Mrs. Marx surrenders- soul piece

Before you read this please keep in mind that it is a small piece for a much bigger piece I'm working on. Please take into consideration that you are reading it out of context and therefore probably aren't going to be able to understand it's purpose (which I've spent thousands of words creating). Still, I'd like you to comment and tell me what you think of my writing style, and whether or not you'd like to hear more about the character (and sorry for the long intro, but I think it will help you, as the reader, understand that I'm not trying to make a statement with this piece.) Thanks, and tell me what you think.


The last few days she didn’t get out of bed. Her eyelids would rise with the sun and she’d fix her gaze on the ceiling until night came, when her eyelids sagged again. No matter how long her eyes stayed open she was never really awake, and no matter how ardent her gaze she never really saw. The old woman laid there with her silver hair fanned out over her pillow like and ancient lion’s mane, mourning the loss of her soul.
The myth when people die is that their soul rises from their body and drifts towards heaven. A lie. The soul isn’t an animate thing that can just rise up and leave on its own. There’s a reason dying, in nature, takes so long. From the moment we are born it starts—we’re dying slowly. You have from that moment, the moment you take your first breath till the moment you take your last, to find where your soul belongs.
Reincarnation. A truth. When we die, the place where we have chosen to surrender our soul acts as its disciple—advocates its existence and incarcerates its purpose.
The old woman, lying helplessly empty in her bed spent five years weaving pieces of hers onto blank pages, using a needle of words to pull her thoughts through the emptiness. It’s there that she chose to give up her being—to put her soul where it will last forever. Now it’s her time to die—her body is useless without a soul to protect.

Two days later the old woman lay on her bed, her pale eyelids closed lightly over her blue eyes like two white flags, surrendering.

Hi there, kawriter. I'm Conrad.

The first thing that I notice with this is that you do pretty good with description. This piece is very good with description and I have to give you points for that.

However, I have to question just what the purpose of this piece is. I know that it's about a woman dying in her bed. But what does it show us? Stories of this nature, more often than not, show us something worth seeing. Here, you don't really have that. There's no real resolution, just some vague philosophical stuff at the end. I couldn't even tell if the woman had actually died or not.

My advice to you is to make the work as a whole, and especially the ending, much clearer. PM me if you have any questions or comments.

Good job, and good luck.

-Conrad Rice

Hi,
I agree with Conrad Rice in everything said.
You are very good with detail. Seems to be a very strong pointer for you. But sometimes, detail doesn't always make a story great.

A truth. When we die, the place where we have chosen to surrender our soul acts as its disciple—advocates its existence and incarcerates its purpose.

Maybe it was just me but I had to reread this to understand it. It is a little hard to grasp. Maybe rewording it a little...maybe.

love...

From the moment we are born it starts—we’re dying slowly.

Great line. It really stuck out to me.

Now, over all? This was a great piece of work and keep it up. It seems like something should go before it. Something that leads to the death. I don't know why but I imagined a longer beginning about the woman's younger years and her falling in love and then the man dying so now, in her old years, she simply lays there waiting to die. She understands that she will surrender life and breathing and this world to move on with him soon enough.

Hence...

Two days later the old woman lay on her bed, her pale eyelids closed lightly over her blue eyes like two white flags, surrendering.

Hope this helped. Nice work and keep it up.

-Rena.

Overall, I agree- good description. I might argue whether some of it actually means anything. Some lines sound, like Rena said, hard to grasp in a way that doesn't signify deep thought or meditation but someone who wants to sound more emotional and thoughtful than they really are. It's all very preachy and such. I'd probably say it as 'what gives you the right to say all these things?' In addition, all the things you say seem ungrounded, without direction or purpose. You say these things about death, but don't take them anywhere. The lady just dies and its over. It doesn't serve a purpose or ask any questions. No amount of deathly babble can save a story that is essentially 'Lady lies in bed. Lady dies'. So would this make a good part in a grander story? Yes, I'd keep reading. In reality, it's excellent writing. It just lacks purpose or direction. It needs context, explanation as to why you can state these things and why they matter. And maybe tone down the philosophical stuff. It isn't helping anyone.

Keep writing,
Critiq