Short Story Competition 2 (Jude) - VOTE HERE!

Oryx

Version 11

Pickarooney, I know my story was a bit slow for your taste, but if you have any other crit, Id gladly take it?

Daemos

Version 8

CaptainNegative wrote: »

If anyone has anymore feedback for me, that'd be awesome, cheers...

Personally I thought it was too light-hearted. There were a lot of joke-y moments in it, but for me they took away from the story. As someone mentioned already there was no reflective moments on his deceased friends, which was disappointing because even south Park has some reflective moments. So less jokes and one or two serious moments would have done it for me.

pickarooney

Version 11

Oryx wrote:

Import/Export

Jude is stuck in the aisle seat. Typical. Squashed beside this bulky heap of a woman and dodging the service trolleys that aim for her elbow or knee each time they pass. ‘Thank God I’m small’, Jude thinks, and tries to make herself even smaller.

I can't put a finger on why, but the opening line just feels wrong, as though you couldn't decide whether to tell this from a first or third person POV. "Typical" is something you'd expect someone to say in an annoyed voice rather than a narrative comment.

Even so, her legs are bent awkwardly, and the person behind keeps prodding the seat back with theirs. The plane is hot, and the smell of the in-flight toasted paninis is making her feel ill. All she can think of is live beef haulage. That this is our karma for allowing the transport of cattle in crowded trucks for all these years.

The move from Jude feeling a little sorry for herself (squashed by her aunt) to pitying humankind in general (the whole cabin being cramped) is a bit odd. It just seems strange that in the middle of this scenario she philosophises about karma.

The tank of a woman beside her is her aunt, by marriage. Fancy that, someone actually chose to wed this woman.

The narrator/MC are again blending together here. It's not an impossible device, but it does tend to give the impression that you're trying to force the reader's emotions.

Still, she did end up killing him off. Well, the cancer did, but Jude wonders if he simply died of despair.

"didn't simply die of despair" would, I think, sound better.

Tank is a good description of auntie Jean. Her bulk, that sickly green coat she always wears, and her knack of crashing destructively through everyone’s lives, make her not dissimilar to an armoured vehicle.

It is a good metaphor, but again you, the narrator have chosen this description and are now telling us it's a good one... you can see the conflict of interest?

Jude fishes the paper out of her pocket again. Marie Stokes Clinic. An address. She feels a weight like a breezeblock press on her chest. 30,000 feet in the air, trapped by a seatbelt, a widowed aunt, and family pride.

Nice zeugma.

Jesus, this sucks. She doesn’t feel stupid or crazy or young. She feels wronged. Pressed into a corner by all the adults in her life. No one has once asked her how she felt about all this. Or what she actually wanted to do about it.

has asked -> feels/wants

When she told her mother, it was like setting off a bomb. First, Ma had sat as if her central processor was stuck on abort/retry/fail?

Nerds will hate this confusion of hardware and operating system error; younger readers won't get the reference.

It seemed to take forever before the reaction came. When it did, it was sudden. She just stood, and slapped Jude hard on the face. ‘You bitch, how dare you’. Jude had heard her, afterwards in the kitchen, sobbing as she clashed plates in the sink. But they never talked about it again. Wheels began rolling, a plan was set in motion, and Jude was carried along. Her mother’s boyfriend never came home on that first night, or any night since, and for that, at least, Jude was grateful.

Nice paragraph, although the opening line is basically repeating the sense of the metaphor in the previous one. It could be condensed into "when the reaction came..."

That was September, just after her fourteenth birthday. Now it was October and here she was. With her aunt sitting beside her as primly as her bulk will allow in the narrow airline seat, a chaperone who would make sure the job was done right.

Tense mismatch. Starting with a preposition is no longer a cast-iron rule, but should probably be adhered to here.

She’d needed a seatbelt extension, the fat cow. Once Jean had sniffed the ugly news, she had engulfed the Burke household like drain cleaner, determined to help cleanse out the stain that Jude had brought.

I don't understand the simile. Flames engulf something; draing cleaner just... dribbles down the drain.

That was Jean all over. Take charge, make plans, dictate, control. While Jude’s mother had seemed unable to react at all. She allowed Jean to deal with it and spent the days sitting on the sofa, chain-smoking.

Some of these sentences are fragmented and should be joined up.

The plane’s intercom pings, and the Captain’s calm, tinny voice comes over the speakers. Mentions something about the approach to Gatwick and being ahead of schedule. Damn. Jude sinks lower in her seat and tries not to think about landing. In the air, she can sit and not actually do anything. She can pretend she is going on holiday, or on important Top Model business. Once this plane lands, the whole show gets moving again. Buses, taxis, clinics, motion, finality, ending, death.

The story really picks up once they get off the 'plane. This paragraph is very good

Why couldn’t she get her mother to see? Why wouldn’t she understand? Her little brother is only two. Jude’s loved that child since the day he came home. Dragged him around the house with her, taught him to wiggle his nappy to Black Eyed Peas. Fed him mashed banana when he just wanted to wear it. Babysat when Ma was having her bad days. She can’t go home and look at her brother and know what could have been. They could manage. They did before, when Da left. Before ‘he’ came. Why can’t her mother understand? Since that first day, her mother’s withdrawal from discussion had made it impossible to talk or plead or explain. To Ma, this was damage, a dirty secret mess that had to be cleaned up, a small new face that would be so familiar she never wanted to see it.

As is this one, tense shifting notwithstanding.

The cabin lights dimmed. ‘Normal procedure for takeoff or landing in the hours of darkness’. Almost there.

Tenses again.

The concourse is crowded with people in transit. Taxi men with placards wait for business fares to come through the arrivals doors. Everyone looks busy, important, happy. She seems to be the only stupid fourteen-year-old here to sort out a bit of trouble. None of her friends even have a clue she’s here. She kept her Facebook updates happy, smiled and gossiped and pretended. God, they’d love this. Her ears would burn till she was pension age. She’d never trusted them with her problems before, and she’d tough this one out alone, too.

But it’s hard. As they get nearer the taxi rank, a vice tightens against her chest till it hurts. She is pushing against an invisible wall and her feet get heavier, until they refuse to move. Her aunt, chugging along through the crowd in front of her, is gone twenty paces before she realises Jude has stopped, and is standing still against the moving flow of people. She can’t go on and her breath won’t come, it’s caught somewhere deep in her chest, behind what feels like a solid block in her throat. It rises and pushes until it breaks out of her, somewhere between a sob and a moan. There, in the throng of strangers, suddenly she is broken, alone and just a child.

Another strong paragraph. The rest of it needs to aim for these levels.

Then she is held, inside a chubby strong pair of arms. Pressed into the overwhelming bosom of a woman she tried so hard to hate. Her sobs get louder, Jean’s shirt begins to soak with tears and spittle and a rage of muffled words. Jude expels a sea of swears against this woman, anger at every single thing that’s been unfair. And Jean just holds on. Strokes her hair. Whispers ‘Ah, love. Ah, Jesus love I’m sorry’. Over and over, stroking and whispering. There’s no hurry. The taxi’s can wait. The clinic can wait. This bustling place can move around them, they have all the time in the world. They don’t have to go anywhere.

The highlighted sentence is clunky. 'Swears' as a noun is not familiar to me.
Nice, bittersweet ending.

Also Starring LeVar Burton

Version 13

pickarooney wrote: »

I did a really nit-picky second critique, much of which is very subjective.

Thanks for the feedback - will take that all on board next time...

DaPoolRulz wrote: »

Personally I thought it was too light-hearted. There were a lot of joke-y moments in it, but for me they took away from the story. As someone mentioned already there was no reflective moments on his deceased friends, which was disappointing because even south Park has some reflective moments. So less jokes and one or two serious moments would have done it for me.

I completely get what you're saying there... I had to end up cutting a fair bit to meet the word count and as far as I can remember I did have a paragraph or two of serious content, which I dropped in favour of the humour... Thanks for the feedback though and well done on your own story...

pathway33

Version 12

pickarooney wrote: »

Special request (feel free to ignore): would the writer of story 5 mind telling us exactly what was going on? I think most people were confused by the ending and that probably cost it a few votes.

The fact that the piece of paper would change Jude’s life forever was the reason he didn’t want to hear the announcement. He feared the announcement could nullify the change to his life. He feared the announcement would be for him and would destroy his chance of happiness from the piece of paper and that’s why he closed his ears to it. He also feared the announcement would be about a crash landing and he would have to spend the last minutes of his life thinking of what could have been with the piece of paper in his pocket.

The flashback to the marathon emphasises that he is certainly not a man in his twenties and is most likely to be over 40 and so with at least 20 years of adult resentments in his baggage. The piece of paper could save one hundred sick people in St Vincent’s Hospital. The obvious conclusion is that the piece of paper must lead to an awful lot of money if it could pay for the attempted restoration to health of 100 people.

He gets excited at the seatbelt sign not being on because he knows they are not going to crash. Jude’s heart raced because he knew he was so close to his dream and the announcement could have ruined it all. He felt like a man saved from the gallows.

But still he doubts the certainty of this and so he wanders the plane seeking for confirmation in the eyes of the passengers that there will be no crash landing. His sense of being let down by mankind for the past 18 years is emphasised by his thinking of the passengers as idiots and imbeciles. This is his view of humanity and again it shows the life changing importance of the piece of paper.

Such has been his run of bad luck for the past 18 years that he concludes despite no concrete evidence to suggest otherwise that they are indeed going to crash and so he sets about writing his will.

The fact that he is seeking a name as beneficiary shows that he has isolated himself from the world for the past 18 years. The loneliness of the long distance runner was also a clue here.

I think the rest is self-explanatory. His worst fears have been confirmed and the announcement was indeed for him. For Jude Wyte there will be no life-changing impact from the piece of paper. Life will be as before. Bitter disappointment.

pickarooney

Version 11

I had a feeling there was more to it all right!

Blush_01

Version 13

--amadeus-- wrote: »

I wrote 6 and teh lesson learned was that no matter how polished the piece might be in your head you need to allow more than 70mins to actually write it, re-read it and edit it before submission :rolleyes: My own fault but a few small tweaks would have made the story a lot easier to understand.

+1 - I feel the same about what I did too!

--amadeus-- wrote: »

Well done to MrE and to Oryx on a couple of superb (and very different) stories!

Hear hear!

Blush_01

Version 13

fona wrote: »

Story 1.
What's happening is not entirely clear. At first read I figured that Jude was Ellen's daughter and has mental issues and is bringing her Mom's ashes home. But there's a sentence near the end where (I think??) the name Ellen is used by mistake instead of Jude? "As the plane descended Ellen felt her head get lighter." So this threw me into wondering if it was a case of multiple personalities, that Jude is Ellen on pills?? But like I said I think its an error.

In terms of the story then.. a few issues. Is she bringing Ellen's ashes home? Is she bringing Ellen home because she's moving there and she is the last bit of Ellen still on the planet(being her daughter)? It wasn't clear to me. Is she landing in Heathrow or Birmingham? I assume its a case of a connecting flight but it could have been stated clearer. Or again it could be an error.

Ok, so I wrote #1, and I felt like a total twit when I saw that I'd called Jude Ellen accidentally in the third to last paragraph. (Thanks fona!)

As for the Birmingham / Heathrow thing, Jude mentions buying a pillow before she gets her connecting flight because the airline one is a bit disgusting. Sorry that wasn't clear enough. (Thanks again fona!)

As a number of other posters have said about their own little stories, having given myself about enough time to type it and not enough to read back over it was a bit dim - I don't intend on doing that next time (but being an award-winning procrastinator I make no promises!:) )

I'd love some Pickarooney style blow-by-blow critique / feedback if anyone has the time and inclination!

davyjose

Version 11

Yeah, I too would most appreciate some honest critique of version 11.

Oryx

Version 11

Thanks so much for the feedback above, pickarooney. Its good to have a cool eye look over what I write, I get too close to it. I had no idea I muddled my tenses so much, its something Ill have to watch.

I was trying to write from inside Judes head, but not with her voice, which is why I tripped up a few times.

It seems too, that I can write a zeugma without actually knowing what a zeugma is.

The drain cleaner simile I really liked, and didnt want to lose. I struggled with a verb to suit it, engulfed was the best I could do, it wasnt perfect, I knew.

Really appreciate you taking the time to break it down for me.

--amadeus--

Version 13

Apologies, having this unfinished is bugging me, so I'm fixing it

The bounce of the ball

The morning

The great thing about aeroplanes is that the sun is always shining. No matter where you are or what’s going on in the real world at 36,000 feet the sky is always blue.

Well unless it’s night time of course.

Jude smiled to himself as the aircraft rocked gently, his fingers absently running down the crease in the envelope whose contents would change his life forever.

“We are now coming in to land at Disneyland, hooray!”

“Ahhh now Paddy, you know that’s not how real pilots talk!”

Paddy has always loved the ride on toys at shops – money traps is all they were – but the jet shaped one outside O’Flaherty’s was far and away his favourite. Even before he could properly walk or talk he’d bounce in the buggy and shout “pa pa, pa pa!”. Jude claimed he was trying to say pilot but Kylie insisted it was plane.

No imagination that woman.

It had been fun sitting in the seat with Paddy when he was a toddler, bouncing him on the knee and making jet noises. But now that he was a strapping big four year old and he still insisted Jude climbed in alongside… It was a bit silly, in fairness.

“C’mon big man, let’s hit the road…”

“Can we get sweeties Da?”

“Ohhh aye, I’ll just reach into me backside and grab a few euro, eh?”

This was the routine – breakfast and say goodbye to Kylie. Shower while Paddy watches Big Cook Little Cook. Dress and out the door, buy the paper and a packet of fags, play the lotto or whatever in O’Flaherty’s and Paddy gets his spin. All change come September and boyo starts school… But for now off to the park…

The afternoon


“Da will you play ball?”

“Ohhh now you know I hurt my knee…”

“Daaaaa! You can be Torres! Pleeeease!!”

“I’ll tell you what – you play and I’ll be the crowd. I’ll sit over here and watch, allright?”

Torres was the big man now… Jude had always loved football. Used to play a bit too, could have been pro had it not been for the knee. Again his fingers idly toyed with the envelope and the slivers of papers within. If all works out there would be no pretending, it would be the real Torres he’d be watching. Probably a corporate box for the home games and – if the right strings could be pulled – then access to the away European games as well. Now that would be something! It would make Paddy’s day… Jude's too as well, he had to admit. Might get to met the players. Could tell a few of them where they were going wrong…

“Da!”

“Yes son?”

“How many was it?”

“How many what’s son?”

“Kick ups – you said you’d count!”

“ehhhh...15 big lad, new record, well done!”

The Evening

The spuds were watery.

Again.

God love her, she was a great woman – and had been some looker in her day too. But she could burn water. Maybe for Christmas he’d get her one of those fancy cookery courses. Need to be careful though – a present like that and a woman of Kylies….temperament…could take it the wrong way, not like it was intended, if you know what I mean. Before then it would be better to stick to restaurants. Not the Taj Mahal but proper, posh, quality restaurants in town. No need to be worried about them sorts of places from now on – the money wouldn’t be an issue for a start. Ever since that incident at his Debs Jude had fretted in fancy places but he’d been reading Kylie’s magazines when she was out. Not that he’d admit it, Jesus the lads would slaughter him for it. But it made you think – the state of some of those celebrities falling out of places and they were always welcomed back, why should he be treated any differently to them from now on? The envelope was on the countertop now, propped up against the breadbin. He could feel it calling to him, whispering, holding out promises…

“JUDE!!”

“Yes love?”

“5 times! Where is your head at? We’re trying to talk to you!”

“Sorry love, stuff on my mind, you know, what were you saying?”

“Didn’t I break my record today Da?”

“That you did son”

“Aww that’s great, well done! Jude – did you fix that fence panel? Mary was at me again about it, her dog got out through our gate again yesterday”

“Ahhhh, no, no. I need to get a different type of screw I think…”

And she’s off again… What do you do all day, etc, etc. First thing tomorrow he’d book a builder and build the mother of all walls between them and that Mary one. Not that he’d need to – they’d be moving out by the end of the week. Jude’s eye wandered again to the envelope with its 18 slips of paper, one of them holding the magical line of numbers that was about to transform his life. Make him the father and husband his family deserved. He could hear the theme music in his head, see the little balls bouncing in the machine… If she’d stop talking and he hurried his dinner he’d be able to watch the whole program this time…

~~~

A (gentle!) critique would be appreciated....