Young Writers Society

winter;



Life is a circus and not a circus. It depends on how you look at it. Like a glass half full or half empty.

Psychiatrists have been telling you for years that the glass is half full, but how on earth can you believe their meant-to-be-motivational lectures when you can’t even see the goddamn glass? Or even their kindly, perhaps crinkly faces? You can’t even be sure if their faces were crinkly.

Kindly or not, you absolutely loathed the way your name rolled around in their mouths, split apart into syllables. The moon drowning, clinging to leftover pieces of dinner in their stupid saliva. And then, in your mind’s eye, your father’s eyebrows would knit together. “Artemis.” Not your name, but a warning. Stop being so unfeminine, so rude and crude was what he really meant.

Sometimes you can’t believe how unconventionally conservative your father is. It’s nearly the end of the swinging sixties, for God’s sake. He wouldn’t even let you curl your hair, or wear those fantastic skirts you heard about on the telly. He says it’s far too unseemly for young women, but you have a nagging suspicion it’s because you wouldn’t see how the blond curls bounce as you twist and turn in your brand new go-go boots anyway. Why waste good money on brand new clothes when you could wear your passed mother’s hand me downs? No guy in his right mind would prefer a well-dressed blind girl over a badly-dressed normal girl.

Brian says it’s okay, that you look like a Quaker Brigitte Bardot. You don’t know what a Quaker is, but Brian knows exactly how to comfort you. He’s more of a Brain than a Brian anyway; he knows practically everything, since he’s such an avid reader. You think he’s going to be a writer someday, with his obsessive-compulsive imagination.

“You’re the moon, literally. A planet amongst stars. Miraculous creation –“ you’d cut in halfway, laughing. You would have told him how ridiculous he’d sound, and how mad you were for being compared to the stupid moon. The moon’s a barrier; we all know it’s there, and no one can cross it. And it was the last damn thing you ever saw – the moon condemning you to a dark prison. You wouldn’t say all that, though. Brian’d worry in his joking, informal way and you didn’t want him to care so much.

“You sound like the goddamn astronauts reciting scripture to all mankind for Christmas yesterday. Like a broken down gramophone.”

Brian had sang, baritone melting with the whistling cold of the night.




[void];

I am caught between termagant winter and carousing spring, between green bonds and soft lips – held captive by lambent eyes. Yes, I know I sound like a gramophone, cheesy and boring. I’m sorry I can’t do better with metaphors and descriptions, but they’re all I’ve got.

“You’re the moon, literally.” No, you’re much more than the moon, you’re my moon, Art. All that I’m sure of right now in my life. I know you’ll still be there on the fences, even if my house collapses. (It has happened once, but I’ll never tell you.) I know your miser of a father doesn’t like me coming over to your house. “You’re nothing but a ruffian after her inheritance.” And you know what?



I’m pretty sure why I keep on coming over, keep fooling around with you, even when my hands are oily from fixing snide businessmen’s cars, is because I need to make sure that the moon is still up there, watching over me. I need to be sure that you’ll never orbit around other people. No, that’s not true; I need to orbit around you instead.

I can’t bear the thought of me orbiting around something else. Or not orbiting anything at all. I can’t stand nights spent cowering on library floors anymore. I need the moon to illuminate all the things I still have: you and my books.

It’s adorable how you have this delusion that I’m not so bad off and that I’ll soon find a pretty girl in New York when I start my business, writing all day and night. But love – if you would let me call you love – all thoughts of running over to New York with only some notes in my hand disappeared if it meant that I would never see you again; your father wouldn’t let a meth addict’s son snatch away his only blind daughter. Yes, that is what I am, and there is no need to repeat it out loud. But I’ll never tell you that, because you’ll shun my company then, and I cannot – can’t, shan’t – go back to the void.

Love, Artemis dearest, believe me please – the words hesitate, little swallows on branches afraid to fly. I am not brave, I am not an astronaut. I am but a little satellite around your luminescence. A budding seed in the midst of harsh reality. Caught between spring and winter.


spring;

The cold is not so bitter now; spring’d come. Brian bought you the Beatles’ newest album yesterday; said it was a gift from his aunt. But you know better – his hands, covered with bumps and jagged lines, tell you a different story. “Been working nights again?”

No answer, just a small tune whistled by some of the swallows. “If you mean my writing, then yeah.”

He still isn’t ready to tell you about his job at that car repair shop down the road. Or the fact that your father wrecked his newly painted house. Or that he got accepted into New York University with a full scholarship. You know because your father told you, spluttering words too ugly and unrefined for him.

He’s worried enough already. “What’s the sky like today?”

“Yes, it's only a canvas sky, hanging over a muslin tree.”

“Enough with Ella Fitzgerald! Too old, too out. How’s the stupid moon today?”

“I thought you didn’t like the moon.” Accompanied by feet shuffling, it is a question.

“Of course. But you like talking about the moon for no reason – I’m just trying to start a real flesh-and-blood conversation here -“

“Art, what do you think of the Apollo Lunar Module?”

“You mean the most recent one?”

“Uh-huh.”

A pause. “It’s nice, somehow, to know that the moon is safe for landing and stuff. Pardon my French, but damn – who’d know we’d fly up to the freaking moon, of all things?”

“Ha. Who’d even have known that no one would support the stupid Vietnam War?” Who’d have known your brother died in the very first battle, you added silently for him.

Brian knew what you were thinking. “So what about the moon, huh Art? Why don’t you like it?”

“I just…don’t. The moon is the moon, nothing special. Just a ball of cool rock -”

“Artemis.”

“What the hell, Brian?”

“It is not just a moon, it’s our moon. It’s a sign.”

“Of what?”

“Of stuff.”

“Lemme tell you this: the moon is nothing but a stupid rock, a sign for godforsaken optimists that this world it is not as cruel and vain and selfish as it seems –“

“So what if I’m an optimist? So what if I believe that everything will turn out fine in the end?”

“That’s the problem! That’s the damn problem, Brian!”

“What the heck, Art –“

“You believe everything will turn better, and while you’re waiting, with your stupid jokes and words, you shoulder every single freaking boulder you can find! Yes, everything will turn out just fine for me, for my father, for everyone, but what about you?”

Silence.

“You don’t have to be alone in this, Brian. We’re friends, right? You’re no superhero.”

A sigh. “Lov- I mean, Art, everything isn’t as simple as you think it is.”

“But it wouldn't be make-believe, if you believed in me.”


summer;

I’d have told you how the moon shines bright tonight, against a pennyworth of stars. But I know you’d rather hear how light glints on broken glass; reposing at night is ridiculous, you once said. And the moon is far too dim for your porcelain orbs to penetrate its mellow, pale daisy skin.

Wait, I’d tell you; I’d tell you how the light of the moon scalds me, as clouds yank the canvas sky apart. I’d tell you I’d never believed, for even one second, that some guy was living on the moon of all places; but I’d wonder what life was up there, watching Earth-rises and sunsets in an endless void, all alone. And then I’d think about Laika, the dog in that Soviet satellite years ago, when we were still kids. She was destined to spend her days and nights in the chasm, until time and space meant nothing in the fremescent tide of life and death.

We are two satellites, dearest, one chafing his heart against paper bonds, the other imprisoned inside dull lenses, Someday our orbits will overlap each other; the axis on which we perch will throw us off balance. One will perhaps crash into the moon’s embrace, but you wouldn’t like that. Your moon is but a hot rock, bitter and atrocious.

In the centrifuge, all I can hope is the gravitational pull of the moon is just enough to swing us past the plants, the asteroids and the stars, until we are left in the vacuum with nothing but eternity. It’s the best option for two destined to be star-crossed. And secretly, I wish for the moon to engulf us two, and perhaps the Man on the Moon would be there to see us in all our glory, burning up like an aging star in timeless nebulae, going out with a bloom of interstellar gas and dust. I know you’d see the moon in all her magnificence then, and see how the moon is not a shadow, but a satellite too.

But you – and the moon – are young; for you, the moon is sentimental irony and vice versa. So I shall stay here with you on the fences, wondering about what ifs, as Neil Armstrong and his men go beyond the world you and I have always known; with your head on my shoulder, the moon seems too small to hold us then.



We are nihility and actuality, in the stars.

Hello Iceprincess!


I have to be honest. When I first read the whole story, I didn't actually get those italicized phrases distributed on some parts of the story... until I googled it. xD I didn't know it was a song!

Plot wise, I like what you're offering right here but it kind of all fuzzy to read. I mean, I appreciate those wonderful imageries, and how it actually compares the song to the story, and then the story to the universe. However, there were some instances where I have literally scratched my head, to some points where it became confusing. Well, don't get me wrong, your descriptions are well-portrayed but if we try to scrape off those things, the story gives less of a sense, strength and significance. Even though the core of the story is still present, the metaphors are blocking most of our connection to the speakers.

Speaking of the characters, I adore your contrasive interpretation in every situation. The first character is blind and you have expressed it very well... named Artemis, right? Then there's this boy whose name is Brian. Then the father of course. I don't have actually any problems with that, but I'm guessing the seasons such as the spring and winter refers to the emotions of each characters.

I'm not quite a fan of Historical Fiction, but hey, I think you have a good story here. What you lack maybe is just the atmosphere. Somehow try building the environment more "oldie style"? I'm not sure but it could've been portrayed better like in late sixties or something. We should feel it.

I don't really have to say something about your grammar, because as usual, you have a good vocabulary, interesting imagery and... good grammar. ^^

Overall, thumbs up for this. The originality of the story is really clear, but as I have said before, this could have been written better. ^^ Let me know if you have any questions. And I hope this review helped you... in some little ways.

Peace out,
Yuri

Hey there, Iceprincess!

You've got such a lovely style going for you here. That's what made me sit up and take notice of this piece. Maybe I'm a sucker, but I thought the lines like “You’re the moon, literally.” and He’s more of a Brain than a Brian anyway; he knows practically everything, since he’s such an avid reader. You think he’s going to be a writer someday, with his obsessive-compulsive imagination. and Sometimes you can’t believe how unconventionally conservative your father is. are all inspired-- the first is deftly romantic, the second is lyrically witty and uniquely characterizing, and the last is plain good word choice. It's great, and it gives me a lot of faith in the story you're telling.

But my main issue is just that: like Yuriiko, I'm not entirely certain what plot you're meant to be getting across. I kind of wanted to spend my time deconstructing and advising/gushing at you on the stylistic stuff (and if you want me to do that, shoot me a message on my Wall and I'd be happy to do so ) but I think the more relevant concern here is that your method of telling your story is lacking a little in clarity. I understand that she is blind and it's the sixties and she has a father and a boyfriend named Brian who is (I believe) leaving to go to NYU on scholarship and at the end she shows a rapidly accelerated interest in astronomy, but I'm missing something in the cohesion of it all. Initially I thought you were going in a different direction with the mention of psychiatrists and the focus on the frustration of blindness, but the end seemed to play up the astronomy angle.

As far as advice goes, I think I like the latter better-- I like the idea of her dismissing the "You're literally the moon" because she's so invested in the science of it all. I think there's definitely a parallel to be made there between that and the nature of blindness.

Very much liked the inclusion of the song, but perhaps not on top of the scenes separated by seasons? I'm not sure you needed both spacers, especially because one stops and wonders if "winter" is meant to be associated with the lyrics or not.

Really, I have so many good things to say about your approach to this piece. I just wish I could understand it a little better, so that I could speculate more!

Let me know if you're looking for more conversation about it/specific advice.

Thanks for the read!

Quasi

Hiya! I'm here to give you your contest review. I assume you already know that the contest has been judged and the winners announced? Well, this review is to let you know the things Ranger Hawk (my co-judge) and I discussed while judging. Hopefully it will help you to understand the choices we made.

First off, I really like this. It's got a lot of great things going for it--Ella Fitzgerald, the 1960s, and abstract prose, and extended metaphors all in one piece? You definitely have my attention. In addition to these things, I love the way you portrayed the relationship between the characters. I really have a good feeling of how they interact and the feelings between them. I also love the whole mood/Paper Moon/orbitals theme. There's a lot of depth there, a lot of layers to unfold--and I think it's an excellent concept for a short story.

However, the execution was a little less exciting than the concept, unfortunately.

You make things unnecessarily confusing. The first perspective-switches work quite nicely. They work well to give me a good sense of how the characters feel and what the tension is like between them. But the last perspective? I'm not so sure. It's nice to have it there because it lets us know what he's thinking in the end but I feel like it's a rather weak way to go out. It's lovely prose, don't get me wrong--but the rest of the piece was just so much more emotional that it feels like a little bit of a letdown. I guess it's supposed to be a conclusion of sorts, but it feels like it's just making things more confusing than they need to be, and I feel like for a piece like this (which is rather vague) the end should be the clarification.

Take this point into consideration: Brian is Artemis's brain, right? He's her eyes. He's smart and kind and he's there to make sense of the world for her. Right? So I feel like when the story is being told from his perspective, things should be clearer. Not necessarily because he thinks in simple ways, of course. See, it's in second person which means he's talking to her--so I feel like he should be explaining things to her. Either that or he should be very conscious of the things that he is saying but he would never actually say to her because they would only confuse her. Oh dear, I think I'm making this even more confusing aren't I? D: It's hard to explain, so hopefully I've made some sense here but if I haven't, let me know and I'll try to clarify.

Basically, I'm all for abstract stories, but only if they're done extremely well. This is done very, very well--but it's not quite working for me yet. I think it's because I feel like you have too much plot for the amount of abstraction and symbolism that you have. For instance, the argument between them felt really out of place--it's really the only interaction that we see from them, and I don't understand why it's happening. I found it hard to figure out who was saying what and once I had figured it out, I still didn't understand why they were saying it.

Also, call me a doofus but I really don't understand who the third character is. -.- Your story was supposed to have three equally main characters, but this seems to only have two: Artemis and Brian. I suppose the moon might be the third character? Or am I missing something? Anyhow, that's a big part of why this didn't do better in the contest.

I really like a lot of the concepts you have going into this piece, though, and I'd love to see you revise it up a bit and really make it shine.

Please let me know if you have any questions/comments! I'd love to discuss this piece with you if you want to.

Thanks for taking part in the contest. c: