For a few moments, I was living this fallen artist's life. You have a gift for painting a picture of words and then making it come alive in the reader's mind. Not many people are able to do that in prose, as authors have a tendency to get 'telly.' That is, they spend so much time making sure that their vision is translated to the readers they hope to reach that they end up preaching, almost, to their projected audience because they want to make sure that what they are saying/thinking/feeling isn't missed. There were many things that really stood out for me, really gripped my attention and pulled me into your piece and held me there. Some of the lines that really struck me:
How can I leave him if I can’t bring myself to get out of bed? I think we have all asked ourselves that question, male or female, of any relationship we haven't been happy in. We grow complacent, it's just easier, we're afraid to date, we don't know what to do next, we have a million myriad reasons not to change what we're used to whether we are happy or not-as though our mere existance makes us unworthy of the happiness we so long for.
I walked seven blocks to the hospital, and came home with long white bandages up and down my arms. He still didn’t notice. But at least I got the ring back.I think this shows the character's true desperation more than any other portion of this piece. No matter that she tried to get away and didn't succeed; no matter that she hasn't been bothering to perform regular hygiene tasks; no matter that she stares in despair at the wall, the uncleanliness of the house, the dishes; this woman is clinging to that circle that has professed to bind this man to this woman for life-till death do they part. And she has slowly come to the realization that it is her death she is facing. It may not be a death of body, but her soul is slowly perishing for want of something more. The circle of life, the neverending circle of love, the circle of regeneration have all been promised to her by this man who does not even notice that she has damaged herself to retrieve the symbol of what she thought was their union. He has lied to her in the worst way: without ever saying a word, without causing her to continue to feel the joy, the lust, the love he made her feel in the beginning of their lives together.
I had a professor once tell me that if the first line and the last line of a book or story or even poem don't make you want to read everything in between then you shouldn't bother to read it. [I don't listen to that, but I do think it applies here.] Your first line: He gets out of bed with a grunt and thumps from the bedroom to the bathroom. And your last line: This is my morning, evening, and night: staring at the wall until he comes back home and bores me to sleep with his heavy, pointless breathing. Tell me you wouldn't want to read everything in between?
The only concern I had with this whole piece was one portion towards the beginning. I felt that there was a superfluous word in the following paragraph: The sudsy water sloshes over a bit onto the counter before I can get to turning it off, so I eat my breakfast with one hand and grab a sponge to wipe the counter with in the other. The sponge comes up grayer; it must have been a while since the counter’s been cleaned, I guess. I sigh, swallow the last bite of bagel, and turn back to the dishes.
You'll notice that I turned the bold off at 'in' and 'grayer. I think 'in' should be removed for ease of reading, and that 'grayer' could be transferred out for a word that gives a stronger sense of dirt. I had to read over that a couple of times to understand that you meant the counter was dirty.
Very good writing!
~Dryad
EnduReviewII |
|
View Portfolio
Visit Notebook
Send Gift Points
Awards
Badges
Send Email
Community Newsfeed
General Discussion
Sponsored Items
Book of Trinkets
Static Items
Books
Groups
Interactive Stories
Audio
Campfire Creatives
Community Notes
Crossword Puzzles
Documents
Folders
Images
In & Outs
Madlibs
Photo Albums
Polls
Product Reviews
Quizzes
Survey Forms
Web Pages
Word Searches
