Thanks for the extensive notes on all the modifiers. I was writing how I remember talking at 14, and Iused a lot of extra words because i I thought it made me sound smart.
Short Story / So This is Christmas
When I wake up, the only decoration in the room is a wreath of cigarette and marijuana smoke that lazily curls around the naked bulb in the ceiling of our studio apartment. I climb out of the top bunk of the bed I share with my younger brother. It's hard to escape the view of anyone in a space that small. My brother and my father are sitting on the floor. My brother talks animatedly of nothing, spewing out words that fill the air as surely as my father's smoke. My father sits in a full lotus, wearing a pink ruffled skirt, and naked from the waist up, taciturn, nodding sagely at my brother's inanities, his cheeks drawing in sharply as he sucks on a glass pipe.
He glares at me, and the black orbs of his eyes say the words that I've heard so frequently: "Get the fuck out." I shake out my boots, to make sure no ear-wigs or cockroaches have taken up residence during the night, and I put on my gray leather jacket. It's warm, but its out-of-style-in-the-70s look gets me some flack at school; the holiday break is always one that I look forward to, but after a couple of days I realize just how nice having a place to go is. I get even more flack for having perfect attendance halfway into my sophomore year, but whatever, they don't know what it's like.
I grab a cold pancake from the stove and take small, quick bites from it while I stare at the grime-crusted enamel to stave off the dreaded moment I know must come. I ask the question every morning, and every morning my pride battles my greed. "Dad, can I have my allowance?" The question comes out of my mouth quietly, with a subtle stutter. I wish I could speak up, because I know that my stutter will prevent me from saying anything if I have to ask again. He gives me one dollar a day. It's nice to have a little money, and sure, I know kids who get a lot more, but I hate asking for it, asking for money that he feels obligated to give me, asking for money from a stranger.
Our mom abandoned us with him two years ago. She went to Las Vegas, Los Angeles, Texas, somewhere. I'm not sure. She dropped us off and left her goodbyes in a cloud of sooty exhaust. I can't say I miss her. I had no memory of my father. We hadn't lived with him since I was a zygote as far as I could tell. My mom had told us stories of him, usually things about their time in Alaska, where I was conceived, stories of masculinity, of living the homestead life. Mom had only recently come into contact with him again, and after a nasty divorce with her second husband, dropped us off at father's studio apartment.
My father's home was something different. It smelled of smokes and spices that my middle-class nose wasn't used to. The entire place was about as big as my bedroom had been living with mom. My brother greeted him with a big burly hug and a smile of warm affection. It all seemed so fake to me. I never really liked touching people, but shook my father's hand because my brother started it.
My brother took an immediate liking to him. He wanted to participate in his AA meetings, even going so far as to participate in the ritualized greeting: Hi, I'm Roger, and I'm an alcoholic. Why should I say I'm an alcoholic if I've never had a drink? They were constantly having deep conversations of little significance while surrounded by incense and pseudo-spiritual pamphlets, my brother taking up his filial responsibility for the love of his father.
I wanted to take my time to get to know him. Apparently he expected his oldest son to immediately worship him as well, but I saw no reason to blindly love and respect a verbally-abusive recovering alcoholic with a penchant for women's underwear. He hates me for every time I don't smile when I look at him, for every time I don't hug him, for every time I don't want to talk about "unlocking my spirit chakras." With a grunt he gives up his dollar.
I leave the apartment, and immediately put my hands in my pockets. The one good thing I can say about our studio apartment is that it's warm. I start walking the mile downtown. The lack of traffic and the smell of the woodsmoke that puffs cheerily out of chimineys reminds me that its Christmas. Fuck. I start to get angry. I hate fucking Christmas. Nothing is open. My dollar that I was looking forward to buying a burger or a burrito with is worthless. I usually spend my days wandering the aisles of the local grocery stores, taking the free samples of food from the delis and butchers' counters, but those stores are closed. All my friends are with their families. As much as I appreciate having a break from school, this one day always sneaks up on me. I lose track of the date without the daily reminders of homework and upcoming assignments.
I want to turn around, but I can't. I want to go home and turn on some sappy Christmas movie about how even people who live in shit have a nice life on Christmas, but I can't. My dad will yell at me, tell me how he hates me, wishes he could kill me if he weren't my father. I wish that the words wouldn't affect me, but they do, they devastate me. I hate looking weak in front of him, I hate when I cry in response to his cruelty, so I keep walking, with nowhere to go.
An occasional car speeds by me on the nearly empty streets. The sky is gray, but the clouds look high, with no promise of rain, which I'm glad of. I finally get downtown and the empty parking lots and dimmed lights of the stores affirm my dread. I walk around, wishing that one store was open, where I could just go inside to be out of the wind, and look for the things that I can spend a dollar on.
Denny's is open. I go inside and join the detritus of humanity sitting at the counter. There are two ragged looking men. One is silent, and the other flirts with the only waitress. She seems disinterested, as though she's waiting for the promised time that only comes once a year, Denny's five o'clock closing time on Christmas day. I really want hot chocolate, but I order iced tea, because I know I'll get refills. The waitress is young enough that my fourteen-year-old mind fantasizes about her. I'm jealous of the old guy who's flirting with her, but I know that I can hardly talk to her: I stuttered just trying to order my iced tea. The more I try to force the words out, the harder it is to say them, and I end up sounding like a freak.
I've never seen her before, but my adolescent mind is fascinated with her. I fantasize about holding her hand, and kissing her. My biggest fantasy is of telling her that I love her, and hearing the words returned before we gently make love. I've never actually done it before, but in the movies the lights are always dimmed and bodies gently rub against each other, and that's how I imagine myself with this slightly disheveled waitress. I'm frustrated to be a fourteen year old who can hardly talk.
I leave the restaurant and start walking home as the sun sets. Fat drops of rain shock me with cold and surprise as they run down my neck, but my jacket keeps me mostly dry. I take shelter under a small bridge near my apartment. It hasn't rained enough for the creek bed under the bridge to fill up this year, and the ground is covered with large pebbles and bits of trash weathered and bleached by the elements. It's completely dark out, and the bridge is a small shadow in the rain. I imagine myself sheltered from the world, and I masturbate, thinking about the waitress.
I return to the apartment, knowing that my father can't bitch at me. It's dark out, and the law tells him that he has to give me a place to sleep, and some food to eat, even if it is just cold beans and rice. I lay down in my bunk, and watch that movie I was telling you about: the one where life doesn't suck on Christmas. I wish I could tell you about more interesting things: about the people who helped me have a great day, about meeting Santa Claus or Jesus, and finding treasure buried in their excrement, about being adopted by a rich family and getting a thousand shiny red bicycles and a puppy, but I can't. For a boy with nowhere to go, Christmas is a dark, desolate wasteland where hope doesn't have any place.
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Treatsa reviewed Version 1 -
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Beautifully written, your narrative voice is perfect. Well done.
Critiques?
When you talk about the waitress there are a few mentions of ‘fascination’, ‘fantasizing’, and you say, ‘my fourteen…mind’, and ‘adolescent mind’ all tightly together. It is the only section that feels like repeating information.
The father. What kind of dad smokes pot, talks about chakras, sits in full lotus, and hates his son? Seems like a mention of having bi-polar disorder or some other illness (other than alcoholism), might make more sense of him.\
Overall, fantastic.
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derekosborne reviewed Version 1 -
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The proper term is “sits in full Lotus”, delete the “a”
“the night, and [I] put on my gray leather..” Delete “I”, redundant.
”...some flack at school; the holiday break …” Bit of a stretch here to justify a semi-colon. Make it two sentences.
”...take small, quick bites [from it] while I stare…” Already implied, Strunk “from it”.
“Our mom abandoned us [with him] two years ago.” Same issue. Watch your main subjects. No need to muddy up sentences with qualifiers like this.
“My mom [had] told us stories [of him],..” Strunk bracketed
“An occasional car speeds by [me] on the… Same old issue. Do you have a copy of “Elements of Style”? Great little book. Will help a lot with this.
“join the [detritus] of humanity sitting….” This term is way above the stories level of diction, which until now, has been excellent. Your intellect and acuity are coming through just fine. Trust the narrative tone and the story.
”...big as my bedroom had been living with mom.” Recast, had to read twice to get it. A toungue twister and awkward, but important info. Just smooth it out.
“I wanted to take my time …...... grunt he gives up his dollar.” This was a nice paragraph, a grewat deal of exposition and back story wrapped up in a solid, economical word count. In this one paragraph, you moved the emotional content of the story farther then both the previous pages.
“Fuck.[,] I start to get angry.”
”...Denny’s five o’clock closing [time] on Christmas day…” Thar she blows.
Very nice. Simply written, no neon signs saying poor little me. The level of diction goes a long way toward avoiding any self pity from the narrator. The whole thing flowed well except for those modifier/qualifier bumps. I’m afraid you’ll try too hard to fix it or f*ck with it and ruin the best part about letting the story work on its own. I’d fix the grammar issues and send it out. You might be surprised.
DCAllen reviewed Version 1 -
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Bleak. I remember reading this a long time ago. It’s still as compelling as it was then. Very good. I think the stuttering could be a bigger part of this. Why not have him speak out loud to the waitress?
Notes:
The last sentence in the first paragraph has one too many -ing phrases. I’d start a new sentence with the last one: His cheeks draw….
the words that I’ve heard (delete that)
Could you add a name at “Get the fuck out” so that the reader knows the gender of the narrator?
school; the holiday (There’s not a strong enough relationship between these two parts to warrant the semicolon. I’d use a period here.)
hate asking for it, asking for money (Might read better as simply _hate asking for money…)
...something different. (Not sure this is necessary. You go on to describe the apartment quite well. Maybe a more descriptive words besides different?)
my bedroom had (typo…but this might be better as simply bedroom at Mom’s)
, but shook my … (Insert I after the conjunction. This will make the comma correct, and it will sound better.)
verbally-abusive = verbally abusive (no hyphen with -ly adverbs)
The father seems at first to be rather subdued (chronologically), but he seems rather irritable at the beginning of the story. What happened to him?
me for every time I (Such a long object to the preposition for here is awkward. I’d recast this idea. Also, how does the narrator know his father hates him for not smiling? Is there an action here that would show the reader this?)
If you use “each time” as the repeating element, I think the idea above will be easier to read. Ex. He hates me more each time I don’t smile…, each time I don’t hug him…
With a grunt…belongs in the next paragraph, doesn’t it?
The lack of traffic and…the woodsmoke… reminds = remind (compound subject)
I wish that the words… (delete that)
they do, they (comma splice. A good place for an em-dash.)
downtown and the empty (insert comma before and)
wishing that one store (delete that)
I know that I can (delete that)
to be a fourteen year old = fourteen-year-old (when used as a noun or a prenominal modifier)
I lay down = lie down (intransitive)
bunk, and watch (delete the comma. When there’s no new subject, you don’t need a comma.)
BrianA reviewed Version 1 -
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Okay, I liked this tale of misery. Even though that’s what it is. It is a litany of hard done by, isolation, poverty, abandonment, hunger, rejection, ostracisation etc, but the bitterness is subtle, and though the main character has every right to wear the badge, he doesn’t come across as seeing himself as victim. There is no uplifting point to it all though, no saving moment of thought. It is a this-is-the-way -it-is story i.e. this is real life. But it is a story so there needs to be a point in my opinion, otherwise what makes this 14yo story any different (assuming the reader is aware that somewhere in the world people live in depressed circumstances) – is the object for us to feel sorry for the character. Is it the irony already, parlayed by John Lennon in the song.
`...and I put …jacket. It’s warm, but its out-of-style-in-the-70s …flack at school;’
Okay, but then subject changes mid-sentence ` the holiday break …a place to go is.’
And then – ‘I get even more flack …perfect attendance…what it’s like.’ I know there is a connection here, but it is not clear e.g. jacket-flack-holiday(cold/winter)-place to go-school attendance-flack – but it is not clear (jumbled a little too much in stream of consciousness). Suggest new sentence at `The holiday break…’
There doesn’t seem to be sufficient indication of time passing from walking around empty stores in the morning until he settles in the diner and the sun setting. Even `wandered for hours, until eventually’ or similar would settle the reader.
References to apartment – `my’ & `our’ – indicates identification with/association, so thought maybe `the’ which is colder/detached. Would seem to suit tone better.
`...about “unlocking my spirit chakras.” With a grunt…his dollar.’ – excellent.
I liked the honesty throughout, no holds barred, and references to elements – the rain down his neck . All good. I wondered about character referring to himself as `adolescent’.
I didn’t warm to the last sentence – self pity is never attractive, or likeable. The sentence before has sufficient pathos to tie up the story. And it echoes back to the previous `... nice life on Christmas, but I can’t.’
Good job. You conveyed the feelings and circumstances of the character really well – the beat of `I don’t’ for example. The reader can feel his frustration, his dissatisfaction. Hope above helps a little.
KatieDub226 reviewed Version 1 -
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I like the use of “father” throughout. The character is so distant with this man. It’s good that the author doesn’t call him “dad.” Dad and Father are two very different people.
-The description of the jacket on page one seems a little awkward. Are you trying to say that his clothes are out of date and he’s poor? You could maybe do a little more to describe the jacket. Maybe more on the texture. Is it pleather? Is it cracking at the seams? If it’s “out in the 70s” then when is the scene set?
-Love the description of the mother’s exit from the family. She seems flippant.
-Beginning of page 5: The use of the word “fantasy” and “fantasize” is too repetitive. Instead of “My biggest fantasy…” maybe “I tell her I love her…”
-More details about Dennys. Is it grungy? What’s the waitress’ name? Is she chubby? Tall and thin? What does our narrator look like?
-The last sentence: “dark, desolate wasteland” doesn’t ring true for me. There has to be a less cliched way of saying that Christmas for the boy is nothing like what others know.
-I think this story has great potential. I’d like to know a bit more about the younger brother and his relationship with our narrator. Is the lack of names in the piece intentional?
I like it. Keep working at it!
JamDive reviewed Version 1 -
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Consider using dialogue to convey some of this information. For example:
“My brother talks animatedly of nothing, spewing out words that fill the air…” isn’t bad, but it might be better to give an example of their conversation. The same is true of the conversation between the waitress and the men at Denny’s. Your story would be improved by showing the reader the clumsy flirtation.
Your language is strong and interesting, but be on guard agaist getting carried away. ‘Detritus’ isn’t a bad word, but it feels a little overblown here.
You have to re-write the ending and eliminate this passage: I wish I could tell you about more interesting things: about the people who helped me have a great day, about meeting Santa Claus or Jesus, and finding treasure buried in their excrement, about being adopted by a rich family and getting a thousand shiny red bicycles and a puppy, but I can’t.
You are the story teller. If you express a wish to tell a more interesting story the reader may wind up agreeing with you.Also, in tone it comes across as rather self-pitying, which I don’t believe was your intention.
Overall it’s a solid effort that can be improved with a little tinkering.
raiher reviewed Version 1 -
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The first sentence is very vivid, I enjoy it. In the third, I
think that the sentence “of anyone in a space that small”
would be better suited as “of anyone in a space this small”.
This, as opposed to that, I think adds more of a sense of
intimacy and immediacy.
I immensely enjoy the way the story is written. You’ve
definitely found your voice and your stride in this. I think
you’ve also found a very good place vocabulary wise. The use
of “filial” in talking about the main character’s brother in
relation to his father is a gracefully used higher vocabulary
word. It fits in perfectly, broadcasting a certain level of
sophistication, but not so grandiose that it seems out of
place.
That’s just one of many examples, mind you.
The first person POV is a perfect one for this story, and I’m
glad you decided to go with it rather than the third person
POV that is popular, though popular for good reason. It really
lest me empathize with the character.
One thing that sticks out to me is that at first it seems like
the son, the elder one, is extremely apathetic towards his
father, but then later on, “I hate when I cry in response to
his cruelty, so I keep walking, with nowhere to go”, this
comes into play. Perhaps an inconsistency of character?
“The sky is gray, but the clouds look high, with no promise of
rain, which I’m glad of.” Here, I think there are too many
commas. It could read a lot more smoothly as “The sky is gray
but the clouds look high with no promise of rain, which I’m
glad of.”
“I go inside and join the detritus of humanity sitting at the counter”—Another good instance of masterful vocabulary use. THe description of rain against the character is especially vivid.
One drawback is that, grammatically speaking, I think some of your colons are misused and would the instances in question would be better suited with semicolons. Try them out and see how the story reads for you.
All in all, an extremely enjoyable read. I look forward to more from you.
Matthewtuckey reviewed Version 1 -
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“Studio apartment” sounds posh, but from the descriptions that follow it obviously isn’t. I’d have thought calling it a flat would have set the image up more.
“of my mouth”- I think the sentence tells us everything without these words.
“abandoned us with him”- grammatically ambiguous. We know the dad is in the scene with them so we know what you mean, but it could be interpreted that Dad left with Mum.
“I have no memory of our father”- you’ve already introduced a “Dad” in the scene, so I’m a bit confused here. Do you have no memory of him from a certain time?
“filial”- had to check Dictionary.com, but a fitting word.
Good scene setting. The importance of homework is well used in your story- a lot of kids immerse themselves in coursework when home life is shit.
You’ve thought out that a kid living in a crowded house has to do “certain things” in other places- you investigated your character well.
Well described story. The main problem here is that the character doesn’t change in any way, and his situation is just as dire at the end as it was in the beginning. I’m by no means asking for a fairytale finish- but I’d like to see some new challenge that he overcomes in some way, or tries to.
I have faith in you, dude.
Claire_D reviewed Version 1 -
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Is there anything bleaker than a John & Yoko Christmas single? Nothing.
Suggestions:
‘wake up’ > not fond of the waking up start. A tad cliché. Maybe ‘come to’ or ‘come around’ to indicate a drug-induced blackout.
‘of the’ > two in quick succession can be off-putting. Another verb such as ‘alight’ eliminates the need to use ‘out of.’
‘surely’ > sounded odd. Can smoke or words ‘surely’ fill the air? Maybe an adverb indicating something noxious to tie in with the use of ‘spewing’ earlier.
Love the placing of ‘taciturn’ between the commas. Best use of that word I’ve ever seen.
Great final sentence. Normal build-up segues into a surreal smash at the end. The scene could now go anywhere.
‘boots, to’ > comma isn’t required here.
‘ear-wig’ > earwig
‘taken up residence’ > using the phrase ‘in residence’ implies the roaches have moved in and made it their home. Also, this phrase would clear up the slight hiccup in the sentence (i.e. at first I thought ‘where in residence?’)
‘nice… is’ > nice it is having a place to go
‘whatever, they’ > use an em dash? Puts more emphasis on this last line.
‘small, quick’ > I’d lose one of these for brevity’s sake. If you do get rid of one, a comma in the middle of this sentence would give the reader a breather (i.e. ‘bites from it, staring at…’)
‘my pride’ > just pride?
‘subtle stutter’ > niiiice.
Urbis page 2 is smooth. Tight back detail, strong emotions and family rifts, all scabby knees exposed. Very engaging.
‘greeting: Hi, I’m…’ > inverted commas for speech (or italics, since it’s indirect)
‘incense… pamphlets’ > sounds like it’s partnered with ‘pseudo-spiritual’ (i.e. an incense pamphlet). Had to read it a few times, so maybe have the pamphlet before the incense.
Unsure about the use of ‘filial’ in relation to a father. The word pertains to sons/daughters, so it would have to be the dad taking the filial responsibility towards his son. I think.
‘which I’m glad of’ > this could be deleted. The tone is veering towards a more personal rant or unburdening here. Needs to remain fictional, keep the tone bitter but resigned.
‘detritus of humanity’ > not so fond of this. Used in a non-ironic context, it alienates the reader from the character, since he’s alienating himself from ‘the public’ (i.e. the readers) at large.
‘ragged looking’ > hyphenate
‘her hand, and’ > no comma or lose ‘and’
‘fourteen year old’ > is hyphenated earlier, and should be here
The adolescent frustrations and the histrionic bleakness of his hometown (hometowns always look greyer through adolescent eyes) are well-written. Grimy, downbeat details.
The father comes across as a curmudgeon and a recovering alkie, but his New Agey side – the spirit chakras and so on – doesn’t translate as well. There are a few references to this, and the lighter moments of the story stem from these hippyish whims (albeit dark comedy). To make the tone less relentlessly downbeat, it would be nice to mine this seam of his character.
I did find the ending too bleak, and the story didn’t seem to pull in any one direction. Of course, this could be an exercise in meandering to highlight the meandering aimlessness of adolescence. Which isn’t an ineffective device.
There is more interest for me in the conflict between his dad and brother, and maybe his first attempts to overcome his shyness with his stutter. Painful, yes, but certainly more gripping.
Very enjoyable. A perfect antidote to Christmas cheer.
Claire
atlasdrugged reviewed Version 1 -
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I am kind of blown away by this. You fall into the group of my favorite type of writer. Your content is compelling, absolutely. It would be a great story simply based on that. But the thing is I work at a bookstore, and being a struggling writer who can barely buy books for myself, I die a little inside whenever someone spends a good $30 on a novel by one of those authors who somehow has the ability to pump out 8 books a year, and you have to call into question the amount of creativity that can go into those. But this story is really well written. It is the style and your voice which drive it, and to me at least that’s the sign of a great writer (which is why I will immediately be looking into your other pieces- you can’t lose style like that). It sounds pompous as hell, but it’s not just words strung together to make a story. It’s art- it’s all in the way you tell it. And your language is straight up magnificent.
I won’t waste my time calling out grammatical errors either. A lot of that is BS in my opinion. I mean, a clean manuscript is necessary, but modern syntax is changing. It’s leagues more compelling and mesmerizing for a reader to read outside the rules of traditional sentence structure. So much traditional syntax is too f*cking proper (didn’t know if I could invite the “u” into that party), and the rules are changing. And as a result, written word is getting more intriguing. And you, sir, your writing is intriguing.
And “When I wake up, the only decoration in the room is a wreath of cigarette and marijuana smoke that lazily curls around the naked bulb in the ceiling of our studio apartment.”? Jeez. What a fantastic way to open a story.
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