So, I should post to say where I am with my writing n' such. Since I started grad school last fall, I've taken fiction writing and creative non-fiction writing (preferring the latter, but thinking I had at least one moment in fiction that was valuable). I'd like to post some of the things I've already written here, for comment/critique, etc. These pieces are by no means "finished" (is writing ever finished, but rather arbitrarily concluded?). I am MOST interested in pursuing creative non-fiction, probably memoir writing, and I'll post bits from the memoir piece I started writing this past January-May.
I'm taking Poetry Writing right now (scary!!)--I've never done poetry AT ALL. Maybe I'll post some of my attempts here for your thoughts.
I'll kick it off with a piece of super short fiction, called "Riding Tandem." I meant it originally to be only 500 words, but it's grown a bit. Maybe I should try to reign it back in?
Feedback I need: I have had problems with: developing a balanced presentation of both protag and antag, as well as creating a clear climax. I also stray from concrete detail at some points.
What do you think of the second person narration?
Is the first line confusing? What's your understanding of the two characters?
Riding Tandem
When we were young, you thought I was the older sister because my birthday was in April and yours was in May.
Really you’re almost two years older, but age only mattered on our birthday cakes. “If you get all the candles, you get to make a wish.” I even got my ten-speed bicycle before my tenth birthday because you had yours. I fell in behind your dust-dulled pink and gray Huffy, and you taught me the neighborhood. You showed me how bikes could be rockets and we could blast to the moon.
When a motorcyclist wiped out on the gravel on the backside of our block we had to give up our rocket rides. They cleared the body that day, but it took two weeks for you to convince me to ride around the block again. I feared I’d see blood or a tuft of hair from his unhelmeted head gripping the black rocks. You laughed at me for worrying. “There’s nothing there, silly.” When we took the corner again, I fixed my eyes on your blowing brown hair.
We moved from that block and you let your bike get dusty. You were about to start high school. I still rode sometimes, until the day I steered my bike too close to a speeding car full of teenagers. “Watch out, you stupid kid!” At home, your bedroom door was closed.
“What do you want?” You stuck your head out. The collar of your t-shirt was wet.
“Some kids yelled at me for riding my bike.”
“What do you want me to do? It’s just a bike. It’s not like it matters.”
That evening, I leaned my bike against the broken lawnmower in the back of the garage. The next day, I joined the school debate team. A girl from the speeding car was the captain. She noticed my skill for argument and we became friends. I stopped knocking on your door, and you stopped coming out.
I went to college after graduating. You never planned to go, school wasn’t natural for you. When I came home for Christmas you were smiling again. “Tell me about college.” I tried to explain my love for Virginia Woolf and Dostoevsky and how I wrote for the campus newspaper. You wanted to talk about our childhood. “Remember when we pretended our bicycles were rockets?”
“Yeah. Why?”
“It was fun when we did that. We did things together, like real sisters. I wish it was like that again.”
“I don’t know what to tell you. It won’t be. It can’t be.”
We didn’t speak till New Year’s. And when I left again, you stayed in your room.
Then you discovered an Internet love and you left. You went all the way to Georgia to prove you meant it, and you got married. I got married too, but my marriage didn’t need to prove anything.
Today we are speaking on the telephone. You call to tell me about the swallow tattoo your husband bought you for your birthday. “Every time I look over my shoulder I can see it.” Even though I hate tattoos I listen to you explain how it represents your new, freer self. You say that you are ready to let go of the past. “I won’t go on about how we used to ride bikes and do stuff together. You can just be who you are, and I’ll be who I am.” She’s making a wish. I am too, but I sit silently and wait for the conversation to end.
2 comments:
Okay, the second person narration.. it kind of gave me a headache. To me, it sounds accusatory. Meaning, every sentence of narration seems to be sternly spoken at someone. Either that, or I could read it very sadly. For that effect, I would say it worked. However, just because I'm used to first person or third doesn't mean there isn't a place for 2nd. but it still gives me a headache. maybe i need to drink more water.
I thought it was creative the way you lept time in quick bursts. "back of the garage. The next day, I joined the school debate team." then the main person is in college. From kids with bikes, to the debate team, to college in about a paragraph, different, I liked it.
I thought it was an accurate portrayal of the heart beat jumps life can take. 10 years ago I was starting high school. What happened? When the parts of the story as seen as a whole, I notice the overall concept of life changing moments that happen way to fast, and the inability to travel back.
Ok, so the guy on the motorcycle was the turning point? I think deeper detail would make that section pop and evoke a little more emotion. "The motorcycle tipping as it sped past us. The man soaring over the bike and landing with his feet dangling upwards and the flash of red that your bike tires splashed back on to my jeans....." Maybe add a onamanopeia (sp?) It's just a thought. I think the story was rather dark and honest. I think you have room to jump into the shock for just a moment. Gives me a highlight and noticeable turn in emotion.
I understand that the older sister is a sad sack that was obviously affected by the trauma. The younger girl seems pissed off at life and frustrated with apathy and stagnation.
I think for antag (i'm guessing the older sister?) You could put in some quotes of advice and direction that were given when they were children. It would be easier to contrast the change in attitude and motivations of their later life personas.
For the protag, take some of the visuals from childhood and put emotion on them through comparisons (?) "On the rocket ride I became ... Mario Andretti.." or something like that. show what her memories were along with her visuals.
I think the first line is fine. I understand immediately who is telling the story and to whom.
I like it. Keep going on it, it's just going to get better. I'm left wondering what happened on the debate team, in college, and the nonverbals in the later life conversation. It's intriguing.
I agree with Seth on the fact that it does sound a bit accusatory, but the "sad" angle works.
Possibly, for the argument of antag and protag, I believe that the reader is instantly to believe that the older sister is the antag without really knowing why at first. And was there anything in particular that makes the older sister change so? I feel that something is being left out, maybe not. Becuase of the accusatory tone, however, I'm left wondering who the protag and antag actaully are. I feel that they switch roles with the tone of the piece about 3/4 of the way through.
But the ending....nice.
Very nice, thought-provoking ending.
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