By the River [1]

I really, really liked it. Just the fact that you can write about old fashioned times so authentically, not resorting to cliches.

My eyes lost focus on the colours and textures of the water for a time I cannot predict, and the next thing I knew was Aunt Grace’s sinewy hand on my mine, pressing the soft, yielding flesh like baker’s dough

This method of indicating the passage of time, of a daydream abruptly ending, i thought was pretty much seamless. It would be very easy for something like this to sound awkward, or to indicate too short amount of time.

I watched from the wrought seat

I stood, clunking my mug down upon the table.

I had just assumed that the two of them were sitting straight on the ground, no tables or chairs. (I think it's because i got a huge Alice and Wonderland vibe from it and in the beginning instances of that there is no furniture). Maybe it's obvious, if they were drinking tea they'd have at least a table, but when I got to the parts quoted above I had to kind of pause for a second.

But, sure enough, a car came into view—with my knowledge of vehicles scant, I can only offer the information that it was black and rounded, with circular lights obtruding from the bonnet.

I loved the fact you mentioned you knew nothing of vehicles. I think it makes it seem much more real than if you were to cite its model or something- plus you slipped in a good, informative description!

I'd sum it all up by just calling it elegant. Very elegant, great job.

Ten
Lauren
Please excuse me if I accidentally miss out a letter or an apostrophe as my laptop doesn't like lemonade, how shocking?
I love reviewing anything by Lauren. Anything at all.
Anyway, I think I shall do a line by line, as this piece is rather short, and then do a review.

By the River
One
We had been sojourned in the garden all afternoon

At first I thought that perhaps you had chosen the wrong word here, as sojourned means a brief stay, if I am correct, but then I realised that you were using sarcasm (I think). So this is perhaps the social commentary side of this piece? Either way, I like it.

under the willow tree beside the river.

You have the ability to conjure up such romance, Lauren. Most beautiful, you use nature to your benefit, resulting in your pieces being most wonderful.

It had always been my mother’s favourite spot, Aunt Grace often reminded me, and as girls

Ah... now, Lauren, I feel this and unneccesary. And usually indicates a point that is to do with the point previously talked of, or so to speak. However, the point of Aunt Grace talking of this tree being your mother's favourite spot, and of them keeping a boat against the tree as children are not quite alike, are they? Perhaps a new sentence or a comma/ semi colon would work better?

they had kept a little boat tied up against a protruding root, and they had rowed for hours up and down, up and down.

To me this sentence seems as though it was ended a little too abruptly. Your repetition, unlike most repetition, does not annoy me in the slightest. Quite the contrary in fact. It has a wonderful rhythm to it, quite like that of a song, a beat to it that feels as though it simply must be uttered, all of your writing has this, not just the repetition. This part seems as though the beat has not been carried through, and I find that most irratating, as I know how wonderful it could be.

We had been sat so long in the shade that my cheeks felt slack at the touch, senseless in the chiding breeze. I wished for nothing more than to go inside, pick up a book and lose myself in somebody else’s adventures, for my own seemed quite stationary, but Aunt Grace was determined I should stay. We sat sipping the stewed tea, cold on our teeth by now, and Aunt Grace occasionally turned the page of her newspaper, talking in the words with slow, meticulous glances.

I myself

I do love the use of both these words, but I do not think you need both of them, simply one would be quite sufficient, preferably the I. [;

watched the river. It was a kind of greyish silver, but the last reign of sunlight reflected on the ripples and dips of the surface, producing the whitest light. It was my opinion that it would make a pretty painting, and that it would be a painting I would have liked to paint, had I ever learnt the skill. My eyes lost focus on the colours and textures of the water for a time I cannot

Do I notice a tense change? Should not this be I could not as opposed to I can not, unless you are still pondering the matter of how long you were staring at a river several years ago, or so it seems.

predict, and the next thing I knew was Aunt Grace’s sinewy hand on my mine, pressing the soft, yielding flesh like baker’s dough.

‘Ruth,’ she said. ‘Oh, my dear, brighten yourself up. I just heard a car. It must be them.’

My aunt

Why has Aunt lost capitalization? Has she suddenly lost importance? Consistency. [;,

who had always been quite nimble to my knowledge, despite her hefty age and shrunken figure, stood. With a hand at her forehead as if in a frozen salute, she stared out into the distance. I looked also, but saw only the small, square redbrick house that I had been calling my home since the five months after my parents’ deaths. But, sure enough, a car came into view—with my knowledge of vehicles scant, I can only offer the information that it was black and rounded, with circular lights obtruding from the bonnet.

I find this description quite enchanting, Lauren, one of the reasons why I love your work so. It's so,... periodical.

It was quite enchanting to Aunt Grace—or at least its inhabitants were—and she hitched up her dress to run towards it.

I watched from the wrought seat, hands tightening around my mug of tea. My aunt seemed so young then, and so alive; her youth did not embarrass me, but made me ashamed of myself, for being so old in comparison.

It may be due to my lack of knowledge, but had not you earlier talked of her 'hefty' age, does not that make her old? Yet now you talk of her being young, oh, seeming young, I get it now.

As she neared the car, the door at the driver’s seat opened and a young man got out—tall and with red hair, was all I could see, but I knew from the many photographs Aunt Grace had shown me that he was Frederick, her only son. He stood a moment, looking about with jerks of the head this way and that, and then moved in confident strides towards his mother, who enclosed him in her arms. Another door opened—on the passenger’s side—and another man got out. This, I realised, must be Simon, his university friend. He stood a distance apart.

Aunt Grace and Frederick let go of one another, and Simon neared her to shake her hand. I told myself that they were all acquainted and that now it was my turn to make myself known, but suddenly Aunt Grace was pointing in my direction and Frederick was waving in a manic manner. I stood, clunking my mug down upon the table. I began to wave back.

Oh, Lauren, this was quite wonderful, it made me, most definitely with a taste upon my tongue and a want for more. More that you shall supply, I hope. I did promise you a critique, and shall think of something to say, hopefully something other than praise, yet I do not think I shall be too successful with such an aim. I shall try.

...
You have a most enchanting way of writing, Lauren. Your work leaves upon us a taste of beauty, a desire for more. Reading your work, we feel a flush upon our cheeks, a flush of wind upon our cheeks, of rain and sleet and snow. Through your writing we twirl around on a warm day, dance in the sun and sing in the rain. Your writing is beautiful, Lauren, just beautiful.

!...!...!
Right, your beat,. It is beautiful, Lauren. At times, however, as in everyone's writing, it could be revised. I'm simply talking about tiny little things. Insignifcant and annoying, yet I'm still making a point that could reflect the entirety of your writing. See, Lauren, you have a marvellous pace and speed, something that I wish I could acquire. You have this wonderful way of pulling a story along at a beat, but you just have to be careful that you finish off that beat. Yes, I am picking on things that hardly matter, but otherwise I'd be doing nothing but praising you, and so, I'm sure you'd agree, no matter how terrible this review is at least it may be of some value. Maybe. The only times I notice this is a problem is the end of repetition parts.

Imagery
Yours is absolutely beautiful, Lauren. Truly, truly beautiful. It reeks years of reading and writing, sets about the writing an air of absolute, entire beauty. Really, I can't say much more of it, there is nothing more to say.

Anyway, Lauren, this was lovely. I'd love more, in fact, I demand more. More shall be posted. It shall.

Hope I helped, or at least praised [;
~Kirsten

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