The revision of a piece I've been working on.
The one room shack stood abandoned in the West Texas heat. Dust covered the furniture like rose petals being scattered on a grave. No savory scent filled the air. Nothing but beans and burnt cornbread had touched the little stove in over a year. The quiet was almost deafening. It was the soundlessness that could drive a man to do crazy things. The wind howled outside the little house, echoing a woman's scream. Storms in Texas were like a man's temper-striking fast and when it's over leaving everything it touches broken. Thunder, reminiscent of the sound a man's fist makes when striking soft flesh, crashes across the angry sky.
The rain pounded from the sky, soaking through her thin, worn clothes. Her hair hung limp around her shoulders almost completely covering her pale face. Her brown irises consumed with fear, shoulders hunched, hands covering her barely showing belly-Ava wondered how she had gotten to such a low point in her life. Alone, scared, and pregnant she trudes through the rain on the side of a backwoods road in the middle of nowhere. With every headlight and sound of tires, Ava's heart stops. She wonders if he had noticed that she was gone, if he even bothered to look for her. Yes, she thought. In his mind she belongs to him and there was no escaping his desire for her. He had said many times how he owned her, and that no matter where she went he would find her. That cold, calculating voice was not the sound she fell in love with. The first time she heard his tangy Texas drawl, she was his. She was his possesion and would be until the day she died. She could handle the beatings, the humiliation, and the nights he forced her to perform her wifely duties; however, she could not, and would not, let him hurt her baby. So she trudges down this middle-of-nowhere town, tripping over roots, slipping on the wet leaves. Each time she trips or slips she imagines stabbing him one more time. While he was at a business dinner, she had walked right out the front door. And just kept walking.
Headlights illuminated the shadows. Ava, not breathing, struggles to lay down in the ditch without squishing her belly. First she tries to bend over, then then sitting down; however, the rain has filled the ditch and the mud is up to her knees. With a cry, she slips and falls onto her back in the mud-all the while praying whoever it was had not heard her. To her horror, the vehicle stopped. Backed up. She heard the engine stop and the door open. Blood filled her mouth as she bite down on her tongue to keep from screaming.
"Anyone there?" she heard a male voice, almost completely muffled by the pouring rain, call.
She didn't think it was him, but strangers were still dangerous. So she continued to lay in the mud, not breathing, not making a sound.
"I thought I saw someone out there. I guess not." the man mumbled to himself as he turned to walk back to his truck. As he turned, the light fell on Ava's pale blond, curly hair. Her breathe caught.
"Stupid woman, what the heck are you doing out here?" he asked.
"My, uh, car broke down. But I'm waiting on someone. He will be here any minute. I just lost my footing in the mud. Thanks for the offer though." She was able to squeak out at last. The shadows hid his face and she was not about to risk a ride with what appeared to be a stranger
"Come on lady, its freezing out here. You'll get sick. Let me give you a ride to town. You can wait for him there."
"No thanks."
"Look lady, I'm not gonna argue with you. Get in the truck. I swear, women can be so hard-headed."
"No!"
"Well, then I have no choice." he hollered as he strode toward her.
Male hands grasp her arms as Ava finally looks into her would-be-rescuer's face. Cruel, brown eyes stare back at her.
"No!" she cries, as she claws at his arms. "No, I killed you!"
"Better make sure next time you try to kill someone that they're really dead. However, you did give me one hell of a headache when you smashed that pot on my head."
Ava was speechless. She couldn't believe she'd screwed up her one chance at escape. Dead. When he took her back to that shack she would be dead. The Texas land was barren enough he could bury the body and no one would ever know. As the truck door slammed shut, trapping her inside, she knew her baby's chance at life had just been severed.
Monday, April 25, 2011
Free Write Week 13
Catherine, the barista, gets ready for another day at work at the Slurp-n-Burp coffee shop. Her, poor old yellow Honda couldn't handle the snow. Without any snow-ready clothing or shoes she grads an umbrella and heads out the door. Slipping and sliding down the driveway she shoots the 'evil-eye' at the obnoxious boys next door. Realizing no power on Earth was going to make her car start, she gives up and heads back to the house.
Sunday, April 24, 2011
Classmate Response Week 13
Josh's Break-up
I love how this story is so unexpected. It starts with what you would think is cliche: text-message break-up. However, it is an amazing story. Each part of the story pulls the reader in a little more. I think a good title would be "Eskimo Kisses". That is what connects the story. The descriptions are very original. For example, "The blood from her nose is coagulated on the kitchen's Italian marble" To me, the part about the knots is a little confusing. I think the first section is really the only part that needs editing. It's a little confusing about why is she a drunk? and why does she smoke pot? Those details do not seem relevant to the rest of the story. I would suggest focusing on the quitting cigarettes and not kissing in the morning. I think those could be significant in the rest of the story. It is such an unexpected break-up story. I really enjoyed that its not at all cliche.
I love how this story is so unexpected. It starts with what you would think is cliche: text-message break-up. However, it is an amazing story. Each part of the story pulls the reader in a little more. I think a good title would be "Eskimo Kisses". That is what connects the story. The descriptions are very original. For example, "The blood from her nose is coagulated on the kitchen's Italian marble" To me, the part about the knots is a little confusing. I think the first section is really the only part that needs editing. It's a little confusing about why is she a drunk? and why does she smoke pot? Those details do not seem relevant to the rest of the story. I would suggest focusing on the quitting cigarettes and not kissing in the morning. I think those could be significant in the rest of the story. It is such an unexpected break-up story. I really enjoyed that its not at all cliche.
Junkyard Quotes Week 13
1. "Naders coming, naders coming! Gotta get in the 'fraidy hole."-Alabaman to English translation: Tornado is coming, tornado is coming. Got to get in the storm shelter.
2. "We all bleed red, all cry tears, all fall down"-my absolute favorite song
3. "You be a bowl of sugar-I'll be the bugar to melt it"
4. "It was Friday in the PM"
5. "Did you know, when I was a girl, I nailed snakes to the ground?"
2. "We all bleed red, all cry tears, all fall down"-my absolute favorite song
3. "You be a bowl of sugar-I'll be the bugar to melt it"
4. "It was Friday in the PM"
5. "Did you know, when I was a girl, I nailed snakes to the ground?"
Reading Response Week 13
Waving Good-bye
"the story tells itself"
I believe everyone has the ability to tell stories and write; however, it is having the patience to sit down and spend time writing. It's a talent that needs practice just like playing a sport or an instrument. Creative writing is an individual process that has no set way to go about writing. It's just each person trying to figure out what works for them. It could be sitting down and writing non-stop for an hour or it could be going for a walk in order to think of something to write. I do not think this book explained how to write. I know that its different for everyone and the book should have explained different approaches to writing prose. I think it could have started off at the beginning with a short exercise that as you read each exercise added to the last one-so at the end you have a short story and not just pieces of writing. I think it could have explained how to take a story that is in first person and turn it into third person narration. I think a chapter on how to revise a prose piece would have also been helpful. Anyone can think of a story to tell or have an idea for a story, but understanding how to tell the story so that other people can understand and see what you want them to see is difficult. I do not think the book was very helpful in understanding what details to include and how to "show and not just tell" what happens.
"the story tells itself"
I believe everyone has the ability to tell stories and write; however, it is having the patience to sit down and spend time writing. It's a talent that needs practice just like playing a sport or an instrument. Creative writing is an individual process that has no set way to go about writing. It's just each person trying to figure out what works for them. It could be sitting down and writing non-stop for an hour or it could be going for a walk in order to think of something to write. I do not think this book explained how to write. I know that its different for everyone and the book should have explained different approaches to writing prose. I think it could have started off at the beginning with a short exercise that as you read each exercise added to the last one-so at the end you have a short story and not just pieces of writing. I think it could have explained how to take a story that is in first person and turn it into third person narration. I think a chapter on how to revise a prose piece would have also been helpful. Anyone can think of a story to tell or have an idea for a story, but understanding how to tell the story so that other people can understand and see what you want them to see is difficult. I do not think the book was very helpful in understanding what details to include and how to "show and not just tell" what happens.
Monday, April 18, 2011
Classmate Response Week 12
Danita's Random Write
Pulling into the supermarket parking lot, the smell of tar combined with midsummer heat smelt like the mood I was already in. Stench amplified from the hot hot heat. Regretting the fact I left the windows down for the ride, instead of using the little bit of gas I had left for air conditioner. Upon pulling into a space near the entrance, I sat there in the heat hoping the smell would pass. The black parallel powerlines were blinding from the brightness of the sun. I stretch my fingers thru my ponytail noticing the resemblance of color. This makes me happy for reasons unexplainable to myself. I use this sudden urge of happiness like a wrecking ball swaying left to right. And shifting to the right, then suddenly to the left, I use my body weight to open the car door-which is heavy. (heavy as if its from my existential plight) which I suddenly break thru placing first my left torn up sneaker then my right onto the pavement. This is how I get through Tuesday.
The first description "the smell of tar combined with midsummer heat smelt like the mood I was already in" is my favorite. I think that is an incredible analogy. It grabs my attention right away. It is very intriguing how the character has such a difficult time getting through just one day. I like the parallel between the wrecking ball and then how the descriptions sway the same way a wrecking ball would. It is very interesting to read and completes the analogy. I would love to see this story go farther. Is she at work? Picking up her kids from school? A stay at home mom? Maybe its night and she's a prostitute? I think this story could go so many different directions. The only thing I would suggest is where it says "hot hot heat" You've already mentioned the heat right before that and in a short story I wouldn't repeat words.
Pulling into the supermarket parking lot, the smell of tar combined with midsummer heat smelt like the mood I was already in. Stench amplified from the hot hot heat. Regretting the fact I left the windows down for the ride, instead of using the little bit of gas I had left for air conditioner. Upon pulling into a space near the entrance, I sat there in the heat hoping the smell would pass. The black parallel powerlines were blinding from the brightness of the sun. I stretch my fingers thru my ponytail noticing the resemblance of color. This makes me happy for reasons unexplainable to myself. I use this sudden urge of happiness like a wrecking ball swaying left to right. And shifting to the right, then suddenly to the left, I use my body weight to open the car door-which is heavy. (heavy as if its from my existential plight) which I suddenly break thru placing first my left torn up sneaker then my right onto the pavement. This is how I get through Tuesday.
The first description "the smell of tar combined with midsummer heat smelt like the mood I was already in" is my favorite. I think that is an incredible analogy. It grabs my attention right away. It is very intriguing how the character has such a difficult time getting through just one day. I like the parallel between the wrecking ball and then how the descriptions sway the same way a wrecking ball would. It is very interesting to read and completes the analogy. I would love to see this story go farther. Is she at work? Picking up her kids from school? A stay at home mom? Maybe its night and she's a prostitute? I think this story could go so many different directions. The only thing I would suggest is where it says "hot hot heat" You've already mentioned the heat right before that and in a short story I wouldn't repeat words.
Reading Response Week 12
Chapter 9
This chapter confused me. I do not understand how you can have a story without a plot. I understand descriptions are important, but they are meaningless without a plot. A story has to have a purpose. I think stories can be without dialogue, but they require a plot. The exercise was very challenging. It is hard to just describe a person or a place without actually describing that person. When she says "an action can be something as little as a letter not being sent, or a thought that goes unspoken" it helps me to understand it a little better. I don't necessarily have to say-the letter did not get sent. I could say something like at breakfast she knocked over her milk and grabbed the first thing she could, an envelope, to mop up the mess. It doesn't state that the letter was not sent it uses description to tell the reader the letter was never sent. Too much description can be a bad thing as well. There needs to be a balance between description and plot and dialogue if you include that in the story.
This chapter confused me. I do not understand how you can have a story without a plot. I understand descriptions are important, but they are meaningless without a plot. A story has to have a purpose. I think stories can be without dialogue, but they require a plot. The exercise was very challenging. It is hard to just describe a person or a place without actually describing that person. When she says "an action can be something as little as a letter not being sent, or a thought that goes unspoken" it helps me to understand it a little better. I don't necessarily have to say-the letter did not get sent. I could say something like at breakfast she knocked over her milk and grabbed the first thing she could, an envelope, to mop up the mess. It doesn't state that the letter was not sent it uses description to tell the reader the letter was never sent. Too much description can be a bad thing as well. There needs to be a balance between description and plot and dialogue if you include that in the story.
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