Young Writers Society

The Feeling of Christmas

(Partially as a request for a holiday story, and partially as a contest entry, I have written "The Feeling of Christmas." The story was to include three selections from a list, and those I selected were: A Russian Peasant, Playing a Glockespiel, and A Silver Penny. This was the result.)


Russia for vacation... Maybe not everyone's choice for the best spot in the world but hey, I like snow, and it has always been one of my life's ambitions to get one of those big, fluffy, brown hats you see all the Russians wearing in the movies. Then there was the plus that I had family here, and it was almost Christmas time, but who really cares about Christmas, right? I sure didn't I can tell you that, at least not until this trip...


At the moment I was trying to accomplish my life's ambition. I was heading to a little stall that was selling the Russian's signature hats, when a most peculiar sight caught my vision. Standing off to the side of the stall a little ways was a small, muscular, stoutly built, little man whom one might have confused for an elf. The man stood under a tattered umbrella, which I assumed he was using to fend off the snow, though it didn't actually seem to be doing him much good. He wore clothes of brown, in many layers, but they two were tattered and torn, and seemed to have been used for many years. In front of the burly man, upon a stand about a foot taller than himself, was an instrument you don't see all that often; a glockenspiel, that is right, a glockenspiel, no joke.

"Get playing, I'm not staying here all day," said another man just a little ways back from the glockenspielist, concealed by the shadows of a building behind him. His umbrella, the roof, did a much better job of defending him, and as such, he had a book in his hands. He sat one leg over the other scowling at the words upon the page, and motioned for whom I assumed was his peasant to start playing, by means of an air glock.

The peasant took his mallet like instruments in his hands and reached up towards the falling stars, his gaze concentrated on the blocks of the larger instrument above him. He started to pound on the glockenspiel, producing a rather odd sounding arrangement. Many of the Russians walking by pulled their big, fluffy, hats down tight over their ears as they scurried out of the area. The clanging coming from the glockenspielist, was producing a loud, and dare I say annoying sound, but not the peasant nor his master made any notion that the sound was affecting the others in the square.

There were cries of "Stop that pitiful, depressing, sound you ignorant peasant!" and "Get your peasant under control you moronic so called master!" but still there was no recognition from either of the men. Before three minutes had passed, all the prior inhabitants of the square had gone and I was left, the last remaining to hear the vexing notes of the glock.

I was content to get my hat however, and you can rest assured I was not to be stopped by some glockenspielist with no means of mercy. So I walked forward against the agonizing noise, and placed some coins on the stall's table, the owner was gone you see, due to the musical sounds, but I wasn't about to steal. So with the hat being paid for, I made my selection off the rack and turned to leave when one of those falling stars landed upon my nose. I stopped, why? I haven't the slightest clue, but to a halt I came.

The noise hadn't stopped, but it was deafened slightly by my new hat. I turned on the spot and looked at the small peasant, and by what means I know not, I began to walk towards the two men. Upon the ground next to the glockenspielist, was a basket, collecting nothing but the water the stars made as they hit the bottom of it. I paused, frozen as much as the country I was in. "What do you call this song?" I yelled over the immense noise, but the peasant did nothing besides continue his pounding. I yelled again, "what is this song?"

"The man's deaf sweetie, leave him be," said the voice of the man beneath the building, he had his book closed over his finger which marked his spot, and was staring at me curiously.

The slight blush of embarrassment that came to my face was hidden by the red that already existed due to the cold. I smiled at the man, brushed a strand of my brown hair aside, and reached into my pocket. I pulled out a silver penny, and dropped it into the empty basket. As I did so, the music stopped, and the artist reached down to pick the coin up. He stared at the coin, and then at his master who nodded. The peasant ran to the stall I had just been at, and stacked his coin upon the one I had set down earlier. He pulled one of the brown hats off of the shelf, and pulled it snug upon his head, as a wide grin filled his face from one side to the other. His dream it appeared, had now been accomplished as well.

"That is his only gift this year," his master said, still gazing curiously at me.

Slightly embarrassed, among many other emotions I could not describe, I turned to flee the premises. A warm feeling now had a place in my heart, a feeling I can only describe as the feeling of Christmas. Yes, the feeling I didn't believe in, prior to this encounter.

Well, I have to say I enjoy, even though there wasnt too much description of the MC. Some stories don't need it though, like yours. I felt the emotion and saw the goings on in the market place. Good job, though I have to point out you said "two" instead of "too" here:

but they two were tattered and torn

Other than that, it was an enjoyable piece and cute to see the MC show some care for the man playing the glockespeil.

J.R.S wrote:

The Feeling of Christmas

Russia for vacation... Maybe not everyone's choice for the best spot in the world but, hey, I like snow, and it has always been one of my life's ambitions to get one of those big, fluffy, you can lose the comma here if you like brown hats you see all the Russians wearing in the movies. Then there was the plus that I had family there, and it was almost Christmas time, but who really cares about Christmas, right? I sure didn't, I can tell you that, at least not until this trip.... (When ending a sentence with the dots, if it's a complete sentence, always end with four dots (....).)

*****

At the moment I was trying to accomplish my life's ambition: I was heading to a little stall that was selling the Russian's signature hats, when a most peculiar sight caught my vision. Standing off to the side of the stall a little ways was a small, muscular, stoutly built, (lose comma, please) little man whom one might have confused for an elf. The man stood under a tattered umbrella, which I assumed he was using to fend off the snow, though it didn't actually seem to be doing him much good. He wore brown clothes, in many layers, but they, too,were tattered and torn, (lose) and seemed to have been used for many years. In front of the burly man, upon a stand about a foot taller than himself, was an instrument you don't see all that often: a glockenspiel. That is right, a glockenspiel, no joke.

"Get playing. I'm not staying here all day," said another man just a little ways back from the glockenspielist (I think maybe saying "little person would be better here. The reader doesn't quite know yet that the little person is the instrumentalist.), concealed by the shadows of a building behind him. His umbrella--the roof--did a much better job of defending him, and as such, he had a book in his hands. He sat one leg over the other, scowling at the words upon the page, and motioned for whom I assumed was his peasant to start playing, by means of an air glock.

The peasant took his mallet-like-instruments in his hands and reached up towards the falling stars, his gaze concentrated on the blocks of the larger instrument above him. He started to pound on the glockenspiel, producing a rather odd sounding arrangement. Many of the Russians walking by pulled their big, fluffy, hats down tight over their ears as they scurried out of the area. The clanging coming from the glockenspielist, (no comma) was producing a loud, and, dare I say, annoying sound, but not the peasant nor his master made any notion that the sound was affecting the others in the square.

There were cries of "Stop that pitiful, depressing, (No comma) sound you ignorant peasant!" and "Get your peasant under control you moronic so-called master!" but still there was no recognition from either of the men. Before three minutes had passed, all the prior inhabitants of the square had gone and I was left, the last remaining to hear the vexing notes of the glock.

I was content to get my hat however, and you can rest assured I was not to be stopped by some glockenspielist with no means of mercy. So I walked forward against the agonizing noise, and placed some coins on the stall's table. The owner was gone you see, due to the musical sounds, but I wasn't about to steal. So with the hat being paid for, I made my selection off the rack and turned to leave when one of those falling stars landed upon my nose. I stopped. Why? I haven't the slightest clue, but to a halt I came. What? What falling stars? And how does a falling star fall on ones nose? This confuses me some.

The noise hadn't stopped, but it was deafened slightly by my new hat. I turned on the spot and looked at the small peasant, and by what means I know not, I began to walk towards the two men. Upon the ground next to the glockenspielist, (no comma) was a basket, collecting nothing but the water the stars made as they hit the bottom of it. I paused, frozen as much as the country I was in. "What do you call this song?" I yelled over the immense noise, but the peasant did nothing besides continue his pounding. I yelled again, "What is this song?"

"The man's deaf, sweetie, leave him be," said the voice of the man beneath the building. He had his book closed over his finger which marked his spot, (no comma) and was staring at me curiously.

The slight blush of embarrassment that came to my face was hidden by the red that already existed due to the cold. I smiled at the man, brushed a strand of my brown hair aside, and reached into my pocket. I pulled out a silver penny, (no comma) and dropped it into the empty basket. As I did so, the music stopped, and the artist reached down to pick the coin up. He stared at the coin, and then at his master, who nodded. The peasant ran to the stall I had just been at, (no comma) and stacked his coin upon the one I had set down earlier. He pulled one of the brown hats off of the shelf, and pulled it snug upon his head, (no comma) as a wide grin filled his face from one side to the other. His dream, it appeared, had now been accomplished as well.

"That is his only gift this year," his master said, still gazing curiously at me.

Slightly embarrassed, among many other emotions I could not describe, I turned to flee the premises. A warm feeling now had a place in my heart, a feeling I can only describe as the feeling of Christmas. Yes, the feeling I didn't believe in, (no comma) prior to this encounter.

I think this is a nice little story that suits the season. No really big problems, besides the thing about the falling stars and your happy trigger finger for the comma key. Other than that, good job. Keep writing!

Hi! I found your title interesting so I popped on this page. I read the story, nicely written, great description, but lack of describing the MC. So, you're saying that the MC felt Christmas after giving the peasant a silver coin? Maybe, you should say that the MC felt happiness that he gave a poor peasant something. But, at the same time it makes sense that he felt how special Christmas can be. One small gift made a man happy. That's great. But, as I said, lack of description on the MC, was he selfish or something that this was a shock to him?

Anyway...
Keep Writing!
Nike

Hey JRS!

I haven't done a nit-picky review in a while, so I think I might give you one. If you have any questions or comments about my review when I'm done, just let me know and I'll be happy to answer them for you.

I sure didn't, I can tell you that. At least not until this trip...

The flow of this sentence felt a bit awkward to me. I think it may be to do with the grammar structure... Maybe try what I edited in instead.

Standing off to the side of the stall a little ways was a small, muscular, stoutly built, little man whom one might have confused for an elf.

The part I struck out here made the sentence sound a little awkward.

He wore clothes of brown, in many layers, but they too were tattered and torn, and seemed to have been used for many years.

You used the wrong to/too/two.

In front of the burly man, upon a stand about a foot taller than himself, was an instrument you don't see all that often; a glockenspiel. That is right, a glockenspiel. No joke.

"Get playing, I'm not staying here all day," said another man just a little ways back from the glockenspielist, concealed by the shadows of a building behind him.

This is the second time you've used this phrase. I'm unfamiliar with it and I find that it sounds a little awkward. It might just be me, but I'd consider editing it.

His umbrella: the roof, did a much better job of defending him, and as such, he had a book in his hands. He sat one leg over the other, scowling at the words upon the page, and motioned for whom I assumed was his peasant to start playing, by means of an air glock.

The peasant took his mallet-like instruments in his hands and reached up towards the falling stars, his gaze concentrated on the blocks of the larger instrument above him.

The clanging coming from the glockenspielist, was producing a loud, and dare I say annoying sound, but not the peasant nor his master made any notion that the sound was affecting the others in the square.

You don't need the comma here.

There were cries of "Stop that pitiful, depressing, sound, you ignorant peasant!" and "Get your peasant under control, you moronic, so called master!" but still there was no recognition from either of the men.

. The owner was gone, you see, due to the musical sounds, but I wasn't about to steal.

I stopped. Why? I haven't the slightest clue, but to a halt I came.

Upon the ground next to the glockenspielist, was a basket, collecting nothing but the water the stars made as they hit the bottom of it.

You don't need this comma.

"The man's deaf sweetie, leave him be," said the voice of the man beneath the building. He had his book closed over his finger which marked his spot, and was staring at me curiously.

He pulled one of the brown hats off of the shelf, and pulled it snug upon his head, as a wide grin filled his face from one side to the other. His dream, it appeared, had now been accomplished as well.

His dream is to have a hat? Weird...

Overall

N'awww... The message in this was sweet. I rather liked the piece as a whole, I have to say. It was simple, but at the same time, it was effective. Part of me thinks that it was a little too simple... but I'll go into more detail abotu that later. Your grammar overall was good, so well done for that. The only issue I noticed was you misusing commas quite a lot, but don't stress too much about that. It's always easier to cut down on commas rather than throw a load of missing ones in, to be honest.

Now, onto the simple thing. I do like the simplicity of this piece, JRS, but I don't know... It feels as though there's something missing. I can't quite put my finger on it, annoyingly. I think it might be because it almost feels like you've thrown us into a rather random situation, but without really letting us see mnay details. I suppose you could bring what the other reviewers said about your MC into this. We don't know much about her. It doesn't bother me all that much, but it's a good example of the kind of thing that's missing.

I think that us readers would like to know a bit more of the backstory behind this whole situation. Why was your MC wandering around the square that day? To buy a hat? Or was she just wandering around? Also, what was she doing before she found the peasant and his master? Maybe you could go into detail about that. I think the small problem is that, right now, this feels a bit empty in some places. It's really hard to explain, but I hope you have an idea of what I mean. If not, I do apologise!

The only other critique I have for you is a nit-pick, to be honest. I'm a little confused about that thing you said about the stars and the glocken... however you spell it. What were the stars? The only thing I can think of are sparks... but I'm not sure why they'd be there. Were the stars metophorical or something? You might have explained this in the piece, and I may have just missed it. I'm sorry if that is the case! If not, I'd susggest that you go a bit deeper to explain what the stars are supposed to be exactly.

Keep writing,

xoxo Skins