How the Cookie Crumbles

Life in the fast and slow lanes after SIXTY-FIVE

Sunday Snippets – Blog Hop #5

12 Comments


Jennifer Eaton of http://jennifermeaton.com/sunday-snippets/ has initiated this Critique Blog Hop. Read the rules and sign up. Do checkout the other submissions at the bottom of this post.

sunday_snippets2

I appreciate the input you’ve all taken time to share so far. Your critiques have been amazing and most helpful. I thank you. Because of of their  abbreviated length compared to novels, I plan on posting minimal snippets of my short stories with no edits shown. Part one of The Loner can be found here: https://letscutthecrap.wordpress.com/2013/02/17/sunday-snippets-blog-hop-4/

~ * ~

Hank walked deeper into the room. Although built like a linebacker, the stink of cat and something like chicken shit knocked the breath out of him.

I’m sure the place wasn’t this disgusting—what was it—four months ago?”

“Jules, where are you?  He shuffled forward.

This is no place for man or beast. It’s time for a bonfire and weenie roast.”

“Jules!”

Hank tripped past overflowing bags of chicken feed and kibble beneath the table. Squaring his shoulders, he headed towards the doorway of what Jules called: the boudoir. He lowered his voice to a whisper. ”Jules, you in here?”  

I hope you’re not frozen to death somewhere.

Gasping and expelling his breath, Hank stumbled into the bedroom. His shoulders tightened as if in a vise. The old cot Jules used for a bed was a jumble of quilts and blankets, as if someone had dumped laundry for folding, except it wasn’t spring-fresh.

Hank clenched his teeth and dug through the mishmash of bedclothes. “You better be in here you old son-of-a-bitch. I’m not coming back again after this warm welcome,” he blathered.

Hands trembling and knees shaking, he swept a meaty mitt across the mattress. Something solid hid there. Hank gave it a tentative tug. His other hand pushed back the hodgepodge on the bed and landed on a chest. A frail tick strained against his open palm.

“Hey,” wheezed a tiny sleep-slurred voice. Skinny arms flayed like a baby bird. Old Jules trembled and kicked like a paper dragon in the breeze. His silver and nicotine-coloured Fu Manchu swayed back and forth like old rope.

~ ** ~

Click on over to these great writers to check out and critique what they’ve posted!

http://mermaidssinging.wordpress.com/

http://caitlinsternwrites.wordpress.com/

http://ileandrayoung.com

http://jennykellerford.wordpress.com

http://jennifermeaton.com/

http://richardleonard.wordpress.com

http://jordannaeast.com

http://itsjennythewren.wordpress.com/

http://wehrismypen.wordpress.com

http://jlroeder.wordpress.com

https://letscutthecrap.wordpress.com/

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Author: Let's CUT the Crap!

I'm getting a little LONG in the tooth and have things to say about---ouch---AGEing. I believe it's certainly a state of mind but sometimes it's nice to hear that you're NORMAL. I enjoy reading by the truckload. I'm a grandma but I don't feel OLD although I'm not so young anymore. My plan is to stick it out as long as I can on this lovely planet and only will leave it kicking and screaming!

12 thoughts on “Sunday Snippets – Blog Hop #5

  1. I FOUND A LOT OF THIS CONFUSING BECAUSE OF THE MISSING QUOTES – IT MIGHT BE BETTER IF THAT IS CLEARED UP —

    I’m sure the place wasn’t this disgusting—what was it—four months ago?” THIS HAS NO START QUOTE, BUT AN ENDIG QUOTE, AND IT WAS IN ITALICS ABOVE, SO I WASN’T SURE WHAT IT REALLY WAS.

    “Jules, where are you? He shuffled forward. AGAIN HERE, NO ENDQUOTE, BUT I THINK I KNEW WHAT YOU MEANT HERE.

    This is no place for man or beast. It’s time for a bonfire and weenie roast.” AND THERE AGAIN NO START QUOTE, WHICH MAKES IT SEEM LIKE ALL THESE SENTACNES ARE RUNNING TOGETHER. I’M HAVNG TROUBLE WITH WHO IS WHO AND WHO IS SPEAKING

    “Jules!”

    Hank tripped past overflowing bags of chicken feed and kibble beneath the table. Squaring his shoulders, he headed towards the doorway of what Jules called: I DON’T THINK THAT COLON IS NECESSARY.

    the boudoir. He lowered his voice to a whisper. ”Jules, you in here?”

    I hope you’re not frozen to death somewhere. THIS IS AN OBVIOUS INNER TOUGHT, WHICH MAKES ME CONFUSED AS TO WHAT YOU WERE DOING ABOVE.

    Gasping and expelling his breath, Hank stumbled into the bedroom. His shoulders tightened as if in a vise. The old cot Jules used for a bed was a jumble of quilts and blankets, A JUMBLE OF QUITLES AND BLANKETS LAY ATOP HIS COT — TAKES OUT THE “WAS” THAT MAKES IT TELL.

    as if someone had dumped laundry for folding, except it wasn’t spring-fresh.

    Hank clenched his teeth and dug through the mishmash of bedclothes. “You better be in here you old son-of-a-bitch. I’m not coming back again after this warm welcome,” he blathered. i’M NOT FOND OF THE DIALOG TG HERE. sINCE HE IS THE ONLY ONE IN THE SCENE, I THINK YOU CAN DROP IT.

    Hands trembling and knees shaking, he swept a meaty mitt across the mattress. Something solid hid there. INSTEAD OF SAYING THIS, LET US FEEL WHAT HE FEELS TO MAKE HIM THINK THERE IS SOMETHING THERE.

    Hank gave it a tentative tug. His other hand pushed back the hodgepodge on the bed and landed on a chest. A frail tick strained against his open palm.

    “Hey,” wheezed a tiny sleep-slurred voice. Skinny arms flayed like a baby bird. Old Jules trembled and kicked like a paper dragon in the breeze. His silver and nicotine-coloured Fu Manchu swayed back and forth like old rope.

    SO, WAS OLD JULES UNDER THE BLANKET? I WAS A LITTLE CONFUSED BY THE END.

    MY CONFUSIONS MAY BE ONSTLY BASED IN THE MISSING PUCTUATION HERE AND THERE. ONE SEEMS LIKE A TYPO, BUT SEVERAL MAKE ME WONDER TO THE POINT OF CUFUSING MYSELF MORE THAN PORBABLY WARRENTED — AND I’M TIRED AND MAKING DINNER AT THE SAME TIME (SO IT COULD BE ME) 🙂

    GOOD LUCK WITH IT!

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  2. I got lost in the dialogue, too. I’m guessing he’s thinking and talking. But it isn’t possible to tell for sure. Usually thoughts don’t have their own paragraphs.
    “Although built like a linebacker, the stink of cat and something like chicken shit knocked the breath out of him.” What does his build have to do with his dealing with stink? Maybe you could mention what might do so? Like someone who mucks out stalls eventually getting used to the smell.
    I’m loving all the detail, and the internal dialogue, but I could use a little more on what Hank feels as he sorts through the stuff on the bed, too.
    Is this guy bed-bound? Because I wondered how Jules had time for facial hair grooming when he lived in such a sty.

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    • Thanks, Caitlin. Once I realized I’d made changes but not completed them properly (before hitting the Publish button), I’ve cleaned up this piece and am much happier with it after everyone’s generous comments. I so appreciate the input.

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  3. I’ll not be critiquing anything.
    I liked the story – could see the man looking for the buddy, worried, the dirty smelly place.
    The inner thoughts were clearly visible.
    But then again, I read for fun, not for a newspaper 😉

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  4. Inner dialog versus speaking aloud has already been brought to your attention.
    His build, is extraneous to his reaction to the stench.

    The story building should simply be his reaction, both sensory and emotional. Why is he looking for his friend and why will this be his last time.

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  5. Sorry this is so late. I was determined to do the critique for the week I missed so I hope my words are still useful to you.

    Would Hank trip over the chicken feed and the kibble bags if they are beneath the table? Maybe on the contents if they have spilled out, since they are overflowing, but maybe not on the bags themselves.

    ‘Gasping and expelling’ feels a little clunky; they are both quite strong words for the action of breathing in and then out, for me they don’t seem to fit together as well as other possibilities.

    A vice tends to squeeze, though it does this as a result of tightening. Maybe his shoulders would tighten ‘like’ a vice, instead of like being in one? If in the vice, they would be squeezed or compressed.

    Hehee, I love the ‘meaty mitt;’ it’s a personal pleasure of mine… alliteration in descriptions. I think it gives things a lovely poetic feel. It trips off the tongue nicely.

    I had to read the line about the chest twice. At first I thought ‘chest of drawers’ and then realise it was a person. It may just be that I’m not playing close enough attention. O.o

    Also, the skinny arms… did you mean ‘flailed.’ If I’m correct, ‘flayed’ with that spelling would be to skin something!

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    • Thank you, thank you, Ileandra. I am so heartened with your response and careful feedback, and am most appreciative of the time you have taken to do this. You pose fine points which make me rethink and wonder, “What was I thinking?” I had this silly idea my spelling was A1. Ha. Not so, I see here. Lately, I’ve been made aware of choosing words incorrectly.

      Good catches. All told, your points are constructive and will help make this piece much more correct.

      I like nothing better than a truthful and honest exchange and you have done that for me. I am grateful. It’s all about doing better, isn’t it. Until next time?

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