[stylist] creative non-fiction "Snapshot" no language, no adult content

[Robert Leslie Newman]

I liked the jail simplism --- the wall studs that surrounded the area she
sat in. (I think Chris, lori, Jim and Pricilla all had good
suggestions/corrections.) that was a bleak picture!


-----Original Message-----
From: stylist-bounces at nfbnet.org [mailto:stylist-bounces at nfbnet.org] On
Behalf Of loristay
Sent: Monday, September 06, 2010 4:25 PM
To: Writer's Division Mailing List
Subject: Re: [stylist] creative non-fiction "Snapshot" no language, no adult
content

i gather from the last line that the person you speak about has cancer?  A
strange form, one that scalps her?
I did some proofreading, interspersed with your text, regarding punctuation
and spelling, etc.  Nothing really deep.  The purpose of the piece is plain.
 One can deduce from it that the speaker is examining her life, noting
fallen dreams, and perhaps looking at the end of it.  You used your own
name, so I do wonder if it's based on a real situation.
Lori
On Sep 6, 2010, at 5:21:23 AM, "Bridgit Pollpeter" <bpollpeter at hotmail.com>
wrote:

From:   "Bridgit Pollpeter" <bpollpeter at hotmail.com>
Subject:    [stylist] creative non-fiction "Snapshot" no language,  no adult
content
Date:   September 6, 2010 5:21:23 AM EDT
To: "writers division" <stylist at nfbnet.org>

Dear List,

Happy Labor Day to all. I am posting a piece I just worked on for a class.
Before it is workshopped, I thought I would let you lot deconstruct it, and
let me know what you think.

Bridgit

Snapshot

Reaching the bottom steps of the basement, an observer would notice the
following scene: A naked lightbulb emanates a harsh yellow brilliance
stifled by the dark windowless, cinder-block walls and open-rafter ceiling.
The grey painted floor resembles hard, cold stone. Separating the basement
from the large family-room-sized space,
(Don't need this comma)
should be a plaster wall, but now just the wall studs remain leaving a clear
view into the large room converted into a bedroom. A skinny, blonde,
 I'd probably have written;  Bridgit, A young woman, skinny, blonde, sits...
young woman, Bridgit, sits in the middle of the room surrounded by scattered
piles of photographs. Leaning against the wrought iron footboard of her
bed, she studies a picture. With knees drawn up against her slender body,
she stares at the image of a young woman. The small window above the bed
shoots sunlight like a spotlight onto the section of floor the young woman
sits upon. Bits of light reflect off the pictures littering the beige carpet
around the young woman.
The pictures relay a moment modern technology has frozen in time. A
small-town family wedding snapped for the centuries. Bridgit is twenty-one
in the pictures. A single year ago.

She remembers the day, she remembers the feelings.
probably grammatically this period should be a colon.
Happiness that weddings evoke, but sadness that the occasion is not her own
to celebrate. Joy to see relatives gone for too long, but restlessness to
explore the world too. It was a third cousin?s wedding, but the whole clan
showed up to celebrate the nuptials. A panoramic shot included a large
portion of family members gathered at a long table enjoying the home-cooked
meal of chicken-fried chicken
why not just say home cooked meal of fried chicken and gravy...etc?
and gravy with mashed potatoes and green bean casserole topped with real
onion-rings. Bridgit smiled demurely, picking at the food before her, while
Uncle Lance, to her right, intently shoveled mashed potatoes in his mouth,
and Tami, her mother, held a bit of chicken mid-air with her fork, talking,
most likely saying how, “Fried-chicken is not a very elegant choice for a
wedding, but I guess that is what you are use
used--needs a 'd'
to in small towns.” Another picture displays Bridgit in her black dress with
a deep V in front exposing a boney,
bony is spelled b o n y.
but well tanned chest. Bronzed arms connected with another?s, she stood next
to her fourteen-year-old cousin, Colin, already taller than her.
taller than she--would be a better choice
Her blue eyes gazed into the camera as she flashed her one-dimpled smile.
The focus of the next photo captured the wedding party and guest
do you mean guests?
doing the Bunnyhop. Clustered of
clustered off (o f f, not o f)
to the right, Uncle Doug and Aunt Becky grill her about college. She smiled
quietly as, “What are you studying?” “Still music?” and what are your plans
after graduation?” were fired at her. Years of dance training and etiquette
school have taught her to stand erect with head held high. With her
confident demeanor and three-inch heels, she appeared taller than her
average five-foot height. Later in the evening, the camera snapped Bridgit
laughing wildly as Uncle Brent whipped her across the dance floor like
Ginger Rogers. Another moment captured Bridgit and Uncle Brent posing for
the camera as he dipped her low. Another shot has Bridgit kicking her black
strappy heels off as she prepared for a new round of dancing. Each
photograph is handled with care and placed in a tree creating a timeline
beginning with a picture of Bridgit?s immediate family dressed in their
wedding attire posing for the first time in years, to a snapshot of
straggling dancers waltzing to the final song of the night, “I Will Always
Love You.” Each picture displays a happy, smiling young woman, but one
single shot captured the truth. One solitary picture alone shows her with
the mask off. It is the photo she now sits and studies intently.


Staring at the picture of herself, her expression is quizzical and worn. Her
gaze is intent as though she will discover some truth about herself. A rare
moment exposed displaying a part never meant for public consumption, yet
here it is for all to see. She cradles the picture in her thin hands as if
breaking it will destroy some part of her. The camera revealed Bridgit
resting her head on a propped arm. Escaped tendrils of hair framed her
tanned face, and her blue, almond-shaped eyes looked off into the distance.
Her expression contained longing, dreams and hopes unrealized, mingled with
restlessness and deep sadness. Sitting alone, tucked away in a corner of the
reception hall, she believed herself unnoticed, but the camera caught her.
An X-ray imprinting her soul lay
I think you mean laid bare (l a i d)
bare. Always so careful to wear her mask. Never letting her guard down, only
to be trapped by a modern marvel.


Placing this final picture in its proper spot in the visual timeline,
Bridgit looks around the room. A blue “Happy-birthday” balloon hangs
deflated on the wall surrounded by pictures from high school and college.
Bridgit, Tera and Jessica smiled in their red-and-white cheerleading
uniforms. Bridgit standing at the grand piano in the choir room, mouth
opened as she belted “On My Own” from Les Miserables. Bridgit engulfed by
Ryan, her boyfriend, the boy she thought she would marry. Bridgit and Tera,
arms clasped around each other?s shoulders, grinning on graduation day.
Bridgit sitting on Joe?s knee during a cast party for Cinderella. A letter
pokes out from behind the balloon, a love letter sent by a friend who never
forgot her, but that Bridgit could not muster the necessary feelings for.
The letter is a reminder that some one in the world thinks she is special. A
poster hangs on the opposite wall displaying Kate and Leo at the bow of a
ship, and next to this stands a tall bookshelf lined with books from Little
Women to I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings. Across the room a butter-colored
dresser-drawer reflects her image in its large mirror framed by carved
flowers.

Quickly adverting
This should be averting (a v e r t i n g)--no d.
her eyes, she takes in the glass bottle of Miracle perfume and the organized
assortment of make-up compacts and brushes. A Shabby-chic-style jewelry box
is arranged on a corner of the dresser top, and necklaces hang on a pink
heart-shape with tiny hooks protruding from the lace-overlay front. The open
closet reveals clothes hanging from shortest sleeve length to longest as
well as being color coordinated. Directly to the left of the entrance into
her room, sits the thirty-two-inch TV purchased by Ryan, the ex, disguised
as a Christmas present, but intended for the use of video games. Taking in
years of memories and keepsakes, Bridgit finally turns back to the
reflection in the mirror. Her blonde hair is pulled back in a long, wispy
ponytail, an attempt to hide the sections of hair that have fallen out with
portions of scalp still attached. Head settled on boney
There's that extra e again!
knees, she wonders at her compactness. Chest, stomach and waist are hidden
behind skinny legs, and rail-thin arms wrap around just beneath the pale,
gaunt face. Her eyes haunt her as they hold the longing and sadness grown
deeper by another year.

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