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- Rank: Wise Jester
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So… the long awaited short story!! What I want to know…
1. Is the friendship subplot not working?
2. Is the character believable?
3. Other critiques…
https://docs.google.com/document/d/1cahpYRd85_DJBtiBrhCLeQw5wndnG96Ob44sqU86hZw/edit?usp=drivesdk
Enjoy!!
- Rank: Wise Jester
- Total Posts: 76
Some tags…
@mineralizedwritings @esther-c @felicity @freedomwriter76 @orielle21Ignore the tag if you want!!
@booksandbeakers
The link isn’t working, so I’m guessing you need to change access to allow for people clicking on the link. If you go to the google doc and click on the blue “Share” button at the top right it should bring up a menu. Under “General Access” select the arrow next to “Restricted” and click “Anyone with the link can view.” That should make us able to access your doc without you having to give access to each person specifically. Hope it works! I’m excited to read your story!
Be brave. Be strong. Be bold.
-Christopher Blakewell@booksandbeakers
Hope to read it soon!
Is there any way you could post it on here?
He must increase, but I must decrease.
- Rank: Wise Jester
- Total Posts: 76
Oh no!! @felicity @mineralizedwritings The link works on my computer!!
Okay, I’ll copy and paste:
“Amanda!” The gruff voice breaks into my thoughts. “Time to milk the cows.”
I jump up. “Yes, Pa.” Gathering my dress with my arms, I bound across the meadow to the barn, careful not to soil it lest I have to change before school.
Bessie snorts unappreciatively as I direct her stream of warm milk into the bucket. I pat her on her side and pick up the basket, sloshing it all over the barn floor.
Plunking it on the front porch for Pa to get, I open the screen door and holler to Pa that I’m leaving for school.
He grunts, and I take that as a I-hear-you-sign. Hopping down the three porch steps, I swish across the long meadow, the dew soaking my shoes through and through.
I enter the wood at the other side of the meadow, relishing in the quiet. It’s a good kind of quiet, not like the empty stillness of the house. Used to be not so quiet, when Ma was there and Pa was happy all the time. Ma used to sing and play the grand old piano everyday that Pa bought her. Now the piano is gone. Pa threw it away one day after Ma died. Seemed like part of me died, too, when he threw it away.
Now Pa hates to hear any music. Can’t bear it.
I recognize the song of one of the birds as a robin. I shudder. That was Ma’s name. Robin.
The red-painted schoolhouse comes into view sooner than I thought it would, its once cheerful exterior now sad and solemn. Pa doesn’t care about school, but he let me go. Most days, anyway. Leastways when he’s not in a foul mood from one of those headaches he keeps getting.
Kids come pouring in the building, most of ‘em the cityfied folk that live up in Edwards. Only a few of us live out in the country.
We file into our seats and begin by reciting the Pledge of Allegiance, like we always do. Then Miz Emily starts talking about the school exhibition in a few weeks. I smile. Won’t everybody be surprised, fine and dandy? Pa doesn’t care about it, but I hope he does come.
The day flies by like it always does with its normal share of spilled ink pots, pulled hair, and other mishaps. I try to focus, but really, what I’m thinking about is tonight.
I smile as I exit the building, my mind spinning around my daring escapade planned tonight.
Lillia catches up to me as I walk briskly, matching her short stride to mine the best she could. “You in a hurry?” She asks, her perfectly curled auburn hair bouncing.
I give her a quizzical glance. She knows me better than that. “Gotta get home to Pa to make dinner.”
Lillia pouted. “Can’t ya come home with us for dinner? Mama said you could if ya wanted to.”
I sucked in my inner lip. “I guess so, if I run home now and get him some dinner.”
Lillia cheered. “See ya there!”
We part ways, her on the wagon road to town, and me on the path through the woods.
Half-skipping, half-walking in order to not ruin the dress – Pa makes me stitch my own and only buys me one a year.
Within minutes, I had reached the house and set out a meal of cold biscuits and huckleberry preserves for Pa, and set out again for Lillia’s.
Her house is downtown Edwards, a dandy little house with red trimming, white paint, and a bright green door. Honestly, it looks like Christmas just came and dropped all of its leftover decorations over here and forgot to take them off.
Mrs. Kershaw greets me warmly. “Welcome, sweetie. How are you?”
I nod jerkily, unsure of what to say. The household is lavishly furnished with all sorts of fancified things. My eyes rove the room, and then I land on it.
The piano.
I shake my head at myself. Wouldn’t want to embarrass myself. Not here, not now.
Mrs. Kershaw catches me. “Oh, that.” She brushes it off like it’s merely a cheap toy. “You can play it if you want.”
I move toward it, entranced. The cool keys feel so familiar under my fingers. I could almost feel Ma’s hand on mine, guiding it as I played choppy “Mary Had a Little Lamb” songs.
I press the first key, middle C. Slowly I lapse into “Trumpet Voluntary.” The music soars over me, giving me that familiar feeling I get whenever I play.
With a final bang on the pedal, I strike a chord, then turn, self-conscious.
Mrs. Kershaw and Lillia are watching me, awestruck.
I slide off the seat. Why, oh why, did I do that?
Mrs. Kershaw puts a hand on my shoulder. I shrug it off.
“That was beautiful.”
I shrug. “Ain’t nothin.’”
“You have real talent.” Mrs. Kershaw watched me carefully. “You really do.”
I feel my cheeks heating up. “Thanks.” I slither from under her grasp. “Ma taught me how.”
Mrs. Kershaw smiles. She was good friends with Ma. “Your Ma did always love music.” She sighs. “I’m so sorry.”
I don’t need your sympathy, I think, but keep my mouth shut. Wouldn’t do any good.
We sat down to eat, Mr. Kershaw at the head, me next to Lillia and her brother. The table has real cloth napkins instead of the paper ones that we usually use. It’s laden with cranberry preserves, mashed taters, green beans, pork, and a bunch of other things I don’t know.
Mr. Kershaw clears his throat, addressing his wife. “Heard that Vrance fella won the primaries today.”
Mrs. Kershaw frowned. “Maybe we can save that for later, dear.”
Mr. Kershaw glanced at me. “Balance of power is shiftin.’”
I cleared my throat. “Pa didn’t vote for him.” I swiped at my mouth with my napkin. “Pa voted for Williams.”
The table’s normal din of conversation stops. I relish the attention. “Pa says that the Vrance person is too liberal.”
Mr. Kershaw paled. “Well, I… He’s a…” His face reddens. “Nevermind.”
The rest of the meal is eaten in silence, the quiet occasionally broken by small talk about the weather.
I shook my head. What did I do wrong? Pa always said it was best to speak your mind. I guess some folks can’t appreciate that.
Lillia’s brother Joe offers to walk me home, but I shrug him off. Pa wouldn’t be too happy if I was walked home by a boy. Lillia offers instead. After some persuasion, she convinces me, and we set off on the walk home, side by side.
The road is dark, the moonless night making it impossible to see very far, save the lanterns Mrs. Kershaw gave us.
Lillia goads me on, nervous about walking home in the dark. Doesn’t make much difference to me, I reckon. The woods are the same in the dark as in the daylight.
We cross the bridge over the small creek through the woods, and then I bid goodbye to Lillia. The meadow is a little less dark than the woods, and I make my way easily through it.
I reach the front porch and bang open the front door. Pa is in his rocker, reading the paper. He barely even looks up when I come in.
“Who was walkin’ with ya out there?” He growls, his cigar parked tightly between his jaws.
I clenched my fists. How could he even see me? “Lillia.” I answer.
Pa slowly gets up and makes his way over to me. “I don’t want ya near her again, you hear?” He bellows. “Never again. If I see you with her again… I’ll -” He stops short.
I waver but stand my ground. “But Pa… she’s my friend.”
“Don’t care if she’s your best friend. Don’t want ya near her. Ya hear?”
“Y-yes, Pa.” I blink rapidly. Can’t cry now. Haven’t cried in years. Not even when Ma died.
Crying never did anyone good.
***
Five years ago, April 21st…
“Alright, Henry. Time to get ready to leave. Here, let me fix your pockets. They’re inside out.” Ma swept over to him, her skirts brushing the floor.
Pa runs his hands through his slicked back hair. “Didn’t ya do that a few minutes ago?”
Ma laughs and I join in. “That was your buttons, Pa.” I chime in. Pa laughs and scoops me up. “Why, aren’t you just like your Ma.” He tickles me. “Yes, Pumpkin. Those were them buttons, weren’t they?”
I grab his hand with my grubby one. “Ready?”
Ma grabs a casserole dish covered in a tea towel. “Now we are.”
The three of us head outdoors, the late spring air full of the scent of flowers. Pa and I race across the field, Ma calling for us to wait up.
We wait patiently at the edge of the wood, Ma running comically, her dress billowing out behind her.
The path to the Kershaws’ house is lengthy, but we make it shorter, laughing and joking the whole way.
The evening passes joyfully, quicker than it should. Ma and I stand at the door, waiting for Pa.
We wait and wait and wait.
Finally, I went to look for him. He was in Mr. Kershaw’s study, the noise of their argument fluctuating outside of the thick door. I shudder. “Pa!” I called. “Pa!”
The conversation, however, is too loud for them to hear my pitiful voice. “How can you sit here all cityfied and fancy, when us poor are starvin’? How can you pretend you didn’t just bribe the bank? Us honest folk may not dress real fancy, but at least we’re honest!” I hear Pa roar.
I clench and unclench my fists. I don’t know what they’re talking about, but it doesn’t sound good.
“Pa!” I bang on the door. “Time to go!”
The door swings open, knocking me to the floor. Pa grabs my hand and pulls me up. “I’m comin,’ Pumpkin.” He scoops me up. “Don’t you worry ‘bout nothin.’”
***
The house is deathly quiet as I creep down the stairs, avoiding the steps I know that creak. Pausing to listen, I hear Pa’s familiar snores from his bedroom down the hall.
The coast is clear.
Slipping on my tattered sneakers, I open the front door noiselessly, holding onto the railing as I guide myself down the stairs.
The earth is alive with the sound of insects, the tinny sound of the crickets blending with the bass of the peepers in the swamp over yonder. The moon hangs in the sky like a fat pat of creamy butter, a glowing beacon in the inky sky. Fireflies flash in the meadow and beyond in the wood, swinging their handheld lanterns to guide them through the tall grass.
The scent of honeysuckle floats on the breeze, mingled with the sweet fragrance of rose hips. It felt delicious yet scandalous, like it always did.
I threaded my way through the forest, my feet flying. I knew the way by heart. I reached the church, panting.
Slowly, cautiously, I creaked open the door.
It was there as always.
The cool ebony and pale white keys feel familiar under my fingers. A shaft of moonlight shone in through the windows, my hands patterned in the intricacies of the stained glass.
I modulate into “Simple Gifts,” this time not worried about being heard or seen. Really, it’s just me, the piano, and God. A beautiful trio.
Just like the trio we had when it was Ma, Pa, and I.
Pushing away the thought like the discarded outdated hymnals under the bench, I pull a songbook from behind the piano. Maybe one day I would be able to play in church. Maybe Pa would come. He never comes. Says that he can focus better with God by himself.
Maybe, I think, it’s because everything here reminds him of Ma. She loved church – the people, the sermons, and the singing.
Most of all the singing.
Ma had a voice like no one you’ve ever heard, high and melodious like the bird she’s named after. Robin.
I check my watch. 5 a.m. I’ve been here longer than I thought I had. Music has a way of carrying me off like that.
I strike a chord, then rise and make my way through the pews and out of the church. I’ll probably end up falling asleep today in English, even though it’s my favorite subject, besides music of course. Both have a way of letting you disappear into a whole new world and make you feel like you can actually do something.
Pa never makes me feel like I’m anything special. I used to be his world, when Ma was alive. Me and his Robin. Ain’t that way anymore.
I rerun my path, the early sun’s rays guiding my way. Pa would be up soon to start the chores. Oh, well. I’ve never been caught before and don’t intend to change that now.
The farmhouse looks prettier than ever in the very early morning, its green shutters looking a little less beat-up than they usually do. Reckon it’s morning in the country. Ma used to say it was God reminding us of who actually made the beauty of the country.
I open the front door, and then race up the stairs, diving into my bed. Pa sleeps sound as a jackrabbit, so I never really have to worry about waking him up. I’m usually pretty quiet, though, just in case. Pa discovers me, and he won’t be very happy.
Ten minutes later I hear Pa get up. I cringe. Gotta be more careful from now on. Can’t afford to be discovered.
I almost fall back to sleep, but manage to drag myself out of bed and down to the kitchen. Swinging open the cupboard, I heat up the leftover biscuits and get out preserves from the night before.
Pa comes in, his overalls covered in manure. I wrinkle my nose. Life on the farm sure ain’t glamorous. He plops down in his chair, and I sit down, too, while he asks the blessing.
“Mornin.’” He mutters, plopping a fat pat of preserves on his hard biscuit. My cooking ain’t like Ma’s. She used to make the most delicious meals this side of the Mississippi. My mouth waters just thinking about it.
I gobble my breakfast, washing it down with Bessie’s warm milk. Much better than any of that pasteurized stuff you can get at the store. That stuff makes me gag. Who would want that after this creamy, rich deliciousness?
I say bye to Pa and then make my way to school, still yawning. Hope nobody notices. Don’t want Miz Emily hounding me about getting enough sleep. No siree, that wouldn’t do at all, now, would it.
Apparently, I’ve gotten there a little early, because nobody but the teacher is there. She’s writing stuff on the blackboard, and I cough a little when she doesn’t turn at my entrance.
“Oh! Amanda! Didn’t see you there!” She turns, flustered. “Ready for the school exhibition?”
I nod. “Pretty much ‘bout ready, I reckon. She flashes me her pearly smile. “What are you planning to do?”
I shrug. “You’ll see soon ‘nuff.”
She nods, her golden hoop earrings dangling. “I’ll be looking forward to it.”
The rest of the class begins to file in, and I bury myself in A Tale of Two Cities. I reckon
it’s good, but half the time I can’t tell whether it’s talking in English or Sanskrit.
The bell rings what seems like a lifetime later and I jerk up my head and jump out of my seat. Pa isn’t ever happy when I’m late home. Miz Emily has given us a social studies assignment to do in pairs, and students mingle around, trying to find partners. Lillia walks up to me. “Hey, Mandy. Wanna do the social studies assignment together?”
“Su-” I remember Pa’s warning, the words sticking to my tongue. “I- I’m sorry. I got someone else I already said yes to. Real sorry.”
“Oh.” Lillia looks disappointed. “Okay. Maybe next time.”
I nod jerkily. “Maybe next time.”
The way home is filled with thoughts of Pa’s warning. What ever was wrong with Lillia? Pa and Mr. Kershaw used to be friends. They haven’t talked in a while, but, then again, Pa doesn’t talk to hardly anyone anymore. Says he’s too busy for socializing.
Seems like these days he’s too busy for me, too.
***
“Rise and shine!” I holler out the window to the groundhog wallowing below near the creek. “No school today!”
I bound down the stairs, dressed in my best calico. Today was Saturday, May 1st.
And in the town of Edwards that only means one thing. The May Festival.
Pa’s already downstairs, getting himself breakfast. He grunts when I enter. “You slept in.”
I scrunch my face into an apology. “I wasn’t sleeping in. Just gettin’ ready.” The May Festival was the most fun thing this town did. Dancing, singing, and lots of eating. More food than you ever did see. Last night I had baked a rhubarb pie to bring, as everyone’s family was supposed to bring something. We girls looked forward to it all year.
Pa shoves the griddle over to me to fry the eggs. I grudgingly take it.
“Gettin’ ready for what?” Pa asks.
I frown. Pa knows exactly where I’m going. “The May Festival.”
Pa plops down in his chair. “No, you ain’t.”
“W-what do you mean?” I ask, trembling.
Pa grunts. “You got no need to. ‘Sides, I don’t want all ‘em cityfied folk puttin’ new-fangled ideas in your head. All a bunch of hogwash.”
I take a desperate last attempt. “Ma always went.”
My words hit their target hard, and the minute they do I wish I could take them back.
“Well, your Ma ain’t on this earth anymore.” Pa growls. “I said you ain’t goin,’ and I mean you ain’t goin.’”
“But Pa!” I tremble all over. “You always let me go.”
Pa jumps up. “You ain’t goin!’” He parks his cigar in his mouth. “Now git those dishes done.”
The soapy water creeps up the sleeves of my calico dress as I try hard not to cry. Pa’s word was law, and there was no way around it.
Unless there was.
***
Five years ago, May 1st…
“This way, Pumpkin!” Pa grabs my hand and we weave our way through the crowd. “Let’s go get some ice cream!”
The creamy delight tastes like heaven on my tongue, the warm taffy drizzles sticking in my teeth. I grin and wipe my mouth with the back of my sleeve. “More, Pa!”
The seller chuckles. “Here you are, little lady!”
I take it from him, grinning ear to ear, my tongue working to get the hard pieces of taffy unstuck. The ice-cream seller takes a curious little bottle out from behind the stand, and then squeezes it, gooey caramel sauce flowing from its spout.
I finish the cone in record time, and Pa scoops me up. “Let’s go find your Ma!”
We find her near the cooking booth, watching as the judges evaluate the array of pies set out on the table. If Ma wasn’t here, Pa would be letting me have a taste of every one.
I watch, awed, as a judge puts a shiny blue ribbon on a peanut butter pie in the back row. Ma beams. “Look, Mandy. I just won first place!” She rips the ribbon off and hands it to me. As proud as an eight-year old could possibly be, I pin the prize to my shirt. The blue ruffles and gold trimming tickle my bare skin. “Look, Ma, I won first place!” I crow.
The three of us grab hands and head toward the dancing square. I watch as Pa sweeps Ma out onto the makeshift dance floor, tapping his toe in time to the music. Ma’s pretty green dress speckled with pink strawberries swirls as Pa spins her gracefully. I watch, bemused. “Never knew Pa could dance.” I mutter, my eyes glued to their every move. Pa’s masculine, handsome form blends with Ma’s slight, feminine one as they twirl to the lively music.
The day speeds by, full of fluffy cotton candy and egg salad and dancing. As we drive back, I cuddle up next to Ma and fall asleep.
***
I finish the last dish, wiping my hands on the kitchen towel and fanning my wet sleeves. Pa was out in the fields, tending to the crops and livestock.
Here was my chance.
I run upstairs to check my reflection in the mirror, then, assured that I look presentable, fasten up my beat up penny loafers. After grabbing my rhubarb pie, I slip around the back of the house, hoping Pa wouldn’t notice.
That taken care of, I swing my arms playfully as I head off to town. The May Festival used the fairgrounds, which had an abundance of free space, located next to the lake. The place was bustling when I arrived. It had started an hour ago, but at least the dancing was still yet to come.
I scan the crowd for familiar faces, feeling out of place in my calicos. Most of the girls wear frilly pink dresses and bows that make them look like a dressed-up birthday cake. Lillia is among them, gossipping with a group of girls sitting under a tree,
I rush over to her. “Hi, Lillia!”
The gaggle of girls look up. “Oh, hey, Mandy.” Lillia says unenthusiastically. “What’s up?”
I shrug, plopping down next to her. “Nothin’ much.”
Lillia scoots farther over, away from me. I try not to take it to heart.
“Your Pa let you come?” She asks.
I shrug. “I’m here, right? That’s all that matters.”
Lillia shrugs, then leans in to tell something to the other girls. They break up into giggles.
Apparently, I’m not wanted here.
I jump up, scanning the crowd again. Don’t really have any friends besides Lillia.
Or, at least, I thought she was my friend.
Determined not to let her attitude ruin my day, I head over to the pie section. The usual assortment of mincemeat, apple, pumpkin, pecan, rhubarb, and shoo-fly are set out in neat rows. The pie that grabs my attention, however, is the peanut butter one in the back.
Ma’s favorite.
I point to it as a man approaches me. “Can I have a slice of that one, please?”
He nods, cutting me a generous serving. “Here you are! You’re Henry’s girl, ain’t ya?”
I nod. Used to be Robin’s girl, too.
I grab one of the forks in the jar, and then sit down near the lake to eat. The peanut butter goodness melts on my tongue, the whipped cream smearing over my face.
“Well, whaddya think?” Somebody asks. I jump, startled. A girl sits down next to me. I recognize her from school, but don’t know her name.
“I-It’s okay.” I say. Doesn’t taste like Ma’s.
The girl makes a face. “Okay! I labored over that for hours, ya know.”
Whoops. Didn’t exactly think she was the one who had made it.
“No, I mean, it’s delicious!” Wouldn’t do any good to make enemies with everyone in town. One person was enough.
“The dancing is starting, ya know.” She informs me. I nod. “Really?”
She bobs her head. “Yeah. Wanna come?”
I agree, licking my fingers from the peanut butter frosting. “Sure.”
She leads me across the fairgrounds to the May Pole. I grab one of the colorful streamers dangling from it. Across from me, Lillia and her new clique are talking in hushed whispers. I just hope they aren’t talking about me.
The music starts, and the familiar feeling washes over me. I perform the steps carefully, having done them every year in what seems like forever. My vision is a blur of yellow, purple, blue, and red streamers, so instead I rely on my feet to guide me through the dance.
A few whistles accompany us as we step out to make room for the next group of dancers. To my surprise, Lillia runs over to me.
“Oh. Hi.” I say, unsure of what she’s going to say.
“Hi.” Lillia lowers her voice. “Sorry for the way I acted with them.” She jerks her finger back to the group of girls she was with.
“Oh.”
“They’re my cousins, ya know. Ma said that I had to hang out with them.” She gives a sheepish grin. “I’d much rather talk to you than them.”
I take a deep breath. “That’s okay. I understand.”
“Do you want to go bob for apples?” She winks. “They’re from Mr. Bennett’s farm, even though they’re way unripe. Remember we used to sneak over and steal them when we were young?”
We both laugh.
When we were young. When Ma was alive. When Pa loved me.
We hurry over to the stand, giggling while Mr. Bennett ties our arms behind our backs. “Ready… set… go!” He calls.
Lillia puts her head down to the water, her teeth bared. I begin to follow suit. The cold water splashes onto our faces, refreshing after the hot May sun. I wrap my teeth around one, holding it up triumphantly. “Look, Lillia!” I mumble. “I won!”
She comes up, a crimson apple clenched between her teeth as well. “One more time!” She protests.
I agree, counting as off again. She wins this time.
The rest of the day is spent with picnics, laughter, and more dancing. Not until the last rays of sun begin to fade do we start to wind down.
Now it was time to go face Pa.
I sprint home, feeling like a prisoner going to the guillotine. What was Pa going to say? Could I make up a lie to distract him?
I reach the farmhouse and rocket into the kitchen. Pa’s not there. Most likely he’s still in the barn.
“Land sakes, girl, could you keep quiet? ‘Em headaches don’t ‘zactly appreciate noise.”
I sank into the floor. So Pa had had a headache all day and hadn’t missed me at all. Thank you Lord, I whisper.
***
The next day when I wake up, real late this time since I stayed up last night to do Pa’s chores, he still isn’t up and about. I peek into his bedroom.
He’s still asleep, or so I think.
When I creep over however, I can see that he’s not. He’s lying idly on the side of the bed, his eyes huge. Big brown spots pockmark his forehead.
“Pa!” I yell, forgetting about his headache. “What’s wrong?”
He winces. “Nothin’ you need to worry ‘bout. Git out there and go make breakfast for your old man.”
“I’m goin’ to go get the doctor.” I say firmly.
“Don’t need no doctor.” He mutters.
I’m out the door before he can stop me, however, running to the barn. With every ounce of strength I have, I yank Royal out of the barn and lift the saddle onto him. Done this a million times before, like when Ma was sick.
***
Four years ago, December 24th…
The doctor looks at me sternly as I wait outside Ma and Pa’s bedroom. “You’re baby sister’s here.” He announces.
I squeal. “Can I see her? I want to see Ma! What’s her name?”
The doctor sighs. “I’m afraid, honey, that your Ma ain’t gonna… live.”
I gasp. “I wanna see her!” My nine-year old fists pummel the doctor. I reach for the door handle and fight my way inside.
Ma is lying with the baby in her arms. There’s blood everywhere, almost making me sick. Ma’s eyes are staring at me. “Mandy.” She whispers.
“Ma!” I start to sob.
“Hush.” She pulls me close. “Can’t have you sobbin’ now. Take care of her, Mandy.”
I nod. “I will, Ma.”
She clutches my hand tightly. “I will,” I repeat, over and over. Even until her hand grows cold and the light leaves her beautiful eyes.
Even until the baby stops sobbing.
***
“Just a bout of measles.” The doctor informs me. “Good thing you got me, though. Your Pa wouldn’t last much longer.”
It’s the next day. The doctor stayed overnight, tending to Pa, like Ma used to.
“How can I pay you?”
The doctor smiles. “Don’t need no pay for friends.” He says.
I tiptoe into Pa’s room. “I gotta go, Pa.” I whisper. “The school exhibition is today.”
Pa nods. “Have fun.”
I turn to go, almost hoping that he would say he could come. I exit the room, but as I do, Pa’s voice stops me.
“I’m coming too.”
***
I sit down at the piano, aware of the hundreds of eyes trained on me. The cool ivory feels familiar, like always. I run my hand over the dropboard, its brand name carefully etched in the wood.
The first few notes come spiraling out of the instrument, and it takes me a second to realize that I’m the one playing them. I can almost hear Ma’s beautiful voice singing to the notes:
Joyful, joyful, we adore thee!
God of Glory, Lord of Love!
Hearts unfold like flowers before thee,
Opening to the sun above!
I’m now the only one in the room, just me and the piano and God. I glance out over the crowd and I catch Pa’s eyes on me.
Ma’s favorite song. The notes sound just like she played them, and I can see her beautiful smile. I play on, the deep, rich notes filling the small stage.
I finish, the music still lingering. Before I know it, Pa is on his feet, leading the town in a standing ovation.
I leap off the stage, pushing my way through the throng to Pa. He hugs me fiercely. Tears linger in his eyes, his big, blue eyes, blue as a November day.
“Your Ma would be proud, Pumpkin.”
- Rank: Wise Jester
- Total Posts: 76
@arien I forgot to tag you.
Does the copying and pasting fine for you or do you want me to change the access on the doc?
@booksandbeakers
This is working great! I’m about half way through, and I’m really enjoying it! I’ll tell you what I think when I’m done.
"And so I left this world just as I had entered it. Confused."
@booksandbeakers
Loved it! I love the characters, and the flashbacks were perfectly placed. Right when I wanted to know more, I got the information soon afterwards. Although I would usually say with something like this that the Dad has a lot to apologize for and try to mend (seem to be mostly his fault, and he treats Mandy pretty poorly) the ending really gave me the feeling this was just the start, and a new and better relationship was to come. I actually slightly teary eyed, I mean just a bit, but the emotion was really well done! I love your writing style, and I genuinely enjoyed reading it!
1. Is the friendship subplot not working?
No it was great! I like it being a little uneasy. Nobody is perfect, and there are people like Lilia who despite wanting to be friends also care about what other people think about them a bit too much.
2. Is the character believable?
Yes! I love it, and I really felt her feelings too. I’m usually not a huge fan of first person, I have a hard time getting into it, but I really liked it here. I know you wanted critiques, but nothing really stood out to me. I don’t write short stories, so I was just amazed at how you fit an entire plot and character development arc in 10k words 😂
Great work and keep it up! If you ever have more writing you want to share, I’d love to read it!
"And so I left this world just as I had entered it. Confused."
@booksandbeakers
Thanks for copying it, it was fun to read!
I liked your use of dialect, it was still easy to understand but gave me a feel for the country.
I just had some questions though . . . mostly about time period. It seemed to have a Little-House feel to it, for me at least. I don’t know if that’s what you had in mind, but that’s what I got. So sneakers seemed out of place to me. Also the peanut butter–I don’t know if they had that then. But I don’t know when or where your story is set.
Maybe I missed it, but I didn’t quite understand why Pa doesn’t like Lillia’s family.
One more thing that stuck out to me–it’s a really small detail but it seems important. When Amanda runs home to make dinner for her Pa and then goes to Lillia’s, she leaves him biscuits and preserves. I don’t think that would be enough for a working farmer for his midday meal. I’m basing this mostly off a story a lady at my former church told me. She grew up on a ranch in Montana and got in trouble for making eggs and potatoes for the hired threshers’ lunch. (Her grandma was gone and hadn’t told her what to cook, so she had to do something spur-of-the-moment.) Her grandpa later told her working men always need meat in their midday meal. 😳
So that’s my suggestions! Great job with the story! 😊
Be brave. Be strong. Be bold.
-Christopher Blakewell- Rank: Wise Jester
- Total Posts: 76
@mineralizedwritings I’m sooo glad you enjoyed it! I’ve never shared my writing (besides blog posts for the Rebelution) with anyone besides my close friend and a few other family members and such so needless to say I was a bit nervous.
Yes yes, the short story sorta had the connotation that they were on the brink of a new relationship, I think. I just previously started writing in 1st person, so it’s actually kind of new for me.
Okay, I’m glad the subplot is working. I was a little worried about it being overpowering, but I think it tied in to the flashbacks and Pa’s negative behavior. I agree with you, part of storytelling as Christians is depicting the brokenness as well as the good in people.
*phew* I kind of struggle with charries!
Yes, I’ll probably be sharing some more soon, whether a short story or not!! Thank you so much!!
@arien Hello hello! Glad that you read it!!Writing the dialogue could be a pain but I felt it was good for the reader. Okaaay, so time period. I struggle with that… it’s not really historical fiction genre, but I still need to do my research. So, to answer your question, I don’t really know what time period it is. Based on the one-room schoolhouse, the dialogue, and the method of farming, I’d guess they live around the 1920’s.
George Washington Carver popularized peanut butter I’m pretty sure, but I haven’t been able to pinpoint when. He was born probably in the 1860s (he was a slave; we don’t know for sure) and died in 1943.
I’d say the peanut butter popularization was probably a thing then. But it really wouldn’t be that hard to change it, just to be historically accurate. Thanks for pointing it out! And the sneakers I could change real quickly.
So Pa and Mr. Kershaw clashed over politics. This was kind of shown in the flashback and when Mandy visits Lillia, but I understand why it doesn’t fully make sense to you. I could probably develop it a little more. It was a very sensitive topic about one politician oppressing the poor (Mandy’s family) and one giving benefits to the rich (Lillia’s family).
Wow, thanks for that tip! I wouldn’t have noticed that, but I personally get irked at those mistakes in other people’s (published) books. I should change that right now:)
Thank you for the critiques!! They’re really helpful, and I’m going to change my short story right now!!
- Rank: Wise Jester
- Total Posts: 76
@mineralizedwritings @felicity @arien If you know other people who would be interested, please tag them! Thanks!!
@booksandbeakers
Sorry I didn’t respond right away!! When I get the chance I will definitely read it!!
Write what should not be forgotten. — Isabel Allende
- Rank: Wise Jester
- Total Posts: 76
@esther-c It’s okay!! I can’t wait to hear what you think!!
- Rank: Wise Jester
- Total Posts: 76
I think some of the new people who’ve joined have maybe been interested (or not) but I’m just going to tag a few more people. PLEASE IGNORE IF YOU WANT TO.
@gold_hummingbird @charityanne @landric @gwyndalf-the-wise @princesachronicle22Again, if you don’t want to read it THEN DON’T!! Or, if you do, have fun!
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