Anja Boersma
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Good afternoon, Kate!
Gorgeous passage, here.
I made some suggestions for stronger verbs (using Word synonym list). There’s times when you use slightly neutral words whereas this scene is quite strong. See what you think.
I was bringing flowers for harvest festival and I came upon him practicing the organ. He must have been about eleven, (this makes me think it’s older Annie contemplating how she met Harry, so using ‘came upon him’ is not throwing me off as going against her use of language/wise before her age) a skinny wisp of a thing, but he played that organ as if his life depended on it (sorry to say it, but this is a cliché and it doesn’t fit in with your otherwise original writing, it really threw me off! Maybe he plays as if his eternal soul depends on it, or if he fears burning in hell, or something with the devil, might as well use the devil, right? Ha.), sound thundering through the church as though God himself was walking in the eaves with his (His) almighty footsteps (brilliant, how the ‘fear of God’ is put in us here). I stopped, pinned (could you use ‘as if struck’ here?), in the doorway. Nobody ever made a noise (maybe use a kinder word than ‘noise’ to reflect the beauty of it? Or is it only about his virtuosity?) like that in our church. The elderly organist who accompanied our hymns was timid as a mouse (cliché, find another way to describe his timidity – maybe something religious/biblical could serve as inspiration – sorry, I can’t help with any Old Book knowledge! But just to keep in with the theme), and with nothing to lift them up, our Sunday voices were reedy and half hearted (needs a hyphen according to my spellcheck). But Harry didn’t sing, or play, or listen to music like the rest of us. He was (in italics for emphasis? Or maybe: ‘embodied’?) music. Music lived (breathed?) inside his hands. I could feel notes crowding the tips of his fingers, some emerging tidily, one after another, everything meant; others tumbling out, pushing and jostling, great crashes of storm and thunder. Oh(add a comma here) to be able to see them while they were still inside his hands, waiting for him to summon them onto the keys.
I might have been listening to God’s own trumpet blast. I was shaking so hard I didn’t dare go inside. But afterwards, whenever I saw that lanky boy stumbling through the village behind his mother, I remembered organ music booming through the church as if the heavens themselves were falling (Words synonym list: tumbling, plummeting), and I knew the voice of God spoke through Harry(,) and he was as special as an archangel.
JUDGEMENT: MAGNIFICENT.
Amen.
Anja
Hi Gill,
These are an intense 250 words!
You have no trouble at all getting inside an (angry) man’s head and POV … just perfect, with all the violence and thinking of Harry Dick jerking off …
I noticed the ‘as if she were asleep’ too and I thought ‘aha, but maybe she’s not sleeping’, so it’s interesting. Is she fooling him – a cop – with her steady breathing? I like it, it’s foreshadowing something, always a good thing.
“But the man Mike imagined at the peephole was a plod in shiny shoes.”: oh wow. This shows (not tells) us so much about Mike’s feelings … he’s bitter, disappointed … It’s punchy. More, please! I’ll say it again: it’s such a strong voice you created. Until now we’ve only seen your soft side of the spectrum with Laura and her pending motherhood … It’s a very nice juxtaposition.How are your chapters? 50/50 Laura and Mike? or 60/40, 70/30?
This is obviously a rewrite! That ending in deep deep PD5! Bloody brilliant!
I’m excited for you, Gill. This is not just another draft. This is a book in the making.
Anja
Hi Kate,
Thank you for your thoughtful comments and suggestions … They will all be copied and pasted into a special document called ‘smart things people said’ or ‘things smart people said’ or something.
So, not being a native speaker has its challenges! I thought Hubert the hairdresser might strut! He can’t just walk, you know … he has to do something special movement-wise … Should he sashay?! Or prance or parade? But he can’t meander or Marge’s hair might turn indigo blue instead of cornflower. It’s not an extravagant Vidal Sassoon salon in London, it’s just Heptonstall …
(Something about your comments makes me feel warm and comfy, Kate. Thank you!)
Anja
Hi Gill,
Yes, you’re right! Even if it only recently happened, it’s a huge chunk of gossip that needs/needed practice even in the hands – and mouth – of a popular hairdresser.
Thank you, I was, tbh, rather pleased with ‘unleashed’ myself (thank you, Word synonym list!).
Anja
Thank you, Chithrupa!
I’ll let your comments sink in for a few days, I think …
Tbh, I really liked my dialogue!
But yes, it can always be better.
Anja
HOMEWORK WEEK 5
POV: Wendall’s Mother, Jacoba Knightley.
She’s at the hairdresser’s for some gossip, to learn if there’s a bachelor she can set up with Alexandra. There’s two other ladies in the salon (though only one appears in these 249 words, ‘Marge’) and there’s Hubert, the hairdresser and a treasure trove of gossip. They talk about Thomas Christie who once went to London but rumour has it he has returned and that his fiance had dumped him for another man.
“Now, we all know Thomas went to London because of – the tragedy.” Hubert’s tone was solemn.
Jacoba nodded.
“But, who could imagine that tragedy followed him right into London and struck him down there with a vengeance?”
Jacoba braced herself.
“What happened?”
The timer went off for Marge’s hair.
Hubert ignored it – more important matters prevailed.
“His dog escaped from its leash and jumped in front of a Bus 73, I think it was in the direction of Islington and –”
“Hubert!” Marge called. “My hair.”
“Coming, love.”
Hubert strutted towards the sink.
Jacoba’s nostrils quivered with anticipation.
He continued: “Thomas jumped in front of the bus to save his dog, which he managed, the dog was alright with barely a scratch. But he himself was badly hurt.”
“How bad?” Marge said, her head now wrapped in a soft white towel.
“He lost a bloody eye!” Hubert said, saving the worst for last. “Pardon my French, ladies.” He unfolded the towel on Marge’s head and started combing her blue wisps of hair. He inspected the roots and approved of their state. “I hear he looks ever so handsome with his eye patch.” He sighed. “Like a pirate, so romantic.”
“The man, Jacoba said pensively, “fell in front of a bus but somehow all he did was lose an eye?”
“Well, no, he’s in a wheelchair, of course. Didn’t I mention that?” Hubert shrugged. “That eye was poked out by his dog, ironically.” He unleashed the blow-dryer from the trolley. (249 words)
(In case you wondered what the ‘tragedy’ was:
Hubert continued: “I say it’s a miracle he still likes dogs after his old man was torn apart by the hounds.”)
I wish! 🙂
Of course, Debi! Duh!
I like the idea of Paperclip Pop-up Debi …
I remember having just passed my driver’s exam and being nervous about driving without my calm driving instructor Vera sitting next to me to keep me calm. So I’d pretend she was there with me in the car whenever there was a situation that needed keeping calm. I’ll gladly apply that to an imaginary Debi … unless you give a second editing course where we’ll all happily tag along. THIS IS SUCH AN AMAZING GROUP OF WRITERS!
On to week Five, yay!
HILARIOUS!!!
Hi Chithrup,
It’s definitely an extra challenge, yes …
But I think it’s just a matter of time before you’ll have retrained your intuition and it’ll be second nature to slide on that PD-scale!
Hi Debi,
So I have a question:
What happens after “Jeez, this is better than Viagra!” ? Does the story slide back to PD3?
Anja
Hi Lucia,
For sure, I worried if I’d ever dare try writing a new story ever again!
This PD-business feels almost mathematical – with all the numbers 1 to 5 … Ha!
But we learned to understand our writer’s intuition, I’m all for that.
Hope we’ll all stay in touch after these six weeks, Lucia. I think Debi is bringing out the best in all of us and we lift each other up.
Anja
Hi Gillian,
I think because it’s ‘tense neutral’; that line ‘No, his fault, so his mission‘.
That’s the transition to the present tense of ‘He’s the Mission Impossible guy‘., as well as ‘Let’s go‘.
I think we have to always slide into the next PD-level, that we can’t change tenses without transitioning neutrally. When in doubt (which I think we all are), think of the camera zooming … Can’t zoom from PD1 to PD5, have to use the whole spectrum.
Enjoy your Sunday,
Anja
Hi Chithrupa,
I’ve been rereading your passage because it’s so complicated because you have Xander the narrator and Xander the protagonist.
I love the rewritten spectrum – Debi’s doing a good impression of Xander’s voice, empathy’s a writer’s best friend …
But then she says she ‘removed his Mum to make it less complicated’ but ended with “Get in there, my son.”
Does that mean it’s Xander telling the toucan to ‘get in’?! Or is Mum telling Xander to ‘get in’?
Anja
Hi Debi,
I was so afraid to look at your reply and then it’s such a wonderful reply, I’m so happy! I’m very glad to let my instincts guide me but your explanation of PD2 helps a lot.
Originally, Wendall was a 39-year old man, but maybe that’s too old but I liked the tragedy of it. I agree it’s harder for ‘older’ people to change than for younger people so, as usual, I will let it sink in for a couple days and maybe wake up with the right age for Wendall. (Alexandra was 29 in this draft, and I thought of moving Wendall’s age to 35).
“PD 2 shows Wendall from the outside standing on the platform clutching his umbrella” – but no action, correct? No, because action would turn it PD3 …
So it was called British Rail before the privatisation? Honestly, I had not done thorough research on your train system, I was drawing from Dutch experiences! Every fall, the leaves upset the schedule very much … Don’t even mention the snow. It’s not the weather, I heard, it’s the computer systems. That’s why we never had those troubles in the early days! The cow’s upsetting the schedule’s very funny – should be able to happen in Holland as well 🙂 And like in Great Britain, they separated the trains from the maintenance of the roads so they blame each other for neglect – or maybe all problems, sigh.
I’m very pleased that I understood this slightly better than I realised, I guess, ha.
Thank you for explaining it so expertly, as well as gently!
Anja
