# Seattle



## BobtailCon (Oct 28, 2015)

Random character development I thought of one night. Do enjoy. Taste my work. Criticize my work. Eat my work. Eat me.


     As I watch the rain trickle down my window pane, I wonder who else holds the soberness and humble happiness that rain brings. Who else watches the droplets shadow themselves down their carpet. Who else feels my sorrow?

     This writing is my witness to the events of this most recent Winter. Spring has brought virgin flowers who loom and embrace the honeykeeper bees as lost lovers. The pollen lies thick in the air, and cottonwood rides the breeze for a suitable location to lay seed. Nature's beautiful rebirth will one day bury my despair in a blanket of bitter ivy.

     Through the Summer of 1913 I worked as a newspaper lad. I took my hand-me-down Schwinn across Spokane's finest suburbs delivering everyone's daily coffee enhancers.

     The work was tiring, but the ten dollars at the end of every week kept me quiet. 

     When that summer ended, I took my books, one hundred and fifty six dollars in earnings (and my Schwinn) and rented an apartment in Seattle, The Big Blue. My humble lodgings were in none other than Pike Place Market, an impressive farmer's market of gawkers, peddlers, and scaled giants selling to the highest bidder.

     The only discomfort with my location was the constant smell of fish and piss. It was this factor that had me exploring the finer parts of the great city.

     I had maybe two months rent, no job, and not a care in the world. The atmosphere of that great city was an intoxicating beauty that welcomed all people. The racial transgressions that I encountered in my travels to Old Dixie dissipated. Replaced by a resurging feeling of open liberalism, freedom of oppression, and a progressive mind that subtly eased it's patrons to their dreams.

     I walked gaily with the crowds, moving as one flow, one stream, one ebb of consciousness. We gawked at performers, nodded to bouncers, and tossed excess pocket change to buskers. I was enthralled at the city's fine culture, which bled into all who dwelled in Seattle.


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## The Green Shield (Oct 29, 2015)

<puts on critiquing glasses>

Let's see what we got here... :distant:



BobtailCon said:


> As I watch the rain trickle down my window pane (Where is the narrator? I imagine him/her to be sitting in his/her parlor staring out of his/her window), I wonder who else holds the soberness and humble happiness that rain brings. Who else watches the droplets shadow themselves down their carpet. Who else feels my sorrow? ('humble happiness' seems to conflict with the rest of this sentence. It suggests to me that this narrator is not in a very happy mood right now. Perhaps...melancholy?)
> 
> This writing is my witness to the events of this most recent Winter. Spring has brought virgin flowers who loom and embrace the honeykeeper bees as lost lovers (*LOVE* this description!!). The pollen lies thick in the air, and cottonwood rides the breeze for a suitable location to lay seed. Nature's beautiful rebirth will one day bury my despair in a blanket of bitter ivy. Beautiful passage. A keeper, this one is!
> 
> ...



I like this narrative. I like it a lot. The flow is very thoughtful, the narrative reveals a lot of just who this person is. I do think a brief paragraph of where he/she is in regard to the window will help a lot with the placement and the further character development. 

Overall, I like this piece, this character.


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## BobtailCon (Oct 29, 2015)

The Green Shield said:


> <puts on critiquing glasses>
> 
> Let's see what we got here... :distant:
> 
> ...



Finally someone responds! *hint hint, other members*

I appreciate the feedback, I agree with adding more description in the window scene, I had thought of it, but couldn't quite come up with something that didn't sound like narrative dribble.


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## The Green Shield (Oct 29, 2015)

BobtailCon said:


> Finally someone responds! *hint hint, other members*
> 
> I appreciate the feedback, I agree with adding more description in the window scene, I had thought of it, but couldn't quite come up with something that didn't sound like narrative dribble.


You could write something like, assuming he's in poverty, _As I sat in my room shrouded by spider webs and patrolled by rats..._

Just a sentence or two to show roughly what situation he's currently in.


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## JudyLea64 (Oct 30, 2015)

I think this is a beautiful piece. I envy writers who can do figurative language so naturally. Your narrative has described your character very well. I like him too and would love to know the story behind him and why he is so sad.


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## BobtailCon (Oct 30, 2015)

JudyLea64 said:


> I think this is a beautiful piece. I envy writers who can do figurative language so naturally. Your narrative has described your character very well. I like him too and would love to know the story behind him and why he is so sad.



Thank you, I'm not sure if it was conveyed well, but I was going for a sort of Fitzgerald feel.


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## ned (Nov 8, 2015)

I like the sound of Seattle! - 

Very well written, and a nice smooth read - underpinned by good sentence structure and
a wonderful volcabuary - it looks effortless (can't see the sweat!)

some of the descriptions went an adjective too far now and then - for me.
all very flowery, but fine, if that's your intention.

the character remains a bit of a mystery to me - appreciates culture and tolerance was as
deep as it got - some dialogue might be more revealing.

resurging feeling of open liberalism, freedom of oppression,

surley, freedom FROM oppression, or freedom of expression, ?

blame the spell check.

thanks for sharing
Ned


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## BobtailCon (Nov 9, 2015)

ned said:


> I like the sound of Seattle! -
> 
> Very well written, and a nice smooth read - underpinned by good sentence structure and
> a wonderful volcabuary - it looks effortless (can't see the sweat!)
> ...



Thanks for the advice. Yeah, I meant FROM oppression haha. One thing I enjoy about this style (genre?) of writing is you can be very flowery and descriptive. It's more like you're painting a story, rather than telling it.


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## qwertyman (Nov 9, 2015)

This could easily be an enticing first page of a Fitzgerald-style novel. A young man entering an unfamiliar culture and keen to explore new territory, but harbouring a deep sorrow.

But you word choices and imagery are confusing and the scene is prepared as though the reader knows things that only you could know.

****

As I watch the rain trickle down my window pane, I wonder who else holds the soberness and humble happiness that rain brings. Who else watches the droplets shadow themselves down their carpet. Who else feels my sorrow?

_Are you happy or sorrowful?  ‘down their carpet’? needs a re-read. I’m still not clear. If it’s raining there’s no sun…where’s the shadow?_
 
This writing is my witness to the events of this most recent Winter. Spring has brought virgin flowers who loom and embrace the honeykeeper bees as lost lovers. The pollen lies thick in the air, and cottonwood rides the breeze for a suitable location to lay seed. 

_This writing is my witness… Where are we, ‘this Winter’ or Spring? 
_
_Loom? Honeykeeper is superfluous and interferes with the flow. 
Pollen is lying in the air and cottonwood rides a breeze.  Is there a breeze or isn’t there?_
 
Nature's beautiful rebirth will one day bury my despair in a blanket of bitter ivy.

_Contradictory image: Springs’ beauty, one day, is going to resolve your sorrow/despair with bitter ivy? _
_Word choice: 'Bury' implies under the ground, which is not associated with ivy.  Cover/smother or shroud would be better._
 
Through the Summer of 1913 I worked as a newspaper lad. I took my hand-me-down Schwinn across Spokane's finest suburbs delivering everyone's daily coffee enhancers.

_Switch to past tense needs double line separation. 'Delivering' is confusing; isn’t he ‘collecting’ local news?_
 

The work was tiring, but the ten dollars at the end of every week kept me quiet. 

When that summer ended, I took my books, one hundred and fifty six dollars in earnings (and my Schwinn) and rented an apartment in Seattle, The Big Blue. 

_As I read it (para 2) - the writing is ‘witness to the winter’, but it’s not it’s about spring and summer in Spokane. Now you are in Seattle. _

_If you lived on 50 cents a day, at $10 dollars a week $156 would take you 24 weeks to earn…a long summer._
 
My humble lodgings were in none other than Pike Place Market, an impressive farmer's market of gawkers, peddlers, and scaled giants selling to the highest bidder.

_‘Scaled giants’, must be an American thing._
 
The only discomfort with my location was the constant smell of fish and piss. It was this factor that had me exploring the finer parts of the great city.

_The way it's described it implies if it hadn’t been to the smells you wouldn’t have explored the finer parts of the great city?_
 
I had maybe two months rent, no job, and not a care in the world. The atmosphere of that great city was an intoxicating beauty that welcomed all people. 

_Hold it! ‘…not a care in the world’? I thought you had ‘great sorrow’? _
_Repetition of ‘great city’._

The racial transgressions that I encountered in my travels to Old Dixie dissipated. 

_Clumsy, the reader doesn’t know anything about your travels in Dixie nor why this would this ‘dissipate’ them?_

Replaced by a resurging feeling of open liberalism, freedom of oppression, and a progressive mind that subtly eased it's patrons to their dreams.


I walked gaily with the crowds, moving as one flow, one stream, one ebb of consciousness. We gawked at performers, nodded to bouncers, and tossed excess pocket change to buskers. I was enthralled at the city's fine culture, which bled into all who dwelled in Seattle.

_Word choice, _
_Common synonyms for ebb are: retreat, recede, diminish._
_Common synonyms for bled are: exploited, drained, depleted._

_ I don’t think either of those suits your purpose._


***
As always just my opinion.


qwerty


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## BobtailCon (Nov 9, 2015)

qwertyman said:


> This could easily be an enticing first page of a Fitzgerald-style novel. A young man entering an unfamiliar culture and keen to explore new territory, but harbouring a deep sorrow.
> 
> But you word choices and imagery are confusing and the scene is prepared as though the reader knows things that only you could know.
> 
> ...


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## qwertyman (Nov 10, 2015)

My point is you shouldn’t have to explain in your responses what you mean. You know what happened, where it happened and when, the reader doesn't.  If you write '_This writing is my witness to the events of this most recent Winter.' _and then write about Spring and the Summer and never mention Winter again, the reader will be wrong-footed.  

The writer's job is to communicate.



_ I watch the rain trickle down my window pane, I wonder who else holds the soberness and humble happiness that rain brings. Who else watches the droplets shadow themselves down their carpet. Who else feels my sorrow?_

_Are you happy or sorrowful? ‘down their carpet’? needs a re-read. I’m still not clear. If it’s raining there’s no sun…where’s the shadow? 

__He's happy in the sense of a grieving person reading a joke from a dying relative, a moment's refreshment. 

Down their carpet is referring to the shadow of the raindrops. In Washington, it rains while it's bright and sunny all the time, especially in Spring.

_I think it's a stretch to expect the reader to sort out what you mean.  The 'sorrow' is the hook. Don't weaken it's impact with _'humble happiness'._
_


_P.S. I know where Dixie is but I thought a Schwinn was a typewriter.  I assumed the narrator was a writer ('this writing is my witness').


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## BobtailCon (Nov 10, 2015)

qwertyman said:


> My point is you shouldn’t have to explain in your responses what you mean. You know what happened, where it happened and when, the reader doesn't.  If you write '_This writing is my witness to the events of this most recent Winter.' _and then write about Spring and the Summer and never mention Winter again, the reader will be wrong-footed.
> 
> The writer's job is to communicate.
> 
> ...



I don't understand the trouble you had, everyone else understood perfectly well. There's a lot of implication in this story, but I'm not going to explain every detail to the reader. It makes for bad writing.


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## qwertyman (Nov 10, 2015)

> I don't understand the trouble you had, everyone else understood perfectly well.




 Yes, noted. 

Hear what you want to hear.


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## BobtailCon (Nov 10, 2015)

qwertyman said:


> Yes, noted.
> 
> Hear what you want to hear.



?

edit: You obviously have more problems than my responses to your criticism, I wish you good luck with them.


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## wainscottbl (Nov 12, 2015)

Perfect I say. I don't often say that. Not a harsh critic, but I just try to help by finding some fault, but beautiful! I think it is very poetically written. Good voice, good flow, good metaphors and similes, good everything.


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