so i'm creating a story called Daddy's Boy and i just wanted to see if you liked the writing style...
It was a hot day in Tarodo.
Not just any hot, but a dry, unbearable hot that opens the door for a bad tan or melanoma cancer. But despite the scorching heat, the horse flys and mosquitos and other annoying bugs all decided it was a good day to go out on a picnic. And Etta also decided it was a good day to drop her poor, pale, sun-burn prone 14 year old son off at his father's place so she could go spend her 10,00 dollars that she won in the lottery on a trip to New Zealand, just her and her sweety-pie.
Or rather, what was LEFT of the 10,000 dollars. She had spent most of it on a 1959 Corvette Convertible, which she had recently painted a bright cherry red.
Dick thought that the bright cherry red Corvette was horrible. First of all, the cherry red made the Corvette look horribly tacky, and second of all, the top was off and it rendered his pale, pale neck helpless to the horrors of the sun. The seats where made of leather, so they where baking hot and sticky and made him very uncomfortable. Dick did not want to go to his father's house at all.
Etta turned to Dick so she could tell him how proud she was and how big he'd grown and how responsible he'd have to be if anything happened, you know, because she just couldn't possibly bear it if anything happened to her sweet little lamby-cakes. But Dick did not hear a thing she said because her voice was drowned out in the wind. She then turned to the road again, saying something relatively unimportant, completely oblivious to her son's obvious discomfort.
After many torturous hours of monotonous driving, the two arrived at their destination. By then, Etta's foundation was melting like cheese and Dick's hair was stuck flat to his head with sweat. Etta put on a show-worthy smile. "We're here!"
How is it? What do i need to work on? I've got the idea worked out but I wanted some feedback before i go to far.
You probably don't know me, but...hello! now you do.
I like the writing style of the piece. Maybe you should better specify who Dick is, I had trouble telling if Etta was already driving away with Dick's father or simply dropping him off. There's also a few grammar mistakes you should correct.
I'd also like to point out a plot hole with this story. It states that Etta had won $10,000; there's a big problem with that. Not even today can you get a nice car for $10,000, no way can you get a 1959 Corvette (in mint condition, too) for ten grand. You'd easily break the 100k mark with that kind of car, and I'm no expert either. Not to mention a vacation to New Zealand.
So bottom line is, don't be afraid to research before you write, and always proofread before publishing.
Maybe this is earlier in time when the dollar had more value?
Seems good, but like what the other guy said, I want to know what time it is...
Personally, I feel like this story takes place at least in the 2000's, if not in the present day, because: a) the implication that Dick's parents are divorced, b) the specification of what model year that Corvette came from, and c) Dick's mother presumably flying to New Zealand, when air travel is considerably cheaper.
Side note: Just by poking around on the Internet, a Chevrolet Corvette costs around $4500 (not in today's money) in the 1960s. The distance by air (because cruises weren't very popular then) between the U.S. (I used Nevada as a benchmark given the "hot" climate the story takes place in) and New Zealand is, give or take, 7,000 miles. Today, commercial planes are capable of making such a trip nonstop, but I can't say the same for a story that takes place forty, fifty years ago. And back then, commercial flight cost an arm and a leg, crashes happened often, and it was rare to be on a flight from Cleveland to New York, never mind a flight to New Zealand.
Saying all this stuff makes me sound like a psycho cross-analyzing perfectionist, and I am. Just the way I see things; can't stand it when stories aren't researched before they're written.
Some of the things I write would drive you batshit crazy, sheerly because of me letting crap slide just because I'm too lazy to look it up.