Young Writers Society

[014. Burn: Take One: Olivie:]

A few drops of oil spattered from the sauté pan and Olivie wondered how her mother had ever thought this might be a good idea. She stepped back a few inches, watching as Gail flipped the pan’s contents over a few times.

“Don’t be a such a sissy,” Gail yelled over the crackling of the pan. Olivie didn’t know how she could tell; the kitchen was full of smoke and cataracts had blocked the majority Gail’s eyesight decades ago. Nevertheless, Olivie peered around her to watch the smoking Minute du Artic Char slide seamlessly from the pan to a plate.

“Garnish it.”

Olivie hesitantly sliced an orange, tossing it and some lemon onto the side of the plate. As an afterthought, she placed a cherry in the very middle. Beside her, Gail sighed. “Not quite. Cherries have the opposite taste to the Char; they’ll overwhelm it. Grab some more olive oil from the cellar. We'll try again.” Olivie sighed too and, wiping her hands on her apron, walked out of the smoky brick kitchen towards the cellar.

What was her mother thinking. Just because her family was French didn’t mean they had to cook like it. Though if nothing else, Olivie loved Gail's house. It was the kind of white-paneled inside that made her feel perpetually in the midst of something graceful.

She opened the door to the cellar, a tall panel that folded out from the side of the staircase, and ducked below the doorframe, down a set of rickety wooden steps into an earthen basement, her shoes clicking with every step. She left the door open so that she could see.

From the kitchen, Olivie could hear Gail’s nephew, Jacob, walk through the back door and drop his history books on the kitchen table. “Jacob, why can’t you use the front door like a civilized person?” Olivie heard Gail groan.

Jacob ignored her. “No! What are you doing?” Olivie heard scrambled footsteps and the sudden closure of a garbage pail.

“Don’t be ridiculous; it’s poorly garnished. It won’t taste right.”

“It’s fine, Aunt Gail” Olivie stood on her toes to see the oils on the top shelf, thinking how little she could stand the way some people pronounced aunt as if talking about an arthropod. Olivie grabbed the bottle from the top shelf before her heels could sink any further into the damp soil and walked back up the staircase. As she was about to step back into the hallway, Jacob walked quickly by, eating from a plate that smelled like fish but looked nothing like what they had been cooking.

“Delicious, Olivie,” he said, shaking his head as he walked by.

“You didn’t--” Olivie hedged.

“Reclaimed food, Liv. Reclaimed food.” Olivie squinched her eyes and shook her head.

“Olivie? Where’s the olive oil?” Gail leaned out of the kitchen and into the hall, filling up the entire door frame.

“Right here, Ms. Gail.”

“Well let’s go! Dinner’s in an hour and you only have time for one more mistake.” Gail continued talking as she walked back into the kitchen and Olivie closed the cellar door to follow her. “Why don’t you try actually cooking it this time; I’ll garnish it.”

Burn baby, burn burn.
Burn baby, burn burn



-------

Note: This is part one of five, written for Caligula's Launderette's Some Kind of Wonderful contest. The italicized lines at the end are a quote from the song "Disco Inferno" by the Trammps.


Read Parts Two and Three!

Hello Leja! I loved this piece. I'd love to continue it. It was beautifully written and the descriptions created an effective mood through out the story. Just a few things that I noticed:

“Don’t be a such a sissy,” Gail yelled over the crackling of the pan. Olivie didn’t know how she could tell; the kitchen was full of smoke and cataracts had blocked the majority of Gail’s eyesight decades ago.

-I added the word 'of' there.

What was her mother thinking? Just because her family was French didn’t mean they had to cook like it. Though if nothing else, Olivie loved Gail's house. It was the kind of white-paneled inside that made her feel perpetually in the midst of something graceful.

I changed that period to a question mark ^. Not much else that I noticed wrong.

Just one more thing, I was confused at the beginning of what role Gail played. I though she was the mother of Olivie.

For example here;

A few drops of oil spattered from the sauté pan and Olivie wondered how her mother had ever thought this might be a good idea. She stepped back a few inches, watching as Gail flipped the pan’s contents over a few times.

I got the message that Gail was Olive's mother. She isn't, right? Maybe you can clear the confusion earlier on. Perhaps through some dialog or whatever you feel easier with.

Like I said before, I'd love to continue reading this.

Keep writing!

Hi Leja,

I can't believe it took me so long to get back to this and finally critique it. I absolutely love this. It was a wonderful light read with natural description and vivid dialogue. Lovely.

Characters

Since this is not all that long I only get a brief idea of what your characters are like, but so far I find them neat. Let me summ up my impressions:

Olivie - She seems a bit tired and frustrated from her various times of trying to prepare dinner. It seems that she admires Gail for her cooking skills, but is probably also fraustrated with her for being so picky and making her start over several times, because of small mistakes. Judging by the fact that she still notices what's going on upstair while she's in the cellar I'd say she pays close attention to what's going on around her. I assume she's not exactly fond of Jacob and grossed out by the fact that he 'reclaimed food'.

Gail - My problem with Gail is that I, same as mizz-iceberg, first thought she might be the mother, then quickl dropped that idea, but now have no idea who she actually is. A cooking teacher? A French friend of her mother's? I have no idea.
Onto my impressions: She seems to be quite the perfectionist when it comes to cooking and judging by that fact that she fills up the entire door frame likes to eat as well. (Maybe she is a cook.) She seems slightly gruff, but still good-hearted.

Jacob - Self-confident, pleased with himself and I suppose he likes Olivie more than she seems to like him?


Plot

Well, it was a nice scene, but I don't exactly know where you are going with this. I'm curious though, so you have a good hook here. Plus it was lovely to read and not the slightest bot boring, so nice!

Dialogue

Wonderful. It mainly created my impressions of the chracters, always had the right attitude and tone. Simply wonderful.


I shall flood you in praise for this. Hopefully you continue!

All the best,
~Kalliope

[017. Cheek :: Take Two :: Blanched]

“Gail, I don’t know how Olivie managed to cook this, but it’s wonderful,” Rosanne said. She turned to her daughter and smiled. “And after not even a year, too! Pretty soon you’ll be able to cook for Memè, no?” Olivie smiled at her mother, a smile that crimped the corners of her eyes too much and stretched her lips thin across her teeth.

Across the table, Jacob snorted. Olivie glared at him and kicked his shin under the table as Gail patted her nephew on the back. “Alright there, Jacob?” Olivie asked innocently. Jacob swallowed.

“Fine, thanks,” he said between gulps of water. “Let me just get another glass of water.”

“Olivie, why don’t you get more drinks for everyone,” Rosanne suggested. Olivie stood up from the table, leaving her napkin in her chair. “Wait a moment; your braid is coming undone.” Rosanne untied the bow that hung by Olivie’s waist and retied her daughter’s blonde hair.

“Mamà, don’t worry about it,” Olivie almost whined. Her mother pushed her away towards the kitchen.

“Off you go,” she said, happy that there had been no tragic hairstyle disaster.

Olivie stopped just inside the kitchen door as it closed shut. Her mother, the picture of French elegance, sat with her ankles neatly crossed to the side of the chair and chatted with Gail, the chandelier lighting the whole room up like a ballroom in the dim evening light that barely made it through the windows.

“How are your eyes doing?” Rosanne was asking her friend.

Gail shrugged. “They’re fine day today, but in a few years, I won’t be able to tell vinegar from vodka if either gets put in the wrong place.”

Rosanne laughed. “That might not be such a bad thing.”

“Yes, let’s have you try my cooking from now on, then,” Gail chuckled with her.

Rosanne killed the light mood. “We miss you at the restaurant.”

“You miss me, or you miss the fact that I can cook duck and Pierre can’t?”

Rosanne shrugged. “Either one.”

“Give me another few months and Olivie will be able to handle it just as well.”

Olivie stopped listening when Jacob stood behind her and took her hand.

She turned her head slightly, even though she still couldn't see his face. “How long have you been there?”

His mouth must have been close to her ear. “How long have you been listening?” Olivie nodded and assumed that he saw. “The only other option I see here is that you put down that tea and we leave right now to travel the world together.”

Olivie smiled to herself, resting the side of her head against the doorframe. “Jacob, it doesn’t quite work like that.”

“Come on, don’t tell me you actually want to go work in that place. How else do you think Aunt Gail’s going blind?”

“But I do want to work there. I love the restaurant and the food and the people and the kitchen.”

“And the cooking?”

“I especially love the cooking.”

Jacob squeezed her hand. "Well, when you've packed your suitcase, you know where to find me." He walked back through the kitchen door and Olivie hurried away before the others could see she was still standing there.



[019. Dank :: Take Three :: Blanched]

Even over the inexplicable din of the sink, its water cascading from one bowl to the next, and the torrential rain outside and the water dripping in sheets from the gutter, more than likely flooding the cellar, Olivie could still hear the piano.

She stood with her back to the rest of the kitchen, up to her elbows in soap and water, and listened to Jacob playing Baroque, perfect for a day like this in which the rain cast a pleasantly dank gloom through each window that permeated the house until its inhabitants looked at one another through slitted eyes, as if trying to see even more clearly than today, the clearest kind of day for seeing things up close. If she turned around, she could see his head bob each time he pressed the pedal, and his shoulders constrict each time the octave changed.

But then Olivie realized she actually had to get something accomplished in the period of time between now and when Gail returned from her “quick” (since a cook’s grocery shopping trip was never quick) run to the store for more strawberries, since Olivie burned the first batch.

Then again, Olivie realized as she glanced out the window, she might be able to stay here, doing dishes and listening to piano all afternoon if the river flooded enough before Gail had to cross the bridge again.

Hey, i really liked this (again), but two things:

1) you should put each constituent part of this story as an individual thread

2) most french kids call their mom 'maman', and their grandmothers 'mami' and aunts and uncles 'tata' and 'tonton' (haha or at least that's how my family does it) it seems like you're using spanish words for mom, etc.

also, you're not consistent, at one point you say memè and the other time mamà...

but great job

<3s Izzy

Gah, yet again it took me forever to get back to this, but here I am, so don't hit me

Okay, first of all: Hi

Now on to the critique:

Izzy's right about the Maman- thing. That's what the French for mama.

Rosanne untied the bow that hung by Olivie’s waist and retied her daughter’s blonde hair.

Maybe cuttng the repetition of tied would be a good idea. Perhaps rephrase it this way?:

Rosanne untied the bow that hung by Olivie's waist and rebraided the lower parts of her daughter's blonde hair.

“Off you go,” she said, happy that there had been no tragic hairstyle disaster.

Hahah, I love Rosanne and the way her daughter sees her. Wonderful mother-daughter-dynamics.

Her mother, the picture of French elegance, sat with her ankles neatly crossed to the side of the chair and chatted with Gail, the chandelier lighting the whole room up like a ballroom in the dim evening light that barely made it through the windows.

Woah, this is a bit long winded. I really love your descriptions, don't get me wrong, but maybe you could try to split it up?

Gail shrugged. “They’re fine [s]day[/s] today, but in a few years, I won’t be able to tell vinegar from vodka if either gets put in the wrong place.”

I believe the first day is a typo? Other than that yay Gail!

Rosanne killed the light mood. “We miss you at the restaurant.”

I think this would work even better if you'd put the Rosanne's direct speech in first. Even less of a give-away. Just a thought though and it's good either way.

Olivie stopped listening when Jacob stood behind her and took her hand.

To me this comes a little hmm.. not quite out of the blue, but now totally conclusive either. jacob is introduced by reclaiming food from the trash and during the meal Olivie kicks him under the table, and now he's taking her hand as if it were the most natural thing in the world? I'm not sure how to fix this. I think it's cute and everything, but maybe you should give us just a little more of a hint beforehand. I think in my guesses about the characters in the first crit I say what impression I get of Jacob. Maybe that's some help to you when figuring out how to push us a bit more in the right direction. I think that's all it takes. A tiny hint.

That's to part two. Wonderful, Leja, really.

Part three, here I come!

Even over the inexplicable din of the sink, its water cascading from one bowl to the next, [s]and[/s] the torrential rain outside and the water dripping in sheets from the gutter, more than likely flooding the cellar, Olivie could still hear the piano.

What a worm of a sentence. But that doesn't bother me in this case What bothers me are the two 'and's so close together. It's just some quirk of mine. Two ands in a rwo just don't make me happy. *attacks first and*

She stood with her back to the rest of the kitchen, up to her elbows in soap and water, and listened to Jacob playing Baroque, perfect for a day like this in which the rain cast a pleasantly dank gloom through each window that permeated the house until its inhabitants looked at one another through slitted eyes, as if trying to see even more clearly than today, the clearest kind of day for seeing things up close.

Alright, maybe this one does need some splitting up. Also I don't think everyone who reads this has a clear idea of what Baroque music sounds like, so maybe you should describe the sound of the music a little more, to make your reasoning of why it's perfect shine

“quick” (since a cook’s grocery shopping trip was never quick) run to the store for more strawberries, since Olivie burned the first batch.

Try to cut the repetition of since. Maybe because would work as a substitute for the second?

Then again, Olivie realized as she glanced out the window, she might be able to stay here, doing dishes and listening to piano all afternoon if the river flooded enough before Gail had to cross the bridge again.

Maybe add an 'If the bridge flooded.' to the end, since that isn't very likely, is it.

Aww, really neat part, Leja. So descriptive and full of beautiful imagery. It felt like I was right there in the middle of it. Just watch out for the long sentences

All the best and post more!

~Kalliope

I only read part one because I think you posted the other two in seperate parts...so anyway.

This was interesting. It doesn't seem like a Romance story yet, but I'm guessing it will be so I have nothing to complain about

I do think that you did well with everything. It's obvious that you are a good writer. But, I do think the dialogue between the nephew and his aunt was kind of confusing. You need to put tags at the end so the reader knows who is talking.

Another point to make is that I think you need more detail. You need to do more SHOWING! Like, what does the kitchen look like? What does the dish she is making look like?? And all that stuff.

Well, I am on to part two so I guess you will see me again!

Okay, I am back since I noticed that you DO have parts two and three posted here!

Umm, I'm not sure if you posted them anywhere else, but I guess I could check that out as well.

Well, I think the last two were good! Too short for my taste however...you weren't able to get much into the plot with such short parts.

Also, I got the impression that Olivie was older than I previously thought. At first, I assumed her to be maybe my age or younger, as she had kicked Jacob's shin under the table. But now, I think she might be nearing twenty! Yes, I am slighlty confused so maybe you could clear that up for me...

Anyway, other than that, it was good.

I guess I am off to see if you have any more posted!