I actually did the whole thing in reverse. Sorry for the confusion. The first version of Sitting has a 3 in the top left hand corner. This is the prologue starting the novel and the second chapter. So the order is prologue, chapter 2, then chapter 3.
Novel Treatments / Sitting in the Front
8
1
An ordinary building, or so it appeared to the naked eye. Its significance depended on the viewer, or more succinctly, on the viewer’s needs.
You had to be someone for whom it satisfied a need to even notice it. If not, it was doubtful you would even glance in its direction. Later, if someone asked you its location, you would know you had seen it, but would have a hard time placing it.
How different for those who frequented it. For them it was a source of comfort. They would be in a state of flux if the place was ever torn down, or closed its doors of operation. This was where they came to drown their sorrows, enjoy a cold one, and socialize with those who found themselves in equally depressing circumstances.
The clientele consisted of single mothers stealing a few precious hours away from their children; cheating husbands under the cover of darkness recapturing long lost elements of youth and spontaneity; and lonely people seeking the warmth and security of others. Its welcome mat invited hustlers looking to turn a fast buck; down-and-outers who would have given up the fight had they not discovered courage could be bottled and put into liquid form. It was also a stage for past-their-prime-beauties who yearned for the catcalls of yesteryear to convince themselves they had defied the odds.
They flocked to this place to partake of the ever elusive qualities of acceptance and camaraderie.
The corner bar. A place to relax after a hard day’s work. An opportunity to mix and mingle. A community unto itself.
Those were the thoughts of the individual who gazed upon the structure contemplating whether, or not to go in. They hadn’t been there in ages. Hadn’t thought about it. But now, they wondered. Could they handle it? Or would it reopen wounds they had worked so hard to heal? Were they stronger now? Was it possible the place no longer held any power over them?
A smirk. Who were they fooling? It was best to let sleeping dogs lie. Better not to put themselves into such precarious positions. The portals to that watering hole had sucked them in before. Walking through those doors would forever alter the carefully constructed life they had recreated. No, it would not happen again.
The figure turned and walked away.
Just as suddenly the footsteps slowed. Then stopped. And like Lot’s wife made the fatal mistake of turning back.
Before they could will their feet in the proper direction it was upon them. Temptation with the force of a giant magnet lulling them to its presence. Their feet betraying them. It was too late. Their essence had already been drawn to Rick’s Cafe. Thoughts they tussled with all the way to the store, alternately scolding and ordering them to get what they came for and go straight home. What was the one scripture? The spirit was willing, but the flesh was weak. They could definitely attest to that as their will dissolved like warm gelatin on a hot stove. Their feet headed towards what they knew would be a disaster. Their mind ping-ponging back and forth begging them to choose good over evil.
The battle resolved. They put their hand on the door and pushed their way in.
An acknowledgment of their past due tab. A promise to pay arrears immediately, desperation fueled their actions.
“I can get you the money.”
A raised eyebrow.
“I got a job for you.”
“Go on.”
“8181 Pinehollow Drive.”
They discussed the particulars and the transaction was completed.
The tempted had their goods. Al and Slim had the promise of payment. The risk was minimal. Everything was neatly squared away.
A moment of regret as they walked away, replaced with the satisfaction their needs would now be met.
2
The epitome of small town U.S.A, Riverside is nestled comfortably between Greenwood and Greenville, Mississippi. Sometimes forgotten by its more progressive neighbors, this sleepy little borough’s only claim to fame is its picturesque scenery featuring lush forests, aromatic cedars, an abundance of azaleas, and Little Ebenezer Baptist’s state renowned choir.
Most of the town’s inhabitants were born and raised there, and many would die there. It is a closed community where everyone knows your family tree, and strangers are viewed with open distrust.
Typical Sundays find most of the town’s populace firmly ensconced within the four walls of Little Ebenezer Baptist. It is their meeting place, their town hall, and the focal point of their existence.
This Sunday was no different. The congregation was having a glorious day in the Lord. The whirring fans, feverish toe-tapping, thunderous clapping, and unrestrained shouts of amen attested to that.
The tiny clapboard building shook with their fervor. The spirit’s presence was palpable. Air so thick with love and mercy you could reach out and grab handfuls of it. It was different inside these four walls. What you call rarefied air; air where you could forget life’s problems; release your burdens; and even feel the power of forgiveness towards those who had wronged you. Not bad for the free price of a little praise.
Worn, callused hands were raised in praise and worship to the Most High God. Tears streamed down the women’s faces making tracks through their carefully applied makeup; vanity being the least of their concerns. This was no time to hide behind a facade and pretend you had it all together.
For a few brief hours during Sunday service the congregation was able to discard such foolish notions as knowing their own way, and being in charge of their own destinies. Within that small time frame they were able to acknowledge their weaknesses and scoff at their inability to produce results. They recognized God’s sovereignty and no one was ashamed to admit they didn’t know what challenges tomorrow would bring, nor how they would face them.
Between 11:00 a.m. and 2:00 p.m. every Sunday morning this was their safe place, their refuge, a haven for the downcast and the downtrodden.
Some of the men sat back with their eyes closed breathing a sigh of relief, a fleeting moment from which to escape the never-ending responsibilities of manhood. Occasionally one of the stoodup and let out a bellow or two, giving a shout out to show their appreciation to a wonderful, generous, and forgiving God. Each person silently, or loudly communicating with the Father in their own special way.
This was the children’s favorite part of the service, after the opening announcements, after Deacon Mitfield read the scripture, and while the heavenly choir regaled the assembled with song. Angelic voices lifted up to the heavens gave the parishioners a much needed opportunity to drown their troubles in songs and psalms.
Little Ebenezer had one of the best choirs for miles around. Once they started singing, the children knew they were scot-free. Hands that started out swatting them on the legs and urging them to sit up straight were now otherwise involved in more ethereal duties.
The children snickered behind their parents backs as they watched their ordinarily-in-control caretakers release whatever burdens had been troubling them during the week. This was a time to pass their notes, make eyes at one another, and relax from being under the watchful glares of their elders.
But that wasn’t the only thing going on at Little Ebenezer, there were plenty of different agendas buzzing around Riverside’s weekly meeting place. Everyone had their own personal reasons for leasing space on the pews each and every Sunday morning.
Like most itty bitty churches in America’s small towns, Little Ebenezer was the fashion capital of Riverside, and the congregation’s excuse for putting their credit cards over the limit each month.
Many of them weren’t there to praise God, nor did they desire change in their lives. Some came just to be seen, while others came out of a sense of obligation. Then there were those whose attendance was based on an obsessive need to be in charge of this, or that ministry. Others came to gossip, find a mate, or simply because it was the thing to do.
But one of the main reasons they came was because it was the best way to show off the fruits of their labor. Clothes, cars, and titles were important at Little Ebenezer, seeing as how members were judged more on their outer appearance and personal status, than on the content of their character, or their desire to do God’s will.
Like many churches who have lost their way, attendance had little to do with the application of God’s Word, or the following of His principles. If the truth be told, it had become a social organization, a meat market, and a hiding place for those who lacked power in their personal lives.
But, the winds of change were rippling mightily throughout Ebenezer Baptist threatening to forever change the way business was done.
Sadly, the congregation didn’t that. They were busy doing what they always did. They were comfortable. Each person had their assigned role and like geese nobody stepped out of formation.
But this Sunday was in no way typical, and as they sat, sang, and raised their hands in praise and worship, unbeknownst to them the wheels of change had started its first revolution.
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ethanchrist reviewed Version 1 -
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Your writing is very clear and descriptive. You did a great job creating a vivid and palpable atmosphere. However, nothing really happens in this world that you’ve created. I’m assuming that this is the entire first chapter and if so I think it needs to introduce the main characters as well as adding in some sort of plot. Especially if this is a novel treatment, you need to capture the interest of an agent or publisher and in order to do that there needs to be some action that takes place.
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AmyWalker reviewed Version 1 -
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I can’t say I’ve read anything like this. This is very different.
It’s okay, I thought what you wrote was an interesting choice. I’m not if this is a continuation of something or what couldn’t quite understand your notes for reviewers but anyways I thought this piece definitely interesting I didn’t find any faults really.
So keep up the good work
Amy
wordwan reviewed Version 1 -
Read 17% of the Item
“More succinctLY?” Hm. I read the first line. I stopped. I tried the second. I stopped again. I’m sure you don’t want my opinion as to why.
So now I’LL stop.
Thank you.
Heather
belicktu09 reviewed Version 1 -
Read 67% of the Item
I have really lost interest in it already. I can’t seem to stay in it maybe get a little bit more discriptive and try to pull the reader in some more because it feels like the words are just beong thrown at me sorry. I hope to read a newer version if you choose to edit this piece good luck with it.
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