Instructor Response

Hi Cathryn–

Great work. I’m going to use this exercise to point out revision techniques. I’ll try to always add (in green) a justification for a suggested change. Overall, in revision, one imagines the placement and choice of the imagery for maximum (fluid) effect, such that the action is consistent with time progression and the ideas are integrated. We want the syntax to match the mood of the moment, and as always we want to lean toward brevity. I’ll be excessive to provide ideas for your revision technique. The critique does not suggest anything is wrong, and suggestions may at times not be compatible with the style you want to achieve . . . but I hope it’s useful for learning. Enjoyable read!

Rushing beside her husband along Pirates Alley, Charles’s wife stubbed the toe of her designer shoe on an uneven, grey paving slate protruding from the pavement.Maybe use “uneven pavement slate” for efficiency? Like this:

Suzette, Charles’s wife, stubbed the toe of her designer shoe on an uneven pavement slate, twisting her ankle as she rushed with her husband down Pirate’s Alley in New Orleans.  In an action/introduction scene, brevity is important for momentum. “Designer shoe” provides good characterization, and I’d leave it, but would always suggest, especially in an opening paragraph, to avoid too many ideas and images. Keep with momentum.

Her ankle twisted.

“Damn it,” Charles’s wife she said.

“Careful,” Charles said. He gripped his wife’s gripping her arm.

She bristled and brushed her husband’s hand from her shoulder. “I can manage, thank you,” she said. Charles’s wife was muscular and fit, a regular at the gym.

I’ve switched to her POV from narrator’s POV. See if you think it works.

  “A fall,” Charles said, “could ruin your plans, Suzette.” He glanced at his wife’s footwear: thin straps; pointed toes; stiletto heels. Unsuitable choice for an extended walking excursion. “I was worried. You know, a broken leg. Or something.”

“You could have broken your leg,” Charles said, glancing at her stiletto heels.

This paragraph needs to continue the action. You’ve got a lot of images. Focus on momentum of the story at this point. Use the rare image to suggest what you want the reader to imagine in the entire scene.

“Jesus Christ!” Don’t be morbid,” Suzette said. “Stop being your usual morbid self, Charles.”  His wife hobbled to the slightly tilted wrought iron lamppost standing in front of a bright, raspberry- sherbet colored building. The red and white sign tacked to the lamppost warned: Church Quiet Zone. Too much disparate information. In this paragraph stick with action primarily, scene and characterization secondarily, with scene slightly more important than characterization.

With shaky fingers, Charles swiped a strand of red hair stuck to his sweaty forehead. His wife’s voice, strident, petulant, a red flag signaling Here, you filtered her voice characteristics through Charles’s POV. I suggest you let the reader know what she’s like through dialogue, which would keep the reader in the moment. Something like: “You’re a mess,” she whined. “Can’t you look a little more refined when we travel?” Of course, this is not good and not what you could put together, but it shows rather than tells and it sets up what follows, which I put in the narrator’s perspective.  This day would not end pleasantly. A huge mistake. Vacationing with Suzette in sultry Why did he bring her to New Orleans?

Suzette hobbled to the leaning lamppost, supported herself with one hand, and tugged at her shoe with the other. Nice image. 

“Heel’s not broken okay,” she said. “Thank God.” Dialogue credible for the character, the moment, and the story.

“Heel?” Charles asked.

“Of My shoe, idiot.” Suzette held the designer shoe by a thin, blue strap. “Jimmy Choo’s latest. Cost a small fortune, let me tell you.” [Great. Effective and reveals a lot about Suzette!]

Charles dug his fists into the pockets of his white Bermuda shorts. [Good detail well placed.] “You don’t have to,” he mumbled under his breath.

The brokerage firm’s phone call last month alerted Charles.

‘Charlie,’ the couple’s financial advisor said, ‘I’ve done the calculations you requested. At the rate Suzette is spending her great-aunt’s inheritance, the principle will be significantly diminished in four years.’ [The above five lines are backstory . . . and vital information. But try to avoid backstory and keep the information in front story. Consider internalization in Charles’s thoughts? It might work.]

“Your ankle’s swelling, Suzette. It’s starting to swell,” Charles said. “Maybe we should—-”

“Before I married you, Charles, if you recall, I was a pretty competent emergency room nurse.” Suzette’s fingers lightly pressed her ankle. “Just a slight sprain. No torn ligaments,” she said. “I’ll live.” Nice.

Suzette pushed her ballooning foot into the expensive shoe. She winched, and carefully placed her left foot on the uneven pavement.

Charles shook his head and watched his wife clutch her handbag, square her shoulders, and limp towards Chartres Street. [All effective here and reads well!]

Suzette stopped and turned at the end of the short alleyway. “Well, are you just going to stand there, Charles?” she asked. “The Cathedral tour begins in half an hour.”

Charles longed to explore Pirates alley without a time limit, an agenda, a guide book: browse the bookstore, formerly William Falkner’s house where the famous author penned his first novel; stroll behind St. Louis Cathedral and whisper a prayer in   the lush greenery of Saint Anthony’s Garden; chat with the local artists who, arriving at noon, displayed their creations on the fence surrounding the garden. [Great!] 

“Get a move on, slow poke.”

Charles pushed the front of his sandal under the protruding grey slate. Dangerous. A fall could prove fatal.

“Hurry. My God, Charles, at this rate, we’ll never complete the stops on my list before meeting Bruce and Francine for lunch.” [This is exposition in dialogue, and should be avoided when possible.]

“I’m coming,” Charles said and caught up with his wife.

“By the way, Charles.” Suzette hitched the straps of her large, purple, purse on her shoulder. “I’m purchasing a memorial brick. For St. Anthony’s Garden walk way. I brought cash with me.”

“How much, Suzette?  We need to have a discussion about—-”

“Cost?”  Suzette sneered. “You don’t begrudge Great-Aunt Helena a signature brick etched with her name, do you?” :-)

“How much, Suzette?”

Suzette patted her handbag. “Fifteen hundred dollars.”

Charles breathed deeply, swallowed twice, and bit his lip.

Suzette snickered. “Don’t looked so shocked, dear,” she said. “After all, it is my money.” [Well done.] 

“Nice morning, folks.” A swarthy man pushed a creaking, rusted shopping cart into Pirates Alley. He grinned and showed broken, yellowed teeth. A scar, like a jagged streak of lightening, marred the man’s hollow left cheek. Wrapped around his head was a red bandanna, and a large gold hoop dangled from one ear. [Very nice.]

The rickety cart’s wheels squealed to a halt in front of the couple, and the man plucked a tee shirt from the folded stack in the basket of the cart. [Here, I’d reverse the information, prioritizing the T-shirt (essential action and revelatory) before scenic description. And “squealed” is not the right word. It personifies wheels, an effect not useful here–maybe try “squeaked” or something a wheel can do.]      

“For charity,” he said and held the red tee-shirt by the sleeves. Help the Survivors was block-printed in black letters on the front. “Lots of folks ain’t recovered from Katrina,” he said. “Cheap, too.  Asking fifty dollars for three.”

Suzette fingered the thin, cotton fabric. “Cheap, alright,” she murmured. “These chintzy tees aren’t worth fifty cents.”

“Suzette, for Pete’s sake.” Not smart, Charles thought, arousing the ire of this stranger. [A suggestion as one way to present Charles’s thought. The original construction left a question as to whose POV it was, Charles’s or the narrator’s.] Charles handed the vendor his credit card. “It’s for charity, right?”

“Sorry. Cash only.” The vendor pursed his lip and shook his head. The gold hoop earring glittered in the brilliant sunshine. He leered at Suzette. “Might be the lady has cash in that big bag of hers.”

“Money is for the Lord’s work.” Suzette jerked the straps from her shoulder and clutched the purple her handbag. [You’ve got momentum going here and “purple” slows it unnecessarily.]  

“I’m doing God’s work, too.” The man lunged for Suzette purse.

“Get your filthy hands off my handbag. Call 911, Charles,” Suzette said. [The deleted segment doesn’t fit into dialogue when the emotional valence in the scene is anger and conflict.]

Charles reached for his mobile phone.

Suzette swung her purse whacking the vendor in the face. Suzette whacked the thief in the face with her purse. [“Whack” implies swinging and is an opportunity to use fewer words (and avoid the participle where past tense is more forceful). 

“Damn you, lady. I think It’s broken,” he said and dabbled his bloody nose with the red tee shirt. [In revising dialogue, stay close to what people say with the mood of the moment. He’s hurting and angry and resentful and his mind wouldn’t, maybe couldn’t, put together extended syntax.]

Suzette’s fingers tightened on the blood-smeared purse.

“Let it go, Suzette.” Charles tugged Suzette’s arm. “Cops are on the way.”

Suzette wrenched free from Charles’s grip and slammed her purse in the man’s face.

 The gold clasp on Suzette’s the purse split the man’s lip.cut the man’s lip and split it open.

“You damn bitch!”I won’t forget this, lady. Believe me.” “Bitch.” The vendor steered the creaking cart onto Chartes Chartres Street. What you have is fine, but is it what this man would say in this moment of resolving conflict?

#

The clink of china and silverware, a mellow tremolo from an alto saxophone melded in the crowded Pirate Alley Café and Old Absinthe House with laughter and boisterous voices. This is nice setting of scene. Well done.

“I swear, Francine, that man selling tees in Pirated Alley could have been Jean Laffite’s ghost,” Suzette said.

“You don’t say,” said Suzette’s new friend. They had met during a yoga class at the hotel. “The famous New Orleans’s pirate and profiteer?”

Suzette looked across the table at her husband. “He did, didn’t he, Charles?”

“Maybe not a pirate, but, nevertheless, a very dangerous

man.” Charles raised an eyebrow and turned to Francine’s husband seated on his left. “I feel Suzette acted recklessly, Bruce.”

“Now,now, Charles. Your wife’s conduct was admirable.” Bruce

patted Suzette’s hand. “Very brave stance, seems to me. Why let crooks and shysters hoodwink honest folks into giving them money?” All good.

“Brave?” Charles set his drink on a coaster. Suzette’s rash action put their lives in danger.

Suzette smiled. “See there, Charles. Bruce thinks I was brave,” she said. Her hand remained in Bruce’s clasp.

Charles drummed his fingers on the table. The shadowy, half-formed idea skulking on the edge of his consciousness took form, solidified. Don’t change this–the wording and idea are great–but maybe expand a little to let us know the idea as an image, and/or clarify what you want us to expect.

Here is a reference you might find useful: https://www.storyinliteraryfiction.com/essays-on-writing/information-and-literary-story-structure/

Excellent. You’ve created a great story. Loved the imagination! Thanks for the submission.

All the best, WHC

Instructor Response

Thanks for your submission. You’ve followed the assignment exceptionally well. Good job.

I’ll address your writing with comments in red. Now I’d like to give thoughts on how to make the storytelling more vibrant. And this doesn’t require more words, using more space. Think first about conflict. As you know, conflict provides the energy for the story. In this story, there are opportunities to write in-scene conflict between the hawker and Nick. Threaten. Degrade. Misjudge. You might also look to the conflict between Marie and Nick. Could they differ more on how they feel about being scammed, about how to handle the situation?

Second, consider setting up a start for the scene where immediately the hawker is introduced, and it’s clear he’s out to impose his will to buy a shirt on these tourists. (You’ve spent too much time on characters at the beginning. Don’t neglect them, though; just get the story started.) Then after you’ve begun the conflict, you can–through dialogue, internalization, and narration–keep the scam moving with actions and reactions, changing thoughts, expression of fears and emotions. You can do this with one character or more than one. Your purpose should be to give the reader insight as to all the action and emotion and enlightenment that is caused by such an encounter. Then conclude the scene with active resolution that involves suspense. Nick refuses to pay. The hawker thrusts the shirt at Marie, who doesn’t reject it. Nick gets mad at both of them. The scam guys threaten them. Maybe he pretends he’s got a knife in his hoodie. Nick calls for a policeman. The hawker runs. Nick tackles him. The hawker gets away. Nick is angry with Marie for taking the T-shirt. She now feels sorry for the guy and wants to find him and give him money.

None of this is what you necessarily should do. I just go through it to show you how action and conflict provide the momentum for your story.

This is a good story and excellent work. Keep at it! And all the best in your writing!

WHC

Suggested reading.

http://www.storyinliteraryfiction.com/essays-on-writing/character-in-literary-fictional-story/
http://www.storyinliteraryfiction.com/essays-on-writing/momentum/
http://www.storyinliteraryfiction.com/essays-on-writing/conflict-in-literary-fiction/

Comments:

Marie emerged from the cathedral into the slushy [Not quite the right word. “Slush” means partially melted ice or snow and doesn’t fit here. It’s too hard to imagine in New Orleans. Be careful with word choice. I’d suggest looking up words in a thesaurus as a routine when revising.] April heat of the French Quarter, squinting her eyes against the sudden grey glare. The sticky heat made it difficult to breathe and pasted her blouse to her skin like a sausage casing. She moved heavily towards Pirate’s Alley, where Nick was waiting. New Orleans for their anniversary…what had they been thinking?

“Hail the supplicant!” Nick bellowed at her as she approached the café. His fleshy cheeks were already pink and even from this distance she could make out the bottle on the table and smell the dank sweetness on his breath. [Learn to keep these descriptive elements to a minimum and have your idea contribute to characterization or plot progression. For example, you could say, “His wine-tinged breath surprised her, she thought he was a teetotaler.” OR  “The wine on his breath was cheap and sickening; he was drinking again. God how he’d changed.” This would grab an opportunity to develop your characters. Another way to add purpose to the ideas in your story is make descriptive elements contribute to the plot. What if the story involved Nick hitting the accosting party with a wine bottle? You could, at this stage of the story, put something in to foreshadow the event. “He swigged wine directly out of the bottle, gripping the neck as if it were a club.” Not great, but I hope you get the idea.

“Meek and mild the Lenten prayers, ma belle Marie?!” He stood up ceremoniously, pulling a chair from the table. “I love it when you pray,” he whispered in her ear as she sat down. “Your sanctimony is hot as hell.”

“Don’t be disgusting,” she muttered, glancing self-consciously up and down the street. A waitress stood stock-still [many will see this as cliché that spoils the reading experience—and it doesn’t add much] in the open doorway of the café. For a moment, Marie wondered if she was made of wax. [An idea expressed in awkward syntax spoils your writing. Would anyone look at another person and wonder if they were made of wax? That’s a writer trying to get a simple idea across and making it illogical. What’s at the core is “She looked like she was made of wax.” It’s not useful to have the character wonder if she’s made of wax. Of course she’s not. But it can be important for her to think of how she looks like a wax figure. Not an insignificant observation for the author to change. It’s what makes good writing better.]

The grille of the chair pressed hard against her bottom and back as Nick pushed the seat under the table. “Nick.” she hissed. “Please!”

“Yes of course, my dear, I shall please. Drink?” Nick walked around to the other side of the table, sat heavily and poured. Two melting ice cubes jostled against the walls of the glass as he slid it toward her. “Drink.”

“It’s barely lunchtime for fuck’s sake.” Her words came out more softly than she’d intended, like a plea, and her face flushed.

“Indeed. Far too late to turn back now.” His direction turned toward the waitress whose pose hadn’t moved an inch. [This isn’t very probable—the not moving an inch—and it’s a detail that detracts from story momentum. That is, it’s a lot of words for a static detail that probably isn’t true to the story world. Important to look for in revision.] “Sweetheart! A glass for my sober wife, would you?” The girl glared at them for a moment and disappeared into the shadow of the restaurant.

Nick struck a match noisily and lit a cigarette over his words. “If you think one prayer of yours can absolve us, cherie, you’ve got another penance coming.”

Marie looked vaguely in the direction of the cathedral. Colorfully painted doorways and cascades of wisteria and palm brightened the alley with mocking gaiety.

“I feel sick,” she said.

“Tee shirt for the lovebirds? Every purchase is generously donated to charity.” A hawker was suddenly standing beside their table. His sallow face was cross-hatched with strange red marks and he carried a milk crate half-filled with surprisingly new looking, folded tee shirts.

“Confederacy of dunces.” Nick muttered under his breath as he stood up to face the man.

At that moment [Unnecessary and repetitive. Don’t let word-fill creep into your writing–that is, words, usually cliches, that have no purpose.] The waitress arrived and slapped a fresh glass of ice onto the table. The salty stench of the hawker hung thick in the humid air.

“Nick, don’t. I’m going to be sick,” Marie said, without moving.

“Just sip and play nice,” Nick hissed at her, pouring Herbsaint onto the ice and flicking his cigarette across the street. Marie watched it roll to the edge of the wrought iron fence beyond which lush trees and flowers were growing.

“Whaddaya got? I’ll pay double.”

“Brand new tee shirts for you and your lovely lady. Just twenty dollars each. All proceeds go directly to charity.”

“Sure they do buddy.”

Nick shoved forty dollars into the milk crate and removed a tee shirt. It was black with ‘I’M GONNA MAKE HIM AN OFFER HE CAN’T REFUSE’ printed on it in white.

“Of course we can’t refuse,” Nick laughed. “Now go crawl back into your hole and leave us alone.” [This is awkward dialogue for this character in this situation. The intent, I assume, to get the thoughts and feelings of Nick (and Marie) into the story. Those feelings are irritation, disgust, anger, dislike, guilt, sympathy, feeling scammed by a crook, wanting the hawker to go away (to be left alone). Others? It seems unlikely that in the story world the character would say what you have him say. It might be an opportunity for Nick and Marie to talk. “I hate the con men.” “He didn’t seem needy.” “It’s all about cheating.” “I can’t stand for them to get close to me.” That sort of thing. You could also internalize. He’s trash, Nick thought. And threatening us! He should be buried alive. These are alternative ways to get ideas across without calling attention to authorial struggling with dialogue construction.]

The hawker scowled and shuffled off. Nick rolled the shirt into a ball and tossed it under the table.

Marie took a sip of the cold anise-flavored liquid and unbuttoned her blouse a little in an effort to breathe more freely. The heat in the air continued to rise.

Instructor Response

Russ—

Edgar and Betty Sheehan, slipped out of their French Quarter hotel, just as the rain stopped. They found themselves nearly alone in Pirates Alley as few others had ventured out after the downpour. Only a street vendor pushing a cart, dressed in a wife-beater and dirty jeans occupied the alley. Edgar eyed him nervously, wincing at the man’s scarred chin, noticeably menacing even from a distance. He grabbed Betty’s arm, guiding her away from the brute, but it was too late.

“Hey people, I got t-shirts. Only $20.00 and it’s for a good cause. Proceeds go to the victims of Hurricane Katrina.”

Betty barged forward. She was a large, round woman, compared to her husband, but she appeared inconsequential next to the street vendor. She inspected the merchandise and found it inferior. “We don’t want a two dollar tee shirt for twenty dollars.”

The brute sneered, “I hate you tourist types, too cheap to help people in need. You’ll drop a couple hundred at Arnaud’s but you won’t spend a lousy twenty to help the starving people that built this town.”

The brute took a step in close to Betty, towering over her. A large blue vein pulsed across his forehead.

Edgar stepped forward, reaching for a shirt. His hand trembled as he let it unfold before him. “Nice material. He’s right honey. This shirt will make a great souvenir.”

The street vendor smirked and backed off. “You’ll need two,” he said. “Looks like a medium and an extra-large.” He rumbled through his pile of shirts, looking for the correct sizes.

 Irritated, Betty grabbed Edgar’s arm as he reached for his wallet. She screeched at the street vendor, “We gave a generous donation at the Cathedral. We’re not chucking our money away on a lousy $2.00 tee-shirt. You should be ashamed of yourself, mister. Jesus don’t want you scamming people.”

The street vendor grabbed at Betty’s shirt, twisting it, along with the bra underneath. “Who says I’m scammin anybody. These shirts are for the poor. Whose sayin different?”

Edgar, shaking even worse now, withdrew a wad of bills from his wallet. “No need for violence, mister. Here well take two, make that three shirts.” He held out three twenties.

The street vendor released Betty and smiled a big, yellow-toothed grin. “That’s more like it.” He took the bills and handed Edgar three shirts, not bothering with sizes. “Smile folks, God loves a cheerful giver.” Then he pushed away with his cart.

They stood stock-still, watching him leave. Betty whimpered. They cowered off in the opposite direction. Edgar ditched the shirts, stashing them into the basket of a bicycle that someone left tethered to an iron fence.  Such a great image for me!

“We should report him to the police,” Betty hissed, clutching the arm of her husband.

“Let it go,” he said.

All the best,
Bill Coles