[stylist] Tell me What You think of my Character
Shelley J. Alongi
qobells at roadrunner.com
Tue Sep 8 04:17:42 UTC 2009
Yeah that's good, shaking hands. It's a good thing he's not operating the
train, chuckles. I can work that in there.
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: "Judith Bron" <jbron at optonline.net>
To: "Writer's Division Mailing List" <stylist at nfbnet.org>
Sent: Monday, September 07, 2009 9:03 PM
Subject: Re: [stylist] Tell me What You think of my Character
> Instead of cold and clammy, his hands could shake a bit. This is a sign
> of nervousness but doesn't conjure up a negative image. Judith
> ----- Original Message -----
> From: "Shelley J. Alongi" <qobells at roadrunner.com>
> To: "Writer's Division Mailing List" <stylist at nfbnet.org>
> Sent: Monday, September 07, 2009 11:37 PM
> Subject: Re: [stylist] Tell me What You think of my Character
>
>
>> 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
>>>> _______________________________________________
>>>> Writers Division web site:
>>>> http://www.nfb-writers-division.org
>>>> <http://www.nfb-writers-division.org/>
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>>>
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>>
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>
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