It Is What It Is... Forum Post Work Here that You Would ..

Hi everyone...I thought this would be a good place for us to post work that we haven't posted yet...or that we would like good honest feedback on before we "solify" it...Please feel free....

This is my first attempt at penning a short story (really short)  and I've done so to enter it into the 'So Many Lemons' challenge. The idea is to use one or all of the below themes (or words). I've taken upon myself to incorporate all five:

1) Summer
2) Dynamite fishing
3) Pantomime horse
4) Burnt toast
5) David Hasselhoff

I would appreciate any and all constructive critique so that I might bring out the best in this piece. I'm trying to learn how to create imagery with word, but I'm only learning so if you have any suggestions on how I can make it more crisp - please, by all means - be honest.

Without further ado - I present to you - Perfect Morning

PLEASE SCROLL DOWN TO MY 'FIRST REVISION' POST BELOW - CHANGES HAVE BEEN MADE AS PER SUSI'S, JODIE'S AND OTHER SUGGESTIONS...

                                                                                                                                          Her eyelids danced on dappled beams as summer’s sun peered through her bedroom window, while nature’s song welcomed her to a new day. Waking to songbirds’ melodic chatter each morning was something Crystal lovingly embraced. With the window on the far side of the room ajar, sheers covering ceiling to floor windows swayed to the hushed whisper of a gentle breeze as scents of lilac wafted through her master suite.

 

Stretching out sleepy limbs, a smile tickled her lips as she anticipated capturing nature in all of its glory with brush and palate; today was the day she would begin painting her long abated dream. In awe of nature’s perfectly painted canvas, Crystal longed to imitate the still quiet splendor of the sunrise as it crept over the Mohonk mountain range, snuggled within the embrace of a seemingly endless landscape of  the  Shawangunk Mountains.

Her desire was to replace a horrid painting of the pantomime horse protrayed in Monty Python’s Flying Circus that hung like a plague over her stone fireplace with a creation of her very own  - borrowed from mother nature, of course.

 

The view from the deck of her lakeside chalet, nestled amongst Red Spruce was breathtaking any time of year.

 

Trees of every sort created a kaleidoscope of color in every imaginable hue each fall; majestic walls of green at the birth of spring; a canopy of shade for the venturing hiker come summer, and shimmering ice statues at the ushering in of winter’s frost.

 

Living in a tourist area offered a treasure chest of jewels known to quench even the deepest yearnings of mankind’s wanderlusts. A Pennsylvania fieldstone pathway meandered along a winding trail of Tiger lilies, ferns and Hosta, down to her favorite resting place atop her lakeside dock. It was there, on a hammock hung between two trees - that she lay for hours just breathing in her surroundings; quite often having been lulled to sleep, her eyes would open to sparkling diamonds in a moonlit sky.

Master fisherman could be seen each morning baiting their prey, for the lake was renowned for its dynamite fishing.  Warm embers caressed the ground as crimson glows bounced from tree to tree illuminating the tents of vactioning campers in the evening. Night owls chanted to the rhythm of tree frogs while bats swooped about on wind’s wings.

All this beauty right in her own backyard...

 

With coffee in hand and two slices of rye in the toaster, she headed for the deck. Opening the atrium door of her large gourmet kitchen, the morning air greeted her with a welcome hug as the scent of spruce inundated her senses. Taking in a deep breath, Crystal thought to herself, “I do love this place.”  

Setting up her newly purchased easel while humming to David Hasselhoff singing ‘I can’t fight this feeling’ (much preferred to his acting in Knight Rider) Crystal smelled something burning. “Oh dear! looks like burnt toast for breakfast! Well, it was almost a perfect morning!"

A sigh escaped pursed lips as she dipped her brush for the very first time...

 

Her eyelids danced on dappled beams as summer’s sun peered through her bedroom window, while nature’s song welcomed her to a new day. Waking to songbirds’ melodic chatter each morning was something Crystal lovingly embraced. With the window on the far side of the room ajar, sheers covering ceiling to floor windows swayed to the hushed whisper of a gentle breeze as scents of lilac wafted through her master suite.

 The first sentence here seems a bit runny.  Perhaps changing it up...

"As nature's song welcomed her to a new day, her eyelids danced on dappled beams that peered luminescently through her bedroom window."  Perhaps?

"Waking to the melodic chatter of songbirds ..."

Stretching out sleepy limbs, a smile tickled her lips as she anticipated capturing nature in all of its glory with brush and palate; today was the day she would begin painting her long abated dream. In awe of nature's perfectly painted canvas, Crystal longed to imitate the still quiet splendor of the sunrise as it crept over the Mohonk mountain range, snuggled within the embrace of a seemingly endless landscape of  the  Shawangunk Mountains.

(I would place a period after palate.) 

Her desire was to replace a horrid painting of the pantomime horse protrayed in Monty Python's Flying Circus that hung like a plague over her stone fireplace with a creation of her very own  - borrowed from mother nature, of course.

This sentence runs on....It seems a bit awkward to me.  Perhaps something more ....

"The painting of Monte Python's Pantomime Horse, currently hanging over her fireplace, plagued her.  She desired to create a work of art all her own, with a bit of lended inspiration from mother nature...of course."

I understand that you want to vivdly portray both her love of her morning ritutal and her desire to paint.  However, there is such a thing as overuse of adjectives. 


the imagery you have portrayed here is fantastic.  It truly is, but it just feels that you have tried too hard to paint the picture of her morning. 


Please know these are just my opinions...and I do hope others will come in and lend their opinions as well. 


In writing, there is a time where the adjectives are absolutely necessary...such as in poetry.  But when writing a short, there should be a balance, of description and scene setting.

Hope that helps.

 

Crystal's eyelids danced on dappled beams as the sun peered through the  bedroom's ajar floor-to-ceiling windows welcoming her to a new summer's day. As in every morning, the matinal twittering of birds echoed and the hushed whisper of a gentle breeze swelled the windows sheers pervading her master suite with the scents of lilac as she embraced the day.

Stretching out sleepy limbs, a smile tickled her lips as she anticipated capturing Majestic Mother Nature in all of her glory. Today was the day she would begin the act of making a long-time dream come to life in oils on canvas.  In awe of the splendor, Crystal longed to imitate the still, quiet sunrise as it crept over the Mohonk mountain range, snuggled within the embrace of a seemingly endless landscape of  the  Shawangunk Mountains.

The painting of Monte Python's Pantomime Horse, currently hanging over her fireplace, plagued her.  Memories of a seven year relationship that had gone terribly wrong, evoked emotional turmoil each time her eyes fell upon it.  She desired to create a work of art all her own, with a bit of lended, outdoor inspiration.

The view from the deck of her lakeside chalet, nestled amongst Red Spruce, was breathtaking any time of year.

A variety of trees created a kaleidoscope of autumn hues each fall. Spring had its palette of greens growing into a canopy of shade for summer hikers and  shimmering ice statues at the ushering of winter's frost.

 

Living in a tourist area offered a treasure chest of jewels known to quench even the deepest of mankind’s wanderlusts. A Pennsylvania fieldstone pathway beginning at the edge of her elevated parcel, meandered along a winding trail of Tiger lilies, ferns and Hosta, leading down to her favorite resting place atop her lakeside dock.  It was there - on a hammock hung between two trees - she relaxed for hours just breathing in her surroundings; quite often having been lulled to sleep, her eyes would open to sparkling diamonds in a moonlit sky.

Master fisherman could be seen each morning baiting their prey on the lake. Her sleepy community was renowned for what it called "dynamite fishing" due to the explosive numbers of fish available each season. Warm embers caressed the ground as crimson glows bounced from tree to tree illuminating the tents of vacationing campers in the evening. Night owls chanted to the rhythm of tree frogs while bats swooped about on wind’s wings.

All this beauty right in her own backyard...

 

Coffee in hand and two slices of rye in the toaster, she headed for the deck. Upon opening the atrium door to her kitchen, the morning air greeted her with a welcome hug as the scent of spruce inundated her senses. Taking in a deep breath, Crystal thought to herself, “I do love this place.”  

Setting up her easel while humming to David Hasselhoff singing ‘I can’t fight this feeling’ (much preferred to his acting in Knight Rider) the scent of spruce gave way to something burning.

“Oh dear! looks like burnt toast for breakfast!

A peaceful smile graced her lips as the thought of burnt toast was quickly overshadowed by the grandeur standing before her.

"Yes, this is indeed, a perfect morning."

A sigh...as she dipped her brush for the very first time...

It's lovely!  Truly! 

Hi RP,

Actually my own grammar and punctuation abilities leave a little to be desired, but I think as a whole your rewrite here is pretty sound as is. It's a pretty interesting challenge, and I think you did really well with it. Best of luck to you, let us know how you do, and keep up the great work. You obviously have a knack for writing so keep on pursuing it. No matter what we do, and where we are in life, we are always students first, and teachers, second.

Have a great today,

Antonio

 

Thank you Susi & Antonio, I greatly appreciate your feedback and will certainly keep you in the loop with regard to the contest.

I'll give this a few more days before posting it to the contest title.

Thanks again!

I just received a critique form a friend outside the group decided to add her suggestions.

Quote:

In the first paragraph, I get the feeling that rather than saying "her eyelids danced on dappled beams", you meant to say "dappled beams danced on her eyelids"; that attributes the motion to the beams, rather than the eyelids. As it stands, it makes me think her eyelids are twitching strangely, which doesn't seem quite right.

"The window on the far side of the room was dressed in sheers" - I'm not sure whether it's a cultural thing, but I don't think "sheer" is a noun, only an adjective. "Sheer curtains" or something, for example.

ME: Indeed, this is a cultural issue as 'sheers' are labeled as such and are thin in texture.

"The view from the deck of her lakeside chalet, nestled amongst Red Spruce was breathtaking any time of year." Perhaps you could use a second comma just after "Red Spruce"?
        
"...the scent of spruce gave way to something burning. “Oh dear! looks like burnt toast for breakfast! Well, it was almost a perfect morning!"" Here, I'd maybe like to see a paragraph break for the dialogue / thought.

I'VE ADDED THE ABOVE IN MY REVISION POST...

Rambling, I have a hard time giving serious critiques because I don’t like offending or hurting feelings.  I’m also not a published author so my words don’t hold a great deal of weight, in my estimation.  So, I must offer this warning and disclaimer.  DO NOT TAKE CRITICISM PERSONALLY.  We are not here to criticize you, in any way, only to offer our opinions about your writing and how we, ourselves, would do it differently.  Being a unique and all-powerful creator your vision is different.  Vive la difference...

 

You have a beautifully descriptive way of speaking.  It�s very poetic and detailed.  However, you have to consider your audience.  In a longer story, the grand descriptions become a distinct part of the overall voice and an actual �character� in your story.  In shorter (sometimes referred to as �flash� fiction) stories, the focus should be on the narrative movement, or overall action.  Where is this all going?  People like to be able to anticipate what�s going to happen or, at the very least, be pleasantly surprised.  That momentum will help hold interest during reflective moments.  My feeling is that if a story �stops to smell the roses� too often, without first foreshadowing where the movement is going, then your reader will become impatient.  Sad, but true.

 

Her eyelids danced on dappled beams as summer�s sun peered through her bedroom window, while nature�s song welcomed her to a new day. Waking to songbirds� melodic chatter each morning was something Crystal lovingly embraced. With the window on the far side of the room ajar, sheers covering ceiling to floor windows swayed to the hushed whisper of a gentle breeze as scents of lilac wafted through her master suite.

 

Her �eyes� would dance on dappled beams or the beams would dance on her eyelids �from� summer�s sun peering through the window, I think.

 

Master suite sounds very awkward and impersonal.  Only those interested in status, real estate agents or architects use �master suite.�  Bedroom is more personal or it could just be a �spacious room.�  Try and learn to let your characters give you the descriptions of their environments.  What kind of person is Crystal?  How would she describe the room to someone staying with her?  �I�m going to my Master Suite to recline on my ridiculously expensive bed.�  Or, would she say, �I�m tired.  I think I�ll go to my room and lie down.�  The character will speak, if you listen.

 

Stretching out sleepy limbs, a smile tickled her lips as she anticipated capturing nature in all of its glory with brush and palate; today was the day she would begin painting her long abated dream. In awe of nature�s perfectly painted canvas, Crystal longed to imitate the still quiet splendor of the sunrise as it crept over the Mohonk mountain range, snuggled within the embrace of a seemingly endless landscape of the Shawangunk Mountains.

 

Nature might be repetitive here with it being used twice and once before in the previous paragraph.  Maybe refer to a mystical Mother Nature, to give it a reverent feel, or change it to something vague and descriptive like �the splendor� instead of naming it directly.  Abated dream?  Wouldn�t that be a dream that is dwindling or almost gone?  If it�s something she�s been anxiously awaiting then it would be something more �realized� than it is lessened.  If it were me she would �begin the act of making a long-time dream come to life in oils on canvas.�  I love the respectful sound of �nature�s perfectly painted canvas� and would recommend something even more majestic sounding.  Tell how humbled Crystal is at the prospect of reproducing the masterwork of nature on a limited medium because of her love and devotion to capturing that beauty.  Just a thought.

 

Her desire was to replace a horrid painting of the pantomime horse protrayed in Monty Python�s Flying Circus that hung like a plague over her stone fireplace with a creation of her very own  - borrowed from mother nature, of course.

 

How difficult it is to work in something this out of place and ridiculous.  However, why in the world would it be there, in the first place?  Maybe a little more about how it got there would make it less awkward and even give it some sentimentality to clarify.  Did an ex-husband put it there out of spite, so now she�s expunging his little joke?  Was it a favored niece or nephew that thought it was necessary?  Even a cherished friend with an unappreciated sense of dry humor would help the reader feel a little less confused.  Mother nature, again? 

 

The view from the deck of her lakeside chalet, nestled amongst Red Spruce was breathtaking any time of year.

Okay, I�m getting a little jealous of Crystal.  Not a bad thing, really.

 

Trees of every sort created a kaleidoscope of color in every imaginable hue each fall; majestic walls of green at the birth of spring; a canopy of shade for the venturing hiker come summer, and shimmering ice statues at the ushering in of winter�s frost.

 

Too much �every.�  Instead you could rephrase it to say, �A variety of trees created a kaleidoscope of autumn hues each fall.  Spring had it�s palette of greens growing into a canopy of shade for summer hikers and shimmering��

 

Living in a tourist area offered a treasure chest of jewels known to quench even the deepest yearnings of mankind�s wanderlusts. A Pennsylvania fieldstone pathway meandered along a winding trail of Tiger lilies, ferns and Hosta, down to her favorite resting place atop her lakeside dock. It was there, on a hammock hung between two trees - that she lay for hours just breathing in her surroundings; quite often having been lulled to sleep, her eyes would open to sparkling diamonds in a moonlit sky.

 

Take out yearnings.  The description immediately moves to action with mentioning the movement.  Is she walking?  Is she stumbling?  How does she come to the Pennsylvania fieldstone pathway?  Lead your reader through the motions and the descriptions will become more personal and meaningful.  You set the pace.  Step, look around, step, look around� like a gentle walk.

 

Master fisherman could be seen each morning baiting their prey, for the lake was renowned for its dynamite fishing.  Warm embers caressed the ground as crimson glows bounced from tree to tree illuminating the tents of vactioning(sp?) campers in the evening. Night owls chanted to the rhythm of tree frogs while bats swooped about on wind�s wings.

 

Is dynamite descriptive, here?  Fisherman bait hooks and lure prey.  The lake community might be famous for explosively extreme sports, but I�d recommend making Crystal aghast at this activity.  The fact that she takes it completely in stride confuses me and makes me lose a little respect for someone who appreciates the serenity that would be totally shattered by TNT.  Again, just a thought.

 

All this beauty right in her own backyard...

 

Ooh, totally jealous now.  Thanks, lady. *sigh*

 

With coffee in hand and two slices of rye in the toaster, she headed for the deck. Opening the atrium door of her large gourmet kitchen, the morning air greeted her with a welcome hug as the scent of spruce inundated her senses. Taking in a deep breath, Crystal thought to herself, �I do love this place.�  

 

Wait, wasn�t she already at the deck?  The description was already there� hmm.  Okay, the descriptions here just seem a tad excessive.  Large gourmet kitchen?  It�s obviously got an atrium with doors.  This lady is wealthy, that�s already obvious.  Is the coffee in a mug or cup or glass or�?  Did she pause at the door or make her way through?  Is that why, in the next paragraph, she can still hear a radio (or is he performing live in her kitchen?  It�s a joke� please smile) and smell the toast burning?

 

Setting up her newly purchased easel while humming to David Hasselhoff singing �I can�t fight this feeling� (much preferred to his acting in Knight Rider) Crystal smelled something burning. �Oh dear! looks like burnt toast for breakfast! Well, it was almost a perfect morning!"

She should also laugh or make some kind of reaction instead of just the outburst.  Then have her do something like �leave the toast to cool� or �return to the kitchen and butter the charcoaled remnants of sliced rye bread� that allows the action to continue.  Then, have her make her final movement out to the deck.

 

A sigh escaped pursed lips as she dipped her brush for the very first time...

 

This is your climax and conclusion!  Her actions and final thoughts need to be more satisfying to give the rest of the story a destination.  It could be more, much more.  I want to feel her serenity and sense of belonging.

 

Rambling, I really love your vision.  The way that you look at the world you�ve created with love and reverence is wonderful and I want to see more of your writing.  Take that part, personally.  I can tell, through your writing, that you�re a lovely person.  I enjoy experiencing that and I would love to have more.  Please keep doing it, okay?

 

Love and light, dear ones.

Informal. creating a spectacular or optimum effect; great; topnotch: a dynamite idea; a dynamite crew.

~ any person or thing having a spectacular effect.

~ Something exceptionally exciting or wonderful.

Hence, my working in the dynamite fishing required in the contest guidelines. I'm not sure if this helps at all, but this was my intent.

I am just about through working Jodie's awesome suggestions into this piece. I almost feel guilty entering it into a contest as I feel somewhat guilty because the improvements were not of my own doing.

I'll add a side note to this effect in my note to reviewers box. Is that fair? This way everyone will know that Susi & Jodie had a part in the final results as well as Melissa's private whisper behind the scenes & another friend outside the group.

I'll let you know when I finally reach the end of my editing expedition! As usual, all changes will be posted above - in the 'Revisions will be posted here' post.

Thank you all so much!

Susi,

I would tighten up the paragraph by using simpler sentence structure. Consider this:

Crystal's eyelids danced on dappled beams as the sun peered through the bedroom's ajar floor-to-ceiling windows welcoming her to a new summer's day. As in every morning, the matinal twittering of birds echoed and the hushed whisper of a gentle breeze swelled the windows sheers pervading her master suite with the scents of lilac as she embraced the day.

cheers,

Cabala

Cabala and Jodie,

It's wonderful and thank you both for your help with RP's work.  I am simply trying to help her out and I agree with what you've both typed above. 

Rambling, I hope that you understand these are given in love and are in no way relfective of your capabilities...only some really astounding writers lending a helping hand.

thank you so much for your input guys, and I am sure that RP is grateful for the help.

Hugs,

Susi

Thank you ALL for taking the time to help - I truly appreciate it! I think I'm going to stick with honing in on my poetry skills rather than tackle a short story at this juncture. I love Cabals's input as well as the others. It has buffed and shined the whole piece quite nicely, I love it.

However, I would feel guilty submitting into a contest since I'm not really the one who wrote it. It seems I've got a long road to travel before delving into short stories.

Thanks again! I'm in now way offended, just a realist is all...

Have a great day!

Rambling, I can't speak for Susi, but I would be more than honored to have you submit that piece.  Isn't this kind of thing why Susi started this group?  We're a team, here, and for that I'm grateful.

If I may, I'd like to "rant" for a minute.  Something I NEVER do... =o)

No writer is an island.  Not a SINGLE ONE.  Not since the first cave paintings were discovered by others has communication, in any form, been anything other than a collaborative effort.  We learn our communication skills from others, from the day we're born.  Just because you asked for input on polishing a story, and there was nothing wrong with it to begin with, does not mean that the story isn't yours, and yours alone.  You have the final say on what does and does not happen in the story and what specific words are used to tell it.  IT'S YOURS, LADY.  You created it, you built it, you own it.

Please submit it and PLEASE keep writing stories.  I have this nagging suspicion that your "poetic" nature will make your stories come alive in ways that many writers cannot emulate.  Wasn't Shakespeare merely a poet who knew how to tell a story?  Wasn't Poe?  Steinbeck?

Love and light, dear ones.
~ Jodie

Mr. Jodie,

Your words are sweeter than honey and the honey comb. I'm not discouraged, sir - merely informed. (giggles) I love writing (I think) and shall continue my journey from the here and now to some place over ---------> 'X' where words are transformed into milk and honey - in a literary sense, of course...

I am truly thankful for ALL the constructive critique and I AGREE with all of you 100%. I've not yet arrived to the place where I'm capable of expressing quite like ya'll (had to throw that southern twist in) but my mind's eye has 20/20 vision when it comes to recgonizing well written literary art, and I see this quality in all of your writes.

Not to worry...I'm planted and have no intentions of being uprooted. However, I might require a bit more fertilizer than your average garden variety - if I am to live up to your high regard for me, Mr. Jodie.

You are all truly wonderful...

Find below a first version of the first chapter of a book that I am attempting to write. What I want to know first and foremost is on a scale of 1 to 100, how much does chapter one make you want to read on? Please do not worry about my feelings, it is most important to know that I am or am not holding reader attention.

If you feel that this chapter could be more compelling, feel free to elaborate.

Chapter One

�Do you realize what a wuss you sound like?� Karen hissed in an angry whisper at her demoralized husband.

She didn't want their daughters to hear them embroiled in yet another argument. Hannah and Lauren were in the family room watching the videos that they'd taken that day on the nature trails.

�Well don't you think we have problems with our relationship? We never do anything together anymore. I gave up golf and fishing so I could spend more time with you, but you always seem to be too busy. Do you even care how much the girls were disappointed that you didn't show up for our hike today?� He said as he stood at the kitchen sink washing the dinner dishes.

�I never asked you to give anything up. I wish to Hell that you would go back to your damned golf and fishing.�

�Well I told the girls that we could play a game tonight if Mommy wanted to,� he said, ignoring her last complaint, �do you think we can get along long enough to get through a game of monopoly?�

�I'm taking the girls to your sister Pam's house tonight. I told Jenna that they could come over and spend the night. Look I'm sorry I've been such a b***h,� she said, turning on the phony charm to keep the drama from growing and ruining her plans. �I just haven't been feeling good. Don't Nick and the guys play cards on Friday nights? Why don't you go play cards and enjoy yourself, okay?� She said, stepping closer and patting him softly on his chest.

�Are you sure?� He asked, allowing himself a small smile for the first time.

�I'm sure honey. We'll plan some time together, just you and me, next weekend, okay?� She promised.

Shortly after Doug was gone, Karen showered, shaved her legs and changed into a pair of very flattering blue jeans. She grabbed her cellular phone and headed out to the kitchen, stopping to check on the girls in the family room on her way through. She crossed the kitchen and stepped out onto the screened-in porch as she pecked at the keys of the phone with her freshly manicured fingernails. The warm summer air was still saturated with the smell of rain from the afternoon thunderstorm that had rumbled through the area that afternoon. Standing on the porch and looking intently across the now clear western skies where the blaze orange sun began it's leisurely descent to the horizon, she inhaled the moist air deeply, as though she was relieved, while she waited for her call to be answered.

�Hi.� She said with a soft, girlish excitement that was absent from her tone when she was speaking to her husband.

�Oh no, I'll be there. Nothing could keep me away from you tonight. I need to curl up with a real man. I just need to drop the girls off first. We'll be leaving the house in a few minutes and I should be there in about thirty-five minutes.�

She cocked her head to her left and twirled her hair around her finger as she grinned and listened to sweet nothings for several moments, never noticing that seven-year-old Hannah was now in the kitchen doorway with the video camera taping her.

�No, I haven't told him yet; my lawyer said someone would serve him with the papers sometime this week.�

�No, I'm not worried; he won't fight it. He's a sniveling coward.�

The words had barely escaped her lips when she suddenly jerked backward and crumpled to the floor in a lifeless heap.

Hannah laughed, not yet aware of the grim reality of what she'd just witnessed.

�That was funny Mommy; do it again; Mommy � Mommy � Mommy?�

 

 

Okay, that's chapter one. Does it make you want to turn the page?

Oh creepy one!  Your chapter here is definitely enough to whet the tastebuds.  Keep writing.  100 peaches for certain!!

 

I'm sorry it's taken so long...I well...no excuses.  I'm here now...and I do hope we get this group up and on again.

 

Keep going!!  Send me the link and I'll read what you've got.

 

Hugs,

Susi