A Picture Of Tomorrow

shiv

You are lying on your stomach, staring at the laptop.
'Have you ever been to Spain?'
I blink. My memory projector begins an involuntary slideshow. The argument at the airport. Being fingered on the bus. The absurdity of palm trees in February.
'Just Barcelona,' I reply absently, reaching for a tissue.
'You know, I've been thinking more and more about travelling.'
I see myself walking around the city for hours one night, arm in arm with a human deadweight. The beginning of an end. Is this just another false start?
'It's a lovely country. Hardly anyone speaks English. But you should go. Really.'
You smile a little without turning away from the screen. We spend several minutes looking at pictures of hedonistic hotel rooms.

Is it strange to give someone a photograph of yourself taken by an ex? Even if they've asked for it?
I wonder what this previous near-miss would think of my passing it out.
'I'm young in it,' I point out.
You stare at the picture as if you are trying to find some sort of answer in it.
I get up abruptly, tossing the smiling tank-topped version of me on the bed. Too many past souvenirs are stalking my present moment.
'Here, have it if you want.'
You pick it up and put it in your coat pocket.

I have been in quarantine for a week. I can see the whites of my eyes and the freckles creased into my lips. You have brought me some flu-fighter drugs. It is Friday. You are here with me. I want to come out and play.
'I have a brilliant idea. Let's go get an ice cream!'
'It's the beginning of winter. This is Canada. In case you forgot, it's freezing.'
'I know, but I really need something to wet my throat.'
There is a moment of silence. Then you grin and grab my hand.
'Well... why didn't you say so?'
I laugh at your cheekiness.
'That's not what I meant.'

Bundled up, we walk to the shop. You take my arm as we cross the road. I pick out something mint-flavoured and you go for chocolate. I rummage around in my pocket for some change.
'Do you want any juice?'
I point to a carton of apple. We pay and head back the way we came. I decide to slit open the silence.
'Have we ever done this before? Walked somewhere together? I can't remember.'
You answer so quickly I turn to look at you.
'It was late summer. Disgustingly hot out. We'd just gone out to dinner at that Thai place you like.'
I stop, trying to remember exactly what we ate. I have put that detail away in a drawer. Everything else I can recall at will. You are still averting your gaze.
We continue the rest of the way without speaking, holding on to our cones. An ellipsis blooms.

Back at the apartment, we are debating on the couch. You are being casually arrogant about your physical appeal. Specifically, your eyes. I want to hit you over the head with a pillow and pin you down on the bed at the same time.
'The night we met,' I say, warming up.
'The second night,' I amend, when you throw me a knowing look.
'It was completely the other way around. Admit it. You were smitten.'
This is not really a test. Just a memory experiment. Or so I tell myself.
'I wouldn't go that far.'
My ego deflects the pseudo-blow. You are lying through your wine-soaked teeth.
'That's interesting,' I laugh. 'So it was all one-sided, huh?'
You try to dodge the grenade by leaning in and caressing my back under my shirt. But it won't work.
'I remember the colour of the coat you were wearing, though. Does that count?'
This evidence is absurd. We both know it. Even still, my heart lights up.
'I'll never forget your crazy goddamn popularity. And your elite little charge card. How you wrote to me later that same night, desperate for a date.'
You give me a sideways look. 'Uh-huh. Are we even now?'
I take your index finger and place it a centimetre from my just-licked mouth.
'Why don't we find out?'

We are sprawled on my white duvet and it is getting late. The music has stopped.
'Hey, did you just invite me over here to drop off drugs and get gratuitous sex?'
I grin into the pillow.
'No! I was going to cook for you, but you insisted on going home first after work and I didn't want to wait that long to eat.'
You trace the veins on the underside of my wrist without answering. I wonder what you are thinking.
'I hope you grabbed a sandwich before you came over. Because there's nothing left of that delectable dish you taught me last week.'
'Did it turn out as good as mine when you made it?'
'Better,' I lie. 'There isn't any left. Wait, wait, I kid. There is. But you can't have all of it.'

We are curled up under the covers. Feet touching. Your hands inspecting my body for any minor changes since the last time we met. I can't help it. I shiver.
'Are you just like, blatantly feeling me up?'
'Yep.'
'But I'm sick!'
'So what? You're still sexy. Even if you insist on wearing moose pajamas.'
I sniff and cough for effect.
'Your ass feels different.'
'I've probably lost some insulation in the last few days. One of the few perks of illness.'
You tap it a few times, rather roughly, with the back of your hand. It almost hurts. Almost.
I decide to protest anyway. 'Hey! Cut it out! I feel like I'm in some kinky doctor's office! What's next? Are you going to ask me to say ah and put a wooden stick down my throat?'
'Something like that.'
We smile silly smiles in the semi-dark. Finally, I look away.
'Well?'
'Well what?'

Flattery

Oooh I like this. You capture the flirtiness really well and you've pulled off the dialogue (which I struggle with) very well.

A couple of criticisms, though...

There are a couple of turns of phrase I don't really care for, that might be subject to similar criticisms levelled at some of my own stuff; being slightly overblown or contrived. I think "My memory projector begins an involuntary slideshow" and "Too many past souvenirs are stalking my present moment" fall into that category. Actually, I was going to add "An ellipsis blooms", but, on reflection I like it too much.

Also, I think there is a narrative inconsistency at the start of the second paragraph- to who are the questions aimed? They don't seem to be rhetorical, so I assume they are directed at the reader, and given that the rest of the piece is self-contained, it seems a departure in narrative tone.

These are only minor quibbles, though. There are some great moments- "The absurdity of palm trees in February", "I pink out something mint-flavoured" are really nice observations.

Yeah, really enjoyable, as ever.

will_me

I didn't enjoy this so much shiv. Of the pieces of yours i've read(last 5 posts or so), i feel it's the weakest and least interesting.
Some of my comments have already been touched on by "flattery" above, with relation to contrived and clunky phrasing etc, so i'll not repeat those.
I don't like the rhythm of the piece: no real pace to at all. Tentatively i suggest this is due to the heavy commentary that pervades the dialogue; this i find invasive, and unnecessary. What is the point of a piece which rests on dialogue, but includes a handbook to explain the situation? Perhaps dialogue should run along the lines you point at: "ellipsis blooms" (nice phrase). Anyway to me it's heavy handed and over laboured, though with a few nice touches.
Further, I don't think there's any atmosphere to the piece, or any real insight: though i think the " palm trees in february" is an exceptional line to be fair. Flat and without rhythm to sum up. Or fair too much padding, too many words, uninspiring.
These are just personal opinions: i think i have been quite critical, and i'm not sure i explained myself that clearly.
Have enjoyed your other stuff a lot i should add. Just not this one.

DC

This is pretty good stuff. It's good to see some story telling on this forum - there is far too much poetry for my liking.

The dialogue is very good. It rings true to me. I can picture 2 real people having the conversations in an everyday sort of way. You may have mastered possibly the most important skill for novel writing.

That's the good part. Now the constructive criticism (consider it gold dust)....

I'm not a big fan of the second person. I think you get away with it in this piece because it is short. However, in a longer short story or novel, I would get annoyed with it.

I agree with a lot of what Flattery said. Just a handful of phrases are a bit contrived. Here are some suggestions (just personal preferences - I do not claim to be an expert in style):

My memory projector begins an involuntary slideshow - a nice kind of metaphor(ish), but I would pull out the metaphor and turn it into a simile: "From my memory I picture flashes of recent events - like an involuntary slideshow projection." Or just leave out the simile.

I point to a carton of apple - Even though the dialogue talks about juice immediately before, I would have said something like: "I point to a carton of apple flavoured juice," or "I point to a carton with pictures of apples on it."

An ellipsis blooms - this took me a little while to figure out. Once I figured it out I liked it. But, I would pull it from my second draft. If a reader has to stop too long to figure something out, it could ruin the narrative flow. Depends on how "literary" you want your work to be.

I can't help it. I shiver. - I prefer "I can't help shivering" or "I can't help but shiver". Just a minor personal preference. "I can't help it" might be referring to something in the previous narrative, or the next sentence. Joining up the two sentences gets rid of any ambiguity.

shiv

Flattery, thank you for the kindness wedged between your criticisms, I appreciate it, I really do. I'm glad the flirtiness came across.

It's funny, the turns of phrase you mentioned were the exact ones I struggled with myself. I suppose it's a sign when you're working too hard on one line that it's just not worth fiddling with!

Hadn't thought of the narrative inconsisentcy, but what you said makes sense. Thanks for pointing it out

When's your next post?

shiv

Is the honeymoon over already will_me?

Thanks for your honesty on this one. It was a risk for me, because prose is not my comfort zone. Especially dialogue and trying to re-create something that's happened or is only vivid in your imagaination. I find it a lot more difficult. I agree with the contrived phrasing feedback, and the unnecessary commentary criticism as well. You make a good point with that.

Your no atmosphere and no insight remarks stung. No writer wants to think their words are just falling flat. And I think you explained yourself quite clearly; I pretty much got the gist with the long list of negatives.
Thank you all the same. It's important not to think you're ever above it


.

shiv

Hey DC, thanks for your feedback on my stuff. I'd like to see more story-telling or prose on this site too. I don't think I'll be in a hurry to post it again, but you know what I mean

Don't knock poetry though, when it's done right there's nothing better.
Do you write it yourself at all?

Glad you liked the dialogue, I had hoped it would translate as genuine. As for your 'gold dust, it was pretty on the mark. Thanks for your alternative suggestions, I like them all. Thanks again for taking the time to respond

Briony Noh

Maybe I'm in the minority, here, and maybe you shouldn't listen to me, but I loved "My memory projector begins an involuntary slideshow" and "Too many past souvenirs are stalking my present moment", with the exception of one word, which it's up to you to figure out, if you need to, what it is.

My contention is with the style of the opening, the sense of a writer lying on her stomach at the laptop thinking "Now, what'll I write? I know! 'You are lying on your stomach, staring at the laptop...'"

Stylistically, I don't mind the second person too severely, but I'm not keen on the switch to the first, especially when I suddenly become a woman in the process (which I'm not, in fact, though I've no objection to the existence of women per se) and being naturally insecure, sexually, I might get a little uncomfortable in the process. Then you flick back to second and back again to first and now I don't know if I'm having periodic out-of-body experiences or an acid trip.

Lyrically, I admire the piece and won't read it all the way through because your style bears some (vague) stylistic similarities to my own and I don't want to get so jealous of you that I start tearing the piece to pieces. When you publish (when, I say) I look forward to admiring the collected works of a skilled practitioner - though I'll probably give the poetry a miss...

Oh, the other point I wanted to make...

Yes, there are lazy readers, but if you write like this they won't be in your audience so to Hell with 'em, I say. If somebody can't take time out to savour the dynamic undercurrents of a phrase once every couple of chapters, then they should probably nip off to the airport and pick up the latest Harry Potter instead.

Sorry, I'm a serial editor, I just wanted to say that I got that You and I are two different people, I just don't know which one I (that's me, the reading type of person) are supposed to be.

studio.jk

That's lovely - it's elegant, imaginative and atmospheric...and the dialogue is very well handled. The gaps are just right if you know what I mean.

I agree 'The absurdity of palm trees in February" is a beautiful, beautiful line - I just wish I had come up with that line myself.

Would you mind terribly if I borrowed it?

(only jokin!)

will_me

I was a little harsh shiv. I printed of your piece, and having reread it a few times further, i still don't like it, but i shouldn't have been quite so absolute and damning perhaps.
Other people seemed to like it which is great; you get a wide range of views from both sides
On your prose comment...
I think prose requires more work than poetry, in precision of phrases, and clarity of meaning. Lots more license in poetry, which can be a good or a bad thing; What sounds good and flashy can be saying nothing at all and is just padding, while in prose, it becomes quite clear very quickly if there's no content.
In my opinion of course

shiv

Hey Briony Noh, thanks for your feedback and your minority view I appreciate it. Not sure I ever quite figured out what that one word was that you said I could do without, though

In relation to your contention with the opening, I wasn't actually lying on my stomach thinking of what to write. The opening bit was inspired by real events, unlike a lot of the rest of it. More than one person has brought up the first/second person thing, so I take your point about being on an acid trip

So are you saying you didn't actually read it all the way through, but stopped yourself? I'd like to see your work since you mention a passing resemblance...

I loved your Harry Potter remark by the way

shiv

studio.jk, belated thanks for taking the time to give me some feedback!