Alex Week 1

[adadio]

Week 1 Alex Dadio.docx (19.81 KB)

[linz]

I love that the scene starts with the daughter wondering aloud about her half-sister. Great opener! It is insightful of her to consider her sister Monty was dead while she was celebrating her bday. She feels the chasm between the two. You described clearly, concisely the lack of communication with her Mom.The dark family secret revealed 3 months later, getting some light shined on it. What a sweet gesture to offer the Dad one of the twin rabbits. After the Dad trashes the bedroom, the fact that the girl feels like she is to blame is appropriate. That is common, for kids to feel accountable when things are tough in a family--when they aren't in any way. I feel the Dad's and daughter's upset/loss. You portrayed so well a young teenager trying to make sense of the at times unfathomable adult world. Great details of the rabbits, variety of toys strewn in the room.

[linz]

Alex, I forgot to mention the value of the "under our phone" detail in the scene's beginning. This reminds the reader that this story is from an earlier time when kitchen phones were found on the wall. You showed the reader this detail easily.

[saburcat]

Hello, Alex! First of all, this eerily parallels something my best friend has gone through. My BF bounced a lot of concerns and ideas off me when she had to tell her oldest daughter about her half-sister's death, a half-sister she didn't even know she had. It was very sad.

I liked the way this is structured: conversation with mother, conversation with father, aftermath.

There are places you can tighten up what you are saying. For example: "I had once heard my mom say that she did not have the best behavior as a child in a tone that indicated that my mom did not approve of Monty or her behavior." This could be rewritten with dialogue: "'Her behavior is troubling, at best,' I overheard my mother say, her clipped tone indicating her disapproval of my half-sister." Or without dialogue, maybe something like, "My mother's disapproval showed in raised brows and tightened lips anytime my father mentioned Monty's latest impropriety."

I also wanted to see Monty. I'm not sure how much interaction you had with her so I don't know what you remember, but I wanted know what she looked like...did she resemble your father, did you share any traits with her? Or maybe, since you didn't know her that well, maybe you can bring that across in the piece; did you think about what she was like, if she liked the things you liked or if she was completely opposite? Did you wonder how you two would have gotten along if you had been raised closer together, or if you had known her better? And maybe this isn't where you want to take this piece.

Since you weren't in the room, you can't say exactly what your father did during his outburst, but maybe you can mix what you hear happening with what you know is in the room? I just wanted more of your father's outburst. Did you hear him crying? Did you imagine tears falling down his cheeks? I think you could expand this section, even if you don't have a visual of what he did.

One thing that made it hard for me to follow a little bit was not using new paragraphs for each person's dialogue. During my first read-through I wasn't sure who was saying what in some places, and I had to go back and kind of break it up to make sure I was reading it correctly. I know this isn't about mechanics, but formatting can cause issues with the reader sometimes.

You have some great imagery: the "brown-smeared tile counters" that your mother claimed look like "someone had wiped shit all over them," and the scene with the two rabbits and you giving one to your father...that's a very poignant moment. What happened to the rabbit you gave your father? Was it in the wreckage of your brother's room or did your father keep it elsewhere?

Very sad about your half-sister, too. If you REALLY wanted to go further, I would be interested to read about her whole life. I have no idea if you've ever explored that, but it sounds like it would make a compelling story.

Louise