Wavedancer Project: commentary, part five
May. 6th, 2009 09:37 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
valis2Intro/Index of all parts | Read without the commentary
I couldn't sleep, and Mike shrugged off all of my attempts at making conversation, so I had to be content with mentally mapping out the rest of my week and the numerous things I had to take care of before I could be satisfied that we could face winter. Soon enough we were approaching the outskirts of Detroit. The traffic became heavier, and Mike became more aggressive, passing cars with abandon and making a mockery of the speed limit. He seemed oblivious to the glares he received from his fellow drivers. I became worried as I covertly watch the speedometer approach ninety.
I think at the time that the speed limit might have still been 55. Not certain, though. Because right now--it's 70, so this wouldn't be that big a deal, lol.
And "making a mockery" LOLOLOL. MOCKITY MOCK, SPEED LIMIT.
I like that she's mapping out her to-do list. Clearly she's a hard worker, and this is another sign of why she's a successful charter captain.
I was hesitant to say anything, but when he recklessly cut in front of another car I had to speak up. "You're going to get a ticket."
He didn't respond, but he did slow down a little. It was a good thing, too, as there was a state trooper on the side of the road after the next curve.
Okay, this gets more Sueish as I read it. *rolls eyes* At least she didn't say "told you so."
We still ended up being early for the service. I noticed a distinct lack of cars in the lot. The funeral parlor itself was not very well-lit, and it was even smaller than the Stapleton Funeral Home in Moray. We found the appropriate room--it was easy, as there were only two to choose from--and I was surprised at the complete lack of flowers. At the end of the room was a grouping next to an urn. "I didn't think she'd be cremated," I whispered to Mike, who didn't answer.
Hmm. Maybe Sarah thought she was Catholic, but she's not? I have no idea what I meant, either.
The line about the lack of flowers is good, but then the next sentence confuses things by not mentioning that the "grouping" was of flowers. Perhaps it should have said there was a single bouquet next to the urn.
And have you ever been to a well-lit funeral parlor? Yeah. Me neither.
The room was empty except for a middle-aged couple and a man attired in a black suit, who walked forward to meet us. He carried a small leather briefcase.
"You must be Mr. St. James," he said, shaking Mike's hand. He turned to me and shook mine as well. He introduced himself as the executor of the will and set about explaining that she had left everything to the church except a photo album, which was left to any next-of-kin. "But, as I discovered, you are the only next-of-kin she had left," he added, picking a large cloth photo album up off one of the folding chairs. "The will was very old, but very clear. If you'd like..." His voice trailed off as they walked off a short distance to confer.
And you've won this amazing photo album, full of people you won't recognize and won't ever be able to identify because they're all dead and everyone who ever knew them is dead! Sweet!
The middle-aged couple approached me and introduced themselves, and I was immediately uncomfortable. I had nothing to say to them. They didn't seem to care, actually; they talked enough for four people.
Okay, look. I really thought that Sarah was awesome when I wrote this.
I am now reading this and really disliking her at this point, and this next scene does not make it any better. (Later on she'll redeem herself a little, if I remember right.)
So, just hold on and try to get through the next bits. I promise, she might become easier to like later. Er, I hope.
(I think it's because her narrative is just so...antisocial. I have a feeling that if I had just written her actions and her dialogue, instead of these disgruntled thoughts, that she would be more of a kickass girl and less of a GIT OFF MY LAWN I'VE GOT A WATER HOSE girl.
"It's such a shame," said the woman, dabbling at her eyes with a handkerchief. Her name was Tilly, and she explained that they had lived next door to the old woman for almost five years.
Tilly? More crack!names. I mean, my aunt had a turtle named Tilly. Maybe that's where it came from.
"We almost never saw her," added her husband, who was named Jack. "She never had a visitor, and never left the house, except for groceries."
He must be one of those guys who watches all of the neighbors and knows what kinds of cars they drive and how much their houses are valued at. lol. Cody Allen on the mainland.
Tilly dabbed at her eyes again. "She never talked to anybody. I don't know how anyone could live that way."
I refrained from pointing out that talking was not one of the main requirements for existence.
Well, obviously you are the prime example for that, Antisocial Girl.
"I found her, only because I noticed that she hadn't gone out for a while," he said, looking upset. "I knocked, and I knocked, but there was no answer--"
"So he called the police," interrupted Tilly. A pain squeezed my heart when I suddenly remembered how I'd found my own father. I wondered for a moment if either of them had ever been face to face with death. I was willing to bet that the only experiences they'd had were a funeral homes. What were the odds of someone actually encountering someone who had passed away shortly before? They were apparently high in my favor, because I had found Mike's father as well.
All pain leads to Sarah's pain. She is self-absorbed and emo, and I am really cringing. And how Sueish is it that she found both dead bodies? In fact, that's rather stupid and ridiculous--Mike's father died of cancer. Presumably, he died in the hospital or at home. Either way, she isn't going to find him alone. In the hospital, she might be there, but wouldn't "discover" it, obviously, and at home--well, it makes no sense that she'd "discover" it and not Mike. Maybe I'm just not up on medical affairs, but I have to think that the dad would probably pass away while Mike was around; after all, Mike actually lived in the house at the time.
And I just have to mention that Jack said "I found her," which implies that, uh, he found the dead great-aunt. So this is even stupider.
You see, all of this is just to create more angst for Sarah and show off for Tilly! She is WAY cooler because she has seen dead bodies! Multiple dead bodies!
"She never talked to anybody." Tilly's makeup was smeared.
Smudged would probably be a better choice. Smeared sounds more like Tammy Faye. Anyway, I do like that little detail.
"You already said that," said Jack, elbowing her. "I tried talking her into getting a burglar alarm," he added.
Tilly looked at him. "She had a heart attack, dearie. A burglar alarm wouldn't have helped."
"I was just trying to point out how stubborn she was." He adjusted his glasses. "An elderly woman, living alone...it just invites disaster. You can't be too careful."
"She was definitely stubborn," said Tilly, lowering her voice. "She stopped going to church."
"Really," I said.
Hee! I like this part of the exchange.
"Said she didn't approve of the new pastor." She nodded conspiratorially towards me. I laughed inwardly. I'd never gone to church in my life.
SARAH IS A HEATHEN GODDESS! ALL WILL LOVE HER AND DESPAIR
"Do you have an alarm system installed?" asked Jack, a little too brightly.
"No, I do not," I said, wishing I was somewhere else. I really hated salespitches.
"You should definitely think about installing one," he said. It had the tone of a phrase often used, and I nearly groaned in frustration.
This could have been done better. The "I really hated salespitches" is a stupid sentence and completely unnecessary, as well as being more evidence of sueishness. And "salespitch" should be two words, I believe. That's another beginning author thing I did a lot; write out a bit of something, and then explain it, too. Unnecessary. "I often eat peaches in summer," she said. She really liked the taste of peaches when it was hot. What does that second sentence do that couldn't be conveyed more adequately through the dialogue? Heh. I'm still learning that rule.
Also, if that line is Jack's usual sales pitch, then he must be very unsuccessful.
Also also, because she is wishing for something, this is a subjunctive clause, and should read "wishing I were somewhere else." Though maybe her narrative voice shouldn't be perfectly grammatically correct, because I doubt that she is.
Tilly looked at me closer. "How did you say you were related, dearie?"
"I'm not," I said. "Mike is--was her grand-nephew."
"Have you been married long?" she asked, a little too innocently.
Clearly this doesn't make sense--if she's not related, then she's not married, either.
"I--we're not married," I stammered. "He's my--I work with him."
Oooh, she almost says something--what is it? "My employee"? "My partner"? Now I'm intrigued to know what she would call him. "That guy I rilly rilly want to bone but am waaay too repressed to admit it but the plot will force us together before long"?
"Very kind of you to accompany him," smiled Jack. "What exactly do you do for a living anyways?"
"I own a charter fishing company," I said, trying to smile.
"Which supermarkets do you sell your fish at?" asked Tilly.
"Uh--actually, we take people out and let them fish with our equipment and tackle," I said. "Either Mike or I guide the boat, and then the customer reels in the fish."
"Oh," said Tilly, looking unimpressed.
*snorts* I'm kind of liking Tilly here, despite having set her up as Narrow-Minded Silly. And this is a good way to explain charter fishing without beating people over the head with it.
"A small business can always benefit from an alarm system," intoned Jack.
I noticed the pastor taking his place. "I live on an island," I smiled, "with Mike. Even if there was a resourceful enough thief to get past a bridge that's washed out half the time, and then get past Mike, and me, they'd still have to deal with the fact that we have nothing valuable enough to steal." With that I nodded my dismissal and went to sit next to Mike, as the service was starting. I wondered if it was the same pastor she'd sought fit to dislike so intensely, and almost laughed. He seemed ill-at-ease, but he still delivered a nice, if short, service. Afterwards Tilly and Jack immediately latched onto Mike, expressing their sorrow at his great-aunt's passing, and I took this opportunity to look at the urn. Someone had placed a faded photograph of her beside it. She was looking hesitantly at the camera, her eyes narrowed. I picked up the photo album and turned the pages slowly. The first pages seemed innocent enough, with parents and siblings arrayed in various happy poses. As I turned farther the people became scarcer until the last picture--a copy of the one next to the urn--and then the rest was blank.
Okay. First of all, her use of "resourceful enough thief" is not only clunky, but a silly phrase from her. And as far as nothing valuable--um, dude, cash. Cash. Say it with me. Credit card numbers. All that business stuff. Not to mention the boatshed that's full of tools.
She's smiling the dialogue. *cringes*
Now, about the photo album and the photo. It's almost a good detail, but it's too trite, and it's most likely been used so often before that nobody will respond to it.
I felt for her suddenly. I imagined her slowly shutting everyone out of her life, and I closed the album and walked out of the parlor, back to Mike's truck. He'd left the doors unlocked and I got in and sat back, my mind seeing her life played out before me in a pattern that was too familiar for my own comfort.
IT'S AAAAAAAAAAAALLLLLLL ABOUT SARAH
The shoes hurt abominably and I kicked them off and threw them into the backseat. Seeing my jeans, I stripped off skirt and pantyhose and changed, not caring that I hadn't brought socks or another pair of shoes. My head was spinning with awful clarity. To live apart...how could she have led a happy, productive life?
Just because you don't like the church doesn't mean that her life wasn't happy or productive, dude.
The doors to the funeral parlor opened and Mike walked out, hands in his pockets and a grim expression on his face. Tucked under the crook of one arm was the photo album. I could only imagine the loss he must feel with this unexpected death.
Oh, thank goodness she's remembered that someone else is in this scenario.
He approached the passenger side where I was sitting and opened the door. I looked at him quizzically until I realized he wanted me to drive. I wasn't overly fond of driving barefoot but it was obvious that Mike was in pretty low spirits.
Well, I guess she did end up driving, after all.
I started the truck up after he handed me the keys. After a couple attempts at making conversation failed miserably I just kept to myself and watched the freeway miles count off. Eventually he fell asleep, his head resting on the door frame, and I turned the heat up a notch. My feet were freezing. His great-aunt reminded me of Corny who had isolated himself in exactly the same manner from me. Not that I missed him or wanted him back.
Holy cow, this does not make sense at all. Corny left because he didn't want to be in Moray. And he's a complete asshole. Near psychopath, to tell the truth. If the sad sacks from Moray were on Wall Street, he'd still be manipulating them and abusing them. Trufax. Whereas this woman simply cut herself off from her relatives due to religious fervor. We have no idea what Mike's relatives were like; perhaps they were extraordinarily sinful. Comparing the two really isn't a good idea and also makes no sense.
A few hours had passed and I was feeling drowsy, so I pulled over at a rest station to stretch and powder my nose, so to speak. When I emerged from the rest rooms I noticed that Mike was now sitting in the driver's seat. As I got in--holding the uncomfortable dress shoes in one hand, as I had taken them off again as soon as I hit the parking lot--I had to suppress a huge yawn.
I can't imagine her saying "powder my nose, so to speak." Ridiculous. Just another example of not matching the narrative tone to the character's tone.
"What the hell are you doing walking around without shoes on? It's freezing out," he demanded.
Surprised, the door almost swung shut on my leg. I pulled my foot in and wiggled my toes in the heater after I shut the door. "I didn't bring any others, and these hurt too much," I answered, flinging the offending shoes into the back seat.
I'm surprised that Mike said that, too. Remember what I said before? About how tension and conflict are best used carefully and logically? Well, this isn't it.
"You drove this whole way with bare feet?" he asked crankily.
"Is there anything I've done yet today that you haven't had a problem with?" I demanded.
He seemed ready to reply heatedly, but stopped himself. He smiled. "Sorry."
Whew. Finally, it's over. Not only do I see where this just does not line up with my thoughts about Mike as a character, but it's jarring to have an argument like this. Though, to be honest, it does figure in the next part. However, it probably would read a little better if it were spaced out more--give the reader time to adjust to them at their usual speed before throwing in the snapping hounds.
And "ready to reply heatedly" is incredibly awkward.
"It's okay," I said, waving it off. "When you start sounding like Lucy...then I'll throw your stuff on the lawn."
He laughed at that, and I thrilled at the sound of it. His voice really was wonderful.
"Tilly and Jack were an interesting couple," I remarked.
"I got the feeling Jack wanted to sell us a burglar alarm," he teased.
"Y'know...I got that feeling too." We were getting closer to home. Billboards for [blank] were popping up. I wanted to talk a little more to Mike, maybe ask him how he felt, but I could not cross that line. Instead I stared off into the dark, inventing new ways of dealing with an increased amount of customers.
[blank] was supposed to be a west coast Michigan business that I never figured out, obviously.
I like the conversation, though. And how she's all warm and squeeful over his voice. hee! I love men's voices, especially when they're delicious. Er, the voices. Though possibly the men, too.
And it should be "increased number of customers," not amount.
Suddenly there was a horrible crunching noise and the pickup lurched up and over something and ground to a halt. "Flat tire, at the least," I said, trying to stay calm, but inwardly I was grinding my teeth. Another expense. I got out and surveyed the damage, noting immediately that the tire was completely shredded. I walked back to the rear of the truck--I could hear Mike cursing even outside--and cranked the spare tire down from underneath the bed. The cursing abruptly stopped and I heard the door slam, and as I was bouncing the tire up to the flat I saw Mike come around the front of the truck.
"What the hell are you doing?" he yelled.
"Getting the spare," I replied evenly.
His eyes blazed. "Get in the truck!"
"I was just trying--"
"I said get in the truck!"
"Stop yelling at me!" I yelled back. "I was just trying to help!" With that I threw the tire at his feet.
"Damnit, you're not wearing any shoes!" he shouted after me as I got into the truck again, shoving my feet up into the heater to get them warm. I glanced back into the cab to see if I could find my shoes, and my eye caught sight of the jack sitting on the floor. I didn't understand why it was there--I thought he usually kept his in the big toolbox in the back of the bed--but he wasn't going to change any tires without it, so I swore profusely and hefted it out of its resting place. I slammed the truck door and saw that Mike was going through his toolbox, so I carried it up to the flat.
See what I mean? This is just waaay too intense. Plus, I doubt she's be getting back in the car--he can't possibly have left it running while changing the tire, could he? So the heater is definitely not working, right? And she wouldn't want to be in the truck while he's jacking it up, right?
Seriously, though, Mike is just not this flammable. He's really laid back, and I think this is just more evidence of me trying to have shouty shouts. I really like shouty shouts. All the more reason to restrain myself, or I'll end up writing a novel where nobody does anything but argue.
By the time we finished changing it we were both exhausted from yelling at each other. I had absolutely no desire to eat--in fact I felt rather sick from arguing but he insisted on stopping at Lenore's and getting carryout. When I tried handing him money for it I received such a murderous glare that I didn't even bother pressing him about it.
The house swam with darkness and emptiness, and I laid down on the couch, too tired to even undress. I was asleep within minutes.
I don't know about the "swam" image. Hmm. Really not certain. It's almost on the edge of okay, but not quite, you know?
And don't get me started again about sleeping on the couch.
On to part six
Read this section without the commentary
I couldn't sleep, and Mike shrugged off all of my attempts at making conversation, so I had to be content with mentally mapping out the rest of my week and the numerous things I had to take care of before I could be satisfied that we could face winter. Soon enough we were approaching the outskirts of Detroit. The traffic became heavier, and Mike became more aggressive, passing cars with abandon and making a mockery of the speed limit. He seemed oblivious to the glares he received from his fellow drivers. I became worried as I covertly watch the speedometer approach ninety.
I think at the time that the speed limit might have still been 55. Not certain, though. Because right now--it's 70, so this wouldn't be that big a deal, lol.
And "making a mockery" LOLOLOL. MOCKITY MOCK, SPEED LIMIT.
I like that she's mapping out her to-do list. Clearly she's a hard worker, and this is another sign of why she's a successful charter captain.
I was hesitant to say anything, but when he recklessly cut in front of another car I had to speak up. "You're going to get a ticket."
He didn't respond, but he did slow down a little. It was a good thing, too, as there was a state trooper on the side of the road after the next curve.
Okay, this gets more Sueish as I read it. *rolls eyes* At least she didn't say "told you so."
We still ended up being early for the service. I noticed a distinct lack of cars in the lot. The funeral parlor itself was not very well-lit, and it was even smaller than the Stapleton Funeral Home in Moray. We found the appropriate room--it was easy, as there were only two to choose from--and I was surprised at the complete lack of flowers. At the end of the room was a grouping next to an urn. "I didn't think she'd be cremated," I whispered to Mike, who didn't answer.
Hmm. Maybe Sarah thought she was Catholic, but she's not? I have no idea what I meant, either.
The line about the lack of flowers is good, but then the next sentence confuses things by not mentioning that the "grouping" was of flowers. Perhaps it should have said there was a single bouquet next to the urn.
And have you ever been to a well-lit funeral parlor? Yeah. Me neither.
The room was empty except for a middle-aged couple and a man attired in a black suit, who walked forward to meet us. He carried a small leather briefcase.
"You must be Mr. St. James," he said, shaking Mike's hand. He turned to me and shook mine as well. He introduced himself as the executor of the will and set about explaining that she had left everything to the church except a photo album, which was left to any next-of-kin. "But, as I discovered, you are the only next-of-kin she had left," he added, picking a large cloth photo album up off one of the folding chairs. "The will was very old, but very clear. If you'd like..." His voice trailed off as they walked off a short distance to confer.
And you've won this amazing photo album, full of people you won't recognize and won't ever be able to identify because they're all dead and everyone who ever knew them is dead! Sweet!
The middle-aged couple approached me and introduced themselves, and I was immediately uncomfortable. I had nothing to say to them. They didn't seem to care, actually; they talked enough for four people.
Okay, look. I really thought that Sarah was awesome when I wrote this.
I am now reading this and really disliking her at this point, and this next scene does not make it any better. (Later on she'll redeem herself a little, if I remember right.)
So, just hold on and try to get through the next bits. I promise, she might become easier to like later. Er, I hope.
(I think it's because her narrative is just so...antisocial. I have a feeling that if I had just written her actions and her dialogue, instead of these disgruntled thoughts, that she would be more of a kickass girl and less of a GIT OFF MY LAWN I'VE GOT A WATER HOSE girl.
"It's such a shame," said the woman, dabbling at her eyes with a handkerchief. Her name was Tilly, and she explained that they had lived next door to the old woman for almost five years.
Tilly? More crack!names. I mean, my aunt had a turtle named Tilly. Maybe that's where it came from.
"We almost never saw her," added her husband, who was named Jack. "She never had a visitor, and never left the house, except for groceries."
He must be one of those guys who watches all of the neighbors and knows what kinds of cars they drive and how much their houses are valued at. lol. Cody Allen on the mainland.
Tilly dabbed at her eyes again. "She never talked to anybody. I don't know how anyone could live that way."
I refrained from pointing out that talking was not one of the main requirements for existence.
Well, obviously you are the prime example for that, Antisocial Girl.
"I found her, only because I noticed that she hadn't gone out for a while," he said, looking upset. "I knocked, and I knocked, but there was no answer--"
"So he called the police," interrupted Tilly. A pain squeezed my heart when I suddenly remembered how I'd found my own father. I wondered for a moment if either of them had ever been face to face with death. I was willing to bet that the only experiences they'd had were a funeral homes. What were the odds of someone actually encountering someone who had passed away shortly before? They were apparently high in my favor, because I had found Mike's father as well.
All pain leads to Sarah's pain. She is self-absorbed and emo, and I am really cringing. And how Sueish is it that she found both dead bodies? In fact, that's rather stupid and ridiculous--Mike's father died of cancer. Presumably, he died in the hospital or at home. Either way, she isn't going to find him alone. In the hospital, she might be there, but wouldn't "discover" it, obviously, and at home--well, it makes no sense that she'd "discover" it and not Mike. Maybe I'm just not up on medical affairs, but I have to think that the dad would probably pass away while Mike was around; after all, Mike actually lived in the house at the time.
And I just have to mention that Jack said "I found her," which implies that, uh, he found the dead great-aunt. So this is even stupider.
You see, all of this is just to create more angst for Sarah and show off for Tilly! She is WAY cooler because she has seen dead bodies! Multiple dead bodies!
"She never talked to anybody." Tilly's makeup was smeared.
Smudged would probably be a better choice. Smeared sounds more like Tammy Faye. Anyway, I do like that little detail.
"You already said that," said Jack, elbowing her. "I tried talking her into getting a burglar alarm," he added.
Tilly looked at him. "She had a heart attack, dearie. A burglar alarm wouldn't have helped."
"I was just trying to point out how stubborn she was." He adjusted his glasses. "An elderly woman, living alone...it just invites disaster. You can't be too careful."
"She was definitely stubborn," said Tilly, lowering her voice. "She stopped going to church."
"Really," I said.
Hee! I like this part of the exchange.
"Said she didn't approve of the new pastor." She nodded conspiratorially towards me. I laughed inwardly. I'd never gone to church in my life.
SARAH IS A HEATHEN GODDESS! ALL WILL LOVE HER AND DESPAIR
"Do you have an alarm system installed?" asked Jack, a little too brightly.
"No, I do not," I said, wishing I was somewhere else. I really hated salespitches.
"You should definitely think about installing one," he said. It had the tone of a phrase often used, and I nearly groaned in frustration.
This could have been done better. The "I really hated salespitches" is a stupid sentence and completely unnecessary, as well as being more evidence of sueishness. And "salespitch" should be two words, I believe. That's another beginning author thing I did a lot; write out a bit of something, and then explain it, too. Unnecessary. "I often eat peaches in summer," she said. She really liked the taste of peaches when it was hot. What does that second sentence do that couldn't be conveyed more adequately through the dialogue? Heh. I'm still learning that rule.
Also, if that line is Jack's usual sales pitch, then he must be very unsuccessful.
Also also, because she is wishing for something, this is a subjunctive clause, and should read "wishing I were somewhere else." Though maybe her narrative voice shouldn't be perfectly grammatically correct, because I doubt that she is.
Tilly looked at me closer. "How did you say you were related, dearie?"
"I'm not," I said. "Mike is--was her grand-nephew."
"Have you been married long?" she asked, a little too innocently.
Clearly this doesn't make sense--if she's not related, then she's not married, either.
"I--we're not married," I stammered. "He's my--I work with him."
Oooh, she almost says something--what is it? "My employee"? "My partner"? Now I'm intrigued to know what she would call him. "That guy I rilly rilly want to bone but am waaay too repressed to admit it but the plot will force us together before long"?
"Very kind of you to accompany him," smiled Jack. "What exactly do you do for a living anyways?"
"I own a charter fishing company," I said, trying to smile.
"Which supermarkets do you sell your fish at?" asked Tilly.
"Uh--actually, we take people out and let them fish with our equipment and tackle," I said. "Either Mike or I guide the boat, and then the customer reels in the fish."
"Oh," said Tilly, looking unimpressed.
*snorts* I'm kind of liking Tilly here, despite having set her up as Narrow-Minded Silly. And this is a good way to explain charter fishing without beating people over the head with it.
"A small business can always benefit from an alarm system," intoned Jack.
I noticed the pastor taking his place. "I live on an island," I smiled, "with Mike. Even if there was a resourceful enough thief to get past a bridge that's washed out half the time, and then get past Mike, and me, they'd still have to deal with the fact that we have nothing valuable enough to steal." With that I nodded my dismissal and went to sit next to Mike, as the service was starting. I wondered if it was the same pastor she'd sought fit to dislike so intensely, and almost laughed. He seemed ill-at-ease, but he still delivered a nice, if short, service. Afterwards Tilly and Jack immediately latched onto Mike, expressing their sorrow at his great-aunt's passing, and I took this opportunity to look at the urn. Someone had placed a faded photograph of her beside it. She was looking hesitantly at the camera, her eyes narrowed. I picked up the photo album and turned the pages slowly. The first pages seemed innocent enough, with parents and siblings arrayed in various happy poses. As I turned farther the people became scarcer until the last picture--a copy of the one next to the urn--and then the rest was blank.
Okay. First of all, her use of "resourceful enough thief" is not only clunky, but a silly phrase from her. And as far as nothing valuable--um, dude, cash. Cash. Say it with me. Credit card numbers. All that business stuff. Not to mention the boatshed that's full of tools.
She's smiling the dialogue. *cringes*
Now, about the photo album and the photo. It's almost a good detail, but it's too trite, and it's most likely been used so often before that nobody will respond to it.
I felt for her suddenly. I imagined her slowly shutting everyone out of her life, and I closed the album and walked out of the parlor, back to Mike's truck. He'd left the doors unlocked and I got in and sat back, my mind seeing her life played out before me in a pattern that was too familiar for my own comfort.
IT'S AAAAAAAAAAAALLLLLLL ABOUT SARAH
The shoes hurt abominably and I kicked them off and threw them into the backseat. Seeing my jeans, I stripped off skirt and pantyhose and changed, not caring that I hadn't brought socks or another pair of shoes. My head was spinning with awful clarity. To live apart...how could she have led a happy, productive life?
Just because you don't like the church doesn't mean that her life wasn't happy or productive, dude.
The doors to the funeral parlor opened and Mike walked out, hands in his pockets and a grim expression on his face. Tucked under the crook of one arm was the photo album. I could only imagine the loss he must feel with this unexpected death.
Oh, thank goodness she's remembered that someone else is in this scenario.
He approached the passenger side where I was sitting and opened the door. I looked at him quizzically until I realized he wanted me to drive. I wasn't overly fond of driving barefoot but it was obvious that Mike was in pretty low spirits.
Well, I guess she did end up driving, after all.
I started the truck up after he handed me the keys. After a couple attempts at making conversation failed miserably I just kept to myself and watched the freeway miles count off. Eventually he fell asleep, his head resting on the door frame, and I turned the heat up a notch. My feet were freezing. His great-aunt reminded me of Corny who had isolated himself in exactly the same manner from me. Not that I missed him or wanted him back.
Holy cow, this does not make sense at all. Corny left because he didn't want to be in Moray. And he's a complete asshole. Near psychopath, to tell the truth. If the sad sacks from Moray were on Wall Street, he'd still be manipulating them and abusing them. Trufax. Whereas this woman simply cut herself off from her relatives due to religious fervor. We have no idea what Mike's relatives were like; perhaps they were extraordinarily sinful. Comparing the two really isn't a good idea and also makes no sense.
A few hours had passed and I was feeling drowsy, so I pulled over at a rest station to stretch and powder my nose, so to speak. When I emerged from the rest rooms I noticed that Mike was now sitting in the driver's seat. As I got in--holding the uncomfortable dress shoes in one hand, as I had taken them off again as soon as I hit the parking lot--I had to suppress a huge yawn.
I can't imagine her saying "powder my nose, so to speak." Ridiculous. Just another example of not matching the narrative tone to the character's tone.
"What the hell are you doing walking around without shoes on? It's freezing out," he demanded.
Surprised, the door almost swung shut on my leg. I pulled my foot in and wiggled my toes in the heater after I shut the door. "I didn't bring any others, and these hurt too much," I answered, flinging the offending shoes into the back seat.
I'm surprised that Mike said that, too. Remember what I said before? About how tension and conflict are best used carefully and logically? Well, this isn't it.
"You drove this whole way with bare feet?" he asked crankily.
"Is there anything I've done yet today that you haven't had a problem with?" I demanded.
He seemed ready to reply heatedly, but stopped himself. He smiled. "Sorry."
Whew. Finally, it's over. Not only do I see where this just does not line up with my thoughts about Mike as a character, but it's jarring to have an argument like this. Though, to be honest, it does figure in the next part. However, it probably would read a little better if it were spaced out more--give the reader time to adjust to them at their usual speed before throwing in the snapping hounds.
And "ready to reply heatedly" is incredibly awkward.
"It's okay," I said, waving it off. "When you start sounding like Lucy...then I'll throw your stuff on the lawn."
He laughed at that, and I thrilled at the sound of it. His voice really was wonderful.
"Tilly and Jack were an interesting couple," I remarked.
"I got the feeling Jack wanted to sell us a burglar alarm," he teased.
"Y'know...I got that feeling too." We were getting closer to home. Billboards for [blank] were popping up. I wanted to talk a little more to Mike, maybe ask him how he felt, but I could not cross that line. Instead I stared off into the dark, inventing new ways of dealing with an increased amount of customers.
[blank] was supposed to be a west coast Michigan business that I never figured out, obviously.
I like the conversation, though. And how she's all warm and squeeful over his voice. hee! I love men's voices, especially when they're delicious. Er, the voices. Though possibly the men, too.
And it should be "increased number of customers," not amount.
Suddenly there was a horrible crunching noise and the pickup lurched up and over something and ground to a halt. "Flat tire, at the least," I said, trying to stay calm, but inwardly I was grinding my teeth. Another expense. I got out and surveyed the damage, noting immediately that the tire was completely shredded. I walked back to the rear of the truck--I could hear Mike cursing even outside--and cranked the spare tire down from underneath the bed. The cursing abruptly stopped and I heard the door slam, and as I was bouncing the tire up to the flat I saw Mike come around the front of the truck.
"What the hell are you doing?" he yelled.
"Getting the spare," I replied evenly.
His eyes blazed. "Get in the truck!"
"I was just trying--"
"I said get in the truck!"
"Stop yelling at me!" I yelled back. "I was just trying to help!" With that I threw the tire at his feet.
"Damnit, you're not wearing any shoes!" he shouted after me as I got into the truck again, shoving my feet up into the heater to get them warm. I glanced back into the cab to see if I could find my shoes, and my eye caught sight of the jack sitting on the floor. I didn't understand why it was there--I thought he usually kept his in the big toolbox in the back of the bed--but he wasn't going to change any tires without it, so I swore profusely and hefted it out of its resting place. I slammed the truck door and saw that Mike was going through his toolbox, so I carried it up to the flat.
See what I mean? This is just waaay too intense. Plus, I doubt she's be getting back in the car--he can't possibly have left it running while changing the tire, could he? So the heater is definitely not working, right? And she wouldn't want to be in the truck while he's jacking it up, right?
Seriously, though, Mike is just not this flammable. He's really laid back, and I think this is just more evidence of me trying to have shouty shouts. I really like shouty shouts. All the more reason to restrain myself, or I'll end up writing a novel where nobody does anything but argue.
By the time we finished changing it we were both exhausted from yelling at each other. I had absolutely no desire to eat--in fact I felt rather sick from arguing but he insisted on stopping at Lenore's and getting carryout. When I tried handing him money for it I received such a murderous glare that I didn't even bother pressing him about it.
The house swam with darkness and emptiness, and I laid down on the couch, too tired to even undress. I was asleep within minutes.
I don't know about the "swam" image. Hmm. Really not certain. It's almost on the edge of okay, but not quite, you know?
And don't get me started again about sleeping on the couch.
On to part six
Read this section without the commentary
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
Date: 2009-05-07 04:16 am (UTC)And as far as nothing valuable--um, dude, cash
Not to mention the boat as both something valuable and a getaway transport.
I could only imagine the loss he must feel with this unexpected death.
I know what you mean that it's good she's stopped thinking about herself. But I went into this section thinking that a road trip might be a good place for a decent conversation between them and ended up thinking that Mike could lighten up a little: he and his great-aunt don't seem to have been close, so he seems to be over-reacting to her death, what with all the low spirits and grimness.
And that sort of leads into what you're saying about the intensity of their arguments. There's them not talking to each other at one extreme and shouting at the other extreme, but not much affectionate bickering or irritable snapping in the middle of the scale.
Have I mentioned that I'm enjoying this? Because I am. :-)
(no subject)
Date: 2009-05-07 03:44 pm (UTC)Lucinda really didn't seem like a cracky name to me, honestly. I still can't understand why people were so up in arms over it. It's supposed to be an older woman, comic kind of thing, and I've even met people with that name who go by Cindy. So, not outrageous at all. I think what happens is that people see "Corny," which is awful, and then when they get to Lucinda they're in this frame of mind that all of my names suck.
I know what you mean that it's good she's stopped thinking about herself. But I went into this section thinking that a road trip might be a good place for a decent conversation between them and ended up thinking that Mike could lighten up a little: he and his great-aunt don't seem to have been close, so he seems to be over-reacting to her death, what with all the low spirits and grimness.
Yes, that would have really been a wonderful way to get them talking and make them a little cheerier, but it doesn't work out that way, unfortunately. Mike is a sensitive soul, and that's why he's so troubled about this death; it's taken on a deeper meaning for him by reminding him that he's all alone, family-wise.
And that sort of leads into what you're saying about the intensity of their arguments. There's them not talking to each other at one extreme and shouting at the other extreme, but not much affectionate bickering or irritable snapping in the middle of the scale.
Yes, exactly!! I never realized that I had to show their relationship first before contrasting it with something different. This is just too intense, too quickly. Especially the anger. Waaaay overboard! You wonder why they even live together--hell, why does he even work for her?
Have I mentioned that I'm enjoying this? Because I am. :-)
Oh, thank goodness!! I'm so glad. This has been a pretty time-intensive process, and I'm thankful that you're reading and commenting, seriously. I think most of the other flisters have tuned out. lol.
(no subject)
Date: 2009-05-07 08:04 pm (UTC)I'm enjoying your snark more than the actual story, seeing as I don't really go for romance much and I don't want to get too invested in a story that I'll never read the end of.
Sarah is rather self-absorbed and woe-is-me, although I have to say I've read way worse. Granted most of that has been fan fic, but you know what I mean. I snickered at the part where he wanted to do something fun from their youth (caramel apples) and she took off for the liquor dept immediately thereafter.
(no subject)
Date: 2009-05-08 02:44 pm (UTC)hee! I figured some people were reading but not commenting--but honestly, this whole project is tl;dr for most people, I'm certain. *nodnod*
I'm enjoying your snark more than the actual story, seeing as I don't really go for romance much and I don't want to get too invested in a story that I'll never read the end of.
A wise decision, m'friend. I mean, I'll write up a summary of the ending, but still, it's pretty much the ultimate WiP.
Sarah is rather self-absorbed and woe-is-me, although I have to say I've read way worse. Granted most of that has been fan fic, but you know what I mean. I snickered at the part where he wanted to do something fun from their youth (caramel apples) and she took off for the liquor dept immediately thereafter.
That is probably the most unintentionally hilarious moment in the whole fic. I'm still laughing about it!
(no subject)
Date: 2009-05-17 04:12 am (UTC)And the arguments with Mike don't seem that out of place to me - he's just gone through a weird shock, and he's reacting to it.
(no subject)
Date: 2009-06-13 03:32 pm (UTC)heh. Yeah, she's definitely anti-Sueish in that, though I think it goes too far in the other direction. Still, it is a nice change of pace, you're right; I hadn't considered that angle.
And the arguments with Mike don't seem that out of place to me - he's just gone through a weird shock, and he's reacting to it.
I think my problem is that I wish that I had spent more time setting up their regular relationship--I feel like we're flung into this hostility too quickly, y'know?