next »

[redperil]

Tweet

A little bit of flash fiction inspired by my days going to the laundrette. Any thoughts or criticisms are welcome. Am I consistent with tense? That's one thing that concerns me in particular. Anyway, enjoy, or don't. Thanks 


End of Cycle

The ragged little terrier curled up in the corner of the launderette, its body shaking from the vibrations of the beastly washers. Five feet away, a large African woman was flipping and folding colorful bed sheets; the greens, reds and blues dancing in time with the thump, thump, thump, of the spin cycle. The sun was sinking in the clear blue sky, throwing a bright glare through the launderette window. The dog stared up at the swaying curves of this woman. Back lit by the end of day, she had an ethereal glow and he pondered for a moment that perhaps his time had come, the time his mother had foretold before he was pulled from the nipple.

The light turned grey-blue as a cloud cast across the dying sun. The little dog blinked, adjusting to the sudden shadow, a black spot remaining where the sun had blazed moments before. As he opened his eyes, he found a large set of white teeth inches from his face. Pulling back, it revealed the large smiling face of the exotic African woman; he had never before seen a face so full of kindness, with large brown eyes so full of maternal warmth.

A large mahogany hand, covered in gold, pressed down on his head, running down his bony shoulders, along his mangy coat, before pulling up and off his tail. The washers and dryers stood silent as this enigma threw out a belly laugh that rang like bells. The pup climbed into her large bosom and promptly closed its eyes. This was either the beginning, or the end.   

[Vincent Turner]

Tweet

Hmmm, not sure about this. I think it the change in perspective that throws me.
Maybe its the way i am reading it, if so, apologies. First this starts of describing the dog .....

The ragged little terrier curled up in the corner of the launderette, its body shaking from the vibrations of the beastly washers

but then the focus shifts and i read  

and he pondered for a moment that perhaps his time had come, the time his mother had foretold before he was pulled from the nipple.

how does the narrator know this??- maybe it would read better if this was written by the dog himself, that way the description's would feel more genuine, as they are being described by the dog himself. i.e

he had never before seen a face so full of kindness, with large brown eyes so full of maternal warmth.

As it stands at the moment, it does not feel true.

There are snippets of this that are fine without any need for change

The pup climbed into her large bosom and promptly closed its eyes. This was either the beginning, or the end.

   
that was nice.

The light turned grey-blue as a cloud cast across the dying sun

this for me is less so.

to cliche for me. Especially as it is about the sun/clouds/sky- things which feature so commonly in everything we read, and as such, must, to me, either be told factually or with more gusto.

sure i am a fine one to talk, my writing is far from perfect, but i know what you can do and that you can improve on this, often its easier to critique the work of others than it is to do our own.

Best regards

any news on alligator stew issue two???

Vincent

[Father Luke]

Tweet

A little bit of flash fiction inspired by my days going to the laundrette.

Stephen King worked at a Launderette while writing Carrie. Didn't he? I think so.
He was teaching, too. Funny. I read his: "On Writing" ...right up to the part where
he wrote that he hoped he wouldn't be fifty years old and never have been published.
At that point I put the book down. I'm fifty. Maybe I'll pick it up again some time.

Any thoughts or criticisms are welcome. Am I consistent with tense? That's one thing that concerns me in particular. Anyway, enjoy, or don't. Thanks  

Let's have a look...

End of Cycle

I like the title. It implies the completion of something. It also alludes to
"laundry", and so there is a play on words. Not so much any more, but puns were once
the height of humor. Done well, they still have universal appeal. The cleverness is there.

The ragged little terrier

Here is the first line. red? You are showing here, not telling.

curled up in the corner of the launderette, its body shaking from the vibrations of the beastly washers.

its body shaking from the vibrations of the beastly washers - is awkward.
I suppose it's grammatically correct, but it reads awkwardly. I'd like to read it
like this:

The ragged little terrier curled itself up in the corner of the launderette. Its body shook from the vibrations of made by the beastly washers.

Five feet away, a large African woman

You've used curled when writing about the dog, so the woman...

was flipping and folding

flipped and folded

colorful bed sheets; the greens, reds and blues dancing in time with the thump, thump, thump, of the spin cycle.

I'll stop here to comment about the following. When I find myself writing clichés...
sun sinking in the sky, etc., I like to deconstruct that.

The sun slowly melted into the day which was... or whatever. Clichés hide the
work a writer must do. As an exercise, see how many different ways you can say
the sun set, red. Then use your favorite. It may very well be that you only want to
write:  The sun set.

The sun was sinking in the clear blue sky, throwing a bright glare through the launderette window. The dog stared up at the swaying curves of this woman.

Technically she is back lit by the shadows cast from the sun setting. The end of day,
technically speaking, has no light what so ever. Eh? Try writing this again with that
in mind.

Back lit by the end of day, she had an ethereal glow and he pondered for a moment that perhaps his time had come, the time his mother had foretold before he was pulled from the nipple.

Couple of thoughts about the following:

You like commas rather than periods.

Short sentences are alright. Hemingway used them. A lot. One thought. One sentence.
Punch. Punch. Punch. And that's okay.


Faulkner, on the other hand, much preferred long, languid, rolling sentences, pregnant
with description, and wandering on their own through vast fields of thought, never so much arriving, as much as wandering, while noticing, and enjoying the scenery, the world in which it was thrown, and...


...got it? Alright. I'll shut up.

But watch for clichés, which I've marked with brown

The light turned grey-blue

This is incomplete:

as a cloud cast across

Clouds may move across, etc.

the dying sun. The little dog blinked, adjusting to the sudden shadow, a black spot remaining where the sun had blazed moments before. As he opened his eyes, he found a large set of white teeth inches from his face. Pulling back, it revealed the large smiling face of the exotic African woman; he had never before seen a face so full of kindness, with large brown eyes so full of maternal warmth.

A large mahogany hand, covered in gold, pressed down on his head, running down his bony shoulders, along his mangy coat, before pulling up and off his tail. The washers and dryers stood silent as this enigma threw out a belly laugh that rang like bells.

I would like into the folds of her bosom, or onto the warmth of her bosom. Not into her bosom.

The pup climbed into her large bosom and promptly closed its eyes. This was either the beginning, or the end.    

If you go through those last paragraphs and look for descriptors...

exotic
large
running down his bony shoulders
blazing sunsets

and unpack that shit, you might be surprised how much you can really get out of this.

What do hands do when they run down?
What makes for exotic?

Do you see? When you take time to really describe, and unpack thoughts, the
sentences hitch up their britches and can stand proudly on their own.

Have you ever read Cathedral? The Ray Carver piece? You should. Here:

http://www.misanthropytoday.com/cathedral-by-raymond-carver-weekend-short-story/


Carver uses very few adjectives in that piece. Very few. Most of what happens happens
because of action. When there is clear, and detailed action, some things may be
omitted. Telling a reader what to think is one of them.  

See if you can omit adjectives by the telling of the tale. Or tail.

Tail.

I kill me.

[redperil]

Tweet

Thanks for taking the time to offer your thoughts guys. I'm going to take out my scissors this weekend and will post an edit next week. You're right, I should have the guts to let the scene do the talking without all that adjective baggage!

[Tessombra]

Tweet

Coming to a story after Father Luke is sort of like looking at a thumb nail of a great looking model, show up and while its still appetizing, you're now looking at 500 percent and you can see the bones.

Okay, I'm a little rusty with creative writing critique, and since Father Luke already hit you with what to fix, I'll go a different route; what drew me TO the story.   First, it was rich.   I liked the descriptions and frankly, I was interested to see what you could with under 300 words.   After that, it made me curious.   What was that moment the dog had been told of?  The choice was characteristic of dogs, or what we would expect, but the thoughts are not, and I found that refreshing.