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Review of Quiet Interlude  Open in new Window.
Review by Jeffrey Meyer Author IconMail Icon
In affiliation with WdC SuperPower Reviewers Group  Open in new Window.
Rated: E | (4.0)
Dang it! I still haven't gone back to catch the beginning!

I think you meant "presents" instead of "presence" in line 6. Uless Lyle is saying that by walking into the room, he has enhanced the atmosphere with his own presence. I don't know Lyle yet, so I'm not sure.

Also (probably an artifact of the Flash Fiction word count constraint), the transition from inside to outside is unclear. The big homey held out his hand, and suddenly they were outside. Perhaps a little break point? (Pardon me while I take great liberty with your work; no disrespect intended.)

...
“Want to go outside? I could use air.”

Darius stood, stretching slightly before offering Elara a hand. “Want to go outside? I could use air.”

-----)(-----)(-----

Elara folded her arms and leaned against the railing of the overlook, the distant sea whispering below. Darius joined her.

Then he said, “This place...

Otherwise, another great piece!

--Jeffrey


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Review of Look again  Open in new Window.
Review by Jeffrey Meyer Author IconMail Icon
In affiliation with WdC SuperPower Reviewers Group  Open in new Window.
Rated: E | (5.0)
Fyntex,

This is a very nice ode to the forgiveness and singular perspective of God. I can't find anything wrong with this, aside from using 'U' instead of 'You,' so I'll stick to opinion—after all, our writing is to elicit a real response, right?

First, I am not a man of faith. Second, I am not a man against faith; I think everyone's faith is beautiful, that each religion is just a different perspective of the same Creator's face. I could be wrong, I reckon, but there it is.

That having been said, I pose this question: is what we see always the opposite of the Divine's perspective? What if one sees themselves as a staunch follower of Christ? Is that personal perspective true? Can it be true? How we see ourselves often defines our actions. If I see myself as weak and whining, how can we say God sees me differently? (I know that discussion can go down the predestination road, but that's a whole other conversation.) If what I see and what God sees are different, how can I know? Prayer, perhaps? Zen? Peyote?

Good writing leads to questions, and all these questions are honest and intended to be respectful; they are not meant to be argumentative or facetious (except for the peyote). So I guess it's safe to say I see this as a fine poem.

...But that's just my perspective.

*Wink* Write On!

--Jeffrey


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Review by Jeffrey Meyer Author IconMail Icon
In affiliation with WdC SuperPower Reviewers Group  Open in new Window.
Rated: 18+ | (3.5)
Mr Springsteen said it quite succinctly: "At the end of every hard-earned day / people find some reason to believe."

Flash fiction is becoming one of my favorite challenges. 300 words just isn't enough—but it has to be. Probably because of that constraint, I didn't feel Arnold was defined well. Was he on the autistic spectrum, or "neurodivergent" in some other way? His enthusiasm at and seemingly unselfconscious participation with anthropomorphic fauna clues the reader in that something is up.

The hope that flowers can bring to a besieged mind—or a besieged people—is amazing, though, whatever one's mental state. I appreciate the bouquet you've presented here.

--Jeffrey


PS: VERY clever title!

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Review of Ending Winter  Open in new Window.
Review by Jeffrey Meyer Author IconMail Icon
In affiliation with WdC SuperPower Reviewers Group  Open in new Window.
Rated: E | (3.5)
What a wonderfully affirming image of Spring! I sure wish spring in my neck of the woods had been as nice.

I am rather a fan of these Japanese poetry styles, and I appreciate your collection of them. I notice one element that might be able to be tightened up, though. Tanka, like a sonnet (or even a haiku, really) has a "turn" in it. One might begin with an image of an avalanche in the first two lines, compare an avalanche to an emotional event or state in the third line, then finish in the last two lines writing about that emotional state (implicitly applying the original image to it). I'm not sure I see that here.

Nevertheless, I might not be looking closely enough, and it is beautiful whichever way a person cuts it. Very pretty picture, my friend.

--Jeffrey


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Review by Jeffrey Meyer Author IconMail Icon
In affiliation with WdC SuperPower Reviewers Group  Open in new Window.
Rated: E | (4.5)
Bi0,

This poem is much more complex than its few words might suggest. I like this.

There is a tone that is at once hopeful and melancholy. There is resignation as well as determination. The reader comes away both hopeful and a little sad—sad for the wandering, unnamed target of the poem, because it seems implied that she is on a dangerous or harmful path: "I won't ask where you've been. / I won't ask why."

Or perhaps she's been with someone else during her absence from the speaker, and he is willing to ignore, forget, or forgive it, as REO Speedwagon sang: "And though I know all about those men / Still I don't remember."

That first stanza is either a head-scratcher or it's missing a punctuation mark. Right now it reads: "We are more likely to meet when I begin looking in places where people recognize each other by their scars." That's an interesting statement, but I tend to think you meant the opposite. A comma after "searching" would fix it.

The determination and implacability in "When you come / And you will" gives the sense of a higher power as the speaker. The rest of the context doesn't support this, but the calm confidence of the statement has a taste of "you will rest in the arms of God" to it.

This is a very good poem, in my opinion. Poems make people feel, and they make people think. This does both, and that makes it a very powerful piece to me.

Well done, my friend; thank you for sharing this lovely piece with us.

--Jeffrey


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Review of A Passing Moment  Open in new Window.
Review by Jeffrey Meyer Author IconMail Icon
In affiliation with WdC SuperPower Reviewers Group  Open in new Window.
Rated: E | (5.0)
Lonewolf,

Wow! You've done something really special here. In 300 words or fewer, you have created a rich world into which I was able immerse myself effortlessly.

In media res is always a nice way to start a narrative story, I think, because when we encounter a situation that needs a narrative—that is, a situation that excludes us as participants—it's always like that, we always start in the middle and have to catch up. As a reader, however, I didn't need to run to catch up with this scene. You introduce us quickly to an intimate moment, a previous tragedy, a revelation, and manage to temper it with comedic relief. In 300 words or fewer. Good grief, no wonder you won this round!

This has drawn me in so effectively, I'm probably going to have to go back and read more of this soap opera! (That's meant as a compliment, by the way. Those writers do a hell of a lot of work on the daily!)

Excellent writing; congratulations.

--Jeffrey


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Review by Jeffrey Meyer Author IconMail Icon
In affiliation with WdC SuperPower Reviewers Group  Open in new Window.
Rated: E | (4.0)
It turns out, absolute silence can drive a person insane. In fact, the longest stay in the anechoic chamber of one hour, twenty-six minutes. True story. Perhaps the new sounds should be sung: praise the Lord and pass the stinking banjo! *Laugh*

I identified with this piece in two different ways. The first way had to do with blocking out sound and still having more sounds left over. When I'm trying to go to sleep, as I think is true with everyone, the different noises within the room—the hums the creaks, the ticks and ticks—start to sound like voices that I can't quite understand. I think of those as the sounds between the sounds, as you put it. The other perspective is from having tinnitus. I can shut out all the sound I want. I can turn off the TV; I can shut off the radio; I could go out on the lake when it's as still as glass—no traffic, no boats, nothing. But the screaming in my ears always remains. So I was able to identify with this almost as a warning that no matter what one does, no matter how quiet it is, there will always be something to hear.

While I'm not a man of faith, I appreciate the way you ended this. Even if the "amen" is spoken within our hearts, it is the loudest quietest sound that will ever be.

This was nice writing that shouldn't be kept quiet at all. *Wink*

--Jeffrey


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Review by Jeffrey Meyer Author IconMail Icon
Rated: E | (4.5)
Kaytings,

What a wonderful ode to Morpheus! Sometimes, though, sleep brings more demons than it releases. I once dreamt I got shot in the lower leg, and I felt it! *Shock*

Your meter is very good here, although in a couple of places a stanza will start on the right foot instead of the left: that is, the stress is on the first syllable instead of the second. It's not wrong, but it trips the flow up a little. Now, your line about the co-conspirator is out of rhythm: too many syllables. Nonetheless true, though, for certain! A few minutes on the couch after a hard day, and dinner ain't happ'n'n till late, kids! *Sleeping*

I will admit, I've never thought of sleep as a hoppy. I heard one person call it "practicing for death." *Shock2*

A very nicely written poem, this. I hope there is more: Write On!

--Jeffrey


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Review of The Last Goodbye  Open in new Window.
Review by Jeffrey Meyer Author IconMail Icon
In affiliation with WdC SuperPower Reviewers Group  Open in new Window.
Rated: 18+ | (5.0)
JM,

What a sadly moving piece. I saw a super-tiny sliver of this growing up. Once, I think, maybe twice. For less than a minute. 40 seconds out of 26,000,000 seconds of my life, and it stays with me. For a child to have to see it all the time? Unfathomable.

"The beeps boomed in her head like fists, over and over it hammered, hitting her face, arms, and legs. It hurt—everywhere." Even in a flash fiction, you managed foreshadowing. Very nicely done. I didn't make the connection at first. (For me, one of the problems with this style is that I can scan it. Maybe it's my ADHD, but I read a sentence, scan the piece, read another sentence or two, scan the piece as a whole again. It can result in missing things or making erroneous connections. Bugger!)

"Please make it stop. Please." What a great use of words to say several things at once: Stop my pain; stop the abuser; stop the cycle of abuse. Why do we so often come up with the right things to say when it's too late?

That last goodbye is heart-wrenching, and perfectly done.

I will make two notes by way of criticism.

~ ...but she killed the bastard. This seems too abrupt and direct compared to the rest of the piece. Perhaps alluding to his death would be better. I don't know, it's hard to rearrange stuff in a flash, isn't it?

~ This is most important. You make that font for the notes after the story bigger. Highlight them. Make them seen! The story's great; the awareness is greater, and I thank you for putting git there. Domestic violence disgusts me, and when it involves children, it incenses me.

Good job getting me invested and enthusiastic about this short piece, JM. Please, do Write On!

--Jeffrey


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Review of Departure  Open in new Window.
Review by Jeffrey Meyer Author IconMail Icon
In affiliation with WdC SuperPower Reviewers Group  Open in new Window.
Rated: 13+ | (4.0)
Soledad,

In reading older works from fellow writers, I happened on this painful gem.

The call and response format (which reminds me of tanka poetry, in a way) is nicely punctuated with an intermediate "outburst." Each "triplet," then reads:

Your thought (as you anticipate mother's acidic comment)
Mother says the comment you had foreseen
You say/do something out loud in answer to Mother's comment.

It's a very effective and economic way of communicating this unfortunate dynamic. But I do like how it turns at the end: mother pleading for her abuse victim to stay and getting ignored, leaving her with no one to torture but herself. It reminds me strongly of Pink Floyd's lyric:

Don't leave me now
How can you go when you know
how I need you...
...to put through the shredder
in front of my friends...?!

That same incredulous blame of the abuser that the abused is committing some sort of unfairness by leaving the abusive situation. It's bizare, but very real; and it is very well captured in the turn of your poem.

Now, perhaps it's my self-importance making a suggestion about such a personal piece; but it's there room to tighten this into a more rhythmic, potent (perhaps rhyming?) statement piece?

I hope no offense is take by my comments or suggestions on what is, as I noted, a very personal piece. They are offered only with respect and encouragement in mind.

--Jeffrey


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Review of WRITER'S BLOCK  Open in new Window.
Review by Jeffrey Meyer Author IconMail Icon
In affiliation with WdC SuperPower Reviewers Group  Open in new Window.
Rated: E | (3.0)
JJ,

First of all, I'm so glad to hear your block has lifted. I have found it to be a perpetuating cycle of block-stress-more block-more stress-even more block, and so on. For those of us who are "neurodivergent," it can be smothering.

Writers' block is common, though—one might even say it's universal. As such, a lot of us can relate to this piece. This being a writing site, and you having posted this, allow me to offer some thoughts.

Could this be presented as a poem? Your single-line structure seems to suggest that, paring down unnecessary words, this could be condensed to a few powerful stanzas, and the exercise itself could be a healthy writing tool.

Or perhaps a flash fiction that is allegorical to this might be another interesting exercise. (In fact, that rather inspires me to do just that. Thanks!)

Writing about writers block is like saying Rumpelstiltskin's name—it breaks its own cycle.

I look forward to reading whatever it was that did break your block, JJ. And I'm glad to read that you are now able to Write On!

--Jeffrey


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12
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Review by Jeffrey Meyer Author IconMail Icon
In affiliation with WdC SuperPower Reviewers Group  Open in new Window.
Rated: E | (4.5)
Enthusiasm,



I hope you made the coffee black and strong today, because this could get long-winded. There're a lot of observations and comments I'll make about this story, but let me start off by identifying the overall cathartic feeling the reader is left with after reading this. As part of what appears to be a series of half-autobiographical and half-allegoric stories of dealing with loss, guilt, and the search for redemption, this feels like a culmination and completion.


BASIC PRO'S (in case you want to skip all the other mumbo-jumbo)

BASIC CON'S (ditto the other mumbo-jumbo)

A Whole New World...Kind Of

The Times, They Are a Changin'

A Whiff of Promise; the Scent of Doom

This Is Your Subconscious Calling

Old Friends, New Relatives

Resin Is the Reason for the Season

It's About Time

The Hauntings

The Head-Scratchers


This final(?) piece in the Lands of Guilt series is as enjoyable as the rest. In fact, when read in sequence (with this as the last), the coherent theme and progress of emotions and psychological is astounding. A painter creates with subtle brushstrokes; you paint with equally stunning keystrokes, my friend. Bravo!

I look forward to finding more goodies in your portfolio.

Very sincerely,

--Jeffrey




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Review of to die  Open in new Window.
Review by Jeffrey Meyer Author IconMail Icon
In affiliation with WdC SuperPower Reviewers Group  Open in new Window.
Rated: E | (3.5)
Dr,

I know that feeling well. Articulating the feeling, ne of my favorite songs croons:

So I turned myself to ice and stone
Said I don't need anyone
And nobody else would ever make me cry*

I didn't know if that's true or not, but it certainly feels that way, doesn't it?

It seems like you were not so much blindsided as worn down by a lack of reciprocation, which this reader feels keenly; it's usually the way loss of love has gone for me. Now, while your sentiment is spot-on, the presentation is in need of some attention. In particular, may I suggest using line breaks? For instance:

Even if I die, I won't love Not out of stubbornness, not for revenge

Would become:

Even if I die, I won't love
Not out of stubbornness,
not for revenge

And so on... It helps the reader delineate your thoughts more clearly, enabling them to focus on the meaning of the poem rather focusing on physically reading it.

Aside from that small thing that will make a big difference, there is nothing else I would suggest for improvement. You poem is strong, honest, and straightforward;it avoids being whiny or snobbish. It's just one person saying: "I'll turn heart to ice and stone..."

Well, best of luck— and love— my friend. And write on!

--Jeffrey


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* Trisha Yearwood, "Maybe It's Live," from Everybody Knows
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Review of Sarah-Sue  Open in new Window.
Review by Jeffrey Meyer Author IconMail Icon
In affiliation with WdC SuperPower Reviewers Group  Open in new Window.
Rated: E | (5.0)
Oh my gosh! To have little ones again! This is so sweet that I can picture it. Nicely done.
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Review of My Little Fiat  Open in new Window.
Review by Jeffrey Meyer Author IconMail Icon
In affiliation with WdC SuperPower Reviewers Group  Open in new Window.
Rated: E | (4.0)
Steph,

Being a vet myself (E4, Corporal, USMC, 1993-1997), this story was easy to identify with. My first car was from a fellow Marine, though with NO drama whatsoever. It was a Mazda 626 with a semiautomatic clutch. "A what?!" There was a small hole in the clutch somewhere, and it would slowly work its way back into gear at a stoplight or, God forbid, on an entrance ramp to the highway!

I know some guys fooled around with wives. That was minefield if ever there was one. I dated off-base and way upstate. Made weekends to see my girl rather difficult—but safe, in many ways. Until Ed drove is the wrong way for two hours on the highway getting back to base one night... Well, I'll use that for one of my future stories.

So I was able to identify with this story from a former military point of view. However, if I had never encountered these terms before, you did an excellent job of explaining them parenthetically to that anyone can know what you're talking about. Good thinking.

Your paragraph breaks are very well chosen. Dialog should 99% of the time be broken into separate paragraphs as each party takes a turn speaking, and you have done that. As a reader, I appreciate the attention to that detail. It avoids confusion and extra work on my part. Sounds lazy, but readers generally are, and we write for our audience.

The vocabulary you use is chosen well, also, except for one spot I'll talk about in a minute. You avoid using a lot of military jargon and terms. As mentioned, that keeps this piece accessible to everyone.

Mechanically, you've done wonderfully. No Shatner or Walken commas, no accidental run-ons.

But there's a few things I want to point out. It bears noting that these suggestions are in the way of helpful observations; disrespect is never intended.

That One Vocabulary Thing
Based on the rest of the text, is "trying to bang me" the best choice? The observation is not from a prudish standpoint. (Remember, I was in the Marines. By the end of my morning coffee, I'm dropping F-bombs like commas!) It felt like seeing the Pope with his wang out. Just didn't fit the rest of the story.

Some Typo's That Matter
2nd paragraph: "...Sergeant First Class charge of the platoon..." needs to be in charge.
3rd and 8th paragraphs, you have "use" instead of "us." In the first instance, one could actually take that in a very different context. *Shock*
When you ask your fast friend how long she has been intimate with her superior, you use "to" instead of "two." It's little, but it stands out.

Stylistic Repetition
You used "Mind you" and "Let's just say" multiple times each. It's a narrative, a personal story, so the stylistic license is granted. But you might want to take a look at the frequency of your use of these phrases to ensure they don’t become as much of a habit as someone saying "like" every third word in a conversation.

Tense Agreement (Maybe)
In the paragraph where you deny your status of being a "rat fink," there's actually 2 things. First, "no-nothing" should be "know-nothing." (I know—as a private, both are true, aren't they?!) Second, you lapse into present tense. This could be a mistake, or it could be a reflection of your thinking at the time, which would have been in present tense. If the latter is true, placing it in italics might help set it off as such, or quotation marks with an "I thought" at the end.

The End...I Think
This is the one that needs the most focus. The others are technical little things; this one is structural. Unfortunately, your ending is closure. An ending, unless deliberately avante gard, either refers back to the rest of the content, reinforces the opening paragraph, or points the reader to a forward (sometimes past, but that's usually articles or essays) time, event, or goal. Unfortunately, your current ending is just s stop. Screeee! "Then what? Did you fix it? Sell it to your friend as is? Set it on fire?" You get the picture.

It might seem like I was trying to tear your story apart, but I really wasn't. I mean, everything I didn't mention was golden! It's a rather humorous story that appeals to military folks, casual readers, and especially anyone who's ever gotten burned on a first car, in whatever way. This is a very good story, and I do hope at least one thing I noted helps.

As they say, Steph—write on!

--Jeffrey


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Review by Jeffrey Meyer Author IconMail Icon
In affiliation with WdC SuperPower Reviewers Group  Open in new Window.
Rated: ASR | (4.5)
Christopher,

When a story grips us as well as these stories to which you allude have gripped you, then we know we are not only in the presence of great writing, but in the world of it. You yourself bring the reader in in similar fashion. Your lines remind us of the racing motorcycle rides we've read breathlessly, the times we realize we are gritting our teeth as our character crawls through mud trying not to get shot, the heady feelings we share with the heroine as she softens the brute pirate (most of him, anyway).

Some of these lines really stood out to me:

I luxuriate in silky smooth sheets/ Until mud squishes through my fingers. Sliding from one tactile image directly into another felt dreamlike (and isn't the sensation of immersive reading just strong, lucid daydreaming?), the sensory equivalent of a portamento from a safe major to a sinister minor chord.

Seawater is no good to drink,
but red velvet delights my tongue
While bitter lemons yearn to become lemonade,
The iron tang of blood reminds me I’m alive.

--That I can taste these things, each on its own line and the tanginess overall—even over my morning coffee and morning breath— is signature of wonderful lines, my friend. (Why couldn't you have written a few lines about toothpaste for me? *Wink*)

As eyes follow finger across yellowed pages Your mention of physical pages touches the hearts of many of us. Even though the medium has gone mostly digital—and for some very good reasonsit's just not the same as the feel of a book, the act of turning a page, the sensation of your finger on the page, the smell! (Goodness, I love the smell of a bookstore...)

...dreams of people/ Whom I shall never meet. That's it right there, isn't? We'll never know these characters, ride these seas, get shot at by these soldiers. But we were there anyway, and that lucky travel is what this poem is all about. Grab a book and travel, then come back unscathed. Mostly, anyway...

As with much free verse, I've nothing to suggest in the way of tweaks that could help. Your construction is almost episodical, allowing the reader to skip back and forth from stanza to stanza—even line to line, really—to consume these sensations at their own pace. The theme is clear throughout, with a very nice summation at the end.

Very nice poem, Christopher. I'm glad I could read this before I start a busy day. Nothing says "I'm ready for a fresh start" like having lived a thousand lived before my first email of the day! (Oh wait, that's what pretty much every Monday feels like!*Wink*)

--Jeffrey


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Review of MY WATERCOLORS  Open in new Window.
Review by Jeffrey Meyer Author IconMail Icon
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Rated: E | (5.0)
Seabreeze,

These are stunning! I used to dabble in watercolor myself. I once painted a picture for a friend of mine for his birthday. He was one of those characters who was always young at heart. He was 90, I was 48, but we palled around when he could. His family set that painting on display at his viewing when he passed. I've never been more gratified from my own art. (Personally, I thought the painting was terrible.) Now, no longer having a dedicated space for it, it's too much trouble to drag everything out and paint. By the time I've gotten everything out, the inspiration has left me.

But enough about me! Let's talk about some watercolor work that is beautiful! I am particularly impressed by Hummingbird and Walk in the Woods, with Creek a close third.

Hummingbird
The edge precision in Hummingbird is amazing. There is no bleed between the yellow and blue. If it were just a blue stripe on a yellow background, the lack of bleed would be impressive in and of itself. But this goes beyond the excellent technique. The sketch of the hummingbird and the flower are exquisite; to my eye, the proportion and dimension are perfect. This is one I'd buy and hang, no lie.

Walk in the Woods
There are three things that impress me in this picture: the person being identifiable as a person; depth of field; and tree-work.

     Person: Having mentioned my own painting, which features David (my friend) in the foreground, I know what a royal pain in a certain nether region sketching and/or painting people can be, especially with watercolor. Again, I struggle with bleed or blop—too much water or too much gooey paint. One is immediately able to recognize the form of a person and a dog, and you accomplished this without fussy detail.

     Depth of Field: If people are a pain, depth of field is a spear through chest. I can't draw it, can't paint it. Sometimes, I can't even write it! As dumb as it sounds, using more water for a gentler wash in the background is something that never even dawned on me—and it's perfect! It seems to communicate a soft morning mist, a larger field or clearing. I'm definitely going to remember this technique 8 or so years from now when I finally feel like pulling out my paints again. *Frown*

     Tree-work: If the cartels get me and threaten to make me eat Brussels sprouts if I can't draw a tree, I'm going to be on a perpetual diet of nasty little alien heads, I fear. I make too many branches, or too thick; my leaves look like bad watercolor leaves. In Walk in the Woods, the variegation in color of that foreground tree is captivating, and it has a wonderfully full and 3-dimensional feel to it. Not just the look, but the feel. Another strength in the picture overall is that, while this is a scene of a walk in the woods, it is truly a portrait of one lovely tree. (You might be interested in one of my favorite short stories of all time, by Algernon Blackwood: "The Man Whom the Trees Loved" https://www.gutenberg.org/cache/epub/11377/pg11377...

Creek
Your tree work is good here, as well, but the rocks impress me more. Again, you have an eye for which color is right for bringing out all 3 dimensions. Of particular note, though, is the water. The colors and brush/wash techniques you have chosen truly give it the feeling of motion. I am fascinated by pictures that feel like they're living as I look at them.

The others are all very good, too, of course, with very similar notes from me. I love watercolor, as I mentioned, but I suck at it—probably because I can't sketch well, either. However, since I love looking at it, I will offer a couple of notes on a few of lesser details I noticed (and of which you are no doubt already aware).

Cormorant: That right wing wants to be a dorsal fin. Interestingly, the is the inverse of my biggest problem with trees—getting that damn back branch, on the other side of the tree, to a) have the correct dimension and shading, and b) stay on the back side of the tree! My trees all end up with side flippers in this same vein.

Wood Stork: Something is off with the legs. It's subtle enough I can't quite put my finger on what it is, but off enough that it's noticeable.

Hibiscuses: The only issue with these is that I didn't paint them. *Wink*

This is an impressive collection, Seabreeze. I am so glad this beauty is what I saw first this morning. (No, second. First beautiful thing was the steam rising from my coffee. *Cool*)

Wri—er... well, Paint on!

--Jeffrey


PS: If you do ever decide to have Hummingbird printed, reach out to me; I'd be quite enthusiastic to matte, fram, and hang this wonderful, cheerful picture in my home. - JAM

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18
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Review of Work  Open in new Window.
Review by Jeffrey Meyer Author IconMail Icon
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Rated: E | (5.0)
Another short piece that captures something very specific but very completely. It is so relatable, losing focus at work. I am constantly refocusing—it's exhausting!

The way you pepper in style humor and some drama is impressive in a piece this short.

"...not a normal pinprick, but a tiny one." Not only is this a cute comment on how downright goofy grammar and usage can be, but it demonstrates how easy it is to follow random thoughts away from work again.

And immediately on the heels of that: "There’s a gulf between me and my work." The sense of futility, that what you're working on is just busy-work— and a dozen other things. They all separate us from the desire to do the work, creating a feeling of isolation, even if it's temporary.

Switching to a humorously ironic mood with the last comment was, of course, a great ending.

This was smooth, short, and satisfying. I hope you really do write on; I'm hungry for more of these!

--Jeffrey


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19
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Review of Love the Ocean  Open in new Window.
Review by Jeffrey Meyer Author IconMail Icon
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Rated: E | (4.0)
Personally, Jacky, I share your opinion. I was in the Marines, and I have seen more than enough sand in my life. I have never liked the ocean. Or the lake. Or even the swimming pool for that matter. Give me a shovel and an open field, and I turn into Gimli the Dwarf. Get me by water, I turn into a rabid cat.

I got a little lost at the end of the last paragraph, about the trees part or no "trees" part...not sure. Just an observation.

I like the ironic lead out at the end. "I like it a lot. But I really like that we don't have to go there very often!"

Nice! *Cool*

--Jeffrey


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20
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Review of Unfurling  Open in new Window.
Review by Jeffrey Meyer Author IconMail Icon
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Rated: E | (5.0)
Enthusiasm,

I'm not entirely convinced it was coffee you were drinking when you wrote this gem! This is an incredible collection of images and dances. Sometimes, I find stories and poems that have incredibly picturesque phrases...yet no real picture can be divined. I think it is the definition of ethereal, for me.

The theme here is not quite ethereal, but almost. In the rude tones of this awkward and ugly existence we lead, Bruce Springsteen used more common language when he sang: "Better days are shinin' through..."1 (He also sang about guy poking a dead dog with a stick. Weird, but true.) Whoever writes it, it's true. Things will get better; we will reach the stars we need; better days are shining through. Meantime: almost.

What a heartbreak "almost" has become for me, after reading your stories. Excellent writing, leaving such a simple, small splinter in my mind to prick me every time I don do something all the way, don't quite commit, hedge my bets. My mind whispers: "You're feeding the almost; it will love you for it, love you so much it will eat you up." (My mind is unsettling sometimes, but usually harmless.) Very effective writing.

Some of the juiciest lines:

We named this falling,/ but it’s really the sky/ learning to kneel.
Again, Bruce & Co. sang "Cain slew Abel 'neath the black rain/ At night he couldn't stand the guilt or the blame/ So he gave it a name."2 When we name something, we name it for our own uses, not for the actuality that it is. "It isn't murder, it's self-defense. It isn't revenge, it's justice. It isn't falling..." I like how this is positioned. It may not be the author's intent, but I interpret an ironic barb there. "The ship's not sinking; we're all just very thirsty!"

"One day, these knuckles/ will split into feathers."
I white-knuckle it a lot of the time. Holding back anger, holding back frustration, holding back in intolerant ignorance that wants to scream that if everyone would just act like me...!!! That there are feathers underneath is so soothing, that I might one day flew my hand in anger and find myself suddenly gliding above it all, the people, the problems, my anger. That I might, indeed, metamorphose.

Even silence, pressed to light,/ becomes a psalm.
That is so achingly beautiful that it is a poem all by itself. And in the best poetic way, I can't even articulate or enumerate the wonderful things about it. Gorgeous!


There are many more—nearly all of them, in fact. That's another feature of a really good poem, in my opinion: you can't pick out your favorite part.

I only have one tiny thing about it that bugs me: "bugs." There's got to be a better word, something whispier, something less banal... I don't have any suggestions, but I know it doesn't feel like a good fit for me.

But that's the only tiny niot I can pick. I want to read this poem out loud in the darkness and feel every juicy little but of its nectar spill down my chin. That's not an exaggeration, brother. This is so beautiful.

A++, sir. Take another bow; you earned it.

--Jeffrey




1 "Better Days" from Lucky Town - Bruce Springsteen - 1992
2 "Gave It a Name" from Tracks - Bruce Sprinksteen - 1998

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PS: I said STOP taking all the wonderful lines!!! *Wink*

21
21
Review of Promptly Poetry  Open in new Window.
for entry "KimoOpen in new Window.
Review by Jeffrey Meyer Author IconMail Icon
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Rated: E | (5.0)
Amethyst,

Well, God knows I'm late to this party! But I'm glad I made it here all the same. These images are wonderful!

Fro-Yo
While I love frozen yogurt (which I've been craving like an addict for about a week now!), I was personally not able to connect with the first one; I can't do sweets on a hot day. I also have a slight nit on this one. Four adjectives in one line seem to be filler for syllables instead of real content. II know, I'm starting off a real ray of sunshine, ain't I?

The Eyes of a Dreamer
Holy cow. This hit directly home. First, this is exactly what happens to me much of the time. I can't remember the stories I dreamt come morning most of the time, sadly. This section works as Kimo, of course, but the phrasing and the vocabulary make it accessible for a reader no matter what style they're looking for.

Success Is In the Stars
When we focus on success, we can see the timeclock. When we truly reflect on ourselves, we see the universe. Gorgeous.

In Silence
I was immediately reminded of e.e. cummings' A Leaf Falls On Loneliness. Autumn is kind of a melancholy lonely time, I think. For me, the carpet fading beneath the speaker's feet represents a call back to the second section, the carpet fading, the dream state returning, the stories fading softly into dreams.

This was a beautiful set of poems. As I said, I know I am late to see them, but I am lucky to have found them in any case.

--Jeffrey


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22
22
Review by Jeffrey Meyer Author IconMail Icon
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Rated: E | (4.0)
Saxe,

I was chummy with a fella named Tim while I was in high school. Very nice guy, weird sense of humor, which I really enjoy. He sighed my final yearbook: "Have a good life; I probably won't. / I'll try though." Tim was not a dark guy, which made this all the funnier.

The matter-of-fact delivery of your statements, some of which come wonderfully close to nonsequiter, remind me of that not from my friend.

"I’m very glad to be alive at a time when there are salt and vinegar crisps in the world."


It's just so deliciously over-the top, so grandiose about a thing so small. Juxtaposed against feeding the starving children in Sudan and stuff like that.

This was a great example of deadpan humor in print, which is incredibly difficult to do. I believe I've read your whole portfolio now. I hope there's more to read, soon.

Write on!

--Jeffrey


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23
23
Review by Jeffrey Meyer Author IconMail Icon
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Rated: E | (5.0)
E,

I am almost speechless. Or... Letterless?

Cancer eats a hell of a lot more than one person. It eats entire families, and it vomits out grief in great clouds of static.

I get the impression Kevin and the speaker were boyhood friends, sharing risk and joy alike: "...the boy who’d stolen a tractor joyride at 16, who’d convinced me purple was just blue grieving red." The thought of purple actually being another color feeling an emotion for yet a third—it's hard to even put it into concrete language; it's so wonderfully abstract and poetic that one cannot put his finger on why it is so perfect. And these boys would have done everything together, including learning and enjoying to smoke. The scars on the speaker's chest and Kevin's implied demise link them both through horrible lung cancers—as if mentioning "the diagnosis" wasn't enough.

I was impressed by the use of the "baked" potato—an immobile man in hospice, "baked" by radiation, a "vegetable..." These two men share a wry, dark sense of humor, demonstrated with the birthday card and dandelion seeds, and the potato is both a very clever demonstration of their companionship and a surreptitious nod to the reader.

I sense the speaker in this story moving toward his own end, toward a new beginning with Kevin. This plant is not a creeper or a parasite; it's a guide. The tendrils of purple grief are surrounding the speaker in security and familiarity. Nurses can no longer help the cancer that remains in the speaker, even after an apparent lobectomy. The only surcease left is the embrace of an old friend.

Your ability to find just the right phrases holds as strong as ever:

~ The everyday-ness of these lines are anchors the reader can hang onto. "Yeah, that's how my smartass buddy talks. I get this. This is real." Could the writer want anything more from the reader?

     ...a crayon—periwinkle, the label said... “You were right,” he said. “It is a bulls*** color.”

      ...dandelion seeds...“Plant these,” he’d written. “They’re assholes. They’ll outlive us all.”

~ "a town I’d buried a decade ago." I originally read this and was excited (talk about dark!) that there might be another Land to be explored. But as I thought about it, I recognized that the town referred to was a survivor guilt that had been accommodated long ago: the loss of Kevin and the speaker's own subsequent survival.

My mother passed from COPD and complications thereof in 2009. She passed peacefully, in hospice. I was there, watching as she let her last breath go. (An aside: why do we always speak of someone "taking their last breath?" Is it because we are projecting our own desire for them to cling to life, to take and hoard every last vestige of existence in our own plane? Why not say "letting out their last breath?" They are moving on; we would do them a service by wishing them a safe journey as their energies are released outward toward the next whatever. Okay, I'm done. You may now resume reading this review.) My wife being lucky/cursed enough to be sensitive enough to see such things, my grandmother (dead since the early nineties) was appearing in my wife's dreams, ready to guide Mom forward. The dream of Kevin beneath his own wry avatar of the potato plant was incredibly moving to me. Death hurts sometimes, and I reckon it can be painful. But it can be beautiful in some ways, too.

Well, now that I'm on the subject of avatars, icons, and symbols...

~ The telephone. The ubiquitous telephone. Nurses left voicemails; the vines drank those too. In this context, the speaker is withdrawing into himself getting ready for his own outward journey. The nurses trying to talk to him in his hospice bed no longer reach him; he is busy with more important things. He doesn't even try to keep their words in mind, because he knows they no longer have anything that will help.

~ Resin. I'm rather glad to see this one, although it goes by the name of "oil" here. Oil, resin, viscous phlegm filling the lungs. This having been such a prevalent icon in Relic, I feel validated that some of my interpretations of the symbology of that story were accurate.

~ Vines. The vines of orchids bind and clutch, as in Noctuary; these vines caress and protect. I'll admit, I think I'm a little late to the party in realizing that, in your writing, vines represent the reach of emotions post mortem. Again, the tying together of other stories is giddily exciting for artsy-fartsy old farts like me! *Wink**Laugh*

~ Mother. Her sachet, the somehow uncomfortable perspective of her belief in omens and such. She may not be as direct an agent in this story as she is in others, but there is a tinge of darkness to her. One must wonder if it was Mother's cigarettes the boys began smoking in the first place.

~ Dandelion seeds. This is such a complex and touching metaphor. They are inconvenient, a weed—much as the sick and dying often seem to those who are well. And the seeds themselves are dead, the color gone from the flower. But a slight wind will carry them away—a beautifully subtle reference to the frailty of cancer patients, many of whom look like a stiff wind really will blow them over. Let the wind blow; these seeds will make new lives just as the seeds of these men may likely have grown the new lives of children or grandchildren themselves. Yes, it is true that they will outlive us, these flowers from our own seeds. And yet, you slip the jab one last time, revealing some lingering bitterness that even the most sanguine of terminal patients must feel toward the active, vital, living individuals around them: "They're assholes."

This short story was not only evocative and touching, my friend. It was also written quite well. The pacing and flow is smooth and slow, as the subject matter would suggest. The memories fit evenly against the edges of the "action," allowing different scenes to occur without demanding that the reader change mental gears. Your economy of words must be noted, as well. You layer metaphors upon other metaphors and wring as many meanings out of a word or phrase as possible. You say what needs to be said, and you leave us enough tools to open up the metaphorical riddle and unpack all the incredible poetically psychological goodies inside. I've also noted in the past that in my reviews, I'll point out warts as well as beauty marks. This time, my gifted friend, I see not a single wart in evidence.

I am gratified by this story, and I continue to look forward to more of your writing. So... (here it comes...wait for it........) write on!

--Jeffrey


PS: By the way, top marks for being an overachiever and including a different title in this story—perfectly within the rules. *Wink*
PPS: No gift points yet until you win or come in second. *Devilish*
24
24
Review of "Beware of Dog"  Open in new Window.
Review by Jeffrey Meyer Author IconMail Icon
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Rated: 18+ | (5.0)
Nick,

"Southern hospitality" doesn't seem to be what it once was!

This is grisly, man. I have to say that about two thirds of the way through—as she began to process her latest victim—I almost lost interest, thinking "This is just gory to be gory." At that precise point, of course, the story turned the corner. The ending was nothing short of WTF?!

Your pacing was excellent. After finishing the story, I could tell how well you had planned the ebb and flow. "Let's see, the reader needs to be shaken up ... here! And turned round ... there!"

The length of the story was well-managed, also. A piece this gross would quickly overwhelm many readers. And many writers would simply run out of engaging ways to describe the carnage. Keeping the story compact, as you did, was perfect for the reader.

The mechanics are solid throughout, and I think the vocabulary you chose was perfectly appropriate for the story.

The ending was as wonderfully horrifically messed up as it could be. THIS is where writing has an advantage over visual media. In print, the writer can hold his last card to his chest as long as he sees fit, whereas visual media exposes everything right away. And revealing the kid-dog the way you did was precisely the way it needed to be done.

This is a very good piece, indeed, Nick. Thanks for letting take a look into the dark corners with you.

--Jeffrey


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25
25
Review by Jeffrey Meyer Author IconMail Icon
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Rated: E | (4.5)
Samantha,

Your grandmother looks like Tommy's mother in Goodfellas, in my head. From the moment I saw her dialog, she had a specific voice and accent, too. The scene was set exquisitely. My mind wanted to keep making the place bigger than you described it. I think that's because the love is so big, truly.

When your grandmother died, that hurt; when your mother died soon after, I muttered out loud how horrible it must have been. Getting someone to react out loud to your writing means your writing is really doing it's job!

I wanted to feed your Aunt some Five-Finger Bouillabaisse when she gave the notebook to her kid. Bitch. It shows how I really was quite attached to the characters in this. I'm not Italian. (There's more German in me than anything else, but mostly I'm a mutt.) So I'm not sure why the connection with your characters was so instant and enduring through the whole piece. Well... in my opinion, when I can't put my finger on "why," it's because it's just plain great.

The serendipity of the restaurant at the end is so freaky that I believe it, whether it's actually true or made up. Too much weird stuff happens for me to roll my eyes at more weird stuff. This re-link to the past brings the family circle around and closes the loop—which, one is led to extrapolate, helps the writer find personal closure to her loss and anger.

I have two suggestions that you might want to take a look at.
1) "...but two matriarchs, in a one weak span,..." should probably use "week" instead of "weak."
2) Some of your dialog fails to break to a new paragraph.

Example: "Then she said... 'The soup du jour is Bouillabaisse.' I handed her the menu and said, 'Great! I'll take it!...'"

It's habit to watch out for, because it can get confusing—to the likes of me, at least.

This is a very well written story. It's simple, without devices and tricks, and that gives it an honesty that is very refreshing. For however much of true and the parts that are augmented, thank you for sharing this wonderful family dish with us, my friend.

--Jeffrey

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