Rentre ?? la Maison: Come Home

Evi! *snugs*

Okay, two things first -- one, this is my first review in forever and can I just say what a marvellous re-introduction to YWS fiction this is! Thank you, dear. Two, did you see - did anyone else see what I saw? - a positive, short, review from Porky. I mean, hell, girl.

That's about a big a wrap as I've seen.

This was quite a good little piece, needless to say. Not very interesting, subject-wise, it must be said, but it was handled well and my motto has always been and shall always be, execution is everything. Barring a few off-notes, you mostly got it right.

“I wanted to have a nice evening with you. It’s been so long.” She seemed to be begging.

“And whose fault is that?”

She threw her hands into the air. “Mine. It’s my fault. Should I not have come? I just wanted to see you, Vera. I feel terrible, but I had to see you.”

“What do you want me to do?” I demanded. “Pretend everything is okay? Pretend that I’m not extremely pissed off at you? Because I am.”

Before she left, I never said anything worse than ‘dang’.

She sat back in her chair, hard. “I don’t blame you.”

“Why are we even here?”

“I wanted to have a nice evening with you. It’s been so long.” She seemed to be begging.

“And whose fault is that?”

“Mine. It’s my fault. Should I not have come? I just wanted to see you, Vera. I feel terrible, but I had to see you.”

“What do you want me to do?” I demanded. “Pretend everything is okay? Pretend that I’m not extremely pissed off at you? Because I am.”

She sat back in her chair, hard. “I don’t blame you.”

“Why are we even here?”

Anya reached out to me, stopping before she actually touched my hands. “You never used to cuss.”

“Things change.”

“Have you changed?” she asked in a whisper.

Anya gently pulled her hand away from mine, and my heart sank. “Am I going to have to go like this, with you mad at me?” she whispered.

Hey, sorry I haven't been on and reviewed anything, but I'm back. This is another story that I absolutely love. The thing that I recommend is to not repeat the last line word-for-word. Change it up a little bit. It kind of annoyed me a little bit that you repeated the exactly same line from earlier in the story. Otherwise, it was great.

Hey, honey. So sorry it took me this long to post a critique. Life happened. Rather forcefully I might add.

So here we go. If you have any questions about anything feel free to PM or poke me (this includes not being able to read my handwriting).











Hope this helps.

Ta,
Cal.

Hey there Evi! WD, as requested. Sorry it took me so long to get to this! This is really very lovely. I've read it a few times over and every time I can just feel the build of the dialogue, finally amounting into the climax. You really are a master at creating tension and it works wonderfully here. Your prose is clean for the most part, and it doesn't detract from the dialogue. It even adds brilliantly at times. I am very impressed by this. Wonderful job, m'dear. I just have a few nitpicky things to mention:

The lamplight was watery and yellow, like runny eggs, bright enough to just barely illuminate our table. Across from me, Anya pursed her cherry-glossed lips. Once, when I was six or seven, I had taken the brightest, reddest, most garish tube of lipstick she owned from her make-up bag, and used it to write “meanie-pants” in sprawling chicken-scratch on her bathroom mirror. It cost me a week of TV privileges. I don’t remember why I was angry at her.

Now, I squinted at the menu in front of me, trying to focus as the letters swam around on the page. “This isn’t even in English,” I accused.

Anya shrugged and bent over, her hair falling in front of her face in strawberry-golden waves. “It’s French. This is a fancy restaurant. Does it matter?”

The words made my stomach twist into a knot; I pushed the menu away—perhaps a bit more violently than was necessary—and muttered something about not being hungry. She didn’t deserve to call herself my sister anymore. She had forfeited the right by leaving. She wasn’t my sister, wasn’t anything to me now—and people who weren’t anything couldn’t hurt you.

Now Anya put her elbows on the table—our mother would have had a heart attack, her daughter ignoring one of the most important rules of etiquette—and let her head fall into her hands for a moment. When she looked up again, I couldn’t turn away in time to avoid meeting her eyes. They flashed, unreadable and dark.

“Things change.”

“Have you changed?” she asked in a whisper.

“I had to toughen up when you left. I had to pick Mom and Dad off of the ground for weeks when you didn’t call.”

“A year of no correspondence whatsoever isn’t enough time for you?” I demanded. Time to guilt her into it. “Did I not mention that Mom became bitter and angry after you left, and Dad sank into clinical depression on Christmas, when we found out you changed all your phone numbers? Not to mention me. You’re my sister. Do you just not get that you can’t cut off your family like that?”

i really enjoyed this- especially the repetition at the end.
i really like your style of writing, and your descriptions were detailed so I pictured the restaurant and characters, but not so detailed i couldnt remember everything.
The french title was also a good idea

Everyone mentioned all the little stuff that needed tweaking, so I don't really have anything to add to the list in that respect. "Come Home" came across as well crafted; not perfect, but fantastically close. A "like it", definitely. The psychology of the characters, each sister's strategy against the other–it all felt like watching something akin to a battle... chess, perhaps. Again, the deliverance was phenomenal.

Though the subject is dismal (was this some disguised rant about someone? just curious), the way it was delivered made it enjoyable to read nonetheless. Thanks for sharing this with us.

–antimelrose

This was absolutely amazing! Your characters were perfectly rounded, and I felt like I really knew Vera and Evi by the end. They seemed so real! Your descriptions were nice too, I had a great picture in my head of what was going on. This was a phenomenal piece of work! Keep writing!

--Dreamy

Hi Evi, m'dear. This was almost perfect, and I don't have a real critique for it. However, one minor problem I have is in the way you set up your story. I first thought that your narrator was a guy and he was on a date with Anya. Why would two sisters go to a fancy restaurant such as this? Especially since Anya says, "It's romantic in French' or something like that, I was confused. When the narrator mention, "she's not my sister anymore" I was pretty surprised. Then it slowly came clear to me that your narrator was a girl, and I was even more surprised. I know it's minor, but it's distracting and takes away what my real focus should be upon. Hope these comments help when you revise this.

-Elinor

Aside from the opening, which had that forced simile with the eggs, I really enjoyed this. I thought you did a fine job balancing dialogue, feelings, and physical gestures, all while drawing interesting characters.

Thanks for the entertaining read.

Prokaryote

Hiya Evi!!!
I just downed my fourth Mellow Yellow of the day but I figured I could slip a quick review in before I start bouncing off of stuff.

I reached into my pocket, and fingered the note-card that I had found in our mailbox this afternoon when I came home from school.

She had been stupid and rash, but she wasn’t emotionally capable of entirely severing off contact with her family, no matter what arguments she had gotten into with them.

She dug her nail into a mini tub of butter, puncturing the peel-off lid.

Dad sunk into a clinical depression on Christmas

She was like a leaky faucet—no matter what I said or did, I couldn’t do anything to keep her from running.