Under the Microscope extra: Glasgow Girl

Read our suggested rewrite of a reader's first 300 words and for the full critique, see the May issue of Writing Magazine.

Glasgow Girl by Diane McCormack - original version

Have you ever stood on a station platform as a fast train hurtles through and that whistling draught catches you; felt its intrusion as it jolts you from your secure footing, disturbing your clothing, sending enquiring fingers to probe newly exposed skin, removing the facade you’d created to leave you vulnerable, naked? That’s how I felt when I first saw John Mack.

I was away from home at college in Leicester when I met him and was instantly captivated. He was so handsome in his RAF uniform and he charmingly dismissed the other girls’ attentions and became my devoted admirer. I was carried away on a wave of new emotions and experiences and I made no attempt to stem the flow. He sympathised with me because I couldn’t go to university like my brother, after he met my family he told me he thought I was probably cleverer than my brother Charles. Perhaps this was my way of rebelling against the path set out for me after I left school with a clutch of certificates and was sent away to secretarial college. I was more than a bit annoyed that my brother was the one noted for his brains. His exam successes were rewarded with a new bicycle and he was sent to university while I was left feeling quietly envious and that I had more to offer. Then I did something I shouldn’t have and no matter how much I tried to deny the sin, the thought of it would torture me to my dying day.

But John had ambitious plans and I was to be a part of it all. My parents were not impressed, unsettled by his swarthy skin which gave him the look of the immigrants who were teeming into our cities.

McCredited version

Have you ever stood on a station platform as a train hurtles through and its hot gust catches you? Have you felt its jolt and its breath on your body – the vibration, the sudden sense of danger but also the thrill of it? That’s how I felt when I first saw John Mack.

I was away at secretarial college in Leicester when I met him and he stopped me with his overwhelming locomotive force. He was so handsome in his RAF uniform and he charmingly dismissed the other girls’ attentions to become my devoted admirer. We became the only two passengers on an express train away from everything I wanted to escape.

He sympathised with me because I couldn’t go to university like my brother. He even told my family he thought I was cleverer than my brother Charles. Charles, whose exam successes were rewarded with a new bicycle and university, whereas my clutch of school certificates saw me sent away to learn typing and shorthand.

Perhaps John was my way of rebelling against the path set out for me. He had ambitious plans and I was to be a part of it all. My parents were not impressed, unsettled by his Mediterranean appearance, which gave him the look of the immigrants who were teeming into our cities.

For the full critique, see the May issue of Writing Magazine