My name is Bob, and part of my job is to troll for new material that catches my eye -- and imagination. There is something about this work that grabbed me and wouldn't let go. It's rough in places, and needs work here and there. The two main paragraphs need to be broken up into many smaller ones. And if this was a first draft, say, then I would expect about a dozen more would be needed before this thing was ready for prime time.
Given all that criticism, all the things wrong with it, most of them small, I absolutely love this piece of haunting, superbly thought out work. It's powerful, chilling, and mysteriously wonderful. It captures almost perfectly, if even unintentionally, a magnificent native American flavor that saturates all of one's senses, filling them with sorrow, melancholia, a deep, reverential joy, and other emotions and ideas that I haven't even finished realizing yet.
This is some kind of minor epic, a saga in miniature that doesn't allow us to easily forget its piercing tale. If and when the piece is fixed, revised, corrected, punctuated properly, its grammar smoothed out and so forth, it's hard to imagine how good the work could be in a more polished, refined state. In a word -- tremendous. And that's saying a lot for such a small, diminutive piece.
For now, I'd like to break this into much needed multiple paragraphs which is a good place to start. That's all I want to do for now, because the rest will be up to you, my friend. I need you to tell me that you're interested in seeing all the corrections that are needed. But more than that. There's not that many grammar problems -- not really. It's more a matter of how to write this in such a way that all the beauty that's there, is given a chance to breathe and realize its full potential. There are a few different ways to go, and I want you to see what I'm talking about -- if you're interested. If not, that's fine, too. Even leaving it as is, a certain, albeit smaller audience will always enjoy it. Some will love it. And others, like me, will simply dream about how much more glorious this might have been, given half a chance.
So let me know. In the meantime, here's how the paragraphs break down better, as I see them. Even then, this is a first go around, but you'll get the idea.
Thanks for listening.
It was dark, the sun resting behind the mountains so that it could shine bright in the morning. That's what her ma used to say to her when she asked why the sun went away at night.
Silver ears rested in a mass of silken hair a dark black color. Grey eyes looked to the mountain where the sun had set. "I wish you'd skip rest tonight," she told the sun as if it could hear her whispers.
Her mother flushed in the face from fever but shivering from cold. The little girl stayed by the side of the bed watching the unsteady rise and fall of her mothers chest counting the wheezy breaths and looking to the grandfather clock in the room.
The pendulum swung in time but though it was the same as ever it seemed to be moving so slow. The girl could hear her own rapid heart pitter patter in her chest but her ma's breaths were coming out slower.
Again the girl looked out the window to the mountains begging the sun to wake up so the doctor would come.
Time passed and hot tears of liquid emotion fell from the grey eyes of the child. She pawed at her mothers blankets despritly, "Mama hold on the suns coming," she said in a thick and shaking voice there was no reply from the woman. The girl counted the ticks of the clock 'tick- tock tick- tock' Her tail swung in time with the clocks.
The little girl fell asleep that night. Waiting for a morning that would not come, as the sun had faded and its magic died.
put hiatus here
The morning doctor saw a black and white marbled fox laying upon the dead woman. The fox was still and cold with wet cheeks and glassed eyes.
After the doctors task was done the cause of death for the woman was the illness in old age the fox, of a broken heart. Both were buried in the yard where the sun first woke and shinned.
The old woman, a grandmother to all in heart had no children of blood. There were many who came to greive the woman but none cared for the fox, her pet fox who was to her, the only child she ever had. The one person who even in death would never leave her side.