(story) The Abandoned Pool (2052 words)
Wind River
everyone's eyes to glaze. Really unsure if I should press the send
button... oh why not? Feedback is always helpful and appreciated. Thanks
in advance for those willing to wade through it. :)
-Sue
Title: The Abandoned Pool
As a young child, Margaret was captivated by the pool with its crumbling
walls and broken tiles. She was warned not to play near it, but
forbiddance only made it more attractive. As her grandfather watched,
she'd search the woods for arrowheads and fossils, but her wanderings
would ultimately bring her back to the pool. She was fascinated by the
depth of the enclosure and the rusted ladder losing its grip high above
her head. Most afternoons, she would sit in the empty deep end and play
with her collection of artifacts. A small army of brachiopods would face
rebellious shards of pottery as Margaret aligned her treasures along the
cracks in the bottom. Over the years, leaves covered her battlefield,
and Margaret left behind her concrete playground. She did continue to
prowl the woods, and her love affair with fossils led to a Ph.D. in
Paleontology.
Her adult life was a continuation of her childhood. She inherited her
grandfather's house with the abandoned pool and took a position on the
faculty at the university. The death of her grandfather, Papa, was
difficult for her, but she consoled herself with memories of their
shared life. Margaret was three years old when she came to live with
him. Her mother and father had been killed by a freight train after
their car had stalled on the tracks. She retained few recollections of
them, and her life became entwined with the man who acted as a parent,
grandparent, and friend. After Papa's stroke, Margaret dug deeper into
her work, and the study of fossils became an obsession. She marveled at
delicate etchings of seed ferns, and reflected on the imprint of life
being formed in death. Her preoccupation with the subject continued
until she met Jason.
Margaret was intrigued by Jason. She had never met anyone as spontaneous
or as fun. Friends tried to convince her that he wasn't consistent, but
she only answered their concerns by spending more time with him. When
they spoke of rumors of recklessness and advised her to quit seeing him,
she discarded her friends and married Jason. He was her first lover, and
he awakened desires which she never knew existed within herself. For the
first time, she felt life was more beautiful than nature's scrimshaws.
Along with the ardent aspects of their relationship, Jason introduced
Margaret to the pleasures of drink. She indulged in beer and wine, but
its appeal was short-lived. As her interest waned, she became concerned
with Jason's increasing consumption and the fact that he often preferred
the bottle's company to her own. One evening, he became angered by her
suggestion that he was drinking too much and threw a can of beer at her.
It missed Margaret, but hit the wall, split, and sprayed a fountain of
foam. She ran to her room and sobbed until she decided it must have been
her own fault, for Margaret was sure he was not a violent man. Since she
was unwilling to become an annoyance in his life, she pushed the problem
into the recesses of her mind and continued to bask in the thrill of
being in love.
One afternoon, she returned home early with exciting news to share with
Jason. The grant which he had helped write had been accepted, and she
was to receive the full amount. The money would enable her to fill the
old pool with specialized sediments and reproduce the fossil-ization
process. With the correct pH and minerals, she hoped to prove fossils
could form in ten years instead of millions. She was enthusiastic about
the research and the role of the old pool.
As she walked into the house, her elation ceased, for she heard the
rhythmic squeaking of the upstairs bed. She cringed against a chair as
the walls of her life began to crumble. As much as she loathed the idea
of investigating the sounds, she decided it was worse not knowing the
truth. The stairs seemed steep as she began her climb. Her legs
trembled, but she focused on her childhood memories of sneaking
downstairs at night and skillfully stepped over each board with a creak.
When she reached the bedroom, she stood beside the open door and
listened to the giggles and testimonies of love coming from within. She
forced herself to peek around the corner. A woman's arms were wrapped
around her husband, and chestnut curls were covering her pillow beneath
their kissing profiles.
Margaret became a small, pale figure in a dark hallway. She stole
downstairs, went to her car, and drove without a destination. For hours,
she traveled the country roads in a deep silence. Mixed emotions
fragmented her stability, and she returned to the house where previously
she'd only known love and security.The house was dark, but bright with
memories of her grandfather. She remained in the car and visualized
Papa's gun and pipe collections. She remembered the scent of his smoke
as it swirled along the crown mouldings. He'd blow drifting zeroes for
her to catch, and he'd chuckle at her leaps and grasps. His chair was...
Jason's favorite seat. Her pleas' ant reveries were interrupted, and she
returned to a reality she preferred to avoid. She entered her home
through the back door, and Jason greeted her with a whiskey laced kiss.
Margaret felt like she was outside of her body as walked past him and
went upstairs. The bed had been made with clean sheets and the rugs
vacuumed. She felt Jason put his arms around her waist, but she was too
numb to respond. A deep desire to slap him and call him names tried to
pressure her into action, but her arms were heavy and her lips were
locked. She stared at the sturdy, old bed - her childhood bed.
A distant voice, Jason's voice, tried to talk with her. Margaret looked
at him through vacant eyes and ran downstairs, down into the basement.
She sat in an old chair with a broken rocker and studied the overflowing
pasteboard boxes, piled against the damp walls. Rusted nails and old
mouse traps spilled from a box in the corner. Amid the grays and browns,
a faded red label attracted her attention. She walked to the box and
lifted the dusty bottle up to a bulb hanging from a cord. The light
revealed a flaking label with a drawing of a skull in the corner. The
only legible word was strychnine. She set the bottle aside and picked up
a rusted can of rat poison. It contained zinc phosphide and a mention of
the consequences if ingested. A complete search of the box found several
more containers of poisonous substances.
Margaret set all of the cans and bottles in a pile and thought about
Papa's story of ridding himself of the hawk. He placed a dab of
strychnine under the feathers of a chick's neck. The hen and other
biddies were locked in the coup while the sacrificial bird was allowed
the run of the yard. The raptor swooped upon his last meal and flew to
the fence to eat the plump chick. She remembered the hawk feathers in
her grandfather's desk.
The memories helped soothe her pain, and she returned to the main floor
of the house. Jason was in a alcohol induced sleep on the couch, so she
walked upstairs to the guest room, Papa's old room. As she thought of
Jason and his infidelity, she began to wonder if she had been the cause
of his behavior. Misery chewed at her mind, and she began to devise ways
to control and possess her husband completely. Her imagination was
rampant as she slipped into an uneasy sleep.
Horizontal bands of light turned the wallpaper into flowered stripes.
Margaret stretched, pulled up the blinds, and let in a flood of morning
sun. She looked down on the driveway, noticed Jason's car was missing,
and figured he was at work. She tried to purge her mind of him with the
other woman, but the thought continued to poison her perception. She was
unsure how to handle the situation, so she shoved it away and focused on
her research and securing the necessary animals and soils.
Margaret refused to confront Jason, and the adulterous image remained
implanted in her mind. She ignored him for days and continued preparing
the pool for the fossilization project. Piles of sediments and minerals
were delivered, and the university supplied deceased lab animals. She
began spreading layers of limestone and silicates in the bottom of the
pool. On top of the layers she placed a rigid crow, which she had found
in the field, along with rats and mice from the lab. Extreme care was
taken in the arrangement of the animals before she spread another layer
of sediment on top. Surreal peacefulness settled upon Margaret as she
sprayed an arc of water onto her experiment. A mosaic of death and life
danced in her mind while the liquid soaked into the ground enabling
minerals to permeate the bones.
Her thoughts floated through time as she looked at the pool. Images of
her childhood and the brachiopods lined along the cracks made her feel
depressed. She relived her grandfather's warnings to stay out of the
pool, and her heart ached for his guidance. Jason crept into her
reveries, and it angered her that his image had shattered her visions of
Papa. She thought of the hawk and the bottles in the basement. For the
first time in a week, a smile crept onto Margaret's face, for she had
stumbled upon a way to possess Jason.
A flutter of anticipation filled her heart. She ran into the house,
showered, and slipped on a favorite dress. A glance at her watch
revealed she had only two hours to prepare for his arrival. She set the
table, lit the candles, and poured the wine -- lots of wine, spiked with
grain alcohol to numb his agony. She was still in love with him and was
unwilling for him to feel too much pain. His food was carefully prepared
from an old recipe. Afterwards, she tossed the empty bottle with the
faded red label into the trash.
When Jason arrived, Margaret greeted him with a kiss. She confessed to
having been caught up in her work, apologized for ignoring him, and
asked for his forgiveness. As he gathered her into his arms and
proclaimed he could never love another woman, she stroked his cheek and
smiled at his lie. They sat at the table, and she watched as he
swallowed the food and drank several glasses of wine. She glanced at the
clock on the mantle and poured another glass for him. Her research on
strychnine poisoning mentioned it would begin to work within twenty
minutes.
They went upstairs. She would have allowed him to love her a last time,
but the convulsions had started. She led him to the bed and assured him
he'd be better soon. As he slid into an unconscious state, she packed
his suitcases and took them to the pool. Later, she dragged his body
outside and positioned it next to his luggage. Margaret bent down and
kissed his blue lips and whispered, "I loved you." She sprinkled
carbonates and silicates on his body and covered it with layers of
limestone and specialized sediments.
Three days later, a cloud in the shape of a hawk drifted overhead as she
planted trees in the dirt of the full pool. She didn't want to disturb
her husband, so she decided to return the grant check and confess a
miscalculation. Instead of ten years, she decided it would take
generations for the fossilization to occur.
Pat J. O'Brien
> Title: The Abandoned Pool
Good title. Very important. The reader is now expecting metaphor.
> As a young child, Margaret was captivated by the pool with its crumbling
> walls and broken tiles.
You could say, "The pool captivated Margaret. As a (young) child, she ..."
She was warned not to play near it, but
> forbiddance only made it more attractive. As her grandfather watched,
> she'd search the woods for arrowheads and fossils, but her wanderings
> would ultimately bring her back to the pool.
Arrowheads and fossils a potent signifiers. Introducing them heightens the
readers anticipation of metaphor.
She was fascinated by the
> depth of the enclosure and the rusted ladder losing its grip high above
> her head. Most afternoons, she would sit in the empty deep end and play
> with her collection of artifacts. A small army of brachiopods would face
> rebellious shards of pottery as Margaret aligned her treasures along the
> cracks in the bottom. Over the years, leaves covered her battlefield,
> and Margaret left behind her concrete playground.
War: another potent symbol. You may be overdoing it.
She did continue to
> prowl the woods, and her love affair with fossils led to a Ph.D. in
> Paleontology.
Good first paragraph. If you geographically locate the place specifically,
that would help. Margaret is a name I like a lot. Some of the sentences
could be made less passive.
> Her adult life was a continuation of her childhood. She inherited her
> grandfather's house with the abandoned pool and took a position on the
> faculty at the university. The death of her grandfather, Papa, was
> difficult for her, but she consoled herself with memories of their
> shared life. Margaret was three years old when she came to live with
> him. Her mother and father had been killed by a freight train after
> their car had stalled on the tracks. She retained few recollections of
> them, and her life became entwined with the man who acted as a parent,
> grandparent, and friend.
I don't think "entwined" is correct here.
After Papa's stroke, Margaret dug deeper into
> her work, and the study of fossils became an obsession.
"...dug more deeply," or strengthen the verb and eliminate the adverb. The
bit I like best so far is the paleontolgy.
She marveled at
> delicate etchings of seed ferns, and reflected on the imprint of life
> being formed in death.
Good sentence.
Her preoccupation with the subject continued
> until she met Jason.
>
> Margaret was intrigued by Jason. She had never met anyone as spontaneous
> or as fun. Friends tried to convince her that he wasn't consistent, but
> she only answered their concerns by spending more time with him. When
> they spoke of rumors of recklessness and advised her to quit seeing him,
> she discarded her friends and married Jason. He was her first lover, and
> he awakened desires which she never knew existed within herself. For the
> first time, she felt life was more beautiful than nature's scrimshaws.
I would play the paleontolgy metaphor a little more in the preceding
paragraph.
> Along with the ardent aspects of their relationship, Jason introduced
> Margaret to the pleasures of drink. She indulged in beer and wine, but
> its appeal was short-lived. As her interest waned, she became concerned
> with Jason's increasing consumption and the fact that he often preferred
> the bottle's company to her own. One evening, he became angered by her
> suggestion that he was drinking too much and threw a can of beer at her.
> It missed Margaret, but hit the wall, split, and sprayed a fountain of
> foam. She ran to her room and sobbed until she decided it must have been
> her own fault, for Margaret was sure he was not a violent man. Since she
> was unwilling to become an annoyance in his life, she pushed the problem
> into the recesses of her mind and continued to bask in the thrill of
> being in love.
>
> One afternoon, she returned home early with exciting news to share with
> Jason. The grant which he had helped write had been accepted, and she
> was to receive the full amount.
This is interesting.
The money would enable her to fill the
> old pool with specialized sediments and reproduce the fossil-ization
> process. With the correct pH and minerals, she hoped to prove fossils
> could form in ten years instead of millions. She was enthusiastic about
> the research and the role of the old pool.
Somebody's going to pay her to fill an abandon swimming pool with sediment?
It's possible, but you're going to have to convince me. How much money? What
grant foundation? What university, etc.?
> As she walked into the house, her elation ceased, for she heard the
> rhythmic squeaking of the upstairs bed. She cringed against a chair as
> the walls of her life began to crumble. As much as she loathed the idea
> of investigating the sounds, she decided it was worse not knowing the
> truth. The stairs seemed steep as she began her climb. Her legs
> trembled, but she focused on her childhood memories of sneaking
> downstairs at night and skillfully stepped over each board with a creak.
> When she reached the bedroom, she stood beside the open door and
> listened to the giggles and testimonies of love coming from within. She
> forced herself to peek around the corner. A woman's arms were wrapped
> around her husband, and chestnut curls were covering her pillow beneath
> their kissing profiles.
>
> Margaret became a small, pale figure in a dark hallway.
Good sentence. We need more build up.
It starts really good. I didn't like the bit with Jason. I thought the
strongest parts were paleontology/arrowheads/fossils/Papa. The Jason bit I
saw coming a mile away. Good characters, Papa and Margaret. There's a good
story there. Needs a stronger sense of place.
Pat
Bart Hopson
>
>I think this is the longest one I've posted. I hope it doesn't cause
>everyone's eyes to glaze. Really unsure if I should press the send
>button... oh why not? Feedback is always helpful and appreciated. Thanks
>in advance for those willing to wade through it. :)
>-Sue
>
>Title: The Abandoned Pool
Very nice. I like the passive nature of the telling of the story. It just
seems to fit here. There were a couple of small nits, and I'll try to point
them out, but I thought that overall this was really well done. An understated
piece with plenty of power packed between each line. Can't glow enough. Really
a pleasurable read.
I'll try to find the nits I saw in the first read through. Snipping where I
have no comment.
<Snip>
>him. Her mother and father had been killed by a freight train after
>their car had stalled on the tracks. She retained few recollections of
Hmm. Little too up front for me and the voice of the rest of the piece. How
bout just a train accident and don't bother explaining it?
>her to catch, and he'd chuckle at her leaps and grasps. His chair was...
>Jason's favorite seat. Her pleas' ant reveries were interrupted, and she
Maybe an extra return between these two to show the drastic bringing back to
reality I read into it. Just a thought.
>returned to a reality she preferred to avoid. She entered her home
>through the back door, and Jason greeted her with a whiskey laced kiss.
>Margaret felt like she was outside of her body as walked past him and
As SHE walked past him. . .
<snip>
>Margaret set all of the cans and bottles in a pile and thought about
>Papa's story of ridding himself of the hawk. He placed a dab of
Suggest past perfect here for the first few sentences of the flashback. 'He'd
placed a dab. . .'
>of his behavior. Misery chewed at her mind, and she began to devise ways
>to control and possess her husband completely. Her imagination was
>rampant as she slipped into an uneasy sleep.
I don't get the control and possess, bit. She's gonna off him, not control him.
Might just be me being dense though.
>
>Horizontal bands of light turned the wallpaper into flowered stripes.
Nice image.
>from an old recipe. Afterwards, she tossed the empty bottle with the
>faded red label into the trash.
The poisoning of the food is understated enough. We knew what she was going to
do and what happened and you handled it with grace. No need to beat us over the
head with it. Well done.
<snip>
>Three days later, a cloud in the shape of a hawk drifted overhead as she
>planted trees in the dirt of the full pool. She didn't want to disturb
>her husband, so she decided to return the grant check and confess a
>miscalculation. Instead of ten years, she decided it would take
>generations for the fossilization to occur.
>
I think another reviewer already mentioned the ambiguous and mysterious grant,
who would give her money for this and to do it in her pool instead of a tightly
controlled lab? A minor plot hole that didn't really detract from the story.
Really well done. I enjoyed this a great deal.
Bart
Bart Hopson
>
Sorry. Forgot to mention one thing, but you've probably already caught it:
>
>>her to catch, and he'd chuckle at her leaps and grasps. His chair was...
>>Jason's favorite seat. Her pleas' ant reveries were interrupted, and she
>
>Maybe an extra return between these two to show the drastic bringing back to
>reality I read into it. Just a thought.
The typo in 'pleasant.' That's it, all I have.
Bart
Harper M. Willson
>The Abandoned Pool
Splendid title. Really makes you want to read it -- NOW. I'd thumb to it first
in a magazine or an anthology :)
I agree with Bart that there is something nice about the passivity of the
piece; but I also see Pat's point that it might be a little too passive.
To echo Pat again, Margaret, Papa, and Papa's house (and its surrounds) are all
intriguing characters. Jason didn't really grab me. Margaret's a science nerd,
sure, but she's way too smart to get messed up with a (2D) jerk like Jason. And
yes, the instant Margaret starts fishing around in the cellar with the bottle
of strychnine we know Jason is done for. You could still tell that story, I
think -- I mean, the piece is geared toward themes of the cycle of life and
death. It could work quite well if you exploit those themes for all they're
worth. And you've got the perfect gravesite -- that pool *does* call out for a
shot of horror :)
Final thoughts (fwiw): unpacify your verbs. I honestly think that's the only
way to go. Punch up Papa's characterization just a bit. Legitimize Margaret's
grant, create (as Pat says) a sense of place, and somehow make Jason into a man
that smart, inquisitive Margaret would marry. IMHO, I don't think he should be
depicted as a batterer / adulterer. I think he should be Margaret's
intellectual peer, and the abuse should be subtle, psychological. Of course, in
order for Margaret's homicidal act to be believed, Jason has to be portrayed a
real shit, and one way to do it is to have him throwing things and fucking the
house down with Miss chestnut curls <g>. But I just think that cheapens your
story, and you miss the opportunity to explore the depths of Margaret vis-a-vis
her closest relationship after Papa.
Margaret's mind really should be roundly explored. She's a *great* character.
This story shows gobs of potential. No eye-glaze, at all, ever :) Just needs
some winnowing, I think.
Harper
Patrick Null
>Group: alt.fiction.original Date: Sun, Aug
>25, 2002, 9:33pm (EDT-1) From:
>wind...@voyager.net (Wind River)
>I think this is the longest one I've posted. I >hope it doesn't cause
everyone's eyes to
>glaze. Really unsure if I should press the
>send button... oh why not? Feedback is
>always helpful and appreciated. Thanks in >advance for those willing to
wade through
>it. :) -Sue
Wade through....Ha!
>Title: The Abandoned Pool
Hi, Sue! Not going to nit this really. Just going to give general
impressions. Hope that's ok.
I see that you're experimenting, trying different styles, writing longer
pieces, and that's just plain awesome to see. Unfortunately, this
experiment really didn't work for me. I never really got into the story
or the characters and I think this is the reason why: It's all tell and
no show: "He did this, she did that" and so on and so forth. I never
really got inside their head, never really got to experience any of
their emotions, never got to see their character in one passage of
dialogue. This "tell and not show" philosophy is one of the reasons why
I won't read John Grisham, who I think is the worst author alive.
I definitely think there's something here. You have to decide what kind
of story this is going to be. Is it going to be a sentimental story
that revolves around the pool and her past history with it? Or is it
going to be a thriller where she kills her husband and buries him in the
pool? You have two different themes going on here and I don't think you
ever came to the conclusion of where you wanted this story to go.
Decide a theme and go with it.
But, what this story definitely needs is dialogue, internal thoughts,
active verbs, maybe a flashback or two to her earliest childhood memory
of the pool. I want to be hit on an emotional level with this, Sue and
you never hit the bullseye with me. But, you could if you followed my
suggestions up above.
It seems like there is more I want to say, but then I would be telling
you how to rewrite your story and I don't want to do that.
Good luck, Sue, and I'm looking forward to a rewrite.
Oh, and I agree with Harper on the choice of husband. I don't think
Margaret would date him, let alone marry him. :-) Well, she might date
him, as a diversion from her academic studies. But, she would learn
that he just could not compare to her intellectually and she would come
to the conclusion that they are complete opposites and have nothing in
common.
Take care, Sue.
Wind River
Thanks for the indepth critique. The suggestions on sentence structure (what
works and doesn't) is very helpful. I agree about the grant stuff. I need to
work on that aspect. Actually, I'll be changing this story a lot and might drop
that part. This was an experiment for me, and I think I know where I want to
take, now. I really appreciate your comments.
-Sue
Wind River
I'm glad you enjoyed it. I was experimenting with the passive and no dialogue. I
agree with your comment on the grant money. It would have to be in a controlled lab,
unless the animals were too big. I'll, probably, take this one in some new
directions. I appreciate your feedback. Thanks.
-Sue
Wind River
I'm glad you didn't glaze over! Thanks for taking the time to read it and comment.
You've given me a lot of ideas, and I'll be reworking this one at some point. Right
now, I thinking of several different directions in which I can take it. Just have
to decide... I really grateful for your detailed critique.
-Sue
"Harper M. Willson" wrote:
> Wind River wind...@voyager.net wrote:
>
> >The Abandoned Pool
>
> Splendid title. Really makes you want to read it -- NOW. I'd thumb to it first
> in a magazine or an anthology :)
>
> I agree with Bart that there is something nice about the passivity of the
> piece; but I also see Pat's point that it might be a little too passive.
<snip>
Ejucaided Redneck
> Title: The Abandoned Pool
> As a young child, Margaret was captivated by the pool with its crumbling
> walls and broken tiles. She was warned not to play near it, but
> forbiddance only made it more attractive.
I know it's a word, but "forbiddance" seems archaic and out of place
here.
> As her grandfather watched, she'd search the woods for arrowheads and
> fossils, but her wanderings would ultimately bring her back to the pool.
Why couldn't she go near the pool if an adult was watching? And if he's
watching, how'd she come to be in it?
> She was fascinated by the depth of the enclosure
I think you want a word other than "enclosure"
> . . . and the rusted ladder losing its grip
That's a nice turn of phrase
> as Margaret aligned her treasures along the cracks in the bottom.
That's another one, convincingly child-like.
> Over the years, leaves covered her battlefield. . .
Seems like an awfully fast transition.
> Her adult life was a continuation of her childhood.
I think there's a better way to say what you have in mind, that as an
adult Margaret lived in "the home place."
> Margaret was three years old when she came to live with him. Her mother
> and father had been killed by a freight train after their car had stalled on the
> tracks. She retained few recollections of them, and her life became entwined
> with the man who acted as a parent, grandparent, and friend.
I think this belongs earlier in the story. You begin talking about her
as an adult, then she's a child again, then an adult...
> Margaret was intrigued by Jason. She had never met anyone as spontaneous
> or as fun. Friends tried to convince her that he wasn't consistent, but
> she only answered their concerns by spending more time with him. When
> they spoke of rumors of recklessness and advised her to quit seeing him,
> she discarded her friends and married Jason. He was her first lover, and
> he awakened desires which she never knew existed within herself. For the
> first time, she felt life was more beautiful than nature's scrimshaws.
I think you need more than the above paragraph to make your character's
taking up with this man "real," more showing, less telling.
> Along with the ardent aspects of their relationship, Jason introduced
> Margaret to the pleasures of drink. She indulged in beer and wine, but
> its appeal was short-lived. As her interest waned, she became concerned
> with Jason's increasing consumption and the fact that he often preferred
> the bottle's company to her own. One evening, he became angered by her
> suggestion that he was drinking too much and threw a can of beer at her.
> It missed Margaret, but hit the wall, split, and sprayed a fountain of
> foam. She ran to her room and sobbed until she decided it must have been
> her own fault, for Margaret was sure he was not a violent man. Since she
> was unwilling to become an annoyance in his life, she pushed the problem
> into the recesses of her mind and continued to bask in the thrill of
> being in love.
Ditto for the above, and the paragraphs which follow: more show, less
tell.
> A distant voice, Jason's voice, tried to talk with her.
Voices are heard, they don't "do" anything.
> Margaret looked at him through vacant eyes
Your pov is Margaret's; how does _she_ know what her eyes look like?
> Margaret set all of the cans and bottles in a pile and thought about
> Papa's story of ridding himself of the hawk.
Y'know, I'm not saying this couldn't happen --I don't know enough about
strychnine to say if it's believable or not-- but I live where lots of
people used to deal with hawks, and I've never heard of poisoning one.
> Margaret refused to confront Jason, and the adulterous image remained
> implanted in her mind.
"Adulterous image" or "image of adultery?"
> Surreal peacefulness settled upon Margaret
Awkward
> lots of wine, spiked with grain alcohol to numb his agony.
You might taste some of that sometime, see if anybody'd actually drink
it.
> Three days later, a cloud in the shape of a hawk drifted overhead as she
> planted trees in the dirt of the full pool.
Seems like a stretch...
> She didn't want to disturb her husband, so she decided to return the grant
> check and confess a miscalculation. Instead of ten years, she decided it
> would take generations for the fossilization to occur.
I like this end...
For this to work I think you need to either strip it to the bones of the
story --jealous wife does in husband-- or expand on all the things you
tell us about without really making them believable, or showing them.
--
"Was a time I'd've known by now where she
drinks, when and what she drinks, and what
pisses her off about her old man."
-- one-time compulsive philanderer at
C&H Liquors, reflecting on the realities of
growing older after letting a flirtatious woman
leave without him
--
New stories, new essays, new pages:
http://bobsloan.home.mindspring.com/
Alaric McDermott
Good story, Sue.Maybe a smidgeon too long. The central part where she
considers her options is fat. But the idea (the mix of the work and the
murder) is superb. Very much enjoyed it.
Few nits:-
> Artefacts.
> Each board that caused a creak.
> Her pleas'ant (typo.)
Cut down by 500 words, this would be publishable IMO.
"Wind River" <wind...@voyager.net> wrote in message
news:3d69937f$0$1425$272e...@news.execpc.com...
Wind River
>
> Y'know, I'm not saying this couldn't happen --I don't know enough about
> strychnine to say if it's believable or not-- but I live where lots of
> people used to deal with hawks, and I've never heard of poisoning one.
This is taken directly from my grandmother. She was a determined woman and got tired
of the hawk eating her chicks. She placed the poison under the back feathers on the
chick's neck and took care of the hawk. If she tried it nowdays the wildlife people
would be on her in a minute. When I used to work with wildlife, we received quite a
few poisoned or shot raptors. It was really sad.
Thanks for taking the time with this Bob. As usual, you have a number of good
suggestions. I'm not sure when I'll return to the story, but I'm printing all the
feedback for when I do. I appreciate it!
-Sue
Wind River
Alaric McDermott wrote:
> Trying to rehash previous comments.
>
> Good story, Sue.Maybe a smidgeon too long. The central part where she
> considers her options is fat. But the idea (the mix of the work and the
> murder) is superb. Very much enjoyed it.
Thanks, Alaric. I'm grateful for the feedback. I will be reworking at some
point.
-Sue
Wind River
I really appreciate your honest evaluation of this story. I was
experimenting and didn't have a clue what I was doing. I usually rely
heavily on dialogue and wanted to see what would happen without it. It was
much more difficult for me, but I learned a great deal. I'll be revisiting
the story and working with it. Thanks for taking the time to critique it. I
value your feedback.
Sue
Joe Konrath
Hi Sue--
Pros: As usual, well written and engaging. You have a good grasp of
style and structure, and the story works as a story.
Cons: You did the first 2/3 of the story as backstory, and only get
into the 'now' for the death of the husband. Exposition is a story
killer, and practically your whole story is exposition. You told, you
didn't show.
While it's okay to 'flashback' to the protag being a little girl and her
memories of grandpa, your flashback extends up into her marriage.
Instead of letting the reader see this progression, you tell the reader
about it. This hurts so many things-- the tension, the immediacy, the
conflict, the ending... I want to see the characters live the story,
not hear about it afterwards. So do editors and agents, by the way. I
once tried to sneak backstory into a novel, and was forced to rewrite it
as a conversation.
It's a pretty easy thing to convert, and it will improve the story
greatly. Look at the difference:
---As a young child, Margaret was captivated by the pool with its
crumbling walls and broken tiles. She was warned not to play near it,
but forbiddance only made it more attractive. As her grandfather
watched, she'd search the woods for arrowheads and fossils, but her
wanderings would ultimately bring her back to the pool. ---
vs.
"Never play near the abandoned pool."
Normally, Marget followed her grandfather's words without question. But
how could she resist those crumbling walls and broken tiles, the rusty
ladder that hung so high above her head when she stood in the deep end?
Under his watch, she'd search the woods for arrowheads and fossils. But
once his eyes strayed, she'd head for the pool...
In the active vs. passive war, the active is always more interesting.
Joe
The Internet just got a whole lot funnier...
Wind River
Joe Konrath wrote:
> Hi Sue--
>
> Pros: As usual, well written and engaging. You have a good grasp of
> style and structure, and the story works as a story.
Thanks, Joe. It helps me to hear that. Sometimes I feel like giving up
'cause I'm not very confident in the world of words. I've now written a
total of twelve stories in my adult life, most of them posted here. I'm
feeling more comfortable with writing since I discovered afo.
>
>
> Cons: You did the first 2/3 of the story as backstory, and only get
> into the 'now' for the death of the husband. Exposition is a story
> killer, and practically your whole story is exposition. You told, you
> didn't show.
Yeah, I know. I was experimenting. I seem to rely a lot on dialogue and was
trying to see what I could do without it.
<I just snipped a lot of good comments which I've already printed.>
I'm grateful for your detailed feedback. It's helpful, and I will be
referring to it when I attempt a rewrite. Thanks.
-Sue