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POSTED FOR CRITIQUE

Posted: Jan 9, 08 11:43am

Dear colleagues,

As by now I expect you assume me to be a humorless, sanctimonious sourpuss, I offer this counter-posed piece for comment. (Even HSS's have a light moment now and again.)

In any case, I am targeting the New York Times' "Modern Love" feature and want to offer reasonable lead time. I plan to submit Monday, January 21.

Does it make you laugh? Tone consistent? Are modern culture references timely enough? Other comments?

With gratitude,

- akabukowski, HSS

Slings & Arrows

K.A. Brennan

February 14, Valentine’s Day, 2007

1:32AM

Ambien-induced slumber interrupted by violent, burning itch. Turn on light to find skin covered in bright-red, raised blotches. Skin thing bad enough but am further dismayed by hitch in chest making breathing difficult. Sit up to make breathing easier. No dice. Sliver of fear mixes in with blotches and blockage. Think this may be reaction to drugs doctor prescribed for sinus cold that hit on Sunday. Think it might be smart to head for emergency room at friendly neighborhood HMO and so get up and pull on undies, teeshirt, jeans and boots. Grab for Zipcar keys and remember I lent car yesterday to ratfink ex-boyfriend-in-the-making so he could move out of my life. Combination of fury, frustration, regret, longing, self-pity mixes in with fear and lungs shrink further in response. Call cab and wait. Attempt to go all Zen-like. Fail. What the hell do a bunch of monks in saffron nighties know, anyway? Glance with disgust and further self-pity at mantle where valentine offerings should be on display, evidence of robust love life. Mantle sports only old dry cleaning ticket and notice from landlord advising of rent increase.

2:48AM

Cozy and almost Zen-like under pile of warmed blankies in hospital bed, happily surfing gigantic dose of intravenous Benadryl. Lungs seem loose, blotches seem smaller. Ex-in-the-making seems very far away. Observe with remarkable detachment the several large, gaudy valentines displayed at night nurse’s workstation. Good for her… at least somebody’s getting some attention. Lose aforementioned detachment and experience thirty seconds of deep bitterness. Benadryl fights back and wins. Sink under its weight and snore self to sleep.

3:34AM

Aforementioned nurse shakes my shoulder and says it’s time to go. ‘Huh?’ I reply smartly. Apparently the bed is needed for some babe with a heart attack (yeah right… probably a drama queen with indigestion). Whatever. Put on clothes, look in mirror, look quickly away in horror. Call cab on cell and sit groggily on horrible waiting room chair of orange, molded plastic, leafing through a 1982 issue of Highlights.

4:17AM

Home again. Resist compulsion to check voicemail for messages. Give in and check anyway. Regret decision. Peel self out of clothes, return to bed. Enjoy charming little dream involving almost-former boyfriend and his new flame engaged in unmentionable activities as rose petals drift down from a pink sky and a chubby Cupid aims his arrow at new flame’s heart.

12PM, High Noon

Crawl out of icky sheets and into bagged-out sweats. Decide to make grilled cheese sandwich. Want the kind of lunch Mommy would have made me on a home-sick-from-school day. (Never mind sandwich, want Mommy.) Scrape frightening turquoise mold from block of what might be cheese, apply dangerous amount of mayonnaise to both sides of both slices of flabby white bread, and let sandwich melt in two tablespoons of butter. Eat sandwich and feel guilty, fat and sorry for self. Decide to exercise. Change mind. Change mind again and walk downstairs instead of taking elevator to check mail. Find large, violet-colored envelope. Unhurriedly slide envelope from mailbox, stroll nonchalantly to elevator and back to apartment. Hyperventilate while ripping envelope open to remove lavish valentine signed, Your Secret Admirer. Experience heart palpitations. Also experience slight wave of nausea. Suspect aforementioned cheese may be involved. Ignore nausea and continue microscopic examination of valentine for clues as to sender’s identity. Carry on this way for several minutes then remember I’d sent card to self in attempt to be carefree and zany in spite of no love life. Experience second, more powerful wave of nausea. Not sure it’s related to cheese.

1:14PM—3:371PM

Engage in numerous self-loving activities, to wit: eat all but one Oreo in jumbo, family-sized pack. Feel virtuous at leaving one. Return to cupboard ten minutes later and eat last Oreo. Alternately sneer and weep at afternoon "light news" story involving man-on-street interviews with hot looking men who are taking time out of busy, hip lives to buy expensive, romantic gifts for girlfriends who undoubtedly don’t eat any Oreos never mind entire, jumbo, family-sized packs of same. Spend twenty minutes combing apartment for last year’s valentine from almost-ex-boyfriend. Find it and remember why it had sunk to bottom of junk drawer… Cupid as a Crip with do-rag under sideways baseball cap and an automatic weapon instead of a quiver of arrows. The message reads: "gangbangin’ my way into your heart." Make third trip to cupboard in search of something to fill vast void. Settle on two-thirds full box of stale Wheat Thins. Eat my way down to one-third full level and stop, reminding self that the "Thins" part of the product name is just an insidious come-on from those friendly folks at Nabisco. Decide I’m taking this much too seriously and eat my way down to crumbs on waxy box bottom. Wet index finger and eat crumbs.

4:02PM

Surface groggily from sugar-grease-fat-Benadryl induced coma to answer door. A UPS man asks for a signature and hands over long, narrow white box tied with blood-red ribbon. Simultaneously gasp and belch out "Th-th-th-thank you." Set box down and try to remember having sent self long-stemmed roses. Can’t. Gingerly untie ribbon, lift lid from box. Two—not one—but two dozen long-stemmed, lipstick-hued roses. Faint. Regain consciousness. Open small envelope enclosing tasteful card with words, "Thinking of you, missing you already." Decide soon-to-be-history ex not that bad after all and celebrate with a glass of Manischewitz leftover from Passover soiree last April. Oops. Enjoy brief time-out in bathroom saying goodbye to grilled cheese, Oreos, Wheat Thins and Manischewitz. Return—pale and shaky but exhilarated and definitely thinner—to long-stems. Sigh. Admire sound of it. Sigh again.

4:24PM—4:37PM

In front of bathroom mirror try out sighs of various lengths and styles. Decide to sigh more in months ahead. Enjoy one or three more celebratory glasses of stale Passover wine.

5:07PM

Stumble to answer door and find familiar looking UPS man who says he’s sorry but he must have the box back. "It’s for the woman in 403," he says. "I made a mistake," he explains. Stare blankly at UPS man while envisioning willowy, sophisticated brunette on fourth floor. Stagger to kitchen and gather up roses, card, ribbon, box and hand to UPS man who says, not unkindly, "Thanks, and Happy Valentine’s Day." Sigh, heavily, and polish off Manischewitz. L’chaim, Cupid… maybe next year.

Tags:

critique, Valentine's Day, writing for submission

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16 Comments // 13 Members

TeeBubbaDee

Posted: Jan 9, 08 12:05pm

akabukowski wrote:

Dear colleagues,

As by now I expect you assume me to be a humorless, sanctimonious sourpuss, I offer this counter-posed...

I am not a critique, but have to throw my two cents in. Slings and Arrows, title is perfect. Very fun to read, and tone is pitch perfect the whole way through.

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CelticKnot

Posted: Jan 9, 08 12:19pm

akabukowski wrote:

Dear colleagues,

As by now I expect you assume me to be a humorless, sanctimonious sourpuss, I offer this counter-posed...

Kat,

You? Sourpuss? No....

I find myself with many "me too" moments here, which in my line of work is what it's all about - connecting to the listener (reader, in your case).

I just have a couple of nitpickies - in the 3:34pm paragraph, you use aforementioned - and had just used it about 10 words before. Also, you use "I" for the first time (and only time). There are a couple of other times you use me or my, but overall you avoid referring to yourself. I like it that way, just pointing out a teeny inconsistency.

Check the time reference in the 1:14PM-3:371PM header....3:37 or 3:31?

I think I'll send myself a Valentine, and compeletly forget about it :)

CK

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KenWritez

Posted: Jan 9, 08 1:40pm

akabukowski wrote:

Dear colleagues,

As by now I expect you assume me to be a humorless, sanctimonious sourpuss, I offer this counter-posed...

Overall, I think this piece has good bones. There's a large structural weakness that is harming the work, IMHO. Since, as Louis L'Amour said, "It's no kindness to shoot a man slowly," let's begin.

1) I bow to you, Kat; Queen of the Word Picture. You excel at setting the scene, populating it with detail that stays with the reader, and then pulling the reader into the scene. You have quite the talent for this.

2) Now that I'm in the scenes in this piece, I want to open my veins. Saying "It's a downer" is like saying "There was some unpleasantness in Europe in the 1940s." The humor here is dwarfed by self-pity which robs the piece of much of the entertainment value it could have. I wanted to laugh with the heroine at her holiday suffering (knowing we shared these feelings), but I couldn't, I was trying to avoid drowning in melodrama.

3) The first time I read this piece, the first paragraph felt arhythmical, like riding a speeding unicycle across a cobbled street. Bumpbump-bump-bump-bumpbumpbump--no smoothness, no flow, just an uneven torrent of detail that came too quickly. By the second or third paragraph, I was able to adjust to your style. On subsequent rereads, it was easier, but I shouldn't have to reread the piece for it to make sense.

4) Some questions: What's a Zipcar? Do you really mean your HMO has its own ER?

5) Specific comments:

What the hell do a bunch of monks in saffron nighties know, anyway? Glance with disgust and further self-pity at mantle where valentine offerings should be on display, evidence of robust love life. Mantle sports only old dry cleaning ticket and notice from landlord advising of rent increase. - I loved these! I've had similarly unfulfilled mantels and also, I'll never look at the Dalai Lama the same way again.

surfing gigantic dose of intravenous Benadryl. - More word picture goodness

leafing through a 1982 issue of Highlights." - This line begs for your comment on what you read in that magazine.

Give in and check anyway. Regret decision. Why did you regret it? This needs a description of your feelings at seeing the little red unblinking "Messages" light or somesuch.

Enjoy charming little dream involving almost-former boyfriend and his new flame engaged in unmentionable activities as rose petals drift down from a pink sky and a chubby Cupid aims his arrow at new flame’s heart. - This doesn't fit in with the emotional logic of the piece, it's confusing. If you're dreaming about soon-to-be-ex and his girlfriend making the sign of the wet rabbit, I'd think you'd be making things bad for them in your head. Now, if Cupid was using a whaling harpoon....

Return to cupboard ten minutes later and eat last Oreo. - Perfect.

Enjoy brief time-out in bathroom saying goodbye to grilled cheese, Oreos, Wheat Thins and Manischewitz. - Probably an indication of how twisted I am, but this was hilarious, the brightest spot in the piece.

6) I think this piece has good bones. You've got a great picture here of a woman struggling with loneliness (and some physical suffering) and she represents all of us who've been in the same situation. You've shown me the negative, now I need some positive to balance it out.

What I'd like to see in this work is the heroine's emotional redemption, even in a small way. Currently, there isn't any redemption or payoff at all by the story end. No resolution whatsoever; the heroine's lost her roses, she's just vomited up up her binge food and she's sans car and boyfriend, not to mention any kind of a love life not involving Nabisco products. All she does is shrug her shoulders. That shrug means all her suffering in the previous paragraphs was meaningless, and that I wasted my time reading this piece. If she suffers, then those sufferings need to have some kind of meaning in the story, some purpose they serve. This is the weakest point in the story.

The only message this piece carries right now is that it sucks to be the heroine. That's not enough.

By giving the heroine the wrongly delivered roses, you spike her (and the reader's) happiness. When the UPS driver reclaims the flowers, you plunge the heroine (and the reader) head down into the shitter, but then you end the story there.

Speaking as a reader, give me something better to believe in other than the wasteland of the heroine's life. Redeem her sufferings with humor and even if she never gets roses, cards or acknowledgment from any romantic source, there needs to be some resolution of her trials.

In spite of my negative review bits, I did like this story for the richness of detail you painted for me and how easily you transported me into the heroine's life through details and through common emotions between her and me. Her emotions mirrored my own and her experiences--albeit more dramatic than mine--were mine as well: Looking for emotional connection and not finding any.

In that sense, you've shown me, as the reader, myself, and isn't that what writers are supposed to do?

Overall, I think this piece has good bones. There's a large structural weakness that is harming the work, IMHO. Since, as Louis L'Amour said, "It's no kindness to shoot a man slowly," let's begin. 1) I bow to you, Kat; Queen of the Word Picture. You excel at setting the scene, populating it with detail that stays with the reader, and then pulling the reader into the scene. You have quite the talent for this. 2) Now that I'm in the scenes in this piece, I want to open my veins. Saying "It's a downer" is like saying "There was some unpleasantness in Europe in the 1940s." The humor here is dwarfed by self-pity which robs the piece of much of the entertainment value it could have. I wanted to laugh with the heroine at her holiday suffering (knowing we shared these feelings), but I couldn't, I was trying to avoid drowning in melodrama. 3) The first time I read this piece, the first paragraph felt arhythmical, like riding a speeding unicycle across a cobbled street. Bumpbump-bump-bump-bumpbumpbump--no smoothness, no flow, just an uneven torrent of detail that came too quickly. By the second or third paragraph, I was able to adjust to your style. On subsequent rereads, it was easier, but I shouldn't have to reread the piece for it to make sense. 4) Some questions: What's a Zipcar? Do you really mean your HMO has its own ER? 5) Specific comments: What the hell do a bunch of monks in saffron nighties know, anyway? Glance with disgust and further self-pity at mantle where valentine offerings should be on display, evidence of robust love life. Mantle sports only old dry cleaning ticket and notice from landlord advising of rent increase. - I loved these! I've had similarly unfulfilled mantels and also, I'll never look at the Dalai Lama the same way again. surfing gigantic dose of intravenous Benadryl. - More word picture goodness leafing through a 1982 issue of Highlights." - This line begs for your comment on what you read in that magazine. Give in and check anyway. Regret decision. Why did you regret it? This needs a description of your feelings at seeing the little red unblinking "Messages" light or somesuch. Enjoy charming little dream involving almost-former boyfriend and his new flame engaged in unmentionable activities as rose petals drift down from a pink sky and a chubby Cupid aims his arrow at new flame’s heart. - This doesn't fit in with the emotional logic of the piece, it's confusing. If you're dreaming about soon-to-be-ex and his girlfriend making the sign of the wet rabbit, I'd think you'd be making things bad for them in your head. Now, if Cupid was using a whaling harpoon.... Return to cupboard ten minutes later and eat last Oreo. - Perfect. Enjoy brief time-out in bathroom saying goodbye to grilled cheese, Oreos, Wheat Thins and Manischewitz. - Probably an indication of how twisted I am, but this was hilarious, the brightest spot in the piece. 6) I think this piece has good bones. You've got a great picture here of a woman struggling with loneliness (and some physical suffering) and she represents all of us who've been in the same situation. You've shown me the negative, now I need some positive to balance it out. What I'd like to see in this work is the heroine's emotional redemption, even in a small way. Currently, there isn't any redemption or payoff at all by the story end. No resolution whatsoever; the heroine's lost her roses, she's just vomited up up her binge food and she's sans car and boyfriend, not to mention any kind of a love life not involving Nabisco products. All she does is shrug her shoulders. That shrug means all her suffering in the previous paragraphs was meaningless, and that I wasted my time reading this piece. If she suffers, then those sufferings need to have some kind of meaning in the story, some purpose they serve. This is the weakest point in the story. The only message this piece carries right now is that it sucks to be the heroine. That's not enough. By giving the heroine the wrongly delivered roses, you spike her (and the reader's) happiness. When the UPS driver reclaims the flowers, you plunge the heroine (and the reader) head down into the shitter, but then you end the story there. Speaking as a reader, give me something better to believe in other than the wasteland of the heroine's life. Redeem her sufferings with humor and even if she never gets roses, cards or acknowledgment from any romantic source, there needs to be some resolution of her trials. In spite of my negative review bits, I did like this story for the richness of detail you painted for me and how easily you transported me into the heroine's life through details and through common emotions between her and me. Her emotions mirrored my own and her experiences--albeit more dramatic than mine--were mine as well: Looking for emotional connection and not finding any. In that sense, you've shown me, as the reader, myself, and isn't that what writers are supposed to do?

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Posted: Jan 9, 08 1:40pm

Quote

Comment

spell check

Overall, I think this piece has good bones. There's a large structural weakness that is harming the work, IMHO. Since, as Louis L'Amour said, "It's no kindness to shoot a man slowly," let's begin.

1) I bow to you, Kat; Queen of the Word Picture. You excel at setting the scene, populating it with detail that stays with the reader, and then pulling the reader into the scene. You have quite the talent for this.

2) Now that I'm in the scenes in this piece, I want to open my veins. Saying "It's a downer" is like saying "There was some unpleasantness in Europe in the 1940s." The humor here is dwarfed by self-pity which robs the piece of much of the entertainment value it could have. I wanted to laugh with the heroine at her holiday suffering (knowing we shared these feelings), but I couldn't, I was trying to avoid drowning in melodrama.

3) The first time I read this piece, the first paragraph felt arhythmical, like riding a speeding unicycle across a cobbled street. Bumpbump-bump-bump-bumpbumpbump--no smoothness, no flow, just an uneven torrent of detail that came too quickly. By the second or third paragraph, I was able to adjust to your style. On subsequent rereads, it was easier, but I shouldn't have to reread the piece for it to make sense.

4) Some questions: What's a Zipcar? Do you really mean your HMO has its own ER?

5) Specific comments:
What the hell do a bunch of monks in saffron nighties know, anyway? Glance with disgust and further self-pity at mantle where valentine offerings should be on display, evidence of robust love life. Mantle sports only old dry cleaning ticket and notice from landlord advising of rent increase. - I loved these! I've had similarly unfulfilled mantels and also, I'll never look at the Dalai Lama the same way again.

surfing gigantic dose of intravenous Benadryl. - More word picture goodness

leafing through a 1982 issue of Highlights." - This line begs for your comment on what you read in that magazine.

Give in and check anyway. Regret decision. Why did you regret it? This needs a description of your feelings at seeing the little red unblinking "Messages" light or somesuch.

Enjoy charming little dream involving almost-former boyfriend and his new flame engaged in unmentionable activities as rose petals drift down from a pink sky and a chubby Cupid aims his arrow at new flame’s heart. - This doesn't fit in with the emotional logic of the piece, it's confusing. If you're dreaming about soon-to-be-ex and his girlfriend making the sign of the wet rabbit, I'd think you'd be making things bad for them in your head. Now, if Cupid was using a whaling harpoon....

Return to cupboard ten minutes later and eat last Oreo. - Perfect.

Enjoy brief time-out in bathroom saying goodbye to grilled cheese, Oreos, Wheat Thins and Manischewitz. - Probably an indication of how twisted I am, but this was hilarious, the brightest spot in the piece.

6) I think this piece has good bones. You've got a great picture here of a woman struggling with loneliness (and some physical suffering) and she represents all of us who've been in the same situation. You've shown me the negative, now I need some positive to balance it out.
What I'd like to see in this work is the heroine's emotional redemption, even in a small way. Currently, there isn't any redemption or payoff at all by the story end. No resolution whatsoever; the heroine's lost her roses, she's just vomited up up her binge food and she's sans car and boyfriend, not to mention any kind of a love life not involving Nabisco products. All she does is shrug her shoulders. That shrug means all her suffering in the previous paragraphs was meaningless, and that I wasted my time reading this piece. If she suffers, then those sufferings need to have some kind of meaning in the story, some purpose they serve. This is the weakest point in the story.
The only message this piece carries right now is that it sucks to be the heroine. That's not enough.
By giving the heroine the wrongly delivered roses, you spike her (and the reader's) happiness. When the UPS driver reclaims the flowers, you plunge the heroine (and the reader) head down into the shitter, but then you end the story there.
Speaking as a reader, give me something better to believe in other than the wasteland of the heroine's life. Redeem her sufferings with humor and even if she never gets roses, cards or acknowledgment from any romantic source, there needs to be some resolution of her trials.
In spite of my negative review bits, I did like this story for the richness of detail you painted for me and how easily you transported me into the heroine's life through details and through common emotions between her and me. Her emotions mirrored my own and her experiences--albeit more dramatic than mine--were mine as well: Looking for emotional connection and not finding any.
In that sense, you've shown me, as the reader, myself, and isn't that what writers are supposed to do?

Alert me when someone comments on this discussion.

Just-a-Writer

Posted: Jan 9, 08 2:09pm

akabukowski wrote:

Dear colleagues,

As by now I expect you assume me to be a humorless, sanctimonious sourpuss, I offer this counter-posed...

Very visual piece. Sounds like a flannel jams/Haagan Dazs day. lol

The lack of pronouns bothered me at first, but as I got into the moment of it, it faded. I think it will appeal to many readers that have had similar holidays.

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marilyndevine

Posted: Jan 9, 08 3:00pm

akabukowski wrote:

Dear colleagues,

As by now I expect you assume me to be a humorless, sanctimonious sourpuss, I offer this counter-posed...

Kat, while I love your stream-of-consciousness style of writing, my first thought was that you want it to be published in the NY Times.

As a regular reader of the "Modern Love" feature, I must point out that none of their published pieces have ever used this style before. Not that you can't submit it as such, but as every article on how to be published says . . . read the pub and make sure your submission fits its style and audience.

I also agree with KenWritez's comments: great bones!

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Westerly

Posted: Jan 9, 08 5:29pm

akabukowski wrote:

Dear colleagues,

As by now I expect you assume me to be a humorless, sanctimonious sourpuss, I offer this counter-posed...

laughs - there are many. See details below.

tone consitent - yes

timely - sure.

I haven't read anyone else's comments yet.

I don't know if I'm getting to be a geezer in my reading tastes, but I found the use of sentence fragments all the way through, a bit chopped up. I felt more comfortable with complete sentences - like "Benadryl fights back and wins" was a rare treat. Maybe it's just me. If nobody else thinks so, it's just me. (The Benadryl line is really funny, by the way).

3:34 ""babe with a heart attack...drama queen" etc., I didn't find too funny. I'm not sure why. It was like it was trying to hard, and it's about a heart attack? Again, maybe just me.

4:17 - the dream about the ex-boyfriend I did find funny.

The package that says "gangbanging my way to your heart" is WAY funny. It also tells a little back history of their relationship, which I yearn for, There is so little about him and her and who they actually are and what the deal is.

The line about "saying goodbye to the oreos..." is funny, and having to give back the flowers is funny/sad and a fit ending.

It sounds like a modern, urban relationship in microcosm, but so spare. What is the word limit? To me, it was like a brief glimpse from a passing train. (And I am supposed to be such a fan of condencing).

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TraumaGirl

Posted: Jan 9, 08 5:33pm

akabukowski wrote:

Dear colleagues,

As by now I expect you assume me to be a humorless, sanctimonious sourpuss, I offer this counter-posed...

I laughed through this entire piece, and after a day like today, I cherish that! You have described perfectly a woman's take on love and disappointments. It is uniquely feminine to wallow in our depressions and eat/numb our way out of them. I completely understand why the author allows herself to become elated after recieving the card and roses, and then binge away the feelings of despair when she realizes the mistakes. (My food/drug of choice was always ice cream!) Love the "sugar-grease-fat-Benadryl induced coma"

My only concern is audience. I have never read the NY Times Modern Love Section. Will they appreciate the irony and the humor? Will they understand the intent? Or will they be searching only for ushy, gushy, icky, sticky love stories? If they will, then send away. It is perfect and I wouldn't change a thing.

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