Rows upon rows of olive trees studded the rust-colored hills like cloves, diamond-shaped, but on I drove, patterns stamped in my tired brain, towards the Islamic jewel of Spain, the Alhambra.
Beautiful! With the opening and the closing look, I feel like I'm driving past those olive trees; you make me look and look again with the simile and the precision of "diamond-shaped." Now the narrator is immersed in the setting. The entire sentence simulates driving, heading to the Alhambra. With "tired" brain we get a sense that the narrator has been driving for a while, and with the "Islamic jewel," there's a sense of a desired destination.
Through hour after hour of sluggish traffic, shut tight windows, wildfire smoke, crept carloads of families, kids jammed between hastily packed bags, dozing though it was midday.
I feel how the families and kids are buried under the traffic, the stale air, and the woodsmoke. "Crept" is the right verb here; it feels like there is so much in the way, so much burying the movement of the families and the cars, the only possible movement is "crept." "Jammed" also magnifies this situation. So good!
I love ‘sluggish traffic’ - so slow even the slugs are blowing raspberries out the window. I first read it as ‘kids jammed into hastily packed bags’ but you’re much more patient an observer for that sort of carry on. I know it’s every reader’s lips so I’m going to ask it on their behalf: Are they there yet? 😄
They're out of the smoke but can't find a hotel room so they're spending the night sleeping in the car in a parking space behind a tire outlet. Thanks for your comments. I love kids jammed into hastily packed bags.
In the pressurized density of the predawn Jerusalem darkness, quiet, preternaturally still, walked a spiritually ambitious Jewish boy, naively excited, determined to daven with the early rising Breslover hasidim he so idolized, though they´d shun him if they half suspected the truth about his baal teshuva gay ass.
So good! I love the delay and the hyperbaton — here, it feels as though the boy is buried in history and culture. As Lori mentioned, "pressurized density" is working on many levels, including the tension of the Breslover hasidim if they found out about his "gay ass." The mix of high and low-register language is fantastic--I'm a big fan.
I saw a great indie film about two Hasidim men in Jerusalem who fall in love and are ultimately exiled, and they also portrayed the ultimate subculture within a subculture, usually confined to "particular friendships" in Yeshiva, tolerated as long as they were disguised as such, and followed by marriage and children. There are so many gay men leading lives of quite desperation all over the Middle East - very reminiscent of England or the US 100 or so years ago.
Your sentence travels beautifully from the external context of his life to the internal voice that labels himself abusively. Boy, do I remember that without fondness. (Thank God it only lasted for the first few years of puberty, but it was rough.)
Buried in the back of the bus, sleep deprived, three bags in hand, sat Valentina, headphones on to choke out morning chit-chat, though no music was playing.
So good! So many things are burying Valentina--the back of the bus, the lack of sleep, the bags, then we find her. "Choke out" is original and leaps out; it's magnified by the alliteration with "chit-chat." And with the image of the headphone on, she's trying to bury herself away from the noise.
I think "was playing" works better (I'm assuming she didn't have noise-cancelling). I felt like I needed a bit more visual detail about the three bags. But as a set up for a scene about Valentina on the move it reads well.
In circle on circle of quiet judgment around me, silent, years deep, stand a handful of people — my children, first and foremost, and a few close friends who love me without condition.
From riff to riff the punk band roared, thundered, electrified the air, flying across the grotto's green stage, edging to chaos, swirling in the pent up rage of the frenzied crowd.
By stacking the verbs, "roared, thundered, electrified," you inject a lot of energy into the sentence. The present participles, "flying, edging, swirling," while adjectives are formed from verbs, so they, too, add energy. I like the heavy stresses of PENT UP RAGE, which captures the feeling of anger.
On every wall of his apartment, colorful, cacophonous, erupted his art, its seductive originality demanding the attention of every visitor, but also earning it.
Oh, I really like that the experience of the art--colorful, cacophonous--comes first before the word "art." "Erupted" is a great world, amplifying the experience. It feels like the art wants attention, and it gets it. The "but" and what follows, keeps us from thinking it's unearned. It is earned.
The images are so strong. With the word "saddened," I find myself applying it to the tree (ie, the tree is sad at what's it's become), and also the narrator. It's almost as if the sadness seeps into the sentence, upsetting reason and order because of the unusual order of the words, "of trees once."
In charred wicker caskets, putrid, crusty-eyed, hairy-wet limbs folded, snot-wet chins quivering, teetering high upon slow-splitting bamboo scaffolding, below the murky belly of the yawning cavern, lay a loneliness of limp souls, with their grabby mouths still gaping, though their guts were lately lined.
So good! The "limp souls" are buried and buried some more, and in the process, we learn so much about the setting and these souls. The repetition of hyphenated adjectives creates a strong rhythm: "crusty-eyed, hairy-wet, snot-wet, slow-splitting" and within that, the repetition of "wet" (epistrophe). And so much alliteration at the end with the plosive "grabby, gaping, guts." You personify the cavern with "belly of the yawning" cavern.
On portable metal steps dissecting their plane, wide-eyed, bodies exhausted but alert, descended most of a family onto the tarmac, each hand held as if they were in a game at recess, their senses seized by the new surroundings.
Such an interesting way to write a departure from a plane. There's a sense of disorientation, especially "wide eyed, bodies exhausted but alert," and then the hyperbaton, "descended most of a family onto the tarmac." The family doesn't seem in control. If it were written, "the family descended..." there would be more control. Then their vulnerability comes across with "each hand held as if they were in a game at recess." And my sense of disorientation is supported by "their senses seized by the new surroundings."
On the empty road that skirts the training field, in the early morning light, a group of six airmen on bicycles pulled over to the side and took off their caps as an olive-green trailer with a long open bed went slowly by carrying what remained of his single-engine trainer.
Thanks Vishal. The links between movement (men riding bicycles, the slow moving trailer) and the final pause/rest of the trainer wreckage, is what held my interest.
As the new American girl, one of 2 prepubescents enrolled at the elite British boarding school, she resigned herself to the hazing she was about to endure, tied to a tether ball post with long pieces of dirty rope that bound her wrists, her protuberant waist, her skinny ankles, so determined to keep a stiff upper lip as her classmates encircled her one by one at first, then converged like a gaggle of lemmings to unleash fistfuls of dirt on her rigid body now draped in shame.
Against smudged glass of tall candy bins, water-mouthed, noses gone flat and white, stood schoolchildren, small lungs leaving pale ghosts on cold glass below red vine licorice, shiny-blue jawbreakers, sugared lemon drops, each ghost a request the glass kept.
So beautiful! The setting, then the precise details--pieces really--of the children, "water-mouthed, noses gone flat and white," with the latter introducing balance. We come to the verb, "stood," and now the schoolchildren, as if they are buried by the setting, by their desire, their anticipation. I love "pale ghosts on cold glass." The omission of "the" from "the cold glass" creates a crisp, sharp rhythm. You use a series to stuff the sentence with objects of desire. And the lovely surprise at the end with the personification of the glass.
Janine, I can't decide what I admire the most: the noses smooshed flat and white, the mouth-watering anticipation, the colors of the candy, or the ghosts. So very good!
the visual of the the breath on the glass, and the candy, is wonderful, but then the glass keeping these ghosts is next level good. And small lungs leaving pale ghosts.... so fantastic.
I feel the sentence burrowing down, beginning with "deep down," then adding the absence of light. Lots of plosives create a harsh sound which seems appropriate. We come to the base clause, "the devil laughed." This is what is found burrowing down. Then a surprise with "his last laugh, unaware."
That first night of mouldering dank lay unbidden, accusing, over the transported women in timber bunks, low sallow light for eyes fixed in misery on the names of girlfriends, wives and mothers, scratched into the rough grain by men who could also not sleep.
So much mood and atmosphere is created by the opening phrases: "mouldering dank lay unbidden." The night is personified. And "accusing" adds to the animation. This night is over the "transported women," like a cover or blanket. This adjective "transported" makes me so curious. And the precision of "timber" bunks, too, adds to the intrigue. The past enters through the image of the scratched names.
So good! I love the rhythm of "hiss upon curved hiss," which echoes with "stalk after stalk." And you use synecdoche, the part substituting for the whole with "a callused palm." It adds a level of intrigue and originality. I can hear the hiss and the sound of the sweeping arcs made by the blade.
Rows upon rows of olive trees studded the rust-colored hills like cloves, diamond-shaped, but on I drove, patterns stamped in my tired brain, towards the Islamic jewel of Spain, the Alhambra.
Beautiful! With the opening and the closing look, I feel like I'm driving past those olive trees; you make me look and look again with the simile and the precision of "diamond-shaped." Now the narrator is immersed in the setting. The entire sentence simulates driving, heading to the Alhambra. With "tired" brain we get a sense that the narrator has been driving for a while, and with the "Islamic jewel," there's a sense of a desired destination.
Nice paciing. Slowly bringing us to a visual delight.
Through hour after hour of sluggish traffic, shut tight windows, wildfire smoke, crept carloads of families, kids jammed between hastily packed bags, dozing though it was midday.
The endless slog of escaping danger. Well done,.
I feel how the families and kids are buried under the traffic, the stale air, and the woodsmoke. "Crept" is the right verb here; it feels like there is so much in the way, so much burying the movement of the families and the cars, the only possible movement is "crept." "Jammed" also magnifies this situation. So good!
I love ‘sluggish traffic’ - so slow even the slugs are blowing raspberries out the window. I first read it as ‘kids jammed into hastily packed bags’ but you’re much more patient an observer for that sort of carry on. I know it’s every reader’s lips so I’m going to ask it on their behalf: Are they there yet? 😄
They're out of the smoke but can't find a hotel room so they're spending the night sleeping in the car in a parking space behind a tire outlet. Thanks for your comments. I love kids jammed into hastily packed bags.
I feel the claustrophobia inside the car, tight quarters, acquiescence of the children and the parents’ anxiety. Well done!
My try...
In the pressurized density of the predawn Jerusalem darkness, quiet, preternaturally still, walked a spiritually ambitious Jewish boy, naively excited, determined to daven with the early rising Breslover hasidim he so idolized, though they´d shun him if they half suspected the truth about his baal teshuva gay ass.
So good! I love the delay and the hyperbaton — here, it feels as though the boy is buried in history and culture. As Lori mentioned, "pressurized density" is working on many levels, including the tension of the Breslover hasidim if they found out about his "gay ass." The mix of high and low-register language is fantastic--I'm a big fan.
Great movement. Slow and deliberate mimicking the life he's living, until that final moment: he is exposed.
Pressurized density describes the boy also - he is so many things, and then the turn!
Wonderfully witty sting of the whip with that final segment. Love it.
Powerful unexpected language spotlights the setting AND the boy's feelings.
I saw a great indie film about two Hasidim men in Jerusalem who fall in love and are ultimately exiled, and they also portrayed the ultimate subculture within a subculture, usually confined to "particular friendships" in Yeshiva, tolerated as long as they were disguised as such, and followed by marriage and children. There are so many gay men leading lives of quite desperation all over the Middle East - very reminiscent of England or the US 100 or so years ago.
Your sentence travels beautifully from the external context of his life to the internal voice that labels himself abusively. Boy, do I remember that without fondness. (Thank God it only lasted for the first few years of puberty, but it was rough.)
A'int that the truth. It's always rough when you go against the grain.
Buried in the back of the bus, sleep deprived, three bags in hand, sat Valentina, headphones on to choke out morning chit-chat, though no music was playing.
So good! So many things are burying Valentina--the back of the bus, the lack of sleep, the bags, then we find her. "Choke out" is original and leaps out; it's magnified by the alliteration with "chit-chat." And with the image of the headphone on, she's trying to bury herself away from the noise.
Thank you so much for the feedback! I am so excited to participate
I like the hook at the end, "though no music was playing". Makes me curious about the character, want to read more.
Thanks, Shawn!
Your words, this scene, even Valentina herself, seem to be made for this structure! Love it.
Thanks, Sarah!
I think "was playing" works better (I'm assuming she didn't have noise-cancelling). I felt like I needed a bit more visual detail about the three bags. But as a set up for a scene about Valentina on the move it reads well.
Thanks, Richard! I'll work on the visual detail. I appreciate your feedback!
Curious what folks think: "was playing?" Or "played"
For rhythm, I'd keep it "was playing." You've built a pattern: no MUsic was PLAying. (heavier stresses capitalized)
I agree with Nina
In circle on circle of quiet judgment around me, silent, years deep, stand a handful of people — my children, first and foremost, and a few close friends who love me without condition.
Mysterious in outcome, but direct in feeling.
From riff to riff the punk band roared, thundered, electrified the air, flying across the grotto's green stage, edging to chaos, swirling in the pent up rage of the frenzied crowd.
By stacking the verbs, "roared, thundered, electrified," you inject a lot of energy into the sentence. The present participles, "flying, edging, swirling," while adjectives are formed from verbs, so they, too, add energy. I like the heavy stresses of PENT UP RAGE, which captures the feeling of anger.
Great movement. The band playing faster and faster louder and louder, with crowd roaring them on.
Yes! Lots of movement with these strong verbs. You captured the energy of the event and I feel like I’m in the midst of the crowd.
On every wall of his apartment, colorful, cacophonous, erupted his art, its seductive originality demanding the attention of every visitor, but also earning it.
Oh, I really like that the experience of the art--colorful, cacophonous--comes first before the word "art." "Erupted" is a great world, amplifying the experience. It feels like the art wants attention, and it gets it. The "but" and what follows, keeps us from thinking it's unearned. It is earned.
Erupted his art is tremendous. It goes past what's before it and becomes the earned attention.
Sticks and strips of wood thrown down on the ground, saddened, so rotten, of trees once, rejected now their use has come to an end.
The images are so strong. With the word "saddened," I find myself applying it to the tree (ie, the tree is sad at what's it's become), and also the narrator. It's almost as if the sadness seeps into the sentence, upsetting reason and order because of the unusual order of the words, "of trees once."
thank you Nina!
I like the way you move from detritus to the death of something so large.
Thank you so much Norm!
Voila!
In charred wicker caskets, putrid, crusty-eyed, hairy-wet limbs folded, snot-wet chins quivering, teetering high upon slow-splitting bamboo scaffolding, below the murky belly of the yawning cavern, lay a loneliness of limp souls, with their grabby mouths still gaping, though their guts were lately lined.
So good! The "limp souls" are buried and buried some more, and in the process, we learn so much about the setting and these souls. The repetition of hyphenated adjectives creates a strong rhythm: "crusty-eyed, hairy-wet, snot-wet, slow-splitting" and within that, the repetition of "wet" (epistrophe). And so much alliteration at the end with the plosive "grabby, gaping, guts." You personify the cavern with "belly of the yawning" cavern.
Thank you Nina. Good to shake away a few of those well-formed pesky cobwebs. 😁
You move us into hell like a painting of lost souls.
This is an amazing scene, and "lay a loneliness of limp souls" is so good.
Thank you Lori, much appreciated.
On portable metal steps dissecting their plane, wide-eyed, bodies exhausted but alert, descended most of a family onto the tarmac, each hand held as if they were in a game at recess, their senses seized by the new surroundings.
Such an interesting way to write a departure from a plane. There's a sense of disorientation, especially "wide eyed, bodies exhausted but alert," and then the hyperbaton, "descended most of a family onto the tarmac." The family doesn't seem in control. If it were written, "the family descended..." there would be more control. Then their vulnerability comes across with "each hand held as if they were in a game at recess." And my sense of disorientation is supported by "their senses seized by the new surroundings."
Thank you, Nina, and thank you for another provocative sentence!
Slowly down the steps the exhausted family moves on keeping each other close. Nicely done.
Thank you, Norm!
Thank you, Norm!
On the empty road that skirts the training field, in the early morning light, a group of six airmen on bicycles pulled over to the side and took off their caps as an olive-green trailer with a long open bed went slowly by carrying what remained of his single-engine trainer.
A slow reveal of the remains of the plane. Moves purposefully and kept me waiting for what happened.
Thanks for the comment, Norm.
Thanks Vishal. The links between movement (men riding bicycles, the slow moving trailer) and the final pause/rest of the trainer wreckage, is what held my interest.
Thanks Richard. I'm glad you liked it.
The final reveal is so powerful, Vishal. The whole scene is well rendered, but then the reason for it is so simply stated, but devastating.
Thanks, Kevin!
As the new American girl, one of 2 prepubescents enrolled at the elite British boarding school, she resigned herself to the hazing she was about to endure, tied to a tether ball post with long pieces of dirty rope that bound her wrists, her protuberant waist, her skinny ankles, so determined to keep a stiff upper lip as her classmates encircled her one by one at first, then converged like a gaggle of lemmings to unleash fistfuls of dirt on her rigid body now draped in shame.
this captures a hazing ritual whose outcome is always shame.
Against smudged glass of tall candy bins, water-mouthed, noses gone flat and white, stood schoolchildren, small lungs leaving pale ghosts on cold glass below red vine licorice, shiny-blue jawbreakers, sugared lemon drops, each ghost a request the glass kept.
So beautiful! The setting, then the precise details--pieces really--of the children, "water-mouthed, noses gone flat and white," with the latter introducing balance. We come to the verb, "stood," and now the schoolchildren, as if they are buried by the setting, by their desire, their anticipation. I love "pale ghosts on cold glass." The omission of "the" from "the cold glass" creates a crisp, sharp rhythm. You use a series to stuff the sentence with objects of desire. And the lovely surprise at the end with the personification of the glass.
Thank you, Nina. 🌹
Janine, I can't decide what I admire the most: the noses smooshed flat and white, the mouth-watering anticipation, the colors of the candy, or the ghosts. So very good!
Thank you, Sarah 🌹
the visual of the the breath on the glass, and the candy, is wonderful, but then the glass keeping these ghosts is next level good. And small lungs leaving pale ghosts.... so fantastic.
Thank you, Kevin 🍭
The repetition of "ghosts" makes me wonder if this is a candy store in the afterlife.
Thanks for the thought, Mark 🤔
I like the personification of the glass...seeing at something that can "keep."
Thank you!
Really like the kids in the candy store. All the small pieces of detail add up to a vivid picture of the small fry.
Thank you, Norm
Deep down where demons lurk, darkness, blacker than black, awaiting her redemption, the devil laughed, his last laugh, unaware.
Oh we are going down, way down and we're left with the devil, himself, laughing.
I feel the sentence burrowing down, beginning with "deep down," then adding the absence of light. Lots of plosives create a harsh sound which seems appropriate. We come to the base clause, "the devil laughed." This is what is found burrowing down. Then a surprise with "his last laugh, unaware."
That first night of mouldering dank lay unbidden, accusing, over the transported women in timber bunks, low sallow light for eyes fixed in misery on the names of girlfriends, wives and mothers, scratched into the rough grain by men who could also not sleep.
So much mood and atmosphere is created by the opening phrases: "mouldering dank lay unbidden." The night is personified. And "accusing" adds to the animation. This night is over the "transported women," like a cover or blanket. This adjective "transported" makes me so curious. And the precision of "timber" bunks, too, adds to the intrigue. The past enters through the image of the scratched names.
I like the memory of names scratched into the wall as a way to see the history.
Hiss upon curved hiss, a blade bites through stalk after stalk. In sweeping arcs, a callused palm empties a hanging terrace of maize.
So good! I love the rhythm of "hiss upon curved hiss," which echoes with "stalk after stalk." And you use synecdoche, the part substituting for the whole with "a callused palm." It adds a level of intrigue and originality. I can hear the hiss and the sound of the sweeping arcs made by the blade.