Opening Comments: Hello my name is Charlie C. and I am happy to review your item. In my reviews I like to dig at concept, structure, plot, and character. Grammatical issues come second, that is because they should be last. If those three issues are not already done, then the grammar is hard to correct unless blatant. I truly hope this review help.
Ruby rubbed her temples then looked at her watch. For Christ’s sake, it’s only ten-o-clock, still an hour to go.
“Ruby, did you hear me?”
“What…? Aww, Pete. What is it now? I'm trying to finish the sales report. I'm exhausted and my head's killing me.”
“It’s as dead as Michael Jackson around here; I need to cut out. I got an early exam tomorrow.”
I really like how you start this. ten-o-clock was a good showing point. I also like how you added pete into the lines. One of things readers do notice is whether or not a writer is being to clever. The sound and feel of the character must be adjusted to the characters background and geographic location. And since Pete has such short life how clever do want him to sound, especially if Pete knows she is a fighter. Just a thought. But honestly if this seven eleven was based in the city, in the USA, it would be a middle age black guy or indian behind the counter. And that is becoming more true even in suburbs, authenticy is what readers earn for. My question even though short lived, is the character authentic. How about an indian that was going to have a baby. Yes, sterotypes, but there are all kinds of truths in sterotypes. In my piece I used kids cause it was the 1970's, and that was my reason for it.
“What about the floors and the trash?”
“I already did the trash, and the floors aren’t that bad.”
“We are supposed to do the floors every night. I’ll catch hell tomorrow.”
“Shit--Ruby, nobody gives a rat’s ass about 7-Eleven. Do you really think one night will make a difference?”
“Forget it… I’ll do it. Make sure you lock everything up in back.”
Ten minutes later Ruby let the mop plop out onto the floor and began pulling it back and forth. A car engine revved loudly demanding her attention. A new 2012 Range Rover pulled in and three young men in their mid-twenties baled out. The windows rolled down and the thumping of the drums and upbeat electric guitars boomed out. Hum, No mistaking that Tennessee twang.
Because I know the ending, you might play with the audience a bit. I boxed in highschool, I constently came to school with black eye's, swolen knuckles and bruised ribs. It might be nice to show us some tidbits about Ruby, lead us down a path that she is abused then bam hit us with fighter thing at the end.
♫ No Shoes, No Shirt, No Problem.♪
♪ Blues what blues…hey I forgot them …♫
“Jake, you idiot, turn that horseshit down. Someone will call the damn cops.”
“Oh sure, if his highness, the deputy mayor’s son, wants to listen to something it’s okay. But if…”
“Whatever man, it’s your car; I’m not the one that’s going to get the ticket.”
The music stopped, and Jake hopped out heading for the door held open by the tallest of the bunch. The skinniest said, “Hey Tommy, how about some money, I bought the last twelve-pack.”
Honestly I feel a little intimideated, you have really good dialgue and it carries your story. But your Internal monlogue is what I am struggling with, it might just be the total word count you struggle with. But the great thing about being in a profressional athletes head, is knowing what she is thinking. How does Ruby assess this rowdy bunch. Does she canculate that they right footed, and probablly swing right. Does she notice their hands are soft and probablly never been in real fight. Or does she just generally get the sense of stupid.
“No, its Jake's turn.”
“Hey, I’m the designated driver; I’m the one that is supposed to stay sober. Why should I pay for the beer, when I'm not supposed to drink it?”
“Hahahah … it hasn’t stopped you so far… ass-wipe.”
“Okay then, it’s Simon’s turn.”
Jake, Tommy and skinny boy all looked at Simon, who chimed, “Sure, it’s always the Jew boy's turn.”
Ruby pulled the yellow sign off the side of the bucket and flipped it out. “Watch it guys, the floor is wet.” They trudged right through the middle of where she had just mopped, leaving dirty footprints. “Excuse me, gentlemen. Please be careful, the floor is wet.”
“We heard you, Mamacita. Don’t get your panties in a bunch," said Jake. "I’ll just have my maid come over. I ‘m sure your mama won’t mind a little overtime.”
Culture of society is big, because you have not placed me in a location 'mama' sounds false, Also panties in a bunch does too. What I am asking is who are these guy's? They have just ran into a hardbody. They are men with hormones that are use to geting what they want. They feel they have been disrespected. You go on to answer this question, but what does Jake do? Does he leer, lick his lips, grab his cock and tell her to suck it if she wants to keep her job. The mayor has pull.
Ruby bit at her lip, pushed the mop bucket around the corner, and returned to the register. She focused on the loud mouth as he fumbled through the snacks. Five-foot-six, 135 pounds, blue-green eyes, with blond hair a foot past my shoulders ... where does he get off with Mamacita?
Jake moved beside Simon. The beer cans made a funny scraping sound as he pushed them aside to set his selections of snacks down.
“Could I see some ID please?” Ruby asked Simon.
Jake piped in, “Can I show you mine, Chiquita? You think I can get you to polish my banana?” Ruby ignored him, concentrating on Simon, and bagging the beer.
I like this, and we are coming into spanglish. I don't really have a sense of what they look like, because I have not heard spanglish come from a blond hair shoulders male, but you might work it in with Internal monologue, when you say things like East LA there is an immidiate atchment and sterotypes that come with it and the authencity becomes real. Also Mixed Martial Arts and Boxing is not uncommon sport to be apart of in the area.
She turned to Jake, staring at her; his dark brown eyes bored right into her. The pressure built in her head--a steady throb pulsed, like someone beating a drum. She sensed malevolence in his eyes. He wants to hurt me. The hairs on her arms rose, and she saw the glint in his eye, as he noticed it too. She glanced at the others to see if they were all in this together. But they had already turned, heading for the door.
Wonder what Tasha will think when she finds me tied up, raped and dead in the cooler.
Sorry I must have missed it, but who is Tasha?
Tommy yelled back, “Come on Jake, you really think she's interested in some Malibu Hillbilly?”
OK we are in Malibu, I think. I honestly believe that this stories flow would be more impacted in a hispanic neighborhood, because it is a drama. Also I think it will come off more honest.
Jake’s glare never left Ruby. She saw her reflection in his eyes, and had trouble suppressing the images in her mind, of blood, and her naked body sprawled on the floor.
The front door jerked open, and the six-foot, two-hundred-forty pound, Tasha, plowed through the front doors. Their eyes locked and Ruby knew she understood.
Tasha yelled out, “Hey! Butt-head, you got some kinda problem? I think you best get your shit and hit da road." She threw her purse across the room to the back counter, and put her hands on her hips. "I’ll snatch you bald-headed moe’fucker. I really was not axing you no question. You best be getting along and I mean now!”
As the SUV left, Tasha asked, “You all right there, sugar?”
“I don’t know, Tasha, there was something menacing about that one." She walked around the counter. "I was seeing pictures of his hands around my throat, and my face turning purple. Will you ring these up for me? I am going home; I need something for my head, its pounding.”
“Girl, a Slim-Jim ain't no supper.”
Ruby made it all the way to the corner before her nerves flared again. She scanned the shadows. Then he bolted out in a single bound. The trashcan he was hiding behind toppled over and rolled towards her feet. Time seemed to freeze as each took in the sight of the other.
“Hello boy.” Ruby looked down at the jerky in her hand then at the ribs showing below his scruffy fur. A slight wagging began in his tail. Ruby held out the jerky. “Here, you need this more than me.” The Sheppard mix eased forward, with a quick grab, he took the treat, and backed away. He chewed on the morsel with some vigor, though he never took his eyes off Ruby.
From the next corner squeals of rubber on pavement pierced the night. The roar of the V-eight startled the dog and he jumped away from Ruby into the middle of the street. The car accelerated.
Ruby focused on the car again, the driver was looking right at her. Oh shit, he's gonna hit him! . She couldn’t stop herself. It all played out in slow motion. Her hand gripped the handle of the can. It flew like a rocket into the street a few yards in front of the SUV. Brakes squealed, smoke boiled off the tires, then it bounced up to meet the right headlight.
The driver baled out, his face ablaze with fury. “You fucking bitch!”
Ruby started towards the store.
“Oh no, you don’t, bitch!” Jake caught the back of Ruby’s work tunic. She turned, pushed her arms over her head, and then squatted, letting the tunic slip over her head. Jake stopped for only half a second before he threw her blouse down. Then he charged Ruby. She faded to her left, spun, and let her right leg sweep around in a wide circle. Her heel caught Jake on the chin.
Blood shot off in the opposite direction and he staggered. When Ruby’s foot touched the ground, she sprang forward, punching Jake in the throat twice. She shifted her weight and let loose her Taka-geri; it was her best high front kick ever. It hit Jake squarely in the chest, leaving him weaving back and forth like a cartoon character. Ruby didn’t stop; she slid to the side, Hane-goshi, the canon toss. She flipped him over her hip, sending him flying straight for the light pole.
I am fighter, and fight sene's are difficult for me, even though I know sort of what you are talking about, I have never seen one described in such a way. I am not sure if the technical names are more important, or the pain she is going through to do this is. Her foot could crack with sting, forcing her next move to be a stiff right. His belt could have scrapped her back, forcing to somersault away. There are so many reasons behind fighting, but they are all inside the fighters head. What is inside hers? Each moves calls for a tatical reaction and no move is perfect, unless it's a movie.
Ruby somersaulted backwards, in the opposite direction, moving to the middle of the street. Focusing on the other men, she posed in a classic marshal arts stance.
Simon yelled, “Goddamn; I told you it was her. Do you believe me now? Ruby Rousey, the 2011 MMA featherweight Champion, six-time US National Judo champion, and Olympic Bronze medalist."
I like this twist. It is good. Though I believe you can pawn the audience into abuse, and upsell them on a fighter. Let the descriptions take the audience in another direciton and then slam them. Also I am not sure if it is better to allow the audience to know she is a fighter, and lead them down the path for a climatic punch out.
The others just stood there, mouths agape. Jake sat slumped against the light pole. Blood ran down his face, his eyes pointed skyward, unseeing. Tommy slowly moved forward, his every muscle followed by Ruby's gaze. Picking up the uniform blouse, he held it out at arms length.
“Sorry, we tried to get him to stop, but he’s crazy when he drinks too much. Are you really Ruby Rousey?”
Ruby stretched out and took the blouse. “Actually, I'm Ronda Rousey, only my close friends call me Ruby. What’s it going to be boys? I got a headache. Do you want some of me too? Do we call the cops, or what?”
“If it’s all the same to you, Ms. Rousey, we will just get Jake and be on our way.”
Ruby bent down picked up the Slim-Jim she had dropped and let out a soft come-hither whistle. Her new black and tan friend fell in beside her and she handed him the meat stick. She started down the street, then stopped and turned. “Hey, when Jake comes to, ask him if I put enough polish on his banana.” The twitter that escaped her belly seemed to do more to relieve her migraine than a dozen Advil.
Closing Comments: I believe this is a good story that can become greater.I think if the authenticy of the locations and sound of the people becomes real you can draw the audience into believable characters. In the end I believe you are tittering on something excptional.
I am not a published author, just a speck on wall. Please take what I say and throw it out the window.
Listed Reading:
Chicago Manual of Style
Review pay back, if interested.
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Charlie C.
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