Questions

carelessaussie13 · 2008-02-01T01:36:58Z

Questions “What about stars? What are stars like?” Casey shoved him playfully. “You asked me that already. Gimme a new one.” Brian shrugged and lay back against the hardwood floor. “I’m serious. What are stars like?” She sighed, like she always did before she explained something. When she spoke, her voice was like warm milk, or cinnamon. “You’re standing beneath an umbrella, and all around you it’s raining. You stick your hand out and thousands of tiny droplets prick your palm and shatter in a million directions. If you listen ever so carefully, you can almost hear them. They sound like a baby, breathing.” “Stars must be beautiful.” “They are.” For a moment, brother and sister lay silently on the living room floor, listening to the fire crackling and the clock reminding them that time would still continue. There was a picture on the mantlepiece. It had been taken three years ago, on a beach somewhere. Casey was splashing in a tide pool and Brian cupped a starfish between his hands. He was smiling, running his fingers lightly over the textured skin of the creature, as if, just maybe, be could see it. The real Brian lay sprawled there in front of the fire, unseeing eyes gazing off as he ran his thumb and forefinger over the hem of his T-Shirt. “Are you going to be mad if I ask you one more question?” Casey watched his searching face, then she sighed. “Do I ever get to ask you a question?” “You’re not the blind one, Case.” “But what’s it like, though? To be blind, I mean?” Brian thought hard about his answer. As time slipped by and life got more complicated, he and Casey spent less and less time sprawled in front of the fire, talking about things. Maybe there would never be another chance to tell her about his prison. “You’re standing at the edge of a cliff, your toes curled over the cold stone ledge. The wind plays in your hair and you can smell. . .lilacs. You step off the cliff and there’s a tiny moment where you’re floating. And then you fall. Falling, falling, forever. But even as you fall, you can still smell those lilacs.” Her voice was very small. “Is that so bad?” “No. I still have lilacs.” “Do you want to ask a question now?” He wanted to ask her everything. He wanted her to show him what red looked like, and green. He wanted her to explain darkness and smiles and fire. Tomorrow would be busy, and the next day would be busier, and before he knew it Casey would be a successful lawyer or something, with a husband and a house and a life. He would still be her little brother, lost and aching. He had to ask his most important question, because he might not have another chance. “Sunset. What’s sunset like?” He heard rustling, crinkling. “Open your mouth, Bri,” she said softly. It was chocolate. It melted on his tongue, filling his mouth with thick, warm sweetness. He savored every last bit, swiping his tongue over his teeth to get the full experience. He could practically hear Casey’s smile. “That, little bro, is a sunset.”

This is hard for me to review this.

Yeah, it is sweet. Of course it is sweet, but everybody can be sweet, right? And is it well written? It's not bad. It's not special. It is pleasant. But is it good? I mean, do I read this thinking: "Oh, man, this is fantastic"? Or do I read this thinking: "This isn't bad, but I can't wait for it to be done"?

I mean, look, I know you never claimed you'd be fantastic. I know you never even claimed to be good. But this is the kind of story that anybody can write, and even if they have the skill and the grammar of a nine year old, it'll still have people drooling over it. Why? Because they are mistaking that fuzzy feeling they get on their gut towards the end of the story for good storytelling. I'm not saying your piece is bad. It's not bad at all, but like I said, it's not special either. The thing is that when you write about your blind brother, and you talk about the sister explaining what stars are like, you're gonna get people saying: "This is something special", when in fact it is cheap sentimentality. Which, I'm sorry, it kinda reads like.

No. Not every story with blind brothers are cheap sentimentality, but every story which relies solely on the brother being blind, and the sister being kind and understanding, instead of building actual characters out of those things, and making them interesting, is cheap sentimentality. I mean, for it to be truly touching other than just pathetic (which doesn't mean what you think it means, but actually "inspires empathy"), the blind brother has to be more than just blind, he has to be an actual person, with other qualities, with things he likes, with things he doesn't like. You can't make the blindness the character. Does that make sense? I mean, look:

“You’re standing at the edge of a cliff, your toes curled over the cold stone ledge. The wind plays in your hair and you can smell. . .lilacs. You step off the cliff and there’s a tiny moment where you’re floating. And then you fall. Falling, falling, forever. But even as you fall, you can still smell those lilacs.”

Nobody talks like that. And I doubt a blind man would use those words to describe what he feels. It's as if it is rehearsed. And if it is rehearsed then isn't authentic. And if it isn't authentic, then it doesn't sound true. And if it doesn't sound true, then we lose interest in the character, or worse, we never build any. Look, it's short. And maybe I'm asking for too much, you know? I mean, it's just a short story, you have limited space. But... I suggest you expand this, flesh out the characters more. Make your dialogue less intentionally sweet (CS), and more true (GW).

And I may be alone on this, but the chocolate, and the umbrella thing for the stars, that is just cheesy, and untrue. Like, chocolate doesn't taste like sunshine. And the stars don't feel like rain. You can say to me, use your imagination, but stars lighting up the sky, infinite, never ending, all alike, can't be described by anoyingly thick raindrops hitting the palm of my hand.

Oh, and I forgot. The best thing in your story is how the blind boy is thinking about how the sister is slowly growing up and spending less time with him. That is sad, and touching, without you shoving it up on our face. You mention the fact that time is running, and then you stop. With the other things is like you're screaming out: READ THIS AND CRY.

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