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  1. #1
    Amy Lou
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    White Chocolate Mocha - REVISED

    Hey, I'm back. I've worked on this all weekend and I want to know if this is better or have I made it worse. I've added some to it and hopefully cleared up some of the issues in my previous post. But also concerned it's too much before you get to the dialogue. If you don't mind, and if I haven't worn out my welcome, would some of you look this over? Thank you so much for your time!


    "Gavin, wake up. ---- Gavin, honey? I want to show you something. Wake up baby and see what I'm wearing."

    My nervous laughter emerges as I stand in front of the man I'd loved since cupid shot his arrow through my pliable teenage heart. I'm wearing a red lacy number even though I know he prefers a black lacy number. But it meets the criteria; it fits. I'm confident the bustier, garter belt and thigh high stockings will distract him from seeing color or the flaws that bind me. Speaking of binding, there’s a thong in the mix somewhere, lost.

    Admittedly, I'm a clumsy seductress. When I act sexy I giggle, and when I talk dirty I stutter. Also, my expanding middle scarred with iridescent lines from a once pregnant belly keeps me from feeling like the sexpot I should at twenty-six.

    There's that damn wall, too. The kind built between lovers, by lovers, piece by piece. Each of you contributing to its construction. A couple of insulting bricks from you, some condescending mortar from him, and before long you've created a wall you can't see over. Even forgetting the one you once would've given your soul to possess stands on the other side, they've forgotten you too. It wouldn't be long before my eyes could no longer meet my husbands. And I've decided my Valentine's card from him this morning is the final brick to be placed on our wall. It's coming down tonight.

    I found the card this morning lying on the kitchen island next to his crumb-covered dish. Before work, he had made two pieces of toast but ate only one, and a full glass of juice sat sweating long after he'd left. Annoyed, I focused on the card and my nickname that graced the petal pink envelope. I recall tracing his tangled handwriting with a feathery touch, forgetting about the wasted bread. My Princess, it read.

    The card was like the record player I coveted when I was ten. The one I'd asked Santa for and hoped waited under the Christmas tree. With twinkling disco lights and a carrying case, I could take my dance party anywhere there was an outlet. This morning I had ripped open the envelope with the same childlike hope. And I confess for a moment the luminous hearts had enticed me. They were like the disco lights on my record player, and the preprinted words of abiding love were the instruction manual. But who had time to read instructions when music waited to be played?

    The Christmas I found my record player under the tree, a 45 of Toni Basil's Hey Mickey came with it. Gavin's handwritten love letter was going to be the song I craved, my Hey Mickey. His words were the song I could put on repeat mode for the rest of my life and never grow sick of. I was desperate for lyrics that might build a bridge over the flooded river of loss drowning us.

    We had written in each other’s cards since our first, exchanging them Valentine's eve after a high school football game. He had been flushed from playing, curls stuck to his head, diamond eyes shining against rosy skin, and I've been in awe of him everyday after. And inside every card after, we've written our own words of undying love. There had yet to be a card good enough to get the job done until now. Evidently this Valentine's he’d found one, because the only words available were written by a stranger in a cubical, paid to dream up rhyming love poems then massed produced in curly cue font. Hell, there wasn't even the familiar letters spelling out a signature I could forge if need be.

    Tonight I had to try. But why did I think initiating sex would crumble our structure to the ground?

    "Gavin, wake up. Look what I'm wearing." I shake his arm again.

    Determined to salvage the night, I had left him watching television after a cumbersome dinner where I played the part of the hurt wife and he, the distant husband. I returned wearing his gift with grand ideas of undressing him and spontaneous sex anywhere but our bed. He'd fallen asleep with the ten o'clock news blaring. How could I seduce him when a shooting on 5th and Graham was broadcasting live?

    Now only the fluorescent light above the kitchen sink and the buzzing that accompanies it, rounds the corner, filling the room. Confusion resides in his half open eyes, threatening to frighten away what courage I'd mustered. I consider backing out of the room, telling him I'm a dream, a mirage, but I'd come this far and am not one for giving up. Instead, I reach down for him and he stiffens, but not beneath my touch.

    "What're you doing?" He asks while I straddle him, unfastening his belt.

    "What does it look like? Happy Valentine's Day."

    "Don't, Chloe. I'm tired."

    "I can help you wake up. You just sit there, and um, let me take advantage of you?"

    My attempt at seduction spills out in the form of a question, and hysterical laughter cuts through the fluorescent buzzing.

    "Baby, I still don't feel well," he protests. "What are you laughing at?"

    "I don't know, but look what I'm wearing? Don't you like it?"

    "Of course I like it. ---- What the hell is so funny?" he asks.

    "Nothing." A few of my giggle-induced kisses meet his lips.

    "Honey, don't. I have a sore throat."

    "We don't have to kiss, you know?"

    "I need to go to bed. I'm exhausted."

    Having lost all courage, I climb off his lap and stand vulnerable. I'm no longer apprehensive about my belly, or making my petite stature appear tall. Only his reason for rejection consumes me.
    Last edited by Amy Lou; 08-07-2011 at 06:49 PM.



  2. #2
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    Just a quickie, Amy Lou. I see you still have this sentence: "I'm wearing a red lacy number even though I know he prefers a black lacy number."

    I'm always hating it whenever I use the same (unusual) word more than once in a sentence, so am apt to notice it when others do too. Any way you could substitute one of the numbers for something else?

    Mainly, though, if you had really loved this dude since you were teens, wouldn't you be more in tune with him? Wouldn't you let the poor guy sleep --maybe wait until morning for the big seduction, when he's likely to be a little more...randy?

    What's that saying? "A man convinced against his will is of the same opinion still."

    (But of course that would change the story altogether. )

    *_*

  3. #3
    Amy Lou
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    hehe Kitty! I just recently learned what randy meant! LOL

    With the number sentence, I was trying to make her sound sarcastic. Like "I know he likes a black number, but all I got is this red number." But it sounds like it's coming out awkward more than showing her personality. So I will work on that sentence. I guess I get it, but it's not translating well.

    I hear you about letting him sleep, but it's Valentine's night, isn't that what's expected! LOL I get what you're saying here too, but it would change the story. Is it that big of a conflict to you? I guess I hope that between what's going on between them, her desperation to connect with him any way possible, it will make sense?

    "A man convinced against his will is of the same opinion still." don't know that saying! LOL

    As always, thank you for your comments! I so appreciate them
    Last edited by Amy Lou; 08-07-2011 at 07:25 PM.

  4. #4
    Senior Member Miranda Clementine's Avatar
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    I had started critiquing your other post, but stopped when I read you were changing it. I agreed with a lot of what Tinman said, I was going to suggest something like what he did, but he did it better. (:

    I do like this one, it gets to the point quickly and shows us Chloe's personality. I do have a few suggestions below, take em or leave em.


    "Gavin, wake up. ---- Gavin, honey? I want to show you something. Wake up baby and see what I'm wearing."

    My nervous laughter emerges as I stand in front of the man I'd loved since cupid shot his arrow through my pliable teenage heart. I'm wearing a red lacy number even though I know he’d prefer black. he prefers a black lacy number. But this one it(this eliminates the repetition of “it.” meets the criteria; it fits. I'm confident the bustier, garter belt and thigh high stockings will distract him from seeing color or the flaws that bind me. Speaking of binding, there’s a thong in the mix somewhere, lost.

    Admittedly, I'm a clumsy seductress. When I act sexy I giggle, and when I talk dirty I stutter. Also, my expanding middle scarred with iridescent lines from a once pregnant belly keeps me from feeling like the sexpot I should at twenty-six.

    I think everything from here to the *** needs to be cut down and the rest moved to after Gavin’s revelation.

    There's that damn wall, too. The kind built between lovers, by lovers, piece by piece. Each of you contributing to its construction. A couple of insulting bricks from you, some condescending mortar from him, and before long you've created a wall you can't see over. Even forgetting the one you once would've given your soul to possess stands on the other side, they've forgotten you too. It wouldn't be long before my eyes could no longer meet my husbands. And I've decided my Valentine's card from him this morning is the final brick to be placed on our wall. It's coming down tonight.

    I found the card this morning lying on the kitchen island next to his crumb-covered dish. Before work, he had made two pieces of toast but ate only one, and a full glass of juice sat sweating long after he'd left. Annoyed, I focused on the card and my nickname that graced the petal pink envelope. I recall tracing his tangled handwriting with a feathery touch, forgetting about the wasted bread. My Princess, it read.

    The card was like the record player I coveted when I was ten. The one I'd asked Santa for and hoped waited under the Christmas tree. With twinkling disco lights and a carrying case, I could take my dance party anywhere there was an outlet. This morning I had ripped open the envelope with childlike hope. And I confess for a moment the luminous hearts had enticed me. They were like the disco lights on my record player, and the preprinted words of abiding love were the instruction manual. But who had time to read instructions when music waited to be played?

    The Christmas I found my record player under the tree, a 45 of Toni Basil's Hey Mickey came with it. Gavin's handwritten love letter was going to be the song I craved, my Hey Mickey. His words were the song I could put on repeat mode for the rest of my life and never grow sick of. I was desperate for lyrics that might build a bridge over the flooded river of loss drowning us.

    We had written in each other’s cards since our first, exchanging them Valentine's eve after a high school football game. He had been flushed from playing, curls stuck to his head, diamond eyes shining against rosy skin, and I've been in awe of him everyday after. And inside every card after, we've written our own words of undying love. There had yet to be a card good enough to get the job done until now. Evidently this Valentine's he’d found one, because the only words available were written by a stranger in a cubical, paid to dream up rhyming love poems then massed produced in curly cue font. Hell, there wasn't even the familiar letters spelling out a signature I could forge if need be.

    Tonight I had to try. But why did I think initiating sex would crumble our structure to the ground?
    *** so, I liked most of what is up there, but I didn’t like how you compared the card to Christmas. You were already doing a flashback and then you did a Christmas flashback within it. But others may like it, it didn’t stop me from reading on. Also you do still have the wall cliche (but it was a well written cliche).

    "Gavin, wake up. Look what I'm wearing." I shake his arm again.

    Determined to salvage the night, I had left him watching television after a cumbersome dinner where I played the part of the hurt wife and he, the distant husband. I returned wearing his gift with grand ideas of undressing him and spontaneous sex anywhere but our bed. He'd fallen asleep with the ten o'clock news blaring. How could I seduce him when a shooting on 5th and Graham was broadcasting live? if you were to change it as I suggested, you would have to change this paragraph a bit too. Just say something about spontaneous sex being his gift, and show bit of the insecurity the night gave her. It’s just, you gave us 500 words where we knew that what was about to happen wasn’t going to be good. If you give us a little taste about what is about to come, and then tell us what lead up to it, it might work better.

    Now only the fluorescent light above the kitchen sink and the buzzing that accompanies it, rounds the corner, filling the room. Confusion resides in his half open eyes, threatening to frighten away what courage I'd mustered. I consider backing out of the room, telling him I'm a dream, a mirage, but I'd come this far and am not one for giving up. Instead, I reach down for him and he stiffens, but not beneath my touch.

    "What're you doing?" He asks while I straddle him, unfastening his belt.

    "What does it look like? Happy Valentine's Day."

    "Don't, Chloe. I'm tired."

    "I can help you wake up. You just sit there, and um, let me take advantage of you?"

    My attempt at seduction spills out in the form of a question, and hysterical laughter cuts through the fluorescent buzzing.

    "Baby, I still don't feel well," he protests. "What are you laughing at?"

    "I don't know, but look what I'm wearing? Don't you like it?"

    "Of course I like it. ---- What the hell is so funny?" he asks. Just a thought, they have been married for a while, and this isn’t the first time she has tried to talk dirty or act sexy, so this seems out of character that he would ask her this. I know you are trying to show us she is giggling without telling us she’s giggling, but it seems forced. Perhaps you can throw in something like “Don’t waste your sexy giggly act on me tonight, I don’t feel well.” That’s not great, I know, but it would seem more natural, otherwise I think she would have stopped the first time he said “what are you laughing at?”

    "Nothing." A few of my giggle-induced kisses meet his lips.

    "Honey, don't. I have a sore throat."

    "We don't have to kiss, you know?"

    "I need to go to bed. I'm exhausted."

    Having lost all courage, I climb off his lap and stand vulnerable. I'm no longer apprehensive about my belly, or making my petite stature appear tall. Only his reason for rejection consumes me.
    Last edited by Miranda Clementine; 08-07-2011 at 07:31 PM.
    Even those who make their living in dreamland must do their chores in the real world.
    -Scarlett Rice
    MC

  5. #5
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    Amy: There's a concept in scene construction—maybe more so in screen writing than in novel writing—called "turning the scene", or some such. It's where the dialog and the action flow pretty much according to what the reader expects is going to happen, and then, wham!, something occurs that turns the scene upside down. The reader's expectations of what was going to happen are completely dashed, and whole new conflicts and tensions arise. It's these turnings that keep the reader, well, reading.

    Your earlier version of this scene turned when Gavin waved his hand and said he no longer wanted "This, all of this."

    That was good stuff, really good. I'm sorry to see that you cut it, because this scene no longer turns.
    Last edited by jayce; 08-07-2011 at 09:27 PM.

  6. #6
    Amy Lou
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    @Miranda - Thanks girl for reading this. You've been with me from the start! LOL Okay, I totally get what you are saying and confirmed by Jayce. I'm cutting the card flashback and will think about placing it somewhere else. This is exactly what I needed to know. Thanks too for pointing out what seems out of character for Chloe - I agree totally. I like my wall cliche damn it! LOL But I hear you there too. I thought Jayce was saying the "wall of silence" was a cliche expression so I tried to move away from that but keep the wall. Oh well! Thanks again, you're the best!

    @Jayce - Thanks again for your time, also your explanation on scene construction. I have not cut that turn in the scene you're talking about, it's just down a ways since I added all the other nonsense! LOL So I get your point and I am listening to it. Miranda touched on it too. The junk I added is coming out and the scene will turn just as it did before. I trust your opinion, I just wish I could have seen it for myself. Maybe in time eh? With more experience. So the scene will read much closer to the way I had it, but correcting my mistakes. Thanks again for getting me back on track! Now if I can just stay there.

  7. #7
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    Mainly, though, if you had really loved this dude Wouldn't you let the poor guy sleep

    LMAO@Kitty

  8. #8
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    Amy. I agree with Miranda lol. You have that big chunk without dialogue in the center. It breaks up the flow. Of course, I don't know your story, but do you have to use a flashback? I hate them, or maybe I've just never read anyone who does them well lol.

    Also, the part: "You just sit there, and um, let me take advantage of you?" What are you doing with the "um"? Is that a pause where she's trying to decide what to say? It just feels like if you're going to use it you need something else there to explain it, but again, that might just be me.

    Good Luck!!!

  9. #9
    Senior Member Miranda Clementine's Avatar
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    You're welcome, Amy, it's always a pleasure. Yes, the wall itself is a cliche. I really like what you did with it, but everyone always says not to use them, so I thought I'd point out that it was still a cliche. Perhaps you can change it a little more, make it a swimming pool, an iceberg, or an iglo or something... lol Just to make it your own, ya know? I do still like the card itself, I always have. To me it says a lot about the relationship, I don't want to see it go either, so keep working on keeping it in. Maybe she can see the card after Gavin leaves. Perhaps something like, "the card still laid on the counter, blah blah blah. It should have been my last clue that our marriage was over, not my first."

    Tinman- I guess you and I think alike because there are so many times I don't do a critique because you have already said everything I would have. Beat you to it this time... lol
    Even those who make their living in dreamland must do their chores in the real world.
    -Scarlett Rice
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  10. #10
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    Miranda. lol If we think alike, thought I'd warn you not to go off the meds, that's what the docs keep telling me .

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