Looking for beta readers!

I just finished another round of edits for my novel:Dried Roses and while it is nowhere near done, I have decided that it’s time to get some beta readers. My sister and a friend are already reading but I like 2-3 more people to get a clear view on what I need to improve.

Dried Roses follows Rosanna:a  school psychologist and Leila:an English school teacher. Leila seeks Rosanna out for help, not knowing that they knew each other as kids and Rosanna played a large part in Leila’s troubled past.Eventually they become friends and gradually fall in love. It’s around 90k-100k  words and contains mention of abuse,depression and suicide just as a heads up.

I’d be happy to return the favor and read whatever work you seek help with or any other type of non-monetary exchange we can come up with.

There’s a lot of typos and my spacing is a little wack but I’m really just looking for help regarding sentence structure, plot, and characters.

 

If you’re interested at all, send me an email at hannahreadsandblogs@gmail.com and I’ll send you the first two chapters to see if its your thing!!

 

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Two Faces

As Ali backed out of her parking space at Walgreen’s, she tried to focus her entire attention on the road  instead of the bag next to her. She told herself that she could wait ten minutes to get home, but there was a big difference between what she could do and what she wanted to do. Her fingers tingled, as she strongly gripped the steering wheel, trying to resist the urge to open her pill bottle. She told herself that one pill wouldn’t hurt, though she knew that one pill would turn into two, then three and then by the fourth one she usually lost count. Her psychiatrist was willing to look the other way, as he prescribed bottle after bottle, as long as she paid. Her father didn’t seem to notice the small bits of money withdrawn from her college fund, but then again he was more worried about the past than his daughter’s future.

 

Her psychiatrist wasn’t much help, although he kept on giving her words of wisdom, words that Ali would rather do without. He wanted to talk to her about her addiction, which was rather ironic seeing as he was the one who enabled it. He said that there was a difference between needing and wanting the pills, and that Ali didn’t need them, she wanted them. But that was where he was wrong, it wasn’t a question of needing or wanting them, it was the strong desire to feel normal.

 

She used to tell herself that she was ordinary, that her existence was one that

was lived by many, she let go of that illusion when she found her mother in the barn that night. There was nothing normal about finding your mother surrounded by pieces of a broken glass, insisting that the lady inside the mirror was going to kill her. There was nothing normal about being called out of her SATS because her mother had been found wandering around the forest wielding a knife. There was nothing normal about a young girl of 16 being asked by her father to go find his wife, because he was too scared to find her himself. Nothing normal about finding your mother with a gun to her temple, insisting that the voices told her to do it. Ali thought that if she took the pills she might be able to escape the insanity that her mother had suffered from, but it turned out it only created another reminder that she was anything but normal.

 

Ali focused her attention back on the road, surprised to see that she wasn’t going home, but towards the barn house. She screeched her car to a halt, only to realize that the road was too narrow for her to turn around. Ali continued driving, vaguely remembering a driveway somewhere near the barn house. She decided to really focus her attention on the road, as the only light to guide her way were the weak headlights of her car. Ali breathed in deeply, trying to suppress the memories that were resurfacing as she approached the barn house. She jumped, thinking that she had heard the sound of a gunshot only to realize that it was all in her mind. Taking another deep breath, she moved steadily along. She could see the driveway up ahead, and prepared herself to turn, but then stopped suddenly once again, as a figure darted towards her. Ali couldn’t see the front of the figure, but there was something about the back that made Ali study the figure more closely. She noticed long hair hanging loosely against the silhouette’s back.Ali studied them more closely wondering if she knew them.Just as she was about to get out of her car, the person slowly turned around to reveal a face  of a girl that Ali knew all too well. From the slant of her head, to the shape of her nose, down to the very last freckle, this girl was identical to her. This girl was her.

 

   Okay since I can’t make a decision to save my life, I figured I’d ask my followers which story they prefer. We have to  hand in a short story, for English Class and I kind of like this one but I kind of don’t cause I wrote it like 2 years ago, the other option i  have is this one, and I love this one but like idk if I want to hand it in? So which ones do you guys prefer?

A Letter To Phillip

So  I  love to write,so my blog might be a place where  I want to share my writing.These are letters that I wrote from the perspectives from girl whose brother has gone off to war.I wrote this for  English Class and i kind of like it so here you go

January 11th 1942

Dear Phillip,

I know you said that you’d write first but it’s been two months and not a word has arrived from you.It’s so hard to be unable to tell you about my daily going ons. Whenever  something happens to me I always want to tell you about it, but you’re never there. I know you’re probably busy, and have more important things to worry about but Mother is too wrapped up in her own grief to care about what is happening to me.

 

   Sarah’s brother got his letter yesterday, he’s set to leave for training next week. Last night Sarah and I sat outside and just stared at the sky. None of our friends understand what it’s like to have a brother go off to war. We have never been close but I think this will bring us closer. While we were talking we talked about the future, and have decided that if the war goes on  ny longer we would try to become nurses together.

  

  I can hear you yelling at me across the page, telling me about wasting my future. It’s not fair for you, so why should it be fair to me? You always wanted to become a scientist and because of the war that dream may never come true. If I was a boy, our roles would be reversed. I can put my dreams of becoming a teacher on hold for awhile,The war shouldn’t any longer anyway. Maybe you’ll even be home for next Christmas. I’ll save the present I bought for you, you’ll love it.

 

   It’s so hard to talk about such banal things when you’re off in the trenches. It’s so unfair that you- a boy who would never hurt a fly- have to fight in what people are calling the worst war in history. I fall asleep every night with the words “it’s not fair” haunting me. I also hear mother’s weeps and sobs, and for the past two months they have been the awful lullaby that has rocked me to sleep.I should probably stop  writing, you probably don’t have a lot of spare time.

 

Write Back Soon,

Angelica.

 

                                                                                                                     March 28th 1942

Dear Philip,

 

It’s been another two months, and still not a word from you. I’m sorry if I overwhelmed you  with my letter. I know that I talked too much,that I was abrasive, and I didn’t even ask  about you.You always did say I was full of myself .So how are you?Have you made any new friends?I have so many questions for you, but I don’t want to waste your time answering them. The only thing I want you to worry about  is staying alive, but please if you could just write a small note to just tell mother and I that you’re okay that would be great.

 

It’s been five days since I started writing this letter. March 28th was the day the officers came. I answered because mother was making dinner. Two men in uniform;one young ,one old handed me a telegram. I don’t remember what they said but I do remember the sound of mother’s screams at the sight of the army men. I didn’t even need to say anything, she just knew. So while I stood there stunned, the officers tried to comfort her. I couldn’t imagine you dead, I found it unfathomable that I was breathing and living and you weren’t. I know I’ve used this word before but it’s not fair.  For the past five days  I’ve laid awake thinking about all the things you could have done if you were given the chance. I think about the man who did this to you,and I hate him.

 

 There’s no body to bring back, but we’ve decided to still have a gravestone next to Dad’s. I don’t think mother ever expected to go before both her husband and son.The funeral is set to occur next week. Our next door neighbor, Miss Schuyler has helped us every step of the way. Remember how we always used to pull pranks on her? Well she’s not that bad. She lost two sons in the first world war and she’s been helping mom deal with her grief

  

 I don’t even know why I keep writing you, it’s not like you’re ever going to read it.But no one understands, not even Sarah. So I have to tell someone.I’ve never been the type of person to write a journal, but writing to you is different. You have always been the one person who I trust more than anything in this world, and now that you’re gone it’s hard to trust anyone.  People keep on coming to our house to offer their condolences, and they keep on telling me about you as if I wasn’t the one who knew you the best. Sometimes they tell me things that I know aren’t true and I just don’t understand why they keep lying to me. Your science teacher came yesterday and he seemed to be the saddest of them all. He kept on telling me about how smart you were, and all the things you could have done. His words were the ones most filled with truth.

 

Nothing in this world is just.  In two years I will be older than you were when you died. I get to live and you don’t. If i have children, they will grow older than you. They will  get to live and you don’t. Millions of people will grow older than you. Hitler  has been able to live sixty years while you will never make it to your twenty first birthday.So many people get to live, but not you.If I could trade my life for yours, I would do it an instant because that would mean mother would be happy and you’d be able to do what you always wanted to do.

 

I think I’m going to keep writing to you, it really helps to put my thoughts onto a page.. I know there’s no address for heaven, so I’ll just store them in an old hat box. I’ll do it until it stops hurting, if that day ever comes.

 

I’ll write back soon,

Angelica.