This thread is for the posting of finished writing and (now) comments on Lesson 1: Observation[/b] of the Mead Hall Writers' Society writing group.
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This thread is for the posting of finished writing and (now) comments on Lesson 1: Observation[/b] of the Mead Hall Writers' Society writing group.
This from one offline participant:
Paragraph one: In a park. The boy sits alone, one hand on his skateboard, the other on the step he's sitting on. He has black hair cut short in the front, long in back. Was his haircut a mistake by his mum? He pulls his hand up from the step and bites at his nails while watching a group play with a hacky sack nearby. A loud truck driving on a road nearby catches his attention. He follows it with his eyes, then his mouth move to his right and he blows air out of his mouth, gets on his board, and starts jumping the steps again.
Paragraph two: On the bus. The man gets on first, surveys everyone, then leads down the aisle as the woman follows him. they sit down on a bench together, backs against the windows. He puts his left arm around her and leans back as if he's conquered the world. She laughs, grabs his right arm, and starts rubbing it. They're not a pretty couple, so this isn't pleasant to watch. The hair on his arm has to be a full inch long and more, dark like his hair, and she's rubbing it into big fluffy piles. He rubs her back for a moment, hugs her tight with his left arm. She collapses into him and rubs his stomach. He whispers something in her ear and appears to lick it, at which point I turn away.
Paragraph three: In a park: a band conductor has arrived at the band shell where the boy is skateboarding. He's dressed casually, in jeans and a flannel shirt, and digs in a backpack for a moment. Then he starts setting up his music stand as if the boy doesn't exist. The boy takes a rough tumble and the band conductor looks up from his bag for a moment. Maybe to assess if the boy is still alive? When the boy gets up, the conductor continues rummaging in his backpack. I wonder what he can be looking for. Three trumpet players arrive. The conductor looks up from his rummaging, quickly zips his bag, and greets them. They stand and talk for a minute, then the players go up into the band shell. One of the trumpet players tells the skateboarder that they need the space he's 'boarding on. The conductor simply stands with his hands in his pockets, watching as the boy leaves. He turns on his heel as the boy disappears around the corner of the band shell to watch him go, then turns back with a smile and greets the french horn players who have just arrived.
The loner:
He slid from the driver's seat of an RV; not a glamorous luxury liner of the highways, just a battered little eighteen footer. The scrapes and scratches that claimed most of the paint spoke not of urban traffic, but uncharted trails far from established campgrounds. Dressed in rugged jeans that had obviously seen years of service and a blue work shirt that hung on him like a sack the man was a perfect match for his vehicle. The hair and beard that framed his face at first glance seemed grey with age, but a closer look would show that it was just washed out by years of exposure to fierce desert sun and dry desert air, an untended thicket. His legs flowed smoothly with a sure stride. The upper body was carried along by the legs like a separate entity, not participating in the act of walking. His shoulders pulled forward to bracket his chest, which made his arms hang as much in front as down his sides. Had they swung with his stride his hands would have struck against his thighs. It was easy to imagine his hands, free of the normal business of locomotion, carrying a rifle. Here in the parking lot they hung idle, untended extras just along for the ride. Each leg bumped lightly into a hand as it came forward, causing a reflex of motion through the fingers. His head also rode out front, on a neck that thrust forward from the shell of back and shoulders with a turtle's determination. He swung his head from side to side slightly, rolling bright eyes further with the motion, scanning the blacktop, resting on nothing. His head moved in a steady rythm, but it was not the same beat as the legs, and the discord was striking.
The couple:
Like many Asians, their age could not be determined from their features by western eyes. The man's cap was an obvious clue, a proud cap with USN emblazoned on the brim and 'Navy Chief' in an arch above the semi-circle of cropped black hair that showed above the adjustment strip. The cap of a proud retired sailor who had done enough time to make chief, and probably didn't just jump at retirement as soon as he had his twenty years in. In their fifties at least, more likely sixties. Touches of grey in her bowl of black hair offered support to the estimate. She stood as close as possible to her man, shoulder against his but discreetly behind, breast distorted against his upper arm, touching at hip, thigh, even the side of her foot nestled beneath the cuff of his pants. When the line moved he stepped off in exact time with the opportunity, leaving an after-image of himself in her body. She moved with a slight limp, taking two steps to regain contact and settling back into position. Their turn came, and they stood apart without a word spoken. She understood that he needed to be cleared for action; access to pockets, wallet, exact change. Unimaginable that he should trust the cashier to handle the transaction otherwise. Black eyes flickered over the scene, catching every keystroke on the register, narrowing when an item had to be passed over the scanner twice, seeing every item into a bag, every bag safely into the cart, and reading everything that appeared on the monitor. Perhaps this attention would save him from a thorough review of the receipt, or maybe he would compare the receipt line by line with the electronic images committed to memory. She watched their groceries as they passed across her vision on the belt, immobile. He took the cart and left without a word. She collected the receipt with a soft "Thank you," and folded it carefully into precise quarters, then shuffled in his wake. Her limp was more pronounced as she obviously hurried, but she could not rush enough with decorum to keep the distance between them from growing, so he steadily pulled away.
The manager:
The brown vest was tight over the mannish shirt of the management uniform. Her hair, dark with just a hint of red, was twisted into a severe coil. Simple studs in her ears continued the effort to present a solidly professional image. But the tight vest that held in her breasts accentuated her other curves, and the pulled back hair revealed the delicate lines of her neck, and nothing could hide the sparkling life of her eyes. She has two smiles. One is a professional smile, the standard of someone who faces the public every day. It isn't false, and to the average customer passing through it is certainly pleasant enough. But for those who have been in the light of the other smile it is a hollow shadow. That other smile is a beacon that lights her face and flashes from the mischievious eyes. She hurried down the aisle conveying clear purpose that was probably lost on the gangling youngster trailing her. An extra foot of height allowed him to keep up using nothing more than the ordinary adolescent shuffle that he no doubt expected would carry him through life. Clearly not the time to try to ignite that smile, so I let her pass, but I missed its glow.
Loner:
Light softly descending, grey, but not dark. Diffused sun rays cast their way across his arched, taut back. He sits entranced by the lines confidently snaking their way over the black lines in his uninviting book. His clothes seem as if they are several sizes too big, they hang off him like curtains from a rail. If he were upright he would certainly be tall, taller than most. His skin is dark, darker in the dim morning light, revealing the tones of muscle. For a moment he glimpses up to cast his gaze to the other side of the poorly illuminated hall. Pretty girls. All smiles and short skirts, giggling and talking. They walk through the sparsely populated hall, as if on exhibit, and out into the cool sunlight, past the steel framed glass doors. A smirk traces its way up his cheeks, as his eyes dance excitedly. He peers for a second longer, as if contemplating. Yet, he snaps his gaze, once more, downward to the autumn tinged pages. Intent. Scared?
Group:
Solemnly they sit, side by side. At the back of the cavernous lecture theatre of course. At first they say nothing, for what seems like several monotonous minutes. Then to break the rainfall of tension sweeping across the room they talk. Snippets of a joke can be discerned and those around them stifle rising outbursts of laughter. The aging man presenting himself at the front of the room sets his stance upright, aggressive. A thick Indian voice finds its way up through the rows and berates the perpetrators. In an instant, faux innocence takes hold and all trouble seems forgotten. A procession of slides march glacially across the truck sized screens. Accounting. The taller of the two at the back slits his wrists in jest, to a slight giggle from the overweight one in warm winter wear. Not to be outdone the large man with fair skin and a thick beard of deep ginger brings his left hand around his thick, short neck and pulls. A noose. The tall thin man, with bright emerald eyes hangs his head in shame, vanquished in their petty game of wit.
Official Role:
Dark was the look on her face. Even the soft cheeks appeared stern as she took in her surrounds. Surely she had anticipated this? She stood, with rigid posture, as if she were larger than her petite frame revealed. Clad in dark, and utterly modest business attire she tapped a foot, the left, almost rhythmically, as if in frustration. Her eyes stood deep in her round, plain face. In them lay an expression of irritation, under arched brows. My eyes wandered down to the shape huddled discreetly in the cook of her arm. A white mess of papers, folded and bent at every edge. With a sharp breath she took to stride about the room, distributing each stapled bundle to a nameless student. A groan wafted from a student retreating into the depths of his char. Even the sparkle in the wide eyes of the tall blonde girl beside me ceased. And as she stepped back to the fore of the perspiring class she smiled. A grin, with mischievous corners. She knew many would be here next semester. I was glad I was not one of them.
The man sat stirring his coffee, not slowly, but as a whirling dervish, the froth spun wildly, matching his appearance. A long trench coat hung over his seat and between the stains it was coloured a mottled grey. He glanced nervously about, perhaps fearing that coffee rustlers were nearby, he needn’t have worried, as his grim appearance would be enough to see off all but the most hardened thief. His hair was greasy and tied back in pony tail, its chestnut colouring reflecting the three days growth on his chin that bristled with flecks of grey. His blotchy face was marked with old acne scars from years past and his weathered lips seemed to welcome the hot coffee as he proffered it to them. He cast his feral gaze across the room, lingering on some people and not on others. It was then we locked eyesight, I felt a shiver across my back and turned from him as nonchalantly as I could, hoping that he thought nothing more of me, after all, not even if I was dying of thirst would I want to steal his coffee.
By the far wall a couple sat petting each other, so I let my gaze settle once more. She was the more playful, flicking sugar at the man; he for his part, grinned a warm and loving smile and tried to gather her in his arms. She evaded his grasp and laughed at his clumsy attempt. She was small and spindly, all limbs and blonde hair coupled with the exuberance of youth. He turned back to his newspaper, ignoring her. Immediately she stopped her mischief and became attentive, desperate for more of his affection. I smiled to myself, the man knew how to handle her well, and I regarded him with a sense of envy. He was dark haired and was immaculately attired, his clothes were what I imagined would suit me well, but I knew his assured style was more down to a debonair manner that would always elude me. Then I noticed it, and for all his graceful ways I could not suppress a smirk, from the reflection in his shades that sat atop his head I could see his crown. He was thinning, perhaps even balding. There is hope for us all I mused.
A waft of Chanel drifted past me and with it the waitress. She flitted about the room collecting cups and wiping down tables with a zest I wouldn’t be able to muster. She was the reason I was here every Tuesday and Thursday. She stopped at the loners table and asked whether he wanted the small plate perched on the end. He turned and glowered at her, I was sure she would flee back to the kitchens; instead she held her ground and asked again politely but firmly. His demeanour changed as he visibly wilted from her gaze, then he shrugged coyly and busied himself with his cup to avoid anymore interaction with her. She took the plate and placed it upon the heap of crockery in her other arm and moved on. Her work dress was modest, a plain white blouse and black skirt, but I could still trace the line of her body through it. Her face was always without make-up, save for a trace of eyeliner and her long brown hair fluttered glossily behind her as she went about her business. She carried herself with an aloofness and poise that was truly beautiful to behold and set an aching in me to witness her in more flattering clothes. The couple watched her work as she removed the sugar and mess from their table, the man’s eyes lingered on her longer than his lover minded and she caught him with a soft blow to the arm as a rebuke. I didn’t blame him, or her for that matter, the waitress was as radiant as the sun. I waited until she was nearly at my table; this time I fully intended to talk to her.
An old man is walking in the graden. His coat is threadbare, his body is stooped, and his hair is as white as the snow, which the spring sun had just melted. He moves slowly as every movement makes his old body ache. As he approached the bench he stopped and then slowly sat on it. He sat still as ages had passed. He was watching at his past. He was observing a woman with a small child.
The child was picking flowers bent on a large stone in the garden. His face is shined by a large baby smile and that inquisitiveness typical for his young age. His mother was close to him and she soon takes him in her hands. She smiles and then she puts the child on a the paved path where he is far from the dust. But the baby is reluctant to stay far from the flowers, which had become his new toys...
------
When I entered in the office, she asked:
" What may I do for you? "
Then we had a short conversation about the copies that had to be made. Her voice was calm and polite, the artificial smile on her face and she held her left hand with her right one so that her hands were crossed just in front of her belt. She was an office assisstant and she was trying to hide her nervousness. It was all clear. She was new there.
Closing the thread to posts. Those who couldn't quite hit the deadline, Lesson 2 is already posted, and of course you're free to post your results in the Mead Hall generally.
Offline participant
Paragraph one: In a park. The boy sits alone, one hand on his skateboard, the other on the step he's sitting on. He has black hair cut short in the front, long in back. [Was his haircut a mistake by his mum?] Good insight He pulls his hand up from the step and bites at his nails while watching a group play with a hacky sack nearby. A loud truck driving on a road nearby catches his attention. [He follows it with his eyes, then his mouth move to his right and he blows air out of his mouth, gets on his board, and starts jumping the steps again.] Awkward, too long. Try splitting the action up.
Paragraph two: On the bus. The man gets on first, [surveys everyone] nice combination of setting the scene and showing character, then leads down the aisle as the woman follows him. they sit down on a bench together, backs against the windows. He puts his left arm around her and leans back [as if he's conquered the world] Better to stay with descriptive words rather than similes, observe the detail and report it. She laughs, grabs his right arm, and starts rubbing it. [They're not a pretty couple, so this isn't pleasant to watch] Funny, and builds their characters, great. The hair on his arm has to be a full inch long and more, dark like his hair, and she's rubbing it into big fluffy piles. He rubs her back for a moment, hugs her tight with his left arm. She collapses into him and rubs his stomach. He whispers something in her ear and appears to lick it, [at which point I turn away] Nice ending, it's good to hear the narrator speak as well.
Paragraph three: In a park: a band conductor has arrived at the band shell where the boy is skateboarding. He's dressed casually, in jeans and a flannel shirt, and digs in a backpack for a moment. Then he starts setting up his music stand as if the boy doesn't exist. The boy takes a rough tumble and the band conductor looks up from his bag for a moment. Maybe to assess if the boy is still alive? [When the boy gets up] "when" is too abstract here... maybe "after", "while", or other descriptive the conductor continues rummaging in his backpack. I wonder what he can be looking for. Three trumpet players arrive. The conductor looks up from his rummaging, quickly zips his bag, and greets them. They stand and talk for a minute, then the players go up into the band shell. One of the trumpet players tells the skateboarder that they need the space he's 'boarding on. The conductor simply stands with his hands in his pockets, watching as the boy leaves. [He turns on his heel] Nice detail as the boy disappears around the corner of the band shell [to watch him go] Baffling until I realised it went with "he turns on his heel", revise for clarity, then turns back with a smile and greets the french horn players who have just arrived.
The third scene is a great one. Very believable. The characters are well defined and I can see this moving in into a story with some more definition
Nice attention to detail and movement overall. Tighten up the action in a couple of spots and it'll be great.
Timsup2nothin
The loner:
He slid from the driver's seat of an RV; not a glamorous luxury liner of the highways, just a battered little eighteen footer. The scrapes and scratches that claimed most of the paint spoke not of urban traffic, but uncharted trails far from established campgrounds. [Dressed in rugged jeans that had obviously seen years of service and a blue work shirt that hung on him like a sack] Love this description, nice word choices the man was a perfect match for his vehicle. The hair and beard that framed his face at first glance seemed grey with age, but a closer look [would] Seems awkward to cast it into hypothetical action here show that it was just washed out by years of exposure to fierce desert sun and dry desert air, an untended thicket. His legs flowed smoothly [with a sure stride] see below. The upper body was carried along by the legs like a separate entity, not participating in the act of walking. His shoulders pulled forward to bracket his chest, which made his arms hang as much in front as down his sides. Had they swung with his stride his hands would have struck against his thighs. [It was easy to imagine his hands, free of the normal business of locomotion, carrying a rifle[ Interesting insight, great addition. Here in the parking lot they hung idle, untended extras just along for the ride. Each leg bumped lightly into a hand as it came forward, causing a reflex of motion through the fingers. His head also rode out front, on a neck that thrust forward from the shell of back and shoulders with a turtle's determination. He swung his head from side to side slightly, rolling bright eyes further with the motion, [scanning the blacktop] Great detail, but after the earlier "sure stride", I pictured him with his head definitely up. Just me maybe, resting on nothing. His head moved in a steady rythm, but it was not the same beat as the legs, and the discord was striking.
Nice descriptive work, very animated character
I ended up a bit lost in the description. It seemed drawn out for the subject.
The couple:
Like many Asians, their age could not be determined from their features by western eyes. The man's cap was an obvious clue, a proud cap with USN emblazoned on the brim and 'Navy Chief' in an arch above the semi-circle of cropped black hair that showed above the adjustment strip. The cap of a proud retired sailor who had done enough time to make chief, and probably didn't just jump at retirement as soon as he had his twenty years in. In their fifties at least, more likely sixties. Touches of grey in her bowl of black hair offered support to the estimate. She stood as close as possible to her man, shoulder against his but discreetly behind, breast distorted against his upper arm, touching at hip, thigh, even the side of her foot nestled beneath the cuff of his pants. When the line moved he stepped off in exact time with the opportunity, leaving an after-image of himself in her body. She moved with a slight limp, taking two steps to regain contact and settling back into position. Their turn came, and they stood apart without a word spoken. [She understood that he needed to be cleared for action; access to pockets, wallet, exact change] Both editors thought this line was brilliant. Great character insight into the characters and their relationship.. Unimaginable that he should trust the cashier to handle the transaction otherwise. Black eyes flickered over the scene, catching every keystroke on the register, narrowing when an item had to be passed over the scanner twice, seeing every item into a bag, every bag safely into the cart, and reading everything that appeared on the monitor. Perhaps this attention would save him from a thorough review of the receipt, or maybe he would compare the receipt line by line with the electronic images committed to memory. She watched their groceries as they passed across her vision on the belt, immobile. He took the cart and left without a word. She collected the receipt with a soft "Thank you," and folded it carefully into precise quarters, then shuffled in his wake. Her limp was more pronounced as she obviously hurried, but she could not rush enough with decorum to keep the distance between them from growing, so he steadily pulled away.
What a feeling of sadness we're left with... a favourite out of the reading tonight
Beautiful details, very striking feeling to this. The characters are fully drawn and resonate for hours after it's read. Excellent work.
The manager:
The brown vest was tight over the mannish shirt of the management uniform. Her hair, dark with just a hint of red, was twisted into a severe coil. Simple studs in her ears continued the effort to present a solidly professional image. But [the tight vest that held in her breasts accentuated her other curves, and the pulled back hair revealed the delicate lines of her neck, and nothing could hide the sparkling life of her eyes] Too ordinary phrasing. Be daring with descriptions of beauty. [She has two smiles] Nice detail and narrative voice addition here. One is a professional smile, the standard of someone who faces the public every day. It isn't false, and to the average customer passing through it is certainly pleasant enough. But for those who have been in the light of the other smile it is a hollow shadow. That other smile is a beacon that lights her face and flashes from the mischievious eyes. She hurried down the aisle conveying clear purpose that was probably lost on the gangling youngster trailing her. An extra foot of height allowed him to keep up using nothing more than [the ordinary adolescent shuffle that he no doubt expected would carry him through life] Excellent addition, great line. I'm now as curious about the boy as the manager!. Clearly not the time to try to ignite that smile, so I let her pass, [but I missed its glow]. ?? intriguing, not sure what to make of the ending
Showing real mastery of observation here. The details are very well caught and well described.
Rhythmic
Loner:
Light softly descending, grey, but not dark. Diffused sun rays cast their way across his arched, taut back. He sits entranced by the [lines] confidently snaking their way over the black [lines] Got hung up on the wording here, it's work to sort out in his uninviting book. His clothes seem as if they are several sizes too big, they hang off him like curtains from a rail. If he were upright he would certainly be tall, taller than most. His skin is dark, darker in the dim morning light, revealing the tones of muscle. For a moment he glimpses up to cast his gaze to the other side of the poorly illuminated hall. Pretty girls. All smiles and short skirts, giggling and talking. They walk through the sparsely populated hall, [as if on exhibit] Good line, but because of placement it's hard to tell if this reflects the character's view, or the girls' view of themselves., and out into the cool sunlight, past the steel framed glass doors. A smirk traces its way up his cheeks, as [his eyes dance excitedly] Doesn't fit a smirk. He peers for a second longer, as if contemplating. Yet, he snaps his gaze, once more, downward to the [autumn tinged pages] Nice wording. Intent. Scared?
I'm lost with no setting till halfway through. Need somewhere for the character to exist.
Group:
Solemnly they sit, side by side. At the back of the cavernous lecture theatre of course. At first they say nothing, for what seems like [several monotonous minutes] To whom? "they" maybe, but I don't know anything about "them" here. Then to break the [rainfall of tension sweeping] Awkward simile, it feels like rainfall is stretched too thin here across the room they talk. Snippets of a joke can be discerned and those around them stifle rising outbursts of laughter. The aging man presenting himself at the front of the room sets his stance upright, aggressive. A thick Indian voice finds its way up through the rows and berates the perpetrators. In an instant, faux innocence takes hold and all trouble seems forgotten. A procession of slides march [glacially across the truck sized screens] Too many mixed images, difficult to sort through. Accounting. [The taller of the two at the back slits his wrists in jest, to a slight giggle from the overweight one] Good descriptive action in warm winter wear. Not to be outdone the [large man with fair skin and a thick beard of deep ginger] Good descriptive words, but they all come so close together. Spread the adjectives. brings his left hand around his thick, short neck and pulls. A noose. The tall thin man, with bright emerald eyes hangs his head in shame, [vanquished in their petty game of wit] Strong ending, very nicely wrapped.
Official Role:
Dark was the look on her face. Even the soft cheeks appeared stern as she took in her surrounds. Surely she had anticipated this? She stood, with rigid posture, as if she were larger than her petite frame revealed. Clad in dark, and utterly modest business attire she tapped a foot, the left, almost rhythmically, as if in frustration. Her eyes stood deep in her round, plain face. In them lay an [expression of irritation, under arched brows] arched brows are good, but push the description. Drop "irritation" and describe the look instead.. My eyes wandered down to the shape huddled discreetly in the cook of her arm. [A white mess of papers, folded and bent at every edge] Good detail. Consider presenting not as a fragment. With a sharp breath she took to stride about the room, distributing each stapled bundle to a nameless student. A groan [wafted] Are groans light enough to waft? from a student retreating into the depths of his char. Even the sparkle in the wide eyes of the tall blonde girl beside me ceased. And as she stepped back to the fore of the perspiring class she smiled. A grin, with mischievous corners. [She knew many would be here next semester. I was glad I was not one of them.] Again, good closure
Some good description and tightly observed details, but they're lost in the word choices and phrasing. It seems like the writer is pushing too hard for variety.
Ironsword
The man sat stirring his coffee, not slowly, but as a whirling dervish, the froth spun wildly, matching his appearance. A long trench coat hung over his seat and between the stains it was coloured a mottled grey. He glanced nervously about, [perhaps fearing that coffee rustlers were nearby] =), he needn’t have worried, as his grim appearance would be enough to see off all but the most hardened thief. His hair was greasy and tied back in pony tail, its chestnut colouring reflecting the three days growth on his chin that bristled with flecks of grey. [His blotchy face was marked with old acne scars from years past and his weathered lips seemed to welcome the hot coffee as he proffered it to them.] Unbalanced. These two phrases both describe his face, but one is action and one is description alone. Try breaking into two sentences. He cast his feral gaze across the room, lingering on some people and not on others. [It was then we locked eyesight] With the foregoing description I really felt this!, I felt a shiver across my back and turned from him as nonchalantly as I could, hoping that he thought nothing more of me, after all, not [even if I was dying of thirst would I want to steal his coffee.] My offline editor and her daughter both commented "hehehe" here ~:)
By the far wall a couple sat petting each other, so I let my gaze settle once more. She was the more playful, flicking sugar at the man; he for his part, grinned a warm and loving smile and tried to [gather] Great character word & interaction description following her in his arms. She evaded his grasp and laughed at his clumsy attempt. She was small and spindly, all limbs and blonde hair coupled with the exuberance of youth. He turned back to his newspaper, ignoring her. Immediately she stopped her mischief and became attentive, desperate for more of his affection. I smiled to myself, the man knew how to handle her well, and I regarded him with a sense of envy. He was dark haired and was immaculately attired, his clothes were what I imagined would suit me well, but I knew his assured style was more down to a debonair manner that would always elude me. Then I noticed it, and for all his graceful ways I could not suppress a smirk, from the [reflection in his shades] Very well observed detail that sat atop his head I could see his crown. He was thinning, perhaps even balding. There is hope for us all I mused.
[A waft of Chanel drifted past me and with it the waitress] Great opening line. She flitted about the room collecting cups and wiping down tables with a zest I wouldn’t be able to muster. She was the reason I was here every Tuesday and Thursday. She stopped at the loners table and asked whether he wanted the small plate perched on the end. He turned and glowered at her, I was sure she would flee back to the kitchens; [instead she held her ground and asked again politely but firmly. His demeanour changed] Excellent moment, great character building as he visibly wilted from her gaze, then he shrugged coyly and busied himself with his cup to avoid anymore interaction with her. She took the plate and placed it upon the heap of crockery in her other arm and moved on. Her work dress was modest, a plain white blouse and black skirt, but I could still [trace] the line of her body through it. Her face was always without make-up, save for a [trace] trace... trace, it sticks out amidst the great writing of eyeliner and her long brown hair fluttered glossily behind her as she went about her business. She carried herself with an aloofness and poise that was truly beautiful to behold and set an aching in me to witness her in more flattering clothes. The couple watched her work as she removed the sugar and mess from their table, the man’s eyes lingered on her longer than his lover minded and she caught him with a soft blow to the arm as a rebuke. I didn’t blame him, or her for that matter, the waitress was as radiant as the sun. I waited until she was nearly at my table; [this time I fully intended to talk to her.] Nice ending, pulling in the narrator
This writer is obviously able to laugh at himself, and in turn the reader can feel in on the jokes naturally. Great fun to read.
Very solid all round writing here. Lots of character-filled detail, enough that I felt like I knew the waitress and the loner by the time I was done reading.
Stephen Asen
An old man is walking in the graden. His coat is threadbare, his body is stooped, and his hair is as white as the [snow, which the spring sun had just melted] White as snow is often used, but pulling it into the setting like this is a brilliant move. He moves slowly as every movement makes his old body ache. As he approached the bench he stopped and then slowly sat on it. He sat still as ages had [passed]. He was watching at his [past] passed... past... slightly different but they stick out. [He was observing a woman with a small child.] This made me very curious as a reader
The child was picking flowers bent on a large stone in the garden. [His face is shined by] His face shines with... nice description a large baby smile and that inquisitiveness typical for his young age. His mother was close to him and she soon takes him in her hands. She smiles and then she puts the child on a the paved path [where he is far from the dust] Good insight into her character. But the baby is reluctant to stay far from the flowers, which had become his new toys...
This is a beautiful moment, very nicely described and with a lot of empathy for the subject.
------
When I entered in the office, she asked:
" What may I do for you? "
Then we had a short conversation about the copies that had to be made. Her voice was calm and polite, [the artificial smile] Something everyone can picture instantly, good on her face and she held her left hand with her right one so that her hands were crossed just in front of her belt. She was an office assisstant and she was trying to hide her nervousness. [It was all clear. She was new there.] Short punchy ending!
Nicely described and worded. Some basic grammar and spelling issues but the writing itself is very good.
This thread will now remain open for everyone to comment on the writing, the feedback, the percentage chance of Drogba diving in the CL final... :oops:
One note: the feedback sprinkled throughout the writing is a combination of my own and my offline editor's comments, as are any ending comments. Please do let me know if you authors find it hard to follow.
Thanks for your work on this Tamur, and please pass that on to your off-line associates. Obviously, like anyone else I appreciate the praise. I also greatly appreciate the very concise observations. Specifically:
In 'The loner', the shift to hypothetical was, charitably speaking, abysmal. I can clearly hear an old editor; "'Would show that'?!? Are we paying you by the word, or did you just never learn the word 'revealed'?" You guys were much more...delicate...than I am accustomed to.
Also in 'The loner', I somehow missed the downcast image of 'scanning the blacktop'. I wanted to give a sense of him taking in everything, being...not threatened exactly, but definitely assessing for threats. I started with 'scanning the furthest corners of the parking lot', but that gave me too much of a sense that he was focusing there.
I will think about this one. That guy was an absolutely great character and deserved my best work.
With 'The manager', if you would expand on the 'intriguing' I'd appreciate it. There are some intentionally unsaid things in that paragraph meant as a draw, but not meant to be misleading. Assuming the next paragraph expands on the manager, where would you be expecting it to go?
Quote:
Originally Posted by Tamur
Intriguing... This came from the word "missed" in that last sentence. This triggers many, many assumptions and questions about the narrator. He's not just sitting here watching people - he's been here before, and, if he's missing that glow, he is apparently one of "those who have been in the light of the other smile".Quote:
Originally Posted by Timsup2nothin
Then I wonder, What is the narrator's relationship with the manager? How often has he seen her? Is this café/restaurant the only place he sees her? Where else do they meet? Since there are "those" who see the other smile, there must be more than the narrator. Who else is in this circle of close acquaintances/friends? Does the narrator compete for the manager's attention with these others?
Funny how much one word can do.
BTW Tamur, big thanks to you and your offline [team?] for the time and comments you've contributed to this thread. It's really appreciated!
I can't believe I doubled 'trace'. Doh!
Excuse me if I'm patting myself on the back, but that is exactly the type of draw I was shooting for. Thanks for elaborating.Quote:
Originally Posted by Tamur
Tim, - my favourite line and so true!Quote:
Originally Posted by Timsup2nothin