Mom Ain't So Dumb

FROM DIANESTO

This is an excerpt from The Fall. For lack of a better description, it's a love story taking place in a post-apocalyptic dystopia. I've trimmed off the very beginning because it's mostly set-up for the world I've created. It's a world where lines are drawn based on socio-economic status. Grant's family are impoverished apple orchard-keepers. Myrian is the daughter of a government council member. This excerpt is about a page and a half in.

“Just a moment, Mother.” I whisper, sliding my arm out from under Myrian as she sighs in her sleep and rolls over. I pause for a moment, wondering what she’s dreaming about. It’s selfish to hope she’s dreaming about me, but I can’t help hoping that I’m holding her in that dream – that her sigh is one of contentment and not one of longing for a past life. Out in the sitting room I take Mother’s hand as she leads me into the kitchen and sits at the table, the same deep sadness welling up in her eyes. I hate to see it there, to know that I caused it, because my mother has always been my everything.

“Grant.” The way she looks at me, I can see the words locked up inside her, trying to find a way out. She was never good with words; her strength was always in silence and actions.

“I love you, Mom.” The tears start then, and I want to hide from her sorrow – to undo all the pain I’m causing her, but when I rise to go to her she holds up a hand.

“I’m so proud of you, Grant.” She whispers her words so quietly that if there had been a breeze I might not have heard her. I’ve been trying to avoid her gaze since she started crying, but when she looks up at me through her tears, I feel as if the floor has fallen out from under me and I drop to my knees and pull her into my arms.

“Mom, I –” She’s shushes me quietly as we hold each other, her hands trembling as she smoothes my unruly hair with her fingers. The silence between us lingers, and I cling to it. “I never wanted to hurt you.” I hate to break the silence between us, but I have to say it.

“I know.”

“Can you ever forgive me?” She doesn’t say a word, but she pushes me back and looks into my eyes. She smiles, one of those smiles that reaches her eyes, and I know she does. Mother never needed words. With an amiable sigh, she gets up and puts a kettle on the stove. She knows I can’t sleep and she means to stay up with me and keep me company. “I’m not scared. I know I should be. I know I will be once I leave this house. I don’t know what’s keeping me so together.” It’s the truth. I don’t know where this sudden burst of courage is coming from, but I’m sure it won’t last forever.

“You know you’re doing the right thing.” I laugh hollowly. I regret it almost immediately, but Mother looks up at me with her best knowing smile.

“What?” I ask. “It’s true!” I’m trying to wipe that smirk off her face, but it just gets broader by the second. “By whose standards am I doing the right thing, Mom?”

“Yours.” Her voice is so quiet. “Who said that the Sanctor standards are the right ones?” I smile then and take her hand as she passes by on her way to the cupboard. She’s trying to stay busy – to keep the tears at bay.

“Did Dad tell you that we’re heading to Vega?” The smile vanishes from her face and she pulls her hand gently away as she nods and continues to tend to the tea. Sometimes I wonder what happened to her to make her so silent, especially when she disagrees with my choices. We fall into silence again, but this time it’s not amiable. Now, it’s a tense silence and I start to tap my fingers on the table to the tune of a song Mother used to sing to me – anything to break this silence. I wait until she’s sitting across from me to speak again, hoping she won’t run away this time. “What do you think we should do, Mom?” She sighs and stares down at her tea.

“I don’t know, Grant.” I take a sip of her tea as I wait for her to compose her thoughts. I remember collecting the mint for this tea. Just a few short weeks ago, Mother and I had been on our hands and knees carefully pulling just the biggest plants to let the smaller plants keep growing. One glance up tells me that she’s remembering the same thing; her eyes are gazing out the window that looks out into our garden. She looks back down at her cup before taking another drink, and I can see how badly her hands are trembling. “All I know –” I take her hand when her voice catches. She’s quiet again, that whisper that means she’s saying something that’s hard for her to say. “All I know is that you’re supposed to let the young ones get big before you take them away. Just like the mint in the garden.” Only mother can say so much with so few words. That is her gift. I want to say something, to find some way to reassure her, but the words fail me and I stare down at my half-empty cup in my hands. It’s nearly an hour before either of silence and two more cups of tea before either of us speaks again. I wonder what she’s thinking that whole time; I’m certain that she’d have been a great artist had she been educated as a girl. There is so much genius locked inside her.

“Any advice, Mom?” Her gaze fixes on a point somewhere on the wall and I know she’s thinking as she rises and refills my mug with the last of the tea. I take her mug and pour half of it into hers. She shakes her head and smiles as she takes a sip.

“Do you remember that time we got lost in the woods?” I remember all right. We’d been out looking for mushrooms in the forest when we’d forgotten the way back. We were lost for nearly two days, but Mother’s silence had turned to skill as she’d not only found our way out, but caught food and kept us safe from the wolves. I’d gained a lot of respect for the woman I’d once thought delicate. “Stay silent and stay hidden.” That’s all she says; so few words to sum up an event that had been so entirely epic for the both of us. I wonder how she’ll sum up tonight some day, but somehow I know that this farewell will be silent for her. Her sadness is always silent; I think she doesn’t know how to give it a voice.

“I’ll send word from the villages when I can. Take the letters to Matthew; he’ll read them to you.” Matthew is my best friend – the one who I shared all my stolen textbooks with. His father taught him and me to read, but not all of us are so lucky. Most of the poor remain illiterate. I sigh and drop my head into my hands. “I don’t know how to say goodbye to you, Mom.” I want to find some way to make her understand how important she’s been to me – how much impact she’s had, even in her silence. Her hand on mine tells me what I need to know. There will be time for saying goodbye in the morning and the rest doesn’t need to be said. The rest she already knows.

I know there are some pacing issues, but I'm hoping to paint a portrait of my main character here and the way he was raised. Please tell me what you think and give advice. I've probably made some obvious and obnoxious errors, so I apologize in advance.

CRITIQUE

Your piece is riddled with empty verbs. You also use a lot of “ing” verbs. Simple present or past is best whenever you can. See "About Hammer & Tongs" for specifics.

You litter your writing with “that” too, a common problem. Most of the time, you can simply delete “that” to no detriment.

Also, you tend to repeat particular words or variants in close proximity, almost but not quite to the point of mannerism. A mannerism is something you do so often that it becomes noticeable, like a tick. Search for “silence” in your piece, or read this sentence:

It’s selfish to hope she’s dreaming about me, but I can’t help hoping that I’m holding her in that dream – that her sigh is one of contentment and not one of longing for a past life.

Dream, dreaming. Hope, hoping. One of, one of. A three-peat in one sentence.

Now compare these paragraphs when I address all those issues:

Your Paragraph
“I don’t know, Grant.” I take a sip of her tea as I wait for her to compose her thoughts. I remember collecting the mint for this tea. Just a few short weeks ago, Mother and I had been on our hands and knees carefully pulling just the biggest plants to let the smaller plants keep growing. One glance up tells me that she’s remembering the same thing; her eyes are gazing out the window that looks out into our garden. She looks back down at her cup before taking another drink, and I can see how badly her hands are trembling. “All I know –” I take her hand when her voice catches. She’s quiet again, that whisper that means she’s saying something that’s hard for her to say. “All I know is that you’re supposed to let the young ones get big before you take them away. Just like the mint in the garden.” Only mother can say so much with so few words. That is her gift. I want to say something, to find some way to reassure her, but the words fail me and I stare down at my half-empty cup in my hands. It’s nearly an hour before either of silence and two more cups of tea before either of us speaks again. I wonder what she’s thinking that whole time; I’m certain that she’d have been a great artist had she been educated as a girl. There is so much genius locked inside her.

My Edit
“I don’t know, Grant.” I sip tea as I wait for her to compose her thoughts. I remember when we gathered mint for this tea just a few weeks ago. Mother and I crawled in the garden and carefully pulled only the biggest plants. Her eyes tell me she remembers too as she gazes out the window overlooking our garden. She ponders her cup before lifting it to her lips with trembling hands. “All I know –” I hold her hand when her voice catches. She whispers in the way she does when voicing something hard for her to say. “All I know is that you’re supposed to let the young ones get big before you take them away. Just like the mint in the garden.” Only mother can say so much with so few words. It’s her gift. I want to say something, to reassure her, but words fail me as I stare into my half-empty cup. It’s nearly an hour and two more cups of tea before either of us speaks again. I wonder what she’s thinking the whole time; a great artist, a genius is locked inside her, imprisoned by her humble life.

You use 250 words, I use less than 200. When you prune all that dead wood, you gain a greater sense of immediacy and poignancy. Great base content though; lots of gold to mine there.