[Critique Group 1] Leonard's comments on group's submissions

Fri Dec 3 15:56:11 EST 2021

Martia

I love the way this work is progressing. 

The way Claudia and Veronica are turning out tobe similar 

in their literary tates, 

and have used totally different flavors in theway they express themselves 

in their life styles 

is very well told.  

I have a few comments along the way, 

but I would keep it as is. 

I’m really enjoying the continuing saga.. 

The thoughts of Pete on Robbie’s behavior

Is a portal to future subterfuge.

Martia sub for November

New Year Resolve

1595 words

1977 loomed like a dark tunnel with no end. Mysmall assortment of presents had been opened. Robbie wasn’t returning my phonecalls. Mr. K’s family was celebrating New Year’s Eve at their lake cabin. Ihadn’t been invited to anyone’s gathering. I phoned my sister New Year’s Day tolift my gloomy mood. Instead, her troubling news yanked me deeper into a blackabyss.

Older by four years, Jean was working as a nurseat the children’s hospital in Denver. We shared a special bond albeit due toour night blindness and futile attempts to appease our argumentative parents.

“My daytime vision is declining but they don’tknow why,” Jean informed me. “The other day, I ran a stop sign and almost hitanother car. I didn’t see the sign. The car came from out of nowhere.” Mysister’s words melted into sobs.

“Oh my God, you could have been killed.”

“You don’t have to tell me that, Claudia. Momand Dad are already threatening to take my keys away. If I can’t drive, I can’twork.”

I tried to reassure my sister. “The eye doctorprobably just needs to tweak your prescription for driving glasses.”

“If only. I’m being referred to a specialist, anophthalmologist at the university medical center, for testing. I can’t even getan appointment for five months so I’ll just have to be extra careful for now. Ihope I don’t collide with an instrument cart at work or, worse yet, dispensethe wrong medicine and kill somebody.”

“Now, you’re being overly dramatic,” Jean wasalways the sensitive one. She cried at the mention of a sad movie or song. Shewas the princess who couldn’t sleep on a pea. I was more like Lucy from theCharlie Brown comic strip, confident and commanding…at least on the outside.

“Mom and Dad are worried that the problem couldbe genetic since we’re both night blind. Have you noticed any difficulty withyour vision driving during the day, Claudia?”

Pop! My cartoon bubble burst.

Had I? Was my own near-accident before Christmasdue to blizzard conditions, or was my day time sight also failing?

“No, no...” I decided to keep my own close callsecret from my sister for now.

January promised nothing but cold and dark withone exception. Veronica phoned and we arranged to meet up the following weekendfor another loop around Doe Lake on our cross country skis. The prospect offinding a friend bolstered my resolve.

Each Sunday that month, Veronica and I circledthe lake, matching our pace halfway around while we jabbered, and racing thesecond half, being equally competitive.

Trekking and talking, I realized Veronica hidinsecurities like me. Despite her polished appearance and worldwide travels,she told me she felt like an orphan. She quizzed me about mundane familyaffairs – dinner time, fighting with my parents, sneaking out with my boyfriendon a school night. She was as curious about my conventional upbringing as I wasenvious of her unpredictable adolescence.

Ah hah, a chink in the  armor.I should have guessed.

Veronica didn’t know her dad. I wanted out fromunder control of mine. Veronica’s famous mother had high hopes for herdaughter’s modeling career. My mother had never worked outside the home andcouldn’t conceive of her daughters pursuing a job before marriage. I wasjealous of Veronica’s financial security, and she coveted my family traditions.

You were opposites. You were meant to meet.

Our first outing, Veronica pronounced, “Last oneto the parking lot picks up the lunch tab.” Veronica slipped past me on thefinal turn and slapped the hood of her car. “Let’s go to Vera’s. She’s got thefreshest sandwiches and salads around.”

Too slow to make an excuse, I agreed to Vera’salthough my return to the lunch spot reminded me of Robbie. We were even seatedat the same table. Like déjà vu, Vera’s son Pete approached with our menus.

“So, Veronica, you jealous? Your new friend washere with Robbie not long ago. Has he gotten bored with you already?” Pete’swords strangely echoed the confrontational attitude he had taken with Robbie.

“If it makes you feel better, Pete, I turnedRobbie down, just like I turned you down. Now, bring us your mom’s daily lunchspecial, okay?” Veronica passed our menus over her shoulder to Pete without aglance. For the second time, I watched Pete retreat like a dog kicked to thecurb.

The thing was, I was kind of touched. Unlike mybest friend from high school who turned out to be far from loyal, Veronicaseemed more interested in our conversation than competing for a man’sattention.

 Cool.

After lunch, I tailgated Veronica’s Camaro toher modern town home. The two-story abode was furnished with an eclectic mix ofantique furniture, glass and chrome shelving, macramé planters, and woven wallhangings. The small living room with an exposed brick fireplace was open to thedining area. A tall shelving unit displayed a variety of collectibles andseparated a work nook without obstructing light from a breezy window.

The galley kitchen had a built-in microwave anddishwasher. A stainless steel sink accented with a mirrored backsplashreflected unwashed pots and pans. Burnt orange Formica countertops were coveredwith crumbs. Veronica obviously took more care with her appearance than housecleaning. Somehow, that relaxed me.

Veronica had baked pumpkin bread. While sheprepared hot tea and fussed to clear a spot for us at the table, I nosedaround. A tall wooden bookcase was jammed with a library of reading material.Mingled among classics like Steinbeck and Faulkner were feminist titles likeFear of Flying by Erica Jong and Descent of Woman by Elaine Morgan. To mydelight, I discovered Veronica also had a copy of All the President’s Men byCarl Bernstein and Bob Woodward.

“Oh, look!” Nearer to my heart, I fingered fourhardback novels from The Borrowers fantasy series by Mary Norton, my mostfavorite escape as a child. The illustrated books told stories about the Clockfamily, tiny people who live secretly under the floor boards of a human family’shome. The Clocks "borrowed" small items from the big people tofurnish their house and equip their adventures.

Prostrate on overstuffed floor pillows, Veronicaand I perused her collection of record albums including Carol King, FleetwoodMac, Crosby Stills Nash & Young, Joni Mitchell, and Chick Corea. SweetBaby-James Taylor cooed from her portable stereo.

A stack of spiral bound notebooks stood Next toher record collection.

“Are these notes from your college classes,Ronni?” She had suggested I call her ‘Ronni’ at lunch.

“It’s the first draft of my book, but it’s notready for consumption yet. “

An avid reader and fellow writer, I quizzedVeronica about the plot structure for her fictionalized memoir.

“It’s about a young debutante whose future ispredetermined by her obligation to run the family business, in opposition tothe heroine’s personal dreams, of course.”

“How does the story ends? I love a goodmystery,” I teased.”

Did you mean to say end rather  than ends?

“Let’s just say, the mother won’t be happy withthe ending.” Veronica tossed her wavy hair and cackled loud enough to shakesnow from a tree branch. I knew that from experience. Thankfully, the lightfixture over our heads didn’t shatter.

Between the tea and gut-wrenching laughter, Iexcused myself to pee. On my way to the upstairs bathroom, I peered intoVeronica’s bedroom. A splash of blue, yellow, and orange flowers maxi sizecovered the quilted spread on her double bed. Maya Angelou’s poetry was bookmarked on her night stand. Alemon scented candle on her vanity matched sunshiny bath and hand towels.

Looking in Ronnie’s mirror, I couldn’t help butcompare my life to hers. She seemed to be living a dream. She was reading andwriting and cooking and crafting. Her world was filled with light and music.She wasn’t putting her life on hold, waiting for a man to give her purpose.

Do you have something to learn from her?

Begging off before sunset, I drove to my coldapartment. Jennifer Warren’s rendition of “Love Hurts” played on my car radio.Neither Ronnie nor I “belonged” in Doe Lake, Michigan, I reflected, but each ofus had a destiny. Was my future predetermined by my family history? Worse,would my vision impairment prevent me from finding my own way? Veronica wasliving a dream while I was lost. Without knowing, my new friend was inspiringme to hope for a future with color, texture, and adventure.

***

Pete was pissed. Robbie could have any woman intown he wanted. Other local boys didn’t stand a chance. Still, the cop had hiton both of the new lookers. Robbie had set his hook before either woman couldbat her mascaraed eyelashes. Now, the bitches were pals and turned off totownies. Pete had overheard the acid comments Veronica made to Claudia overlunch.

“See what I mean, Claudia? Don’t date thelocals. They don’t mind their own business.”

Well, whose business was it, anyway? Why didnewcomers from the big city act like they owned the town, telling people how torun their lives? What did they know? Pete had been born and raised in Doe Lake,never to leave as far as he could make out. He helped his mom run therestaurant, and he worked weekend as a security guard at the furniture factory.One job didn’t pay enough for a guy to catch a woman’s eye. Two jobs meant aguy didn’t even have time to look. For 30 years, the only does Pete ever snaredwere during hunting season.

 --------

DeAnna

I relate to themessage  

In order to protect us, 

she needs to put us downa notch or two.

My faith tells me  there will be  retribution, 

followed by somethingbetter. 

Those who will not  learn, will suffer the most.  

Though, all must have topay.  

Prodigil children, wewill return to her ways.  

Her will and ours willbe as one.

Then, we will be truestewards..

DeAnna sub for Nov

Chilly and cold,

do the winter windsblow,

timber wolf bold

they are laden withsnow.

So wrap up warm,

Keeping cozy you should.

safe in the storm,

in a brave red hood.

Love is infused

Be it hand knit or sown.

Down or wool used,

Mother earth’s own.

Treasure her gifts,

for they come from herheart.

We’ve made a rift

Willful children apart.

She loves us all,

from microbic to whale.

Spanking will fall

for we deserve to wail.

We’ve not listened

We’ve given her nochoice.

Howl winter wind.

Hear her angry sadvoice.

DeAnna Quietwater Noriega

Cell: 573-544-3511

Email: dqnoriega at gmail.com

Author of Fifty Years of Walking withFriends

https://www.dldbooks.com/dqnoriega/

 ----

Cleora

titled means basically that someone in authoritygives you title to something. 

Other meanings are allowed or given permissionfor something.

In and of itself, that doesn’t speak ofdeserving.  

I think there are things that all  human beings deserve to have.  

Good health care is one of them.  

A lot of those things you mention  I am not sure are good for us. 

Some require taking them away from someone else. 

Advertisers usually aren’t at all interested inwhat is good for us, 

only if they can make a profit out of it.  

I would suggest that each of those things that people claim  entitlement to be examined 

under a moral microscope   

to see if one individual is more deserving  of it than another.  

Such an exercise would no doubt proveinteresting. 

We may even agree on some of them. 

But all in all, I think it would lead to more arguments. 

It was a good try though.

Cleora sub for November

Sorry this is late. It's not my best work, butof the 4 I've been working on, it is the closest to making any kind of sense atall.

I hope all this craziness ends soon.

581 words

entitled

by C. S. Boyd

believing oneself to be inherently deserving ofprivileges or special treatment.

Is anyone really entitled? A growing number ofsources tell us we are. Commercials insist we are entitled to money back on oursocial security, free meals and rides to the doctor, eye glasses, hearing aids,and the list goes on. We must call immediately to get our share before we missout. Politicians promise free college education, the perfect job, and freedomto do whatever they want to our youth. Millions of dollars have been spentworld wide to bring us a vaccine to protect us from a deadly virus, but you areentitled to catch that virus and die or develop permanent serious healthproblems as a result, However, regardless of the decision you made not to takeprecautions, you are entitled to someone else to pick up the tab for yourchoice.

These entitlements cover almost everything thatmight be nice, but not necessarily required for us to have a good life.

Are we really "entitled" to governmentsponsored health care, free college education, vaccines, and not just us, butpeople from other countries who are not citizens? Advertising typically triesto create a sense of urgency. We might die suddenly and leave our loved onesunprovided for. The fast food restaurant will make its irresistible sandwichour way. The beautiful ladies will flock to the gentleman that owns thefantastic sports car. Now, we are told we are going to miss out on something weare entitled to unless we act immediately. 

We are so incredibly blessed in this countrythat we have become unbearably arrogant. None of these “entitlements” are free,and most are not even necessary. Someone has to pay for them. That someone isus and our descendants, regardless of what the advertiser or politician says.

Past generations expected to pay for their needsthemselves. It was a matter of pride in being self-sufficient. Latergenerations have bought the idea that they are entitled to these special thingsfor no other reason than they want them.

Exactly what makes me or any other personentitled to free health care, reparation for some past injustice, a new car, orany other special benefit?

This is a sales pitch meant to lure us intobuying a product because we are brainwashed into thinking we deserve it. Intimes past, this would have been referred to as “junk mail”, but the cleveradvertiser and politician of today have repackaged it to tell us we deserve it.

A feeling of entitlement is hard won.

You suffered to get to the spot you’re in. Youwere mistreated; worked hard; paid your dues; endured unfair treatment. So,It’s your turn. Justice demands it. You’re aggrieved. Or perhaps the thingyou’ve worked so hard on is magical, special and totally worth people’sattention.

You’re entitled. To your grievance or themeeting or even simply, the benefit of the doubt.

Alas: Our entitlement isn’t helpful.

Feeling entitled doesn’t make it more likelythat others will listen to you, do what you ask or respect you. Feelingentitled doesn’t get you a sale or make it easier to merge into moving traffic,no matter how long you’ve been waiting.

So yes, you’re entitled. We all are, sooner orlater.

But feeling that we’re entitled and demandingthat others realize that we’re entitled is completely useless and might evenget in the way of what we really want.

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