I'm trying to finish a story I began sometime ago that has been sitting around for too long. The Perfect Lodger began as a first person past but following the first overhaul, this changed to third person past. Now I'm trying to decide if it would, in fact, be better told using third person present...
If anyone's reading this, I'd be grateful if you could read the following openers and tell me which works best. Is one more engaging than the other? Or, do you think the story might be better off as first person?! VOTE NOW - it's over to you.
Option A:
“The seaside,” Lola said. “I want to go to the seaside.”
Having mistaken Saturday for a school day, Lola was dressed too early and she sat at the kitchen table, scowling into her pastel-coloured cereal with a ferocity that could have boiled the milk. Her ears, which poked through her lank black hair, were bright red.
Her mother squealed, clapped her hands together and sang, “We’re off to the seaside!” over and over. Kerry, her thick hair tied back in a bunch of curly brown twigs still frayed with sleep, was still in her pink-hearted pyjamas and fluffy grey slippers, like two chinchillas squashed by the soles of her feet.
On the other side of the kitchen Carla was sawing through a fat log of fresh bread. She had been fooled into her suit by Lola who had knocked on her door at 8am needing help putting her school uniform on the right side out. Carla had been wardrobe mistress since Monday when, in the aftermath of a cataclysmic fall-out, Kerry lay buried beneath her duvet while Lola sheltered under an occasional table. It had been left to Carla to coax the child out, dry her eyes, get her dressed, pack her lunch and walk her to school.
Unable to endure the punishment any longer, a day out of Lola’s choosing was Kerry’s latest peace offering. The month before, it had been a pair of rabbits. They were never allowed in the garden but given the run of the hallway, showing their boredom by stripping off the first half-foot of wallpaper, nibbling the skirting boards and scattering little brown balls across the lino. Carla had kept a dustpan by her door and a stoic silence, but ranted about the situation to her colleagues who agreed with her: Lola was one spoiled brat.
Option B:
“The seaside,” Lola says. “I want to go to the seaside.”
Having mistaken Saturday for a school day, Lola is dressed too early and sits at the kitchen table, scowling into her pastel-coloured cereal with a ferocity that could boil the milk. Her ears, which poke through her lank black hair, are bright red.
Her mother, sitting opposite, is delighted and begins to sing, “We’re off to the seaside!” over and over. Kerry’s thick hair is tied back into a bunch of curly brown twigs and she’s still in her pink-hearted pyjamas and fluffy grey slippers, like two chinchillas squashed by the soles of her feet.
On the other side of the kitchen Carla saws through a fat log of fresh bread. She is also dressed, fooled into her suit by Lola who had needed her help putting on her school uniform on the right side out. Carla had been wardrobe mistress since Monday when, in the aftermath of a cataclysmic fall-out, Kerry lay buried beneath her duvet while Lola sheltered under an occasional table. It was left to Carla to coax the child out, dry her eyes, get her dressed, pack her lunch and walk her to school.
Unable to endure the punishment any longer, a day out of Lola’s choosing is Kerry’s latest peace offering. The month before, it had been a pair of rabbits. They aren’t allowed in the garden but are given the run of the hallway and show their boredom by stripping off the first half-foot of wallpaper, nibbling the skirting boards and scattering little brown balls across the lino. Carla keeps a dustpan by her door and a stoic silence, but often rants about the situation to her colleagues who agree with her: Lola is one spoiled brat.
I prefer option A.
ReplyDeleteI prefer option A too.
ReplyDelete