Hmmm…. she’s trapped behind a fat person just becuase it’s funny. And I was trapped behind a fat person the other day that pissed me off and inspired this story. The fat lady in front of her was taking a very long time to order. 2) Mr. Henderson just might decide to show some redeeming qualities, but why can’t it just be that he’s a jerk at work and not a jerk outside of work. People are different in different situations. 3) Did I not let enough humor show in the scene with the guy behind the counter? It’s supposed to be funny. A kid has a crush on her and harrases her every chance he gets becuase he’s a stupid punk kid who loves her. 4) You’re supposed to understand that hearing from this guy makes her so emotional that she gets physcially sick. He hurt her in some way. You get to find out how* once the day of her wedding comes. 5) She’s not getting married. That’s the whole point. She was supposed to. Her parents are just crazy enough to throw a party since they’ve paid for everything already. They’re just silly people and they didn’t expect her to be there.
Novel Treatments / HOPE LIES
It’s 7:30 in the AM, I’m late for work, and this fantastically fat woman is standing here in front of me taking 15 minutes to decide between a triple tall full fat mocha latte and Hot chocolate made with pure cream into which she can dip her biscuits! Does anybody else see anything wrong with this picture?,” I asked, turning to the mass huddled behind me in line. “Ma’am you’re going to have to be patient. I’m sorry for the wait, said Preston from behind the counter. I presumed the fat lady herself was used to comments like this as I didn’t even see her squirm. She just kept right on about taking her sweet little time. “Bullocks!,” I shouted. I grabbed a cookie, threw fifty cents onto the counter and made my way out. “Jillian, you’re late.” Marva scolded as I frumped into the office munching on my delightful treat. I shrugged, showing her I didn’t much give a flying petunia how late I was. She dropped a pile of manila folders onto my desk, whipped a turn and dropped another pile on the desk next to mine. “Mr. Henderson’s not in the best of moods today,” she said as she scurried about the rest of the office delivering more and more manila folders. “And when is he ever?” I said to myself. Mr. Henderson, although not the best employer to ever have to endure in a board meeting or any sort of office encounter, was somehow the sweetest man one could ever meet outside of work. I discovered this at a picnic outing one Saturday afternoon. He was running like a helpless fool around the park chasing a Siberian Huskie. He saw me and actually stopped to talk. I could have sworn there was some error, and that man was actually Mr. Henderson’s pleasant twin brother who knew me from some album of “people I love to torture” that could be found at Mr. Henderson’s downtown loft. He was speaking of things that were completely out of character for a man such as himself, like “isn’t this a beautiful day,” “so great to see you outside of work,” and “enjoy the rest of your afternoon.” And, he finished all these pleasantries with a smile. So strange, that day was. One could call it the strangest day of my life. Only, I hope to have more marvelous happenings that will create a new “strangest day of my life.” And, I hope that perhaps they will good things. That day wasn’t strange just because a nice version of Mr. Henderson turned up, but also because I experienced the first death of my life; that of my relationship with Martin. One could call it a simple breakup, a twisted turn of events, or something delightful like: a new chapter in my life. Bullocks! That’s what I had to say to all of those sugar coated descriptions of the day my world turned black. Bullocks and rubbish all twisted up into a nifty little ball. Martin hadn’t just politely excused himself from our engagement. He’d stormed out of my life like a tornado, leaving everything amiss. And, now that it’s all over, I know it was for the best; as I wouldn’t want to have found out three years down the road with our first bun in the oven that his true love wore a beard and trousers. “Jillian, you’re late.” “I apologize Mr. Henderson. I got caught up in traffic.” “Was that before or after you ran from the cops?” I looked up at Mr. Henderson questioningly as he glared down at me with his pressing eyes and pursed lips.
“The police,” I asked. “I didn’t have any brush with the police.”
“Yes, and that would explain why the blue suits are here asking for the badly dressed girl with the bright red scarf and pink tights. I glanced down at my attire. “Oh no,” I said. “They’re here for me.” I stood up and walked slowly out to the reception desk. There stood two of the most handsome creatures on two legs. The taller of the two spoke first. “Miss Best, we need you to come with us.” “Well what for? I think there must be some mistake as I would certainly never run from any cops; especially none as fetching as the two of you.” The tall one smiled a bit only to be nudged by his partner who pulled out the handcuffs. “We got a call that you perpetrated a theft over at Cheadle’s.” “I didn’t steal. I left fifty cents on the counter.” “Ma’am, we wouldn’t have gotten a call over fifty cents.” “No, trust me, you would from the kid that’s working this morning. Let’s go down to Cheadle’s and talk to him. He’ll straighten this all out.” The officers obliged, perhaps because they were flattered by my inability to take my eyes off of their magnificent frames. The trip down the elevator wasn’t exactly fun. We ended up stopping on practically every floor to pick up this person or that. On the seventh floor Molly was picked up. She was the most devious little sneak on the planet, and was constantly trying to steal my job. I’m sure she saw this as a golden opportunity. She was the last person I saw get on the elevator because I made it a point to turn around and hide my shame. Molly stayed in the elevator once we’d exited and I’m sure it was to head right back up to the fourteenth floor to speak to Mr. Henderson about the position that’s recently opened up. When we reached Cheadle’s I asked the officers to please remove my hand cuffs. I was wearing high heeled boots for goodness sake. How was I to run off in that deep snow? It had taken me 15 minutes just to make it the block from the store to my office. Luckily they decided to be nice and allowed me to walk up to the counter with my arms free. “You remember me coming in this morning don’t you,” I asked with one officer at either side. “Of course I do, you stole from my Uncle’s store,” he said snidely. “I left you fifty cents on the counter.” “Cookies cost sixty five cents. You stole the other 15 cents.” “Are you kidding me?” I said in shock. “You called the cops over fifteen cents?” I turned to the officer on my left and took a look at his badge. “You came to arrest me over fifteen cents officer, uh… O’Maly?” “Theft is theft ma’am.” I turned back to Preston. ”Why didn’t you just call my office and tell me to come back for crying out loud? You know exactly where I work.” “Of course I do. How do you think they found you so quickly?” He bent down and whispered into my ear,”you know I can make this all go away if you’d just agree to the junior prom with me like I’ve been asking you.” ”No way,” I yelped. I dug into my pockets, retrieved a dollar, and slammed it on the counter. “Here, here you go, keep the extra eighty five cents for the next time there’s a fatty holding up the line and I’m in a hurry. “Would you like to press charges sir,” asked the shorter cop. “Nah, this’ll do.” He looked at me with his fifteen year old eyes, and in his best grown up voice he said, “now you be sure and not steal again. You may go.” “Ugh,” I gasped. “Thank you for ruining my day.” I turned to the cops and threw them a flippant smile. “May I please go now? And could you please inform my employer that there was a terrible mix-up and I’ve done nothing wrong?” “Sure ma’am.”
When I finally made it home that evening I threw my grocery bags onto the kitchen table and ran for the potty. Somehow my bladder never informed me of its need to be emptied until it would take me at least 20 minutes to reach a restroom. And, then of course, the phone rang. ”This is Jillian.” ”Hi, uh Jillian. This is Jeff.” ”Jeff?” ”You know, Jeff, from IT.” ”No, I don’t know. ”And listen, Jeff, could you call me back in about 5 minutes, I’m kind of in the middle of something” I asked with my tights down around my ankles. ”Um, yeah, sure… uh, five minutes. Ahem. Sure, five minutes.” ”Great,” I replied, hanging up the phone. As I finished my business I thought hard about who this Jeff character was. He could have been the redhead with the chronic sinus infection that stared at me while blowing his nose every single day as I walked into my department. Or maybe he was the tall sexy brown skinned man that I bumped into every morning at the fax machine. Well, I better find out. I thought. I rolled up my tights, washed my hands, and continued daydreaming about who that Jeff character could have been as I put the groceries away. Finally, after seven minutes the phone rang. ”This is Jillian.” ”Hey Jillian, it’s Jeff again.” ”Yeah, so Jeff, who are you?” ”It’s me, the Jeff from IT that brings you the system reports every day.” ”Oh, oh that Jeff,” I said, still not having any clue as to his identity. Jeff went on to tell me how he loved my elegant style and had been dying to take me out but could never work up the courage. I gave up trying to figure out who he was and figured it didn’t matter. I loved it that any man was excited to take me out. We decided on Mitchel’s stake house for next Friday night.
——————————
Genter St. was packed that Thursday morning. As I walked past Cheadle’s I gave the twerp behind the counter the evil eye and held up my cup of hot chocolate from Hot Drinks & More, proudly displaying that I was done with him and his games. I was happy to not have to stand in line behind some fat lady. And, I was happy to be at work on time. I had to be today, after all, Jeff was probably going to be staring at me from afar. I had even dressed up for him. I wore my favorite green skirt, an arguile sweater, and matching arguile tights. After an hour of being berated by good old Mr. Henderson in our weekly staff meeting I was finally off to my desk where I could await a system report. Of course I still didn’t know what one was so I waited patiently. I got up a few times, sauntered over to the water cooler, pretended to check the fax machine, and I even walked past IT; nothing. Oh well, I thought, maybe I should actually get some work done. Just as I sat at my desk a big delivery of chali lilies came. I was hopeful that it was from my new wanna be beau. I plucked the card from the assortment.
My dearest Jillian. Please accept my sincerest apologies. I’d love to see you sometime soon to check in on you. You’re invited.
Martin
PS: please come. Time stopped as I read. My breath was heavy and I just didn’t know how to take this in. As I stood up the room started to spin and the vase was knocked to the floor; water spilling everywhere. Clara, the mail girl came over with a paper towel and started to pat the carpet. “You know you really must be careful with such a beautiful gift. Who’s it from?” I almost didn’t hear what she was saying and I certainly didn’t reply. My stomach felt intensely overloaded and my eyes started to tingle. I fell to my knees, reached for the trash can, and emptied my contents ever so quickly. “Jillian, are you alright,” she asked. “Yes, yes, I’m fine.” Just then Mr. Henderson walked by my desk and saw me clenching the trash can. “Jillian, go home and get some rest.” He towered over me like a palm tree, but kept his eyes focused on the paperwork through which he was flipping. “It’s inappropriate to come to work wasted.” “But Mr. Henderson, I’m not wasted, I promise,” I groaned without taking the time to remove my head from the trash. “She’s not wasted,” said Clara. “She was fine until just a second ago. Must be that bug that’s going around.” Mr. Henderson gave her the lie detector look. “Fine, go home anyway,” he said. “Be sure to arrive on time and free from illness tomorrow. Tomorrow starts at 1 pm, as the executor of the peterson trust comes in at 2 for briefing.”
I gathered the flowers, threw them into the trash, wiped my face with a tissue, and called maintenance to come clean out my now filthy trash bin. Squeezing the mini greeting card in my hand tightly, I made my way out of the office and into the elevator. Just my luck, Molly was there. She could see the tears in my eyes and as cold and heartless as ever said, “so, they finally canned ya huh?” I was too winded to even reply. I just made my way to the lobby and exited the building.
As I hustled out towards my car I saw a beacon summoning me: a bright green neon sign that read “Mac’s Bar & Bar.” It was always a great place to drown my sorrows and I thought it might be good to plant my bottom somewhere before my legs gave way once more. “Make the next one a double,” I demanded. I tilted my head back, let the liquid tumble down my throat, slammed my shot glass on the table, and ran the back of my hand against the corner of my mouth. This is the best place I could be right now, I thought. Sitting her at Mac’s Bar and Bar all by Myself. Of course I wasn’t drinking anything more than caffeine free sprite, but the thrill of slamming a shot down my throat was enough to help take my mind off of what had just occurred.
Mac’s Bar and Bar,” I chuckled aloud. Mac had thought of that name himself. He’d wanted to make sure nobody was confused about what was to be done inside of what he affectionately called his “not so classy joint.” Of course, nobody that walked through the doors could mistake the low lighting, and putrid stench for anything remotely related to class. After a few hours of being stared at by old men with drinking problems, Mac came in. He saw me sitting in the corner booth and sat down with me. “How’s it goin’ Jill?”
Mac was such a good listener. He listened with his whole heart and even though he was always half drunk, his advice was better than anybody’s. “Not so good Mac.” He looked at his folded wrinkling hands and appeared to be thinking hard for a moment. The corners of his eyes turned down.
“The wedding was supposed to be this weekend huh,” he asked.
“Yep, it was supposed to be this weekend,” I replied.
“Selfish Jerk. You know all men are Jill. Except for that one that will truly be yours forever. And, you’ll know he’s the one when you see that he’s not selfish around you. He’ll be a gentleman. He’ll open your doors, make you dinners, spend time doing what you want to do, and he’ll hold you close. He’ll hold you so close you’ll think he’s insane. But he’s not insane, Jill. He’s in love.”
With half a smile and half a frown I asked, “you think he’s out there?”
“He’s out there.” I gave Mac my best big girl smile and he patted me on the head.
“Mac, you sure do know how to make a girl feel better.”
“It’s not me hunny, it’s the alcohol.”
“But I’m not drinking Mac.”
“No, but I am,” he chuckled. He stood up and motioned for me to do the same. While flashing a smile he shooed me out of the bar, saying, “you’ll never meet anybody but drunks in here. Now get out.” His positivism was exactly what I needed at that moment, and made my resolve to get over the horrible events of the past month stronger. I flashed him my best big girl smile and while he was still shooeing me I put my arms around his pudgy shoulders and gripped him tight in an attempt to show just how much I appreciated him.
By the time I left rush hour was just about to cram the streets. I imagined myself speeding home from my children’s soccer practice instead of work. I’d have cooked a pot roast with yummy potatoes and veggies and some rich delectable desert. The house would be spotless, and the babies would be fat and happy. My husband would walk in and be so thrilled to see me he’d kiss me for a whole five minutes. We’d laugh like crazy as we played duck duck goose with our five year old, and he’d wrap his arms around me as we stood in the doorways of our sleeping children admiring the family we’d built together. A honking horn from a car that had been cut off snapped me back into reality. I looked down at my bare ring finger and remembered that my house was empty. Not wanting to endure another frozen dinner and late night session with Nick at Night, I decided a trip to Mom & Dad’s was in order.
When I got to the house it was empty. I snatched some cookies n’ cream ice cream and a Hugh Grant movie and binged until I had a sugar headache. When the movie ended suddenly I was alone. I was in the dark, feeling sorry for myself, and allowed myself to cry until I was no longer awake.
The sun woke me up early that next morning. Its rays forced themselves between my eyelashes. I could hear the sounds of hustling and bustling throughout the house and decided to investigate. Five neatly stacked pink boxes from Pete’s bakery and an assortment of long stemmed perfectly white Calla Lilies and Wisteria sat atop the apothecary. The house was warm with the scent of baked duck and spicy fried okra. My gait was slow and weightless as if walking through liquid. Exploring further revealed pink roses and the little candied almonds that were to be passed out as favors at the reception. I bowed my head as if conceding victory. My limp hand reached for the railing and missed, landing with force upon my knee. A grimace like that of a Samoan warrior took over my face and a stream of hot vomit rolled from my belly right out of my mouth. Grandma wheeled into the room. “Jillian’s here! Jillian’s here Meghan, and she’s puked all over the place!” I was hunched over when mama came rushing into the hall. Grandma shook her head and wheeled out of the room as quickly as possible. “Baby what are you doing here? March right back upstairs and get in the bed. You’re not well.” “Mama, it’s too late,” I said coldly. “What’s going on here? What are you doing with all of the food and decorations that were supposed to be for my wedding?”
“Well darling, we couldn’t cancel everything so late Jillian. We paid for it so we figured we can’t just turn away the deliveries. It will store in the freezer well and we can eat it for next Thanksgiving’s dinner. But you’re not supposed to be here. Come here,” she said sweeping me into her arms. She grabbed a throw that hung over the railing and covered my shoulders. “Come with me out to the backyard darling.” She grabbed me by the wrist and led me through the house and out the sliding french doors to the backyard. We sat down on the swing that hung from a magnificent Oak tree that also provided cover for the fort my brother and I had created as kids. That fort had magical powers. Whenever I felt scared or mad or upset in any way I could sit in that fort and instantly feel better. My mother stroked my hair as my head lay on her shoulder. We sat that way for a few minutes just listening to the leaves fall. Suddenly the phone rang and grandma stuck her lips up against the screen door. “Meghan, there’s a phone call for Jillian,” she said. She held up the phone. “It’s Martin,” she said in a whisper so loud that I’m sure the neighbors heard. “Do you want to talk to him Sweetie?” I thought about it with a blank stare on my face for a good 20 seconds or so.
“I, I guess.”
My mother retrieved the cordless for me and went back into the house. I took the phone into the fort.
“H- hello,” I managed.. “Jillian?” Martin’s voice was apologetic. “Hello Martin,” I whispered. “Look, I want you to know that I’m really am sorry.” “Look it’s OK Martin. I still love you. We can still get married. Please come today. We’ve got all the food and all the flowers here. Everything’s here.” “I can’t come Jillian. I’m leaving for Massachusetts in the morning.” “Oh… I see. I dropped my head. “Martin,” I whispered, “please don’t do this to me. I love you, I can look past this.” “I can’t look past it Jillian,” he said. “I have to go
__ After he hung up on me I sat sobbing in the fort for at least an hour. Mama came out to get me after she figured I’d cried enough. “How’d you like to go for a quick walk,” mama asked. To get to the outside world from the backyard we had to maneuver our way through the fort. Building that had been quite a feat. It was booby trapped quite well. Of course I knew of its every crack and crevice, but mother still had a hard time getting through it. I ducked as we passed under the Passage of Thorns and stepped just perfectly around Holes to Haides. As we approached the front yard I noticed Mr. Tan walking down the street towards my parent’s house wearing slacks and the Hawaiian shirt he had labeled “the party shirt.” He had given it that name at my High school graduation party eight years before when he had gotten completely hammered and lead the rest of the drunk neighbors in the Electric Slide along with his wife. He had also yanked the microphone away from Bud, the lead singer – and man of my dreams – who had agreed to come to my party only because it would be a chance for him to sing in front of all of my rich neighbors with “connections”. Mr. Tan held the mic right up to his lips and screamed “party” while performing the moon walk over and over until my dad finally jumped up with him and encouraged him into a duet of “it’s party time.” That, of course, was the famous song from the best movie of 1991: Troop Beverly Hills. Only instead of “it’s party time,” in the movie it was “it’s cookie time” sang in front of a workout facility where tons of fat women clamored over the boxes of cookies the “wilderness girls” were selling. I figured Mr. Tan was stopping by to visit my parents before heading off to some wild party. I waved. “Oh! Hi Jillian,” he said surprised. Mama quickly grabbed my head and pointed it away from the house. “When we were kids, mama, Benny and I used to go the Tan’s yard every day after school from 3rd to 7th grade and steal those little plants that were sweet to chew on. “You ate those after we told you countless times not to?” Mama looked at me with a disgusted look. “Of course mama, you think we ever listened when you said no?” I chuckled a bit and grabbed mama’s hand. “Jillian, those plants were out where the dogs went pee.” “That must have been why they tasted so sweet,” I said. The thought was pretty disgusting. Having been so long ago though, I figured any remnants of dog urine had since left my body. And those plants sure were tasty, so maybe dog pee is a natural sweetener, I thought. I had always thought mama knew about it, and that it was just one of those things she only told us not to do so she could say, “because I said so.” “Mama, I wish I had been smarter about Martin.” “What you should have done is listened to your mama.” My mother had warned me about Martin. “Something’s just, off about him,” she’d say. My father had always thought he was stellar. He never missed a 49ers football game, drank heavy beer, wore holey shirts, and for goodness sake he even flatulated without apology. “Now that’s a man,” my father would say. Sometimes, baby, we have to just follow our heart,” she said. Our feet crunched the red and yellow leaves that had slipped to the ground. “I was married when I met your father.” “What, Mama,” I asked. “I was Mrs. Jonathon Wilfred Pierce?”
My feet planted themselves, and I looked up at mother with a look of astonishment glaring on my face. Mother’s eyes were fixed on the ground. I stood still and with that glare fixed asked, “Not the Jonathon Wilfred Pierce?” “The Jonathon Wilfred Pierce, esquire; The richest man in town. We were married for 2 years before I met your father.” I stepped from under mother’s arm and turned my eyes back to the sky. “I cheated on him…” My chin fell as the
image of the perfect mama was torn to bits. “… with your father.” “Wow. They say the sins of the father are visited upon the son. Must be the same for mothers and daughters,” I said. I plopped My bottom onto the concrete sidewalk and crossed my legs Indian style. Mother spoke as if trying to recover from a right hook to the temple “I never thought I would ever do something like that to any man. Your father didn’t know I was married. I met him on a night after Jonathon and I had a fight and I had thrown my wedding ring at him. I was out walking in the rain and your father offered me his umbrella… and the rest is history.” “So you’re telling me I’m the daughter of a cheating mother and a dimwitted father?” I asked annoyed. “I am telling you that sometimes things just happen,” mother shouted. And don’t you dare talk about your father that way.” “You don’t just happen to become gay mama!!” Mother’s face relaxed and she grabbed me by the arm and spoke with a forceful whisper. It’s hard baby, I know. But you can’t dwell on what’s wrong. You have to focus on your future. Sometimes a heart just wanders and it turns out better for the other person. You hear me and you hear me good. Jonathon never would have gone to law school, and he never would have become the man that he is today if we had stayed together. He wouldn’t have been blessed with all that money. He’s got a great wife and family now. They’re the best thing for him. People get over things. They grow and move on and have wonderful lives. I expect nothing less than that for you.” I saw my aunt and uncle from my father’s side drive past. Mother used the grip on my arm to help me off the ground. “Now let’s get on with our walk,” she said. “What are aunt Margie and uncle Chuck doing here mom?” “They’re stopping by to return some of your father’s tools. Let’s go,” she said. We reached the street corner just as a loud thud sounded behind us. I turned around and saw grandma in her clunker puffing on one of her home made cigarettes. “Hop in girls. Jillian, it’s nearly 8 and you should really be getting to work. Let grandma take you home honey,” she said in an unusually sweet old lady voice. We jumped in the car and grandma swerved all over the road dodging lane lines on the way back to the house. When we pulled up to curb a shotty looking rusted grey van was sitting in the driveway. “I wonder who that is,” she said. “Oh well, let’s get you home darling. She was hurrying to unbuckle her seat belt when it hit me – all the food, Mr. Tan, mom and grandma rushing me off, and then the van that only a true fan like me would recognize as belonging to the best 80s cover band ever: Metal Shop – they were having a party with everything that was supposed to have been for my wedding.
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I like this but I think you should add on to it. It just kind of dead ends with no real ending. My favorite part is when she gets arrested over 15 cents, that is classic. I think the only thing that it might need is to be more indepth. I was also dissapointed to not be able to figure out who Jeff is. All in all i really like this and I hope you add to it and maybe elaborate on the characters alittle more.
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Lol, I enjoyed the ending. Thought that was funny that the parents were having an 80’s dance party and trying to rush off the daughter. Though, the story is a good start there needs to be something else. I think it might be with who Jeff is and more about Martin though that could come later. I think that more detail on who the characters are and what some of their motives are ‘cause you kinda just left me hanging. Yeah, theirs the fifteen year old coffee boy who can’t get a clue, the boss man who is nice and a hard-ass but it’s like at one moment you are letting us see one side of your characters then just with a blink of an eye they change to a different kind of person from where they started, but other than that I really liked your story and would like to see where this is going. Oh, and also I don’t get how the title is supposed to key in with the story. Is she hoping for something better than what she has or is it just all lost for her?
Autumn Bubbles
No spelling, no grammer, and no “direct or indirect” comments regarding word choice.
How, exactly, do you expect anyone to pen a review?
It would probably be much more helpful if you told prospective reviews what were you looking for rather than shouting at them what they shouldn’t say.
I’m going to guess Urbis’ update knocked your formatting wonky, but even so, there are some obvious mechanical formatting issues. Dialogue requires a new paragraph, such as -
“Ma’am you’re going to have to be patient. I’m sorry for the wait, said Preston
At first blush your narrator comes across as completely unsympathetic, mostly because of her abhorrent behavior in the coffee shop. Perhaps you’re not looking for the reader to like her, I’m not certain. If you are, you might want to give us some of her humanity, some vulnerability, before she starts screaming about someone’s weight.
I’m not sure how realistic it is for the police to show up that quickly, especially over something as insignificant as a stolen cookie. I’m not sure they arrive that quickly when a murder has been committed!
After completing the treatment, I’m still of the same opinion – I didn’t find the protagonist very likable. I really didn’t identify with her sadness in regards to the broken engagement, and the fact she insulted her mother and father doesn’t help.
I’d suggest taking more time with this piece, elongating it to establish your protagonist as someone the reader should care about, and not just judgemental and mouthy.
good luck
This 410 word review has not been unlocked.
Your writing style is excellent and I enjoy the images in this. My only problem is that I’m not sure how everything ties together. Perhaps some different time transitions will help. Also, I am not sure why some things happen in the text; for example, the whole bathroom thing. If the purpose was to just show the inconvenient timing of the call, you could write something as simple as “It never failed; I always got calls when I was on the toilet, panties around my ankles. This time was no different, and this time it was Jeff. I managed to call him back…” Or something…even then it doesn’t show the importance of what is happening. Just a thought.
There is some good writing. But a lot doesn’t make sense.
Why is she trapped behind a fat person? I’m sort of fat, but that doesn’t make me indecisive. Why not a teenager, or old man or anybody. The fact is, she was caught in line by someone (maybe looking for change). And she was late.
Mr Henderson. If he’s got redeeming qualities outside the office why don’t we see them indicated in the office – on at least some occasion?
What’s that thing with the clerk at coffee shop? Sending the police to her office to pick her up, putting her in handcuffs, and bringing her to the shop where he tells her that he’ll make the .15 cent charges ‘go away’ if she will go to the prom? What’s that all about.
Why does she get so sick when she get the lilies at work? Why are parents having a party on the day she is to be married? They would know she needed them. If not, you have to set it up so she won’t be surprised.
In short, you have holes in your story that need to be filled in, or thrown out.
Keep writing.
Using “I” so much makes you sound like an egomaniac when you’re not. Try stepping outside of yourself and then describing-for example:What Mama I askeed?” This disshoveled daughter replied: “I was…
You seem too focused on explaining things and not enough on expressing yourself emotionally. When you characters talk add emotions to it by writing-she said frantically- he exclaimed inn an eruption of joy, hate, whatever , etc
I get where you’re angry, and where you’re trying to be funny, but you could elaborate further. Nobody wants to have to slow down to decode things.
The better you express your emotions, the easier it is for readers to step into your shoes. The more the story envelopes them and the more they will want to stay. You mention being sick but don’t really describe any symptoms
I’d like to see more adjectives to help me know more about your mother, etc.
Your plot could run a bit smoother-transitions from one scene to another seem to abrubt and hectic. You seem to be trying to express too much with too little words which gives the whole piece a feeling of being rushed.
I see potential, but you need to slow down and analyze your work more-try working with smaller paragraphs and working you way up to the jumbo ones
I really like the overall rhythm of what you have here. It’s lively and easy to read. The beginning, while extremely ordinary life, draws the reader in with a solid writing hook.
Jillian is believable and engaging. The wit you’ve given this character is great.
Great overall descriptions, too.
Her sudden sickness feels a bit abrupt to me, so I’d like to see more there if possible. You may also want to think about breaking up the paragraphs a bit more, too.
Overall, this is extremely good.
My comments are a bit limited because of your notes…I’ll just describe the impression I get.
There’s a heavily sarcastic/cynical/world-weary tone to the piece. Is this intentional? This isn’t a criticism, just an observation. Jillian comes across as a very bitter – linked to her separation from Martin? – woman with a serious axe to grind, but, although you can’t ignore it, it doesn’t get in the way of the narrative.
At first, I felt Jillian was kind of stuck-up, told too many times how beautiful she is…and it put me off her. However, as I read on and found out about the cancelled wedding, I really started to feel for her. It’s as if she’s being stripped of her layers as the narrative progresses.
I think you handled her feelings – confusion? – about Martin well, wisely choosing not to over-melodramatise things.
(Just out of interest, is Mac going to play a more significant role in her life later on?)
I admit, I got a bit lost in the last few paragraphs. I found myself wishing for Jillian to think about her feelings alone; the parents and grandmother felt like a distraction.
I think you have the nucleus of a good story here. Well done and keep going…
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