My Mama

My mama, she was famous.

I don’t know this ’cos I met her or anything. I mean, I didn’t know her. Papa said she died when I was real little, so I guess I sorta knew her, but I was still just a little girl, so I don’t really remember her.

I just know that my mama was a lady of the world. She was a lady of lights and photographs and prettiness, one of those ladies you see on the covers of all the fancy magazines. She looked like a rich lady, with her hair all done up and pearls shining on her neck and covered with these great big old furs, like you see in the movies.

But they weren’t any of her stuff.

I mean, maybe some of the pearls (I still have this string, it’s real pretty, when you look at it in the light) that Papa gave to her when they was sweethearts, before me, but the other stuff, the pearls and things, they wasn’t hers.

My mama, she mighta played the part of a rich lady all good and fine, so that if you saw one of her pictures from her job, she looked like she belonged in one of them nice dinner parties on the lake, the ones that, if I stand on the edge of the banks and squint real hard across the water and pond-plants clustered around the edge, I can see the lights dancing across the sky and hear snatches of laughter and watch this whole life, like this big other fairy world, way across over there that my mama used to know so well, from being one of the pretty ladies in the magazines.

But me, I’m not like my mama.

I’m not pretty.

Papa says I look just like her, but he’s lying. Papas do that, when they don’t want you feeling bad about yourself. It’s sorta their job, I guess.

I’ve never been in the magazines, and I can only wear my pearls to church on Sundays, and only then on special Sundays, and I’ve only got one good dress, and the rest are either real bad from my big sister, who was pretty like my mama was—if you ever did see a pretty girl, that was my sister—or they’re just overalls and a shirt, like a boy’s clothes.

Even when I put on Mama’s old rouge and eye stuff and do my hair all up and put on my nicest dress and look at myself in the big ol’ mirror in the attic, looking from her picture to mine, I can’t see anything pretty there.

I just see me.

That’s all I’ve ever seen.

Hi there Trix! I really liked this story, you've got a very strong narrative and I really get the feeling of your MC. I was reminded of To Kill a Mockingbird by this. I loved how I got a feeling of innocence from your MC, which the narrative of a child is really hard to do, so great job with that. You got the way kids speak, and think exactly, and I really got a feel for her in a very short amount of time. Also I loved the ending.

Overall awesome job, keep writing, and I hope to read more from you!

~Hope

Hey Trix!

Neat story... nice voice that you're using. I really like it!

Now, this is a very captivating introduction because the story is captivating (yay!) but there's only one problem... it's too short. Which, between you and me, is a very good problem to have! So I would suggest expanding this into something more! It's really a beautiful piece and you are definitely a lovely writer. I want to see more though.

Hi Impera(If I may call you that)Your story is very much different from what I have been reading here but the thing remains is that your grammar is really poor and you really need to work hard on it. This whole piece seemed rushed to me and your thoughts are nice but you're really not getting how to transform them it into proper language.

There was this one paragraph which was totally muzzy to me and I couldn't even edit it for you.

My mama, she was famous. TRY THIS: My mama? Well, she was famous. This is because I found your first sentence very boring and meaningless. try the one I suggested.

I don’t know this ’cos I met her or anything. I mean, I didn’t know her. Papa said she died when I was real little, so I guess I sorta knew her, but I was still just a little girl, so I don’t really remember her.
The red words are fine when you need to make a conversation but as for a literature piece I would suggest you to omit it though you can add it in your dialogue.

I just know that my mama was a lady of the world. She was a lady of lights and photographs and prettiness beauty/mystique, one of those ladies you see on the covers of all the fancy magazines. She looked like a rich lady, with her hair all done up and pearls shining on her neck and covered with these great big old furs, like you see in the movies.

But they weren’t any of her stuff.

I mean, maybe some of the pearls (I still have this string, it’s real pretty, when you look at it in the light) that Papa gave to her when they was were sweethearts, before me, but the other stuff, the pearls and things, they wasn’t weren't hers.

My mama, she mighta played the part of a rich lady all good and fine, so that if you saw one of her pictures from her job, she looked like she belonged in one of them those nice dinner parties on the lake, the ones that, if I stand on the edge of the banks and squint real hard across the water and pond-plants clustered around the edge, I can see the lights dancing across the sky and hear snatches of laughter and watch this whole life, like this big other fairy world, way across over there that my mama used to know so well, from being one of the pretty ladies in the magazines.

But me, I’m not like my mama.

I’m not pretty.

Papa says I look just like her, but he’s lying. Papas do that, when they don’t want you feeling bad about yourself.Such an innocent and sweet line! It’s sorta their job, I guess.

I’ve never been in the magazines, and I can only wear my pearls to church on Sundays, and only then on special Sundays This red part needs editing. I didn't understand anything from ti so its better you do the editing yourself, and I’ve only got one good dress, and the rest are either real bad from my big sister, who was pretty like my mama was—if you ever did see a pretty girl, that was my sister—or they’re just overalls and a shirt, like a boy’s clothes.
This whole paragraph is really confusing and needs work.

Even when I put on Mama’s old rouge and eye stuff and do my hair all up and put on my nicest dress and look at myself in the big ol’ mirror in the attic, looking from her picture to mine, I can’t see anything pretty there. Its definitely the worst paragraph int he whole story. I mean you've a got a god idea and all but you really need to implement it. This seemed really rushed.

I just see me.

That’s all I’ve ever seen. Nice ending.

I hate to say this but this was a hard read, dear. As someone said that I liked the MC's feelings you tried to portrayed and it definitely ended up on a great note.
But you have got a lot to improve on so please wait till you post more and improvise this one first.
BEST OF LUCK TILL THEN!

Signing off for now!

Thanks, Bond. (: I definitely thought of Scout when I read back over this.

Oh, thank you, Snoink. I'm glad you liked it so much! Haha, I'll see if there are any more stories in her. I definitely loved writing this voice.

...Shub, oh hon. You really missed it. .___. Not to be condescending or anything, but the poor grammar was the whole point. The narrator is poorly educated, young, flighty, naive. The writing is supposed to be poor grammar-wise, a bit sporadic. That's the character's voice. I'm well aware of the grammar issues, thanks, man. They were intentional. :/ Sorry I didn't make that clearer. (And I wish you'd at least rectified your own grammatical mistakes before poking at mine, if you want some honesty. |: )

Man, there has to be other style to show that the grammar is poor. And what do you emna by my grammar?

No. There isn't. There absolutely is not. First person narrative with incorrect usage of words is the absolute best way to convey that. That's the beauty of narration and stories. You can twist language to make it show a character by breaking grammar rules, using run-on sentences, using fragments, choosing larger words or smaller words, changing flow of your sentences. This is voice. This is critical in writing a good, first person narrator. It's not an academic paper; it's writing. It's acceptable, for the sake of a character, to write with poor grammar, and I can't think of any other way to portray who my character is other than that. Can you?

Grammar was the wrong word, wasn't it? My mistake. That's what I get for writing before thinking. I meant your spelling. Typos running abound. Read over your posts, fix your mistakes, then post. Gives you a lot more credibility when you write "mean" instead of "emna."