Promises Not Kept (Part One of Three)

kitty15 wrote:Other than that, the same comments as before - more description and emotion wouldn't hurt. You haven't made that many changes so I'll not comment further but good work so far.

Thanks for the review! I actually did change a lot, but apparently it's all so small it's nearly unnoticable.

I do plan on working on the description/emotion. It's just due tomorrow, and I'm already pushing the page limit, so I can't right now. I just need to know if there are any blantantly obvious errors, fix them, pass this in, then spend ten hours putting in descriptions. *Shudders*

Thanks!

~JFW1415

Hey. I realize this was posted a while ago, and you've already turned it in, but I read it and wanted to comment.

The only thing I noticed was this:

She sits across the room from me, and doesn’t seem to notice that anyone else is there.

I fell that there should be here.

This was great. Your description of emotions was well-done, and it's a thought-provoking piece. The only other thing I would change - if you're going to do any more work on this - is the part with the doctor, when he delays in telling them about the death. Doctors don't do that. They get to the point. They don't hesitate, and they don't prolong the family's agony.

Keep writing. This was, again, great.

KJ wrote:Hey. I realize this was posted a while ago, and you've already turned it in, but I read it and wanted to comment.

Thanks for the review! I'm not turning this in until tomorrow, so I will look at that. And I do plan on editing in-depth soon. I just need this to be at a point where it's acceptable to pass in.

~JFW1415

I loved this. I could see you projecting hope than complete anguish. I say don't change anything. This was a good peice of literature. I loved the depth. Hope this helps.
AE

Hello again!

The only sound is the steady roar from the receptionist’s computer, [no comma] and the occasional hiccup of a crying mother.

For a conjunctive like and to get a comma, there must be a subject and a verb in front and behind it, if that made any sense. XD

If he smiles, it’ll all be all right.

Repetition. The first all is probably not needed.

Everywhere she looks she‘s reminded of him.

A backwards apostrophe?

That's all the new shtuff I found. Not much, and it has been improved. Well done and good luck!

Jabber, the One and Only!

I edited once more. The version that is posted now is the one I turned in. I am still planning on fixing the emotions, hospital scene, etc. - all the content suggestions you made that I didn't have time to do before.

Thanks everyone!

~JFW1415

Hey! Awesome story! The only thing that I found that needs a little work is the transition from the hospital to the house. You could say that there was so much tension in the car that you could barely stand it, so you had to roll the window down to get some air, or something. Just a thought. The end of it creeped me out, but in a kind of good 'creeped', y'know? the kind that's so exciting that it sends shivers down your spine. Keep up the good work, and remember to read and review my story!

Hello! I said I would get to it…

The room is silent, the air so tense I nearly choke.

Great opening line here. Perhaps an ‘and’ after the comma may work better, building up the pace of the story without too much OTT stuff.

doesn’t seem to notice that anyone else is there.

This doesn’t make much sense – how about “doesn’t seem to notice anyone else here”?

no one comforts another.

‘one another’ maybe?

I’d prefer the activity.

I think the ‘the’ is unnecessary here.

I blink again, and he’s gone.

Fantastic ending.

Honestly, I adored that piece. I thought the imagery was great, and the way you managed to get us to love your characters, even though we don’t know them, takes skill. I can’t offer a lot more advice than that, since I enjoyed it so much. I did find that this was a bit ‘grey’, but it reflects the moods of the characters so much that it fits brilliantly.

Not many pieces on the YWS have the ‘hook’ feel about them. This one did, and when I started I couldn’t stop. Great little story, I hope you develop it into a really gripping finish – keep this up! Sure, a little cliché but we all need that element in our stories really Of course, I know what happens… but hey!

Great, keep writing!
-Mark

Freaking phenomenal; you are truly one hell of a writer. Shall we get to critiquing?

Apparently she looks just like me, but I don’t think I’ve ever looked that weak.

This is the perfect time to describe your protagonist without being too blunt. Your MC looks like her mother, and therefore describe the mother and compare. I, personally, have not read through the rest of the parts, so I have no idea what she looks like.

"Apparently she looks just like me, with messy black locks entwined within her fingers, and her dark green eyes filled with tears; but I don't think I've ever looked that weak."

They can ignore it completely, be upset but move on, or be stuck in grief.

You have to change that "stuck" to "struck," unless you think it makes sense.

**

Okay, you know what? This wasn't fair. There was nothing to critique. I'm sad now - I wanted to burden you about more irrelevant grammar tidbits and plot-line criticisms.

I loved it, personally. This is such a real part life, and this story really grips you. I can't wait to see what happens with the characters: Matty, the father, the mother, Katherine.

Off to read part two!

Hey, JFW. ^_^

*glee* This was such an incredible story. I really love the small details that you used--the "hum" of the receptionist's computer really struck me. I loved how emotional you could be without going overboard, and most of all, I love the intrigue that you've built up. You need to post the next part soon.

I'm going to echo gyrfalcon here, though--you did an amazing job handling the grief, but of course they're always room for improvement.

WE PUT THE 'EMO' IN EMOTIONAL:

One of the most difficult things about writing stories with grief in them is the impulse to get caught up in the internal, emotional responses of your characters rather than the outward appearance. It's that "show, don't tell thing". You could tell us that someone was sad, but showing us how is really touching and effective.

Here are bits of two characters of mine grieving for the same guy.

Quote:
My mother refused to touch anything in Karim's room, so it remained exactly how it was--covers pulled back on the bed, a half-glass of tea congealing on his desk. The coroner had returned his cell phone in a little plastic bag and she had dropped it, recoiling like it was something diseased.


Quote:
Stark was sitting on the edge of his bed, a pile of books that had originally belonged to him at his feet. A piece of green fabric poked out from his closed fist--one of Karim's shirts, folded and compressed into a unit impossibly small.

"Stark?"

He looked at me. "Nods, I don't want to be here anymore."


Just like real people, the way that characters grieve is going to be vastly different, and, at first, most of it will be apparent to other characters externally. There'll be a change in behavior, a change in speech, a change in demeanor. Noting these outward changes instead of saying something direct about a person's mood goes a lot farther in showing your reader just how bad things have gotten.

Quote:
Everywhere she looked she was reminded of him – the hook where he’d hang his jacket, the spot on the ground he’d leave his backpack, the railing he’d hit his head on when he was five. Everything brought back the memories.

Everything brought back the pain.


This is one of those paragraphs that you could hint at instead of saying directly--it's kind of like Karim's mom in the first example above. Everything reminds her of him, so she doesn't even want to bother with his belongings because she's trying to remain composed. Showing how Brendan's mom reacts instead of commenting that everything reminds her of him would make things even more fabulous.

This kind of event is likely to have a huge impact on the rest of the family, as well. How does Matty react? The father? Are they covering their true feelings up? Dropping well-placed--and well-planned--hints is key to revealing the inner workings of side characters. Remember that when things like this happen, everyone is affected, for better or for worse.

JFW1415 - I like my intros, and though rarely do I have anything to say in them, I still continue with the tradition. This shall be no exemption, heh, even if it is completely useless.


Quote:
The room is silent, the air so tense I nearly choke.
Add, perhaps, a linking word up there? I said that out loud a few times, with and without it, and while admittedly it does sound better without, the sentence - or separate parts of it - seem too separate.


Quote:
My father is the first, and, following his example, so is Matty. They are upset about what has happened, but they won’t show it.
“is the first” - I don’t like that, not at all. It doesn’t link to the above, and that can be proven by the fact that when I read it at first, I stretched that part to: “the first of what”? That is not a good reaction, and should be eliminated by a rephrasing.


Quote:
I stay in the hall, and I can see them out of the corner of my eye.
The father and Matty walk into the kitchen, but the narrator, on the other hand, stays. He does something different, and, when put in one line with the rest, contradictory. That was my was of explaining that “and” should be “but”.


Quote:
Matty jumps onto a stool, for once not swiveling the seat even though Mom isn’t be there to punish him for it.
That has a very awkward ring to it. I tried seeing how it looked like with a comma, but the original sensation remains.


Quote:
It takes him a moment to realize that Dad said anything, but when he does, he plasters a fake smile on his face and speaks as if he hadn’t paused.
But he didn’t “pause”. He just didn’t realize that “Dad said anything” - though that last in quotes seems a bit awkward, also.


Quote:
Matty grins up at Dad, his muscles tight so it won’t waver.
“it” - it what? The answer is: grin, no? But… That doesn’t necessarily relate to “grins” too well.


Quote:
I was upset the next day, and I barely spared him a second thought after that.
That is a contradiction. Refer to the and/but section.



Okay, that was the end of the (hardly any) nitpicks. Let’s move on to the more interesting stuff, shall we?



THE CAST

-> Brandon. Yes, the character that is not there, and I start out with him. But, as with Sarah - you do a wonderful job of crafting someone who does not actually participate in the shown events (well, with Sarah t’was different, and I’m referring only to the first part of that story). Those last paragraphs really did a lot.

-> Katherine. Kudos to Matty for telling us the MC’s name, yes? She speaks of others’ reactions, not only of her own, and I liked her narration. That last part - apart from showing Brandon - unbarred her soul, too, and it worked very well. I’d like to see more of her reactions at the beginning, but that is balanced by what comes later.

-> Dad. Not much can be said about him, apart from him knowing only to make grilled cheese and a salad. His way (and Marty’s) of expressing grief should be more stressed, emphasized later on (option no 2).

-> Matty. Matty, Matty. At first it’s stated that he doesn’t know what is going on, and so I deemed him very small. Later on he is to be kept from hearing any details. He was - innocent, ignorant, oblivious. Later on he knows everything, but I don’t know how that happened. My impression of his age shattered there, too, so you might - hmm, I don’t know - define that, and stick to it. There are two Martys in the story - a) the sleepy, small, childish one. b) the more grown up one.

-> Mom. I liked her intro, that’s for sure, and her reaction later - the office, and not taking off her clothes. That was very nicely crafted, and characterized her as a strong character.

-> Doctor. While not related to the MC, his role is not minimal: he had bad news to tell, and had to do it realistically (as a character in a story, not doctor, of course). In that he succeeded, I think, and so scores and scores of points to his creator. But - yes, there is a but - how exactly did he appear? Magically? We see that the father is pacing, etc., and then suddenly there is the intro of the doctor - previous (of the sentence above) description signalizes that he (the doctor) was not indeed there all along, but the introduction hints at something else. That has to be changed. Also, a reaction to his entrance is needed. Other families are there, no? Wouldn’t they look up (and not only at the doctor himself) but at his entry to the room? Would they want to know of other patients? Would the tension rise (if possible!) visibly?

-> Other families. Not important, it may seem? But they are last, not least. There are, as was said, more or less ten other families, going through the same trauma as the MC’s. A lot of stress was put on that, and while that was good, the consequences were not so. In fact, I have hardly any consequences to talk of. Perhaps show us the ragged faces (perhaps full of sympathy, empathy, grief of their own, hope - or happiness! - that the doctor did not say that to them?). Show us (the readers) some reaction of theirs at the entry of the doctor. That was already rambled of, but I do repeat: they could not have been completely oblivious to him, and to the new that he conveyed to the MC’s family. They might be presented as a cluster of grief-stricken people - faceless, nameless, anonymous - yet they have to react properly.



I suppose I shall have more to say after reading the next installments, yet there is one more point I’d like to stress: emotion is the key point to the story. Death is a hard, challenging subject mostly because of the feelings that come with it. One cannot just state that someone died, and that yes, his family is very sad, and then move on with the rest of the story. You, on the other hand, did nothing of the sort and managed quite well. The piece was, once again, centered emotions, and so I would like to talk a bit more about them.

Part I. In the first part, it was fine. I’d like to see more details and description - here I feel that is not uncalled for - but, there now. The section about “other families” should be expanded, but our family, the family of the MC, was good. I especially liked Marty.

Part III. Here the emotions were categorized quite bluntly. There were three options, two of which fitted to our characters. The mother chose grief - and that was portrayed very nicely, paeans on that. Matty and dad chose no 2: “to be upset but move on”. Here, I’d like to see more artificial enthusiasm, more falsehood. Words like “exclaimed” work very nicely. I’d like to see that they are aware, both (dad more) of what option - not too bluntly - they chose. I’d like to see grief in their ordinary actions. (And they are a tad bit "upset" too much).


Part II. There was no part II, you might say, and up to a point, you may be right. It was not shown, yet it was there. I am talking, of course, of the actual saying that Brandon is dead (or, I’m assuming he’s dead, and for purposes of discussion I call him so). That inexistent section should, I feel, be scattered over the second. How did they take it then and there? The mother, the father? Marty? I’d like to see most of the latter. Perhaps mention that, if it’s not done so later on.


Cheers,
Esme


EDIT: Oh damn. Consider all "Martys" turned into "Matty". *cringes (Well, at least at the beginning I had them right, no?) *is still mortified.

JFW1415 wrote:Here's the revised version of He's Just Human, with a new title.

Day One

The room is silent, the air so tense I nearly choke.

My father paces the floor, his fists clenched by his sides. He has nothing to keep him busy, and he hates it. Any job will do at this point; he just wants to think of something else.

My mother’s head is in her hands, and her body is racking with dry sobs. She sits across the room from me, and doesn’t seem to notice that anyone else is there. Apparently she looks just like me, but I don’t think I’ve ever looked that weak.

Matty is sprawled across the chair beside her, his head in her lap; he doesn’t know what’s going on.

This sounds sort of like a list; like you're going down the different characters in the room besides you and saying what they're doing. It's fine, it's just not perfect. Sort of like show and not tell.

There must be at least ten other families like this in here. Ten other families who don’t know what’s happening behind the closed doors, whether their lives will ever be the same again, whether they’ll be attending a funeral in a few days. No one makes contact, though – no one comforts another.

The last time I remember being in a hospital was the day Matty was born. I was still young then – about seven years old. Skipping into the room, I saw my mother holding my crying brother. Nurses had been coming in and out, and every time the door opened, an explosion of noise would greet me – intercoms, emergencies, doctors calling to one another.

They make sure to keep the waiting rooms quiet, though. The only sound is the steady roar from the receptionist’s computer, and the occasional hiccup of a crying mother. While the rest of the hospital is bustling with activity, the waiting room feels dead.

I’d prefer the activity.

“Mr. Donovin?” A man in a white coat stands in the middle of the room, reading off a clipboard. He’s looking for my father.

“Yes, Doctor?” Dad stops pacing and walks over. His steps are precise, and he appears to be strong, invincible. I can see his eyes, though, and they’re not strong – they’re pleading.

Begging him to make it good news.

To keep his son alive.

My mother leaves Matty in the chair and rushes to her husband’s side. “Is he going to be all right? Will Brendan be all right?” She clutches my father’s arm desperately.

Back in his seat, Matty is sitting up, rubbing his eyes to chase the sleep out of them. ‘Katherine?’ he mouths, looking right at me. Despite the mouthing, shouldn't it be double quotes, not just apostrophes? He shouldn’t hear this, but neither Mom nor Dad can pull themselves together enough to calm him. I should go over, cover his ears, but I’m frozen.

My parents stand there, looking like naïve little children. They know Brendan doesn’t have a good chance of survival, but hope is still written across their faces.

The doctor drums his fingers against the clipboard he holds against his chest. He reveals the smudged ink with every thump. Up and down. There and gone. His stethoscope swings from side to side as he sways on his feet. He doesn’t want to tell them anything; he doesn’t want to crush the last bit of hope they’re clinging to.

I don’t need to wait for the words like they do. If he looks down, Brendan’s gone. If he smiles, it’ll all be all right. My parents know this, but they’ll wait for his voice to tell them so. They’ll need tangible proof to make them believe it.

I stand to go to Matty, hoping to stop him from hearing any details. As I cross the room, my eyes meet the doctor’s, a second before he tells them.

He looks down.

I really loved this part. (And you can know I'm saying something there, I virtually never point out anything good in a story. )

***

When something bad happens, people have three ways to deal with it. They can ignore it completely, be upset but move on, or be stuck in grief.

My father is the first, and, following his example, so is Matty. They are upset about what has happened, but they won’t show it.

We got home from the hospital a few minutes ago. Dad just walked into the kitchen, Matty right on his heels. I stay in the hall, and I can see them out of the corner of my eye.

“What would you like for lunch today, Matty?” Dad says, standing behind the counter.

Matty jumps onto a stool, for once not swiveling the seat even though Mom isn’t be there to punish him for it. It takes him a moment to realize that Dad said anything, but when he does, he plasters a fake smile on his face and speaks as if he hadn’t paused. “I think I’m in the mood for grilled cheese and a salad.”

“Ah, the perfect meal!” my father exclaims. It’s also the only meal he can make.

Matty grins up at Dad, his muscles tight so it won’t waver. He doesn’t say anything, but his face shows that he heard the crack in Dad’s voice.

My mother’s not like this; she’s the kind who can’t let things go. She barely made it through the front door before she burst out crying. Her shoes remain on her feet, her coat on her back.

She retreats to her office right away, closing the door behind her to block out the laughter from the kitchen. I envy that she can escape, to engulf herself in her grief, but I don’t follow her.

I like to think that I’m the type who grieves when appropriate and then moves on. When my hamster died, I cried during the ‘burial.’ I was upset the next day, and I barely spared him a second thought after that. Aw. Your character is cold. Just two days?

This time is different. The grief is stronger. One side of me wants to take the easy way out – to join Dad and Matty in the kitchen, laugh, and eat the melted cheese on bread that Dad’s so proud of. The other side wants me to follow my mother’s example, to break down and cry right now on this staircase.

I defy both sides. My hand grips the wooden railing, and I walk up the stairs. I don’t laugh in the kitchen, and I don’t cry in the office. I go to his room.

It’s the same as it was when I found him last night. His clothes lay on the ground. Papers cover his desk, falling onto his wooden chair. Blankets are pulled back to the foot of the bed, and there’s an indent on the mattress from where he’s slept, night after night, year after year.

His curtains are thin, and the mid-afternoon sun streams through them, as if desperate to light up the gloomy room. The air is warm and quiet.

I blink my eyes, and, just for a second, the room changes.

The sun is no longer visible, instead replaced with the faint outline of the full moon. The lamp on the nightstand is lit, offering the only light in the room. The air is cold and tense.

His bed’s no longer empty. He’s laying there – motionless. Cold. His face is pale, and his lips are blue.

His hand is tucked under his head, acting as a makeshift pillow, and I can see his black wristband tied around the part of his arm that’s visible. His clothes are wrinkled, and they seem to float around his body. A soft smile lingers on his lips.

I blink again, and he’s gone.

Edited 4/28/08. This is the version I turned in, but I could still use more feedback - I'm planning on fixing it even more.

Wow, I really loved this. The little nitpick I have here is that double spaces aren't, as far as I know, in between sentences. I've always seen single spaces, but I think it might be up for debate, so you can leave it. ^^ Now, off to the next part!

wow that is a really wonderful story, keep writing, i hope you will publish this book you should go to rainbow studios they do books like this. pm me with second section
!!