posted
This scene is not perfect, it needs revision, but I really liked it anyway!
He woke up at 5 am. He didn’t have to. His bus didn’t leave until 9, but he was so eager to get away. His mother was up sitting at the table just staring into nothing. “You weren’t going to leave without saying goodbye, were you?” she looked so tiny in her faded powder blue robe with the holes in it. He reminded himself to get her a new robe one day. She was small enough for him to lift up and hold in his lap like a little kid. It seemed strange to one day grow bigger than your parent who all her life could pick you up and hold you. One day he realized with a bit of fear she’d be an old lady. Now her eyes were lined. He ignored her tears the way he knew she wanted him to. He held her like that for what seemed like hours. There were tears in his own eyes. There was so much, he realized, of his mother in him. The urge to fight whenever someone tried to attack him came from her, his loud laugh. He wondered home much of him belonged to his father, the man he barely remembered. He wanted to ask his mother, but he couldn’t stand the thought of more tears. He got up and placed her in the chair, wiped his eyes the same way she was, fast, like the other person wouldn’t notice. It was still dark when he walked outside. “Wait!” his mother said. “Let me get dressed. I’ll drive you.” He felt a bit relieved. He was too tired to walk that far. He sat at the table thinking of how strange it felt to hold his mother like that, strange and comforting at the same time. There were so many things he wanted to tell her. When he was a kid it was so much easier to talk to her about everything, even things she really didn’t want to know about. Then he became a teenager, wanting to hide everything from her, not even wanting her to touch him because it just felt weird. He constantly wanted to be left alone. There was so much to hide from her besides the obvious, like the bruises from fights inside and outside of the house for one thing and all the secret little thoughts he swore she knew anyway. One day he shot up and suddenly he was taller than her, bigger than his stepfather. It felt strange to be a man. He still felt like a little kid who needed to be comforted and guided. He got into the truck with her. It smelled like motor oil, cooking grease and cigarettes. “Since when do you smoke?” he asked her playfully. “I better not catch you doing it.” She teased.
posted
I know it's just a part of this story, but I really liked it so much, even though it needs to be revised several times, but I'd at least like feedback (plus my friend doesn't have time for me to read it to her *sulk*)
Posts: 9942 | Registered: Mar 2003
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posted
I don't like the short sentences at the beginning, I'd say to either combine them into one or two, or add more to all of them.
This:
quote: There was so much, he realized, of his mother in him. The urge to fight whenever someone tried to attack him came from her, his loud laugh.
is an incomplete sentence. You either need to make it into "came from her, and his loud laugh" or make it into two sentences, or change the punctuation.
quote: He wondered home much of him belonged to his father, the man he barely remembered
"how" not "home" but that's just a proofreading thing. "belonged to" strikes me as an interesting word choice. Obviously his father doesn't OWN any part of him, but the features are his father's, and now his, so it's interesting. It's either that or "He wondered how much of him came from his father."
quote: When he was a kid it was so much easier to talk to her about everything, even things she really didn’t want to know about. Then he became a teenager, wanting to hide everything from her, not even wanting her to touch him because it just felt weird. He constantly wanted to be left alone. There was so much to hide from her besides the obvious, like the bruises from fights inside and outside of the house for one thing and all the secret little thoughts he swore she knew anyway. One day he shot up and suddenly he was taller than her, bigger than his stepfather. It felt strange to be a man. He still felt like a little kid who needed to be comforted and guided.
I think you could do a lot more with this, if you wanted to. For example:
"When he was a kid, it was so much easier to talk to her about everything, even the things she may not want to hear about. From his troubles at school to girlfriend issues, or the pressures of drugs in schools to the ever present rift between him and his father, she'd always been there for him. Bittersweet memories such as these were abundant.
He remembered when he became a teenager, and wanted nothing to do with his mother. Too quickly he went from leaping into his mother's arms for a much desired hug, to recoiling from her very touch. He constantly desired seclusion, and his mother gave him his space, despite her obvious concern for him.
There was so much to hide from her besides the obvious, like the bruises from fights inside and outside of the house for one thing and all the secret little thoughts he swore she knew anyway.
One day he shot up and suddenly he was taller than her, bigger than his stepfather. It felt strange to be a man. He only remembered small hands and feet, and looking up at his mother who seemed like a giant to him. He still felt like a little kid who needed to be comforted and guided."
It's not in your style I know, but still, this is the perfect kind of character building scene using the history of the character that you can REALLY get into and work with. Hammer away at it, bring the character to life through his history and make the reader feel the same way about his mother that he does. She's strong yet fragile, just like the guy whose perspective we are meaning to identify with.
quote: Jerry woke up at 5 -- he didn’t have to, his bus didn’t leave till 9, but he was so eager to get away that he just couldn't lie still a second longer, counting down. The whole house was dark even after his shower, so he tiptoed downstairs, expecting to forage for breakfast by the light of the fridge. Mama was already sitting at the table in the dark, hands crossed, just staring at the wallpaper.
“You weren’t going to leave without saying goodbye, were you?” She looked so tiny, small enough for him to lift up and hold in his lap like she was the kid. It felt strange, wrong, and he wondered at it. One day, he realized with a bit of fear, she’d be an old lady. Her eyes were lined and red with crying, her powder-blue robe frayed and tattered at the edges. An old lady's robe, he thought, and resolved to someday buy her a new one.
He moved to her, wrapped her up, and held her like that for what seemed like hours, long after he stopped wanting to but, he knew, not half as long as she wanted. There was so much of his mother in him. The urge to fight whenever someone stepped up came from her. His loud laugh, hers. He wondered how much of him belonged to his father, the man he barely remembered. He wanted to ask her, wondered why he'd never thought to ask before, but couldn’t stand the thought of more tears. He got up and placed her in the chair, wiped his eyes the same way she did, fast, so the other person wouldn’t be required to notice.
It was still dark when he walked outside. “Wait!” Mama said. “Let me get dressed. I’ll drive you.” He felt a bit relieved. He was too tired to walk that far.
While she fussed in the other room, he sat at the table, thinking how it had felt to hold his mother like that, strange and comforting at the same time. He'd never realized there were so many things he might want to tell her.
When he'd been a kid, it had been so much easier to talk to her about everything. That was before Darrell, of course, but by then he was a teenager anyway, wanting to hide everything from her just as a matter of course, not even wanting her to touch him because it felt weird. And at the end of the day there'd been just too much to hide, not even counting the bruises; a single touch might have blown it all away.
He got into the truck with her. It smelled like motor oil, cooking grease and cigarettes.
“Since when do you smoke?” he asked her playfully.
posted
Cool, but his name is Ken by the way. My stories come out so unstructured at work and the grammar usually is quite terrible.
Posts: 9942 | Registered: Mar 2003
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posted
Insert the correct names wherever necessary. I'm just not a big fan of stringing pronouns indefinitely throughout.
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