A Thank You Note to Donny

August 3, 1978

Dearest Donny,

You truly made my day when you visited yesterday and for that I would like to say thank you. It was yesterday, wasn't it? I am dearly sorry. Things tend to slip my mind. After your nice visit, I cried. Can you picture me, old and crippled as I am, with my hair falling out of its bun and the tears slipping down my wrinkled face? That's how much your visit meant to me. Such a silly old woman to cry over a single visit.

But you know, Donny, dearest Donny, from the moment I saw you, I knew you were my son. I knew it. It was that blue twinkle in your eye, and the way that you raise your eyebrow. Your father used to do that, you know. You stole my eyes and your father’s eyebrows.

I’m such a silly woman, doting over you. You probably don’t read these letters, do you? You probably wonder, “When will this cursed woman stop writing to me?” I am sorry, Donny. I need someone to write to. I can’t strike up a conversation in this loony bin. Everyone here has lost their marbles.

Did I tell you that Janice, the new nurse, comes to visit me every night? I don’t remember at all if I told you. She reads to me from Emily Dickinson. That woman is a marvellous poet, and certainly has a way with words. I've forgotten most of the poems that she has written, but I know that they were good. They wouldn't be classics if they weren’t.

It was only yesterday that you came and visited me, and I seem to have forgotten most of what we spoke about! See? I am such a silly girl.

After you left, I cried and cried and cried. I cried until it hurt. Janice didn’t visit me that night. I was glad that she stayed away. I think I might’ve hurt her. Donny, you know that I would never have hurt anyone. I’m locked up here because they think I’m going to hurt people. People like you. You know me, Donny, dearest Donny. I would never do anything like that.

You’re probably thinking, “This woman has already killed someone. Who’s to say she won’t do it again?” You’re right to think that, but you’re wrong. It was an accident, Donny. Please forgive me. It was an accident. Please forgive me. Please.

You are so beautiful, Donny. Like I said, from the moment you walked into my room, I knew that you were my son. You’d never seen me before, so you didn’t know what I looked like. I don’t blame you. I wouldn’t have wanted to see myself either. I must look like a silly old hag, locked up with these nutjobs.

I’m so negative, aren’t I? I’m sorry, Donny. Please forgive me. I never mean to go on about such depressing things. All I wanted to say is that I love you. More than anything. More than the stars in the sky, more than the water that I take with my morning pills. Sometimes (don't tell anyone this) I don't take my pills. The nurses say that they will help my memory come back, but all they are doing is drugging me and making my Alzheimer condintion worse.

I love you.

I love.

You are such a sweetie to bring me flowers. I am gazing at them right now. They are so beautiful. The red tulip is my favorite, even if it’s drooping a little. I don’t blame it; everything droops in this place.

I want to see you again, Donny. Donny, Donny, Donny. You have a beautiful name. I named you that the night you were born. When you first came out of my womb, you looked like a Donny. Beautiful Donny. You are such a handsome man. I love you so much. Thank you for coming to visit your old, neglected mother.

I am babbling again. I’m terribly sorry. It felt so nice to talk to you in person, instead of letters. Do come and see me again? Please? I love you, Donny. More than anything in the world. I need you. Desperately. Please do not make me wait twenty-three years to see my baby again. I need you sooner. Please.

I need.

Love, love, love, love, love most adoringly, with more kisses than you can count,
Mom

Dearest Donny,

Thank you, thank you, thank you for coming to see me. [This isn't the most wonderful of beginnings. It just sounds like your average thank you letter. It might be more interesting to start 'You truly made my day when you visited (say when it was) and for that I would like to say thank you. Thank you so much...'] I don’t know if I have ever told you this but you truly made my day. Can you picture an old, crippled woman like myself crying after you left? I’m such a silly woman. Crying over a visit. [Maybe add more description. The fact that you've posted this on a writing site shows you want it to be dramatic so maybe something like: 'Can you picture me, old and crippled as I am, with my hair falling out of its bun and the tears slipping down my wrinkled face. That's how much your visit meant to me. Such a silly old woman to cry over a single visit.']

But you know, Donny, dearest Donny, that from the moment I saw you, I knew you were my son. I knew it. It was that blue twinkle in your eye, and the way that you raise your eyebrow. Your father used to do that, you know. You stole my eyes and your father’s eyebrows. [I like this line. It's quirky and adds some great characterization.]

I’m such a silly woman, doting over you. You probably don’t read these letters, do you? You probably say [Maybe 'You probably wonder...'], “When will this cursed woman stop writing to me?” I am sorry, Donny. I need someone to write to. I can’t strike up a conversation in this loony bin. Everyone here has lost their marbles.

Did I tell you that Janice, the new nurse, comes to visit me every night? I don’t remember at all if I told you. It was only yesterday that you came and visited me, and I seem to have forgotten most of what we spoke about! See? I am such a silly girl. [I think she's getting a little repetitive with calling herself silly.]

You are so beautiful, Donny. Like I said, from the moment you walked into my room, I knew that you were my son. [s]You’ve[/s] You'd never seen me before, so you didn’t know what I looked like. I don’t blame you. I wouldn’t have wanted to see myself [s]too[/s] either. I must look like a silly old hag, locked up with these nut-jobs.

I’m ranting again, aren’t I? I’m sorry, Donny. Please forgive me. I never mean to go on about such silly things. All I wanted to say is that I love you. More than anything. More than the stars in the sky, more than the water that I take with my morning pills. [I like the second simile. Nice and unique. Maybe have her ramble a little more though. About how she doesn't/ does like the pills.]

I love you.

I love.

You are such a sweetie to bring me flowers. I am gazing at them right now. They are so beautiful. The red tulip is my favorite, even if it’s drooping a little. I don’t blame it; everything droops in this place.

I want to see you again, Donny. Donny, Donny, Donny. You have a beautiful name. I named you that the night you were born. When you first came out of my womb, you looked like a Donny. Beautiful Donny. You are such a handsome man. I love you so much. Thank you for coming to visit your old mother. [Maybe add another adjective. Maybe 'old, neglected mother'.]

I am ranting [I don't think this is the best word. It's rather modern to be honest. The sort of word I can't see either of my parents ever using. Maybe babbling or raving?] again. I’m terribly sorry. It felt so nice to talk to you in person, instead of letters. Do come and see me again? Please? I love you, Donny. More than anything in the world. I need you. Desperately. Please do not make me wait twenty-three years to see my baby again. I need you sooner. Please.

I need.

Love, love, love, love, love most adoringly,

Mom [I think you need some kisses here]

This is good. I think it would be more interesting if you expanded on the asylum thing just a little. If you gave hints of her not being completely sane, of things she might have done to get placed in there. Also, an idea of period would be nice. It feels like a modern letter and yet, the concept of an old person being left in an asylum and the name Donny suggest an older period. Try to be more precise in your word choices and such. If it's old period, talk of bed pans and poor conditions. If it's modern, you're going to need to show her insanity more, show us why she's in the 'looney bin' rather than a home. It can't be just a failing memory.

Maybe ave her describe her daily routine. Clearly she has little to do and writes to him often and is worried about her failing memory so have her describe the days events at one point and have her already forgetting sections. Make us feel sorry for her as he tries to grope for the memories.

Hope this helps a little, if you have any questions or want me to take a closer look at a particular section or a rewrite, feel free to pm me,

Heather xx

I couldn't really tell if the person writing the letter was in an insane asylum or a nursing home. She described everybody there as nutjobs, but that might be the way an old woman who doesn't want to be in a home might describe her companions. It is an interesting thing, keeping us confused like that. I would keep it, if I was you.

The woman was an interesting character. I can tell that she's a little old based on the way she talks, it's not the way someone of the modern world talks. She's a character we can sympathize with, and probably would be even if she didn't have Alzheimer's. This was, all in all, a very interesting view of a delicate subject from a perspective that we almost never get. It's a very good work.

*gold star*

I really liked how the story of this woman was unveiled as she wrote the letter. At first, you think she could just be at her home, then you think that she is obviously a nursing home or hospital or something. But when I finally realized that she was an old woman who had been put away in jail, now had Alzheimer's and has not seen her son in twenty three years, everything changes completely. Well done!

Some lovely improvements! Here's another line by line with a few more suggestions.

August 3, 1978

Dearest Donny,

You truly made my day when you visited yesterday [I think some hesitation would be good here actually. Maybe something like 'You truly made my day when you visited me.... was it yesterday? Yes, yesterday... I would like to say thank you for that.'] and for that I would like to say thank you. Can you picture me, old and crippled as I am, with my hair falling out of its bun and the tears slipping down my wrinkled face? That's how much your visit meant to me. Such a silly old woman to cry over a single visit.

But you know, Donny, dearest Donny, from the moment I saw you, I knew you were my son. I knew it. It was that blue twinkle in your eye, and the way that you raise your eyebrow. Your father used to do that, you know. You stole my eyes and your father’s eyebrows.

I’m such a silly woman, doting over you. You probably don’t read these letters, do you? You probably wonder, “When will this cursed woman stop writing to me?” I am sorry, Donny. I need someone to write to. I can’t strike up a conversation in this loony bin. Everyone here has lost their marbles.

Did I tell you that Janice, the new nurse, comes to visit me every night? I don’t remember at all if I told you. She reads to me from Emily Dickinson. That woman is a[s] marvelous[/s] marvellous poet, and certainly has a way with words. I forget [I think either 'I forget' or 'I've fotgotten' would read more smoothly.] most of the poems that she has written, but I know that they were good. They [s]couldn’t[/s] wouldn't be [s]a[/s] classics if they weren’t.

It was only yesterday that you came and visited me, and I seem to have forgotten most of what we spoke about! See? I am such a silly girl.

After you left, I cried and cried and cried. I cried until it hurt. Janice didn’t visit me that night. I was glad that she stayed away. I think I might’ve hurt her. Donny, you know that I would never have hurt anyone. I’m locked up here because they think I’m going to hurt people. People like you. You know me, Donny, dearest Donny. I would never do anything like that. I wouldn’t even hurt a fly. [That last sentence is so cliché. I'm sure you can do better.]

You’re probably thinking, “This woman has already killed someone. Who’s to say she won’t do it again?” You’re right to think that, but you’re wrong. It was an accident, Donny. Please forgive me. I never meant to kill Daddy. It was an accident. Please forgive me. Please. [Try to be a little more subtle. She wouldn't want to remind him of this and has probably blocked it from even her mind. Instead, try to hint at what she might have done in the past.]

You are so beautiful, Donny. Like I said, from the moment you walked into my room, I knew that you were my son. You’d never seen me before, so you didn’t know what I looked like. I don’t blame you. I wouldn’t have wanted to see myself either. I must look like a silly old hag, locked up with these nutjobs.

I’m so negative, aren’t I? I’m sorry, Donny. Please forgive me. I never mean to go on about such depressing things. All I wanted to say is that I love you. More than anything. More than the stars in the sky, more than the water that I take with my morning pills. Sometimes (don't tell anyone this, Donny) I don't take my pills. The nurses say that they will help my memory come back, but all they are doing is drugging me and making my Alzheimer [Maybe say condition instead?] worse.

I love you.

I love.

You are such a sweetie to bring me flowers. I am gazing at them right now. They are so beautiful. The red tulip is my favorite, even if it’s drooping a little. I don’t blame it; everything droops in this place.

I want to see you again, Donny. Donny, Donny, Donny. You have a beautiful name. I named you that the night you were born. When you first came out of my womb, you looked like a Donny. Beautiful Donny. You are such a handsome man. I love you so much. Thank you for coming to visit your old, neglected mother.

I am babbling again. I’m terribly sorry. It felt so nice to talk to you in person, instead of letters. Do come and see me again? Please? I love you, Donny. More than anything in the world. I need you. Desperately. Please do not make me wait twenty-three years to see my baby again. I need you sooner. Please.

I need.

Love, love, love, love, love most adoringly, with more kisses than you can count,

Mom

Good work! But don't give your revelation away so easily or so soon. Be subtle and build it up gradually. And then, nearer the end, drop in a comment about daddy. Something that stands out, that's a little random but also hints at his absence. Maybe something like I'm sure Daddy would be proud of you. So.... tragic that he isn't here.

Keep up the good work!

Heather xx

Thank you so so much (I'm thanking you for critiquing a thank you letter. O.o) for all of the wonderful critiques and revisions!

Heather >> Oh my goodness, you are wonderful. Thank you so much for coming back. I've revised this to death. Thank you, thank you thank you. Your comments have been amazing.

Conrad Rice >> Thank you so much! Yes, this old lady is in an insane asylum because she killed her husband and everyone thinks she'll do it again. Thank you for your critique!

Salsashanno >> Thank you so much! Your comments have been uplifting.

-Jared

Jared -

This was interesting. It was well written, gave me wonderful insights into your character's psyche, and you managed to get the point across without telling too much. This was fun to read.

However, I've never been one to appreciate stories written in letter or journal format. When people write using those techniques they are required to stay within the boundaries of reality when it comes to description and voice. You've gotta ask yourself, "Am I writing this the way a real person would write". And generally, real people are pretty boring. Their journals are mundane. Letters - such as this one - are often empty and lack any real...literary flair, as they probably should. You did well here and definately surpassed my expectations for a letter-story, but remember to keep things authentic (re: the first paragraph. Would she really describe herself that way?)

I really appreciated how you managed to walk the line between senile silliness and true emotion. There were some places were I was thinking "does he really expect me to take this seriously" but then you hit us with some wonderful lines and you managed to transform this into something...more. This is subtle. I like subtlety.

More than the stars in the sky, more than the water that I take with my morning pills. Sometimes (don't tell anyone this, [s]Donny[/s]) I don't take my pills.

erm. Consider reworking the bit with the pill-water. As I said earlier, it doesn't sound like something a real person would say. Also, strike the mention of Donny's name again. It doesn't fit there.

I don’t blame it; everything droops in this place.

Great line.

Anyway, I enjoyed this. It's not a topic I see everyday, so kudos for originality.

-Kylan

Ah poo. This review won't be very good. But I shall help as much as I can!

As mentioned, this isn't the type of thing that has been read over and over again just with different words, as many things posted here on YWS are. It's incredibly original and something I would've never ever though of. I absolutely love that there is no story to this besides the letter. These kinds of things, if written incorrectly, can often make the reader wonder what the point of it is. But yours is written quite correctly; just enough information, but still leaves a little mystery behind it. I've always loved that sort of thing because there is no fun in reading when the whole entire story is splayed out in front of you and leaves you no room to think about what you've just read.

Unlike the others, I wasn't confused at all at the fact that she's in an asylum. It was very clear in her words and the emotions behind the words. I fully know what was going through the old woman's head while she was 'writing' this letter. Nice!

And just something to point out: you say that she killed her husband, but if you have to explain that to us outside the story, why don't you explain it in the story? It might clear things up.

Anywhoo, awesome as always. Very original! I'd give you three thumbs up if I could.

-The Awesome One