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The Artist
Abby lay in bed contemplating her latest acquisition. Her four-poster bed was normally neatly made, but she had ruffled the comforter as she lay down after hanging her new abstract. She reached up to turn on the reading lamp, but the glare interfered with her gaze, so she quickly turned it off again. She decided that the latest addition looked much better with the natural light coming in through the window.
Abby glanced over to the night stand that held her alarm clock and several books she was reading. The clock had the most annoying blast, so she usually had it set to wake her to music. She reached for the Dean Koontz book, Intensity. It had come out quite some time ago, but even though Abby loved to read, she didn't seem to have a lot of time for it lately. She thumbed through a couple of pages, but found it hard to concentrate right now. There was a large console television against the wall, near the foot of the bed, but it was rarely on, so it sat covered in dust. She wasn't even sure where she'd left the remote -- perhaps it was on top among the clutter of knick-knacks.
She got up and walked over to her computer. The desk was cluttered with design sketches for clothing. Abby wasn't interested in designing clothes for others, but her closet was full of her own creations -- flamboyant skirts, flashy dresses and flirty blouses. Her favorite was a gown that she had sewn with imported French silk taffeta. She loved the feel of the silk and the rustling sound, the scroop, as she crinkled the fabric between her fingers. Abby didn't have a chance to wear it often, but perhaps soon . . . .
She scanned the sage walls to admire her art collection. She didn't know much about art, but she knew what she liked. She adorned the walls with Picasso fakes, especially when his work became mostly surreal, in his cubism stage. She had one of his self-portraits that proclaimed, "Autoportrait mal coiffé " -- bad hair day? Well, that wasn't exactly what it said, but still, it made her giggle. It wasn't surreal, but it was a very bad haircut.
Well, it was time to get to work. Abby approached the dresser to gather her tools. The drawers didn't have any clothes in them -- those were in the closet; rather she had them organized so she could find what she needed quickly. Several drawers contained sewing stuff: needles, materials, hand drawn patterns, scissors, pins. But she didn't need those things today.
She opened the special drawer that held her scalpel, scissors, saw and her other medical supplies. She grabbed her paraphernalia, and then reached for the bottle of sweet and sickly smelling formaldehyde that she kept on top of the dresser. Now that everything was gathered, Abby turned toward her latest acquisition, the one that hung from the rafter, and hoped that he wouldn't scream too loudly or make too much of a mess on her real cherry wood floor.
Yes, Abby was quite the artist.
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Comment by: rosiewolf Online- 2007-11-28 16:17
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| I don't read much flash, but I really loved this. Excellent and clear beginning, middle and end. Easy to follow and I absolutely snorted grape coolaide out of my nose at your use of the "I don't know art..." line when I went back for a second reading. Well done. |
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I liked the story. I only read it because I had done a story on an artist and wanted to see another's interpretation on an artist's life. That's actually one thing that I'm not entirely happy about in your story, but I'm not entirely unhappy about.
The basic thing I think is missing is the why: What makes one want to make art and what makes one kill for beauty? Is death itself beautiful (I can't say no)? I did get a little of why, but more in the what. The things you described her doing reminded me of someone I know and it almost felt like she had ADD and was constantly thinking. I enjoyed that part, but I think it would add depth to hear a philosophy or have one come out through the story.
That being said, I agree with one of the posters below me stating that it's becoming cliche to write a short, pleasant piece and end with a twist. It's a good stopping point, true, but that's why it's used so much. It gives a nice emotional impacted, but what if you continued even farther--that's the challenge. What if you extended your story with more about her human art project and then ended with something even farther extreme and so much so that it's even more shocking?
PS: She's worried about him making a mess on her cherrywood floor...if she's experienced, she should know how to make it clean. Is she experienced? If not, is she still at that curiosity stage? |
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| Wow! Thanks for such an in depth critique. :) |
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Comment by: Teri - 2007-10-19 12:54
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Hi, Dawn
Sorry for having to do it this way, but the formatting in the comment sections on this site won't allow use italics, bold, etc. I hope this isn't too confusing.
The parts in <<<*>>> are repeats. One asterisk shows you which ones I reference. Two asterisks, etc.
You have too many uses of passive, which I've pointed out with a +.
The parts in [brackets] I'd cut. There's too much to remember here - detailing we don't need to know (i.e. Dean Koontz) or places where you "tell" more than "show".
Parts in (parentheses) are suggestions.
To be honest, while the writing is strong overall, the end just didn't work for me. It's most likely because of the plethora of micro- and flash-fiction I've read here with the 'surprise' ending which usually includes a psycho and a victim. I know because I wrote it myself more than once. *slaps own hand*
I'd keep the psycho, but give more in the way of subtle hints throughout the piece so at the end, the reader will nod their head and felt led there instead of having it slammed over their head. Karjon has a piece (I think it's called Bracelet), which illustrates how you can slowly build up to the climax of the story without that "OOF" factor - something that's becoming more a writing style cliche, especially in micro/flash. And instead of having a victim hanging from the rafters, perhaps have Abby preparing to go out and obtain one.
You also may wish to hint (be as ambiguous as you can) as to how she manages to achieve this. Female serial killers are rare, so I'd think about maybe making the victim a child (as most women would find overtaking a man almost impossible, let alone hanging him from a rafter) or having the man (this is sick, even for me) "pinned" to a canvas.
Anyway, I hope something here helps. As always, feel free to ignore any/all of it as it's merely my opinion anyway. Thanks for the read and the strange way I'll be looking at surrealist art from now on. haha
Teri xo
PS - I don't mean to sound like I'm trashing your story. I wouldn't have bothered if I knew you're not trying to seriously improve or seek other's insight.
_______________
Abby lay in bed<<<**>>> contemplating her latest acquisition<<<*>>>. Her four-poster bed was+ normally neatly made, but she had ruffled the comforter as she lay down<<<**>>> after hanging her new abstract. She reached up to turn on the reading lamp, but [the glare interfered with her gaze, so] she quickly turned it off again. She decided that the latest addition<<<*>>> looked much better with the natural light [coming in through] (from) the window.
Abby glanced over to the night stand that held her alarm clock and several books [she was reading]. [The clock had the most annoying blast, so she usually had it set to wake her to music. She reached for the Dean Koontz book, Intensity. It had come out quite some time ago, but even though Abby loved to read, she didn't seem to have a lot of time for it lately.] She thumbed through a couple of pages (of one of the books), but found it hard to concentrate [right now]. There was+ a large console television against the wall, [near the foot of the bed], but it was rarely on, [so it sat covered in dust]. She wasn't+ even sure where she'd left the remote [-- perhaps it was on top among the clutter of knick-knacks.]
[She got up and walked over to her computer. The] (Her) desk was+ cluttered with design sketches for clothing. Abby wasn't+ interested in designing clothes for others, but her closet was full of her own creations -- flamboyant skirts, flashy dresses and flirty blouses. Her favorite was+ a gown that she had sewn with imported French silk taffeta. She loved the feel of the silk and the rustling sound, the scroop, as she crinkled the fabric between her fingers. Abby didn't have a chance to wear it often, but perhaps soon . . . .
She scanned the sage walls to admire her art collection. She didn't know much about art, but she knew what she liked. She adorned the walls with Picasso fakes, especially when his work became mostly surreal, [in his cubism stage]. She had one of his self-portraits that proclaimed, "Autoportrait mal coiffé " -- bad hair day? Well, that wasn't+ exactly what it said, but still, it made her giggle. [It wasn't+ surreal, but it was+ a very bad haircut.] {Short paragraph with 4 adjoining sentences starting with "She"}
[Well, it was+ time to get to work.] Abby approached the dresser to gather her tools. The drawers didn't have any clothes in them -- those were in the closet; [rather] she had them organized so she could find what she needed quickly. Several drawers contained sewing stuff: needles, materials, hand drawn patterns, scissors<<<***>>>, pins. But she didn't need those things today.
She opened the special drawer that held her scalpel, scissors<<<***>>>, saw and [her] other medical supplies. She grabbed her paraphernalia, and then reached for the bottle of sweet and sickly smelling formaldehyde that she kept on top of the dresser. Now that everything was gathered, Abby turned toward her latest acquisition<<<*>>>, the one that hung from the rafter, and hoped that he wouldn't scream too loudly or make too much of a mess on her real cherry wood (cherrywood) floor.
Yes, Abby was+ quite the artist. |
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Comment by: Valerie - 2007-09-26 21:02
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What an awesome story, and surprise ending. Wow!
Bravo! Bravissimo! You are one talented lady that I admire very much. |
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