I REALLY need feedback on this because I want to improve my writing as best as I can. I don't care if you don't like it, as long as you tell me what's wrong with it and how I can improve. Thanks! Also, don't worry. This isn't a creepy death poison story. ~<>~<>~<>~<>~<>~<>~<>~<>~<>~ The coast is clear. She has turned in for the night. I am high up in the little room on the fourth floor where fat Mrs. Crawb can't come. I can only hope one of her annoying, nosy minions don't come up. Crawb's "minions" are just the children she uses to do her dirty work. They're ten year old brats and always sticking their noses into people's-especially my-business. But I can take them on anytime. I'm used to things like that. My parents died-or went missing-on my first birthday. I don't even remember what they look like. Don't even have any pictures of them. But what I can remember is everyone who was cruel to me, everyone who beat me. You could say I had a rough childhood. When my parents died, my cruel aunt took me into her house. I don't remember much about my aunt the first few years I came to live with her. But I remember one part very clearly. When I ran away. "AMBER!!!" A shout came from downstairs. Hearing this, Amber finished the final "y" with a flourish then knocked on the loose panel in her wall. The panel swung open, revealing a compartment that contained all of her treasured belongings. She shut the panel and flopped onto her bed not a moment too soon. As soon as Amber's legs swung to the ground, her door opened. "What are you doing? Nothing? Well, I expected just that much." A nasal but smug know-it-all voice came from the doorway. Amber groaned inwardly. It was Albert, perhaps her least favorite out of all of Crawb's "minions". Albert was the very definition of a nerd. He had thick, rectangular glasses and always carried a thick book around with him. His short, chocolate brown hair was neatly parted in the middle, and he was pale, like he spent all if his time indoors. But what Amber hated the most about him was that he had a superior air around him. She would expect someone like that to be self-conscious, but no. He had too big of an ego and too much self confidence. He acted like he was the boss of everyone he met. With the exception of Mrs. Crawb. Albert stepped into the room. His beady eyes narrowed at Amber. "You're hiding something." He accused, pointing a finger at Amber. "No I'm not!" Amber protested. She thought of the journal in her wall and hoped Albert couldn't read her mind. Then she remembered what she wrote. Or more specifically, the last sentence. A memory flashed back to her. ~<>~<>~<>~<>~<>~<>~<>~<>~<>~ That's it for now! Feedback is greatly appreciated!
I think u need to get a hook in your story. I read some of it and at first I was not interested. But other thatn that it was good
I promise it'll get better ~<>~<>~<>~<>~<>~<>~<>~<>~<>~ Amber Rontezza, age seven. She was sitting quietly in the corner on the hard wooden floor, trying to ignore the nails poking her in the back and enjoying the warmth of the house before she went up to the cramped, drafty attic to get her minimal sleeping time. Amber was eating the grey, lumpy gruel she got twice a day. It was barely enough to keep her alive, let alone up and doing slave work to arduous and back-breaking for a seven year old. Amber was almost done with her gruel when Bertha, her aunt, came stomping in the kitchen to her gourmet meal of filet mignon. It was torture for Amber to make these types of delicious meals for her aunt and then eat her repulsive gruel. But she was getting used to it. Bertha strode over to Amber and stuck her pig-like face into hers. "WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING?" she screeched. "Eating my gruel," Amber answered, her young face looking innocently at Bertha. A lock of fiery orange-red hair fell over her shining, vivid green eyes. As Bertha stared into Amber's eyes, she realized something. They weren't green at all. The eyes were shimmering, ocean blue to emerald green to a dark, mysterious black. How odd. The thought flashed by in Bertha's mind quickly. But she dismissed it as soon as it came to her. When Bertha was angry, she never thought about anything else. "What should you be doing instead of lazing around eating your dinner I so kindly give you?" Bertha asked, her voice dangerously soft. Amber said nothing, just watched Bertha with those peculiar eyes as wide as saucers. She felt a growing sense of unease watching Bertha get angrier and angrier. Finally, Bertha decided it was time to answer her own question. "Doing your work, that's what!" Bertha bellowed. "GO! Before I punish you for what you did! Actually, I WILL!" With that, she stuck out her pudgy hand and smacked Amber across her face so hard it left a smeared red handprint on her cheek. The force of the slap was so immense it knocked Amber against the wall instantly. Amber picked herself up from the ground. She felt rage boiling up inside her, ready to swallow her up. But to her credit, she managed to keep herself calm. "I already did my work," Amber answered with a level voice. Bertha's jaw dropped open, revealing every one of her yellowing and rotting teeth. "You're talking back to me? You DON'T talk back to me. Do you hear that, girl? DON'T. And address me as ma'am! I knew it was a bad idea, taking you in and so kindly caring for you!" Bertha was yelling now. "I didn't care for you just to have you grow up to be rebellious and lazy! Go to your room NOW! I'll give you a punishment fit for your actions tomorrow! LEAVE!" Amber couldn't help it. She smashed the bowl, along with the remains of her gruel, on top of Bertha's head. "That's what you get, you old crone!" Amber spat out scornfully. With that, she spun on her heel and stomped up to her cramped attic room. Amber climbed up the rickety ladder to the small space that was her bedroom. Ugh. She hated this place. It was dingy and dirty, hardly big enough for the thin, moth-eaten mattress. There were no windows, and the only light she got was from the grate in the ceiling. In the summer, it was deathly stuffy, and in the winter, it was freezing cold. At least she had a blanket, even if it was ragged and had holes in it. What a terrible place for a seven year old. That night, as Amber curled up under the thread-bare blanket, she started to worry. In all her bad years Amber had spent with Aunt Bertha, she had never come close to this angry. Amber could still hear her slamming and kicking objects around the house. The punishment for this would be unbearable. She might not even survive. As Amber lay there in the dark, she came upon a conclusion. She would have to escape. And, Amber reflected, it only got worse. There were a few parts that stood out from the rest. How Amber felt so free, and happy when she was on her own. How on her tenth birthday, a thin, pinched lady had supposedly "rescued" her from the streets and brought her to an orphanage, where horrible family after horrible family had adopted her, one making her a slave, another whipping her, and even worse than that. And Amber remembered when Mrs. Crawb had first come to the orphanage. She had seemed nice at first, and Amber had some hope that she might finally get into someone's family who actually cared about her. But when Mrs. Crawb had brought her home and she met the evil little ten year olds, she began to have her doubts. Then Mrs. Crawb started laying down the laws of her house and Amber knew she would hate her. "Just as I thought," Albert's voice pierced through her thoughts. "You have absolutely no IQ points. If you actually were hiding something, I would be able to see through your thin disguise in seconds." Amber sighed. "Leave me alone, Albert." "Why should I?" "Because…" Amber thought for a moment. "Because I think Mrs. Crawb is looking for someone to help her with… things." "Are you sure? Are you just making this up?" She shrugged nonchalantly. "Alright, suit yourself, but don't blame me if Mrs. Crawb picks a new favorite." After staring at her for a few seconds, Albert turned on his heel and went downstairs. ~<>~<>~<>~<>~<>~<>~<>~<>~<>~
Attention: I am going to try to self-publish a book, and I'm going to do this one. I have it typed on the computer, too, and I changed the beginning to have a hook to make it more interesting in the beginning Is there anything else to do to make it better? I need this writing to be the best it can, and I don't care if you say this sucks. I need the truth!
Just thoroughly review your work before posting if you care about spelling and grammar mistakes Just saying but the story's still good