Any constructive comments on my little prose piece?
Elsie held the porcelain figure in her hand and regarded it thoughtfully. She had always hated it - ever since George had first brought it home to her that day and laid it before her, proudly - almost like a cat presenting a mouse to its horrified owner.
"It's horrible", she had said, contemptuously, when he had first shown it to her. "Whatever made you think I'd like that?", she had spat, making not even the slightest attempt to season her words with a hint of gratitude for the thought behind the gift. Elsie was the kind of woman who called a spade a spade and seemed proud of the fact. "It's rubbish. I won't have it in the house. Get rid of it", she had ordered, turning her attention back to her dishes.
George looked hurt...crestfallen...devastated - like a little boy who had just received a sharp slap across the back of his hand as he helped himself to a biscuit intended only for visitors. "I...I thought you would like it", he had stammered, trying to hide his hurt. "Look - it's a little bear - with a hat - and a collar and tie. I thought it was cute. I'm told it's a collectable", he had finished lamely.
"I'm not having it in the house", she had stated. "I don't want the ladies from my guild thinking I've lost my marbles, cluttering up my living room with cartoon ornaments. It's junk. Give it to a jumble sale - but get rid of it!", she had said. And that was that.
Or at least it would have been if George hadn't been made of sterner stuff than his wife gave him credit for. He just couldn't throw out 'little Yogi', as he referred to the unwanted gift. In fact, George's affection for the figurine seemed to increase in direct proportion to his wife's hatred of it. He would tuck it away, half-hidden, behind a picture-frame or a vase until, inevitably, she would discover it and then the game of 'hide-and-seek' would begin again. Many a time she wondered why she simply did not throw it in the bin, but there was something about the face of the figure which rendered her incapable of such action; a bit like a kitten staring into your face, lovingly, as you tried to pull the trigger of the gun whose muzzle it so affectionately rubbed itself against. It was simply impossible, but she hated it - hated it with a passion. "Damn the man", she used to say.
And so it went. Until the day she had received a 'phone call from George's office. Was she sitting down? They were terribly sorry. It was so sudden. He wouldn't have felt a thing. If ever there was anything they could do to help, they had said. She had placed the 'phone back on the receiver, slunk down on the chair next to it - and cried - and cried - and cried. She cried for two hours, then made herself a cup of tea, then watched Coronation Street and went to bed. She never cried again.
A few months later, the sum total of George's life lay collected in an assortment of boxes and carrier bags gathered in the hall. On the top box, lying on one of George's lambswool sweaters, was the object of Elsie's loathing - that damn porcelain bear, grinning inanely at the ceiling as if it expected the ceiling to grin back. "Hark at me", she thought. "It's almost as if I thought the blasted thing was alive". She laughed at her foolishness and consoled herself with the knowledge that, from tomorrow, it would be someone else's eyesore. Sam from next door had offered to drive George's things down to the charity shop in the town. Then it would be time to forget the past and move on to the next chapter in her life. Life had begun to feel good again - a new optimism had recently begun to permeate her soul and she looked forward to the future with enthusiasm. Her years with George seemed almost like a dream.
"This all there is?", Sam had asked when she opened the door to him the next day. He took out the carrier bags first then came back for the boxes. The top box was the smallest so he put that to one side and carried out the bigger, heavier ones, puffing and grunting as he did so.
"Last one", he said, as he bent to pick up the box containing that damn porcelain bear. Elsie's eye fell upon it as he did so, and a strange feeling that she did not quite understand suddenly started to well-up in her innermost being. A feeling of...grief, loss, pain, remorse, pity - a kaleidoscope of emotions that threatened to overwhelm and engulf her. "Wait a minute", she heard herself saying as she plucked the figure from its place atop the sweater. "That's it, Sam. Thanks very much for all your help", she said, quietly and with a bewildered tone.
Elsie held the porcelain figure in her hand and regarded it thoughtfully. She had always hated it - ever since George had first brought it home to her that day and laid it before her, proudly - like a cat presenting a mouse to its horrified owner. Now, however, she suddenly found that she held a strange affection for it. Like a mother -to-be who has been told that her child will be horribly handicapped, but, surprisingly, finds herself
finds herself loving it anyway. Not grudgingly, not reluctantly - but totally and unreservedly loving it despite its flaws and handicaps, when reason would suggest that she be appalled, horrified - disgusted, even. Sometimes we are surprised to discover that we are not as hard, or as rough, or as unfeeling as we imagine ourselves to be.
And so it was with Elsie. She looked at 'little Yogi' and thought of George...and remembered how much she had loved him...and realized just how much she missed him. She tenderly caressed the little figure, kissed the top of its head and, walking over to her very best display cabinet, placed it in prize position on the top shelf where visitors would be sure to see it. Then she smiled to herself and went and made herself a cup of tea, and sat and thought of all her wonderful years with George. "Bless the man", she said.
And - somewhere - George was smiling to himself too.
(Sorry, I was cut off. Hope it doesn't disrupt the flow too much.)
Please note that NO t/ds are from me.
Nice one, hydro. Now you're getting into the spirit of the game. Humour is fun, see?
Prot, thank you for your glowing comments, but I do need to tidy it up. The main idea has been at the back of my head for a while, but I pressed the "ask" button and then wrote it as I went along. I'll revise it at some stage.
Andy, why the surprise? Did you think I couldn't write or something? But thanks for the comments. (Won't you even give it a little kick?)
Ah, but Buk...the journey is half the fun. This is really a short story in disguise. I actually think it needs expanding in places. Now, tell me (criticisms aside)...did it move you? (And I don't mean to the toilet.)
There are bits that need trimmed, of course, but it WAS written on the hoof. Maybe I'll repost an edited, revised version.
And when I do, Cilla, I'll generously explain the basics to you. Then your 'shopping lists' will be sure to show a vast improvement.
Incidentally, the use of the word 'had' in places is to denote that these pieces of dialogue are, in effect, flashback sequences.
Miss Buns, I can see why you're still single. Difficulty keeping a man, perhaps? No 4, come in...your time is up. Nice of you to describe your own comments in the first sentence.
Comments
13 Responses to “Any constructive comments on my little prose piece?”-
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I am not fond of using adverbs to punctuate dialogue.
It bends the reader away from the character and puts them in a box.
You could trim about a third of the fat off this.
And let us get the message without so much description of it in the end.
>>>It moved me early on, but I could see every tree in the forest.
Sometimes, we want only the forest.
That’s not to say that predictable is bad; contrarily it is usually some of the better prose when done well.
That was beautiful. I am usually an english critic but that was wonderful. now that i see the ending its even better =D two thumbs up!!
Ahhh..Ahhhhh.AhhhhhhhhhCHOO
Ian, as always, your writing is rich, technically perfect, and full of the stuff of life, displaying an understanding of those wonderfully quirky beings we call humans.. and the many registers of love, though in this case it is love alloyed with torment, in the end self-induced, that is the final remnant of George and Elsie’s marriage. That ‘somewhere’ in the final line, so beautifully set off by em dashes, is so richly suggestive of some purgatorial torment for George that we can almost imagine that he does penance for eternity, even if we want to believe otherwise, so well have we been made to sympathize with him from the outset. Or perhaps he sits in some Aeolian realm and smiles to think of his wife’s final ‘acceptance’ of his gift of generosity, and of her final achievement of happiness. We never know, and that paradoxically is part of what makes the story so knowing, so wise in the ways of the world. This was a beautiful piece of writing. I don’t have to wait for a call from the office to know it… I’ll give it a place of honor on my top shelf tonight.
Now why would I kick it around?? I’m not you!! Berating someone for their effort That’s not me …That’s YOU
As far as this goes ,,,If this is yours WELL DONE Seeing this THIS is what we’ve been arguing about You taking that stick out of your @sz long enough to enjoy something So how does it feel?? Pretty good or what… I’d like to hear from you about this
It’s a bit redundant. The use of the word "had" as in "Sam had asked," and "she had said" makes the piece a bit sophomoric.
The story: I wasn’t actually moved by it much. As a matter of fact I did lose interest somewhere in the middle.
Keep writing – I’m sure you’ll get the hang of it.
EDIT: I’d like to read the edit.
I like your story very much. Thanks for sharing..
Though I agree with Buk that this could be trimmed a bit and be even more effective, I liked it…predictable, but good.
Oh dear !
You must lift your knickers and prove you’re really a man ! Goodness no, that would be rather frightful I suppose.
I was not moved in the least bit, although my maxi pad did slip a millimeter when "Elsie regarded the porcelain figure thoughtfully".
Incidentally, "had" this Hallmark tribute to desperate widows been clicked to the bin you would have spared us all due dreadful flashbacks.
Kind sir, un-tuck your penis from the binding lace and flitter off now.
Tah Tah,
Miss Buns
Elementary, redundant, boring as all hell.
Consider crotch tag with your uncle as a hobby and spare us this drivel.
Iano, I’m a sentimental softie and therefore enjoyed the message portrayed in this write. However, MUCH fat needs to be trimmed to give it the punch it deserves. I sincerely hope you do edit and repost, I would enjoy reading the tighter write.
ma
It’s quite long, sorry I didn’t read all of it though
I loved it – that George finally got the love that he deserved – and he was there to see it – "George was smiling to himself too". Too bad – George could not have received more good attention while living – he might have had a longer life span – but such is life. A sad story. I did not sympathize with Elsie much – to much of her falseness showing – I guess – or her misconception of the meaning of love ♥