| The Critique (short fiction)
Posted: 11/6/2009 6:47:10 AM | What on earth had she done? It still disturbed her as she thought of what she had written to the man.
For some unfathomable reason she had read his profile and wrote a critique. The critique would be considered harsh by someone who had not sought it.
Why did she tell him it didn't show who he really was?
The comment about the artist whom he had quoted may have been legitimate, for it was true that he was an addict but still it was not invited by the writer.
It may be applicable to one of the characters in her book but this was a person who was a stranger or was he? Maybe he was symbolic of the male anti-hero.
When he had written back and she realized she hurt his feelings she could only cringe. It was then she realized that she was trying to get herself to show more of who she really was in her own novel.
The rewrite had gone badly and the denouement stank. She would have to scrap over ten thousand words. It had been three days with no sleep and no productive writing. Who was she to think she could write a novel?
She reread his response, faced up to it and wrote an apology informing him of her attempt to break the writer's block and how she used profiles to stimulate her creativity. Usually she wrote on writers forums, not someone's profile and she was sorry.
That would be difficult for a non-writer to understand but it was the truth.
Reading the profiles stimulated the development of one of her characters but this time she wrote as if she knew him and blurted out her unsolicited opinion. It was for that fact alone that she felt embarrassed.
It was when she went back and looked at his profile and photo she realized why it had happened.
The familiar pose, the serious intent expression, the long poetic references and the ideals of what he wrote contradicting what he said by his eyes.
It was him. The secondary character in the novel. He represented all the hims that had written deep poetic profiles to only come and break another heart. It was all of them and she was angry at having been lied to and used.
Yes, that was it, that was the response the female protagonist must have. She must have a gut level response.
Then she realized that unsolicited advice and critiques were never appreciated nor heeded but when he had written a second time she again shot off an apology. This time with no explanation just I am sorry.
Now he was interfering with her work.
What else could she say? Actually she wanted to say thank you because now she knew what the female protagonist must do. Why had she not seen it before?
The secondary character would have to be eliminated. Yes, the pen is mighter than the sword.
It was the thrid e-mail that made her go over to the cabinet, open the drawer and stare at it.
Did he think she was going to keep saying I am sorry forever? She had to get this written. Did he think she didn't know where he lived?
She picked up the pistol and walked upstairs.
Later she would explain that she and her husband were seperated or at least that is what he had written in his profile. She had merely decided to make it a permanent separation; for there was only one solution to a husband that solicited women and broke their hearts on the dating site.
She smiled as she wrote the perfect ending before telephoning the police. | |
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| The Critique (short fiction)
Posted: 11/6/2009 7:19:00 PM | Officer Larry Hansen answered the call with prompt attention for domestic violence abuse was something he abhorred since he spent his childhood being the victim of it. Little did he know that dispatch had greatly underestimated the situation.
He walked up the front walk way his shoes crunching over the worn chpped flag stone that had not been set correctly. The lawn was uncut and overrun with weeds.
For a moment he wondered if they had been sited and then remembered that she was the sister to the Sheriff of the county so most officers and officials looked the other way.
It was quiet, too quiet, for domestic violence abuse case.
He knocked on the door and waited while staring at the peeling weathered paint.
When she opened the door he couldn't help but notice her beauty even though she would never see fifty again. There was a strange ethereal look in her eyes.
Then he glance at her hand and his stomach flip flopped.
She held the handgun at her side as if it were a fashion accessory, the 22 purse.
He swallowed and decided he was going to chew dispatch out but good if he got to returen to the station in one piece. No, frickin, backup. Thank you so much Rhona Kay.
"Ma'm may I have that," he asked politely.
She smiled demurely as if he had just asked her to pass the bread at the dinner table.
"Sure, dear, I have no use for it anymore," she said pleasantly.
It was the word anymore that grabbed his attention. Oh, God, what had she done?
"Ma'm where is your husband?"
She shrugged as she spoke.
"Oh the deadbeat, no pun intended is upstairs still staring at that computer dating site."
For a moment Officer Hanson couldn't remember what to do.
"The hell with it," he mumbled as he ran up the stairs taking them two at a time.
He didn't figure she was going off any where and since he had the pistol he didn't think she could do any harm.
When he got to the top landing he looked and saw the man's back as he sat before the computer screen.
Hanson ran in and said, "Sir?"
When he touched the man's shoulder the body fell off the chair.
Hansen knelt down and felt for a pulse. Then he radioed for back up.
When he stood he stared at the screen.
It was the dating site, he and his wife had created. The publicity would be horrendous so he quickly grabbed a piece of paper to cover the keyboard and changed the screen.
The sirens in the distance made him smirk as he descended the steps and looked for the woman.
She was in the kitchen making tea.
"I made tea and coffee since I didn't know what you preferred. When all this hoopla settles down I can't wait until you read what I wrote. It is a masterpiece."
He sat at the table almost numb as he watched her place some cookies on a plate. They were the ones made in Belgium his favorite.
"Aunt Miranda, why did you do it?" | |
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| The Critique (short fiction)
Posted: 11/9/2009 5:13:41 AM | "You wouldn't understand, Larry. Your uncle, bless his soul, was..." she sighed.
Larry watched his Aunt's face and realized there could be no insanity plea. She moved around the kitchen with her usual grace and ease. When she glanced up at him sweetly she offered him a cup of tea. Her hand held the rose patterned china saucer. He took it from her and put it down gently.
"He was a scuzbag, Larry. That is what it all comes down to he was a complete scuzbag."
He squinted for a moment trying to put this woman with the loving moral Aunt that had raised him. Pressing his lips together he decided to ask before taking her to the station.
"Aunt Miranda, the world has a lot of scuzbags as you refer to but that doesn't give you the right to kill him, does it?"
She sat nervously playing with the edge of the tablecloth.
"Dear your Uncle needed to be deleted."
He let his head drop down as he looked at the warm golden brown tea steaming from his cup. How was he going to break this to the rest of the family? Where would they all go for Thanksgiving? He was surprised with himself as the last question filtered through the shock of it all.
"Aunt Miranda, I have to arrest you."
She smiled pleasantly as if he had just asked her if she wanted to go for a drive in the country.
"Of course you do, dear, that is your job. I am so proud of you, Larry. Did I ever tell you that?"
He shook his head in the negative.
"Well, I am. I am so glad you get to take me in. This will look good in your file, I think."
The quizzial look he gave her did not escape her notice.
"How is that or rathe why?"
Delicately she smoothed her napkin and then glanced at him shyly.
"Well, dear, you are showing no favortism. You are an officer of the law and very savvy to crimes. Some would think you could let this go and make it look like an intruder did it. Everyone knew your Uncle and everyone despised him. Yes, dear you could make this look like someone else did it, couldn't you?"
The shock of the initial murder of his Uncle was wearing off as he stared at her incredulously. Another shock was coming at him like waves in a storm pounding on his heart.
"Oh, please Larry dear. I have never asked you for anything in your whole life, now have I?"
He blinked like the proverbial deer caught in the glare of headlights. When he went to speak his mouth was so dry he couldn't pronounce any speech. He closed his eyes and put his finger tips on his forehead and front scalp.
"I..."
Slowly he massaged his scalp with his finertips as if he was just having a headache. Maybe when he looked up this would all be gone and his Uncle would be sitting there. | |
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| The Critique (short fiction)
Posted: 11/12/2009 11:40:26 PM | Officer Larry Hansen was totally unaware of what his Uncle had done.
His Uncle James had been on the dating site for over a year now and used it to find women to talk to and share his inner most thoughts and feelings. It was when he found the forum on the same site that he had gotten excited. Women and men read his stuff and heard his voice. It had been a long time since he had not felt he was alone.
James Strongly had just wanted someone to listen, really listen and hear his voice. Not an audible voice but that inner voice of who he really was the voice of his soul, that thought about the deeper things of life.
What was it his wife had said? You think too much, if you keep thinking the way you do you are going to end up in a mental hospital. So much, for sharing. He had long ago quit trying to talk to her.
The truth was he had married a marred woman. Scarred by abuse that she had not revealed until after they married he sadly realized he had taken a wife that was so self-absorbed with her own pain that she was incapable of loving another. He felt sorry for.
This was ridiculous. He was staying married to someone because he felt sorry for her, he actually pitied her. Maybe if his religion wasn't so against divorce he would have ended years earlier.
Neither his nephew,Larry Hansen or his wife, Miranda had read what he had written.
Miranda had briefly viewed the profile and Larry had just seen the heading of the dating site.
James Strongly had written his message of hope, dreams and search as a short story and had posted it on the forum.
It was solid, well written and sincere. He had written it as a piece of fiction but it was the truth.
He had heard her coming upstairs but had not clicked off the site. It was the first time in a long time that he wanted to be open and really honest with her. He had to get out of this marriage. He might as well tell her now.
When Miranda had entered the room she had seen him with his back to her staring at the computer screen.
She was so angry that it was a silent seething rage. It had been long coming, she had not liked him from the first day of marriage. She didn't like anything about him, not even the way he sat at his computer with his back towards her.
He started to speak and she didn't listen. She had long ago shut him out whenever he spoke. He was an idiot. All men were idiots.
James Strong felt the bullet sear into his back like a hot branding iron. He sat still not moving.
She had left the room without checking on him.
It took all his strength but he typed in the words slowly.
Help not story wife shot me send help 68 maple street, kansas city, missouri
He had dragged his finger over the mousepad on his lap top and clicked the arrow until he could read post. He clicked post and prayed.
When he heard a man's heavy shoes taking the steps two at a time he closed his eyes and thanked God.
It was when he realized it was his nephew Larry that he wanted to scream. God, he wished he could talk. Why Larry? The guy was short fifty two cards of a full deck.
Larry had not dissappointed him and fell to his usual low expectations. Not only had he not checked for a pulse he was preoccupied with changing the computer site.
James thought maybe when Larry touched his shoulder that if he forced himself with the last of his strength to fall forward Larry would realise he was still alive.
When Larry left the office James lay there with his head straight down and prayed silently.
"Lord I know we don't talk much and it is my fault for hanging up on you a long time but please help me. Have someone read my story. Please get me help." | |
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| The Critique (short fiction)
Posted: 11/13/2009 5:36:10 PM | INTERMISSION
All of this has been written as a rough first draft which is why you see so many spelling errors.
To those that are reading it please give some feed back.
Yuk_________Want More___________Like concept___________
Interesting idea _________ Would purchase a book with the concept but of course completed and developed __________.
Additional comments:____________________________________
Thanks appreciate your time. | |
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| The Critique (short fiction)
Posted: 11/13/2009 9:05:21 PM | Not a lot of visitors on the creative writing threads, so not often many comments are left. I don't usually read anything this long, but I scanned to the end and saw your request for feedback, so I thought I'd give it a go.
I read the whole thing--which I don't often do with long stories posted on the forum--because I get bored easily; but this bit of writing held my attention. It's quite good, especially for a first draft. It reads well. The story is interesting. You don't fill it with to much extra fluff. Very good.
I especially liked this line:
She smiled demurely as if he had just asked her to pass the bread at the dinner table.
I understand the man, James, wanting to post on the forums. I used to do it a lot, myself. It filled a certain need--having people read your words. | |
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| The Critique (short fiction)
Posted: 11/15/2009 10:58:18 AM | Appreciate you taking the time to give your response.
You made my day by actually pointing out a line you liked - it is very encouraging for a writer to grab someone's attention.
Hopefully, further post will not dissappoint. | |
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| The Critique (short fiction)
Posted: 11/15/2009 1:14:47 PM | THE CRITIQUE cont'd
Officer Hansen suddenly got a grip on himself or thought he had while his mind raced and stared at the handcuffs on the table. He looked up at his Aunt who watched him an almost questioning gaze. Did she really expect him to save her?
******************
They had pulled the ambulance over to the side of the parking lot of Brock's favorite fast food place.
Amanda Rae groaned as Brock turned off the engine.
"Fast food again? Hey Brock you know African American men have higher blood pressure more than other ethnic groups?"
He started to open the door as he spoke.
"My blood pressure is perfect. What's the matter, A.R., your resolved weakening? Oh, I'm sorry, did you want me to get you something?"
She looked at him and sneered. It was hard not to like her partner but sometimes he bugged her more than her brothers had when she was growing up. She was ready for him thus time.
"You know Brock, you are going to pay up the $50 because I am going to win the bet. I will have this twenty five pounds off in two months," she said snappishly.
"I don't know girl, you sound a little edgy to me. Like you need a double cheeseburger and milkshake or maybe some fried chicken I can go to the Shack?"
The smile she gave him had him worried. It had been a month already and she had not once cheated on her diet. Man, he hated forking over fifty bucks to his skinny white partner plus if his wife found out he made such a stupid bet he would never hear the end of it.
"Brock, get the money ready, you are going to pay. It is that money that is going to buy me a new holiday sweater."
Hopefully the concern didn't show as he narrowed his eyes behind his mirror shades.
"What you gonna buy one of those stupid reindeer sweaters?"
"No, mine is going to have a hannukah mennorah on it," she said.
He practically jumped out of the amublance as he grumbled.
"Oh no, you not going to drag me into one of those talks again. I don't want to hear it."
A.R. couldn't help herself as she laughed watching him hurriedly rush into the fast food place. She pulled out her cell phone and dialed her good friend who also happened to be be Brock's wife.
While listening to the ringing she simultaneously opened her laptop to bring up her favorite forum. This guy's forum story was good because it was short excerpts that held her interest. She had even gotten Brock hooked on it.
A.R. sat listening to her cellphone while staring at the computer screen in stunned amazement.
"Hey, girl, how you doing?" answered Brianna. "A.R. you there?"
"Daddy?" said A.R. in a low raspy voice. "Oh my God, Daddy!"
The word, Daddy, and then the disconnect left Brianna confused. Brianna stared at her cellphone puzzled and then glanced at the clock. It was lunch time for Brock and A.R. that is if there was no emergency. Who knew what those two would be up to? She made a mental note to herself to check with A.R. about finding a silly gift to surprise Brock. She couldn't help wonder what A.R. meant by Daddy.
There was not answer to the automatic redial and Brianna remembered her husband having mentioned the story on the forum. She went to the computer.
************************************************************************
"Aunt Miranda, you can't tell anyone about anything okay?"
She stared at him and pressed her lips tightly together.
"I am your Aunt, yes, I am."
"That is right. We are going to take you to someplace nice when this is all over. You are going to go to jail for a little while...for research...okay."
Her eyes brightened.
"Yes, it is all grist for the mill. I need that research experience," she agreed pleasantly.
Officer Larry Hansen then rushed to the house phone and made a call to his site manager.
"I need you to go in and find a James Strongly, the e-mail is strongman@foucs.com. I want him deleted from the site. "
Hansen bit his lower lip and took a deep breathe while he listened to the geek kid go on and on. He would have to be very cool and businesslike about it not to make the kid suspicious.
"Listen up it is a legal matter, this guy's name could possibly be splashed on the news with our web site as criminally implemented and you and I know neither of us need that because it could crash the whole business and the other franchise negotiations in the work. His name has just been brought up and we do not need the publicity. You delete him and go into everyone that has hit on it and delete the post connection. The faster you do it the faster you get to be an interest partner while retaining your position and a sizaeable raise."
Adam was worried and wondered about the legality of it all. Hansen had assured him by the end of the call that he, Hansen, would be totally responsible.
Then Adam realized what had been offered, he could hardly believe it, he had been working for two years with this idiot trying to prove himself and now was his chance. He desperately needed the money. The college loans had been heavy and now graduate school was a hefty price.
************************************************************************
A.R. screamed Brocks name as she blasted the horn and then put the siren on.
Everyone in Burger Blast heard it and watched Brock Stevens practically vault over the divider and race out the door to the ambulance. The ambulance met him at the door with A.R. yelling.
"Get in," yelled A.R.
Brock whipped open the door and the distraught woman he stared at didn't look like his partner A.R.
"Move over, now," he ordered.
He was the senior partner and even if had not been he was not about to let anyone who looked that crazed drive the amublance.
A.R. having never heard Brock yell in the two years they had been partners was startled as if he had thrown water in her face. She slid back to her side of the ambulance and rattled off the address.
"68 Maple Street."
He got in quickly fastening his seat belt.
"Not our jursidiction," he said.
"My Dad," she said.
The words had practically choked her as she spoke.
It was then that Brock understood. He didn't have to be encouraged to go as fast as possible he knew how close and yet estranged A.R. and her Dad were.
She spoke rapidly as Brock strained to keep up with her wondering if she was in shock or speaking the truth.
"My stepmother shot him...go faster....the forum story.....come on Brock move it...."
Brock drove faster than he had ever done in his life as his mind tried to process her words. What did the forum have to do with anything and how did she know her Dad was shot?
His voice authoritive, Brock started to ask her questions to get her talking in able to assess her. Then he wondered if maybe she had been taken diet pills and her mind went wacky.
"A.R. how do you kow your Dad has been shot?"
She took her eyes off the road for a minute as she glanced at him.
"The forum story, it's Dad's."
"What? You sure?"
"He typed in his address. I was going to read it on break."
"How do you know his wife did it?"
"He wrote it."
"I know he is on Maple street what's the house number, again?"
"68, 68 maple street."
Brock reached over and grabbed the radio.
"dispatch we need..."
A.R. shut if off and spoke to him as if venom was coming out of her mouth.
"Drive faster Brock, don't give me protocol bull about being emotionally involved. If that were Brianna you would be there by now."
The truth hit Brock and he literally floored it. He almost careened into a truck as he suddenly turned the ambulance into the park. The 25 minute drive was done in ten minutes.
People and bicyclists were aghast as they watched the ambulance with flashing lights and sirens screaming ruin their tranquil haven as it drove through restricted areas.
Two motorcycle cops were in pursuit thinking they were running down a stolen abulance and other police had been dispatched.
It looked like every available police car was in pursuit as Brock skidded into the front of the house having hurdled the sidewalk with the vehichle.
When they arrived at the house they watched Officer Hansen come out of the house and gently lead Miranda Strongly to the car as if he were escorting her to a cotillion.
He stood their standing in shock as he saw all the cars
A.R. grabbed the emergency bag and ran into the house while Hansen wondered what he was going to do. He had phoned in a death but then he realized it was Amanda Rae, Strongly's daughter and he shrugged. It was understandable but where on earth or why had the other cops come.
The police that had arrived drew their guns on Brock while screaming for him to drop the oxygen.
"It's oxygen not a weapon," yelled Brock.
He turned his back on them and walked in the house. No officer was willing to shoot a guy in the back.
Hansen felt himself slipping away. He was stuck in some type of sand hour glass and starting to slide through the thin section before landing in the bottom where he would be buried. Before he could speak his Aunt Miranda screamed as Brock hurried past her.
Pulling away from her nephew, she pointed both hands out towards him.
"Help, he killed my husband," she said.
Hansen looked at the officers who were walking towards him and at his Aunt who ran crying towards them.
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| The Critique (short fiction)
Posted: 11/21/2009 12:01:35 AM | all of The Critique is copyrighted first rough (very rough) written by Maggiesheart4God
will give it a rest for now and start rewrites on word document
appreciate the one person who repsonded thanks | |
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