anne
Junior Member
Posts: 93
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Post by anne on Dec 5, 2011 20:50:17 GMT -5
This is from a writing exercise I did a few months ago. You were supposed to write about a memory you had by starting with the words "I remember." At the time, I was thoroughly tired of writing about my memories, so I ended up writing a piece of fiction instead, although the mother in the story is based after my grandmother, who died last October. Anyway, I would appreciate it if you read it. I was told you wouldn't get critiqued properly unless you asked for specifics, so this is what I'm specifically looking for: -is it interesting? -are the character's relatable? -any confusing parts? If you spot any major gramatical errors, you can let me know, I hope you like it! Read more: bctcwriters.proboards.com/index.cgi?action=display&board=fiction&thread=76#ixzz1fiOwP2j6Attachments:
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Post by kip on Dec 6, 2011 8:35:05 GMT -5
In the line - “Anna Beth() the clock!” my sudden urgency makes her jump. - you need a punctuation mark
*tick, tock, tick, tock* should be: "tick, tock, tick, tock" (You're quoting the clock, after all).
Missed capitalizations in a few spots, but nothing detracts at all from a wonderful story. Very nice.
(The end could be tightened up a bit, but best to let it rest for a few weeks and give it another look then).
IMPRESSIVE
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Post by Nate on Jan 6, 2012 12:44:04 GMT -5
I really enjoyed this. You have a talent that I don't... squeezing a quality story into a few pages. I'm so long-winded I can't do it! The description of the clock is very well done. I could see it, smell it, feel it. Great! I love the teacup as well, a nice touch that gives some charcter insight. I agree with Kip, the rest of the story seems to be a little "tighter" than the ending. Not that the ending is bad at all, just maybe needs a little focusing (whatever that means!). Nice work Anne!
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anne
Junior Member
Posts: 93
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Post by anne on Jan 28, 2012 22:34:31 GMT -5
I'm re-posting this because the link isn't working. I'm considering submitting this to the Literary Journal, so if you have any critics/ can help me with bad grammar, that would be appreciated.
Also, what title do you like best: The Wooden Clock or The Old Clock
Written 8/8/11 The Wooden Clock
I remember the old clock with its smooth, wooden surface. My mother would dust it every day, and would use lemon oil to make it shine. It sat high on the wall, higher than the head of a small child of 8. It reminded me of a small house, with a set of doors under a giant clock. I would look at it to tell me when it was lunch time. A small bird would shoot out of the little house and sing to me. That was my signal. There was a key my mother would use to wind it up. Every night, at 8 o’clock sharp, my mother would take out the small, silver key and insert it into the side of the clock. She would turn it once, twice, three times. This was usually the signal for me to go off to bed. So imagine my surprise, some thirty years later, when again this clock falls into my hands. I was going through everything in the house, deciding what to keep, what to throw out, when behold, from the corner of my eye, I spot the same clock. It is at eye level now, and dusty. It no longer works. Gently I take it down and examine it closely. “It’s smaller than I remember,” I murmur. “I’m sorry, Ruth. Did you say something?” I glance up and smile at Anna Beth as she sticks her head around the corner. “It’s the clock my mother used to use,” I finger the keyhole gently. “I lost the key as a child, so it quit working.” “Couldn’t you have had another key made?” her voice grows distant as she re-enters the living room. She’s packing up the things I’ll keep. The rest is to be auctioned off tomorrow. “I suppose,” I say. Carefully I pry open the door. The bird within seems dull and lifeless within. “We just never got around to it.” Anna Beth’s face reappears from around the corner at the tone of my voice. Her face seems rather blurred. “Ruth?” “I’m sorry. I promised not to cry anymore and—“ “Oh, Ruth,” She takes the clock gently from my fingers and guides me to a chair. “it’s hard for anyone to lose their parents. There’s nothing wrong in crying.” “I know,” I blow my nose in the proffered Kleenex. “but I’ve put it off so long, and the auction’s tomorrow—oh why did there have to be so much debt? To have to sell so many things…” “It’s not like you could have kept it all,” She hands me another Kleenex. “I suppose you want to keep this?” she turns the clock to examine it better. “It’s a very nice clock.” “You keep it,” I blurt out. It was entirely unintentional, the words just kind of came out. “What?” Anna Beth looks surprised. “But it’s such an important memory.” “Not really,” I say. Immediately I wish to take it back. “Like you said, I don’t really have the room, but I don’t really want it auctioned off…” “Well, if you say so,” Her tone sounds doubtful. “If you really don’t want it then.” She holds it up again and smiles as she runs her hand across the wood. To keep it would make me too sad. I clear my throat and stand up. “Well, let’s get back to work.” The kitchen is pretty easy to go through; there is no real attachment to the various pots or pans. The same cannot be said for the dining room. I stand, looking the china cabinet up and down, wishing for the hundredth time I had a house to call my own, and not my one room loft apartment. “I can’t get rid of my mom’s china,” I groan. Anna Beth stands next to me, biting her thumb in that thoughtful sort of way. “I don’t suppose it would fit in your living room…” I snort. “Next to the TV?” “Well you could move the TV to the corner and put the china cabinet up by the closet-“ “And I’m telling you it would look horrible.” I know I’m being unreasonable. I’m too tired to care. “Well, what if you just keep the china and put it in that trunk you have, under the window?” I sigh. “I suppose.” Anna Beth goes to find newspaper and another cardboard box or two. Together we begin to carefully wrap up the items and place them in the box. “What a cute tea cup,” Anna Beth says admiringly. I look over to see what she’s holding and smile. “When we had guests over, that was the one my mom gave to people she didn’t like. Because the china was very thin, the tea became cool quickly. It kind of became a bit of a joke.” I smile fondly at the delicate blue roses painted on the front. “If someone began to annoy one of my parents, when it was time for tea they would say, ‘Go get the blue rose tea cup, Ruth.’ “They would tell the guest how expensive and delicate such a thin tea cup was, while the guest had to grimace through lukewarm tea.” “Your parents were quite the characters,” Anna Beth remarks as she wraps up the cup. “That’s not half of it. When I was ten, my mom—“ “What is it?” I was examining something that lay hidden behind the blue rose tea cup’s saucer. “I think I found the key.” I whisper. “What?” Anna Beth leans to take a closer look. I gently lift the tarnished silver key from its hiding place. “I remember now.” The metal is cool in my hand. “I was angry because mom told me I had to go to bed early. I was too young, she said, to stay up with the adults. So I hid it. I thought if it wasn’t there, she might forget to wind up the clock at 8, and I could stay up longer. “Only I forgot,” I frown down at it. “I had forgotten where I hid it. “Anna Beth, the clock!” my sudden urgency makes her jump. “Get the clock Anna Beth, hurry!” In my impatience I follow her to the other room. Before she can even pick it up, I have it cradled in my hands. I put in the key. I turn it once, twice, three times. Nothing happens. “Oh,” I sigh, “I had hoped—“ “Shhh!” Anna Beth shushes me. “Listen!” I listen closely. "tick, tock, tick, tock" The faint noise seems loud in the silence. “It works!” I’m grinning and then so is Anna Beth. “It works!” I cry. “I changed my mind. I’m keeping it.” I say. “But you said I could have it.” “Well that was before. I had forgotten how special it was. It’s the only one in the world like this, a little house with a clock, a little bird. Mother wound it up every night you know, just before I went to sleep and—“ “Oh Ruth, don’t cry. I’m sorry, I hadn’t realized how important it was to you. Don’t cry, you can keep it, I promise. Oh, please—“ I cry, holding that dear, wooden clock to me. I could probably smell the lemon oil still on it, if my nose wasn’t so stopped up. See mother? I found it, I found the key. So please, don’t be mad anymore. Don’t be angry anymore, please? See, I’ve found it. I’ve found it now. But it’s too late for that. For they are gone.
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Post by kip on Jan 28, 2012 22:37:03 GMT -5
Like taking a test, your first answer is probably best! The Old Clock ties into the story. Wooden clock? Not so much...
Submit!
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anne
Junior Member
Posts: 93
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Post by anne on Feb 15, 2012 17:45:32 GMT -5
I revised the ending. This is what the end changed to:
“I think I found the key,” I whisper. “What?” Anna Beth leans to take a closer look. I gently lift the tarnished silver key from its hiding place. “I remember now.” The metal is cool in my hand. “I was angry because mom told me I had to go to bed early. I was too young, she said, to stay up with the adults. So I hid it. I thought if it wasn’t there, she might forget to wind up the clock at 8, and I could stay up longer. “Only I forgot,” I frown down at it. “I had forgotten where I hid it. “Anna Beth, the clock!” my sudden urgency makes her jump. “Get the clock Anna Beth, hurry!” In my impatience I follow her to the other room. Before she can even pick it up, I have it cradled in my hands. I put in the key. I turn it once, twice, three times. Nothing happens. “Oh,” I sigh, “I had hoped—“ “Shhh!” Anna Beth shushes me. “Listen!” I listen closely. “Tick, tock, tick, tock.” The faint noise seems loud in the silence. “It works!” I’m grinning and then so is Anna Beth. “It works!” I cry. “I changed my mind,” I say, “I’m keeping it.” See mother? I found it, I found the key. So please, don’t be angry anymore. See, I’ve found it. I’ve found it now. I cry, holding that dear, wooden clock to me. I could probably smell the lemon oil still on it, if my nose wasn’t so stopped up.
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anne
Junior Member
Posts: 93
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Post by anne on May 1, 2012 20:46:06 GMT -5
My short story got selected for the literary journal! Time to celebrate!
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Post by shelby on May 3, 2012 15:23:03 GMT -5
Congratulations!
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Post by Nate on May 29, 2012 19:13:42 GMT -5
Very cool. I had to come back and look at this story again after we talked. Glad to see it was selected for the journal. Excellent work. =)
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