Family Feast

Family Feast by Tiffany Jones 2007 Rose stood in the doorway of her sherbet painted dining room.   

Her little girl, Maida, prepared to sing a song for their family. Aunt Reba, Uncle Louis and Grandma Pearl Belle waited in quiet anticipation for the show to begin.

 

Light shined through the white lace curtains. The sun shone directly on Maida, and the single beam of light wrapped itself around her. Maida’s tawny brown skin seemed to glow, and the light played through every strand of her copper highlighted hair.

 

Maida wore her red velvet dress with black lace trim. On her feet she wore black patent leather shoes with little heels that made gentle click clack sounds on the polished hardwood floors of the house. Rose was tempted to yell at her daughter for scuffing up the floors, but when she opened up her mouth the words died on her lips.

 

The room settled into silence. Rose thought that she could hear the dust particles in the room moving in miniature cyclones. She could feel a soft breeze on her face; so soft that it felt ethereal.

Maida smiled at her audience, and started to sing.

The lyrics to the song were lost on Rose’s ears. She was hypnotized by her dancing. Maida would perform a little pirouette here, a couple of taps there. The rhythm of the song and the melody of the song combined to create a completely mesmerizing experience.

Rose found herself in such a deep trance that she only caught the end of the song:

“Hallelujah

Hallelujah

Hallelujah

Amen!”

The room exploded with applause, and Rose was thrust out of her daydream. Maida curtsied to the family members that were gathered around her, and started laughing. Aunt Reba got out of the varnished wooden chair and embraced her great niece. Uncle Louis was gave a heartfelt laugh while Grandma Pearl Belle watched with a proud smile on her face.

Her daughters performance ended too soon. Rose wished that she could have watched her daughter dancing and singing forever.

 

Uncle Louis helped Grandma Pearl Belle out of her chair while she clutched her worn, wooden cane. The handle, worn smooth with use over the years, was three shades lighter than the rest of the wood. The two of them joined Auntie Reba in her embrace, all of them smiling down at Maida.

Soon after Maida embraced her Auntie Reba the whole room started to dim. The light that streamed into the window slowly started to fade, almost like a cloud had drifted into the path of the sun. Then Rose noticed that the lights in the entire house were starting to die, until every object was thrown into murky shadows. Her family was still standing around her daughter, and didn’t seem to notice the change.

Rose’s pulse raced. She looked all around the living room and dining room trying to figure out if she had overloaded an outlet. The wiring in the house was old. The circuits would go sometimes if she plugged too many extension cords in. Rose acquired a light sheen of sweat on her forehead after she checked and confirmed that she hadn’t caused the outage.

 

She peeped back into her living room to find that everyone was gone. The house was completely still. A mournful sort of peace crept into her living space, and rested on her furniture. It fused with the atoms in the air and created an inescapable weight of emptiness. The feeling cloyed at Rose which made her more frustrated.

Rose walked over to the window and saw that it was late outside. Was I really watching her for that long? The patch of cream colored rug that previously served as Maida’s stage held no indentations from the little patent leather.

 

 

Old sadness and depression escaped out of the far reaches of her subconscious and greeted her with open arms. Forgotten pain infiltrated her thoughts and her body. Rose was in tears before she realized what she was feeling. Before she realized that she was still mourning.Maida isn’t here…

 

Rose felt a presence creep up behind her before the first tear fell. A strong, comforting, feminine presence seemed to rush toward her out of the darkness. It hovered behind her. She stood still hoping that it would go away, but the more she wished for it’s absence the closer it crept.

Fragrance. A light, lingering scent of perfume. She recognized that smell, but from where? It was a childhood memory. Rose equated that smell with hot Sundays, sitting amidst the congregation of her church. She could almost feel the steady breeze of a fan on the supple skin of her pre-adolescent face.

Rose covered her mouth to keep from crying out.

Her favorite aunt. She’d died almost ten years before from bone cancer.

 

A pair of long, strong hands settled on her shoulders. Aunt Reba’s hands. Rose pulled her quivering hand away from her mouth to speak. “Aunt Reba?” she asked, her voice trembling.

“Yes, baby?”

“How are you here?”

“Don’t cry. It’s ok.” A light pat on the shoulders. “We have her now.”

Tears poured down Rose’s face despite what Aunt Reba told her. She felt her aunt give a gentle squeeze to her shoulders, and then she was gone.

The lights in the house brightened back to life. Her three tiered, crystal chandelier illuminated the dining room and part of the living room. Rose glanced at the table: set for twenty guests. She felt confused for a few seconds, but then remembered. Maida’s spectral performance had interrupted her dinner preparations. Rose realized that she was still holding the twentieth plate in her hand. She gave a start, which made her drop the plate from her trembling hand.

Ding-Dong. Her first guests arrived at the house. Rose wiped her moist face and ran to the door, eager for the company of her living family members.

 

 

Reviews

[Angel Marie Antoinette]

Wow... This was a good story. The story itself made it good, but it was the small details that really did it for me...they told the background story effectively. It was full of good images, sounds and smells. For a second I thought she was a ghost who had just realized she had died. The moment faded into reality nicely. For a moment there I was actually touched when the aunt said it was ok.

[Crystal L. Test]

A very unexpected twist, which I can always appreciate. I really liked your attention to every detail. Her memory was so complete that I felt as if I were inside her head.

[Zephyr]

aww, this was a beautiful piece

at first you think it's just the mother proudly watching her daughter perform but as you read farther into the story you see that it's just a fond memory brought back because of a simple task.

i love the descriptions, like "sherbet painted dining room" and "a mournful sort of peace"

this was sad but still wonderful. i love it.

[Bob Carney, "Soon ..]

A very touching piece. A few minor things seemed odd like "pregnant silence" which seemed a little out of place until I got deeper into the story. It flows nicely and is alluring. You made us feel her sense of loss with her memories of that day. Nice touch having Aunt Reba show up for reassurance even if it didn't give her peace.

[Cdnsurfer]

Ok, bear with me here. I haven't read any of your previous work, so I don't have a feel for the rhythm of your style, but with that said here goes. Use what you want, toss the rest, as the saying goes.

Rose stood in the doorway of her sherbet [unusual word choice here and I not convinced it's necessary for that -- especially in a hook paragraph. Often better to ease the reader into things like unusual colour schemes or word choices.] painted dining room. The entire afternoon had been quiet, but her daughter was going to change that. [Omniscient 3rd person -- be careful with that usage -- moves the camera "way" out.]

Her little girl, Maida, was about to sing a song for their family. Aunt Reba, Uncle Louis and Grandma Pearl Belle were waiting for the show to begin. [Lots of "to be" verb usage -- "was"/"were". The general rule is avoid the "to be" verb as it's distant and passive. Use active verbs. The problem with the passive verb is things happen to the subject of the sentence, rather than the subject of the sentence doing the action. For example, recast in active verb tenses this paragraph could read: "Maida hopped nervously, peering in on the family gathered in the tiny living room. Aunt Reba and Uncle Louis laughed sprawled on the beaten couch, and Grandma Pearl Belle sipped on a soda and looked out the window into the street." It's visually more engaging when the verb is active. It also helps avoid the whole "show" versus "tell" issue. Now with that said, there are times when you must tell and there's times when you can fall back into passive verb use, so long as you are aware of what you're doing and why you're doing it -- shifting from the conventional wisdom.]

Rose had ["had" is the worst passive "to be" use since not only is it passive, it's history. It's okay when speaking about the past perfect tense.] drawn the white [ ] lace curtains open earlier that morning and [the sun] was shining into the dining room. The sun was shining directly onto Maida, and the single beam of light wrapped itself around her. Maida�s tawny brown skin looked luminescent, and the light played through every strand of her copper highlighted hair [from "and" that was a very good descriptive segment, but "luminescent" feels forced.]. This was the first time she�d seen her daughter smile, and it added to the beauty of the scene. [Tons of passive "to be" verb here.]

God was present in that beam of light. Rose could feel the eyes of God beaming down on her daughter. He was waiting for her performance.

Maida wore her red velvet dress with black lace trim. [See the difference with this last sentence? "wore" is the verb.] On her feet she wore [but repeated here -- vary the verbs, too.] black patent leather shoes with little heels that made gentle click clack sounds on the polished hardwood floors of the house. [Good descriptive sentence.] Rose was tempted to yell at her daughter for scuffing up the floors, but when she opened up her mouth the words died on her lips. She just looks so cute in her little dress�

The room settled into a pregnant [feels forced "pregnant silence". The reason is the "telling" going on here, so when you link usual phrases together it dangles. If you flesh out the scene more, this could tie to theme and story better.] silence. Rose thought that she could hear the dust particles in the room moving in miniature cyclones. She could feel a soft breeze on her face; so soft that it felt ethereal. [You've now moved the camera into Rose. You should start with Rose as POV character and stick with her. This clarifies that the omniscent POV was unnecessary.]

Maida smiled at her audience, and started to sing.

The lyrics to the song were lost upon Rose�s ears. She was hypnotized by her dancing. Maida would perform a little pirouette here, a couple of taps there. The rhythm of the song and the melody of the song combined to create a completely mesmerizing experience.

Rose found herself in such a deep trance that she only caught the end of the song:

�Hallelujah
Hallelujah
Hallelujah
Amen!�

The room exploded [good verb choice "exploded" which is an active verb, as opposed to the "was" and "were", the passive verb.] with applause, and Rose [if was is cut then...the verb becomes, say, "broke", then...] [broke] out of her daydream. Maida curtsied to the family members that were gathered around her, and started laughing. Aunt Reba got out of the varnished wooden chair and embraced [active verb "embraced" versus the "was" and "were" peppering this piece.] her great niece. Uncle Louis [ ] gave a heartfelt laugh while Grandma Pearl Belle watched with a proud smile on her face.

Her daughters performance was over too soon. Rose wished that she could have watched her daughter dancing and singing forever. She would have paid money to have it so�but this was not the case. [Why? One step further now rather than technical structure. Motive. Why did Rose wish this? Ah, then you move from "telling" to "showing". Motive means building up the foundation of character.]

[New paragraph. New thought.] Uncle Louis helped Grandma Pearl Belle out of her chair while she clutched her worn, wooden cane. The handle, worn smooth with use over the years, was three shades lighter than the rest of the wood. The two of them joined Auntie Reba in her embrace, all of them smiling down at Maida.

Soon after Maida embraced her Auntie Reba the whole room started to dim. The light that streamed into the window slowly started to fade; almost like a cloud had drifted into the path of the sun. Then Rose noticed that the lights in the entire house were starting to die, until every object was thrown into murky shadows. Her family was still standing around her daughter, and didn�t seem to notice the change.

[You carried the transition above reasonably well. I guess the problem here is the emotional value of the first scene is loss because of passive voice and not close enough to Rose's emotions. Draw the camera tighter to Rose in scene 1 and get active and the change will be much more powerful.]

Rose�s pulse raced. She looked all around the living room and dining room trying to figure out if she had overloaded an outlet. The wiring in the house was old. The circuits would go sometimes if she plugged too many extension cords in. Rose acquired a light sheen of sweat on her forehead after she checked and confirmed that she hadn�t caused the outage.

She peeped back into her living room to find that everyone was gone. The house was completely still. A mournful sort of peace crept into her living space, and rested on her furniture. It fused with the atoms in the air and created an inescapable weight of emptiness. The feeling cloyed at Rose which made her more frustrated.

Rose walked over to the window and saw that it was late outside. Was I really watching her for that long? The patch of cream colored rug that previously served as Maida�s stage held no indentations from the little patent leather.

Maida isn�t here�

Old sadness and depression escaped out of the far reaches of her subconscious and greeted her with open arms. Forgotten pain infiltrated her thoughts and her body. Rose was in tears before she realized what she was feeling. Before she realized that she was still mourning.

Rose felt a presence creep up behind her before the first tear fell. A strong, comforting, feminine presence seemed to rush toward her out of the darkness. It hovered behind her. She stood still hoping that it would go away, but the more she wished for it�s absence the closer it crept.

Fragrance. A light, lingering scent of perfume. She recognized that smell, but from where? It was a childhood memory. Rose equated that smell with hot Sundays, sitting amidst the congregation of her church. She could almost feel the steady breeze of a fan on the supple skin of her pre-adolescent face. Where do I know that smell from?

Rose covered her mouth to keep from crying out. Aunt Reba�

Her favorite aunt. She�d died almost ten years before from bone cancer.

She felt long, strong fingers on her shoulders. Aunt Reba�s hands rested there lightly. Rose pulled her quivering hand away from her mouth to speak.
�Aunt Reba?� she asked, her voice trembling.
�Yes, baby?�
�How are you here?�
�Don�t cry. It�s ok.� A light pat on the shoulders. �We have her now.�

Tears poured down Rose�s face despite what Aunt Reba told her. She felt her aunt give a gentle squeeze to her shoulders, and then she was gone.

[Hmmm. With this there needs to be foreshadowing of the connection between Rose and her Aunt from scene 1. There's nothing indicating a close relationship from that dream sequence. Remember, the reader needs to be led by the nose without thumping them on the head.]

The lights in the house brightened back to life. Her three tiered, crystal chandelier illuminated the dining room and part of the living room. Rose saw that the table was set for twenty guests. She felt confused for a few seconds, but then remembered. The family�s coming over tonight. Maida�s spectral [spectral? I would have appreciated the foreshadow of this in scene 1, but here in scene 3 it feels melodramatic. It use that to describe Maida in scene 1, but be subtle.] performance had interrupted her dinner preparations. Rose realized that she was still holding the twentieth plate in her hand. She gave a start, which made her drop the plate from her trembling hand.

Ding-Dong. Her first guests had arrived at the house. Rose wiped her moist face and ran to the door, eager for the company of her living family members.

[Dangles. What guests? What's the importance of guests? Why not just quiet night alone. If it's here it must have purpose, so add something in this scene 3 to suggest it. Perhaps a Christmas tree in the corner or the smell of a turkey from the kitchen. You need not add much more than this to suggest why there are guests.]

Overall, I like the general story and I see some real talent for description appearing in flashes here and there, but this story get bogged down in passive voice and a lack of strong imagery "tied" to theme or story. Work on those and this piece is going to be brilliant. Well done and good luck.

[Rogue Daffodil]

You know, I takes a lot of emotion to get me to cry over a story, but you accomplished that. I could feel everything poor Rose felt throughout. You really managed to play on the love I have for my own daughter, causing me to imagine how I might feel in the wake of such a tragedy. Very good, and thanks for writing this piece.

[Tonya (the Night Writer..]

This one is too good as well. What are you thinking, entering them in the Worst Story Contest? Did you pick the wrong one by mistake? : )

[Will Pence]

Not bad, not bad. Written well. It would definitely be a challenge to make a story work using as little narration as you did, but you still pulled it off.