Love in the Middle of an Earthquake
1st Chapter Critique by Robert L. Bacon
November 11, 2010
Author's Name Withheld by Request
From a line-editing perspective, I offered some of the usual tomato/tamato silliness that is the currency of anyone who edits, such as my preferring "pervaded" over "invaded." However, there were a number of changes I suggested because of repeated words, such as "vulnerable," and instances of "but" too close to one another.
I noticed in two areas of the narrative an action that I don't think could either happen or was what you were intending. In the first scenario, you had "magazines soliciting subscribers," which I suggested a change to "magazine outfits soliciting subscribers"; and in the second case, I don't think Gloria heard the paperboy tossing the Sun Post at the door, but the Sun Post itself was what she heard hitting the door. So I offered another way to phrase this too. I also found what I thought were a couple of redundant thoughts and suggested deletions of what I deemed superfluous. There has been a movement afoot for some time to drop the comma in front of "too" or "also" when either ends a sentence, and I did this in your draft; but you can certainly change this back if you like this element of grammar the way all of us were taught.
In another area, you might want to consider my reason for making Gloria's exercise regimen weeks and not days, as well as Mickey's follow-up chronology. You'll see my suggestions for both when you read what I provided. In another section of the draft, the reason I wrote Mickey's brief intro as I did was because I thought this would make him more endearing to the reader. People are going to have to like this character, and the sooner you can show his softer, caring side, the better. My words are just a suggestion, but I'd offer the reader something that illustrates he really isn't the same guy Gloria knew in her youth, and give her something to think about that's not still tied to her provocative remembrances of their dating, which by all accounts was not cerebral. (Whose was at that age, but you get my point.)
….., everything up to this point in my critique is minor compared to what I'm going to bring up now. If your story is sort of a memoir, and you want accuracy at all costs, then by all means write it your way. But if it's not a personal history, and you plan on trying to find a respected royalty publisher, laborious references in a novel to illness and death are not something the public is going to pay to read.
The loss of any loved one is agonizing, and all of us want to give that person's legacy as much of our heartfelt respect as we can. But the person is our loved one, not the general public's. Consequently, a little pathos goes a long, long way. Only you can make the decision about what Gloria tells the reader regarding her husband and his last few years. If it’s a memoir, write everything out, but if not, I'd stick to saying Gloria's husband was a virile, loving man who passed much too soon in life, and leave it at that. No one wants to read about fouled undergarments, oxygen tanks, etc. It drags people down and they'll put down the book. This goes for Lolly too. I'd tell Mickey to go easy on her because she's got cancer, and leave it at that. The mere fact that he would call her, and she would tell you how much it meant for a big jock like Mickey to talk with her at this stage of her life, will leave a strong, positive impression on the reader.
In closing, I want to wish you the best of luck with this story, and here is your prologue and first chapter with my editing suggestions:
LOVE IN THE MIDDLE OF AN EARTHQUAKE
PROLOGUE
Forty years after our first kiss, he called.
It was a quiet, rainy Sunday evening in South Florida. In the background I could hear Humphrey Bogart tell Peter Lorre to “Play it again, Sam” on the PBS network’s semi-annual rerun of “Casablanca.”
I was too busy to watch the movie, as I sat at the computer writing the greatest story ever told (excuse me, Old Testament) when the phone rang. I scanned the ID…the number had a “228” area code. Where had I seen that area code before? I closed my eyes for a moment and focused. The image of glitzy ads that The Palace Casino Resort, in Biloxi, Mississippi, was running in my hometown newspaper appeared. “228,” was the local area code for hotel reservations. Since Hurricane Katrina, the Gulf Coast casinos were offering tempting vacation packages to lure tourists and gamblers back to Mississippi.
But the name next to the number read M Green. That was, coincidentally, the first initial and the surname of my first boyfriend. But what was Mickey doing in Mississippi? And how did he find me?
The last time I had heard about my first boyfriend him, he had enlisted in the navy after an unsuccessful year at Mohawk University in upstate New York. Mickey had been a handsome jock – the hero and captain of the soccer team – at a high school where a practically unknown sport reigned as king. That was because it was the only team that had ever won a city-wide championship for our school.
I had been a nerdy, aloof sophomore with broad academic inclinations and a well-developed body at a young age. But when that olive-skinned athlete, a senior with dark brown eyes and a wide smile, looked my way and winked, I couldn’t resist. Saturday after Saturday he scored the winning goal and was carried across the field on the shoulders of his teammates, his hair blowing in the wind , on the shoulders of his teammates while the crowd cheered. And he had chosen to date me.
That was in 1960’s, when both of us had racing raging hormones that threatened to get out of control. But an invisible STOP stop sign engraved on our bodies and souls by our ever-vigilant mothers put an end to those any of the ultimate bodily carnal pleasures even before they began. But it Yet this did not stop prevent us from holding hands in the park, smooching in the back row of the local movie theater, forbidden soul kisses some petting, and fabulous imaginations.
I picked up the phone expecting a glib sales pitch for a weekend at the casino in Biloxi. Perhaps they were offering three nights for the price of two…or free airfare.
“Hello, is this Gloria Simon?”
“Yes…”
“You’ve still got that sexy voice, forty years later.”
“Who is this?”
“Mickey Green, remember me?
I detected a tiny, familiar lisp. It was still there.
“Mickey Green, Mickey Green, how could I forget? How are you?”
“Good now. Had some issues with cancer, but I’m in remission now.”
“I’m glad. What are you doing in Mississippi?”
“Biloxi, to be exact. I live here now. Made a ton of money in the cleaning business in Atlanta, but I hated it. I’m retired and like to gamble, so living at a suite at the casino suits me fine. Used to live in Atlanta.”
“Heard you married after the Navy and that’s where the trail ended.”
“Separated, two daughters; one divorced, one granddaughter. I went back to college after the navy service and, believe it or not, this jock became an engineer!”
“You were never dumb.”
“Thanks.”
The conversation went on and on. I told him about my two children and four grandchildren. I told him about my life up north, our move to Florida, publishing a few articles that came with a by-line. He remembered me playing gin rummy with his father in their apartment in Brooklyn. And I thought I had a good memory! I never told him that my doctor husband had early Alzheimer’s and, in the past few years life had grown lonelier and lonelier even before he died.
“Can you fly over to Biloxi? I’d love to meet you again.” he said. “I’ll pay for the ticket.”
“Maybe for a night or so, but I can buy my own ticket, that’s if you teach me how to gamble.”
“Sure, why not. I’ll even treat you to the first $100 worth of chips.”
“Why would you want me to come? Maybe I’ve grown old and ugly.”
“Frankly, someone we both know told me you’ve grown older, but still look pretty good. That’s how I got your phone number.”
“I’d love to know who it was.”
“It doesn’t matter. Let’s just say that she’s still a sharp-looking redhead, and that I’d like to see you for old times sake. Those were the best years of our lives.”
Those had been good years, although I wasn’t sure that they were the best. I needed desperately to get away – to distance myself from my own problems - yet I wanted to know more about my old boyfriend before I made such a radical decision. But how do you begin to ask questions?
“Mickey, did you ever play soccer again after high school?”
“A little when I dropped out of college. I got $25.00 per game playing for the New York Soccer League. It was $25 more than I had in my pocket at the time.”
“So much has happened to us both.”
“So, will you come to Biloxi?”
“I’m curious, and I admit that I’m tempted. Let’s stay in touch for a while, first.”
And that’s how the relationship began.
CHAPTER I
It was not quite daybreak when thunder and lightening rattled the windows and torrents of rain fell the morning after Mickey called me. There’d be no tennis game today, so I shut off the radio alarm and crawled back into bed. I couldn’t sleep. I kept thinking of those coming of age days, the parties after the Saturday high school home games, Plum Beach in his father’s big Buick, watching the moon’s reflection on the murky waters, and the thrill of being caressed by a handsome young man.
When day broke, I bolted out of bed to block out this mature woman’s insane feelings of adolescence. I had been in love several times until I married and hadn’t thought about old boyfriends in years. I was beginning to enjoy my newfound freedom as a widow, but hadn’t grown accustomed to being alone.
There were no more medicine bottles all over the house. The oxygen tanks had been picked up by the medical equipment rental company weeks ago earlier, and the sheets and pillowcases on the other side of the bed now stayed clean. There was no more messy underwear to wash. After five years of caring for my once vital and adoring husband, life had not only been banished from the house, but so had love.
It was too early to vacuum and wake up my downstairs' neighbor, so I turned on my PC. There was the usual pile of electronic messages automatically sent over the weekend by insurance companies and automobile dealers, magazines outfits soliciting subscribers, and mail order catalogues selling sexy underwear or gimmicky kitchen gadgets. Most were destined for deletion before being read. What I really needed was a warm message from a friend. One e-mail address had possibilities, but I couldn’t really tell who the sender was. I hadn’t had my caffeine fix and my brain was still sluggish. It read:
From: Pap
To: Globaby
Dear Gloria:
It was great talking to you and reminiscing about our “coming of age” together. You were younger, more innocent, but yet smarter than me then. But I went off to the navy and learned a lot… different things than what you learned a few years later at college and fraternity parties I bet. Somewhere I’m sure we caught up to each other. Girls, as I remember, mature earlier. Anyway, I’d like to know more about you. I’ve got time. Do you?
I know that we’re older now, - so I’m sure we’ve both had lots of experiences – some good, some not so good; some happy, others sad. so we should have a lot to share. I don’t always remember what happened yesterday, but I never forgot those wonderful young years. I can still picture the way you looked and walked and attracted lots of boys. But I was your king of the hill, at least for a little while. What do you say, will you write?
With LOL, Mickey
How silly, I thought, to start corresponding with someone I hadn’t seen in forty years! But Then again, it might be fun.
I heard the paperboy toss the Sun Post Sun Post as the paperboy tossed it against the front door. It was my signal to close the computer and proceed into the kitchen to brew some coffee. As the smell of Haitian coffee blend invaded pervaded the apartment, I went to the bathroom, took the pins out of my hair, ran a comb through its tangles and proceeded to open the front door. You never knew who else might be taking in their newspaper this early.
With a mug of coffee in one hand and a pen in the other, I turned my attention to my brain-fitness exercises. Each morning while I ate my breakfast and drank my coffee I did the crossword puzzle. Today’s started off easy until I got to 18 Across: A drugged drink… Then, to my surprise, I got it… MICKEY FINN! Never saw that expression in the daily crossword and I’ve been doing them for years.
Taking my Best Grandma coffee mug to my desk, I turned on to my PC again, opened my e-mail, and compose:
From: Globaby
To: Pap
From: Globaby
To: Pap
A little bit of trivia that I thought you would appreciate.
Never saw them ask for a word that means "great in Christian worship." The answer would have been GLORIA.
Don’t even know if you like word games. I don’t remember you being a book lover either.
Regards, Gloria
[Editor's Note: I alluded to material from the second chapter in my critique, but after numerous attempts to post this chapter also, the text was corrupted and I was unable to correct this. I am very sorry.]
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