07-12-2016, 01:01 PM
Breaking this up by sentence for crit...
An interesting narrative, but moving significantly beyond this narrative is a slight chore. I don't mind that fact, but I don't feel it is interesting enough on its own to warrant the effort that must be put in. It reads to me as a journal entry of a mostly mundane scene.
Hopefully a bit useful.
An interesting narrative, but moving significantly beyond this narrative is a slight chore. I don't mind that fact, but I don't feel it is interesting enough on its own to warrant the effort that must be put in. It reads to me as a journal entry of a mostly mundane scene.
(07-12-2016, 12:22 PM)lizziep Wrote: There's a wedding across from the cemetery. (the cemetery is dropped in right here and mostly ignored for the rest of this piece. why? it is also stylistically different from the rest of this piece.)The intent is a little lost on me. It's a brief scene with a lot going on, but there is no rhythm to carry me from one sentence to the next. It makes the reading a bit unpleasant. I mentioned that it feels like a journal entry, which makes me feel like I'm just reading a day in someone's history, and I don't particularly enjoy reading a lot of history.
A bridesmaid in bare-shouldered navy and a rum-blonde bun poses with her smoke's ghostly cirrus. (okay, we have smoke and ghosts showing up here, so the presence of death is now more than obvious.)
A girl about six escapes the formality, runs to the playground in white shoes, her black hair pulled back, loosening in front. (I'm not sure what seam the contrast is meant to highlight.)
Her mom smokes at the latticed gate – she says it's time to go when her cigarette's done.
The girl cries and looks back at my kids, swinging on their stomachs, hands in the dirt.
The grass is unnaturally green in this town. (I'm not sure if the ambiguity is giving me trouble, or the position in the piece, or both. It's a sentence I would probably rephrase severely or otherwise remove.)
More white lace tights and custard cardigans steal away to play. (this is a really weird image for me. From lace tights to the oddly modified cardigans, and finally the act of stealing, this line is resolvable, but it leaves an awkward taste.)
My son swings beside one, hamming up the peril as he rockets side to side. (mistakenly read this as hammering the first three times. woops.)
They twist the chains up to the top, first squeal then shriek.
Her dad runs down and holds her head as if with Atlas' hands, his smoldering cigar an inch from her hair. (from careless, to strenuous, and back to careless. not bad. but the entire piece seems to suffer from a lack of rhythm.)
I could use some help coming up with a better title for this one, if anyone has any suggestions. (totally unnecessary line. remove it completely. joking though! the "portside" is rather interesting, but I don't think I can make a better title.)
Hopefully a bit useful.
If you're the smartest person in the room, you're in the wrong room.
"Or, if a poet writes a poem, then immediately commits suicide (as any decent poet should)..." -- Erthona
"Or, if a poet writes a poem, then immediately commits suicide (as any decent poet should)..." -- Erthona