emsyjean

Sifting through the stinking, squirming mass of rotting meat and larvae that was his cargo for the day, Malcolm wondered how it had come to this.

As a boy, he had dreamt of being a farmer. Not the kind that battled with impending droughts and locusts, but the kind that spent long, carefree days chewing couch grass and milking Bessie. The kind that came home after a long day roaming the crops to a homely yet comforting wife, ready with a giant porterhouse and vegetables, grown fresh from the very soil that he toiled over by day. He dreamed of living in a thatched cottage surrounded by pansy gardens and covered in meandering shrubbery, not entirely viable in the Australian climate, but given the endless supply of water available in Malcolm’s mind, part of the landscape nonetheless.
He had endured his schooling within the choking smog and endless potted ferns of the inner city, carrying this dream with him through years of delayed public transport and pamphleteers on street corners. He counted the years until he could escape to the bush and away from the chaos of his family and the adolescence of his schoolmates. He saw himself as somehow beyond this city life. He felt as though he was of a separate ilk to those around him, destined to be at one with the land and its fauna.
His moment had appeared to arrive when he was accepted into the premier agricultural course in the country. He farewelled his family, bought a train ticket and set off on his journey to the land he had dreamed of since he could remember. He was to learn the ancient arts of tilling soil and shearing sheep. He would finally be the farmer he had always known he would be.
The course turned out to be a major disappointment. There were no units on shrubbery, grass chewing or the art of wearing a bushman’s hat. It was all irrigation, desalination and water conservation. The idyllic farmer’s life he had counted on was fading fast before his eyes. Combine harvester maintenance eluded him entirely, and he left university after the first semester, dejected and unsure what his future held. It was only a matter of time before his Austudy was revoked and he found himself unable to pay his way within the 3 bedroom flat he shared with 5 other aspiring agriculturalists. The prospect of returning to break the news to his family that he was not to be a farmer after all was not an option. They had mocked him to begin with, and had found the idea that a city boy could ‘make good’ in the bush ludicrously idealistic and naïve. They had given him one year, tops and he had not even made that.
Malcolm began combing the internet for jobs including the search term ‘farmer’, but week after week came up with nothing. The counselors at the job centre gently suggested that perhaps he was narrowing his chances somewhat and told him that unless he began taking his job search ‘seriously’, they would have no choice but to stop his dole payments or put him on a ‘work for the dole’ scheme. After 2 months of continuing in this vein, Malcolm saw the ad. “Young, fit and industrious worker required for unique full time farming role”. Malcolm’s dreams appeared to have been answered. He dialed the number on the ad and underwent a short phone interview that was unusually vague in describing the position. After mentioning that he was not interested in the direction modern farming was taking and was seeking something more ‘hands on’, the interviewer asked whether he could begin the following week.
Malcolm was thrilled. He went shopping with the little money left from his last dole cheque and bought a brand new flannelette shirt and akubra hat for his first day as a real farmer. He called his parents and gloated about how he had basically been handed the job on a platter, presumably because his new employer recognized the swarthy tones of a true man of the land.

- There is more... but basically my idea is that he finds himself gainfully employed on a maggot farm and begins hallucinating from the stench of rotting meat (where maggots breed) . If you can actually be bothered reading the rest... let me know!

Sync

never begin or end a story with a negative thought about your writing

After 3 years it was pleasant to see that you retained the creativity required to write a piece such as this. Kudos for posting and getting back into the swing of writing.

It would be interesting of course to see what inspired the initial sentence and so you will have to continue this onward in order to satisfy the readers. Now did I have any nitpics, maybe one or two, but it is not in the form of the story's creation.

I believe a name should be given to him, it would allow you to escape from the use of 'he' in this story. it is that or simply to restructure some of the sentences to allow you to sidestep the pronoun, like I said a small thing and it could just be my view.

Definitely continue this, it would be benefitial for you and enjoyable for others i'm sure.

Well done, remember to be positive

Congrats on writing again

Sync

Destroyer

It's pretty good actually.

__________________
"It's always fun until someone gets hurt, and then it's just hilarious"
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"Walk softly, and carry a big gun."
Force Commnander - Dawn of War

Mike

The first sentence doesn't fit. The reader can see how clearly it's meant to be a proper hook, set with a wriggling maggot, so to speak.... You should start with the second paragraph. Putting the first sentence there, disjointed and revealing as it is, doesn't make us really all that surpised that Malcolm is swindled into maggotry.

More paragraph breaks please. White space makes it less heavy.

I don't like the use of the phrase 'in the bush.' It makes me wonder if you've ever been to the proper bush rather than just the countryside. There's civilized countryside, with dirt roads, wide spaces of agriculture, and dusty small towns. And then there's the bush: absolutely no connection with civilization. Think of if you were to hike into the Canadian wilderness or Tibetan mountain range for three days straight. On that final day, presuming you didn't wander about in circles and are really only a half mile from the road, you would be in what one might consider the legitimate 'bush.' Although, now that I think about it...I might like it better if Malcolm thought that he was going into the bush rather than the narrator...it might make him sound more naive.

"In this vein." Yowzers. This is such a university expression. I can't tell you how many essays I've graded with this...becoming expression in it. It just makes me cringe, 'tis all. Maybe I am the only one. My thoughts...

As far as numbers are concerned: "3 bedroom flat" and "5 aspiring agriculturalists" - anything less than 100 has been traditionally spelled out: three, five, etc. And, I believe it should be 'three-bedroom flat.'

As far as keeping my attention...I found it a little dull. It's nothing against the writing, but I kept wondering when I'm going to hear from Malcolm. Does he speak? Does he act? There's a little too much telling going on here; you could balance it out with a few show sequences.

Hmm..other than that, not bad. I like how you use some nouns as verbs (farewelled). Other people might not like that style, but I enjoy it.

Andrew Carson

i think it was fine. I agree that you should be positive but at the same time take critique and work on it. I think you will be fine, just maybe keep working on this bit untill you are happy with it. Good luck and just enjoy writing!!