LiberalDem

Hey people,

Sorry to keep submitting the same re-worked stuff, but I've revised yet again...added a few things, etc. Be as brutal as you like.

****

Ellie notices her mother’s hands first, the subtle trembling puncturing the night like sirens, like gunfire. Strange, she thinks, that a woman once so capable and impervious is struggling now to perform the simple task of pouring water from a kettle. She tries to look away, allows her eyes to rest briefly on the newly papered walls of the kitchen before traveling back to her mother. It is impossible to ignore, this striking decline, and Ellie draws imaginary circles on the table with her fingernail because she doesn’t know what else to do.

She’d spent the short flight preparing, rehearsing the beautiful things she would say, imagining the walls they’d constructed over the years falling away effortlessly. But now, sitting with her mother like this, she doesn’t know what she was thinking. They are not those people.

“Oh, Eleanor, why don’t grow your hair out? You could be so pretty if you wanted.”

A weary sigh escapes Ellie’s lips as she accepts the cup of tea her mother has proffered. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

“Don’t be ridiculous, I’ve been telling you this for years.”

Ellie narrows her eyes, wondering if her mother could possibly be this obtuse. “No, Ma, I meant why didn’t you tell me you were sick?”

Her words sink heavily in the room, like stones in water, and Kathleen clutches the collar of her terry-cloth robe. “I didn’t want to alarm you. You’re so busy and I didn’t think it was that serious, after all. No need for fuss.”

Some things never change, Ellie thinks, as she cools the steaming liquid with her breath. Of course what her mother means is, “If you came home more often, maybe you would have seen how serious things were.” The thought is chilling in its accuracy.

“So, what’s the next step?”

“The next step?” Kathleen parrots, affording her daughter a blank stare.

And Ellie knows just by looking at her mother’s wan, translucent skin that there is no next step. She has been sent home to die. How is it possible that Ellie has missed this? Truth, pure and resolute in its completeness, hits her with enough force to leave her dazed.

“So, there’s nothing they can do?” she asks in a voice she hasn’t used since she was ten, the morning her father backed over the neighbor’s dog.

Her mother reaches across the table but falls just short of Ellie’s hand, choosing instead to straighten the placemat. The gesture is empty, and awkward, and unsurprising to them both. Ellie focuses on Kathleen’s perfectly manicured opalescent fingernails, filed and buffed and so completely discordant with her own jagged ones that she experiences a flash of something she can’t quite name. She realizes it is shame only when her hands fall into her lap, seemingly of their own volition.

“I don’t understand. It’s 2004 and you’re trying to tell me they’ve just given up?”

Kathleen licks her lips; taps out a cigarette from the half-crushed pack on the top of the television set and, gazing at Ellie, places it in her mouth. Her palsied hands are incredibly steady as she lights the tip in one fluid motion, exhaling the smoke in muted irritation, or maybe, Ellie thinks, disappointment.

“Yes.”

Kathleen’s succinct answer gives Ellie pause. There is something suspicious in her gentle acceptance, something terrible and resigned; something that, momentarily, steals Ellie’s breath. She becomes flushed with realization and, suddenly, she is so very angry.

“How long have you known?”

Kathleen clears her throat, elegantly flicks her ashes into the crystal tray brought back from a trip to Waterford years ago. “Since August.”

The room becomes impossibly small and somewhere in the background, the ancient refrigerator hums. Betrayal settles inside Ellie’s chest, expanding until she imagines the weight of it collapsing her lungs.

“You’ve known for two months and you’re just telling me now?” She is only dimly aware of the hysterical edge to her voice, barely notices how many octaves she climbs on the last word.

“Hush, Eleanor. You’re going to wake your father,” her mother hisses, brow furrowed.

“Jesus Christ!”

“Now, really,” Kathleen sniffs, “you know how I feel about that type of language.”

Ellie’s response becomes lodged in her throat until she nearly chokes on the words. She wants to smash something, wants to inflict irrevocable damage. She thinks of ways to hurt her mother, imagines eviscerating her emotions with simple truths she’s left unsaid for years. Her mind is heady with possibilities, but in the end, she settles on carrying her mug to the sink.

She leans her elbows on the granite countertop, cradles her head in her hands. Her view of the backyard is obscured by several locks of unruly, black hair, but she can still make out the rusty shed she’d watched her brothers construct one summer. She allows herself to bask briefly in this moment of nostalgia, recalling the sharp smell of newly-cut grass and the way the sun glinted off the tin roof as Danny, no—Thomas, she thinks, hung the door.

Her thoughts are broken by her mother’s hand at her back. The touch is so light and ephemeral that Ellie thinks maybe she has imagined it. But, no, there it is again, heavier this time, clumsy against her spine.

“I wish you wouldn’t work so hard. You’re not eating enough.”

It’s not an apology, exactly, but then she doesn’t expect one. Ellie straightens and Kathleen’s hand falls away, finding a home in the oversized pocket of her robe.

“It’s late, Ma. You should be in bed.” The coldness in her tone is at odds with the heat surging inside and Ellie marvels at the incongruity.

Her mother accepts the rebuff with a grace Ellie envies. She smiles briefly, walks back to the table to stub out her cigarette with several economical flicks of her wrist, the fluorescent light glinting off her bracelet. Kathleen tightens the sash of her robe, and Ellie does not like the way the fabric hangs off her too-narrow hips.

“Good night, then. I’ll see you in the morning.”

Ellie, not trusting her voice, nods her head. The floorboards groan loudly as Kathleen makes her way down the hall, and it is only when the bedroom door creaks shut that Ellie allows herself to cry. She does this the way she does most things, quietly and without much sentiment. The tears end as quickly as they begin, however, and Ellie scrubs furiously at her face.

What she needs is a drink. Something stiff, and amber; something dangerous; something to wash the bitterness off her tongue. She doesn’t need to search the cabinets to know that she won’t find what she’s looking for. There’s never been alcohol in the house, not even cheap Champaign to make mimosas with on Christmas day like everyone else on their street. Maybe it’s just as well, anyway, because she’s been promising Oliver to cut down since that embarrassing night at his book signing. Her face burns, even now, at the memory. She shakes it off, sits back at the table.

She eyes the phone, contemplates rousing Molly from her bed halfway across town, pouring out her rage and confusion in a carefully thought-out diatribe. She thinks better of it once she realizes that none of this is her older sister’s fault. She only wishes Molly had braced her for what she would find when she’d called last night, urging Ellie to come home.

She’s not sure why she’s so surprised. Her parents are old, have always seemed so to Ellie, even in elementary school, their gray heads bent over the table, checking her homework. What she remembers most from her childhood is their exhaustion, the tired way their eyes followed her across a room. Even their scolding lacked energy. It is inevitable, this slow deterioration, but somehow, at least to Ellie, unexpected.

She didn’t ask her mother what she most wanted, but then, in retrospect, the question is unnecessary. Her mother is not long for this Earth, and she thinks maybe it is vulgar to break Kathleen’s remaining time into weeks, or months, anyway. She will speak to her editor tomorrow, will tell him that Barbados and six pouting models will just have to do without her for the foreseeable future.

She reaches across the table for the pen lying beside an unfinished crossword puzzle and begins making a list on the back of one of her mother’s napkins. Each number, each item fills Ellie with purpose and it isn’t long before the surface is covered completely by her flowing script. She smiles now, the first time since leaving the neon lights of New York, and when she places the pen down, her hand aches.

She tucks the napkin into the pocket of her jeans, and her shoulders sag suddenly as though this simple action has tapped the last of her reserves. She flips the kitchen light off, navigates her way to the guest bedroom through the darkened hallway, never missing a step. Her skin feels grimy, the way it always does from the recycled air of planes, but she falls into bed fully clothed, not even bothering to remove her shoes. She does not know that this mind-numbing fatigue is only the beginning.

<TBC>

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"I am a work in progress dressed in the fabric of a world unfolding offering me intricate patterns of questions rhythms that never come clean and strengths that you still haven't seen." Ani DiFranco (The Slant)

crzywriter

as i havent seen the unrevised editions, i can only comment on what it is, not how it hhas improved.

anyway, i really like this story. i like the way the sentences flow and everything. can't wiat for yu to post more.


~Crzy

mammamaia

sorry, lib, but the present tense just loses me right from the git-go... i don't see any reason for it and it's really uncomfortable to read, plus it doesn't draw the reader into the scene, imo...

i couldn't get past the first paragraph, sad to say...

love and hugs, maia

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LiberalDem

Hello!

Thanks crzywriter! I appreciate you taking the time to reply!

Hey maia, thanks for attempting anyway! Maybe somewhere down the road I'll have something that could draw you in. At any rate, thanks for at least trying.

__________________
"I am a work in progress dressed in the fabric of a world unfolding offering me intricate patterns of questions rhythms that never come clean and strengths that you still haven't seen." Ani DiFranco (The Slant)

Aevin

Whoa ... I'm sorry to say it, but I think Maia just totally missed the point.

Past tense is the "accepted storytelling tense," but for skilled writers, the present tense can be a very valuable tool. In this case, I, too found the tense initially jarring. But by the end of the first paragraph, I'd fallen so neatly into your world that it didn't matter what tense I was reading. Present tense is used to give a feeling of closeness to the characters, as if the reader is witnessing the scene at the exact moment the character does, and here it works perfectly.

As a matter of fact, the present tense did a lot to help the tone. The tone of the piece is its strongest trait, I think--and that's saying a lot. While it's difficult for me to describe, there's a certain coldness to the tone which utterly compliments the cold, hands-off relationship of the mother and daughter. Again ... It's difficult to describe. I think the closest I can come is calling it a "grayness." *shrugs* I don't usually use obscure metaphors in critiques, but if your story were a color, it would be gray.

I have only a few problems with the piece. One is the length--I don't know where this comes, whether it is intended as a beginning, or not. If you mean to start a novel with this, I think you'll run into problems: it doesn't pick up quickly enough to snatch the interest of any reader who reads the first few sentences, and that's something you want. I'm trying to say this delicately, but ... at times this section is dull. The most notable times are when Ellie thinks of things unconnected to her mother's illness, like her husband's book signing and her need to call her colleagues and explain the situation. While much of the exchange between Ellie and her mom is technically great writing, you may consider cutting portions of it merely to keep your readers' interests and make the story progress more quickly.

This sentence bothered me a little:
"has proffered" seems clumsy to me. I feel like "offered' would read more simply, and eliminating the past participle would be better. "A weary sigh escapes Ellie's lips as she accepts the cup of tea her mother offers." But ... I'm being too picky there, and it could be just a matter of taste.

Anyway ... This section is VERY well-written. I'm impressed with your flawless use of the present tense and the rich tone you've constructed. Unfortunately, at times the story seems as tired as the characters, and you might consider cutting some sections to make it progress more quickly. But then, it WAS interesting enough to keep me reading until the end....

Great job, LiberalDem! I hope you post something else of equal quality soon!

--Aevin

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daniela

I don't mind that you keep submitting the same stuff. I think I told you before that I liked watching other writer's experiment and it has been really instructive reading all of your posts.

I'm siding with Aevin on this one. Obviously, not everyone will enjoy a novel written in the present tense. I do have to say that if this was my first time reading something of yours, I may not have stuck it out beyond the first paragraph. However, I know that you are a very good writer and that I would be rewarded later for my patience if I kept going. You did not disappoint. I miss some of the things from the first version that you seem to have cut, but getting rid of them did make this piece stronger. If you go even further and address some of the things that Aevin brought up (especially about this bit possibly not having enough of a hook to draw in readers) it will most likely become even better.

The important thing to remember is you are writing in a style a little more experimental than most people are used to (except for mammamaia, in her long and varied career she has probably seen some really strange things from writers). You do not have the leeway when it comes to extraneous bits that authors of more conventional pieces have sometimes.

Good luck, LiberalDem. I really enjoy your writing and I hope to see you in print someday. I don't know if a novel in the present tense is commercially viable but if you craft it carefully and promote it vigorously anything can happen.

--DM--

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mammamaia

sorry, dark, but i did not miss the point... just don't think it's valid in this case... i look at writing not just as a reader, but also as if i'm an agent or an editor at a publishing house the writer is querying...

and, in each of those three hats, i found the piece neither an enjoyable read nor marketable, written in the present tense... while the writer has a good level of skills, it's my opinion that a piece this long in present tense simply won't capture and hold the attention/interest of the MAJORITY of 'ordinary' readers...

you have a perfect right to your own personal opinion of course, as do i, but i'm looking at it not just in re what i like, from the marketable end of things... which, i assume, is what's most important to most writers...

daniela... you wrote:

"The important thing to remember is you are writing in a style a little more experimental than most people are used to (except for mammamaia, in her long and varied career she has probably seen some really strange things from writers). You do not have the leeway when it comes to extraneous bits that authors of more conventional pieces have sometimes."

...you're right!... i sure have seen anything and everything most of you can imagine, in all the years i spent writing for others and then years of helping writers of all levels all over the world... and i'm not sure what you meant about the 'leeway' thing, but a new writer certainly isn't allowed much, if any, when trying to hook an agent or publisher with his/her work... their bottom line is how many will buy it... and experimental work doesn't sell well...

that said, there's still a small indie market that will pay copies and even some cash for 'different' work of quality, so it's up to the writer what he/she wants the work to accomplish... if this is meant to be a novel and not a short story, then the odds are much poorer, i'm afraid, as a whole book in this style is way too much for mainstream publishers to consider, no matter how brilliant the writing may be otherwise... an exception can almost always be found, but it's the rule that a new writer has to consider if 'being published' is the goal...

hugs to all, maia

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jetmanjake

Er, let's see, I guess I'll cover big things first, little things later.

Maia and I are a bit at odds about present/past tense; I've got a novel in the works in present tense and I've read some other work that I think works well in present. It's not as common, but I think it works just as well as past. Overall I think the piece works well on its own; but, as said before, if you're looking to expand this to a novel it doesn't get off the ground soon enough.

In regards to some sections moving slowly, I think what's been said is pretty accurate. One factor may be the number of adjectives you use in some sections. Don't tell us the mother's decline was "striking," show us. Oh, and I had the same issues with "proffered;" not sure why that caught my attention too.

This I didn't quite get either, "She will speak to her editor tomorrow, will tell him that Barbados and six pouting models will just have to do without her for the foreseeable future."

Unless I just wasn't catching the sarcasm, writing has little to do with models, at least from what I've seen

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Aevin

Maia:

I don't want to ruin Liberal's story thread by going into this too much, but it's clear you and I have very different ideas on what makes good writing.

There's a definite difference between "good" writing, and "publishable" or "marketable" writing. There are some brilliant books out there that have been published because they're pleasant to the tastes of the general public. There are other books that are empty and meaningless, but sell well. There are some great pieces of writing that will not be published because they won't make money for a publisher.

When I critique here, I don't care what is publishable. I care what is meaningful. This piece means the most in the present tense. It doesn't matter whether this is a marketable tense, or one that will entertain most readers. It is the right tense for this piece.

On a side note, there are authors out there who publish books in the present tense. And I don't mean obscure writers with experimental styles. An example is Stephen King and Peter Straub's novel Black House.

Looking back at my previous post, I see you couldn't help but respond. I apologize for that--I intended no insult. But we definitely have differing opinions on this subject.

It might be interesting to post a debate thread in the Lounge on the topic of Marketable vs Meaningful writing. But as I said, I don't want to talk too much about it here, since the focus should be on critique of LiberalDem's story.

--Aevin

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mammamaia

i don't see that much of a chasm between our views, dark... but we do happen to disagree on this particular piece... i find it not a comfortable or compelling read in that tense and to you, it is... so, we're both just presenting our personal opinions, as requested, right?

as for the market appeal, those i mentor are mostly writers who want to be published, so it's natural for me to look at a piece of writing as an agent or editor would, and offer opinions/advice accordingly...

i've no argument with the fact that some writers' works in this style do get published... but i feel i wouldn't be really helpful, if i didn't point out that to maximize one's chances of selling a novel, a new writer should consider how few are done in this way...

to me, that is not questioning the quality of the work, but just focusing on a wider perspective that includes its chances to be sold...

and i didn't think you were insulting at all... i'm glad we can discuss things in a rational, friendly way here... it's one of the main reasons i stick around...

hugs, m

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LiberalDem

Wow! I'm offline for a few days and come back to some great feedback!

First, let me say that I truly appreciate every comment--positive, or otherwise. If I only wanted feedback that made me feel good, well, then I'd let my mother read and no one else. I mean it when I say I want brutal honesty...even if that means going back twenty times to re-write.

Aevin



Thanks! I know that "past-tense" is pretty much the only acceptable method, but I just can't seem to write in it. It doesn't feel right, and the sentences just don't groove. I honestly never realized that "present-tense" was so, um, experimental. I wish I could say that writing the way I do is some cleverly thought-out process designed to compliment the story, but the truth is, it's just what I'm comfortable with.

I appreciate this. I'll go back and see what I can do...I tend to get numb after reading the same passage 20 times, so even though I was slightly "bored", I wasn't sure whether it was the piece, or me. Thanks for your honesty!

Thanks again, Aevin. I appreciate you taking the time to critique it so thoroughly. I will consider all your comments/advice when I re-write.

Daniela

That's really good to know because this thing may be posted twenty times before I'm done. Everyone has submitted great comments/advice each time I post, and I'm soaking it all in. I'll never be able to make everyone appreciate the piece, but it sure is fun trying!

Most definitely. Hopefully the next installment will be a bit more exciting!

Thank you much, Daniela! You all have been extremely helpful, as always, and I appreciate your comments.



jetmanjake

You're not writing in the right circles, then! Seriously, Ellie is a fashion photographer, and by editor, I meant her photo editor. I see how that didn't transfer well, so I'm definitely going to revamp that part. Anyway, thanks for the critique...I'm going to do a re-write soon and hopefully I can put a little more flare in it.

Maia

I truly, truly appreciate your comments and advice. I do hope to someday be published, but I can't compromise on the tense in this particular piece...so, maybe this story will never be published, but it's something I feel compelled to write none-the-less. That being said, I think you're great and I appreciate (I swear, this is the last time the word will be used in this post!) your view.

Thanks everyone!!!

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"I am a work in progress dressed in the fabric of a world unfolding offering me intricate patterns of questions rhythms that never come clean and strengths that you still haven't seen." Ani DiFranco (The Slant)

mammamaia

you're entirely welcome!... and i wish you the best with your writing [whether i like it or not ]...

if everybody had to like everything ever written before it got 'out there' nothing ever would, would it?

hugs, maia

__________________
For 100% free writing help/mentoring:
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"You must BE the change you wish to see in the world." Gandhi