Saturday, July 24, 2010

My Madness...An experiment in Automatic Writing?

I was taken on a journey,

In the day of the moon.

Light, fantastic; night gone;

Lost in the drapery of the sight.

Writhing in the earth,

Its cool wet fingers strangling the skin,

Licking, melting, melding me.

Sky, ocean blue, craving what it can not have;

A flash of flesh amidst the worms,

Not knowing the intelligence touched.

There is no sun in this zone that’s torn;

This sliding plane between the blues and browns.

Earth and sky dancing for me,

Each one winning and losing me.

Sliding through the grass, riding on the stone,

Closer to the sky, struggling alone?

No, there’re tiny fingers reaching, pulling,

Each their own way, away from me,

Riding the wind above and the waters below.

Such strange sights I’ve never seen,

Well, maybe once or twice, though I swear,

It wasn’t me.

One with entirety, swimming all around,

It’s clawing eyes of conflict tearing at my soul,

Forcing me to look and see within its veil.

How strange this voyage is,

Revealing Things not known.

The angels without, which pointed the way,

Smiled, unlocked the doors and waved good-bye.

Alone, I travelled, but not alone,

For those who lead, lead themselves,

Through worlds of their own,

In rains and suns which teased their way,

Into fantasies and realities,

Which could only boggle the senses,

Of plainclothes rabbits.

Clear path ahead lined with traps and trips,

Begging for the thought of the dead and dying,

Grasping flowers through lead grey suits,

With withering bones meant for tea.

Lightening eyes closed tightly with the weight of tears,

Dreaming of worms which rise to breathe,

The tasty flesh of children’s hearts.

The crossing gaze of lizards lying, wilting,

In the garden grove, blinded by the blue,

Which lies in grass, drifting to the grey.

But slate is slipping into the seas,

Mocking colors and days in haze,

Where beetles climb twirling ropes,

Dangling above stones, no actually - gravel.

Why it’s there is only to feel nothing but

Dragon’s feet, tip toeing on steely, dark red nails.

When asking for directions, go your own way.

I think I’ll just follow the moon

And maybe take a few notes.

My Madness...An experiment in Automatic Writing?

Long and creepy-joke?

Last Saturday night; a young chap was walking home from a club. It was a cold, wet, windy evening, and he was tired and freezing. Most of the streetlights in the area were broken, and the silence was only broken by the occasional sound of a stray cat sifting through a dustbin. Then suddenly he heard a strange noise.......




Startled by this, he turned, and to his amazement, through the driving rain, he saw the faint outline of a large box turning into his road.




He froze to the spot, he couldn't believe his eyes, as the box approached from the shadows, he was able to make out its shape more clearly....It was a coffin.

Not wanting anything to do with this, he put his head down and started walking briskly home.




He could feel the coffin gaining on him, He started walking faster.........




The coffin was closing with his every step, he started to jog, but he heard the coffin speed up after him......




He started to sprint, but so did the coffin.




Eventually he made it to his front door, but he knew the coffin was only seconds behind. Fumbling around in his pocket, he pulled out his keys, His hand trembling; he managed to open the lock. He dived inside slamming the front door behind him. He shot into his front room, and slumped into his comfy chair.

Suddenly there was a loud crash, as the coffin smashed its way through the front door. The force of the impact broke the lock off the coffin allowing the lid to swing freely on its rusty hinges as it continue its chase.....





In horror the young lad fled again, as fast as his shaking legs could take him he bolted upstairs to the bathroom and locked the door........




The coffin again gave chase up the stairs, across the landing and launched itself at the bathroom door. With an almighty smash, the bathroom door flew off its hinges....

The coffin stood in the doorway, and then started to approach the young terrified lad.




In a last ditch attempt to save his skin, he reached for his bathroom cabinet......

He grabbed a bar of Imperial Leather soap and threw it at the coffin. Still it came .


He grabbed his can of Lynx deodorant and threw it .....

Still it came......


He grabbed his first aid kit and threw it...

still it came......


He grabbed some Benilyn cough mixture and threw it........

The coffin stopped.

Long and creepy-joke?
excellent, thumbs up dude.
Reply:Hahahaha, never saw that ending coming! Very good!!! 10 out of 10! ;)
Reply:Oh dear.... thought it was going to be a really good ending... all that build up for nothing.....
Reply:oh my god!!!
Reply:is that it????????????

What's in the coffin??????
Reply:lol that was great. I thought it was going to be a cheesy endind but it ended really good. Very well told, 10/10
Reply:Heard a different version,but still good
Reply:It wasn't the cough that carried him off, t'was the coffin they carried him off in !

P.S. My index finger aches !
Reply:Oh gawd. I cant believe I actually laughed at that one. I shouldnt think so, but it was good.
Reply:that was really really good, thanks 4 sharing ;)
Reply:Very good my friend. Anymore?
Reply:It deserved a better ending.
Reply:what was it all about
Reply:A bit too long.
Reply:It was funny until the ending..
Reply:Laughed my a** off

Death... needs a bit of tightening up, suggestions?

Inspired by the end of one of Rilke's sonnets:

"But this,

one's death,

the whole reach of death,

to hold it gently and not feel anger

is indescribable"

I've revised this and cut it back a lot, but now I find the form and flow troubling. Thoughts?

How like voices the rain sounds tonight,

like the hard whisper of prophets

The truth of the finite in each breaking drop.

How sobering to feel yourself at the center of this blossoming death.

How strange to be within the rose that grows within you

And the scent in your nostrils is not sweet.

And to sense the whole reach of death,

The slipping of skin, the accumulation of creases, the cracking of bones;

What stranger to oneself would not scream absurd?

Between the things it is our burden to know

And the things we can barely name,

Is a darkness.

What words are there for the mother who must release her child?

Who can stand with steady arms open

to embrace that which leaves a mother’s arms empty?

Death... needs a bit of tightening up, suggestions?

Line breaks.

Read the tutorials at There is a whole section on line breaks. I found out I know NOTHING.

Each line must lead to the next. Each line must force the reader to ask who, what why, when, etc.

It's not always the rhyme, the meter, the completed sentence, as I thought it was.

Sometimes it's just breaking up the lines so that one word leads to the next. Each last word of each line within each stanza must beg the reader to read the next.

Here's another take (and I am NOT suggesting it's the right take, just a different one.)

How like voices the rain

sounds tonight, like the hard whisper of

prophets. The truth of the finite in each breaking


How sobering to feel yourself at

the center of

this blossoming death. How strange to be

within the rose that grows

within you

And the scent in your nostrils is not


Willow, now I need to go back and look again. I loved some of this little kiss you gave us. Perchance I will add more later.


P.S. I loved "blossoming death."
Reply:I really believe you are a blossoming poet. Report It

Reply:Generally, I find your first shot is the best. When you start chopping the original about, it always loses something. Talking of Sonnets, here's one in the English style I did a few months ago...

Were l to die; weep not, for me, more... raise a glass, be of good cheer,

no morbid dirge... no unctuous priest who means not... but, a word he speaks,

for, l shall never really die... not whilst my words and thoughts lie here,

and, l would see the Ladies smile; not waste their tears upon their cheeks.

Lady Love has smiled on me as we have danced among the stars,

for, She has let me keep the dream of Love...and how it ought to be,

no trail of Broken hearts; though l have loved, and lost... no hurt to mar

the dream, and that... perhaps, is why... this is my style of poetry.

All l would ask... Six feet of Mother Earth, where l might peaceful, sleep;

no Oaken coffin... pretty casket... just a simple winding caul.

The swifter, to return into her arms... our covenant to keep,

Earth to Earth... indeed: the final Great Adventure of them all.

So, perhaps, a Marker Stone...beneath the name... these words, upon it

He strove to bring a gentle smile... and, He could weave a pretty Sonnet.
Reply:This was incredible. I'm not just saying that. I do like the alterations Margot made to the lines. It added a lot of tension to the poem, and words that I thought to cut instead worked in the new structure. I would consider working through your poem with her comments in mind. I'll only add these points:

What stranger to oneself would not scream absurd?

I like where you're going here with the content, but the line felt awkward.

you child hand, --minor typo.

How like voices the rain sounds tonight,

like the hard whisper of prophets

The truth of the finite in each breaking drop.

That was beautiful writing...just beautiful. I absolutely love your opening.

I look forward to the rewrite.
Reply:This is very good. The unnatural line breaks created by Yahoo don't help it any. I only felt the meter drag once, "The truth of the finite breaking drop." I had to stop at finite.

Overall, I liked it very much. I've read it three times, which should be the artistic goal of a poem.

Reply:I liked your detail of the effect of a bird's death on a young child.

Tighten your images:

The rain tonight,

Hard whisper of prophets

Each breaking drop finite truth.

I lie at the rose's center,

Death blossoming

The scent there is not sweet.

Senses scream at its absurdity

Death's entire reach, slipping of skin

Accumulating creases, cracking bones,

The burden of knowledge, things barely named,


With what words

Can a mother release her child?

Empty, open arms

Longing to embrace

That which left them empty.

Set in this pattern your poem forms a Hokku no renga. It's opening verse a Haiku.
Reply:This is better than anything I could do, but if you want my input . . . .

%26gt;How strange to be within the rose that grows within you %26lt;

Within twice - try a simile, like inside.

%26gt;Between the things it is our burden to know

And the things we can barely name%26lt;

Same deal - "things" is used twice, it should have a simile as well.

%26gt;Is a darkness%26lt; does not quite connect with "Between the things it is . . ."

Same deal with "mother" - "which leaves a woman's arms empty" would say the same, you've already established she's a mother.

Just my two cents. Like I said, I wish I could write as well.


Whats wrong with hip hop?

Method Man]

Damn, I hate it when it rain

Ever since I came in the game

Some hated on the fame

A lot of ****** done changed

And started actin' strange

Even labels turning they backs

And started backing lames

Radio is the same, whole lotta speculatin'

These mutherfuckas defacatin' on the name

Wu-Tang, if this is where the hip-hop is

Radio lyin' then, that ain't where hip-hop live

It lives in the streets, we eat to live they livin' to eat

I'm fed up, that ***** rides in 'em, givin 'em sleep

R.I.P., make me the king of all I see

And when death call I'm good I got call ID

See it was planned in the front, now they just gon' front

Like my joints is on proactive, and they just don't bump

Then ****** gon' say I lost my skill

when in fact they all been programmed

And lost they feel, fo' real

Chorus: [Lauryn](Method Man]

They've got so much things to say right now

They've got so much things to say

They've got so much things to say right now (Yeah)

They got so much things to say (Yo)

[Method Man]

Damn, another artist chokes again

They ain't cut as close as him or even broke the skin

See how ****** ain't yo friends, when there ain't no ends

Don't care who the case offend, don't underrate my pen

I got what it takes to win, while ya'll are thinking I'm trash

Loving the taste of success and this drink in my glass

Watch 'em cosign that whack ****, give it a pass till it's gone

Quicker than Red, can't get rid of them clubs

When they're wrong, call the cops, they credibility's shot

It's time to learn, what hot really is and really is not

Off brain ******, Meth gonna let 'em know off top

Don't get smacked on dvds, trying to show off blocks

I can't stop cause my enemies plot, or cause the cops want me

Shackled and locked inside the penalty box

And while they waitin' for my **** to flop

They gettin' pimped like hoes

Sellin' they *** just to get my spot, come on man

Repeat Chorus

[Method Man]

Ask Miss Hill, half these critics ain't got half this skill

Often so hungry that they have to steal

If I didn't have my deal, and didn't have this mass appeal

Then I'm back up in that trap, swingin' crack it's real

And that ain't worth the time, so search and find a new nerve

And here's three words: stop working mine

It take a lot more to hurt my pride

Jerk my vibe more than media lies, cry when dirt dog die *****

The last album wasn't feeling my style

This time my foot up in they *** but they feelin' me now

Cause Tical, he put his heart in every track he do

But somehow yall find someway to give a whack review

It ain't all good, they writin' that I'm Hollywood

Tryin' to tell you my **** ain't ghetto and they hardly hood

Come on man, until you dudes can write some rhymes

Keep that in mind when you find yourself reciting mines

Whats wrong with hip hop?
Usually they use reference or cuss too much. That is the problem.
Reply:There's no substance. We are lacking music that feeds our brain. It's sad : (
Reply:rap and hi hop suck now in days all these wack rappers are ruining everything

no offense to u but u should listne to some ole skool shittt
Reply:A better question would be what's good about it? Answer being nothin!
Reply:I like That Song.....


Im not gonna lie but Rap now is full of crap..

good thing I hear a lot kanye's songs.

Rap is dying because of all this

"get money, shake ur @ss, duffle bag, %26amp; crank dat"

non-sense songs.!
Reply:The thing that is wrong with hip-hop is the people in the game of hip-hop....There's too much compeition in the game....Toooo many people wanna be everybody and like do the same thing they do.....People got same beats and everything....An example of d4l.... and dem franchize boyz....Doing the same dance same beats....And then now we got soulja boy...he saying yule in about every damn song...ya feel me...
Reply:I hate to say this to delusional folks at Yahoo Answers, but what's wrong with Hip Hop is YOU. The hyopcritical, ignorant fans who don't appreciate good music and only eat what you are fed on BET and MTV.

There are way more rappers with substance out there and other rappers who exist besides Hurricane Chris, Lil Wayne, TI, and Soulja Boy.

I think people arejust attacking Hip Hop because it's popular. Hip Hop doesn't really get enough respect or credit and that's because most ppl don't understand it.

It's not for everybody. If you dont understand Hip Hop, lyrics, and etc... Fine, but don't judge something you know nothing about.


PAST: as i have the cold blade on my wrist, i feel a chill go up my spine. tears stream out in droplets and land on my fingers, away i go carving into my skin, veins popping, wrists bleeding, pain bottled up, time to let it all go. screaming internally, terrified, dont want to go back, ever again. emotions run deep, things kept inside til death arrived. hidden away, darkness in the woods, another soul lost, another dream failed to come true, more hope, faith, and courage to be drained, along with the blood, that flows with the midnight rain.

PRESENT: newspaper headlines read "another died", an emo, broken like glass, never fixed. forever scarred, this poor girl, left without a chance. family cries, and bleeds inside. just like her...depression through the town, more and more teens going down. one by one, this fight has just begun. parents confused, worried, and afraid. never to let their children out in the rain...

FUTURE: All down. Nothing kept. Sadness gone, fright has left. No more souls, no more lives. No one cries, everyone has died. Suicide, most deadly thing. A lesson taught to all around, with all those dead bodies on the ground. Never cut, never lie, or you will end up without a life.

aww honey, i will pray for you, i remember pain like that...
Reply:I'm sorry but I stopped at the third line. It's way too obscence!
Reply:ummm.... It's Emo....
Reply:the best I've ever read. get this published. I don't care who gave me a thumbs down. I like it and it should be published
Reply:its all about killing and being dead :-(
Reply:That was wonderful! I loved it! 20 on a scale of one to ten!!!!!!!!!

the end is the best- ur totally right, cutting kills!
Reply:Wow! Awesome poem. Keep writing.
Reply:Call a suicide hotline if this is a cry for help.

If not then go to the park and look at the sky,

or to a pet shop and pet a puppy

Or read some "Chicken Soup for the Soul"

And remember that the worst day of being alive is 10 times better than your best day being dead, and take a moment to reflect on what's really important or you will be needing that suicide hotline sooner than you think.

Your a flower and if you die you will just be thrown away, so live and be admired.
Reply:It was very good I can't believe your only 12, When I was 12 i was building forts and chasing girls around school, Just remember Life is short, Live Love Eat and be happy because No gets off this Planet Alive.
Reply:its perfect dont listen to these idiots

Here is another one of my poems. Do u like it??


My time is running out,

Im starting to run about.

I dont know how to think,

I scream, then begin to sink.

From now, until forever,

This time i cannot erase.

I dont know what has happened to me

What is it thats not meant to be??

Rain clouds hang over my bed,

All my thoughts are trapped in my head.

I just want to blurt it all out,

But what if people doubt.

All the pain i feel inside

It is all set beside.

I cant let anyone know

But it take a lot not to show.

My time is just running out.

To keep things bottled up.

Its like im bleeding deeply from this cut.

Again i cut my wrist.

Am i taking a risk?

Im close to hitting a vein

As my tears fall down like rain.

My heart it is breaking.

Too much of me you are taking.

I have all of this insane depression,

My pressurem it just keeps on rising.

That urge for the blade

My skin just starts to fade

The time is not right

This unhappiness i try to fight.

My time, its all gone.

I wont be able to last long.

Here is another one of my poems. Do u like it??
I like it. It portrays the emotions you want the reader to feel. You might want to give it a title. Other than that it's really good. Hope this helps

Do you think this a very good story that I have written?

I haven't quite finished it yet but it would be fantastic for you to comment on the story or write a review or perhaps anything that may help me out. You are welcome to say absolutely anything you want relating to the story. Thanks!

Cornelius Wackworth was a rather old and wispy man who was at least eighty years old.

He was very short and quite thin and balding with only a little bit of white hair sticking up on his boulder like head. He wore very large spectacles that magnified his narrowed and beady green eyes that always sparkled even though he was very old. Like many people his age his skin seemed to droop down like soggy wallpaper and wrinkles were abundant on his aged face. His attire was probably even more outdated than this frail old body.

Cornelius wore a plain white shirt with an even more plain black tie which resembled nothing except perhaps dignity and no taste at all whatsoever. Lower down Cornelius wore horrible brown pallid pants and very shiny black shoes which were laced up tightly.

He lived in a rather small and dingy flat with his dull wife Ginny Wackworth.

Ginny was slightly taller than her husband and she was rather stout and plump.

Ginny did not wear spectacles , however, her brown eyes were quite wide which gave her a look as though she were always started or surprised by something. Unlike her husband she had quite a lot of pearly white hair that seemed to be rather curly on her pear shaped head. She did not differ from Cornelius with the horrid wrinkles and saggy skin though and her attire was typical of a bland women who was proud of being “just right”.

She wore a very pink lacy like dress which stood out hideously with the surroundings and upon her feet were slightly flat black high heels. She also had stockings on her leg which went above the very bottom of her dress. She believed that stockings were a “ dignified” way of not showing your legs in a public area.

Both Cornelius and Ginny were retired and they did not have very much money for which they blamed the government who ( apparently to them) robbed the country and gave out “ measly pensions” that did not suffice to their type of lifestyle. They did indeed struggle to get by as the governments weekly pension was not an awful lot.

The flat in which The Wadsworth's lived was perhaps even worse than their financial situation. The dingy flat comprised only of four rooms: kitchen, living room, bathroom and bedroom. Once over the threshold the horrid house revealed itself to be very cramp indeed. Upon entering there was a very short and dingy hallway that lead to the living room which comprised of a dilapidated old sofa and an ancient Television. father along in the house through a doorway to the right was the kitchen which was so horrendously small that the occupants could probably swing a cat around and it would bump into the walls. The gloomy kitchen comprised of an outdated fridge and stove that had been cramped into the corner of the room in the most lazy sort of manner and a dodgy table that looked as though it would collapse at any moment was surrounded by several deck chairs in the very middle of the small kitchen. A broken window which was letting in a little stream of sunlight stood above the thoroughly rusted sink and basin.

Once re entering the living room and veering off to the right the bedroom could be found which was somehow even smaller than the kitchen. It comprised of one musty old king sized bed that literally almost sunk to the floor due to the occupants in it or perhaps the bed was merely a piece of rubbish that needed to be thrown out or even replaced.

The occupants in the bed of whom were snoring rather loudly and letting out deep grunts were indeed Cornelius Wackworth and Ginny Wackworth fast asleep.

“ Good Morning it is a glorious day in the city with the temperature today reaching a very humid 30 digress. After all the rain we have been having lately its finally time to chuck out the brolley and whip on those sunnies and hats! I hope you are having an excellent morning and look forward to your company in the next hour! The time is exactly 7:00am on the spot! You’re listening to Classical FM home of your favorite oldies music!”

A jubilant and upbeat mans voice echoed around the dingy bedroom and Cornelius woke with a wince and fell out of bed and onto the horribly musty green carpet. Very slowly craning his ancient neck up his bright green eyes fell upon a rather old radio set upon a dresser beside the bed in which the mans voice had been issuing from.

With an irritable grunt and a stupendous effort Cornelius hoisted himself up and then switched off the radio, his hand shaking madly as though it wanted to jump off.

“ Dear me, I got quite a fright from the man talking on the radio this morning” mumbled Cornelius “ It is time to get up dear” he added, very slowly hobbling round to face his wife who was still asleep.

“ Dear, it is time to get up” said Cornelius; however his wife continued to sleep on.

Cornelius let out a great big audible sigh then said in a remorseful tone: “ Oh I suppose it is the only way to wake her up, I mean I have been doing it for the past ten years”.

Looking at his wife in a rather sad way Cornelius hobbled away from the bed and glanced down at the floor. Upon the musty floor lay a rather large wooden walking stick which no doubt Cornelius used in aid of his old age and frail bones. He gazed at the walking stick apprehensively then with the speed that was perhaps slightly faster than a snail he bent his back and scooped up the walking stick. When he straightened up there was an ominous CRACK which was quite loud. Wincing in pain Cornelius allowed himself a few minutes to recover from this very fatal blow that had been dealt to him.

Once feeling a bit better Cornelius focused his gaze upon the walking stick once more then gazed up at Ginny who was still sleeping in bed. Letting out another sigh Cornelius hoisted up the walking stick as though it were some incredible weapon and poked Ginny rather feebly in the face. She did not stir. He tried again.

Then at last Ginny’s eyes flicked open and she gave her husband a stern look.

“ For heaven sakes Cornelius” snapped Ginny at her husband. “ Must you do this every single morning. I find it highly irrating and rather annoying especially since you poked me in the eye this morning you miserable dolt”.

“ I’m very sorry dear but I had to otherwise you would not wake up as you very well know” replied Cornelius in a rather feeble and weak voice.

“ I suppose you’re right” sighed Ginny, the stern look fading from her aged face. “ Now we must get ready hastily as you know we have to catch the bus into the city at 7:30 to have morning tea with your son, Cornelius, so come on off to the kitchen for breakfast”

“ But surely we have to change into our clothes first?” Cornelius asked his wife.

“ No we wear our clothes whilst we are sleeping, remember?” said Ginny, raising her pale white eyebrows once she had uttered the word “remember” to Cornelius.

Cornelius merely looking vaguely at his wife for a few seconds then he looked a lot more animated as he said to Ginny: “ Of course, that’s right. Quite practical and saves rather a lot of money as well….:”

“ Now lets have breakfast, shall we?” said Ginny pompously.

“ Yes, dear” replied Cornelius.

And together the pair hobbled rather slowly into the dingy living room.

Cornelius abruptly stopped right beside the horrible, dilapidated old couch.

“ Could I perhaps watch some television?” asked Cornelius, his green eyes upon the ancient television that was on the far side of the living room.

“ No you certainly may not” snapped Ginny. “ We do not have enough time for that as we are supposed to be meeting your son very soon for morning tea”

“ Oh that’s right” said Cornelius sounding rather disappointed and let down.

And together the old couple shuffled rather slowly from the living room into the kitchen.

Once they had entered the kitchen both of them glanced up at the broken window in which they could see the sun which was quite bright and a marvelous clear blue sky.

“ It is suppose to be rather warm today you know” said Cornelius abruptly. “ According to the voice that comes out of the radio its supposed to be 30”

“ Oh that’s going to be simply wonderful going around in the heat” sad Ginny darkly.

“Oh yes it should be absolutely spiffying seeing my son whilst enjoying the heat of the sun reign down upon my back” replied Cornelius happily, Ginny rolled her eyes impatiently.

“ Enough of your ramblings its time for breakfast Cornelius” she said.

Ginny wandered over towards the pantry which was located by the musty old sink and pulled open the door: the shelves were completely empty except for one old moldy breakfast cereal box.

“ Humph” sighed Ginny still staring into the pantry. “ It seems as though we have run out of food yet again but at least we have some cereal this morning”

Ginny lunged into the pantry ( very slowly) and grabbed the cereal box; however it appeared to be empty also. Ginny let out an irritable groan.

“ What’s the matter love? “ said Cornelius vaguely, still staring out of the window.

“ We have absolutely run out of all the food in the house yet again” said Ginny in a rather hysteric tone “ I suppose we will have to buy a whole lot of groceries whilst we are out and oh…..for heavens sake I was really looking forward to breakfast!” she added, her voice highly resembling the sound of someone being horribly whipped.

“ That’s a pity” said Cornelius. Ginny ignored her husband.

“ I suppose we better get going then otherwise we will miss the bus” she said, glancing at a rather ugly and scratched watch that she was wearing upon her wrinkly skin. The time read 7: 25am. Ginny let out a very drawn out gasp. Cornelius turned away from the window to look at her in a rather shocked manner as though she had just uttered a swear.

“ What is it dear?” asked Cornelius in a very sharp voice that he hardly ever used.

Ginny merely looked back at her husband blankly unable to tell him the awful atrocity that they had both bestowed upon themselves.

“ Dear, please tell me what is the matter? Has something horrible happened to you that you would perhaps like to tell me? I am all eyes and ears for you dear” said Cornelius raising his voice slightly. He was still look at Ginny in a rather alarmed sort of way.

Well… its just that in all my time that I have been married to you this is probably the most awful thing that has happened to me” sair Ginny in a rather high pitch voice.

“ What is it dear?” asked Cornelius apprehensively staring at his wife.

“ It has never happened to me before but… oh dear….” She let out a mad shriek which echoed around the gloomy and cramp kitchen. “ You… and I are going ….” She gave a whimper of fear as though she were frightened to finish the sentence. “ Cornelius…. We are going to be late to see your son… Oh it is so horrible!”

Ginny let out another horrible wail then with an almighty thud she collapsed onto the horrid floor, her eyes closed. She appeared to have fainted unable to take the awful horror and wretchedness of what had happened.

Do you think this a very good story that I have written?
Too much preamble and description instead of grabbing the reader's interest.
Reply:You don't have to put your story here, otherwise someone else will steal your idea of writing. You can give to the publisher straight.
Reply:It's too long for anyone to read it. Here, I mean.

You should go and join Storywrite. It's a good site to publish your stories and getting them commented. There are loads of competitions too
Reply:I think maybe you spent too much time describing the characters and setting that you weren't able to capture interest from the reader (or from me, at least). Tone down a little on your descriptive stuff and build up on the actual story.

Also, try using less "and"s. It's not very good if there are too many in one sentence.

Near the end, I noticed you kept using the word "horrible". Try to refrain from using the same word over again because it becomes kind of annoying.

Hope this helps!