[stylist] Tell me What You think of my Character

Tue Sep 8 03:37:19 UTC 2009

Barbara, thanks for responding to this. I didn't think about the cold clammy 
hands being a turnoff. I meant to show Glen was nervous. As we go through 
the story we'll learn more about his life through scars on his hands; hands 
are very important. I'll think of something and if anyone has any 
suggestions let me know. Tormented and physical, good observations. Why does 
Judy put him off before he tells what's bothering him? She explains it in 
the next lines. But I should indicate that she understands he can't tell her 
everything right then it's so painful. Don't worry; he tells her. I'll work 
on these details.
Shelley J. Alongi
Home Office: (714)869-3207
**
NFBWD "Slate and Style" editor
http://www.nfb-writers-division.org

**
To read essays on my journey through the Chatsworth train accident, 
Metrolink 111 or other interests click on 
http://www.storymania.com/cgibin/sm2/smshowauthorbox.cgi?page=&author=AlongiSJ&alpha=A

updated July 2, 2009
----- Original Message ----- 
From: "Barbara Hammel" <poetlori8 at msn.com>
To: "Writer's Division Mailing List" <stylist at nfbnet.org>
Sent: Monday, September 07, 2009 1:30 PM
Subject: Re: [stylist] Tell me What You think of my Character

> Personally, I got turned off by the cold, clammy hands.
> He seems like a tormented man.  He strikes me as the type who is willing 
> to face unpleasantness because he's willing to divulge a secret from his 
> past. Not all people would do that.
> He's a physical man, he likes to touch.  But why did she put him off just 
> as he was about to tell her what he wanted to say?
> Now I want to know what mystery his past holds.
> Barbara
>
> If wisdom's ways you wisely seek, five things observe with care:  of whom 
> you speak, to whom you speak, and how and when and where.
>
> --------------------------------------------------
> From: "Shelley J. Alongi" <qobells at roadrunner.com>
> Sent: Thursday, September 03, 2009 11:46 PM
> To: "NFBnet Writer's Division Mailing List" <stylist at nfbnet.org>
> Subject: [stylist] Tell me What You think of my Character
>
>> Hi Guys, If anyone is up for it I have an exercise for you. I want to see 
>> how much of Glen's character is revealed in the first chapter to see if 
>> it lines up with who I think he is. If you're up for this, read the first 
>> chapter and tell me what you learn about Glen Streicher, physically, 
>> emotionally, or anything else you notice about him. I've been workign 
>> with him so long I'd like to see what others think.
>>
>>
>>
>> Flirting with Monday
>>
>> Book One
>>
>> Chapter 1
>>
>> I sat with Judy Flower on the planter perpendicular to the railroad 
>> tracks, they stretched out silvery in the EARLY AFTERNOON, empty, nothing 
>> in sight. Then I spied the lights of an approaching freight, it flew 
>> through the station, the sound surrounding us, the long rectangular cars 
>> sliding past, squeaking, groaning, clattering, gliding along the rails 
>> effortlessly. There was Fred, the lights winked, flirting with me. The 
>> freight clattered off into the distance and it suddenly grew quiet, I 
>> moved next to Judy. She sat silently. I reached out with both hands, 
>> grasped her slender one, held it in mine, curled her hand into my palm, 
>> lay my fingers across it.
>>
>>
>>
>> "Judy," I whispered. "Look at me."
>>
>>
>>
>> There was something about a train that could melt my defenses, if only 
>> one layer at a time. I held her hand as if it might be a lifeline.
>>
>>
>>
>> "Judy," I said, her eyes fastened to mine, "I was hurt a long time ago. 
>> Twenty years ago, before I was hired to work for the railroads. A girl; 
>> we were going to get married; I showed up at the wedding, she wasn't 
>> there. The day after that I got my letter saying I was hired by the Union 
>> Pacific and I left and never saw her again. Never."
>>
>>
>>
>> I stopped. I couldn't say anymore. She laid her left hand across my cold, 
>> clammy hands and rested them on her lap. Her hand caressed a long, ragged 
>> cut along the top of my left hand.
>>
>>
>>
>> "Hush, Glen," she said patiently. "Just hush. No more."
>>
>>
>>
>> "After all this time," I whispered through the starting of my tears, 
>> "after telling me I can't face this now you don't want to hear it?"
>>
>>
>>
>> I didn't want to tell her any more of the story. The layers I had 
>> cocooned it in had been ripped away, the wounds fresh and stinging. The 
>> rest of the story was so painful, it made me sick to my stomach. Even 
>> mentioning Elizabeth caused cold sweat to pop out on my forehead.
>>
>>
>>
>> "It isn't that I don't want to hear it," she explained quietly as my 
>> tears started to fall. "It's that you can't tell me the rest right now. I 
>> want you to face this I don't want to break your heart. But you have to 
>> face it, Glen. I'll help you. You know that.""
>>
>>
>>
>> She caressed my hand, she laid it on my knee, her warm fingers tracing 
>> down my wrist, outlining my nails. She twisted the simple gold class ring 
>> on my finger, the symbol of the one thing we had done together before we 
>> knew it.
>>
>>
>>
>> We watched another train approach. I caught my breath in great, heaving 
>> sobs. Gently removing Judy's hands from mine, covering my face, I leaned 
>> forward, choking on painful tears, unable to stop them. They were drowned 
>> out by the engine and the noise of the cars.
>>
>>
>>
>> Judy moved close to me, leaning her head on my arm, cuddling up like a 
>> comforting presence, saying nothing. The last of the train swept by, 
>> engines behind it pushing the cars forward, and then all grew quiet. I 
>> eased my hands away from my eyes and pulled Judy close to me, holding her 
>> almost desperately, my tears dripping onto her shoulder, my head resting 
>> there. I kissed her.
>>
>>
>>
>> "I'm sorry," I choked. "You are right. I have to face this. I can't lose 
>> you." I couldn't speak anymore. Moments passed.
>>
>>
>>
>> "There's a green light," she told me. "I can see another train." Judy 
>> kissed my cheek, tasted my salty tears, sat their quietly.
>>
>>
>>
>> "Glen," she soothed, "Just remember I'm not going to leave you. You came 
>> back to me. You want to do this. I promise you I'm here now." She turned 
>> her head and looked into my blue, streaming eyes, wresting my attention. 
>> "Sweet Glen, after all this time, do you finally believe me?"
>>
>>
>>
>> Her face questioned me, I touched her cheek with my fingers and nodded.
>>
>>
>>
>> "You're sure?"
>>
>>
>>
>> "I'm sure," I whispered. "Finally."
>>
>>
>>
>> "glen," she said gently, "I love you. I loved you the moment I saw your 
>> face in that window, the moment you waved at us through that window, and 
>> I waved back and then I came and said hello and you smiled and said hello 
>> back. I'll take you with all your baggage. I've been around long enough 
>> to know that all of us have baggage."
>>
>>
>>
>> Judy laid a cool hand across my hot cheek, gently eased the tears away. 
>> She laid her head against my neck. I was glad when the third train came 
>> through, blazing past us in a roaring spasm of sound and wind. The wind 
>> blew Judy's golden curly hair across her face. I lifted my left hand to 
>> touch it. My fingers caressed her hair, soft and staticky, the sensation 
>> sending electricity through me. Quickly, I dropped my hand.
>>
>>
>>
>> We sat quietly as the train moved away from the station. The horn at the 
>> next intersection came to us, haunting and comforting and healing and 
>> disturbing. My tears kept falling. Judy looked off into the distance. She 
>> sat back against me, her body giving me strength for my painful journey. 
>> This had been a long time coming and now she focused her full attention 
>> on me, the trains and the afternoon breeze forgotten. Moments passed and 
>> she turned, easing herself off my knees, taking my left hand, holding it 
>> quietly, rubbing my wrist. I sat there meekly, spent, knowing Judy was 
>> right. It was time. It was time to rip away the last of the defenses and 
>> get on with my life. Judy had been patiently waiting.
>>
>>
>>
>> "What was her name?" she asked quietly, reaching out to touch me, giving 
>> me permission not to answer the question. She put her head on my chest, 
>> looking up at me. Her look made me want to at least tell her part of the 
>> story.
>>
>>
>>
>> "Her name was Elizabeth Handling and we were very young. I met her in 
>> Astoria where I grew up, right out of high school."
>>
>>
>>
>> Judy reached into her red shoulder bag and pulled out some tissue. She 
>> gently wiped my face, the hot skin cooling under her fingers. I slid my 
>> fingers under Judy's  cheek, turning her face so that her lively green 
>> eyes looked straight into my red, swollen ones.
>>
>>
>>
>> "I want counseling," I now said, "I'm ready. You shouldn't have to hear 
>> all of it. I think I just need to see a psychologist. We should find one 
>> so you're not burdened with all of it. I want us to start fresh."
>>
>>
>>
>> "Okay," she said, still looking at me, "if that makes you comfortable. 
>> I'm your friend, Glen. I'll help you. I won't leave you. Do you 
>> understand that?"
>>
>>
>>
>> I nodded.
>>
>>
>>
>> "Dr. Lee Meadows," she said, "on your early morning run. He's a 
>> psychologist. And he's a nice man, too, Glenn. Maybe he can help find 
>> someone."
>>
>>
>>
>> I had to laugh and smile just a little. My Judy Flower, she knew everyone 
>> on all my trains.
>>
>>
>>
>> "I'll call him," I said, sitting back, relaxing, "I promise."
>>
>>
>>
>> We sat there for another twenty minutes. On a Sunday, train traffic was 
>> lighter. The sun peeped through the overcast sky on that Sunday, I sat 
>> there, finally easing my hand through Judy's. I felt easier, if 
>> exhausted. Even if I didn't want to tell her all the story today, I knew 
>> the hardest part had been done. The wall I had constructed around my 
>> heart had slowly over the last two years been breeched. Over the last 
>> week during our painful separation a giant section had been knocked down. 
>> I sighed, Judy leaned against me and rubbed my shoulders.
>>
>>
>>
>> "I love you," she said.
>>
>>
>>
>> We stood up, stretching, I gathered Judy to me, holding her quietly. Her 
>> heart beat strongly against my Union Pacific shirt. I patted Judy's 
>> shoulder and stepped away from her, just looking into her calm, accepting 
>> face.
>>
>>
>>
>> "How many times have you proved it to me?" I asked. "How many times."
>>
>>
>>
>> "I'll always keep proving it to you Glen if you'll let me. We're going to 
>> be okay. Now," she rubbed my hands "shall we go home? Do you want me to 
>> drive?"
>>
>>
>>
>> I looked at my watch. How quickly the time had flown. Tomorrow we had to 
>> start another week. But it would be a much better week than the last one.
>>
>>
>>
>> "I'll drive," I said. "I'm okay. Finally I am. My train gets off to an 
>> early start in the morning."
>>
>> "Yes, I know," she held my gaze. "And I'll be on it. Right behind you."
>>
>> We kissed quietly there by the railroad tracks. Judy put her hand through 
>> mine like a child and smiled. I took her other free hand and kissed it, 
>> my lips curled about her fingers.
>>
>>
>>
>> "You're quite a girl," I marveled. "Quite a girl."
>>
>> Shelley J. Alongi
>> Home Office: (714)869-3207
>> **
>> NFBWD "Slate and Style" editor
>> http://www.nfb-writers-division.org
>>
>> **
>> To read essays on my journey through the Chatsworth train accident, 
>> Metrolink 111 or other interests click on 
>> http://www.storymania.com/cgibin/sm2/smshowauthorbox.cgi?page=&author=AlongiSJ&alpha=A
>>
>> updated July 2, 2009
>> _______________________________________________
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>
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