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A place for Writing 12 students to read each other's writing, to critique, to suggest, to improve.
About Me
- Brad
- Former adult teacher who loves island beaches. Happy homebody and family man; once devoted dog owner, now without Tashi, my Tibetan Terrier. I prefer the absurdity of the imagination to the absurdity of imagining nothing.
LInks
Blog Archive
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2009
(73)
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May
(12)
- Things I Learned in Writing 12 (short essay)
- An Exercise in "Memory" (with eyes closed)
- What did You Collect?
- Help! I Need Somebody (Pieces for Comment)
- Why Don't You Forget?
- Imitating a Great Writer
- Hongxin's Piece, "Visiting Laoshan Mountain" Edited
- Something that Happened
- Makassia's Story, "Sunrise in Jala" Edited
- Fibonacci Poem
- Punctuation Practice (A Long Sentence)
- A Piece to Publish
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May
(12)
29 comments:
- Our Home Town piece:
Title: My Dad’s First Muddy Car.
“Get back here, you!” I still remember those words as if it happened yesterday.
Whenever it was harvest time, my family went to countryside, my dad’s hometown, to
see his distant relatives. As usual, my dad bought a new car again and he couldn’t wait to
show off his new car. Since my relatives didn’t have any cars, my dad was so proud of his
new car.
And so, the annual trip began, and every time it was horrible.
When my family got there, it seemed the whole neighbourhood was there to greet us,
but it seemed to greet the new car rather than us. We didn’t mind at all because I, for
one, it was so amazed to see the countryside, and so odd to see live animals in my life.
Being a city kid, like me was so easy to trick and so naïve to think about the countryside
life. And so whenever my distant cousins dared me to do something stupid, I did it. If
not, my cousins called me ‘chicken’ until I cry and ran over to my mom.
I still remember one sunny day; as usual, my cousins dared me to do something bizarre.
And of course, I had to do it for the youngest kid among my cousins.
The dare was to mud all over my dad’s new car and of course, I was scared because I
knew how much he loved that car, but I had to do it because if I wasn’t, they were
definitely going to call me ‘chicken.’
And so, the dare began on the sunrise because they thought everyone, including my dad
was sleeping and if I did it, no one could see it. But boy, was I wrong because as I was
about to do it, my dad’s younger half brother saw what happened.
I was so scared because if dad found out what happened, I’d be toast, and made me
cleaning his car. Since I knew he couldn’t tell my dad on me, I kept doing it and doing it
until I made masterpiece out of the mud on my dad’s new car.
Whenever it happened, it was so funny to see my dad’s face; all wrinkly, and mumbled
to himself.
Of course, I, for one, thought it was hilarious to see, and couldn’t wait to do it again. My
cousins, however, made me to stop until my dad knew it.
One day in a broad daylight, I did it without thinking, and of course, my dad saw it. He
started to yell, and ran towards me. Of course, I started to run as fast as I could.
Thankfully, my dad didn’t catch me, but we had to buy another one, and we never talk of it ever again.
-474 words.
Esther:
I like your story, but it needs to be more "shown" and less "told." I particularly want to hear your cousin's voices as they dare you. Also, your dad's voice is missing both in his pride for the car and in his reaction to your "mudding." If I hear his voice (and anger) I'll enjoy the story even more!
Marc,
This piece is pretty good already. If it has a failing it's in your final paragraph. There, your writing seems tentative a bit. Who is "them" for example? You might try enlivening this section with something as concrete as what comes before. The previous paragraphs are full of details. Try to do that here and your piece will be perfect!
The memory of my hometown (revised draft)
A beautiful lake area, nearby the city wall of Beijing, was the place I had lived for five years in my golden childhood. Now it is a park.
Pushing up the window, we could survey the scenery, for my house was built on a high altar. Under the golden light of the sunset, the lake rippled and shined. In the summer, red lotus flowers blossomed and the green leaves covered on the surface of the lake. In a sunny day, the white clouds floated both in the blue sky and in the water. In the rainy day, we could hear the raindrops tipped the lotus’ leaves rhythmically. What a pastoral scenery! What a excellent water-painting! No wonder the ancient scholars stood a huge stone tablet, saying “the haven of peace in the city”.
On the waterfront, reed leaves waved in the wind. Mother and I usually walked along the lake under the sunset after dinner. She taught me Chinese ancient lyrical poetry by oral. Decades years later I still can recite them fluently. Sometimes she coiled the reed leaf to be a trumpet. And I blew it liked a little bugler all the way.
We also collected many leaves home for the Festival. Forming a fresh reed leaf to a hopper shape, feeding in the glutinous rice and dates and wrapping them a delicious Dragon Boat Festival eating “Zhong-ZI” was made.
The lake was abundant for many seasonal foods, such as lotus roots, seedpods, water chestnuts, water nut, and many other fruits. Did you ever think of using the lotus leaf to make faint scent rice gruel? Mom did.
With my playmates, we did some special: picked mulberry, found bird nest for the eggs, caught dragonfly or cricket, the cicada or searched for their slough, and so on. Even a frog leaping across the road could make us a lot of fan. We turned him over, whipped his berry with a willow branch. The frog “annoyed” and “angered”, and his belly swelled bigger and bigger like a white balloon. We all laughed and satisfied. And then we let him go. We never killed anyone of these living things, but we were naught enough.
Sometimes, we climbed up and had a long trudge hike along the city wall. Outside of the south-wall of Beijing was the endless great plain of the Northern China. Hearing a long whistle from the far, a steam train was heading to south puffing and drawing a long steam tail behind.
Occasionally, the breeze carried the indistinct bell sound unhurried and leisurely. It was the camel train that could be seen dimly in the distant among the moat willows. They came from the Inner Mongolia. Now it is all in the past, only some statues new made stand on the position of the moat to tell the young guys about the events happened before.
That was my home town many years ago. The memory is still vivid as if happened yesterday.
Words: 496
Hongxin,
Re your piece, I liked it very much. You described the place to be very attractive. However, I think it will be more interesting if you add quotes- somebody telling you something you still remember.
Hey, Hongxin... nice piece of your hometown... i really liked it, but it needs some of "telling" part, otherwise it looks good, nice job...
Hongxin: Wonderful details that show us through the senses. I find it easy to picture the scene. Love your "little bugler" image (with your mother). Evocative!
Hi Brad,
It doesn't accept my post.
"Your HTML cannot be accepted: Must be at most 4,096 characters"
this was what the system responded.
Anyway I wanted to post my Tree Story.
Part One from Marc:
I thought I had proved myself to be a thinker; I thought I had proved myself to be a maker; I thought I had proved myself to be a dreamer-- but I have yet to prove that I am completely myself. I thought I could become a Philosopher, a Writer, a Poet, or perhaps a Musician ; all that I am, though, is-- a Gardener, a Painter (of houses), a Sculptor (of walls and of bushes) -a man who has not yet found the man within himself.
It is (in my mind) the same as the search for Utopia,-- the search for one’s self; it is (in my eyes) as cynical as the fight and the struggle for absulute Peace and Harmony.
It has been proven, by countless disasters and defeats that had had occurred in the history of our past: no matter how much we had already achieved we always find ways to convince ourselves that we have not reached success; that every time we try to grasp more than what our hands can hold, -- it doesn’t matter how firm our grips are -- like grains of sand, all the excess will escape from our palms, fall back into the shore through our fingers and will be wash away by the wind or the or the sea until it completely vanish for our sight.
This makes me wonder; do we really know what we are capable of (are we really even capable of anything?)? Can we tell when we should stop and admit to ourselves that we have already reach the limit of our intellectual intelligence and physical capabilities (did you not tell me that we are a mere mortal?)?
Have we not seen, read or heard enough about the past to be able to know about the mistakes (or wrong beliefs) that the people and countries that battled (some annihilates while some annihilated) each other for words such as Democracy, Equality and Peace. They tried hundreds or perhaps thousands of times but every time they tried-- every single one of them, every Side, every Party succumbed to defeat and despair. Now I will ask you one more time, and you should think carefully about it, know yourself and what you want the most; is it living in a world full of harmony and grace? Do you really want to live in a world free from poverty, tyranny murder and all the so called “unearthly” acts ( did you not tell me that every man is a sinner?)?
Part 2 from Marc:
As I see it, Utopia, Paraiso, or Heaven on earth (whatever you would like to call it) is achievable ,and, at the same, is also time impossible.
It is achievable because we, human beings are very persevere specie compared to others that the Creator had created-- we don’t stop at anything. For example: we first invented an airplane that can soar into the skies and would take us to every corner of the globe; we then saw that the moon is not too far, so the geniuses came up with the space shuttle-- but why stop at the moon? We have the whole universe to explore.
On the other side, despite of our great quality of being persevere, we human beings are also self-destructive. We are disasters in disguise. We do not settle for “good-enough” (we want more than that) we want perfection. In the process toward perfection we lose ourselves, simply because we know not the real meaning of perfection.
For me, The world where we live in right now-- the same world where our ancestors lived and the next of our kin would live-- is perfect and is the best example of perfection.
Just like how the rain takes out a forest fire, and how the burning sun feeds our forests with its warm light, one needs another despite of the harm that it could afflict onto others. Because of his negative qualities; others learns their potentials, talents and realize their purpose. To make things clearer: starving citizens are here so we should learn how to feed others; illiterates are present so that we could learn to educate and pass-on the knowledge that we possess; homeless people are out on the street so that we could build houses to give them shelter and sew pieces of garments so that we could cover their bodies with clean clothing; there are liars so that we could prove that someone is honest; there are thieves so that we know if we already own too much; there are murderers, rapists (and all the army of Satan) for us to believe that there is a God; there are wrong doers so that we could avoid the paths that they took.
Now I ask myself, am I a man who sees himself within himself, a man who admits the fact that he is completely just a man?
The fact that I know, what I want with my life (which is not world peace) and I am aiming for exactly just it (not anything else); as long as I continue following the dream that I saw in my sleep and not the dreams the others saw in theirs’, I can conclude that I am a man who sees himself in himself-- I am a man of myself.
And, if ever, I fail to reach the pedestal and be not able to stand from up high and look down at places where I was once, I would worry not, for just like everyone else I am just a mere man-- cohered with failure and doomed rot six feet below the ground.
Beatrice:
Try breaking your story into two parts; it worked for Marc's piece. Perhaps we are exceeding some kind of limit for comments?
Part One:
Tree
Carpenter Jiang promised himself that after finishing one hundred coffins for his customers, he would make an excellent one for himself. The raw material was ready--the huge elm in his yard planted by his grandfather. The stem was straight and thick. The bark was oily bright like being painted.
“I can make it the best coffin,” he always told this to his young wife, “Lord Wang offered me five hundred silver Yuan for this tree but I didn’t sell him. He won’t have such a good coffin after he dies even he is richest guy in the town.”
“This is a great tree.” Jiang’s wife always appreciated. She collected the fresh leaves and flowers during the spring and blended them with the flour. The honey in the dough smelled sweet after steaming. When winter came, they embraced their first son named Yu-sheen meaning the son was born under the elm.
In the year 1937, Japanese came. Many people died, however their business dived too. Most of their neighbours run away to south China. Corpses could be easily seen everywhere with wild dogs and crows working on them.
After Jiang finished his 82nd order, he never got another. He coughed badly. In the beginning, he thought it was just a cold until he started puking blood.
He couldn’t work, eat, sleep or even breathe. They went to see the doctor and were told it was phthisis.
They sold everything they could to afford his medicine. Soon enough, nothing’s left.
“Let’s sell it, the elm.” Jiang’s wife wept. She couldn’t believe her strong husband became so fragile.
“No, we can’t. . . ” carpenter Jiang sighed, followed by terribly coughing and choking.
“You still want to make it a coffin?” Liang’s wife asked tentatively.
“No,” Jiang shook his head. “Keep it after I die. It’s too cheap to sell now. . . Japanese would leave. People would come back after the war. . . .Our son is too young. . .” he paused, tried to his wife’s face. Tears drooped from his hollow eyes. “It will be very tough for you to raise our son along. . . I’m so sorry. . . .”
“No, you’ll be fine! You will recover soon. . . .” Liang’s wife wailed.
“Listen to me, kow, kow kow. . . Pick our son a good wife.” He stroked her hair and smiled—even the smile looked so pathetic, “Pick a girl like you. You’ll need money for the bride-price. Sell the tree when our son is ready to get married. . . . Burry me in the yard after I die, so I’d be with you. . . kow, kow, kow.” He coughed again and spitted out more blood which dropped on the sheet and made some scarlet blossoms. “After Yu-sheen grows up, he can buy us both a nice coffin and burry us together after you die. I’ll be waiting for you. I’m not a good husband, I’m so sorry. . . .”
Part Two:
Three days later, Jiang died.
Jiang’s wife covered him with the decent clothes. Wiped her own tears, she buried her husband under the elm tree as he wanted.
Eight years passed; Japanese was defeated. Then it was the civil war. Yu-sheen was eight too. Most of the time, he was alone playing with bugs and butterflies with a chain confined him in the yard His mother was busy—going out everyday with high heels and heavy makeup. He couldn’t understand why she always came back so late, collapsed sometimes with her hair massed up and her make up gone. But she always came back with the food, sometimes with Yu-sheen’s favourite Japanese snacks even.
In the year 1949, China was liberated. Yu-sheen was 12 years old. He was tall and strong—unlike other Chinese, he’d never experienced starvation.
“What’s your name?” People asked him.
“Yu-sheen.” He heehawed dribbling all the time.
“How old are you?” people asked again.
“Yu-sheen, hei hei.”
“Are you an idiot?”
“Yu-sheen.”
“Idiot.” Soon enough, people were tired of those questions. “Do you know your mom is a whore?”
Yu-sheen confused-- “whore” was a strange word to him.
“A whore means a beautiful lady.”
“Beautiful?”
“Yes, beautiful. Your mom is a whore.”
Yu-sheen remembered. He ran back to his yard and yelled, “Mom, you are a WHORE.”
“Bang!” the glass dropped from Jiang’s wife’s hand. Her face paled
In the year 1966, the Chinese Culture Revolution started. A woman stood in the middle of the crowed. Her hair was shaved bald in half side. Her eyes were punched into black. Her lips were puffy and bleeding with a piece of board hanging on her neck and painted in red—“WHORE”.
“Tell us have you slept with the Japanese.”
“Yes, I have. I was a whore.”
“How many of them? Tell us in details, you shameless bitch.”
“I, I don’t remember.” She choked.
“How dare you have this attitude! You are NOT honest!” A man kicked on her chest.
“Beat her! Take her clothes off!” the crowed were excited, “She is a bitch! She has no husband! Her son must be a Japanese bastard too!”
“No, he is not!” Jiang’s wife was frightened, “His father was a carpenter. He made coffins. My son was born in the year 1937 before his father died. ”
“Great, that’s the year Japanese invaded China. This is a proof that your son is a Japanese bastard! You are a slut!” A fat woman jumped out and split on her face, started stripping her clothes off and pinching her. “You never had a husband, you are telling lies! You are a whore and your son is a Japanese bastard!”
“No, I’m not lying. My husband was died of phthisis. I buried his body in my yard under the elm.”
“Show us, where? Guys, Let’s go and see how she makes up her lies.”
The crowed followed Jiang’s wife to their yard. She staggered, bowing her head to her chest like a ball. People kicked her butt and pushed her. She pointed the ground under the elm and said, “Here, I buried my husband right here.”
“Mom!” Yu-sheen came out form the house, “Wow, you have so many buddies to play with. You cut a new hair. Are you playing game? Can I join you?”
“Yes, your mom is sleeping with us.” A stocky man said. Yu-sheen found everybody laugh, he giggled too with his thirty-year-old face moved disorderly.
Somebody threw to Jiang’s wife a shovel, “Dig! Show us you told the truth.”
“No, I can’t, really. Not the timing yet. . . .” she begged.
“Bind the bastard on the damn tree!” the fat woman ordered. Yu-sheen’s size was simply intimidating.
“Oh, mom, they are hurting me. This is not funny.” Yu-sheen flounced among the crowd kicking and crying.
“Don’t, please don’t hurt him! I’ll dig.”
The bones were found one by one: the rips, the legs, the arms, and the skull.
“She didn’t lie.” People grunted with disappointment losing the further excuses to torture the poor woman, “Let’s go.”
“Even you had a husband, you still slept with the Japanese. You betrayed your country and your people. This is not finished yet.” The fat woman said.
People left, stepped on the bones. Someone kicked the skull.
Holding her son’s hand, Jiang’s wife stroked the elm. It was still lush: with the straight stems and chunky trunks; the crown was fully covered by fresh leaves and white flowers. She remembered her wedding day; carpenter Jiang kissed her the first time under this tree. The sun reflected their shadows on the ground like a part of the elm.
“Son, do you like to play a game with mom?” she asked Yu-sheen.
“I love playing games. Which game?” Yu-sheen clapped his hand.
“We are going to see your dad. . . .”
Few days later, people came and saw Jiang’s wife and her son were hung on the elm.
1324 words
Esthter,
I'd like to give you some points to consider demostrating more.
1.what's the exact name of your hometown?
2.what're ur father's words showing off the car?
3.how your relatives responded when they saw the car?
4.what's ur father's reaction after hearting that?
5.why the countryside was amazing, show us!
6.what kind of cousins? like how old? physical size? what't kind of personaility, give us more details.
7.how crazy your father was about the car? sleep inside it everyday?
8.maybe some dialogues when you state the story happned between you and ur cousins.
9. what happened after your uncle saw you? why he didn't turn you in?
generally it's an interesting sotry, and I do feel it has a potential to become more funny.
Hongxin,
the beneath are the points I thougt when I read ur piece.
1. What's the name of the park,even you have told me after the class but still I hope you can specificly mention it.
2. There are some picky grammer mistakes.
3. Very nice and delicate description of the lake images, i can almost see it.
4.very sweet memories with your mom.
5. nice promption of chiense tradition.
I like your piece very much which creats a familar homotwon feeling to me although I had a quite different childhood memory in the same city.
I don't see there are any major problems you need to work on.
Marc,
the beneath points are what I thought when I read your piece. I am unable to finish reading your second part. It's tough to finish even the first part.
1.where is the title?
2.It's more like diary style by mumbling to yourself than showing the reader your thoughts.
3. Too many ()s which I found sort of distracting.
4. Too many long sentences. Fancy? maybe yes; easy to follow? definitely No!
5.It's rather roaming than following a main stream idea. I don't get your major points yet even I have come to your third paragraph. I'm losing my patience here.
It's might be a very thoughtful and valuble piece, but think about how to make it more readable.
Beatrice: There is definitely a bigger, longer, story here. The piece covers a large amount of time, so it is more suitable (I think) for a story of 10 000 words or more. Most short stories cover less ground and work with smaller time periods. That said, I like it very much, especially your historically correct details. What awful times!
Sorry guys that i didn't comment on anybody's piece because my computer's not working and i have only one hour to use the computer.
here's my piece i need help with.I've made the changes at the end and hope that's better now.
The Perfect Man(part 1)
It was sunrise in Jala, a small village in west Kissidougou. Sunrise was the busiest time in Jala. Adults and teenagers were heading in every direction. Mothers carried buckets full of water and their teen daughters, a bit smaller. There was only one woman—in her thirties—who had no daughter behind her carrying a bucket.
Nafina sat on a long wooden bench, looking in the mirror on her lap. She split her hair in small sections and clipped them with hair rollers. After one hour of working on her hair, she started polishing her nails. She used two different finger polishes, black and red. She was beautiful—shoulder length black hair, long face, dark heavy eye brows and straight nose. She was about six feet tall and slender. Her chocolate brown skin and blue eyes made her stand out among other girls.
Her mom arrived and sat her bucket full of water near the fire they usually lit every morning.
“Hey mom,” Nafina said.
Her mom ignored her and asked,” Why aren’t you coming to help me fetch water? Or at least start cooking breakfast?”
“Because I’m doing my hair, mom.”
That’s what she said every morning whenever her mom asked her for help.
“What did you say to Hassan?” her mom asked.
Hassan was the guy who wanted to marry her, but not Nafina’s ideal man
“I asked him to leave and that I don’t want to see him anymore.”
“He’s the second man who has asked your hand in marriage, Nafina. You’re not getting any younger—”
“Neither am I getting old and desperate, mom,” she cut her mom off.
Her mom’s face became. She knew her daughter too well, so she stopped the conversation about marriage, did all the fetching of water and then cooked breakfast while Nafina still sat, now doing her toe nails.
“Nafina’s mom was crying again this morning about her daughter being too picky about what guy to marry,” said a slender girl.
“Well, that’s so Naf…,” another girl started, but stopped suddenly when she saw the victim swaggering, satisfied smile on her face. The slender girl said hello to her and asked, “Why are you smiling?”
“It’s that ugly guy we saw on our way to the market the other day.”
The other two girls looked puzzled.
“Hassan, the guy that said he likes me and would like to marry me?”
“Oh. What did he say this time?” The other girl asked.
“The same trash”
“I don’t see any problem with that guy, Nafina. He’s really handsome,” the slender girl said.
Perfect Man(part2
“Have you seen his left arm?” Nafina asked.
“He has a burnt mark on his arm,” she continued. “And when he smiles, I feel like going underneath the ground because he’s not the guy of my dream. I do not want to marry any man who has marks on any part of his body. His skin must be as smooth as a baby’s butt.”
The two girls exchanged looks and then burst into laughter.
“I don’t think you’ll get marry then,” the slender girl said. “Because I don’t think you’ll find a man like that,” the slender girl said.
Nafina glared at her and sighed. They all sat silently and watched the twilight as it outlined the western horizon.
It was almost noon; Nafina was dressed in her best sleeveless summer dress, sitting on a thick branch of the mango tree, facing the village. A man who came from nowhere stood behind her, running his hand through her long shiny hair. She whirled around and saw a light in complexion, handsome man, smiling at her. Though her mom had warned her about being too friendly to strangers, Nafina smiled back and told him her name. The man said his name was Ramsey and that he was from the other village about five hours walking distance from Jala. After talking and laughing, he said he has to go home because it would take him a while.
On Friday, three days after meeting, he came back again from nowhere and sat awaiting Nafina. After five minutes, Nafina swaggered toward the mango tree and suddenly walked a bit faster when she saw her perfect man. After a few aimless words, Perfect Ramsey said that he is in love with and would like to marry her and with no hesitation, Nafina accepted his proposal.
“You have to come with your parents first to see my parents and then they can discuss it,” Nafina said.
“Sorry, I’m an orphan,” Ramsey said sadly. “I can go and see your parents now because I don’t have anybody to come with me.”
“You must be out of your mind,” Nafina’s mom shouted when Nafina returned from escorting Ramsey. “How could you agree to marry someone you don’t know?”
“Here we go again, mom. What is wrong with marrying him? He’s a nice guy and he loves me and that’s it whether you like it or not.”
Tears rolled down her mom’s pale cheeks because she knew her daughter had made up her mind. She shoved Nafina out of her way and went into their brick house. Nafina rolled her blue eyes, entered the house, and without a word to her mom, sat eating the cooked rice on the wooden dining table that stood in the corner of their small rectangular room.
“When are you going to get marry?” Mina, Nafina’s best friend, asked, while they both sat under the mango tree.
“In August,” she answered, with a smile that almost reached her ears.
“Nafina, I just want to let you know that your mom and I care for and cherish you very much. So please don’t marry that guy. you don’t know him. He hasn’t even told you very much about where he’s from.”
Nafina stood up and glared at her best friend. “I can see that my mom has impelled you to come and tell me this nonsense. When she was marrying my dad, I wasn’t there to tell her that dad is not the right man for her, so I want her to let me choose my own husband.” She walked away, leaving her best friend without even saying goodnight.
Three other girls and two men escorted the newly wedded couple. Their wedding had taken place in mid-August and only a few people were there at the wedding, including her mom, who was dreadfully miserable.
“Darling, I think it’s getting dark now and it won’t be necessary for these people to follow us to our destination. So why don’t we let them go back and we two can continue our journey?” Ramsey said.
“Well, if you say so. But how many more hours do we have to walk?”
“I am sure we’ll be there in three hours because we’ve walked for two hours already.”
She thanked and told them to go back because it was getting dark. The others headed back to Jala as they continued their journey. The sky was dark and smoky. Lightning flashed, and thunder rumbled.
(part3)
After another three hours of walking, Nafina slouched while her “Perfect man” rushed. She shuffled toward a boulder near the dusty road they were traveling on and sat down.
“We’ve walked for another three hours, but haven’t reached the village yet.”
Ramsey pretended he didn’t hear her.
“I am talking to you, Ram!” she shouted angrily. “Don’t tell me the village you’re talking about is Kinimisadu because it takes a walker twenty-four hours to get there.”
“It’s not Kinimisadu,” he said softly. “It’s between Jala and Kinimisadu.”
“There’s no village between Jala and Kinimisadu, Ram. For goodness sake, are you telling me that you don’t know your own village?”
“Come on Nafina, of course I know my own village.”
“I am not going anywhere because I am tired. Continue if you want, but I am not walking an inch from here. Either take me back to Jala or get me to your village in five minutes.”
Ramsey stood up and told her that he will get her some water to drink then. He left, leaving her sitting on the rock. Nafina looked around. There were tall trees, and bushy entangled veins of some unknown grass. She could see a mountain near by. Near the rock she was sitting on was a huge tree, which Nafina didn’t know the name of and hadn’t seen in her village. A random tree, she thought.
After five or ten minutes, she heard her perfect man and others unknown laughter.
“Hi darling,” said an unknown voice. She turned around and saw a man with a badly scarred face, sitting in a wheelchair. She looked around to see if he was talking to somebody else.
“It’s you I’m talking to, darling Nafina,” he laughed.
Nafina frowned. “What’s going on here, Ram?”
“Oh. Pardon my behavior,” the wheelchair man answered before Ramsey could speak. “Ramsey is my brother whom I sent to marry a beautiful girl for me and bring her to me in our private village, and he surely got me the kind I wanted.”
“I do not believe you because you are in a wheelchair and I think mental problem’s what making you think that I am your ‘darling’.”
“He is right, Nafina,” Ramsey said “I married you for him. I’m already married to a beautiful girl,” Ramsey stretched his hand for a tall, slender girl who held his hands and smiled at Nafina.
“I am a lucky girl, right, Nafina?” She flashed her white teeth.
Disappointment washed over her. It hurt to look at Ramsey’s wife’s face. In her village, Nafina thought she was the only most beautiful girl on earth.
She ignored the girl and asked Ramsey where the village was so she could rest and return to Jala in the morning.
(part4)
“We live in this jungle in a small house we built ourselves. You can only sleep in our house if you agree to be my brother’s wife. If you refuse, we tie you to this tree for hungry lions to eat you tonight,” Ramsey said.
“No!” Nafina shouted.
Nafina limped, her arm around Hassan neck because it was the only way not to fall. She was embarrassed the way she looked—swollen feet, tangled with leaves and damped hair, tattered dress and scratched face.
Even more embarrassing, the guy she’d thrown out her house a few weeks ago had been the one to rescue her, despite what she’d done to him.
“Help!” Nafina had shouted when she a heard a gun shot. A hunter, she’d thought. She’d been tied to the tree for three days, hugging it unwillingly because her hands were around it, her butt numb from sitting still on the trunk (her perfect man thought the rock is more comfortable, so he moved her to the rough tree trunk). Hearing a gun sound felt like a dream, though she worried it could be someone who could kill her. Then Nafina was shocked when the person appeared.
Just from the village entrance to her house, she had uninvited and unwelcome audience (almost the whole villagers.) murmuring and glaring at her; some, even following her.
“Nafina, are you okay?” her asked as she rushed toward them, surprise to see her daughter, not to mention the guy who her entire weight was on.
Nafina’s mom expected her insolent voice: “Obviously, you can see I’m not.”
To prove her wrong, Nafina kneeled down—a better way to do it because she couldn’t stand on her feet or let go of Hassan without falling –and then said “Mom, I’m so sorry for disrespecting and not listening to you.”
She stared at Hassan and added, “I will marry the man you want me to marry even if he’s not my ideal man.” He wasn’t her ideal man, of course. But he was not as ugly as she’d thought—brown eyes, slender and a foot taller than her, a straight nose like hers? Definitely not ugly. She hadn’t just given herself enough time to consider him, all because of her ideal of not marrying someone with scar.
Her mom helped her to stand, smiled (mostly at the guy standing beside her daughter, who also couldn’t help smiling at both his wife and mother-in-law to-be.) “I love you and I’ve forgiven you.”
“Thanks mom .I love you too.”
2, 059 words
As a child growing up, although I was mainly raised by my biological mom, my Aunt was also a big part of my life. While my mom remained the steadfast figure she was supposed to be, I could always count on Aunt Susan for the growth of my imagination. She would always take me for walks through the woods with her dog Sandy. During those long adventures she would tell me stories about numerous things. She would point out specific things in the forest and what they were to the 'Magical world'. Sure, it sounds silly. But for a child growing up it was completely bewildering.
The wild oaks were home to the tree nymphs. She would say how sometimes you could see hundreds of little bodies jumping around while they bumped heads dancing. I would always giggle at the thought. Whenever Sandy would run towards something that we couldn't see my aunt would always say,
"There goes my little angel, trying to chase those poor goblins!".
Being so impressionable I become so mesmerized in this world that my aunt had created for me. It become real to me, and at times I found myself actually seeing the wonderful things she would entrance me with. Especially when it came to what we called the "Willow of Wonders".
The end of all our long walks with Sandy always ended at this same point. Standing in awe over the glory of this sturdy old tree. It stood a good eighty or so feet, with long green leaves draping down like curtains. A perfect blanket of shade was always laid to rest below it. This was where we would always lay down a small cream colored blanket to take our rest. My aunt would tell me that cream was the only color that would attract the folk that lived here. The Fairies. I think about it now and simply laugh at the thought. But in those years of my life. It all felt so real. I remember sitting on the blanket with Sandy at my side, eating little pieces of apple. Always waiting and hoping that I would catch a glimpse of the winged creatures. Aunt Susan would always do something to make me believe more, like jump up really fast and point somewhere. It always got me going.
Sitting under the tree was like such perfect peace. Seeing the long, thin, green branches swaying with the wind. The sound of the breeze blowing through the forest creating a wonderful melody. I remember carving my initials into the bark of the tree as well. My aunt had told me too one day, so that the tree would never forget the company we gave too it. The bark of the willow was rough, but with a lot of moisture as well. I remember holding it one day, like a bear would hold its cub. I felt such calm around this willow tree. I understood why my aunt called it the "Willow of Wonders".
It stood proud and tall in the forest surrounding it. A presence of royalty. Being so old it had claimed its space in that beautiful woodland. What a fitting home for the land of the fairies I always told myself. Up high in the beautiful lime toned leaves drooping and swaying with the cool air. I'll never forget the world my Aunt showed to me.
Chris: That first paragraph needs more punch! It's very telly and so is a bit of a slog for the reader. Why not start with you, a little boy, in conversation with your aunt? Get to dialogue sooner and then give us background.
An old oak tree
After the break, the students came back their seats. Next was drawing class. Seventeen- year-old girl Bei took the sketchbook out from her backpack and placed it on the table. Suddenly, somebody patted her shoulder.
“What is up?” she turned around looking at her classmate, also the best friend Pan who sit behind her.
“I heard we would have a new teacher for drawing class.” Pan said.
“Really?” Bei asked in surprise.
“Yeah.” Pan nodded. “That old, annoying fatty is gone finally.”
“Perhaps the new one is the same.” Bei laughed and turned her head back.
The door opened and a young man came in with several papers in his hand. He was good- looking and had a perfect body. Standing in the front of the classroom, he began to introduce himself. “Hi, my name is Wang hang. Your new teacher for drawing class.” His also had a good voice.
Pan softly pulled Bei’s hair. Bei turned around again and blinked her eyes towards Yu’s smile face.
Teacher Wang was gifted and very kind to every student. Plus , he was handsome. So, not very long, drawing class was the favorite class. Many girls in the class liked to talk with him. Some of them asked for his painting. But, Bei seldom did so.
She always went to school early, and sat under an old oak tree, which was the oldest tree in the school, strong trunk and flourished leaves. Bei liked this tree. Sitting there made her feel safe and comfortable. The oak tree just stood beside the playing field. Every early morning, Bei sat there, and watched her teacher doing exercise. He was good at sports. He jogged first, and then played soccer with others teachers and students. Bei watched and enjoyed. The occasional glance at her from the teacher made her heartbeat faster. This kind of feeling she had never had. She admitted she liked him. Who didn’t? Was it love? She couldn’t tell.
Time flew. One year has passed since he taught her, and the students would leave the school and go to college. In the last drawing class, the teacher let the students draw a picture – your favorite. Bei held her pencil, thought a while, then drew an old oak tree.
Mia: A definite wistful feeling here in your piece. I like the way the oak tree appears at both ends of the piece, too. Mainly, you need to find some grammar /sentence problems to polish it.
My Home Town
Whenever I walk on a street in Canada, I feel home sick and alone. This is because I cannot find anything here like back home. The placed called Nabha is a small town that is too busy. This is my home town.
I never saw this city sleeping. People love to honk at each other even as a greeting .In India, honking is not rude. People honk when they turn on the winding road for safety. People are very friendly and they love to talk. More important after a long conversation they ask each other‘s name.
In my home town there are no side walks. I remember when we went to school on narrow and winding streets; we never cared if someone was behind us. Most streets are so narrow that a car cannot pass through. So if a car was behind us, the car would be at the same speed as we walked. We always left early for school because we had an excuse. Our most important excuse was we couldn’t be late for school. It is a common thing in my city if anyone is going to be late, he or she just says sorry there was heavy traffic.
Something I really liked in my school was prayer time .Every morning the peon rang the bell. Then all the teachers and students come in from the school ground. The teachers stand at the front and students stand in rows. Everyone places their hands together and sings the national song. Also every Monday the teachers and students have to wear a white uniform in my school.
After twenty years the Monday white crowd still flashes in my mind.
Word count 282
Makassia:
It works! I think you've found a way of getting Nafina to learn her lesson very well--tied to a tree for three days! Having her return to the village in full sight of others is also an effective way to show her humiliation. Nicely done!
Kamaljeet: The way you begin would be better if you describe more the setting of a Canadian street (how quiet and empty it is, for example) to provide a more effective contrast with your hometown description that follows. I like the details of your school life, especially how you walked to school. Very interesting!
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