Women's Fiction

This critique is different from the others. I summarized the main problems at the very end.

FORTY DAYS HATH SEPTEMBER
Mary Catherine Aucoin

(beginning of) Chapter One

“Well, here we go then. I said I wouldn’t go and I didn’t. I finally did what I wanted for a change, instead of the ‘proper’ thing to do.”

Angela stood in the doorway, taking in the room with one long sweeping gaze. As she made her way through the vacant room, she slowed in front of a picture that sat on the Baby Grande. The picture was oddly placed behind a large bowl of dying roses. The scarf that lay under it had slid, hanging softly to the floor. She was alone in the room. Odd, there were so many people in and out of the house earlier. The quietness seemed strange, lonely, and eternal.

The picture spoke without words. She wanted to touch it; but not the picture, the love. The love that was so evident in the picture. She wanted to touch the love, again. Off in the distance a movement caught her attention. She moved to a corner of the room where her presence would go unnoticed. She thought, “I don’t know why I think anyone would notice they hadn’t before.”

She felt that most of her life had gone unnoticed. There had been no great deeds in her life to make anyone stand up and take notice. She was certainly no Joyce Meyer. Her ministry had never reached that level and she was not sure that she ever wanted it to get that large. Small intimate gatherings were more her style. Her comfort zone was with a few people and one on one ministering. Until now there was nothing that would make her memorable to anyone that did not know her personally. She questioned God constantly, never quite sure if she was fulfilling the plan He had set out for her. If she could start over what would she do differently? Well, there was no sense in looking back. “It’s the present that needs to be dealt with,” she thought to herself. She always thought too much. She had kept her thoughts to herself and put them down in her manuscripts. Writing had been a good outlet for her throughout the years. She enjoyed the opportunities to speak to women’s groups and organizations. But she found that in writing her deepest thoughts were somehow transparent.

There was only one person other than Jesus that she thought understood her insecurities. Joe always listened and at least pretended to understand what she was talking about. But he was gone. Even when he was alive he had never belonged to her. Their timing had never been right. When she was single he was not and vice-versa. But their friendship was stronger than any marriage she had ever known. Angela always attributed that to the lack of an intimate relationship between them. She had learned over the years that relationships somehow became all ‘muddled up’ as she called it when sex came into play. Joe had been a stabilizing force in her life of mountains and valleys, and deserts, and had always had a way of making her think straight. His six-foot plus frame carried him well. He was a striking man that exuded strength in character as well as having an almost Moses on the mountain persona when he entered a room. A powerful, no holds barred preacher that could and would be brutally honest when it came to where he saw a person in regards to salvation. At times that honesty made Angela cringe as though God himself had pointed his finger at an area in her life that had been hidden from her, but she welcomed it. “I wish he were here now,” she thought. “It would be good if he were here now.” There she went, thinking again.

Two elderly women had wandered through the door, coming in from the hall on the other side of the room. The long span of hallway that ran past the great room allowed for two entrances into the room. The builders had sly little remarks about that. “Too good to walk the forty paces to the first door, I reckon,” she had overheard one of them say during the building.

The two women were speaking quietly and looking at the pictures of the family that Angela had on the far wall. She called it her family gallery. Angela tried to hear what they were saying but it was very faint.

“I really didn’t know her that well.” The one woman whispered to the other.

“Then why did you come?” the other replied. It was more of a reprimand than a question.

“My thought exactly,” Angela thought shaking her head and grinning.

There was no response from the lady for a minute or two while she seemed to question her motive herself. As they walked around the room it finally slipped out without her even realizing it.

“How beautiful this place is; I’ve always wondered what it looked like inside.”

Angela’s jaw set as she stared at the woman. That was enough for her. She really couldn’t deal with more tears, more feigned sadness. Ok, maybe there were some that were not pretending to be sad. How interesting it is to listen to people talk about the deceased. All day they had floated in and out of the house, making small conversation. They all had such nice things to say. But isn’t that the way we all are at funerals? No one would dare say what they really felt until they were at home. Angela had never met a person that had gone through life without ruffling some feathers. She had always thought how nice it would be if one could go through life and have nothing bad ever said about them. ‘Well, I had a few things I wanted to say too, but no one would hear,’ she thought. They were all too caught up in their own thoughts to hear hers. She had always hated funerals, not just because of the loss of someone but it always seemed that funerals were used for reunions, for lack of a better word. At funerals you always see people that you haven’t talked to in years even though they live in the same town. Angela thought funerals were a waste of time and a total farce. Meanwhile the deceased is lying in the box totally ignored except for those that really loved him or her. She had told many people that she would not go to this one, and she meant it.

The house was full of people coming and going all afternoon. Angela was surprised to see the ones that were truly upset. She knew that the children and the grandchildren would take it hard. Nancy of course was devastated but tried to be strong for the children's sake. Angela had overheard her tell someone that she always thought that she would go first. There were so many people that Angela didn’t recognize, telling stories of their relationship with the family. Others that clearly had no use for the deceased before were ever so concerned for the children now. Of course there were the few that tried to lighten the air with a little humor. At times Angela could hear laughter wafting in from the kitchen. She thought how funny it was that the kitchen always seemed to be the informal room where the heaviness of the day could be expelled and people could be themselves.

She heard one of the children say that at the cemetery many had dropped out of the procession, leaving the faithful to carry on. The pastor of Angela’s church did a wonderful job giving the salvation message and assuring everyone that the deceased was surely in the presence of the Lord. Then it was off to the house for food and fellowship. Nancy of course stayed in the kitchen doing what Angela always considered to be her ministry. She was such a wonderful cook and could plan meals for hundreds if need be. Angela smiled as she watched her best friend moving around the kitchen making sure everything was laid out properly. Angela had always admired Nancy, and the two women could not have been more different. But from the beginning their friendship had been one of total acceptance. She often thought of the movie “Beaches” that Bette Midler had made years ago when she thought of their relationship.

Nancy sent the girls in to be with the visitors. Jerry was off in another room upstairs, on the phone with his dad. He told Nancy to call him if he were needed. He was very much like his mother. He hated the social aspect of funerals and some of the conversations angered him. After securing the dogs before everyone arrived, he had made a hasty retreat. His father’s health was not good and he was unable to make the trip from Utah; he had called and left a message asking Jerry to return his call. Jerry used this as an excuse to be away from the entourage that was making their way through the house. The house was large and there were people in every room. This angered Angela, she considered it an invasion of her privacy but there was nothing she could do about it.

She decided to go upstairs to her room and hide. As she made her way up the stairs, the grandchildren were running down and almost fell over Harley, her big black dog, as he was following Angela. Someone must have let him in by accident and he was intent on being with her. Christopher stopped to hug Harley and apologize for running into him, giving him a hug around his big chest. Harley was receptive and continued to go up the stairs, catching up with Angela at the top. No one seemed to notice that the dog was in the house except the kids.

When she got to her room, Harley rushed in and stood dead aim and began barking and growling so loud that it brought Jerry in. Angela could not believe her eyes. Her sister-in-law was going through her things. Jerry asked what she thought she was doing and told her to leave his mother’s room immediately. She made some excuse about looking for something she thought that she had left years before.

“I hardly think anything of yours would be in my mother’s bedroom.” Jerry said as he held Harley by the collar. “I think you should leave.” Jerry said with authority.

She tried to respond but knew it would do no good. She mumbled something and haughtily left the room, heading for the stairs. He followed her down to the front door, opened and closed it behind her. He stood there for a moment leaning against the door on both hands as though holding it closed. The muscles in his jaw twitched noticeably. He caught sight of someone out of the corner of his eye watching him. Quickly gaining his composure, he mumbled something to them as he angled his way through the curious onlookers.

***

I liked the emotion when Angela is looking at the picture, wanting to touch the love. I could feel her longing. I’m privileged with more information than you have, so I see the potential for an intriguing story. Unfortunately, the beginning doesn’t do it justice.

There are some small issues throughout the piece, but I’m only going to mention the major ones. First, there are really only two paragraphs of story before it gets into lengthy backstory. Most of you probably know why backstory is a problem, but for those of you who don’t: The story isn’t moving forward, it’s stalling. So backstory had better be vital. And if it comes too soon, the reader doesn’t have the chance to care about your character before they’re asked to care about what your character did in the past.

Next, there’s the problem of speaker attributes for thoughts. It’s just not done anymore. Most of the thoughts should blend right in with the narrative, and the thoughts that are strong enough to justify being set apart should simply be in italics.

And third, POV issues. Angela seems to know what people are thinking and feeling at times. We should be firmly in one character’s head, so we shouldn’t be told anything that the character can’t see, feel, hear, etc.

What are your feelings about his piece? Your reactions and observations?

You can read a summary of the plot, and learn more about Cathey on her Shoutlife page: www.shoutlife.com/aucoin.