Thank you very much, Carlleila for taking the time to read my work and give me your very honest opinion.

The criticism you make about the story not being obvious in these opening chapters has been made by other readers too - yes, it smoulders rather than burns. I disagree that it's 90% narrative though - I thought I'd included a fair amount of dialogue and character interaction in each of the first three chapters, but I'll check on that again.

No, I'm not a published author - this is my first completed novel and it's something I really wanted to write whilst living in the UAE. I felt the need to record a slice of Abu Dhabi/Dubai life as it is now and tease out the themes which bubble under the surface of such a multi-cultural and very transient society.

One thing's for sure - I've learned so much about how to write by completing this and my next one will be way better (I hope). For the second one, I'll be dispensing with the slow-burn, literary vibe and going all out to tell a story which will hook readers earlier! But I'm not willing to change the style and pace of Dreams of Yasmeen - it is what it is, and I'm happy with it now.

I'll be delighted to return the favour by Free Willing one of yours - which one would you like me to read?


All Free Wills gratefully received and the favour returned

Ahem, where do we jump from fashion choice to 'impose yr way of life' in another country? The niqab (not burkha) is a traditional choice of covering for some women in some Gulf countries - comparable perhaps to the kilt as a traditional garment from Scotland. I've seen a few of those in Dubai BTW.

I take your 'don't go to St Tropez' point - the French tourist industry will no doubt notice a drop in high-spending Saudi visitors in Paris these days.

The bikini is allowed in most Gulf tourist spots - the UAE where I live is very tolerant and I've seen some pretty skimpy beach outfits being worn by tourists in traditional souqs/markets for example as well as the big malls. In UAE law, it's not a fining offence and therefore no-one can be arrested. Women are free to wear what they want, but signs remind males and females to dress respectfully in some locations. A fair amount of tourists and residents are oblivious to this.

Going topless would be an offence in public places but I doubt if a woman walking down the street in Madrid with bare breasts would escape the eye of the law either. Or would she? Surely things haven't come to that in Europe?

What about the USA - is nudity allowed on public beaches there? Just asking ... I genuinely don't know.

For me, it's about dignity, not 'what can we get away with' to prove we're free-thinking, or progressive, or whatever. Unfortunately, that seems to be the mentality which has taken hold of many young woman in the UK. As a feminist, it saddens me.


All Free Wills gratefully received and the favour returned

for turning the review around at lightning speed while taking the time to make detailed comments.

I had to read your comment "It started out like a kind of cool romance novel between Emma and the old neighbor's boy..." several times before I realized you were referring to Mrs. Ewing's grandson, the fracker. What in the text gave you that idea? It wasn't my intention to suggest that for a second.

Sorry to disappoint you, but yes, she remains in the past - not out of choice (I haven't read Outlander) but because she has no way back. She must do or die there.

I'm really pleased you referenced Emma to Earth First! even without the flashback to her first protest at a treesit that I've moved to a later chapter for the sake of pacing. I thought it was about time that fiction present a direct action environmentalist character as something other than a "terrorist" or lunatic.

Could be the kind of pernickety controversy that Cambodia is trying to avoid.

'Nitpicking' may not be in the concise version, but it is in the full internet version of the OED. The unhyphenated word is also in WordWeb, which I have installed on my computer for quick referencing. I'd recommend it.

Maybe you need a new copy THEN. Mind you OED is generally obsessed with hyphens. I'm a Chambers man myself, which probably explains a lot.

I got this from Cambodia last year:

'Well written piece, The sci-fi stuff certainly wasn’t over the top and your one page synopsis with terms explained made for a very easy and enjoyable read. Your characters were well portrayed and easy to imagine as was your dialogue, which along with your setting and action descriptions made the story flow along nicely. I can see nothing that I would alter that could improve the piece and I imagine the full work would be entertaining as well and should attract the teenage market you are aiming for, so all I can do is wish you the best of luck.'

There are similarities in the format but, I believe, with slightly more focus on my text. He/she doesn't think I am a superior writer though, which is a relief. Cambodia may need a quiet word from Ted, but I've seen and experienced worse than this. ... an honest insult is so much better than an insincere flattery...

Not in my copy of the Concise Oxford it ain't. Nits need picking just as much as cherries do.

If it were cherry-picking I'd agree, but nitpick is a word in itself....
So stop being so pedan-tic

Here's a taste of the new opening, for anyone who remembers Persona.

" Chapter 1


Always knew there was a chance I’d kill someone. It was bound to come down to it one day: me killing someone, someone killing me. When it finally happened, the penny came down in my favour. Can’t say I’m sorry, though there’s those who might wonder why, given this is me. There’s some who’ve seen and done the things I’ve seen and done and come through it feeling nothing any more. So I always hoped I’d feel something, taking my first life.
As it happened, I did.
Couldn’t have been happier deleting the fucker’s ass.
*
Seem to remember it starting out on a night pretty much like any other. But back then, for me, most nights tended to be pretty much like any other. This one adopted the standard format - it was busy and it was raining.
Most cases are easy. Some, not so.
I already knew this wasn’t one of the simple ones. I knew because when I swung my hydro-job into the car-port, the ambulances were already there but the sense of urgency wasn’t.
This was my third call tonight - one rapist, one joy-riding senior citizen and now this. Which brings me to my job. What I do.
There’s this Native American saying.
‘Don’t judge a man till you’ve walked a mile in his moccasins.’
These days that mile can get a person arrested. But it doesn’t stop them. If you’ve never tried it, you might wonder why. You might wonder what makes someone want a digi-chemical cocktail injected straight into their brain.
They say it’s for the experience - taking on a new persona, becoming someone else. Escaping themselves for a while. To an extent it’s true, but often it’s just for the needle. The cold, sharp stab at the base of the skull which gets colder and sharper as it goes deeper. Until your brain fills with stars like the universe has just been born inside your head and the endorphin rush hits, making you feel invincible. It fades as the squirt comes on. But some people do it, all of it, for those few seconds of feeling like God.
For others it’s the surrender. Because you have to, to get it in you. It’s impossible to upload a squirt yourself, get the needle just right so it goes in at the right angle, the right depth. Get it wrong, you’re blind or a vegetable. Or dead. So someone else has to do it. Usually the same someone who just sold you your black-market fix.
Handing your life over to a stranger, a criminal - letting them do something to you a qualified doctor would baulk at - it demands something of you. Gets to be a thrill, that total surrender, that flirting with death or coma.
Just so you can ‘Walk a mile in someone else’s shoes’.
That was the tagline, back when it all started. Everyone wanted it then and everyone did it. Until it was found to be addictive, caused brain tumours, then suddenly doing it was illegal.
Then the trouble started for real, and black-market squirts aren’t clean - you can never be sure what you’re getting. Dirty squirt. The users mostly come off badly and their victims, worse.
Rain greyed out the street lamps like vertical smoke, but it hadn’t deterred the onlookers huddled outside the address. The night flickered white as two dozen data-cams strobed across me. Looked like someone had cashed in with a call to the Media Desk.
Media. I could almost read their minds: Photo opportunity - some guy stepping out of a car. They didn’t know who I was, why I was there, but they had to have me. Just in case there was a tasty morsel waiting there to be plucked over.
I might even make it onto the morning download again.
At least I’d shaved. Mind, eight hours later is long enough to make it look like I hadn’t bothered, but even so. Plus I always seem to miss that bit, just under the jaw - the bit the other guy never misses when he’s throwing punches at it.
Fuck ‘em, anyway. Wasn’t like I had to keep Public Relations sweet these days. With any luck the black stubble and sour face’ll keep me off the splash page. Ugly don’t sell.
I heeled the door of my converted Ford shut, blinking at the after-image scored across my retinas. Turned my collar up against the downpour and glanced round for whoever was in charge.
They saw me first.
‘Oh, for Christ’s sake!’
The voice came from behind - what I call clean British, not the cut-glass type, just clean. Barely any accent. The whip-crack tone made me wince.
‘Nixon. I forgot you worked nights.’
Yeah. Course you did.
I didn’t need to see the face to know who was standing there. My shoulders tensed anyway. I breathed it out before turning.
Rain had given her panda eyes. It dripped off the bun she’d pulled her hair into, turned escaped strands into slick dark lace which clung to her cheeks. The coat she wore fell to just below her calves and a stream ran off the bottom like a Japanese waterfall.
‘Need an umbrella?’ I asked.
She rolled her eyes. ‘My night’s already turned to shit. And now they send you? Who did I piss off this time?’
I managed a grin. ‘You look fantastic, by the way. Done something with your hair?’
She gave a sneer, but her bracer jangled before she could add anything. She flipped back the sleeve of her coat, turned away so the front fell open, showing me a tantalising glimpse of curvy figure beneath the fitted suit she wore. She twisted her wrist, so the screen lit her face, and gave the facia a brutal stabbing.
I sucked my teeth, feigning indifference while she answered.
Maybe I should explain. This was Lian. Detective Inspector Morrison. We used to be partners. Friends. More than friends. Before I got hooked. Before I got fired. Nothing like getting kicked off the Force for squirt addiction to turn a girl against you. But we’d been a team once. A good team.
Yeah, okay. Her approach and mine had always been different. Psychological profiling was her special skill, her strength. All very well for regular crims, but once we’d been assigned to the sparkling new Persona Task Force, all that extra schooling was pretty much redundant. Not according to her, though. I never understood why she didn’t get it. How can you profile someone who’s playing out a fantasy through another persona? Soon as the squirt dies, they’re different people - model citizens.
Me, I’d always gone for the suppliers. The sack-of-shit hard-asses who sold the squirts in the first place, after downloading them from some sad fuck arrogant enough to think other people wanted to be like them. So I went undercover. I entered that world. Did my best to turn it upside down.
I walked a lot of miles in that time, wore out a lot of different shoes. Closed down a few shoe-shops, too. Before it got out of hand.
I’d always known there was a price to pay - there usually is. But it was more than I’d counted on. Wasn’t the first time I’d heard that excuse from a user.
Pretty pathetic when I heard it from me. "

I'm pleased to say I've finally completed 'Persona'. It's gone through several rewrites and evolved drastically from the first chapers I put up here. It's now called 'High Tide in the City'. Whilst I'm still trying to interest agents and mainstream publishers, I've put it out on Kindle. (Click link above) and as a paperback through lulu.com.

Flower Maiden has undergone a similar transformation. It's now called Blightspawn and is aimed at the young adult market. It is also available both in paperback on Lulu and as an ebook on Kindle.

Nit-picking.

I don't doubt its value at all, in fact it is very important. Perhaps I should have clarified that at the moment I am concentrating on structure, pace and the unfolding of the story. Misplaced commas and the like, for me - will be subjected to thorough edit at a later stage.

Thanks for pointing the Writer's circle out to me though, there are some interesting topics covered there.

Max

Read fhebberts Literary Festival comments in Writers circle if you doubt the value of "nitpicking".

If we are not looking for our writing to be improved; why are we here - to get plot-lines?

rebels, mi'Lady???

No, we'd never attempt to impose our culture and standards on anyone.

Lady Darbanville,

I forgot to mention - thank you for the positive comments below

Max