[stylist] Shawn, story about Aliens in the office
Bridgit Pollpeter
bpollpeter at hotmail.com
Fri May 7 17:52:35 UTC 2010
Shawn,
Funny story, but I have a couple of suggestions and questions.
First, what is your intention with this? Do you have a specific audience you are reaching for?
Second, when you go through and edit try to find moments where specifics can be added. Create more images, like descriptions of people/places, and show more action. Like the guy who slid along the walls when walking.
Watch that you do not over state things. For example, we learn that you ask the lady if Jane wants a hug in the narration then you say the same thing following that para in dialogue. You don't need both. I would stick with the dialogue.
Great beginning here. Towards the end you may want to see if you can create some scenes. There is a lot of "telling" and not enough "showing" at the end. Maybe show some specific encounters or give us some more dialogue. Scenes really can help with the pacing of a story. Always keep the action moving forward.
Bridgit
> From: stylist-request at nfbnet.org
> Subject: stylist Digest, Vol 73, Issue 9
> To: stylist at nfbnet.org
> Date: Fri, 7 May 2010 12:00:06 -0500
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> Today's Topics:
>
> 1. Comments on Short Story (Neil Butters)
> 2. Re: Writing sample (Judith Bron)
> 3. Re: Writing sample (James H. "Jim" Canaday M.A. N6YR)
> 4. Re: Writing sample (loristay)
> 5. Re: Writing sample (loristay)
> 6. Re: Writing sample (James H. "Jim" Canaday M.A. N6YR)
> 7. Re: Writing sample (loristay)
> 8. Re: Comments on Short Story (BDM)
> 9. feedback please (Judith Bron)
> 10. Re: Comments on Short Story (Neil Butters)
> 11. Re: Comments on Short Story (BDM)
> 12. Re: Comments on Short Story (Neil Butters)
>
>
> ----------------------------------------------------------------------
>
> Message: 1
> Date: Thu, 6 May 2010 11:01:22 -0400
> From: "Neil Butters" <neil.butters at sympatico.ca>
> To: <stylist at nfbnet.org>
> Subject: [stylist] Comments on Short Story
> Message-ID: <BLU0-SMTP6567C8FD0B8BB77ADBCF06E2F50 at phx.gbl>
> Content-Type: text/plain; charset="iso-8859-1"
>
> Hello All,
>
> I attached a short story that I wrote. Any comments and criticisms are welcome. It is somewhat long, approximately 3700 words, so I thought an attachment would be more appropriate than pasting it in the message. If anyone has a problem openning it, I can send it in txt format or off-list.
>
> The story is an existentialist mystery about a guy in a laundromat who isn't sure what he just witnessed. Was it a heinous crime or his imagination?
>
> ***Warning***
> The story does contain adult content and themes: some violence that may be offensive and some sexually suggestive material (no sex though). I think it may be no worse than an episode of Law and Order: Special Victims Unit.
>
> Thanks to anyone who takes the time to read this.
>
> Neil
>
>
> The details:
> -------------- next part --------------
> A non-text attachment was scrubbed...
> Name: A Sense of Humor.doc
> Type: application/msword
> Size: 46592 bytes
> Desc: not available
> URL: <http://www.nfbnet.org/pipermail/stylist_nfbnet.org/attachments/20100506/7a79220f/attachment-0001.doc>
>
> ------------------------------
>
> Message: 2
> Date: Thu, 06 May 2010 21:00:21 -0400
> From: Judith Bron <jbron at optonline.net>
> To: Writer's Division Mailing List <stylist at nfbnet.org>
> Subject: Re: [stylist] Writing sample
> Message-ID: <001601caed80$ac4ee990$3302a8c0 at dell5150>
> Content-Type: text/plain; format=flowed; charset=iso-8859-1;
> reply-type=response
>
> Dave, Where do you get the converter?
> ----- Original Message -----
> From: "David Andrews" <dandrews at visi.com>
> To: "Writer's Division Mailing List" <stylist at nfbnet.org>
> Sent: Wednesday, May 05, 2010 10:35 PM
> Subject: Re: [stylist] Writing sample
>
>
> > It was a Microsoft Word 2007 file. If you only have Word 2003, there is a
> > converter available
> >
> > Dave
> >
> > At 03:21 PM 5/4/2010, you wrote:
> >>Hi Shawn,
> >>What type of file is this? I tried opening with Word, Adobe, Firefox, IE8
> >>and Thunderbird. None of them worked.
> >>Donna
> >
> >
> > _______________________________________________
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>
>
>
>
> ------------------------------
>
> Message: 3
> Date: Thu, 06 May 2010 21:55:37 -0500
> From: "James H. \"Jim\" Canaday M.A. N6YR" <n6yr at sunflower.com>
> To: "Writer's Division Mailing List" <stylist at nfbnet.org>
> Subject: Re: [stylist] Writing sample
> Message-ID: <201005070255.o472th6D002298 at smtp.sunflower.com>
> Content-Type: text/plain; charset="us-ascii"; format=flowed
>
> judith,
> as I wrote answering donna, it is on the microsoft pages for ms-word
> itself. it is a free download.
> jc
>
> At 08:00 PM 5/6/2010, you wrote:
> >Dave, Where do you get the converter?
> >----- Original Message ----- From: "David Andrews" <dandrews at visi.com>
> >To: "Writer's Division Mailing List" <stylist at nfbnet.org>
> >Sent: Wednesday, May 05, 2010 10:35 PM
> >Subject: Re: [stylist] Writing sample
> >
> >
> >>It was a Microsoft Word 2007 file. If you only have Word 2003,
> >>there is a converter available
> >>
> >>Dave
> >>
> >>At 03:21 PM 5/4/2010, you wrote:
> >>>Hi Shawn,
> >>>What type of file is this? I tried opening with Word, Adobe,
> >>>Firefox, IE8 and Thunderbird. None of them worked.
> >>>Donna
> >>
> >>
> >>_______________________________________________
> >>Writers Division web site:
> >>http://www.nfb-writers-division.org <http://www.nfb-writers-division.org/>
> >>
> >>stylist mailing list
> >>stylist at nfbnet.org
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> >>
> >
> >
> >_______________________________________________
> >Writers Division web site:
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> >
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>
>
> ------------------------------
>
> Message: 4
> Date: Thu, 06 May 2010 23:14:44 -0400
> From: loristay <loristay at aol.com>
> To: "Writer's Division Mailing List" <stylist at nfbnet.org>
> Subject: Re: [stylist] Writing sample
> Message-ID: <A28F1AF9.3EDA.4AE2.B083.5029442FEDC7 at aol.com>
> Content-Type: text/plain; charset="iso-8859-1"
>
> plots down? ?I've never seen this usage before.
> Lori
> On May 5, 2010, at 4:04:02 PM, "Neil Butters" <neil.butters at sympatico.ca> wrote:
>
>
> "Anyway, I met the office alien about two weeks after transferring. I was?
> eating my lunch and this lady I'd never seen before plots down on.."
>
>
> ------------------------------
>
> Message: 5
> Date: Thu, 06 May 2010 23:28:19 -0400
> From: loristay <loristay at aol.com>
> To: "Writer's Division Mailing List" <stylist at nfbnet.org>
> Subject: Re: [stylist] Writing sample
> Message-ID: <548A9CAC.21BA.4F38.BC35.45AB45A0077F at aol.com>
> Content-Type: text/plain; charset="iso-8859-1"
>
> Does this converter work with Microsoft Word for Apple?
> Lori
> On May 6, 2010, at 10:55:37 PM, "James H. \" <n6yr at sunflower.com> wrote:
>
> From: "James H. \" <n6yr at sunflower.com>
> Subject: Re: [stylist] Writing sample
> Date: May 6, 2010 10:55:37 PM EDT
> To: "Writer's Division Mailing List" <stylist at nfbnet.org>
> judith,
> as I wrote answering donna, it is on the microsoft pages for ms-word?
> itself. it is a free download.
> jc
>
> At 08:00 PM 5/6/2010, you wrote:
> >Dave, Where do you get the converter?
> >----- Original Message ----- From: "David Andrews" <dandrews at visi.com>
> >To: "Writer's Division Mailing List" <stylist at nfbnet.org>
> >Sent: Wednesday, May 05, 2010 10:35 PM
> >Subject: Re: [stylist] Writing sample
> >
> >
> >>It was a Microsoft Word 2007 file. If you only have Word 2003,?
> >>there is a converter available
> >>
> >>Dave
> >>
> >>At 03:21 PM 5/4/2010, you wrote:
> >>>Hi Shawn,
> >>>What type of file is this? I tried opening with Word, Adobe,?
> >>>Firefox, IE8 and Thunderbird. None of them worked.
> >>>Donna
> >>
> >>
> >>_______________________________________________
> >>Writers Division web site:
> >>http://www.nfb-writers-division.org <http://www.nfb-writers-division.org/>
> >>
> >>stylist mailing list
> >>stylist at nfbnet.org
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> >>To unsubscribe, change your list options or get your account info?
> >>for stylist:
> >>http://www.nfbnet.org/mailman/options/stylist_nfbnet.org/jbron%40optonline.net?
> >>
> >
> >
> >_______________________________________________
> >Writers Division web site:
> >http://www.nfb-writers-division.org <http://www.nfb-writers-division.org/>
> >
> >stylist mailing list
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>
> _______________________________________________
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>
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>
> ------------------------------
>
> Message: 6
> Date: Thu, 06 May 2010 22:35:28 -0500
> From: "James H. \"Jim\" Canaday M.A. N6YR" <n6yr at sunflower.com>
> To: "Writer's Division Mailing List" <stylist at nfbnet.org>
> Subject: Re: [stylist] Writing sample
> Message-ID: <201005070335.o473ZYmh011166 at smtp.sunflower.com>
> Content-Type: text/plain; charset="us-ascii"; format=flowed
>
> dunno. I freely admit that all I looked at at the ms-word pages was
> windows related. sorry.
> jc
>
> At 10:28 PM 5/6/2010, you wrote:
> >Does this converter work with Microsoft Word for Apple?
> >Lori
> >On May 6, 2010, at 10:55:37 PM, "James H. \" <n6yr at sunflower.com> wrote:
> >
> >From: "James H. \" <n6yr at sunflower.com>
> >Subject: Re: [stylist] Writing sample
> >Date: May 6, 2010 10:55:37 PM EDT
> >To: "Writer's Division Mailing List" <stylist at nfbnet.org>
> >judith,
> >as I wrote answering donna, it is on the microsoft pages for ms-word
> >itself. it is a free download.
> >jc
> >
> >At 08:00 PM 5/6/2010, you wrote:
> > >Dave, Where do you get the converter?
> > >----- Original Message ----- From: "David Andrews" <dandrews at visi.com>
> > >To: "Writer's Division Mailing List" <stylist at nfbnet.org>
> > >Sent: Wednesday, May 05, 2010 10:35 PM
> > >Subject: Re: [stylist] Writing sample
> > >
> > >
> > >>It was a Microsoft Word 2007 file. If you only have Word 2003,
> > >>there is a converter available
> > >>
> > >>Dave
> > >>
> > >>At 03:21 PM 5/4/2010, you wrote:
> > >>>Hi Shawn,
> > >>>What type of file is this? I tried opening with Word, Adobe,
> > >>>Firefox, IE8 and Thunderbird. None of them worked.
> > >>>Donna
> > >>
> > >>
> > >>_______________________________________________
> > >>Writers Division web site:
> > >>http://www.nfb-writers-division.org <http://www.nfb-writers-division.org/>
> > >>
> > >>stylist mailing list
> > >>stylist at nfbnet.org
> > >>http://www.nfbnet.org/mailman/listinfo/stylist_nfbnet.org
> > >>To unsubscribe, change your list options or get your account info
> > >>for stylist:
> > >>http://www.nfbnet.org/mailman/options/stylist_nfbnet.org/jbron%40o
> > ptonline.net
> > >>
> > >
> > >
> > >_______________________________________________
> > >Writers Division web site:
> > >http://www.nfb-writers-division.org <http://www.nfb-writers-division.org/>
> > >
> > >stylist mailing list
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> > flower.com
> >
> >
> >_______________________________________________
> >Writers Division web site:
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> >
> >stylist mailing list
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> >
> >_______________________________________________
> >Writers Division web site:
> >http://www.nfb-writers-division.org <http://www.nfb-writers-division.org/>
> >
> >stylist mailing list
> >stylist at nfbnet.org
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>
>
>
>
> ------------------------------
>
> Message: 7
> Date: Thu, 06 May 2010 23:58:24 -0400
> From: loristay <loristay at aol.com>
> To: "Writer's Division Mailing List" <stylist at nfbnet.org>
> Subject: Re: [stylist] Writing sample
> Message-ID: <34AAAC54.FAB1.400C.AB2A.F4854713E00F at aol.com>
> Content-Type: text/plain; charset="iso-8859-1"
>
> You might want to fix the s o a r thumb. ?It should be s o r e.
> Thanks to JC for clearing up the word "plops." ?I realized belatedly what it should be.
> Much too short! ?I think I've met some of the office aliens in my time! ?I had a boss once I'll call Mr. Frog. ?He derived much pleasure from telling me that all chiropractors were frauds and quacks--fully knowing my dad was a chiropractor. ?Then there was the grandson of the inventor of the Reuben sandwich (I'd give him a pseudonym, but he was also Mr. Reuben) who was a dirty old man. ?He's probably gone now--he was in his 80s and that's nearly thirty years ago. ?
> Lori
> ?
> On May 5, 2010, at 8:54:03 AM, "Jacobson, Shawn D" <Shawn.D.Jacobson at hud.gov> wrote:
>
> From: "Jacobson, Shawn D" <Shawn.D.Jacobson at hud.gov>
> Subject: Re: [stylist] Writing sample
> Date: May 5, 2010 8:54:03 AM EDT
> To: "'Writer's Division Mailing List'" <stylist at nfbnet.org>
> Here is the text version of what I wrote. Please let me know if you have problems with this and I will work with the format.
>
> Shawn
>
> Space Aliens
> by Shawn Jacobson
> Every office has at least one space alien. You know, they're the ones that stick out of the office like soar thumbs, the ones that don't fit in, the ones you meet and then you wonder what planet they're from.?
> We had two of them where I used to work. One was Dexter the wall walker. He always slid along the walls when he walked around the building. One day, I turned the corner and he jumped across the hall to get away from me. "Don't look at me!" he exclaimed. I later learned from a coworker that he thought that blind people could shoot rays from their eyes and make you go blind.
> The other was creepy Rita the aura reader. She always said that she could read auras and would wave her hands around in the air in front of your face to see what your aura was like. One day she ran into me coming up the elevator and said "Go home Joe, your aura's all wrong today." I thought she was nuts but I got into a stupid fight with one of the branch managers about who had the meeting room, then I deleted a document I was writing and had to spend three hours re-typing it. So she may have know something.
> Anyway, I met the office alien about two weeks after transferring. I was eating my lunch and this lady I'd never seen before plots down on the seat next to me.
> "How many kids do you have?" she asked.
> "Two, a boy and a girl" I replied while the little robot in my head started screaming "WARNING! WARNING!".
> We talked a while longer, mostly her asking probing questions, until she found out that both kids were adopted.
> "Why can't you have kids of you own?" she asked.
> "That's none of your business!" I exclaimed angrily. She got up in a huff and moved to the other side of the room. I'd gotten the impression that she was on some sort of a manhunt; I didn't have to worry about that anymore. I told one of the managers about what happened and mentioned that I felt uncomfortable; he left a thick volume on my chair that explained office HR procedures with a note asking "how uncomfortable are you?" I let the issue drop.
> I forgot all about it until I got pegged to represent our office on a disabilities awareness committee that the agency was putting together. "Don't obligate us to anything" my boss's boss growled "we don't have any funding for disability awareness.
> So I started going to meetings. It was pretty depressing knowing that my mission was to make sure nothing was done, but with 70% of blind people unemployed, I sure wasn't going to rock the boat. And most other people seemed to be there for the same reason anyway. They were people who were just starting out, getting ready to retire, or were the one disabled person in their office.
> One was Alex, a deaf guy who always had an attractive female interpreter with him. He spent the whole summer telling me to look at him and not the interpreter and I spent the whole summer apologizing.
> And then there was Jane. Jane was a real tiny woman who used a motorized wheelchair to get around. I found out that Jane liked hugs. We were up in the building's Randolph Shepherd snack-bar and she's giving a hug to the lady who runs it. I turned to the lady and asked if she thought Jane might want me to give her a hug.
> "While don't you ask me?" said Jane.
> "Would you like a hug? I asked Jane.
> "Sure" she said "if you can get down here".
> So I squatted down, bent over and hugged her in her wheelchair. From then on, I gave her a hug at every meeting we went to.
> Finally, the committee's work was done and we had the obligatory coffee and doughnuts wrap-up meeting. The agency head came and congratulated us for the stellar work of the committee, a 30-page report with lots of high minded goals but no action items. Then some less important officials came and thanked us for moving the cause of the disabled forward. I sat next to Alex and Jane; they seemed to be having an animated sign language conversation and I wished I could understand what they were saying. Then after the last speaker finished people started heading back to their cubes and then there was just us disabled people left in the room. Jane turned to me and said "Joe, why don't you come over to our office. We have something to show you."
> And that's how I learned about the Intergalactic Federation. I learned about all sorts of creatures including beings that could read auras and a creature that didn't have eyes and could make you blind as part of its strategy for self defense.
> I also learned about races very much like us who had solved their problems with war, greed, and environmental degradation. I don't know if we will solve our problems, but I believe we can; others have done so.
>
> -----Original Message-----
> From: stylist-bounces at nfbnet.org [mailto:stylist-bounces at nfbnet.org] On Behalf Of Donna Hill
> Sent: Tuesday, May 04, 2010 4:22 PM
> To: Writer's Division Mailing List
> Subject: Re: [stylist] Writing sample
>
> Hi Shawn,
> What type of file is this? I tried opening with Word, Adobe, Firefox,?
> IE8 and Thunderbird. None of them worked.
> Donna
>
> Donna's articles on Suite 101:
> http://www.suite101.com/profile.cfm/donna_hill
>
> Free Download: "Love of My Life"
> http://www.passionsandpossibilities.com/guest-blogger-donna-hill-advocate-for-the-blind/
>
> Read my articles on American Chronicle:
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>
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>
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> Hear clips from "The Last Straw" at:
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>
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> www.padnfb.org
>
>
>
> Jacobson, Shawn D wrote:
> > Attached is the writing sample that I will read at the May meeting. This is a short 1,000 or so word story which I look foreward to expanding.
> >
> > Please feel free to send me any comments.
> >
> > Shawn Jacobson
> > Mathematical Statistician
> > Phone# (202)-475-8759
> > Fax# (202)-485-0275
> >
> >
> >
> >
> >
> > E-mail message checked by Spyware Doctor (7.0.0.514)
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> >?
> > ------------------------------------------------------------------------
> >
> > _______________________________________________
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> >
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>
>
>
> E-mail message checked by Spyware Doctor (7.0.0.514)
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> _______________________________________________
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> ------------------------------
>
> Message: 8
> Date: Fri, 07 May 2010 07:26:27 -0500
> From: BDM <lists at braddunsemusic.com>
> To: Writer's Division Mailing List <stylist at nfbnet.org>
> Subject: Re: [stylist] Comments on Short Story
> Message-ID: <6.2.1.2.2.20100506223422.0b931190 at www.braddunsemusic.com>
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>
> Hi Neil,
>
> For what its worth below are some general thoughts. Thoughts are in * or **
>
> A Sense of Humor
>
> **I was somewhat confused by the title. Though you did a pretty good job
> of drawing me into a gruesome setting causing me to be surprised in the end
> and then back once more with yet still a brow raised question in the last
> line, I wouldn't consider it a sense of humor piece.
>
> Noting a couple areas that stood out to me...
>
> ...whether to simply throw them away, but I won three poker tournaments
> while wearing that shirt, and my girl had spent a kidnapper's ransom on the
> towels. That cash could have helped us buy a new washer...
>
> **The kidnapper's ransom helped set the tone, I thought that was a good
> criminalish simile for the story about to unfold
>
> ...The machine began to chug and shake after I fed it some coins.
>
> **Put the order of detail as they happened? You put coin in *then* it began
> shaking.
>
>
> Sweat slicked my underarms, **this seems unfinished? Maybe "I sweat
> slicked...." or "Sweat slicking my..."
>
>
> which had been secreting *secreting what? We know but seems unfinished?*
> profusely since I entered the Laundromat. The moisture was starting to make
> my shirt - proclaiming that Harley-Davidson was the best ride ever - cling
> to the sides of my body like a wet bathing suit.
>
> **Make your shirt what? Make your shirt as in sweat was "reaching it* or it
> was making the shirt proclaim the Harly hthing somehow? Not sure.
>
>
> A few beads of perspiration trickled down my forehead, and I wiped them
> away with the bottom of my shirt as I settled on one of the plastic chairs
> facing the washers and threw the laundry bag underneath.
>
> **This seems long to me? Maybe make it more action-like removing the "and"s
> when you can? Perhaps...
> A few beads of perspiration trickled down my forehead into the laundry bag,
> wiping them away with the bottom of my shirt, I settled on one of the
> plastic chairs facing the washers.
>
> ...*With*My eyes closed. I was transported onto a stage with Metallica in
> an open-air stadium. But...
>
> ...men and women prefer to look at female celebrities with at least C-sized
> bras. If necessary, a few mouse clicks could be used to fill out the
> desired mold. Works for me.
>
> **The mouse click/computer thing seems out of place as he's looking at a
> physical magazine. Perhaps he can digitally edit in his mind with
> imagination or something to keep it non-computerish.
>
> ....quickly. I then used the towels to clean up the remaining mess. The
> carnage had been much more than I had expected, but then again the gashes
> were very deep. I tore through her flesh and the underlying muscle.
>
> **Definitely got me thinking you're an axe murderer hear haha. Though I
> think in the next line letting us know you are back at the laundromat a
> little bit earlier in the opening line would be good. Though I do like the
> thumping of the chest here as it goes with the hacking of your girl above.
>
> The thumping in my chest slowed gradually as the music and magazine took
> effect. I waited 30 minutes, to the second, before retrieving the laundry...
>
>
> **I like how you cleared up the cutting open of your girl giving a "ah ha"
> moment. Then shortly after, making us think the end will be finished and
> solved as you hate unsolved stores, I like how you interweaved the
> Unsolved Mystery show in as a vehicle for this guy 's mind to run away, and
> also at teh very end... did it really run away or was it real?
>
> The baby thing is a bit sensitive yes, but the mystery is good. If you've
> eve listened to Home Prairie Companion with Garrison Kieler, there is a
> weird little story segment called Bebop a rebop Rhubarb Pie taking you
> on some weirdish little mystery and then back to reality very quickly...
> this reminded me of that, only mixed with a little Stephen King haah.
> Good creative imagination I thought.
>
>
>
>
>
> ------------------------------
>
> Message: 9
> Date: Fri, 07 May 2010 10:10:05 -0400
> From: Judith Bron <jbron at optonline.net>
> To: Stylist <stylist at nfbnet.org>
> Subject: [stylist] feedback please
> Message-ID: <001901caedef$014ab3c0$3302a8c0 at dell5150>
> Content-Type: text/plain; charset=iso-8859-1
>
> Good morning everyone. I know you read most of this before, but I edited the heck out of it. I want to know how this grabs the reader. This time I'm only sending 2 chapters. If anyone wants the third, just ask. Thanks, Judith
>
>
> CHAPTER ONE
>
>
>
> Curtis Cove, New York November 1977
>
> Jennifer's thoughts were a safe haven and the only place she could escape to for security. Usually In her semi-hypnotic state she managed to be cognizant of the world around her. But this Saturday morning she was so deep in thought she ignored the sounds of people talking, children playing and horns honking. Wearing blue jeans, sweater and jacket the slender girl with sad eyes wandered aimlessly down the street thinking about her inability to love anyone. Suddenly horns blared, tires squealed and sirens wailed. She lay on the street oblivious to the sounds and horror engulfing her.
>
> Randy, the well muscled captain of her high school football team ran towards the accident, his blond hair flying in all directions. He saw Jennifer lying in the street with a policeman hovering over her. "Is she all right?"
>
> "Don't know. Just called for an ambulance. Who is she?"
>
> "Jennifer Rabinowitz. She lives a block from here."
>
> "Can you get her parents?"
>
> "I'll get her Foster mother. Where are they taking her?"
>
> "Arthur Memorial. They have a good Trauma Center."
>
> Jennifer lay immobile and unconscious, her long light brown hair covering her face. With one last glance at Jennifer Randy took off for the Hamilton house.
>
> A burly technician at the scene yelled, "Get the oxygen! Respiratory distress!"
>
> Unmindful of the flurry of activity around her Jennifer floated over her body, ending up in a different place. A loving ethereal voice cut through the fog addressing the bewildered girl. "Jennifer, it's me, Mommy. I've always loved you."
>
> Sheila and Randy ran into the emergency room shortly after they brought Jennifer in.
>
> The waiting doctors began their examination immediately. Dr. Green, a balding man wearing wire rimmed glasses demanded, "Get the defibrillator!"
>
> Now aware of the serenity surrounding her in this new place Jennifer said, "Mommy, I want to stay here. My life is awful. I can't love anyone."
>
> "Your life will get better. Wonderful people will prove that you can love and be loved."
>
> The medical staff brought the equipment necessary to resuscitate Jennifer. Unaware of the panic around her Jennifer told her mother, "Mommy, I don't want to go back. I'm different from the other kids. They remind me all the time."
>
> "Differences make identities. You have a beautiful life ahead of you. It's time to go back now."
>
> "No, Mommy! Don't make me!"
>
> Dr. Green applied the panels to Jennifer's chest. A huge burst of energy started her heart beating again. Jennifer took a deep, labored breath.
>
> As soon as she started breathing on her own they trundled her at top speed to a CAT scan which showed the doctors that neither her spine nor limbs were broken. She hadn't suffered any internal injuries. Dr. Green said to his team, "This is one lucky girl."
>
> Randy and Sheila sat in the waiting room anxiously awaiting word about Jennifer. Randy glanced at his watch. "I have to call the coach to tell him I'm not playing and Jennifer's not cheering this afternoon. Be right back."
>
> Once Jennifer was put in a room Randy and Sheila kept vigil beside her bed gazing bleakly at the oxygen, bottles of fluid and monitor. Sheila, with the figure of an exercise enthusiast thought the scene was reminiscent of a nightmare! Randy wondered if Jennifer, with her flawless complexion and sad eyes would ever cheer for a football game again. After her recovery would she continue to take his breath away? Once she was back to normal would she still refuse his dates?
>
> Randy leaned forward and spoke to the sleeping girl. "Keep fighting, Jennifer. We're all pulling for you."
>
> At one point Randy said, "I can't do much here. I better head over to the field. Be back right after the game."
>
> Sheila saw her open her eyes briefly before slipping back into either slumber or unconsciousness. Sheila couldn't tell. She just kept watching, waiting and praying that her favorite foster child would survive.
>
> When Randy returned after the game Jennifer woke for more than a few minutes. Sheila asked, "How do you feel, Jennifer?"
>
> "Weak and sore. Do I really need this oxygen?"
>
> "I'll check. Can I get you something to eat?"
>
> "If it's not too much, I'd like a sandwich."
>
> "Let me find out."
>
> After she left Randy said, "I played today. Everyone sends their best. I was so upset that I blew a touchdown pass. We lost."
>
> Jennifer responded weakly, "I'm sorry, Randy. I know how much that trophy means to you."
>
> Carrying a sandwich and cup of juice Sheila returned to the bedside. "The nurse said the doctor will be in soon to see about the oxygen. I brought you a cheese sandwich."
>
> "Thanks, Sheila."
>
> Sheila continued, "I have to get going. Cindy has plans for tonight and Ted has to work. I'll send Ted up with your things. See you in the morning." She kissed Jennifer and headed for the parking lot.
>
> On her way to the car Sheila thought about the document and little book Social Services gave her to be presented to Jennifer on her seventeenth birthday. That was a few months away. She sure wished she could give it to her now. She had no way of proving it, but something told her this packet would unlock some of the answers Jennifer needed to understand her identity. Both items were written in a foreign language. She couldn't understand it and doubted Jennifer understood the language either. Should she ask DSS if she could give it to the girl earlier? With this issue unresolved she opened her car door and slid in.
>
> A tall, good looking doctor entered the room moving with the assuredness of someone who evoked trust from his patients. "Good evening, Jennifer. I'm Dr. Jackson. I'm covering Dr. Green's patients tonight. Mrs. Hamilton asked the nurse about the oxygen. I want to keep it going until tomorrow morning. Dr. Green will evaluate you then. Is there anything else I can do for you?"
>
> "Can I take a shower?"
>
> "The nurse will help you with that tomorrow morning. Is everything else all right?"
>
> "I guess so. Thanks."
>
> She turned to Randy. "I don't remember anything. Can you tell me about it?"
>
> Randy described the accident scene that morning. "While you were sleeping you looked so peaceful. Do you remember anything?"
>
> She lied, "I don't remember a thing. I had no idea it was that serious."
>
> "How do you feel now?"
>
> "I nearly died, but other than that fine."
>
> Randy laughed. "Can I ask you a serious question?"
>
> "Sure. But please forgive me if I'm not in the mood to answer it."
>
> "What will it take for you to go out with me?"
>
> "Randy, there's a lot going on in my head. I need time to straighten it all out. Right now you're the best friend I have in the world. Just keep on being my friend. That's the best thing you can do for me."
>
> "I know others give you a hard time about your last name. Is that part of the problem?"
>
> "That's a big part. I don't know who I am. You guys know your parents, what they expect from you and people to turn to when you need answers to important questions. I haven't had that since I was two.
>
> "I also have my career in clothing design to think about. I guess that's my identity for now. But how can you create an identity out of a spool of thread, a piece of cloth and sewing notions? I need more than that. I need to explore this Jewish thing. I guess my parents were Jewish. How else would I end up with a name like Rabinowitz? At the moment I don't know where to begin my search."
>
> "If there's anything I can do to help you just ask."
>
> "Randy, do I have all kinds of bruises on my face?"
>
> Randy smiled. "You look like the most beautiful girl in the world who got into a fight and almost lost."
>
> "I guess I didn't lose. When I get up my courage I'll look in the mirror."
>
> "You're looking tired. I'll be back tomorrow morning."
>
> "Good night, Randy. Thanks for being here."
>
> Jennifer laid back on the pillow hoping to make contact with her mother again. She closed her eyes. There was no loving voice, no hope, no purpose. Only predictable blackness. Her mother said that differences made identities. What identity? Could anything in the world unlock the mysteries of her life?
>
>
>
>
>
>
>
>
>
>
>
>
>
>
>
>
>
>
>
> CHAPTER TWO
>
>
>
> The Same Saturday morning in Jenna, New York
>
>
>
> Standing on the bottom step Pessi smiled at her mother who lay on the sofa in the dining room. "Mommy, can I get you anything before I leave for synagogue?"
>
> "No thanks, dear." Pessi saw the look in her mother's eyes and prepared for the same lecture Mrs. Goldberg had been delivering for months. "Pessi, you have to become involved with the girls at school. I know many of their mothers, and they are wonderful people."
>
> Pessi shrugged. "I'm fine the way I am. I like being alone."
>
> Her mother rebuked, "It isn't normal for a sixteen year old girl to exist only for homework and her family. You're a beautiful girl with a lot to offer others. Please make an effort to become friends with the girls at school."
>
> She fixed her eyes on Pessi's unruly hair. "You can't go to Shul with your hair like that. Put it in a bun."
>
> "I can't. One of these days I'll get it cut."
>
> "Pessi, all I'm asking you to do is try."
>
> Using the traditional Sabbath greeting Pessi answered curtly, "Good Shabbos, Mommy." She put on her ugly coat, stomped out of the house and headed for her father's synagogue. She preferred to run her life her way, and if that meant being alone so be it.
>
> After services Pessi quietly came up behind two schoolmates. She heard the petite Miriam sporting perfectly styled dark hair say to Ruthie in her spike heals, "Can you believe she goes in public looking so disgusting? Her coat is a reject from a charity sale. Those shoes haven't been seen since the Revolutionary War! Her hair is a nesting place for rats with bad taste. Nothing in the coatroom stood out like the moth holes in her coat! Gross! I hear she has a family, but no one with any self-respect has claimed her.
>
> "I have to get home. Rabbi Goldberg's speaking this afternoon. Want to go?"
>
> Ruthie flashed a perfect smile revealing the expertise of her orthodontist. "Sure. Everyone goes to hear Rabbi Goldberg."
>
> "Great. I'll pick you up after lunch."
>
> Engrossed in their conversation Pessi didn't think the renowned gossips noticed her. Pessi had to smile at their creative comments. She knew very well how she looked, but circumstances did this to a person. Could girls like Ruthie and Miriam ever understand there were more important things in a girl's life than clothes and beauticians?
>
> Under the dreary November sky Chavy Levy headed home from the synagogue her parents attended for years. The most popular girl in her class, Chavy had only three problems. She had to lose 10 pounds, her older brother Yigal had to be the most obnoxious person in the world to live with, and she hated math. She couldn't figure out why she had to be in a class which had nothing to do with her future. She had no idea what she would be doing after graduation, but becoming a math teacher wasn't an option! Still, she had to pass or her parents would have a fit. While strolling along on this Shabbos, Sabbath, morning she admired her surroundings where the men wore traditional hats and younger boys donned skullcaps appropriate for children. Chavy tossed her shining brown hair over her shoulder, and focused her beautiful brown eyes on the passers by. Women walked with husbands, children or friends. All wore clothing reflecting the special day. This afternoon Chavy and her friends planned to go to the B'nos club for girls which met every Shabbos or Saturday afternoon to hear Rabbi Goldberg. Chavy honestly believed her class to be the greatest. They all got along while having a ball working together except for Pessi Goldberg who didn't talk to anyone. Chavy shrugged and continued on.
>
> At home her mother greeted her. "Good Shabbos, Chavy. Can you finish this salad?"
>
> "Sure."
>
> A few minutes later the family assembled in the dining room for their Shabbos day meal. The legendary arguments between Chavy and her good looking brother Yigal started almost immediately. "Chavy, where's the grape juice?"
>
> "On the door of the fridge."
>
> "Why isn't it on the table? You know I can't start my meal without it." Yigal needed to say the required prayer over wine or grape juice before his Shabbos meal.
>
> "Go get it. The bottle isn't heavy."
>
> Their father boomed, "I've had enough from the two of you! You can both bring the juice to the table." They glanced at each other before getting up. The Rabbi continued, "When you get back I don't want either of you saying a word. Obviously you're not mature enough to talk decently to anyone."
>
> Done straightening up after the meal Chavy and her cute sister Chumy got ready for B'nos. Yigal told Chavy, "You better be home for sudat shlishit. You're the only one who prepares the third Sabbath meal so well."
>
> "It would serve you right if I couldn't be here. Then you'll be forced to make it yourself!"
>
> "I can't even compliment you without some smart remark. OK Chavy, Don't come home to make your horrid food. We'll live longer without it!" He smiled at her revealing the dimple in his right cheek.
>
> "All right, Yigal. I won't be here. I'm sure I can find a place where they'll take me in."
>
> "Don't bet on it, Chavy. It obviously takes a strong person like me to put up with you."
>
> At the school door Chavy heard the tenth grade yentas behind her. Miriam said, "Do you think the reject with the rat's nest on her head wearing her home for displaced moths will show up?"
>
> Ruthie nastily answered, "I don't think she'd have the nerve to socialize with civilized society. B'nos isn't a place for rejects."
>
> Chavy's temper flared. "Don't you have anything else to talk about? What bothers you about a girl you don't know? Life contains a lot of hard lessons. Someday you'll find that out." The two of them returned her dirty look before going to hang up their coats.
>
> Chavy entered the school auditorium, already half full for the Rabbi's lecture. To her surprise Pessi sat alone in the back. She saw the overgrown hair, ugly shoes, and sad eyes. Chavy wondered about this girl who arrived at school just as the bell rang and always left when the first dismissal bell sounded without a word to anyone. During lunch she sat reciting verses from her Psalm book saying nothing to any of the girls. Gossips like Miriam and Ruthie entertained themselves with Pessi Goldberg jokes, but most girls tried to get Pessi involved with the mainstream student body. When it was obvious they failed, the feeling became pity.
>
> Now Chavy observed the brunt of jokes by the narrow minds and object of pity for most of the girls, feeling bewildered. Well, the bewilderment had to stop and once and for all she had to make contact with this mysterious girl. She never remembered seeing Pessi before on Shabbos. The contrast between Pessi's clothes and the others was glaring. While most girls dressed up for Shabbos, Pessi wore a simple skirt and sweater appropriate for the weekday. Pessi sat reading the same Psalm book she read all week. Chavy knew the time had come to jump over Pessi's self constructed barrier.
>
> With fortified convictions she approached her classmate. "Good Shabbos, Pessi."
>
> "Good Shabbos, Chavy. I'm waiting for Rabbi Goldberg. I need some of the emotional support he always gives." Pessi returned to her book, signaling the end of the conversation. Chavy never remembered Pessi communicating more than a cursory greeting until now.
>
> Determined to help her classmate Chavy said, "Pessi, come sit with the class."
>
> Pessi raised her clear blue eyes. "I'm fine right here." She lowered her eyes to her book, again conveying the end of the conversation.
>
> Though an assertive girl who always managed to control any situation she found herself in, Chavy felt intimidated by Pessi who exhibited a certain inner strength she couldn't match. Baffled, she sat down near the girl, trying to think of what she could say to at least entice her to join the group. "Pessi, you're a nice girl, but you don't talk to anyone."
>
> "My life is different. I have nothing in common with any of you." Pessi's attention returned to her book.
>
> Chavy stared at the girl praying from her Psalm book. Pessi could be very pretty if she had a hair cut and nicer clothes. Her blue eyes, outlined by dark, long, luxurious lashes, seemed sad. Chavy wondered what lay under this fa?ade.
>
> Both girls were sixteen, but Pessi had never been to a school social event, a class birthday party or someone else's house for Shabbos.
>
> She had to try one more time. "Pessi, we want to be your friend. Please come sit with us."
>
> "Chavy, I'm here for the Rabbi's lecture, and have to go when it's over. I don't have time to stay for refreshments."
>
> "All I'm asking you to do is sit with us. I already told my brother I'm not coming back to make Sudat shlishit for him. I don't feel like it. How about it? Come sit with us, stay for refreshments, and I'll go back to help you with whatever you have to do."
>
> In a soft voice Pessi answered, "I don't want to impose."
>
> The well-rehearsed Chavy shot back, "I don't want to go back to my brothers today. I'll go home with you and call my father after Shabbos to pick me up."
>
> Chavy was good. Pessi felt herself giving in. She smiled for the first time. "All right, Chavy. Let's go sit with the others."
>
> The tall girls reached the front of the auditorium just as the Rabbi with his salt and pepper beard started towards the podium.
>
> The audience turned their undivided attention to Rabbi Goldberg, but no one turned greater concentration to the speaker than Pessi.
>
> Today the theme of the lecture encompassed the difficult things confronted by people, and how individuals should perceive challenging situations.
>
> "If someone isn't well we look at that as unfortunate. It's terrible to see someone suffer with illness. As Jewish people we're told to say Psalms with the hope they recover. But what happens if they don't recover? What happens if we said our Tehillim, and they pass away, Heaven forbid, anyway? Should we think our prayers weren't answered? No." The Rabbi looked straight at Pessi. "It has nothing to do with us. Let me try to bring it down to a more comprehensible level.
>
> "Let's say I bring to one of you high school girls a blueprint from the best architect in the country. He has drawn plans for the biggest, best building this country has ever seen. You're high school girls and, to the best of my knowledge, none of you ever studied architecture." The girls giggled and he continued. "So, I go to your desk, put down the drawing and ask what you think. What are you supposed to say? You have no idea how to evaluate such diagrams." The girls wondered where he was going with this analogy. "Why are the heating pipes over there? Why are there no windows on that wall? Considering the best architect in the country drew the plan wouldn't it make sense he knew what he was doing? The architect knew how different forces worked together to make the building a viable one. You see girls, you have no right interpreting the architect's drawing or expressing an opinion. Only someone of equal stature to the architect has that right.
>
> "The Almighty is the architect of the world. Only He knows if something is good or bad. Because we aren't on His level we can't objectively judge what He does. As with the blueprint, we can say the windows look better on the left rather than the right, but the architect knows about the airflow in the building, and how the other infrastructures will work together. We don't know architecture or understand the blueprint of the world. But as the customer trusts the architect, we trust the Almighty because only He knows what is best."
>
> Pessi turned closer attention to him with tears streaming down her face. Chavy wondered about her reaction.
>
> "We can say we're saying Tehillim for the sick and, Heaven forbid, they pass away. Weren't our prayers good enough? We know they were, but what the Almighty knows is good isn't always what we think of as acceptable. In the end we don't even know how to judge good as it pertains to individual situations. In short, girls, there are no answers. We know our Father in heaven doesn't intentionally hurt his children."
>
> Chavy saw the Rabbi speaking directly to a sobbing Pessi. If only Chavy understood her problem perhaps there would be something she could do.
>
> The Rabbi continued, "Our responsibility is to show our Father we love Him as we carry out His commandments, religious obligations, with our heartfelt joy. Before I leave I want each of you to take your Tehillim book and say two Psalms for each of these people who aren't well. Hopefully, our prayers will be heard and these people will be granted a speedy and complete recovery." He read three names using the Hebrew name of the person followed by the Hebrew name of their mother. Pessi blinked back tears and opened the book. A short while later the Rabbi said, "Good Shabbos, girls" indicating the end of the lecture.
>
> The girls headed for the lunchroom where a beautiful dessert buffet awaited them. Beside Chavy Pessi said, "I have a question for the Rabbi. Be right back."
>
> Chavy's love for delectable goodies led her to the fattening dessert buffet. She spotted fruit on the other table and reluctantly took a plate of the colorful, but less fattening food.
>
> Chavy glanced at Pessi talking to Rabbi Goldberg. She must have had a simple question. She spent only a minute with the Rabbi before heading back to Chavy.
>
> Pessi picked up a pastry. "These pastries are great!"
>
> "You're so skinny you could probably eat the whole table and never show it. I have weight to lose so I stick to fruit. Have some, it's good."
>
> Pessi laughed, reaching for another pastry. "Chavy, I have to get going. My mother isn't well."
>
> "No problem. I can eat only so much fruit."
>
> When they finished eating Pessi and Chavy headed for the coat room under the watchful gazes of Miriam and Ruthy.
>
> Pessi wondered if she was making the right move. How come she decided to leave the school with Chavy today? Was she proving that despite her strong resolve she needed someone? Absolutely not! She predicted that by Monday Chavy would be totally bored with her and both of them would return to their own corner of the world. That would be all the proof she needed to show her mother that she didn't need anyone else in her life.
>
> Pessi lived some distance from the school. On the streets they traveled Chavy didn't see any of the sights she associated with Shabbos afternoon in her neighborhood.
>
> Pessi clung to her pride, still not completely sure about letting another girl into her life. She glanced at Chavy's beautiful gray wool coat with black velvet collar and cuffs. She remembered how it felt to be wearing such a fine garment, but that was in the past.
>
> Chavy felt Pessi's discomfort. She tried chatting about school activities, upcoming tests and the weather. Pessi wanted to discuss classes and course work.
>
> Chavy still believed Trigonometry to be an obscure planet, but in her soft voice Pessi discussed it with the ease Chavy spoke of her favorite foods.
>
> Fifteen minutes later they arrived. Like others in the neighborhood the small, run-down house appeared as if it had seen better days. Chavy didn't care. Over the years she had been friends with girls from the biggest and best homes and others from houses like this. She didn't choose her friends according to their zip codes.
>
> The two girls entered Pessi's dingy foyer. Immediately a round faced little boy ran to her. "Good Shabbos, Pessi!"
>
> Pessi picked him up asking, "Moshe, did you take care of Mommy?"
>
> His expression turned serious. "Mommy read me a book."
>
> "I'm sure she enjoyed that. Let's go see her."
>
> On the sofa in the dining room lay Pessi's mother, a gaunt and obviously very ill woman. Pessi gave her mother a kiss before stooping to pick up her blanket from the floor. She lovingly spread it over her. "Good Shabbos, Mommy. This is Chavy Levy from school. Tatty said she could come home with me."
>
> "It's a pleasure to meet you, Chavy."
>
> Chavy hoped her shock didn't show. The Rabbi was Pessi's father? "It's so nice to meet you, Mrs. Goldberg."
>
> "How did Tatty's lecture go, Pessi?"
>
> A bell rang in Chavy's mind. Whatever was in the Rabbi's speech today had been planned to address an issue in his daughter's life. Gazing at the emaciated woman on the couch wearing a pretty scarf on her head Chavy began to understand the message.
>
> Pessi's eyes darted from her mother to Chavy. "Chavy didn't know my father is Rabbi Goldberg. I never told anyone. The lecture was one of the best he ever gave."
>
> "Why did you keep your father's identity a secret?"
>
> "I feel better being a private person."
>
> "Even though people know who your father is, you can still be a private person. Could you please set out sudat shlishit before Tatty gets home?"
>
> Pessi chose to ignore her mother's latest prelude to a fight. "Sure. I'll do it now."
>
> After arriving home Rabbi Goldberg greeted their guest before turning to his wife. "Shayna, can I help you to the table?"
>
> "I would like that, thank you."
>
> The Rabbi supported his wife the short distance from the sofa to the table. He then said, "Everybody can go and wash."
>
> Moshe brought a bowl and cup of water for his mother to ritually wash her hands. Mrs. Goldberg was too weak to wash at the sink with everyone else.
>
> In the tiny kitchen with doors falling off cabinets Chavy asked Pessi, "Can you come to my house after Shabbos if I help you clean up? My father can pick us up."
>
> "I'll ask." Back at the table the Rabbi said the blessing on the bread and they all took a bite from their roll. Pessi asked, "Tatty, Chavy wants to know if I can go to her house after Shabbos. Can I?"
>
> Mrs. Goldberg immediately answered, "Go, dear. It's good for you to get out." Rabbi Goldberg added, "You can go if you have a ride home."
>
> "I'll ask my father, but it shouldn't be a problem."
>
> "In that case I give my permission. Have a good time."
>
> Two dark haired teenage boys with small beards entered the house. Pessi said, "Those are my brothers."
>
> Chavy glanced at the boys headed for the kitchen to wash in preparation for their meal.
>
> Avi Goldberg heard his father say, "Chavy, your father and I are very close friends. I know Rabbi Levy for many years."
>
> Avi stifled his laughter. So his best friend Yigal Levy's sister was Pessi's new friend? He already agreed with all the complaints about her. Why did Pessi pick up such a pain in the neck?
>
> After a brief talk by the Rabbi on the week's Torah reading Chavy quietly asked Pessi, "Why did you keep your father's identity a secret?"
>
> Pessi thought about the giant plunge she had taken, wondering if she should share anything more about her life. Seeing the sincere expression in Chavy's eyes convinced her. "Goldberg is a very common name. No one knows except you now. I'm happier being anonymous."
>
> The two girls said the blessing after the meal before going into the dinette.
>
> Pessi started in a low voice. "My mother has cancer. She's getting chemo once a week, but her reports aren't good. We moved to Jenna ten months ago to be closer to better hospitals. My father used to have a big congregation and good job, but since moving here he hasn't been successful. I wear weekday clothes on the Sabbath because my last Shabbos outfit doesn't fit.
>
> "I didn't want to get close to the girls at school. They look at my disgusting hair, inappropriate clothes and don't want that either." Chavy's eyes remained riveted on Pessi.
>
> "I'm so nervous about my mother that all I do is go to school, keep up this house, help my mother and family, and pray. My father gave the speech today for me. I love my mother and can't face what's happening."
>
> Chavy wondered how Pessi dealt with all these challenges.
>
> "You're the first girl I brought home from school since moving to Jenna. My parents always say they want me to have friends, but I'm ashamed of our situation. I prefer being alone with my problems rather than being the object of pity or ridicule. This issue has been a source of conflict between my mother and me."
>
> "Pessi, if you hung up a few curtains with some pictures this place wouldn't be half bad."
>
> "We can't afford curtains, and don't have any pictures. We had paintings where we lived before, but Tatty sold them for Mommy's medical care. The drapes in the old house were custom made so we left them."
>
> "My mother has a closet full of curtains. Every time she sees a sale she replaces ours. Also, I have some clothes I got too fat for. I'll show them to you later. Don't be ashamed. None of us lives in a palace.
>
> "Also, there's Chesed at school. As you know this group does community service. They can come and help you out a few times a week. I know the girl in charge of it. I'll discuss it with her tomorrow."
>
> "Don't talk to her, Chavy. I'm ashamed. My beautiful mother is so sick and looks terrible."
>
> "Don't be ashamed. There's nothing wrong with you. When your mother recovers she'll look better."
>
> Pessi started crying, arousing Chavy's concern. "Pessi, I didn't mean to upset you."
>
> "The doctors say now Mommy won't get any better. They want to stop her therapy."
>
> Chavy put her arm around Pessi's shoulders. From what little she understood about cancer, she knew that when a doctor said a person wouldn't get any better and stopped the treatment it didn't mean they expected good news.
>
> "We all know it's the end. My mother is happy you came over today. She's been telling me for a long time I need to find friends. I tried to ignore it because I have too much to do and don't want anyone to know how poor we are."
>
> "Don't worry about what the others think. Tonight we're raiding my mother's curtain closet. Tomorrow after school we go to work." They smiled at each other. Pessi had a friend for the first time in years.
>
> Chavy called her father after Shabbos. He agreed to pick them up and bring Pessi back later.
>
> Chavy approached the sofa. "Thank you for a wonderful Shabbos, Mrs. Goldberg."
>
> "The pleasure is all ours, Chavy. It's wonderful to see Pessi with a girl her age. My little one, Suri, is at a friend's now, but Pessi stays home to do everything I should be doing around here."
>
> "Mommy! I told you I help you because I love you. Don't insinuate I'm something exceptional when I'm just doing what I want."
>
> Pessi turned and led the way to the foyer.
>
> Back at Chavy's Yigal stood in the kitchen with a dishtowel over his arm glaring at his sister. "I'll get you for this, Chavy Levy! This is cruel and unusual punishment! Mommy felt that since my mouth caused you to not come right home I deserved this horrible fate. Our dear sister Chumy insisted I dry. It should be illegal to have little sisters!"
>
> "Yigal, when you find yourself a good wife I'll help you pack your bags."
>
> Pessi joined the laughter unable to remember the last time she laughed from genuine happiness.
>
> Yigal turned to Pessi. "Is Avi Goldberg your brother?"
>
> "Yes. Do you know him?"
>
> "Sure. We go to Yeshiva together. I tell him about my pain in the neck sister, but he insists his sister's a doll. Can you teach my sister to be a doll?"
>
> "My brothers look at me as a doll because we treat each other with respect. Respect works two ways."
>
> "Yigal, after you learn from the Goldberg boys how to treat a good sister perhaps Pessi can teach me a few things. Until then, cut the complaining."
>
> Chumy said, "Back to work, Yigal. Only a few dishes to go."
>
> Mrs. Levy, a tall lady whose daughters bore her winning smile came to greet Pessi. Chavy asked, "Mommy, you know all those curtains you have hanging in the closet?"
>
> "Yes, dear. Why?"
>
> "Can we go through them to choose some for Pessi's house?"
>
> "Sure. I'm sure Mrs. Goldberg will enjoy them."
>
> Bassie Levy visited Shayna Goldberg every week since the family moved to Jenna and they became good friends, but Bassie knew the extent of her illness. Last week she confided they were stopping treatment. Everyone knew what that meant.
>
> Downstairs the girls started going through the closet. In time they came back with curtains and a few paintings. Mrs. Levy approved everything before the two headed up to Chavy's room.
>
> Chavy smiled at Pessi. "You're a very pretty girl. All you need is a good haircut. I cut Chumy's and some of my friends' hair all the time. I enjoy doing it and they always come out of my bathroom looking great. Can I do yours?"
>
> "If it's not too much trouble, I'd love it. I can't remember the last time I had a good haircut."
>
> In the upstairs bathroom she took her scissors and began working her magic. Once done she stood behind Pessi admiring the image in the mirror. "Pessi, you have the darkest, thickest hair I ever saw. You'll be the envy of every girl in the school."
>
> "When my hair's properly cut it's my best feature."
>
> No it's not. Those beautiful blue eyes with your dark hair are an unbeatable match."
>
> "This feels great! Thank you."
>
> In her bedroom Chavy took two outfits from her closet. "Here are two good Shabbos outfits that Don't fit anymore. If they fit they're yours. Here's a pair of black shoes I outgrew. They're in perfect condition. Want to try them on?"
>
> Pessi gazed at the lovely clothing. Her jaw settled into the same stubborn line Chavy witnessed earlier. "I feel strange accepting these beautiful things. I never took charity before."
>
> "This isn't charity. I don't want to keep pushing the hangers that represent the way I used to be."
>
> Pessi took a long while to make up her mind. Chavy thought she would leave the clothes on the bed.
>
> Eventually Pessi took off her sweater and pulled on the top to a black and white outfit that matched the pretty black pumps. The shoes fit perfectly. Seeing her reflection in the mirror she couldn't believe the difference. She tried on the other stylish gray and pink wool outfit.
>
> Chavy sighed. "I wish I could be as skinny as you."
>
> "Don't be silly, Chavy. You look fine the way you are!"
>
> "That's very nice of you, but I can read a scale." Pessi sat on one of the beds observing Chavy's attractive room with white walls and pretty blue plush carpet. She turned back to Chavy. "At first I believed that by Monday morning you would be sick of me and my problems, and we would have both crept back into our own lives. But I was wrong. I know you aren't turned off at our run-down house or my beautiful mother who looks awful now. I knew from the beginning you didn't take a look at my inappropriate clothes and figure they told my whole story.
>
> "I'm familiar with most of the girls. Tatty learns the holy books with many of their fathers. A lot of their mothers visit mine.
>
> "If I didn't have to go straight home after school, I might be willing to make friends with the girls. My mother has been trying to get me to do that. We argue about it constantly. I have the right to run my own life, but she feels that I'm too much of a loner. I love her, but this is one topic we'll never agree on. I'm just more comfortable being a hermit."
>
> "Are you really comfortable like that?"
>
> "I don't know right now. Let's see how it goes. I can be social with the other girls at school, but our relationships will end at the school door."
>
> Chavy ignored her last statement. "I want Chesed to help you out. You need and deserve it. I'll just say one of your parents isn't well so the responsibility for everything is on your shoulders."
>
> "In spite of our poverty, I'm a proud person and never took such generous charity."
>
> "It's not charity. Chesed girls go out to help people all week long. They say they need the help for one reason or another and we send them girls."
>
> Pessi remained quiet for a long time. Chavy thought she would refuse her suggestion.
>
> "I could use the help. Thank you." For the first time in five years Pessi admitted needing anyone. It shocked her to realize this big step felt mighty good.
>
> "Tomorrow in school I'll try to be more a part of the class. I'll say my Tehillim, but will also try to talk to the other girls."
>
> "For the fall holidays we attended your father's Synagogue. My mother mentioned our fathers were classmates in Yeshiva. Did you know that?"
>
> "He never told me their relationship dated back to their days in school."
>
> Mrs. Levy knocked on the door. "Girls, Tatty can take Pessi home now."
>
> Chavy helped Pessi take everything out to the car.
>
> At home Pessi's mother lay on her couch and her father was studying the Holy books in his office. When she entered the room Mrs. Goldberg stared at her. "Pessi! You're gorgeous! Who cut your hair?"
>
> "Chavy. She cuts her sister Chumy's hair all the time. What do you think?" She turned around to give her mother the full effect.
>
> "I love it. You must keep it up."
>
> Her mother noticed the bags she carried. "What do you have there?"
>
> "Mrs. Levy buys curtains every time she sees a sale so has lots of them in the basement. She gave me some to try to make this place look better. They also gave me a few pictures."
>
> "I'll get Avi and Yitzy to hang up rods and picture hooks tomorrow. What else do you have?"
>
> "Chavy gained some weight so doesn't fit into a few of her outfits. There's also a pair of shoes she outgrew."
>
> Mrs. Goldberg admired everything. "They're all beautiful, Pessi. Wear everything well, dear." Pessi kissed her mother good night and headed for her room. Shayna knew Pessi withdrew from the world of other girls because of their poverty and her illness. She would take her guilt to her grave.
>
>
>
> Before going to bed that night Sheila took the little book and paper out of a drawer. She glanced at the foreign writing and wondered what it could mean for Jennifer. Was any of this writing relevant to the girl's identity? She shrugged and returned it to its place.
>
>
>
>
> ------------------------------
>
> Message: 10
> Date: Fri, 7 May 2010 10:35:39 -0400
> From: "Neil Butters" <neil.butters at sympatico.ca>
> To: "Writer's Division Mailing List" <stylist at nfbnet.org>
> Subject: Re: [stylist] Comments on Short Story
> Message-ID: <BLU0-SMTP86C24AA23148E67736096AE2F60 at phx.gbl>
> Content-Type: text/plain; format=flowed; charset="iso-8859-1";
> reply-type=response
>
> Hi Dave and All,
>
> Thanks for the comments, Dave. I will make many changes. However, I think
> you missed the point of the title. So, for you and anybody else that may be
> puzzled, here is an explanation: I meant humor as the old medical term for
> one of the bodily fluids, I.e., red humor or blood. I think, as such, it
> fits. Besides, it corresponds with the theme of things not necessarily being
> what you think.
>
> Thanks again,
>
> Neil
>
>
> --------------------------------------------------
> From: "BDM" <lists at braddunsemusic.com>
> Sent: Friday, May 07, 2010 8:26 AM
> To: "Writer's Division Mailing List" <stylist at nfbnet.org>
> Subject: Re: [stylist] Comments on Short Story
>
> > Hi Neil,
> >
> > For what its worth below are some general thoughts. Thoughts are in * or
> > **
> >
> > A Sense of Humor
> >
> > **I was somewhat confused by the title. Though you did a pretty good job
> > of drawing me into a gruesome setting causing me to be surprised in the
> > end and then back once more with yet still a brow raised question in the
> > last line, I wouldn't consider it a sense of humor piece.
> >
> > Noting a couple areas that stood out to me...
> >
> > ...whether to simply throw them away, but I won three poker tournaments
> > while wearing that shirt, and my girl had spent a kidnapper's ransom on
> > the towels. That cash could have helped us buy a new washer...
> >
> > **The kidnapper's ransom helped set the tone, I thought that was a good
> > criminalish simile for the story about to unfold
> >
> > ...The machine began to chug and shake after I fed it some coins.
> >
> > **Put the order of detail as they happened? You put coin in *then* it
> > began shaking.
> >
> >
> > Sweat slicked my underarms, **this seems unfinished? Maybe "I sweat
> > slicked...." or "Sweat slicking my..."
> >
> >
> > which had been secreting *secreting what? We know but seems unfinished?*
> > profusely since I entered the Laundromat. The moisture was starting to
> > make my shirt - proclaiming that Harley-Davidson was the best ride ever -
> > cling to the sides of my body like a wet bathing suit.
> >
> > **Make your shirt what? Make your shirt as in sweat was "reaching it* or
> > it was making the shirt proclaim the Harly hthing somehow? Not sure.
> >
> >
> > A few beads of perspiration trickled down my forehead, and I wiped them
> > away with the bottom of my shirt as I settled on one of the plastic chairs
> > facing the washers and threw the laundry bag underneath.
> >
> > **This seems long to me? Maybe make it more action-like removing the
> > "and"s when you can? Perhaps...
> > A few beads of perspiration trickled down my forehead into the laundry
> > bag, wiping them away with the bottom of my shirt, I settled on one of the
> > plastic chairs facing the washers.
> >
> > ...*With*My eyes closed. I was transported onto a stage with Metallica in
> > an open-air stadium. But...
> >
> > ...men and women prefer to look at female celebrities with at least
> > C-sized bras. If necessary, a few mouse clicks could be used to fill out
> > the desired mold. Works for me.
> >
> > **The mouse click/computer thing seems out of place as he's looking at a
> > physical magazine. Perhaps he can digitally edit in his mind with
> > imagination or something to keep it non-computerish.
> >
> > ....quickly. I then used the towels to clean up the remaining mess. The
> > carnage had been much more than I had expected, but then again the gashes
> > were very deep. I tore through her flesh and the underlying muscle.
> >
> > **Definitely got me thinking you're an axe murderer hear haha. Though I
> > think in the next line letting us know you are back at the laundromat a
> > little bit earlier in the opening line would be good. Though I do like the
> > thumping of the chest here as it goes with the hacking of your girl above.
> >
> > The thumping in my chest slowed gradually as the music and magazine took
> > effect. I waited 30 minutes, to the second, before retrieving the
> > laundry...
> >
> >
> > **I like how you cleared up the cutting open of your girl giving a "ah ha"
> > moment. Then shortly after, making us think the end will be finished and
> > solved as you hate unsolved stores, I like how you interweaved the
> > Unsolved Mystery show in as a vehicle for this guy 's mind to run away,
> > and also at teh very end... did it really run away or was it real?
> >
> > The baby thing is a bit sensitive yes, but the mystery is good. If you've
> > eve listened to Home Prairie Companion with Garrison Kieler, there is a
> > weird little story segment called Bebop a rebop Rhubarb Pie taking you
> > on some weirdish little mystery and then back to reality very quickly...
> > this reminded me of that, only mixed with a little Stephen King haah. Good
> > creative imagination I thought.
> >
> >
> >
> > _______________________________________________
> > Writers Division web site:
> > http://www.nfb-writers-division.org <http://www.nfb-writers-division.org/>
> >
> > stylist mailing list
> > stylist at nfbnet.org
> > http://www.nfbnet.org/mailman/listinfo/stylist_nfbnet.org
> > To unsubscribe, change your list options or get your account info for
> > stylist:
> > http://www.nfbnet.org/mailman/options/stylist_nfbnet.org/neil.butters%40sympatico.ca
> >
>
>
>
> ------------------------------
>
> Message: 11
> Date: Fri, 07 May 2010 10:07:02 -0500
> From: BDM <lists at braddunsemusic.com>
> To: Writer's Division Mailing List <stylist at nfbnet.org>
> Subject: Re: [stylist] Comments on Short Story
> Message-ID: <6.2.1.2.2.20100507094419.0d1d7c18 at www.braddunsemusic.com>
> Content-Type: text/plain; charset="us-ascii"; format=flowed
>
> Neil,
>
> Actually Brad here :). you are right, I didn't get it. Perhaps the use of
> "humor" is technically correct in old English?? , but those not familiar
> with it like me, which I could be a loner on it too, for what its worth,
> find it more of a disconnection rather than a play due to the more familiar
> use of the word.
>
> Brad
>
>
>
>
>
>
>
>
>
> At 09:35 AM 5/7/2010, you wrote:
> >Hi Dave and All,
> >
> >Thanks for the comments, Dave. I will make many changes. However, I think
> >you missed the point of the title. So, for you and anybody else that may
> >be puzzled, here is an explanation: I meant humor as the old medical term
> >for one of the bodily fluids, I.e., red humor or blood. I think, as such,
> >it fits. Besides, it corresponds with the theme of things not necessarily
> >being what you think.
> >
> >Thanks again,
> >
> >Neil
> >
> >
> >--------------------------------------------------
> >From: "BDM" <lists at braddunsemusic.com>
> >Sent: Friday, May 07, 2010 8:26 AM
> >To: "Writer's Division Mailing List" <stylist at nfbnet.org>
> >Subject: Re: [stylist] Comments on Short Story
> >
> >>Hi Neil,
> >>
> >>For what its worth below are some general thoughts. Thoughts are in * or **
> >>
> >>A Sense of Humor
> >>
> >>**I was somewhat confused by the title. Though you did a pretty good job
> >>of drawing me into a gruesome setting causing me to be surprised in the
> >>end and then back once more with yet still a brow raised question in the
> >>last line, I wouldn't consider it a sense of humor piece.
> >>
> >>Noting a couple areas that stood out to me...
> >>
> >>...whether to simply throw them away, but I won three poker tournaments
> >>while wearing that shirt, and my girl had spent a kidnapper's ransom on
> >>the towels. That cash could have helped us buy a new washer...
> >>
> >>**The kidnapper's ransom helped set the tone, I thought that was a good
> >>criminalish simile for the story about to unfold
> >>
> >>...The machine began to chug and shake after I fed it some coins.
> >>
> >>**Put the order of detail as they happened? You put coin in *then* it
> >>began shaking.
> >>
> >>
> >>Sweat slicked my underarms, **this seems unfinished? Maybe "I sweat
> >>slicked...." or "Sweat slicking my..."
> >>
> >>
> >>which had been secreting *secreting what? We know but seems unfinished?*
> >>profusely since I entered the Laundromat. The moisture was starting to
> >>make my shirt - proclaiming that Harley-Davidson was the best ride ever -
> >>cling to the sides of my body like a wet bathing suit.
> >>
> >>**Make your shirt what? Make your shirt as in sweat was "reaching it* or
> >>it was making the shirt proclaim the Harly hthing somehow? Not sure.
> >>
> >>
> >>A few beads of perspiration trickled down my forehead, and I wiped them
> >>away with the bottom of my shirt as I settled on one of the plastic
> >>chairs facing the washers and threw the laundry bag underneath.
> >>
> >>**This seems long to me? Maybe make it more action-like removing the
> >>"and"s when you can? Perhaps...
> >>A few beads of perspiration trickled down my forehead into the laundry
> >>bag, wiping them away with the bottom of my shirt, I settled on one of
> >>the plastic chairs facing the washers.
> >>
> >>...*With*My eyes closed. I was transported onto a stage with Metallica in
> >>an open-air stadium. But...
> >>
> >>...men and women prefer to look at female celebrities with at least
> >>C-sized bras. If necessary, a few mouse clicks could be used to fill out
> >>the desired mold. Works for me.
> >>
> >>**The mouse click/computer thing seems out of place as he's looking at a
> >>physical magazine. Perhaps he can digitally edit in his mind with
> >>imagination or something to keep it non-computerish.
> >>
> >>....quickly. I then used the towels to clean up the remaining mess. The
> >>carnage had been much more than I had expected, but then again the gashes
> >>were very deep. I tore through her flesh and the underlying muscle.
> >>
> >>**Definitely got me thinking you're an axe murderer hear haha. Though I
> >>think in the next line letting us know you are back at the laundromat a
> >>little bit earlier in the opening line would be good. Though I do like
> >>the thumping of the chest here as it goes with the hacking of your girl above.
> >>
> >>The thumping in my chest slowed gradually as the music and magazine took
> >>effect. I waited 30 minutes, to the second, before retrieving the laundry...
> >>
> >>
> >>**I like how you cleared up the cutting open of your girl giving a "ah
> >>ha" moment. Then shortly after, making us think the end will be finished
> >>and solved as you hate unsolved stores, I like how you interweaved the
> >>Unsolved Mystery show in as a vehicle for this guy 's mind to run away,
> >>and also at teh very end... did it really run away or was it real?
> >>
> >>The baby thing is a bit sensitive yes, but the mystery is good. If
> >>you've eve listened to Home Prairie Companion with Garrison Kieler, there
> >>is a weird little story segment called Bebop a rebop Rhubarb Pie
> >>taking you on some weirdish little mystery and then back to reality very
> >>quickly... this reminded me of that, only mixed with a little Stephen
> >>King haah. Good creative imagination I thought.
> >>
> >>
> >>
> >>_______________________________________________
> >>Writers Division web site:
> >>http://www.nfb-writers-division.org <http://www.nfb-writers-division.org/>
> >>
> >>stylist mailing list
> >>stylist at nfbnet.org
> >>http://www.nfbnet.org/mailman/listinfo/stylist_nfbnet.org
> >>To unsubscribe, change your list options or get your account info for
> >>stylist:
> >>http://www.nfbnet.org/mailman/options/stylist_nfbnet.org/neil.butters%40sympatico.ca
> >
> >_______________________________________________
> >Writers Division web site:
> >http://www.nfb-writers-division.org <http://www.nfb-writers-division.org/>
> >
> >stylist mailing list
> >stylist at nfbnet.org
> >http://www.nfbnet.org/mailman/listinfo/stylist_nfbnet.org
> >To unsubscribe, change your list options or get your account info for stylist:
> >http://www.nfbnet.org/mailman/options/stylist_nfbnet.org/lists%40braddunsemusic.com
> >
> >
> >__________ Information from ESET Smart Security, version of virus
> >signature database 5095 (20100507) __________
> >
> >The message was checked by ESET Smart Security.
> >
> >http://www.eset.com
> >
> >
>
>
> Brad Dunse
>
> He who angers you controls you
>
> E Mail: brad at braddunsemusic.com
>
> Website: http://www.braddunsemusic.com
>
> Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/pages/Brad-Dunse-Music/191788857382
>
> Twitter: http://www.twitter.com/braddunse
>
> MySpace: http://www.myspace.com/braddunse
>
>
>
>
> ------------------------------
>
> Message: 12
> Date: Fri, 7 May 2010 11:55:11 -0400
> From: "Neil Butters" <neil.butters at sympatico.ca>
> To: "Writer's Division Mailing List" <stylist at nfbnet.org>
> Subject: Re: [stylist] Comments on Short Story
> Message-ID: <BLU0-SMTP518AA89598F8D6E5CD2D24E2F60 at phx.gbl>
> Content-Type: text/plain; format=flowed; charset="iso-8859-1";
> reply-type=response
>
> Hi Brad,
>
> Sorry about getting your name wrong. I don't know why I had "Dave" in mind.
> I like titles that are a bit cryptic; Reservoir Dogs is a great title, but
> Quentin Tarantino won't tell anyone what it means.
>
>
> Neil
>
> --------------------------------------------------
> From: "BDM" <lists at braddunsemusic.com>
> Sent: Friday, May 07, 2010 11:07 AM
> To: "Writer's Division Mailing List" <stylist at nfbnet.org>
> Subject: Re: [stylist] Comments on Short Story
>
> > Neil,
> >
> > Actually Brad here :). you are right, I didn't get it. Perhaps the use of
> > "humor" is technically correct in old English?? , but those not familiar
> > with it like me, which I could be a loner on it too, for what its worth,
> > find it more of a disconnection rather than a play due to the more
> > familiar use of the word.
> >
> > Brad
> >
> >
> >
> >
> >
> >
> >
> >
> >
> > At 09:35 AM 5/7/2010, you wrote:
> >>Hi Dave and All,
> >>
> >>Thanks for the comments, Dave. I will make many changes. However, I think
> >>you missed the point of the title. So, for you and anybody else that may
> >>be puzzled, here is an explanation: I meant humor as the old medical term
> >>for one of the bodily fluids, I.e., red humor or blood. I think, as such,
> >>it fits. Besides, it corresponds with the theme of things not necessarily
> >>being what you think.
> >>
> >>Thanks again,
> >>
> >>Neil
> >>
> >>
> >>--------------------------------------------------
> >>From: "BDM" <lists at braddunsemusic.com>
> >>Sent: Friday, May 07, 2010 8:26 AM
> >>To: "Writer's Division Mailing List" <stylist at nfbnet.org>
> >>Subject: Re: [stylist] Comments on Short Story
> >>
> >>>Hi Neil,
> >>>
> >>>For what its worth below are some general thoughts. Thoughts are in * or
> >>>**
> >>>
> >>>A Sense of Humor
> >>>
> >>>**I was somewhat confused by the title. Though you did a pretty good job
> >>>of drawing me into a gruesome setting causing me to be surprised in the
> >>>end and then back once more with yet still a brow raised question in the
> >>>last line, I wouldn't consider it a sense of humor piece.
> >>>
> >>>Noting a couple areas that stood out to me...
> >>>
> >>>...whether to simply throw them away, but I won three poker tournaments
> >>>while wearing that shirt, and my girl had spent a kidnapper's ransom on
> >>>the towels. That cash could have helped us buy a new washer...
> >>>
> >>>**The kidnapper's ransom helped set the tone, I thought that was a good
> >>>criminalish simile for the story about to unfold
> >>>
> >>>...The machine began to chug and shake after I fed it some coins.
> >>>
> >>>**Put the order of detail as they happened? You put coin in *then* it
> >>>began shaking.
> >>>
> >>>
> >>>Sweat slicked my underarms, **this seems unfinished? Maybe "I sweat
> >>>slicked...." or "Sweat slicking my..."
> >>>
> >>>
> >>>which had been secreting *secreting what? We know but seems unfinished?*
> >>>profusely since I entered the Laundromat. The moisture was starting to
> >>>make my shirt - proclaiming that Harley-Davidson was the best ride ever -
> >>>cling to the sides of my body like a wet bathing suit.
> >>>
> >>>**Make your shirt what? Make your shirt as in sweat was "reaching it* or
> >>>it was making the shirt proclaim the Harly hthing somehow? Not sure.
> >>>
> >>>
> >>>A few beads of perspiration trickled down my forehead, and I wiped them
> >>>away with the bottom of my shirt as I settled on one of the plastic
> >>>chairs facing the washers and threw the laundry bag underneath.
> >>>
> >>>**This seems long to me? Maybe make it more action-like removing the
> >>>"and"s when you can? Perhaps...
> >>>A few beads of perspiration trickled down my forehead into the laundry
> >>>bag, wiping them away with the bottom of my shirt, I settled on one of
> >>>the plastic chairs facing the washers.
> >>>
> >>>...*With*My eyes closed. I was transported onto a stage with Metallica in
> >>>an open-air stadium. But...
> >>>
> >>>...men and women prefer to look at female celebrities with at least
> >>>C-sized bras. If necessary, a few mouse clicks could be used to fill out
> >>>the desired mold. Works for me.
> >>>
> >>>**The mouse click/computer thing seems out of place as he's looking at a
> >>>physical magazine. Perhaps he can digitally edit in his mind with
> >>>imagination or something to keep it non-computerish.
> >>>
> >>>....quickly. I then used the towels to clean up the remaining mess. The
> >>>carnage had been much more than I had expected, but then again the gashes
> >>>were very deep. I tore through her flesh and the underlying muscle.
> >>>
> >>>**Definitely got me thinking you're an axe murderer hear haha. Though I
> >>>think in the next line letting us know you are back at the laundromat a
> >>>little bit earlier in the opening line would be good. Though I do like
> >>>the thumping of the chest here as it goes with the hacking of your girl
> >>>above.
> >>>
> >>>The thumping in my chest slowed gradually as the music and magazine took
> >>>effect. I waited 30 minutes, to the second, before retrieving the
> >>>laundry...
> >>>
> >>>
> >>>**I like how you cleared up the cutting open of your girl giving a "ah
> >>>ha" moment. Then shortly after, making us think the end will be finished
> >>>and solved as you hate unsolved stores, I like how you interweaved the
> >>>Unsolved Mystery show in as a vehicle for this guy 's mind to run away,
> >>>and also at teh very end... did it really run away or was it real?
> >>>
> >>>The baby thing is a bit sensitive yes, but the mystery is good. If
> >>>you've eve listened to Home Prairie Companion with Garrison Kieler, there
> >>>is a weird little story segment called Bebop a rebop Rhubarb Pie
> >>>taking you on some weirdish little mystery and then back to reality very
> >>>quickly... this reminded me of that, only mixed with a little Stephen
> >>>King haah. Good creative imagination I thought.
> >>>
> >>>
> >>>
> >>>_______________________________________________
> >>>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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> >
> >
> > Brad Dunse
> >
> > He who angers you controls you
> >
> > E Mail: brad at braddunsemusic.com
> >
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> >
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> >
> > _______________________________________________
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> End of stylist Digest, Vol 73, Issue 9
> **************************************
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