€™s new Cadillac Escalade Hybrid. This was it. This was actually it. Iâ€™m here. Now. In California. Yes, I was extremly beyond happy and excited. This was a definitely strange feeling. No, I wasnâ€™t supposed to be here. In fact, I shouldnâ€™t have been feeling this way either. A few days ago, I had promised myself not to give sunny California its full satisfaction. Right now, I should have hated the idea of even being here but my mind was being cooperative with me today. Either my lack of sleep was the potent cause or the whole seven and a half hour flight from New York was just messing with me. I felt my stomach clench into different, complicated knots and I bit down on my lip to keep the tears that were forming around my eyes from threathening to pour out. New York. My home. I felt my mouth pull down on the corners into a frown. Finally, a normal reaction I could actually deal with and accept. It was not worth pretending anymore. I missed New York. I missed my home. I would miss all my exclusive limousine rides to St.Charles Academy, a Private School for the gifted youth and where most of my older relatives have gotten their degree and got worthless lives from getting into Ivy League Colleges. I would miss the constant honking of bysy taxis and cars in traffic, which had become sweet music to my ears. Iâ€™m going to miss all of my friends and even Kelly Richardâ€™s late night parties in her newly-renovated penthouse and the wonderful, glowing city night lights that had replaced my moon. Iâ€™d miss Fat Joe, the beefy-looking hot dog man whoâ€™d stand out of Starbucks and give me free hot dogs. Iâ€™d even miss my whole soccer team and my soccer coach, Ms.Lethingway, whom I was destined to lead into championships this year and beat our equal rival, St. Paulâ€™s. Even the sticky gum and bird poop clinged to the sidewalk, Iâ€™d miss it all. California would be an amazing place to live, no doubt about that, but it will never be what I would call my home. Itâ€™s never going to be the same. I shook my head to keep all the negative thoughts away. I would not let this get to me right now. I would push that to the very back of my mind and deal with this later. Most likely tonight. The car drove around the corner and we were all greeted with the amazing view of Huntington Beach, California. To my left was Huntington Beach itself. This was an absolutely spectacular sight and my eyes glistened with awe. I could hear pop beach music seeping into the windows of the car. A huge, square, white, wooden sign stood on a huge stone platform on the beach and was painted in dark blue saying: â€œWelcome to Surf City, USA. Huntington Beach, California.â€ I spotted a middle-aged couple taking pictures alongside it and holding each other happily. Tourists. White, soapy waves were coming ashore and the afternoon sun was still pretty high looking down at us promising its usual sunny self to spend more time down here. There were a group of teenaged boys playing volleyball and checking the girls out in their mini bikinis when they thought nobody was looking. Most of the beach seemed to be covered with people laying face-down on their towels silently tanning while a distressed mother was trying to calm her violent child down about not throwing handfuls of sand at hungry seagulls. Young lifeguards in their red Baywatch-like swimsuits were happily chatting around the white, wooden lifeguard stand and looked to be completely oblivious to anything around them. Iâ€™m sure if somebody screamed for help in the waters, they would still act as if they heard a nearby fly buzzing around their ears. Finally I was able to spot the surfers in the water looking like little jets speeding their way through the waves. There were surfers of all ages from a little kid about five to the hippest eighty year old surfer grandpa youâ€™d know, either surfing like theyâ€™ve done this for years or just rather horribly and continuously falling off. Along to the far side of the beach, thanks to my tremendous healthy eyesight, I was able to see a group of boys who looked around to be my age playing with a soccer ball up ahead. This was obviously the most social hang-out. â€œItâ€™s a beauty isnâ€™t it?â€ my older cousin, Jimmy, said motioning to the beach with his free hand while the other was steering the car. Beside me, my fifteen year old brother, Justin, didnâ€™t hear a word of what Jimmy had said. Instead, Justin seemed to also enjoy the view of the girls on the beach like every other teenaged boy within a ten mile reach of here. â€œDamn,â€ he said practically drooling. He rolled down the windows and the car was filled with the wet, salty air. I coughed into my arm. This whole new California scent that was filling my nostrils seemed completely foreign to me. Definitely nothing like t i'm only thirteen years old and i've writtten this. people told me i'm like i'm only thirteen years old and i've writtten this. people told me i'm like really really good in this stuff, so i need YOUR opinion. i really would like to write a book someday. so thank you everyone! please tell me what i could do better or what the good stuff i used were. thank you thank you! BTW!!!! my story was cut off. so yeah. just please tell me what you think about it so far anyways (:
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I'm more of a fantasy writer but your story is really good. I love how u give the narrator a true voice instead of a monotone like some books. You are also very descriptive in the girl's memories of New York, just like as if the girl exists and had actually lived through all that. There are a few typos, but that is easily corrected. Also, get a plot line. I always have a tendacy to switch plot lines and it's not easy to write a story that way. Good luck on your writing. Maybe one day you'll get it published! :)