Thank you. I will go back and look at some of the wording. The grammar and punctuation will have to be left up to a professional. I totally cannot do that. I appreciate your feedback.
Novel Treatments / Sitting in the Front
3
In the midst of all the hoopla sat Eula Mae Jackson, or Mother Jack, as she was affectionately called. Mother Jack smiled with approval as her eyes wandered over the spirited congregation. A stalwart elder of Little Ebenezer, Eula had been with the church since its inception over twenty-odd years ago.
Next to Reverend Hopkins, she was regarded as one of the cornerstones of the small church. Members with problems were referred to Eula Mae first, before they were allowed to disturb the Reverend. It was an honored position, and one Eula Mae didn’t take lightly. She had worked hard to make Little Ebenezer fruitful and surveying her handiwork filled her with an immense sense of pride.
She could remember when there were only ten of them altogether trying to figure out how they were going to pay the current month’s utility bills. Those days were a distant memory. Thanks to her tireless crusading the tiny church was now filled to capacity. People came from far and wide to partake of Ebenezer’s special brand of worship. Most Sundays they had to put chairs down both sides of the aisles to accommodate the overflow
A satisfied smile stole across Eula’s face as she glanced around at some of her personal recruits. Some had come easily, while others had been more stubborn than a tightly closed lid on a Mason jar, but it had been worth it, lives had been changed and she had played a significant role in their salvation.
Eula spotted Norman Bigelow across the room, eyes closed in prayer, his head shaking to and fro in silent communication with his higher power. A former pimp and street hustler, now he was in charge of the Prison ministry.
Sarah Cook was marking today’s scriptures with a fluorescent marker in her Bible, what a change she had undergone. Once a prostitute on the streets of Riverside, now Sarah was the choir director who led the congregation in praise and worship.
Scott Cavanaugh, newly elected head of the usher board, former petty thief, now Scott was teaching classes on how to keep your property and your financial identity safe from criminals. The list went on and on. It was enough to make her weep with joy.
Eula fanned herself rapidly to the beat of the music. She had a smile and a nod for everyone in her line of vision, smiles that were returned with interest. Everybody loved Mother Jack.
Everybody, that is, except Raymond and Jackie.
Everyone in Riverside knew of Eula Mae and her pristine reputation. She had been the wife of Raymond Lee Jackson for the past thirty-five years, and Lord, that alone should grant her sainthood.
The townspeople viewed Ray as a shiftless, no-account-sorry-excuse of a man unworthy of someone as pure and virtuous as Mother Jack. According to town lore, Ray had once held a high-paying position in Chicago, but since landing on Riverside’s fertile soil his employment record had become increasingly spotty. Disillusioned, he hadn’t held a steady job for more than a few years at a time. Then, when he did work, rumor had it he squandered his money down at Paddy’s, the local bar, drinking, carousing, and chasing young women. It was a shame before Almighty God.
But, saint that she was, Eula Mae refused to say a bad word against her husband. Thin crimson lips would purse
into an invisible line at the first sign of disapproval by an errant tongue. A withering look cast in the direction of the offending party more often than not was capable of stopping the would-be-judger dead in their tracks.
Most were baffled by Mother Jack’s fierce devotion to such a seasoned scalawag, shaking their heads in disbelief, but Eula Mae remained steadfast, and week in and week out she arrived on Ebenezer’s doorstep and put the fate of her absentee family into the Lord’s hands.
Eula and Ray had one daughter, Jacqueline Ray, and if the Lord had one hand tied with Ray, the other one was busy with Jackie.
Jackie Ray was thirty-two, single, never-married with three children born out of wedlock. All of the children had different daddies from neighboring towns, except D’Vonte, who had been sired by the local butcher. Not that it mattered, Lester Wilkens had as much of a relationship with D’Vonte as he did with any of the other stray children he had littered Riverside with outside of his marriage.
D’Vonte was the oldest at fourteen, followed by Jasmine, thirteen, and Sequoia Ann, aged ten. Although their arrivals had been questionable, Eula Mae loved her grandchildren dearly, and if it hadn’t been for her they most likely would have been in social services a long time ago.
But Eula Mae was a good woman, one of the Lord’s own, and when Jackie Ray went AWOL, Eula was always there to pick up the pieces and keep her family in good standing with the Most High.
Eula brushed the negative thoughts aside. This was her time to spend with the Lord. Her earthly problems went by the wayside as she refocused on the present. A quick glance at her watch. 1:08, things were getting ready to jump off any minute now. She sat back to enjoy the rest of service.
Sister Wreneta Hawkins adjusted the mike as she prepared to lead the choir in yet another twenty chorus song. Her nut brown complexion glistened with perspiration as she stretched her vocal chords to their absolute maximum.
Reverend Cyril B. Hopkins sat in his worn, leather high-backed chair with his eyes closed, patting the chair’s arm rhythmically. Reverend Hopkins loved Wreneta’s singing, almost as much as she did.
Ol’ Wreneta’s face was tuned upwards, her neck in full stretch as she sang the same refrain for what seemed the fiftieth time.
Shouts of praise and encouragement echoed throughout the raggedy edifice.
Finally, Ida May Billings could contain herself no longer. Jumping out into the aisles she began doing her “holy” dance at a fast and furious pace. Like clockwork, somewhere between one-fifteen and one-forty five, Ida May would start hollering and screaming at the top of her lungs, her feet going faster than an erratic egg beater as she stomped whatever demons she had in her, under her feet, and into the ground mercilessly.
Several members stood around clapping to the beat of the music and egging her on. It wasn’t long before others joined in her hallelujah praises with their equally intricate and boisterous dancing. The floors shook, the windows rattled, and if you was sitting down your butt bounced back and forth along the rickety pews like a jarful of Mexican Jumping beans.
Eula was so engrossed in the “show” she missed the Reverend’s usual hand signal. His deep baritone interrupted her daydreams.
“And now Mother Eula Mae Jackson will prepare us for dismissal.” The Reverend closed his Bible softly before taking his seat.
A familiar excitement bubbled up in Eula. Her pulse quickened as a warm blush covered her entire body. The eyes of the congregation followed her as she took up residence behind the podium. A few members grabbed her hand as she walked up the aisle acknowledging that they were on the “ins” with her. Her gait brisk and purposeful, Eula made her way to the front of the church.
After reading the announcements and dismissing the congregation, Eula stopped to discuss the church’s annual cookout with the Reverend.
“Everything’s under control, Reveren’. Everybody’s signed up with their dishes and I’m bringin’ my fried chicken.” She paused, a sly smile covering her face anticipating the Reverend’s response.
Reverend Hopkins fairly drooled on himself at the mention of Mother Jack’s famous mouth-watering Cajun fried chicken. “Er, um.” He hesitated. “Uh…”
Eula suppressed a giggle. “Don’t worry Reverend, you’ll get your own special basket like you always do.”
Reverend Hopkins extended a small, delicate hand in grateful appreciation. Pushing his too big eyeglass frames over the bridge of his slightly bulbous nose he grinned broadly. “God bless you, Mother Jack. You know I hate to be a bother.” Licking his lips involuntarily as a vision of a golden batter fried drumstick tap-danced before him. “You are a saint, Eula Mae. Lord, that we had more of you around here.” Shaking his head as he imagined a flock full of parishioners like Eula Mae Jackson and what Little Ebenezer could accomplish with all that dedication and tireless effort.
Eula’s grin made the chandelier beaming overhead look dim by comparison. “Now, you quit flattering an old woman, Reveren’. Ain’t no cause for all that.” But a satisfied smile belied her feigned humility.
Before the Reverend could continue Eula saw Claire Wortham approaching out of her peripheral vision.
Claire looked a mess. Had on this ill-fitting garment that looked straight up out of the Dollar Store. Even from afar Eula could see the puckered seams and misshapen hem. Not to mention the cheap material it was made out of. The stores in the mall didn’t sell goods like that. For somebody that was always putting on airs, you would think Claire would do better than she did.
Eula flashed a bogus smile at Claire who smiled back in like manner. A moment of awkwardness ensued as each woman sized up their right to bask in the Reverend’s presence. Eula gave in. She didn’t want the Reverend to know there was bad blood between the two of them. “Mornin’, Claire.” She nodded.
“Good afternoon, Eula.” Claire chirped.
Eula stifled a smirk. It was so like Claire to make a distinction with the time of day. Ignoring Claire’s intended barb, she wrapped up her conversation and let Claire take round one.
Walking down the dusty, rock strewn pathway Eula gazed out over the soon to be barren countryside. The sun had retreated and a gentle breeze replaced its merciless onslaught. Inhaling deeply Eula allowed her senses to delight in the warm pleasures of a perfect autumn afternoon.
Her mind drifted back to today’s service and the sense of peace that always accompanied time spent with the Lord.
The closer she got to home, the more she realized she wasn’t quite ready to let go of her Sunday solace. Brisk footsteps slowed fortuitously as she stood on the sidewalk pondering her options.
Backpedaling, she reversed her stride and headed for the mint green atrocity Sally Wooten called home. Amusement stole across her face as her eyes rested on two huge pink flamingoes, an assortment of ceramic frogs, and two large petrified deer in flight flanking both sides of Sally’s meager lawn.
The front door was ajar. Peeking in, she saw Sally sitting in the front room watching one of those popular television evangelist on the tube. “Hey Sally, you got you some company.” Eula sang through the open door.
Sally grabbed her cane and hobbled over. Peering over her bifocals, she squinted until recognition dawned on her. Seeing it was Mother Jack she unlocked the flimsy screen door. Her opaque eyes lit up like twin fireflies when she saw Mother Jack. “Lawd have mercy, I was jus’ thinkin’ about you.” They shared a quick embrace. “Come on in and sit a spell.”
Before Eula could set her purse down Ol’ Sally was barking orders. “C’mon back here and help me with these here refreshments.” Crooking a gnarled finger she motioned for Eula to follow her into the kitchen. “Get that pitcher of apple cider out the fridge. Should be good and cold by now.”
Reaching into a nearby tin, Sally grabbed a generous handful of homemade cookies. Taking her time she arranged the cookies neatly on a small decorative plate. “Arthritis.” She explained apologetically when she felt Eula’s eyes boring holes in her back.
Returning to the living room Sally set the plate of cookies on the table beside her guest. “Pour us some juice, Eula Mae.” Easing her body down in her old, worn out recliner she waved away Eula’s offer of help.
Sitting side by side sipping juice and eating cookies Eula got Sally caught up on all the latest happenings. She told Sally about the church cookout, who was bringing what, how Wreneta had sang, and the Reverend’s penchant for her fried chicken.
Eula couldn’t remember the last time she had laughed so freely. They sat with the comfort of old friends who knew when to speak, and when words weren’t necessary.
The chimes from the grandfather clock reminded Eula how quickly time had passed. Standing, she stretched like a just-fed cat.
“Before you go,” Sister Wooten’s voice dropped to an ominous whisper. “I need to talk to you…”
Eula’s shawl slipped through her fingers and wafted slowly to the floor. Sally wasn’t one to gossip. Known for her wisdom, she had a reputation for listening to both sides, reserving judgment, and only offering advice when, and if it was asked for. When Sally spoke you could bet it was something worth hearing. Eula took her seat. Her eyes widened, an indication of her growing excitement.
Sally didn’t notice. “Was Ida May at church today?” Her voice was hushed.
“Sho’ was, and the Holy Ghost gotta’ hold on her sumpin’ fierce. She was doin’ this holy dance faster than a jack rabbit on speed.” Eula reported, clapping her thigh in glee.
Sally ignored Eula’s hearty chuckle. Clicking her tongue noisily, she shook her head knowingly. “Hmmph. Wasn’t no jack rabbit, probably the Holy Ghost tryin’ to clean out those ol’ nasty insides of her’n. That’s what that was about.”
“What you talkin’ about?”
“Eula, you know Ida May’s my child and I love her more than life itself, but I can’t condone wrong no matter who does it, be it my child, or the next person’s.”
Eula willed her face to fall slack so as not to reveal too much emotion. A little trick she had learned over the years, the less you show, the more people tell you.
Sally glanced around the room as if checking to see if anyone had slipped in unawares. Her voice was so low even Eula had to strain to hear it. “Now, this is just between me, you, and the gatepost. I’ve been beside myself with worry these last coupla days. I wouldn’t tell nobody else on earth this, but I reckon that’s why you dropped by today, cause the Good Lord knows how troubled I am.”
Eula nodded, not trusting her voice. Taking a sip of the now watery apple juice to steady herself, she waited for Sally to continue.
Sally leaned forward. “Lord knows I didn’t raise Ida May that way.” Scrawny liver-pocked hands rested on her sunken chest as if her next words were too painful to relate to another living soul. She let out a long, drawn out sigh before settling back in her easy chair.
“You didn’t raise her what way?” Eula prodded.
“Hm?” Looking at Eula confusedly having lost her train of thought.
“You were saying something about Ida May.”
“Ida May is havin’ an affair.”
“An affair?”
“Ain’t that what I jus’ said?” Sally’s milky eyes narrowed with impatience.
“I know. I’m jes’ stunned. An affair? With who?”
“Paul.”
“Paul?”
Sally nodded in an I-told-you-so-manner. “You heard me.” She replied matter-of-factly.
The name didn’t register. Eula kept repeating it until finally it hit her. “Paul Gladstone?”
“The one and only.”
“Oh Sally, you must be mistaken. You know how peoples are. Paul is upstanding, moral…a man of God. Why he’s Reverend’s armor bearer.”
“I know.”
“Just ‘cause it’s the church don’t mean it’s free of troublemakers. You been out of the loop so long, I’m sure this is some kind of misunderstanding.”
“It ain’t no misunderstandin’.”
“Paul is married. He’s got three kids. Chloe is seven months pregnant with their fourth child…”
“I know. Ida May’s married too. A separation ain’t exactly no divorce. She’s still legally bound to Horace.”
Separated? No wonder they seemed so aloof lately…well, that answered that. “I don’t know, Sally. When would Paul and Ida May find time to rock the bedposts? The Gladstones are the perfect family. You never see Paul without his wife and children.”
Sally rolled her eyes at Eula’s naiveté. “You need to quit. You know good and well folks always make time for the devil.”
Eula nodded in agreement. “So true.” She wondered if the Reverend knew, and what it would mean to Paul’s position. Scandals like this had brought many a church down.
Sally was still talking. Eula pushed her thoughts aside and refocused on the issue at hand.
“…Ida May and Horace are living under the same roof for financial reasons. Talking about they got some kinda’ open arrangement. I don’t care what they say, they still married in the sight of God. Eula, hand me my bag.” An abrupt shift of gears.
Eyes like lasers scanned the room. Eula quickly found the bag and handed it to Sally.
Sally took an interminably long time fishing around in the bag finally finding the can of snuff she was looking for. “Now, where was I?” She asked Eula.
“I believe you were talkin’ about the open arrangement. Although I’m not quite sure what you mean by open arrangement.”
Sally spit a wad of snuff into her trusty spittoon and swatted at a fly before answering. “It means what you think it means. Adultery. Pure and simple.” Tears appeared out of nowhere. “Lawd, I don’t know what to do. Got that mess up in them chirren’s faces. I been prayin’ about it eva since I found out.”
Eula knelt beside Sally’s chair and stroked her thinning hair. She could feel the tension in Sally’s shoulders. Balling her fists up she began to knead the stress out of Sally’s back. “There, there.” She soothed.
Sally let out a soft moan. “God’s gon’ strike them devils down. Sittin’ up in church doin’ a holy dance. Lawd, have mercy.”
Her arms around Sally, her mind elsewhere Eula tried to digest this latest morsel.
“Pray with me.” Sally’s anguished words touched a soft spot in Eula.
No further words were needed. Repositioning herself, Eula bowed her head and took Sally’s thin, bird-like fingers into her own healthy-never-miss-a-meal hands and began to pray. She prayed for strength for Sally, repentance for Ida May, and the spirit of lust to be removed from Paul Gladstone. She also prayed for Chloe Gladstone, her unborn child, and the children who were caught up in the midst of their illicit passions. When the prayer was over she hugged Sally’s frail body and told her not to worry.
Sally held onto Eula for dear life. “Lord, you just don’t know…” her voice trailed off.
She hugged and rocked Sally gently. “It’s gon’ be all right. Sometimes when things look the darkest, we have to remember that God is in the darkness with us.”
“I don’t wanta see nobody get hurt, especially the chirren.”
“Um hm.” Eula looked down at her watch. “I betta be gettin’ home. I need to get dinner on the table. It’s right near supper time.”
Sally walked her to the door. They squeezed tightly before Eula took her leave.
“Don’t forget to pray God stops all this wickedness.”
Sally closed the door softly without giving Eula a chance to respond.
Eula shook her head. She was glad she had stopped to see Sally. Po’ thang.
Paul Gladstone and Ida May Billings. Oughta be ashamed of themselves. Sitting up in church. Making a mockery out of the Lord’s house. People sho’ could fool you, she thought.
She felt sorry for them, because if there was one thing she had learned over the years, it was that one scripture. As you sow, so shall you reap.
As she walked home a soft wind caressed her enveloping her with a sense of peace. Today was as beautiful a day as she could remember.
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Mikhail_S reviewed Version 2 -
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Fabulous… a piece of real writing with substance! As someone who is generally slow to latch onto genuinely fine writing I was glad to be able to offer my praises to your submission this afternoon.
I think it is unconstructive merely to give the writer the proverbial thumbs-up, so I will state what I enjoyed about the piece and then try to help with the writing in whatever I am able to. I really enjoyed the language that you used here. I think the piece is alight on a really understated and beautiful turn of phrase and that the word choice you have in your piece are really fantastic. At the risk of sounding redundant, I find that you have this way with a metaphor… you are able to twist a basic (perhaps clichéd) phrase and turn it into something original. I wish I could express myself well… what I mean is I found the language of the story rich and rewarding.
I also was able to catch the flow of your characters’ dialogue very well. The way in which your personnel talk is very astutely monitored. I can hear their voices booming loud and clear from the page… I was able to place myself in the story in that way we are all left to do with great escapism. This novel goes deeper than a piece of lowly escapism, but I find that losing oneself in the prose is a fine indication of a successful piece of fiction!
To the criticism, well… the problems I see are things that would perhaps be ironed out in several drafts. I think there are a few phrases in there that work better than others. I would recommend reading these parts aloud in your head merely to see if they sound right and if you can perhaps do something about them. However, I am convinced that you are able to spot these and do not need to be patronised by the likes of me!
I felt perhaps that the descriptions could have been improved somewhat. It is evident that you are a writer of great substance and talent, so it would be nice to see you tackle a more prosaic style! I would be interested to see you tackle a more ‘classical’ writing style… one of the older author mould of the Victorian era.
I would also perhaps wonder whether or not the character of Eula Mae Jackson can be fleshed out a little more? Right now we get a definitive sense of this person, but I sensed a certain distance here. Maybe through that sparkling dialogue you deploy we could have a certain degree of vulnerability creeping in? I would love it if this were the case! Right now I love what you have done with this character… I would just push you into rounding this character off.
I fear I am being very vague here… I’m sorry! I dislike quoting people in pieces as it annoys them a lot. If you would like to go over specific examples feel free to mail me!
I thoroughly enjoyed your work most of all (if this is not clear already). I hope to read more of your work in future!
Mikhail
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Mikkosgirl reviewed Version 2 -
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I like how much detail you put into every subtle nuance of your characters. In only the first paragraph, I get a detailed vision of Mother Jack in all her glory. I love how while you write, you get into a flow that expresses the other characters traits from her point of view without using any slang, so to speak. I only noticed some punctuation errors and a few sentences that could be restructured. Like where you talk about Scott Cavanaugh, the sentence doesn’t flow as naturally as it could. I’m confused about the people who don’t like her, but beyond that, you have the beginning to a beautiful story here.
wordwan reviewed Version 2 -
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This is good. I’m not in the mood to continue tho, sorry.
The story runs smooth. I think for the amount I read, I’m hearing a bit too much about a few too many folks. And I’m feeling a bit pressed upon as to the main character being so ‘loved’ by everyone. Granted, you probably test her faith in the pages to come.
Have fun with this. Good effort.
Heather
wordwan
Curtastrophe reviewed Version 2 -
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This is an overall very well written and polished piece. It centers around the characters and I think you’ve done a superb job of outlining them and giving them a history. One medium-sized problem I see with this is the tendency for the narrative to switch (on a whim) to the perspectives of various characters. First we have Eula, who the reader suspects is the main character, or at least one of them, then we see the thoughts of the Rev. (”...Shaking his head as he imagined a …) and Sally (”...when she felt Eula’s eyes boring holes…”). This is generically known as “head hopping” usually it’s recommended to wait until a chapter/scene change before switching into the minds of different characters. That being said, I’ve read books by best-selling authors who can manage to pull this off.
Also the narrative refers to the reader, ”...and if you was sitting…”. This is an easy fix by substituting “one” or “a person”.
But I really did like the story. I think the major conflicts here are going to center around people within Eula’s life and how Eula reacts to them—Ida’s affair, the rapscallion of a husband, the various reformed church members and so on. Your dialogue was pretty good. Your writing is strong. Keep it up and thanks for sharing.
-Curt
Daney reviewed Version 1 -
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This is really, really good. I cannot find anything wrong with it. Your grammar and spelling is good and I especially love the way you describe things. It has its funny moments as well as serious moments and could easily happen in real life. “Mother Jack” seems like a character that anyone could easily love and, if published in a book, could easily become one of literatures favorite people.
andersda reviewed Version 1 -
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I’m assuming Eula is the main character, but by the time I finished reading it, it was pretty clear old sally had legs, too. This is a very well executed backstory. Had you narrated this material it would have been way to much, but you passed it along in dialog and that served your purpose well. I loved your opening. It wasn’t shocking or anything like that, but it was beuatiufully written. Nicely done. I think its OK as is. There are some little things in the body that I didn’t fuss over. I probably should have though. Reread your dialog out loud to find them. I also caught some little things. “undergone. Once a prostitute” vs. undergone – once a prostitute
“if the Lord had one hand tied with Ray, the other one was busy with Jackie.” This is great stuff. Nice. Really nice.
“full stretch as” there seems to be a lot of stretching going on there. Maybe use a different word.
“if you was sitting” suddenly the narrator slips into dialect. Better to use the word were
“drooled on himself at the mention” vs. drooled at the mention
“Had on this ill-fitting’ The voice of the narrator should go one way or the other.
“old friends who knew when to speak, and when words weren’t necessary.” I loved this bit also.
It’s nice to find a writer writing on religion who doesn’t bore the socks off you. Congratulations. I’ll look forward to more of Miss Eula and Miss Sally.
Catastrophe reviewed Version 1 -
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I really enjoyed reading this. You captured the environment perfectly; I could almost hear cicadas. :)
A few things that caught my eye:
“while others had been more stubborn than a tightly closed lid on a Mason jar” – good example based on her experiences
“if the Lord had one hand tied with Ray, the other one was busy with Jackie” – awesome line
“and if you was sitting down” – error or deliberate? It’s the first time you broke into the vernacular in the narrative, so it was a little jarring.
“the puckered seams and misshapen hem.” – good detail
“footsteps slowed fortuitously” – is ‘luckily’ the adjective you really want here?
I didn’t notice any errors in spelling or grammar.
The visit at the end is not straying from the character as much as it seems to be setting up for another part of the story. It didn’t seem out of place at all.
Good luck with this!
kortneyrose reviewed Version 1 -
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I have to give you a lot of credit for this story. I don’t think you stray away from the character at all. You added dramatic reading material to the story that makes it even better. The character is brilliant, all the way down to the dialog that you use to perfect her as who you want her to be. I hope you add to this story. I would love to read more. Good luck and keep writing!
debberdoo4 reviewed Version 1 -
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I love Eula…I’ve met a few; especially when I attended a Baptist service in the south. Eula is real and special. This story is a dedication to so many women, everywhere, that are a lot like her.
I think the introduction of the “saved” people sitting in the pews was good and I really liked that you noted where they had once been, and, how far they traveled.
I think, for the most part, your choice of words brings a southern feel to the story, which I found fitting. I’d look through them again and cut words like “bogus”. It didn’t seem like something Eula would say.
The more characters you introduced, the heavier the reading became. I had to slow down to sort the details and figure out what facts belonged to who and it pulled me out of the story. And, I didn’t want to be pulled out of the story because I love Eula.
bear4 reviewed Version 1 -
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Excellent stuff. Well-developed setting and voice. if I have a problem with your protagonist it would be that she does not come off nearly as saintly as you seem to intend, unless, of course, this is an intended irony to be cracked wide open later, then never mind. Perfect as is. You see, she seems awfully proud of herself for a true Christian. Her instinct should be to give all credit to God and all slips to herself. Her relationship to her husband and child also hint at a less than perfect woman. The visit was not at all distracting. Quite enlightening, I thought. Good work. Keep writing! I really felt I was there in several moments, the church service itself and the visit.
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