Critique #112 — Gyp Oriens
Kevin Andrew Murphy February 5th, 2007
    Ah, recess. Ask any kid my age what the best subject in school is, and the answer will be either “recess” or “lunch,” simple as that. Nobody really cares that they’re not technically subjects, or that they’ve zero academic value. Kids aren’t supposed to like school; that’s just the way of it. When the bell rang, I shot out of the door like every other kid in my class, rushing toward the playground, hoping I’d get first pick of equipment. The log cabin was empty! Well, I didn’t really care about the cabin part; it was the rest of it that caught my attention. The cabin part was in the front; on top of it was a type of observation deck, with rope ladders and the like snaking up to it, and rope bridges connecting it to other wooden structures on the playground. I climbed on top of it. Right in front of me were two pillars, in-between which would be the perfect place for a steering wheel… I was suddenly struck, as I stood there, with a feeling of absolute dread. I looked over at the field. Now, there was no grass—there were stars, up and down it, and ships; the screws in the pillars before me became buttons; levers and computer screens and a beautiful steering wheel materialized in front of me.
…and where is the “feeling of absolute dread” now that we’re into blathering wonderment about the “beautiful steering wheel” and so on?
I dislike adults waxing eloquent about childhood, especially in the voice of a child, if they sound like adults waxing eloquent about the wonders of childhood rather than actually recalling it.
Yes, school was often boring. Yes, recess could be fun. However, unless the teacher had been slipping the kids magic mushrooms, no one was visualizing the playground equipment with full-on hallucinations. And the introduction with the subjects? Doesn’t sound like a kid, sounds like an adult looking back with 20/2000 rose-colored-glasses.
Recess is hardly the favorite period for kids who had to deal with playground bullies, and lunch? Ditto.
Which is not to say that my experience had to have been your experience, but if you’re going to put this in the viewpoint of a kid, at least have them say something “Well, except for Jimmy, whose favorite subject was English, but Jimmy was weird.”
Anyway, what I’m saying is that all I’m reading here is rose-colored nostalgia which actively annoys me so I’m not turning the page.
Ah, I see what you mean. The feeling of absolute dread should come later, when the pretend aliens start attacking, after the pretend game starts. And you talk about “full-on hallucinations,” but I’m not sure how else to portray the pretend game happening. I have her fading in and out of the pretend game (referring to wood chips below after having just established that it became a star field) in the next few lines and all, but how else would I portray it?
I’m not trying to wax eloquent about childhood, really. I just want to talk about a pretend game. There were plenty of days in elementary school when I just had a fun time on the playground before going back inside. I didn’t deal with bullies on a daily basis, although I did have social problems and such. Later on in the story the kid has fights with her friends and stuff like that, but I really see no reason to introduce that immediately.
Also, this particular kid isn’t your average everyday kid… this is a science fiction, but you’re not supposed to realize that until way later in the narrative. She is supposed to be presented like a normal kid at first, though. The first paragraph used to be this weird expositional thing talking about how she tried to hide how much she liked science and math from the other kids and how no one understood her, but I took it out because that all becomes evident later in the story (and I prefer showing to telling anyday).
How could I change it?
I didn’t mind your ‘waxing eloquent’ about school because those are my memories of school as well. Perhaps you could replace “Ask any kid my age…” with “Ask most kids my age…” Or just start the story with “When the school bell rang…” and talk about favorite subjects when that comes up in the story.
I agree that the feeling of dread is out of place. In a pretend game, I don’t think I ever felt actual dread. Excitement and exhilaration, yes, but not dread.
I had thought the POV had actually been transported into space and that was why she felt dread.
As for how to show it is pretend, how about:
“Right in front of me were two pillars, in-between which would be the perfect place for a steering wheel… The wooden chips below were now stars in the sky and…”
My only other comment is that the story could be paragraphed a little more. For example, “When the bell rang…” should start a new paragraph.
Hope this helps.
I found confusing the transition from the narrator’s first description of the playground set to his/her re-setting the structure as a pretend starship. Maybe because there isn’t really a transition. “today I didn’t want it to be a pirate ship, today I wanted it to be . . . ” or something (not specifically that, but a brief transition).
I like the sense of the excitement of recess. You might experiment with retaining the first phrase, “Ah, recess” (which I rather like) and then skipping straight to the bell ringing (as Debbie also suggets).
I’m with Kate, here. And I had no problem with the voice. (Though like Debbie says, you might say “most kids”. Though as a matter of fact, our year book at the little school where I’ve taught these past 19 years is filled with kids’ favorite subjects being lunch, recess, and P.E., with the electives running close second behind non-academics. It could help that we have a zero bully tolerance policy, as Kevin’s point is very well taken.)
Enough of that–it’s by way of establishing background resonance. With the little fixes, I would instantly turn that page.
“In a pretend game, I don’t think I ever felt actual dread. Excitement and exhilaration, yes, but not dread.”
You’re right. I have actually gotten myself scared before, especially at younger ages, but that sentence is out of place and I don’t need it. Let me fiddle with it a bit and see what I can do.
Ah, recess. Ask most kids my age what the best subject in school is, and the answer will be either “recess†or “lunch,†simple as that. Nobody really cares that they’re not technically subjects, or that they’ve zero academic value. Kids aren’t supposed to like school; that’s just the way of it.
When the bell rang, I shot out of the door like every other kid in my class, rushing toward the playground, hoping I’d get first pick of equipment. The log cabin was empty! Well, I didn’t really care about the cabin part; it was the rest of it that caught my attention. The cabin part was in the front; on top of it was a type of observation deck, with rope ladders and the like snaking up to it, and rope bridges connecting it to other wooden structures on the playground. I climbed on top of it. Right in front of me were two pillars, in-between which would be the perfect place for a steering wheel… We had to make do with the jungle gym last time; this made a much better spaceship. I looked over at the field. Instead of grass, there would be stars, up and down it, and ships; the screws in the pillars before me could be buttons; levers and computer screens and a beautiful steering wheel all had their place between the pillars.
—
What do you think? I could take out the first paragraph except the first sentence, but I have a feeling that my narrator would take a little subtle offense at how everyone’s favorite subjects… weren’t subjects.
I like it better, except for the fact that just about every sentence is a double-wide (joined by a semi-colon) which subtly slows down my sense of the pacing.
I like this much better, and I think it’s a lot clearer what’s happening. At this point, as a reader, I’d go ahead and turn that page just to see what’s going to change in this seemingly normal scene.
I agree with Sherwood, though, about making some of those ‘double-wide’ sentences into ’single-wides.’
What Sherwood said, as always.
Yes, the transition works, and now I’m totally going through the transition with the narrator (and remembering my own playground play, actually, which means you’ve engaged me).
Also, while you could take out the first paragraph, there is some characterization going on here - that is, when the narrator pronounces that ‘kids aren’t supposed to like school’ it reveals a lot about the narrator. That is, I don’t suppose that it is a statement of fact, but opinion.
Wow, I really do like semicolons, don’t I.
Gyp, I like the second version much better. I think your changes make the transition to the play game understandable.
The child narrator is getting more believable as a child rather than sounding like an adult looking back in time. However, you could take it even further by removing the word “kid” wherever you can. After all, do you think, “I’m going to work with all those adults again today”? No. They’re just the people at work.
So what about:
Ah, recess. Ask anyone my age what the best subject in school is, and the answer will be either “recess†or “lunch,†simple as that. Nobody really cares that they’re not technically subjects, or that they’ve zero academic value. We aren’t supposed to like school; that’s just the way of it.
When the bell rang, I shot out of the door like every one else in class, rushing toward the playground, hoping I’d get first pick of equipment.
I guess I didn’t think of me as a kid when I actually was a kid, except when I was watching Peter Pan and deciding not to grow up or something like that. I think I’m going to keep the first one, but get rid of the rest of them. Let me try again, and also do some semicolon control…
——
Ah, recess. Ask most kids my age what the best subject in school is, and the answer will be either “recess†or “lunch,†simple as that. Nobody really cares that they’re not technically subjects, or that they’ve zero academic value. We aren’t supposed to like school, and that’s just the way of it.
When the bell rang, I shot out the door like everyone else in my class, rushing toward the playground, hoping I’d get first pick of equipment. The log cabin was empty! Well, I didn’t really care about the cabin part–it was the rest of it that caught my attention. The cabin part was just the front. On top of it was a type of observation deck, with rope ladders and the like snaking up to it, and rope bridges connecting it to other wooden structures on the playground. I climbed on top of it. Right in front of me were two pillars, in-between which would be the perfect place for a steering wheel… We had to make do with the jungle gym last time, but this made a much better spaceship. I looked over at the field. Instead of grass, there would be stars, up and down it, and ships; the screws in the pillars before me could be buttons; levers and computer screens and a beautiful steering wheel all had their place between the pillars.
I think this re-write sounds good. Nice work.
Quick note: I had originally suggested a paragraph where you now have one because the tone between the first and second paragraphs was different. The tone is the same throughout, now, so it’s fine either way.
Hey! You really did clean that up! That’s actually got a fast-moving snap to it now. I believe if that pace and “tone” (as debbie said) can be maintained, and there’s a reward for the reader at the end of this, you’ve got something.
Before, it dragged, I wouldn’t read it. Now it has a bit of the urgency of a child with an active imagination. I would go a bit farther now and read on. Childhood reflections are tuff to right. I am jealous!
Keep up the pace and go man, go!
and “write” is tuffer to spell “right!” than the word tough is!
Hehe, thanks all! I now have a lot to work on for the rest of it…