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| With John Scovill, forever my NCTE 2013 Valentine. |
Happy Valentines Day.
Are you here,
on Friday Feedback,
posting an excerpt?
Right there *points down* in the comments?
On Valentines Day?!??
Because, if you are here
today,
then I heart you.
That's right. I heart you. For being here.For writing words in the first place.
For putting them on paper,
or on screen,
pounding them out rough, and then trying to polish them smooth
like ocean stones.
Trying to make them sparkle and shine like pretty Valentine confections.
Okay, fine. Maybe that's a theme-y stretch, but still.
I do. I heart you for writing them, and moreso, for being brave and coming here to share them.
On the scary world wide webs. Where at least a handful of people will see them.
That takes guts.
And heart.
And hardy guts.
So I heart you.
Here. Have a Valentine:
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| Free clip art Valentine. <3 td=""> |
That means you, John Scovill's students, if you're here!
That means you, Teachers Write! campers, if you're here.
Whoever you are, if you're here, I heart you.
So, without further ado, here we go. Friday Feedback. You know the RULES (or if you don't, PLEASE click on that link!). AND NO MORE THAN 3 - 5 PARAGRAPHS. 3 if they're long, five if they're short. Or, if they're all dialogue-y like mine, no longer than that. ;)
See you in the comments, and since it is Valentine's Day, I'm posting a section from my Work In Progress, THE MEMORY OF THINGS, that has a little something to do with kissing. Or, at least, it almost does. . . sorry to say, the scene gets good right after this because, yes, I am a tease. ;)
(Fyi, since this is mid-story out of context, here's all you have to know going in. Kyle is 16 1/2. His dad permits him to drink beer in the house, but he doesn't usually care to. . . until, possibly, now. . . )
Oh, and also, I may not be back here until mid-late afternoon. But I will be back. See you then!
“Cheers,” she says, taking a sip, passing the bottle to me. I hold it to my mouth, tip it back. The liquid, citrusy and fresh, rushes easily down my throat. I shouldn’t have
more. I’m starting to feel off-balance.
“What?” I say, because she’s watching me.
“What what?” she says back. “I’m enjoying you trying to stay
in control.”
“What do you want me to do instead?”
“Nothing. Okay, lie. I want you to tell me what you're thinking.”
If only she knew.
Maybe she does know. I stare in her
amber-flecked eyes. “I’m not thinking anything. Okay, I’m thinking we should
clean up around here or my dad is going to kill me. If not for drinking, then
at least for drinking half his designer beer.”
“We’ve only had five, total. Two and a half each, and he’ll
be thrilled, you know it.”
“Maybe you’re right, but still.” My words are definitely
sliding a little. And, maybe it's because we drank them so fast, but I can’t take my eyes
off her lips.
She's watching me. Waiting.
“Okay, fine. I’m thinking this one tastes really citrusy. No, that’s
not right, I’m thinking that I’m starting to get sort of shitfaced.”
“Shitrusy citrusfaced?”
It's so dumb, we both start laughing.
“Is that what I said? I just said that, didn’t I? That I was
citrusfaced?”
“You did,” she says. “Or maybe you didn’t. Who knows? Okay, come on.”
She stands, picks up two bottles and walks toward the fridge. “I think we’ve had enough. Experiment over. Let’s clean up, restock
the unopened ones, hide the evidence.”
I stand too quickly. She seems way more steady than I feel. And
she’s smaller than I am. Lame. I didn’t even drink three beers. “He’s a cop,” I
say, my speech definitely slurring. “So, yeah, good luck with that."
I head to the fridge with her, but when she bends down in front of me to reload some,
I lose my balance and have to grab hold of her. She stands up fully
and faces me. “Man, you are pretty drunk,” she says.
“Yeah, I am. What of it?” I lean in, my lips right close to hers.
This comment has been removed by the author.
ReplyDeleteHi Gae! I'm being brave and putting myself out there for some Friday Feedback. Today is my 50th birthday and my goal for the year is to take more risks.
ReplyDeleteFirst a few comments on your entry. I liked it...liked how the girl seemed to be more in control during the scene. Liked the way that I was not sure if Kyle was off balance because of the girl or the beer or both.
The only question I had was this sentence: "I head to the fridge with her, but when she bends down in front of me to reload some, I lose my balance and have to grab hold of her." It struck me as odd, somehow. I was trying to picture how he could lose his balance and then need to grad on to the girl who was bending down. I don't know. Maybe it's just me.
My entry is the beginning of a YA story I am writing. It's fantasy, set in a country similar to Italy. Not sure if it needs more information, since it is the beginning of the story. Anyhow......here it is.
A bead of sweat trickled down Reynaldo Vulponi's neck as he attempted to pick the lock on his uncle's strongbox. The tiny office was oppressive, sunlight illuminating the dust floating in the air. Rey could have easily opened the lock with magic, but his master insisted that he use the more common tools of the trade: lockpicks. Rey was clever enough to realize that Adamo had a purpose behind his request. His master seldom made him do anything without a good reason. Still, this wasn't exactly the place that he wanted to be on a sunny summer afternoon.
"Concentrate, my kit!" Adamo commanded and Rey sighed. He had let his mind wander. A few more seconds and they heard the unmistakable click as the lock fell open.
"Good!" Adamo approved and Rey smiled at his master. "But..."
"It could be better," Rey finished.
"Yes, my Fox kit. It could. You could have easily done this with magic and much quicker too, but what if you were in a situation where you had no magic? Eh? What then, my boy?"
Rey paused. He could feel his magic, a deep pool in his very soul. Be without magic? It was unthinkable! However… “I would have to rely on my skills," Rey said.
"Yes," Adamo agreed. "And therefore you must practice those skills." Adamo tousled his nephew's auburn hair. "Come, let us lock this trunk back up and then we can go and have a picnic.” Adamo patted the basket at his side. “Perhaps you would like a dip in the Topaz Sea to cool off?"
Rey grinned as he pushed his sweaty hair back from his forehead. "That sounds wonderful, Uncle!” He paused, looking at the trunk. “But let me try this lock one more time.”
Happy Birthday, Meg! I agree with Jane. I liked the way you set the scene in the first few lines, but the Rey's response about the picnic feels unnatural.
DeleteThanks for sharing your work. Looking forward to reading more!
Catherine
I am definitely intrigued by the beginning and already wondering why Rey may not be able to use his magic in the future.
DeleteHappy birthday, and congratulations on posting. I really liked this--I was hooked from the first sentence. You reveal so much about these characters, their relationship, and this world in just this short excerpt, and it made me want to read more. The only suggestion I have is that there are a few places I think you could pare a sentence that accomplishes the same thing as another ("...Adamo had a purpose behind his request. His master seldom made him do anything without a good reason.") (also I don't think you need "That sounds wonderful, Uncle"). There's some great foreshadowing here, and I hope I get to find out what happens next.
ReplyDeleteWhat if the last paragraph read like this:
DeleteRey grinned at his uncle as he pushed his sweaty hair back from his forehead. He paused, his glance falling on the trunk. “But let me try this lock one more time.”
Actually, I think I'd need to take the "but" out of the dialog now.
DeleteMeg, I like your revision and, like the others, I like your excerpt!
DeleteBut first, *tosses confetti!!!* Congrats on being brave and posting.
You do great scene setting and the action is effortless (meaning clear without too much description bogging it down), which I love, and I feel what the others are feeling with that dialogue... it's almost as if the dialogue about the picnic (and a picnic itself) feels more MG than YA (jaded teens don't go on picnics per se -- unless there's some romance going on maybe. But as a rule Rey feels more formal, so we may need to learn more to judge that part. I'd also love maybe a drop of conflict added in to the end of this first scene -- some hint of what Rey's problem is going to be. It could be something small -- seeing his fear or trepidation, but that thing that will start us rooting for him and turning the next page knowing we're going to watch something unfold. Does that make sense? Anyway, great stuff! So excited to read more (meaning you'll be back, right? RIGHT?! :)) Happy Valentine's Day! - gae
Thank you, Gae, and everyone who commented. What you say makes sense...I'll go back through and see if I can do to add that little hint...although I believe that I do that in the next few paragraphs. And yes, yes, yes I WILL be back!
DeleteThis comment has been removed by the author.
ReplyDeleteI'm not sure how to write the "Twilight Zone" music, but this scene sure calls for it. I absolutely want to know what the mystery is! Looking forward to reading more!
DeleteCatherine
Gae,
ReplyDeleteYou've definitely captured the tension between these two characters poised on the brink of...what? A kiss? More? I'd like to know. My only quibble is the restocking and reloading of the fridge. Would two semi-drunk 16 year olds talk that way? The rest of the dialogue sounds natural.
My excerpt also has a lot of dialogue. (I hope it's not too long; I compared our word counts, and they're close.) I shared parts of Tracy's story last summer during Teachers Write! Those scenes were right after her mother died. This scene is a flashback to the Thanksgiving before her mother's death.
Tracy knew from the start that they day would not go well. She’d heard her mother on the phone with Aunt Claire the weekend before Thanksgiving.
“What can I bring, Claire?” Annie asked.
Tracy stopped breathing and grew very small, trying to will herself to hear Aunt Claire’s answer.
“But there must be something. We can’t come empty handed.”
More silence except for her mother’s nails thrumming against the stool. Annie always perched like a bird on this stool whenever she talked on the phone.
“I know what! I’ll bake a pie! My mother taught me how to make a pie crust like a pro when I was a kid.”
Somehow Tracy doubted this, since as far as she could remember, her mother had never baked a pie.
“A pumpkin pie is just what we’ll need for dessert.”
Tracy imagined Aunt Claire’s protests. Aunt Ginny always made the pumpkin pie.
“One is never enough. Ginny will make one like always, and I’ll make another,” Annie said.
Great, thought Tracy. Now she’ll turn it into a contest and get mad when everyone likes Ginny’s pie better.
“See you Thursday, Claire. Bye.” Annie sighed with satisfaction as she hung up the phone.
Tracy grabbed her book and started reading, trying to look busy.
“Tracy, come in the kitchen. I need your help. We’re going to bake a pie.”
“Do you know how? Do we even have a pie plate?” Tracy asked.
“Of course I know how. My mother made the best pie crust in town and she taught me everything she knew. It’s simple.”
Soon a long-forgotten Betty Crocker cookbook was pulled from the cabinet over the refrigerator and Annie was up to her elbows in flour and Crisco.
“Do we have any pumpkin?” Tracy asked.
“Damn it. I knew there was something missing. Well, I guess I’ll have to pick some up on the way home tomorrow.”
“What about the crust?”
“It’ll keep in the fridge. Just wrap it up in Saran Wrap. And sweetie, can you clean up this mess. All of a sudden I’ve got a splitting headache.”
Thanks for providing this space for sharing our work, Gae. Have a wonderful Valentine's Day!
Catherine
Catherine, I love the tension between the mother and daughter...you really captured that well. It's minor, but maybe a question mark after Can you clean up this mess? I really like this and what to know more about all these characters.
DeleteThanks for reading, Meg. This story is in the very early stages, so I appreciate your feedback. Of course, a question mark is always a good idea after a question!
DeleteWhat a mother- daughter relationship. I have the feeling its not the first time Tracy has had to clean up her mother's mess. How does she react to having to clean everything up?
DeleteWhat an effective (and painful) inversion of mother/daughter roles. There is so much tension and sadness in this scene--very well done. It makes me want to know more about the history, the dynamics with the aunt and rest of the family. It sounds like Tracy has a lot to untangle.
DeleteCatherine, first of all, it's making me laugh that you compared word counts! I have you all terrified to post too long! ;) Of course, it's partly for your own protection as I can't protect your work on my blog and so don't want you to ever feel you posted such a significant amount that it got lifted from here and someone ran with it. That's part of the demand for brevity. As for my dialogue, I'll look at it again, thank you. Kyle's father is a good and belongs to a Beer of the Month club where he gets (almost collects) fancy beers and serves beers that go with their meals... hence the discussion about restocking/reloading... it's important to put the right stuff back. But I'll go back again.
DeleteAs for yours, I love it and agree that it shows so much about the mother-daughter relationship here. I especially love the tension you create in the last few lines -- a perfect example of what I was asking Meg for above. When I ask for tension/conflict, it doesn't have to be huge. Just enough to raise concern, to make the reader go uh-oh, I want to find out more about what's going on here. You do that great! I'm not sure what age this is for -- can't remember from this summer -- and it does through me a little that she refers to her mother in her head as Annie. This may be part of the tension/relationship... but it gave me pause. Keep going! Good stuff!
Thanks so much, Gae, for your encouragement. I went back and forth on using Annie's name and decided to do that instead of saying "her mother" or "Tracy's mother" over and over. I still haven't decided if this should be told in 1st or 3rd person, so that may be causing some confusion, too. I'll keep at it and hopefully this will sort itself out.
DeleteThanks again!
Catherine
Hi Gae -
ReplyDeleteHaven't connected since you visited my classroom (still the #1 event of the year for most of my kids -- we still talk about it all the time).
ll I can say about your excerpt is you had me at “Shitrusy citrusfaced.” I don't know anything about your current project, so my first question was are both characters girls or are we dealing with a boy and a girl? It is rather interesting to be in this place, and to see how the scene "feels" depending on how I answer that question. Regardless, I think you have captured the silliness of the scenario without losing the tension. I definitely want to know what happens next.
Here is a piece from the story I started working on last summer as part of TeachersWrite (and I'm hoping to finish this summer -- I have two more ideas waiting in the wings I'm dying to get to!). I'm a little over 17,000 words at this point. My three characters have discovered a cave on the back side of a small mountain in New Hampshire. Upon exiting the cave, things didn't feel quite right. They are sitting in the High School cafeteria a few days later, trying to figure it out.
“There’s only one answer,” he finally says, “and you’re gonna’ think I’m nuts.”
“We already think you’re nuts, geek, “Josie says with her sweetest smile.
“If it was anything but the GPS system,” Tom says almost to himself, “I could accept an error. But we’re talking about over a dozen satellites, all synchronized. Even if one gets messed up, there are several others to correct any problems. The Global Positioning System has become the backbone of all sea and air navigation in the world. The military uses it to send missiles from ships at sea to land over a hundred miles away within 30 inches of some terrorist’s butt. The freakin’ space program relies on it. It can’t be wrong!”
“So, what are you saying?” Josh says softly.
Tom looks at each of them in turn, holds the GPS receiver in front of them all, and says “This was right. Our watches were wrong. It can mean only one thing: we lost 90 minutes. We went into that cave at around 2:30. We came out about a half an hour later and our watches said 3:00, but the GPS — what governments all over the world use to manage everything from garbage trucks to nuclear submarines — says it was 4:30. We lost 90 minutes while we were in the cave.”
“What do you mean, lost?” Josie says. “Like we all fell asleep or something?”
“No. I mean lost. Gone. I don’t know. We somehow shifted forward in time 90 minutes.”
David, my reply went to the comment you removed. Not sure why. Maybe there's some Twilight Zone weirdness going on!
DeleteCatherine
Very cool story! I definitely want to read more.
DeleteRE: this section:
"This was right. Our watches were wrong. It can mean only one thing: we lost 90 minutes. We went into that cave at around 2:30. We came out about a half an hour later and our watches said 3:00, but the GPS — what governments all over the world use to manage everything from garbage trucks to nuclear submarines — says it was 4:30. We lost 90 minutes while we were in the cave.”
I'm not sure you need to repeat the "We lost 90 minutes." I'd remove that third sentence and keep the last one.
I want to know more about the missing time. I'm guessing that Tom is one of those guys into technology of all kinds to know about the GPS. I was wondering what was going on around them. I don't have much of a sense of the setting or their actions--or maybe that's just not in the snippet you included.
DeleteHey, David! Thanks for the kind words about the Skype -- one of my favorites, too! As for my excerpt, between boy and girl. As for your excerpt, so much fun! Very intriguing little glimpse! I agree with Meg's edit, and in general, think you can do a revision and pull back on some repetition in a few places -- but of course, that may be something you do when ready to polish. As for Kay's comment, it kind of works with one more of mine: would love to see you replace some of the dialogue tags e.g. "Josie says," with some action that lets the reader know it's Josie. By doing this, you could also do some sneaky scene setting. So, by way of (slightly exaggerated) example only, if they are in the HS cafeteria, maybe this could read something like this:
DeleteWhat do you mean, lost?” Josie pushes her tray of gray-brain-looking meatloaf away, too anxious to take one more bite. "Like we all fell asleep or something?”
You clue the reader in that it's Josie speaking without says while also giving us more scene and even personality information... etc.
Great stuff! Keep going! Can't wait to read more. :)
Happy Valentines Day!
gae
Ok. I am one of John's "students." I will be brave. It isn't much, but just a beginning. Thinking this is what I do? Just post my writing in the comments? :) Here goes . . .
ReplyDeleteThe snow fell heavily in soft, large flakes, covering the aspens and pines in newly fallen snow. The promise of a snowy day spent by the fire, curled up with a good book was only that. . .a promise. Reality was reality. She would be driving to work despite the snow day she desperately needed to recoup and refresh. She slowly got out of bed, turned on the tv to listen to the morning news as she wandered about the house in a fog. How did she arrive at this place in her life? This town, this home, this . . .life. It was a good life, and she felt guilty at times wishing for more. Her children were still snuggled in their warm beds, not a care in the world. Just the thought of waking them to tell them it had snowed made her smile. She could imagine the squeals of delight already.
Her husband was already at work for the day, providing for their needs. She never needed to worry that he would be anything but there for her and their children. She was surrounded by all that she loved and all that was most important in life. But she couldn’t shake the feeling that life felt like mere existence lately.
If only . . .
Thoughtfully, she turned off the tv. If onlys would never get her through the day. Best to get started the only way she knew how. By putting one foot in front of the other.
"Ellie, Norton, it’s time to wake up," she whispered. She gently rubbed Norton’s back as he sleepily stretched and yawned. Ellie would take more prodding. “I’ll make you rice cereal . . .,” she softly sang. Ellie ruffled her bedding, and Amanda knew she was waking. “It snowed last night little ones!” That was all it took and the children were up, out of their warm blankets to meet their noses and foreheads to the window.
“Wow! Do we have school, Mom?” they asked, hope in their voices for the snow day Amanda had already wished for.
“Yes. School is in for the day. Fun awaits at recess!”
“Awww, I want to stay home,” said Norton.
“Me too,” Ellie agreed.
“I wish we were all staying home today, but school is open and so is work. Get going! I’ll go warm up the car so we don’t freeze on our way,” said Amanda.
The children arose, moving more slowly now, resolutely. The dog days of winter---or was that summer?--at any rate, there had been snow more days that not. The gray skies and slushy, snow covered roads would make for a long commute today and it was best to get ready quickly in case it took longer to make the drive to school.
I like the wistfulness that winds through this piece. I'm wondering along with the narrator just what is missing from her life that makes her feel this way.
DeleteYay, Ginny!!! **tosses confetti for your brave first-time posting!**
DeleteAnd, I agree with Kay: there's a lovely wistfulness that winds through this and I, too, both wonder and feel like I know at least on the surface, which is nice because there's a universality to it. It makes me care about your narrator and want to know what happens to her. I'm also excited, because your piece lends itself so beautifully to a superspeed flash edit (ta da!), of course bearing in mind that I know this is a new piece that you've just started working on and so you would be doing your own edits as well. Still, I think if I pull back on some unneeded repetition and extra words, the piece will shine that much more. Coming back with it in a second comment. Brb. And keep going! - gae
So, mostly, there were a lot of "snows" and "snowy"s and a lot of "life"s. And wondering what you think if I pull out the one foot in front of the other line (cliche?) and leave it at "would never get her through her day." Seems more powerful and the rest is known but unspoken?
DeleteThe snow fell heavily in soft, large flakes, covering the aspens and pines. The promise of a snowy day spent by the fire, curled up with a good book was only that. . .a promise. Reality was reality. Amanda would be driving to work today despite the day off she desperately needed to recoup and refresh.
She slowly got out of bed, turned on the tv to listen to the morning news as she wandered about the house in a fog. How did she arrive at this place? This town, this home, this . . .life. It was a good life, and she felt guilty at times wishing for more. Her children were still snuggled in their warm beds, not a care in the world. Just the thought of waking them to tell them it had snowed made her smile. She could imagine the squeals of delight already.
Her husband was already at work for the day, providing for their needs. She never needed to worry that he’d be anything but there for them. She was surrounded by all that she loved and all that was most important. Yet she couldn’t shake the feeling that it all felt like mere existence lately.
If only . . .
She turned off the tv. If onlys would never get her through the day.
"Ellie, Norton, it’s time to wake up," she whispered, and gently rubbed Norton’s back as he stretched and yawned. Ellie would take more prodding. “I’ll make you rice cereal . . .,” she softly sang. Ellie ruffled her bedding, and Amanda knew she was waking. “It snowed last night little ones!” That was all it took and they were up, out of their warm blankets, to meet their noses and foreheads to the window.
“Wow! Do we have school, Mom?” they asked, the same wish in their voices Amanda had already wished for.
“Yes. School is in for the day. Fun awaits at recess!”
“Awww, I want to stay home,” said Norton.
“Me too,” Ellie agreed.
“I wish we were all staying home, but school is open and so is work. Get going! I’ll go warm up the car so we don’t freeze on our way.”
The children arose, moving more slowly now, resolutely. The dog days of winter---or was that summer?--at any rate, there had been snow more days that not. The gray skies and slush-covered roads would make for a long commute. It was best to get ready quickly in case it took longer to make the drive to school.
Also, I love the line ". . . noses and foreheads to window." Lovely, picturesque and clear.
I can just feel regret and wistfulness and guilt all woven together. What Gae said about the use of snowy, yes, but so lovely! I am waving pom-poms for your first FF post too. Well done!
DeleteI just barely got up the courage to look (it's Tuesday :)----Thanks for the great feedback! YES, it is a beginning. I am looking forward to exploring the theme and taking it further. Thank you, thank you, for making my first Friday Feedback a not-so-scarey success!
DeleteHappy Valentine's Day! Gae, I enjoyed your excerpt--I'm coming to care a lot about these characters. I liked how Kyle's loopiness seems part beer and part romantic confusion.I also liked the tension--they both know what they're thinking, but no one wants to act--oh, the pain right before the kiss.
ReplyDeleteHere's my excerpt, from the middle of my WIP. I was going to go for something romantic, and somehow I wound up picking a low point in my MC's journey.
There was no way to cross the river. It was too wide, too deep, too fast. And even if she could find a way across, the mountains waited on the other side, mocking and mean. And she could no longer escape the truth: she was lost.
Drawing a shaky breath, Miranda backed away from the river and found a rock, warmed by the sun. Wrapping her arms around her legs, she let her forehead drop to her knees. Her mother's ring, still hidden in her bodice, pressed against her chest.
Uncurling, Miranda pulled out the map and spread it on the rock. Lines and dots and squiggles. Useless. Despite all of its artful flourishes, the map was misoriented. Something she should have checked. Something any reasonable person would have checked, she realized with crashing shame.
Miranda stayed there, staring at the raging water, until her face stung from the sun. All of the practice and calculations had been for nothing. She had failed, like she always failed. Aren was probably dead. Her friends were probably dead. And all of it was her fault.
I love the image of the mountains mocking her from across the river. That last paragraph hooked me--who is Aren and her friends? Why is it her fault they may be dead?
DeleteJane, sometimes the low point is what comes of romance. . . *sigh* ;)
DeleteAs for your excerpt, thanks for posting. You don't need me. Your writing is simply magnificent.
I particularly love the detail of the ring.
Happy Valentines Day.
p.s. if you really wanted me to find something -- at least a question -- I ask if you need her to realize with crashing shame, or if the "something any reasonable person would have checked..." does that job without saying it even more powerfully. Maybe leave it at that. We feel her despair and shame. xox
Yes, Gae, you are a tease. How could you stop right there? I do like the dialogue, especially the citrusy exchange in the middle. What was the experiment she referred to? I'm guessing from the little bit of context you gave that she knows he doesn't drink much. Your scene does capture that off balance feeling of someone not used the the effects of alcohol.
ReplyDeleteHere's my excerpt. It's the beginning of what I hope will be a picture book. I'm struggling now with how to transform a snippet of memory into its own story.
Stella looked out the window. Fat, lacy snow flakes spun through the air and piled up in soft, wet clumps. At first the snow clung only to the bare branches of the dogwood tree before dropping to the grass and melting. But now more and more flakes swirled through the air, landing faster than they could melt. Stella stared as the snow covered the ground like a blanket. She wished the snow could cover up all that wrong with this year just like it covered the front yard.
She was so sick that she often collapsed in the middle of the floor when she tried to walk from the kitchen back to her bedroom.
Her arms were black and blue from the doctors and nurses poking needles and drawing blood to try to figure out what was wrong with her. They still didn't know.
Her fifth grade teacher hated her for being so sick and not copying all the sentences for homework every night.
And now there was going to be the biggest snow she had ever seen, and she was too sick to go out and play in it.
Wow, Kay, what a heartwrenching excerpt. I don't know much about picture books but this seems wordy and intense... do you perhaps mean a more substantial picture book like one of Peter Sis's or the new one coming out from my publisher this spring by James McMullan, Leaving China, where there's really a lot of information for an older reader but it has illustrations? at any rate, I'm very intrigued and moved and like what you have here. This sentence: "She wished the snow could cover up all that wrong with this year just like it covered the front yard" feels both important and awkward... is it missing a word? Is there a way to fix it so it can do its important job? Lovely stuff here, keep going! - gae
Deletep.s. I'm off for sushi with the husband (a/k/a my Valentine ;)) Will be back later or tomorrow. xox gae
ReplyDeleteHope all are enjoying something a little special, if that's how you roll.
ReplyDeleteShitrusy citrusfaced. Oh, yes, you've HIT it there, Gae! I can feel the giddiness and the awkward stuff and all of that. Your characters always feel so human and real to me.
And so many great posts today! I can't seem to reply except at the very bottom of the page, things are leaping around.
Hopefully it comes out okay.
Here's mine. Kate and her housemate, Clara, are gathering tomatoes from the garden and eggs from the henhouse at the end of a long day of teaching. They fall, as my Grandfather used to say, into a tee-hee's nest. You posted giggles, Gae, and so shall I. I'm still trying to decide if this really would be another side of Kate.
“Oh, for crying out loud. I forgot the basket.”
“You should come back on this side, Kate. Lots of ripe ones here. Wait, what did you say?”
“I forgot the basket. We’ll be juggling tomatoes and eggs all the way back.”
“That’s all right. Isn’t that what skirts are for? Just curtsy!”
Clara stepped out from behind the tangle of tomato vines, lifting either side of her skirts to form a pocket as she performed an exaggerated curtsy.
“You know, the dainty damsel dip. With pouch.”
Kate smiled.
“Your stockings are showing.”
“Oh, mercy, what will the neighbors think?” Clara giggled.
“So regal, you look, with your curtsy and your boot tops there. Elegant. Let me try.”
Kate curtsied back, the pocket formed in front of her skirt nestling two tomatoes.
“Pleasure to meet you, Madame.” Clara dipped again.
“And you likewise, Your Grace.” Kate assumed a haughty air and curtsied low. As she rose, a tomato rolled from her skirt and hit the ground. Stooping, she reached to retrieve it, losing the grip on her skirt. The other tomato escaped, rolling across the ground. A giggle escaped her.
“Oh dear, I’ve lost my tomatoes.”
“You’ve lost your what?”
Clara began to laugh too.
This is just lovely, sweet and funny, Valerie. Seems to fit perfectly with the voice of the story, and nice to see this lighter, airier side of Kate! "I've lost my tomatoes." I can just feel the giddiness of the movement. Great stuff! Keep going!
DeleteValerie, I love seeng another side of Kate, and even though it's another part of her personality, it still rings true. I like it. The only question is how you decide to work this lighter-hearted Kate or this friendship with Clara into her larger story. Maybe this is a friendship or moment that allows her the freedom to be silly sometimes. And maybe that's something she needs--I don't know. I'm interested to see where you take this.
DeleteHey, John! Congrats for finally being able to post directly! **tosses confetti!** Okay, fine. I just wanted to toss confetti at you.
ReplyDeleteI love this piece and you do a great job with taking the reader on a little journey from simple happy hope, to foreboding and dread that his dad isn't going to show... to he never was... very skilled. And I especially love the simplicity of this line: "Brown, dirty shoes that my brother had before me."
When you go back to revise/polish, watch for tense changes that you don't intend. You start the piece in present tense but at some point slip into past. I think it's doubly confusing because there are places where you correctly intend to slip to past -- a memory -- or future -- what he's wishing would happen. But check the parts of the scene that aren't either of those but unfolding now and decide if you're telling it in present or past.
Great stuff. Keep going!
p.s. I assume you want to tell the main story in present because you find your way back there at the very end... but there are places where you slip to past that are the sister and mom now, and not a memory. Tell me if that makes sense.
ReplyDeleteJohn, I love this! I am there, waiting, knees jiggling, right alongside you. I agree with Gae about the tense, and I find it hard to figure out too. So powerful is this present that you've created, almost my present, so vivid that I feel like I'm in it. I AM looking at my shoes. and as I AM looking at them,my mother IS washing dishes and my sister IS being nosy. But then I remember the talk with my father and I'm in the past. I have recently found several POV slips and I've found them by reading my MS with that particular lens. Here I AM. Where are the characters and where shoudl they be? I feel so anxious, so compelled by this piece of writing, the waiting is so powerful. Glad you shared.
ReplyDeleteJohn, let me see if I can do a SSFE to show you what I'm talking about because the past tense memory DOES make sense to me (I think). I think you're slipping into past tense where it isn't supposed to be memory (?). BRB with the edit.
ReplyDeleteSo, I may be a little confused, because maybe what you're saying is the WHOLE THING is a memory, so past tense within past tense. But even so, if you start the memory in present -- like on old fashioned TV when the screen used to waffle and wave and then we knew it was a memory, but we were watching them "now" you can tell it in present and then go to past again, if you give the proper clues. It seems this is what you were going for by making the first sentence of the piece, the only one I had to go on, in present. So, even if this whole thing is him remembering himself as a child and not happening now, you could do it in present (if you've clue the reader into the fact that it's a memory) and it would still unfold like this:
ReplyDeleteI sit on the front porch steps, my legs hug my chest as I rest my chin on my knees and look down at my shoes. Brown, dirty shoes that my brother had before me. Brown, dirty shoes that are a little too small with soles that are too thin. Soles that are beginning to earn holes. I raise my head up and look to the left for a few minutes, then slowly turn my head to the right. I see from the sides of my eyes everything. I don’t want to miss it.
I hear leaves rustle somewhere and quickly turn my head to the other side. I stare at the road. I hear the rumbling of an engine in the distance, the rubber of the tires turning quickly on the pavement. My knees hug tighter to my chest and bounce with excitement.
“What is he waiting for out there mommy?” asks my sister from inside the house. I know she is staring at me from the screen door.
“He’s just waiting,” my mommy replies. I hear water running at the kitchen sink, hitting the bottom of the sink in continuous splashes. She’s doing dishes. It’s my little sister’s turn and she never does them.
I see the front end of the car.
It’s red.
I start to stand up.
But it’s a different car.
So I return to my spot on the wooden, creaky steps.
And wait.
And wait.
And wait.
I begin to roll with the palm of my hand the rod of my fishing pole. It’s lying on the step behind my feet.
ISN’T THIS THE ONLY MEMORY PART?:
My daddy got me the fishing pole a few months back.
“You see that fishing pole I got ya?” He said with his deep voice.
“Yup!” I replied.
“Well, I’m gonna take you fishin.”
I got super excited. Me, just me and my dad.
He told me he was gonna take me. He told me last night on the telephone.
AND BACK TO PRESENT TENSE HERE?:
“Mommy, what is he doin with that fishin pole?” my sister asks inside the house.
“Well, he’s gonna go fishin.” She replies. Her voice feels closer to the front porch.
My sister is being super nosey. My legs begin to bounce up and down. I’m feeling excitement and nervousness all at the same time, just like my puppy I used to have when he had to go outside to pee! I hear the leaves again. I look the other way. I swear that’s where the noise of the leaves was coming from! In my mind I can see the car stopping in front of the house. I’ll jump up like I’m on a spring and run towards the car. Daddy will open the creaky old car door and climb out. I will stand next to the side of the car and wait for him to walk around. Once he does, I will jump up and hug him.
“Can I take him?” He’ll ask my mommy, who will be standing on the porch, nudged between the open wooden screen door.
“Sure,” she’ll say.
Then he’ll open the back door and put me in with my fishing pole and slam the door shut. He’ll get in, start the engine, and the leaves will rustle and turn in the air behind my daddy’s tires.
But that is only in my mind.
Something I do often…play scenes in my mind to make them real. But I’m still sitting on the steps of the porch, with my knees hugging my chest seeing another red car zoom right past our house.
Waiting.
Waiting.
Waiting.
Wonder if that helps or confuses things more? Will have to find out when I return home from dinner. Crossing fingers. xoxo
ReplyDeleteJohn, this is heart-breaking. You've done a great job setting this up with just a few specific details. The character's thoughts about his shoes, the wooden screen door, the creaky steps all create a sense of everything this boy is missing. I want the boy's father to show up, but know deep down he isn't coming. I'm ooking forward to reading more about this character!
ReplyDeleteI agree with Gae, the tenses do get a little muddled. They're a challenge for me, too! Thanks for sharing!
Catherine
You know, I was thinking this morning how we don't have a picture of just the two of us from NCTE! I was having way too much fun to stop and take pictures and now I'm mad at myself. I'm glad somebody was taking pictures though!
ReplyDeleteI have to say that I love the piece you shared...I am mad because I desperately want to know what happens next but I have a pretty good imagination so I'll just fill in my own spicy scene for now. :)
Here's a little piece from where I am with my revisions right now. My MC is dealing with all her boy troubles at this point.
******
I let out a gasp and twist into a sitting position as cold water drips on my back. I grab my sunglasses off of my face and glare at Eliot.
“That water is freezing!” I scream. He has a broad goofy grin on his face.
“It’s not that bad.” He shakes his hair out and I have to shield my face. “How’s your knee?”
“Fine.” I wipe my forehead, squinting up at him.
Eliot looks between Misty and I. He notices her stillness, registers her steely mood and asks me, “What’s going on?”
I glance at Misty and tell him, “Nothing.”
Misty sits up and whips her glasses off her face in one ninja-like movement. Eliot jumps back a step, watching Misty shoot imaginary laser darts at me with her eyes of death. He chuckles now that he’s sure her anger has nothing to do with him.
Misty pauses to regain her composure, brushes sand off her towel, and reaches both hands up to check her hair. She smiles sweetly at Eliot. He knows this side of Misty and I can tell he’s relieved to know he’s not on her bad side. All the warmth drains from my body as I realize she might divulge all of my boy problems to him. I open my mouth to speak as she asks Eliot if he wants to get a drink from the concession stand. Relief washes over me. He says he has a 15 minute break so Misty jumps up and heads off with him, not bothering to say anything to me as she goes.
I curl my knees up to my chest and wrap my arms around them. My chin rests on one knee as I stare at the water and go back to contemplating my life.
This is a lovely section, Jen. I love the switch from exuberance to wistfulness. Voice of story intact. Keep going!
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