Story Discussion, Rumple Foreskin, 2/28/05, main queue

[Rumple Foreskin]

Greetings,

There's been a surprising drop in the number of folks volunteering stories for the SDC chopping block. That's why I'm making another appearance so soon after my last turn in the barrel.

This is a very short story (975 words) that would be posted in Non-Erotic. It does double-duty as the opening to my second novel. To have any chance of fobbing that poor pile of pitiful prose off on some unsuspecting publisher, I need this to be as good as possible, and a lot of luck.

The style of the opening is very different from that of the novel. To give you a feel for the difference, I'm including the paragraph that follows this piece. Feel free to judge this as a short story, an opening, or both.

This concerns racism and violence in the American south during a spring night in 1968. The "N" word does appear.

Rumple Foreskin

--

A NOWHERE PLACE

Headlights off, three large cars glide through the muggy Louisiana night like nocturnal predators. Each front door brandishes an angry, ornate star and the words, Kisatche Parish Sheriff’s Department. In the dark cab of a pick-up truck, two men watch.

The cars turn right onto a dead-end street with no lights and no name in a nowhere place called Sandtown. On one side of the street a derelict chicken coop, several rusting cars, and a weed-choked baseball field occupy an otherwise vacant lot.

Three small frame houses perch on the other side as if ready to flee at the slightest noise. All are tidy but patched and weatherworn. Short fences outline bare-dirt front yards.

The quiet procession halts in front of the third house. No dogs bark as uniformed white men begin getting out. One circles behind the dark house. The others set up a cordon around the front and sides.

A tall, beefy man wearing western boots and a cowboy hat steps up on the porch. After a last glance around, he hitches up his pants and pulls a pearl-handled, .44 caliber revolver from its hand-tooled holster. He yanks the screen door open and begins banging on the wooden, hollow-core front door. With his first blow, blue and red lights start flashing on top of the cars.

“Open up! This is the Sheriff. Come on out, Amos. We know you’re in there.”

From inside comes the sound of frightened whispers and scurrying feet. The tall man hits the door even harder. The sound echoes in the night. “Damn it, boy, this is Sheriff Tobias. Get your black ass out here. We gotta talk.”

“I’m a’comin’. Just let me gets my pants on.” There are more loud whispers. Someone peers out from behind the curtains of a front window. Then the door opens a few inches and a black face with wary eyes looks out.

“What’s ya wanna talk about, Sheriff? I ain’t done nothin’.”

“Don’t give me that shit, boy. Get out here or I’m gonna bust in and drag you out.”

“You don’t hafta do that. My momma’s in here. You already done scared her ‘bout half to death.” The door swings inward and a short, wiry man wearing khaki work pants and a bib undershirt steps out. ”What y’all doing here dis time of night, Sheriff?”

“Shut up, nigger!” The big white man holsters his pistol, then reaches behind his bulky frame and produces a set of handcuffs. “You’re coming with me.”

The black man steps back. His face shows surprise and fear. “How come? I ain’t done nothin’.”

“I told you to shut up. Now stick out your hands. I’m taking you to Pinefield, to jail.” After a momentary hesitation, the voice of white authority overwhelms any outrage or bewilderment. The man named Amos does as ordered and the cuffs snap into place.

The Sheriff steps away, pulls his revolver back out and uses it to motion for another white man to join them. Then he glares at his prisoner. “You’re a goddamn pervert—you know that, boy? We got an eyewitness who saw you looking into the bathroom window of a white, widow-lady named Myrtis Oglesby. Amos Little, you’re under arrest as a Peeping Tom.”

“A what? Sheriff, I ain’t been looking into no white woman’s window.” The prisoner turns from the Sheriff to the deputy, as if searching for support. “Least of all no dried-up, crazy old white woman like Mrs. Myrtis.”

Bathed in the rhythmic, flashing glare of red and blue lights, the sweeping motion of the Sheriff’s right hand resembles something from a flickering silent movie as the hand, and the revolver it holds, smash into the side of the prisoner’s head. A scream comes from inside the house as he staggers and then falls to his knees.

Sheriff Odell Tobias leans close and hisses. “Nigger, you’re talking about my wife’s aunt. Now it looks like we’re gonna have to add a charge of resisting arrest.”

The prisoner is pulled to his feet, then dragged off the porch and tossed into the back of the deputy’s car. With sirens on and lights still flashing, the three large cars with the words Kisatche Parish Sheriff’s Department and an angry, ornate star on each front door swing around and leave. As they drive past the dark pick-up truck, everyone but the prisoner waves at the two men sitting inside.

Once the cars are out of sight, the truck moves down the now deserted street. It stops across from the third house, the one with the front door still open. Inside, a black widow-lady named Bernice Little is alone and crying for her son. The men get out, lift something from the bed of the truck, and then lug it into the vacant lot.

A small flame soon begins spreading up from the base of a wooden cross. Jack Boudreaux and Delmar Bullock get back into the truck. They stop at the intersection to make sure the cross is burning properly. Once assured it’s another Klan job well done, they head back towards Pinefield.

#

It was another turbulent evening in the spring of ’68. Student protests raged from the Sorbonne to Berkeley. Civil rights demonstrations and anti-war rallies were turning violent. Martin Luther King was dead; Bobby Kennedy would be soon. Hundreds of other Americans were dying each week in South Vietnam. Soldiers patrolled the streets of Saigon, Paris, and Washington. Soviet troops prepared to invade Prague. And in a nowhere place called Sandtown, an innocent black man was beaten and arrested.

END OF SHORT STORY/OPENING

In nearby Pinefield, everything was perfect. At least, that’s what Mark Cahill wanted to believe. Bebe Boudreaux’s head rested on his chest as they moved in a languid harmony to Ray Charles singing, “You Don’t Know Me.” The petite, perfect form he'd always wanted was in his arms, molded against his body. It made for a perfect moment, in a perfect place, in a perfect world--at least it should have been perfect.

 

[Penelope Street]

Excellent. Just excellent.

Rumple,


I like the detached, almost eerie, feel of the present tense narration. I find the many short, simple sentences effective in this regard.

I cannot think of a more offensive term than the so-called N-word, yet it does not offend me when used in dialogue whereby the speaker(s) make their dastardly nature apparent.

A few questions about the well-described setting:
Is there a moon? Is there fog?

Minor nits:

Headlights off, three large cars glide through the muggy Louisiana night like nocturnal predators.
I don't care for the 'nocturnal predators' bit. I think it foretells too much, plus the overall style of the narration has an impartial air, just giving the reader the facts. Appropriately so; the topic is presented in a clear enough fashion as to make inferences by the narrator unnecessary. Similar reservations with regard to the star being 'angry', especially on the first such description.

No dogs bark..."
I didn't understand whether there simply are no dogs, or if even the dogs are afraid of the police.

On one side of the street a derelict chicken coop, several rusting cars, and a weed-choked baseball field occupy an otherwise vacant lot.
This sentence read just a bit awkward for me. I think it was the length of the compound subject. By the time I got to the verb, I had to back up and reread.

Three small frame houses perch on the other side as if ready to flee at the slightest noise.
The word "perch" led me to picture a lofty place, but the rest of the description had me envisioning something closer to a swamp.

...I’m taking you to Pinefield, to jail.
The trailing "to jail" stuck me as false. I don't see the sheriff adding that. No biggie if the reader needs the info, but I don't think that's the case here. I can guess from the context that the sheriff is taking Amos to jail.

The Sheriff steps away, pulls his revolver back out and uses it to motion for another white man to join them
I have a hard time imagining the sheriff would really do this. It seems like just an excuse to put the gun back in the sheriff's hand so he can hit Amos with it. I have no problem if the sheriff bothers to pull the gun back out of his holster and then hits Amos with it. This act would have a premeditated feel and would therefore be even more loathsome, if that is possible.

... as the hand, and the revolver it holds ...
perhaps fist instead of hand?

Least of all no dried-up, crazy old white woman like Mrs. Myrtis.
Given his rapid acquiescence, it seems Amos must know what the response of 'White Authority' will be to this line. Though I can see Amos's anger, if that is what this line is meant to convey, I think it's more effective if the sheriff hits Amos for saying something less insulting about the presumably innocent Mrs. Myrtis.

A scream comes from inside the house as he staggers and then falls to his knees.
This might have just a smidge more impact with 'Amos' instead of 'he'.

The prisoner is pulled to his feet
Is this passive by intent? If so, I don't understand why.

Once assured it’s another Klan job well done
Do Jack and Delmar think it's a 'Klan job well done' or just a 'job well done'?

It was another turbulent evening in the spring of ’68
I might have liked this just a bit better:
It was just another evening in the spring of '68.

Considering how good this piece is, the preceding notes are minor indeed.

I don't see this as a real story itself, but it is an excellent scene. Completely believable. Great names too. That Bernice is a widow is as haunting as it is subtle. I like this very much as a mood-setting opening to a longer work. I want to know why the sheriff is upset with Amos, and what happens to Amos after he is arrested. I would start reading the rest of the story comfortable you'd eventually tell me these things, especially as you at once introduce a relative of Jack. Great job of giving me a lot of questions I want answered. So do I have to wait for the printed book to get the answers?

I admire not only that you choose to write about such a delicate topic, but that you do so with a finesse and accuracy that would make it look easy- if I didn't know better.

Take Care,
Penny

 

[hmmnmm]

I post this with great hesitation.
My fingers even tremble over the keys.
I do not feel qualified to offer critique to such incredibly vivid narrative.
If I show someone a few pictures of a place I have been and they look through them and say, "I feel like I've been there" then that's about the best compliment I can hear.
And reading this piece I felt as though I was There.
I am not going to dissect this - I read through it once and am typing my first impressions from that first quick read.
If the Lit Officials were to pick up that gun from the words in the story and point it to my head and say that I had to offer a criticism, I can only think of one, and one easily fixed - if it needs fixed at all, and that would be some of the dialogue.
There was the point where they had the guy outside and telling where they were taking him. I don't know - I will not say how, but I would put some thought into that very crucial point - you could maybe even strike the Where - unless the Where is a crucial matter, which, at the last paragraph it seems to be.
Another place... okay, I'll go look... oh, informing Amos why he is being arrested. Almost too informative, or something. I do not feel comfortable saying How to adjust this. A little stiff or something. It might do just fine with less dialogue and the way you describe things, you could describe or tell what is said.
Hell, other than that - Subjectively speaking, I love and admire those scene-setting descriptives with which you begin.
Sounds like a necessarily brutal tale.
This is my first review - sorry if this is not in-depth enough.

 

[hmmnmm]

Ah, I see how this can be beautiful - before I did not read Penelope's words because I wished to give my very first impressions - but it was the descriptive of the vacant lot that I really liked. I kicked myself for not mentioning that specific example.
Just opinion, just a feel.

 

[angelicminx]

I was very kindly asked to post the PM that I sent, so here I am.

PM:

Bear with me, here goes.

The main thing that stuck out for me was the dialect. It's inconsistent.

Drop the "g" on all of the words (adding to PM: ending in "ing") spoken by the characters.

"I'm a'comin'. Just (Jes' ?) let me gets my pants (would he say pants or britches?) on." There are more loud whispers. Someone peers out from behind the curtains of a front window. Then (change to "A moment later" for better flow?) the door opens a few inches and a black face with wary eyes looks out

“What’s ya wanna talk about ( 'bout) , Sheriff? I ain’t done nothin’.”

“A what? Sheriff, I ain’t been looking into no white woman’s window (winda or something to that effect) .”

The prisoner is pulled to his feet, then dragged off the porch and tossed into the back of the deputy’s car. With sirens on and lights still flashing, the three large cars with the words Kisatche Parish Sheriff’s Department and an angry, ornate star on each front door (this seems to be unnecessary repetition, unless there is a purpose that i missed?) swing around and leave. As they drive past the dark pick-up truck, everyone but the prisoner waves at the two men sitting inside.

Overall I think it's a wonderful opening and I can't wait to read the book. The scene was drawn very well for me, without being too wordy.

Thanks! ~Minx

 

[Rumple Foreskin]

Minx, glad you posted your critique. It's a good one and maybe some of the other folks will add their thoughts on dialect.

Hmmm, tremble not. You did a good job. Reading crits of the same story by other writers is a great way to gain perspective.

Penny, thanks for the suggestions and kind words. You're a gold standard critique writer.

Well folks, let me tell you, it's like this, today I've been rode hard and put up wet. Tomorrow, I should have time to get into some of the nuts and bolts stuff. Besides, maybe a few more scribs will have tossed crits my way by then. Whether any do or not, you three have given me good stuff to cogitate on.

Many thanks.

Rumple

 

[wishfulthinking]

This is a real credit to you. Congratulations

Everyone seems to have done an excellent job with suggestions, so I'll add my 2c worth.

Dialogue was a problem for me, but it was mostly in relation to the sherriffs. It seemed a case of "this is how it is, you're going to jail." There was no sense of intimidation that was coming across to me. It just seemed a little easy [ok don't know anything about this era ], I would have thought people who enjoyed using their power would play with him a little more.

Eg. “Nigger, you’re talking about my wife’s aunt. Now it looks like we’re gonna have to add a charge of resisting arrest.”

"Well now, you happen to be talking about my wife's aunt, nigger boy. I've a mind to add resisting arrest. What say you [other police's officer], you think this here niggers resisting arrest?"

Also, they didn't say when he committed the offences [probably intentional], but it could add a bit more, and the prisoner can offer an excuse [perhaps taking classess to learn to write so he can get a job to support his family only kidding]

I also didn't get a sense of the police - beyond being white. Was the deputy [?] new on the job and simply following orders and scared of the sherriff / hated niggers because his mother used to fuck one / general all round racist pig.

Also, we get his fear - but what about those in the house? Is there a baby crying and a mother trying to shush - and the prisoner is praying they only bash him and leave his house and family alone? Are neigbours [ok vacant block] pulling down shutters? Is sweat trickling down his forehead, and is this assumed to be a sign of guilt by the police?

But these are really nit picky things. What you have is wonderful

 

[Rumple Foreskin]

These first four critiques have all been helpful. I appreciate your time and thoughts. Even the suggestions I probably won’t take, have been valid alternatives and helped me see the story with a fresh perspective. I’m including responses to some of the points made in the critiques. Not to argue, but to explain my thinking (such as it is). Please don’t hesitate to add anything you like to this.

Rumple Foreskin

--

Penny

A few questions about the well-described setting:
Is there a moon? Is there fog?

RF: I mentioned it was a muggy night and there were no streetlights. I was worried that adding any more to such a short piece would give too much emphasis to atmospheric conditions which aren’t essential. Any thoughts?

--

Minor nits:

"Headlights off, three large cars glide through the muggy Louisiana night like nocturnal predators."
I don't care for the 'nocturnal predators' bit. I think it foretells too much, plus the overall style of the narration has an impartial air, just giving the reader the facts. Appropriately so; the topic is presented in a clear enough fashion as to make inferences by the narrator unnecessary. Similar reservations with regard to the star being 'angry', especially on the first such description.

RF: I follow your logic. It’s one of the reasons I stuck those items in the first paragraph. Don’t know if I’ll change them, but I will give it some thought.

--

"No dogs bark..."
I didn't understand whether there simply are no dogs, or if even the dogs are afraid of the police.

RF: The latter. The line is pure atmosphere. Odds are at least one dumb little terrier would be barking. But I wanted to emphasis the fear factor.

--

"On one side of the street a derelict chicken coop, several rusting cars, and a weed-choked baseball field occupy an otherwise vacant lot."
This sentence read just a bit awkward for me. I think it was the length of the compound subject. By the time I got to the verb, I had to back up and reread.

Three small frame houses perch on the other side as if ready to flee at the slightest noise.
The word "perch" led me to picture a lofty place, but the rest of the description had me envisioning something closer to a swamp.

RF: I was hoping to give the impression that, like their occupants, the buildings were frightened and insubstantial.

--

"...I’m taking you to Pinefield, to jail."
The trailing "to jail" stuck me a false. I don't see the sheriff adding that. No biggie if the reader needs the info, but I don't think that's the case here. I can guess from the context that the sheriff is taking Amos to jail.

RF: Hmmmm made the same point. This is my reply: Giving the destination isn’t the high point of the story, but it is needed. My only alibi is that the jail is located in a different town and in his finite wisdom, the sheriff decides to make sure there’s no doubt why Amos is being taken to that town.

--

"The Sheriff steps away, pulls his revolver back out and uses it to motion for another white man to join them."
I have a hard time imagining the sheriff would really do this. It seems like just an excuse to put the gun back in the sheriff's hand so he can hit Amos with it. I have no problem if the sheriff bothers to pull the gun back out of his holster and then hits Amos with it. This act would have a premeditated feel and would therefore be even more loathsome, if that is possible.

RF: Well, sure, that was the real reason. However, the sheriff is a bully and likes to show-off his fancy side-arm.

--

"... as the hand, and the revolver it holds ..."
perhaps fist instead of hand?

RF: Good idea. Will do.

--

"Least of all no dried-up, crazy old white woman like Mrs. Myrtis."
Given his rapid acquiescence, it seems Amos must know what the response of 'White Authority' will be to this line. Though I can see Amos's anger, if that is what this line is meant to convey, I think it's more effective if the sheriff hits Amos for saying something less insulting about the presumably innocent Mrs. Myrtis.

RF: Amos isn’t the brightest bulb on the front porch of life. For him, the idea he’d “peep” into the window of the sheriff’s old, nutty aunt is so off-the-wall, he loses his normal caution.

--

"Once assured it’s another Klan job well done"
Do Jack and Delmar think it's a 'Klan job well done' or just a 'job well done'? inefficient

RF: In their opinion, the cross they’ve just ignited represents a job well done by them in their capacity as leaders of the local Ku Klux Klan.

--

Great job of giving me a lot of questions I want answered. So do I have to wait for the printed book to get the answers?

RF: I wish. I’ve had several NY agents look at the manuscript but all have said, no thanks. My writing aside, a coming-of-age love story told against the background of racism in the south of 1968 doesn’t seem to be a hot publishing commodity.

Thanks Penny

==

hmmmm

If the Lit Officials were to pick up that gun from the words in the story and point it to my head and say that I had to offer a criticism…that would be some of the dialogue.

There was the point where they had the guy outside and telling where they were taking him. I don't know - I will not say how, but I would put some thought into that very crucial point - you could maybe even strike the Where - unless the Where is a crucial matter, which, at the last paragraph it seems to be.

Another place... okay, I'll go look... oh, informing Amos why he is being arrested. Almost too informative, or something. I do not feel comfortable saying How to adjust this. A little stiff or something. It might do just fine with less dialogue and the way you describe things, you could describe or tell what is said.

RF: I'll admit, giving the destination isn’t the literary high point of the story, but it is needed. My only alibi is that the jail is located in a different town and in his finite wisdom, the sheriff decides to make sure there’s no doubt why Amos is being taken to that town.

I’ve got a hunch at least part of your problem with the dialogue relates to what Wishful mentioned, not enough intimidation. Let me know if I’m off frequency on this.

Thanks Hmmmm.

==

Minx

The main thing that stuck out for me was the dialect. It's inconsistent.

Drop the "g" on all of the words (adding to PM: ending in "ing") spoken by the characters.

"I'm a'comin'. Just (Jes' ?) let me gets my pants (would he say pants or britches?) on." There are more loud whispers. Someone peers out from behind the curtains of a front window. Then (change to "A moment later" for better flow?) the door opens a few inches and a black face with wary eyes looks out

“What’s ya wanna talk about ( 'bout) , Sheriff? I ain’t done nothin’.”

“A what? Sheriff, I ain’t been looking into no white woman’s window (winda or something to that effect) .”

RF:

There are, to the best of my limited knowledge, two primary thoughts on handling dialect. One is to keep the dialect as accurate as possible. The other is to use just enough dialect to give the reader the impression you want of the character.

I decided to use limited dialect. Some folks claim to get tired of reading “y’all” and “ah’m” all the time. HOWEVER, I do think the first word of a sentence is, if appropriate, a good one to give in dialect. So I’m going to change “Just let me gets…” to Jes let me gets…”

Another tricky thing with dialect is the shading needed to account for things such as social standing, background and education. While Amos is poor and under-educated, one of the novel’s primary characters is a college student who’s the son of a black minister and a school teacher. His diction is very close to standard.

Any thoughts?

--

The prisoner is pulled to his feet, then dragged off the porch and tossed into the back of the deputy’s car. With sirens on and lights still flashing, the three large cars with the words Kisatche Parish Sheriff’s Department and an angry, ornate star on each front door (this seems to be unnecessary repetition, unless there is a purpose that i missed?) swing around and leave. As they drive past the dark pick-up truck, everyone but the prisoner waves at the two men sitting inside.

RF: It is repetitious. It’s a stylistic device to tie the end back to the beginning. Now the problem is will it help impart the desired mood to “normal” readers or will they also think it’s just repeating an earlier phrase? Tough call.

Thanks Minx.

==

wishfulthinking

Dialogue was a problem for me, but it was mostly in relation to the sherriffs. It seemed a case of "this is how it is, you're going to jail." There was no sense of intimidation that was coming across to me. It just seemed a little easy [ok don't know anything about this era ], I would have thought people who enjoyed using their power would play with him a little more.

Eg. “Nigger, you’re talking about my wife’s aunt. Now it looks like we’re gonna have to add a charge of resisting arrest.”

"Well now, you happen to be talking about my wife's aunt, nigger boy. I've a mind to add resisting arrest. What say you [other police's officer], you think this here niggers resisting arrest?"

RF: You’ve got a good point and a valid alternative. I’ll give a serious look at adding a little more overt intimidation to the sheriff’s dialogue.

--

Also, we get his fear - but what about those in the house? Is there a baby crying and a mother trying to shush - and the prisoner is praying they only bash him and leave his house and family alone? Are neigbours [ok vacant block] pulling down shutters? Is sweat trickling down his forehead, and is this assumed to be a sign of guilt by the police?

RF: If you get a chance, glance back over the story with the above paragraph in mind. Here are some hints I included about that issue. Let me know if you think they need to be more blatant:

--From inside comes the sound of frightened whispers and scurrying feet.

--There are more loud whispers. Someone peers out from behind the curtains of a front window.

--A scream comes from inside the house as he staggers and then falls to his knees.

--It stops across from the third house, the one with the front door still open. Inside, a black widow-lady named Bernice Little is alone and crying for her son.

Thanks Wishful.

 

[hmmnmm]

What about just something like, "You're goin' to Pinefield, boy."
just a suggestion.

 

[angelicminx]

Ok, my thoughts...

Changing "Just" to "Jes" seems to be enough. I read it through once more with that change and didn't get the same feeling.

The repetition only caught my attention when trying to analyze on the third read-through. I read it the first time for sheer entertainment value (which is where the dialect initially struck me as off). For the purpose you mentioned the repetition worked beautifully.

As to the Sherriff telling Amos, “I told you to shut up. Now stick out your hands. I’m taking you to Pinefield, to jail.” This strikes me as character appropriate. Sherriff Tobias is a small-town, redneck cop. He's full of his own power and he's talking to a "nigger". IMO, he would assume Amos was ignorant and would need to have it spelled out for him.

 

[Softouch911]

What a powerful beginning! I can't get enough of this kind of story and the prologue has to be vivid, memorable, and emotionally gripping. I think this works.

Since you asked:

I decided to use limited dialect. Some folks claim to get tired of reading “y’all” and “ah’m” all the time. HOWEVER, I do think the first word of a sentence is, if appropriate, a good one to give in dialect. So I’m going to change “Just let me gets…” to Jes let me gets…”

This is the approach I'm most comfortable with myself, so I surely agree with your decision. Way back in the 19th C. "realist" writers such as Joel Chandler Harris ('Uncle Remus') experimented with exact recording of dialect (far more extreme than anything suggested by wishful thinking!) and it is excrusiating to read. With limited dialect you may not be truly authentic, but you have guaranteed you are still clear.

I won't repeat much in the way of specific observations as I found myself agreeing with a lot of what Penny said.

My following is not to suggest I recognize a weakness, but I'm offering some ideas that, if you haven't thought about them, may be helpful. We'd all like to set those agents back on their heels!

It seems to me that you have decided a prologue like this needs to be kept spare and tight. So far, so good. The characters, setting, and violence all reflect tension. With that in mind,

I wonder if some of the introductory comments aren't more decorative than helpful to the effect you want, and if the story might not be sharper if these sections were tightened. Whaddya think about this approach:

"Headlights off, three large cars glide through the muggy Louisiana night. From the dark cab of a pick-up truck, two men watch.

"The cars turn right onto a dead-end street with no lights and halt in front of the third house. No dogs bark as uniformed white men begin getting out. One circles behind the dark house. The others set up a cordon around the front and sides."

Yes, I"ve cut out important info. Most of it is repeated throughout the passage more indirectly ... and the ominous action has become the only focus for the reader. I see no reason to continue this sort of action-heavy surgery from this point on, however.

Following this, you might also (in your last para.) simply ignore the victims and principals in the event. Instead of saying "It was another turbulent evening in the spring of ’68." you could distance it with a 'there.' "There were many turbulent evenings in the spring of '68." A minor change, I know, but in context I think it does something nice to your 'frame.'

Again, I'm not saying any of these ideas are 'corrective,' but only that they may throw your intial story objectives into high relief. Or not .... depending on how you read it and where it is going.

Good luck with your very ambitious idea -- I hope it gets picked up soon!

Softie, recalling it all again

 

[Rumple Foreskin]

Thanks, Softie. Some good suggestions. I believe Penny had similar thoughts about the opening. You might want to glance over her crit.

While Amos and the sheriff never appear again in person, this incident is background for events in the rest of the story. My goal was to make readers just a tad (great southern term) uncomfortable, then switch the style and move the story to a college age guy at a dance.

Thanks again for your time and thoughts.

Rumple

 

[Virtual_Burlesque]

Rumple,


I’m going to give the SDC another try, now that it is moderated.

I like your story, both as a short story and as an opening to a novel. I only question the decision behind your statement that the reader never hears from Amos or the Sheriff again.

Let me remind you of the old screenwriter’s axiom, which says that if you show the audience a gun in the first reel, you must have someone use the gun before the end of the final reel.

This seems to me a similar case. If you cut from an ugly little scene like that to Mark Cahill thinking “Everything would be perfect if only. . . .” that would make a great contrast, and add depth and atmosphere to your story.

But if you show a scene like that at the beginning of a much lighter story, and never get back to it, I believe your readers might be justifiably upset with you. Why put a scene like that in a story like this, if not to continue the contrast?

I do not mean that you need to concentrate much time to Amos’s fate, or that Mark Cahill needs to interact with Amos, or the Sheriff. Bits and pieces could be worked into the atmospheric dialogue informing the reader from time to time how Amos is faring

I would at least reconsider that decision.



. . . one side of the street a derelict chicken coop, several rusting cars, and a weed-choked baseball field occupy an otherwise vacant lot.

Three small frame houses perch on the other side as if ready to flee . . .

I had a bit of a problem with this line, too. Not so much with the imagery, as with the language.
Perhaps it is only the way my mind malfunctions, but when houses perch that close to the mention of a chicken coop, derelict or otherwise, my funnybone is tweaked.



On the other hand:

. . . No dogs bark as uniformed white men begin getting out. . . really worked for me.

Like these are people so awful even dogs know better than to bark at them! Without actually leaving a literal plane, it added a macabre nuance for those who read it properly.

Obviously, not everyone read it as I did, nor as you intended, and I don’t know how you could clarify that, but for me it worked as effective foreshadowing of the characters of the Sheriff and his men, instead of relying upon a (white sheriff = villain) stereotype response cue.




All of the previous critics have gone over your story in greater detail, and with more authority.

What I don’t believe anybody else has mentioned, is this:

. . . With his first blow, blue and red lights start flashing on top of the cars.. . . .

That struck me as wrong.

What blue light?

Of course, all I know of your setting and that era comes from movies set in that period, so I had to do a bit of googling.

I learned that the red/white/blue bar lights across police cruisers were developed in the 70s and 80s. At the time your story is set, police cars were equipped with revolving red gumball machines or party hats.

You can check my research at The Evolution of Police Lights.



If my facts on police lights are erroneous, please remember where I was — or wasn’t — in 1968.

 

[Rumple Foreskin]

VB,

First of all, bless you for catching that anachronism. I'd have bet good yankee money blue lights were being used in the late '60's. I'm not going to double-check you, just delete "blue" from the text.

--

VB: Perhaps it is only the way my mind malfunctions, but when houses perch that close to the mention of a chicken coop, derelict or otherwise, my funnybone is tweaked.

RF: Odds are you're right about your mind. But Penny had some problem with that same passage so, if nothing else, the poor chicken coop is probably doomed to becoming a shack.

--

This may be more than you'd ever want to know, but let me try to clarify the roles of Amos and the sheriff in the story. While they have no more on-stage speaking roles in the novel, they are referred to often and their presence permeates the entire novel. This incident and its aftermath symbolizes the local race problem. When Amos is sprung from jail about 80,000 words later, it triggers the story's climax.

Here's a bit of conversation that may explain some of this. It occurs in the sixth chapter. Mark, Amy, Willie, and Bob, four long-time friends, are home from college for the summer. Mark and Amy are major characters. They, along with Willie, who is black, are life-long friends. Bob was in jr. high when his family moved to town. It's late evening and they're sitting on a dark porch. The subject of the arrest has come up.

“Okay, some of this you may already know, some maybe not,” began Mark, turning to face Bob’s dim outline. “I don’t have the whole story myself. But here’s a quick down and dirty on what I picked up today. I guess you’ve heard the local heartburn level is going way up over the Fed’s big push on school integration and the new voter registration campaign Willie’s father is running out of their church.”

Bob nodded, then realized the gesture might be missed in the dark. “Willie and I have talked about it.”

“Well, a black guy in Sandtown was arrested last night for being a Peeping Tom. He’s supposed to have been looking in the bathroom window of some old white lady in Rollins. Of course, my weird uncle is defending him.”

“Which explains why you’re Mr. Know-it-all,” said Amy.

“Correct,” said Mark, unfazed by the comment. “Anyway, what makes things ticklish is the white woman is a certified nut case, but she’s also some sort of relative of our illustrious sheriff, Odell ‘Dumbass’ Tobias. It seems the guy they arrested is no prize, but according to Uncle Frank, odds are he’s innocent. The real problem is, he does delivery work in Sandtown for Reverend Carter’s first born, Malcolm.”

Bob leaned toward Willie. “We’re talking about your half-brother Malcolm, right?”

“Uh huh. His mother was killed in the car wreck that crippled Poppa.”

“And, can I ask what this guy in Sandtown delivers for your brother?”

“Well, you know Malcolm has a catering business. It does okay, but it’s just a cover. His real money comes from bootlegging. Most of his customers are black folks who can’t drive to Hawthorn. This guy, his name is Amos Little, took orders and made a lot of the deliveries in Sandtown.”

“Ah, so,” said Bob.

No one spoke for a minute, then Willie continued. “When Poppa learned Malcolm was a bootlegger, he threw him out of the house. Now days they never see each other except at church. Malcolm makes sure to shake Poppa’s hand on the way out and he always asks about me and my mother, but all he gets is a nod. No one in the family will talk to him except me.”

There was another pause, and then Mark picked up the conversation. “Nailing Malcolm’s business associate as a Peeping Tom is near and dear to the heart of our beloved sheriff. He figures it’d make him a hero in that big, in-bred family of his. As a bonus, it might also embarrass Reverend Carter and hurt the voter registration drive. Of course that would make all the local sheet heads happy. And with all that going his way, even a single digit IQ red-neck like Tobias might get re-elected.”

“Son-of-a-bitch,” said Bob.

I'm glad you decided to give the SDC another try, VB. It's been a very helpful decision for me. Thanks.

Rumple

 

[Penelope Street]

Wow, great catch on the blue lights! How does one know a thing like that? Now that I think about those lights coming on all at once, this means one officer remains with each car. I guess that's ok, since we never know how many of them there are.

I like limited dialect; trying to figure out what every fourth word of dialogue is can get old.

Regarding the fog and the moon, I think the decision to keep the piece lean a good one. It works as it is. Doesn't matter if there's a moon or fog, really. I pictured it moonless with a haze, btw.

I think the intimidation Wishful didn't see, and wanted to see, was the 'White Authority' that was an integral part of southern society forty years ago. This would be difficult to grasp for someone growing up two generations and half a world removed from that society. I think it realistic in an unpleasant way that Amos doesn't resist, that he understands the Constitution applies to him in word only. I picture the cops are part of a classic 'good old boy' system, one in which racism runs so deep that no one even thinks about it, let alone question it- and no one else better question it either.

I like Hmmnmm's idea about the sheriff not answering Amos's questions. What about when Amos asks what the charge is, the sheriff tells him to shut up and then hits him? This way the bit about putting the gun away and taking it out (still weak, imo) is avoided, plus Amos gets hit for asking a reasonable question, instead of making an unkind comment. A think that's a tad better - not that the comment justifies a beating.

My vote is to leave the chicken coop. It's the word "perch" as applied to the houses that derails my read. These houses are the kind on blocks, or posts- without foundations, right? Maybe "rest" instead, implying that they are hardly permanent.

fwiw, I also pictured more persons in the third house, even some children, until the line near the end where Bernice is identified as the lone occupant.

Great idea, however unrealistic, that the dogs slink under the porch as soon as the police cars turn into the lane. "None of the dogs bark..." is almost as lean as "No dogs bark..." and removes all doubt regarding the presence of cowering canines.

As for the redundant police information (e.g., the star) at the beginning and the end; usually, I don't care for repetition, but I like it in this case. If I was to remove either instance of the police car insignia reference, I would remove the first one. The trailing one serves as a poignant little reminder, "Hello? In case anyone forgot- these are the cops! They have a U.S flag on sewn on their shoulder. They're supposed to be the good guys."

I didn't read the blurb from later in the story- I'd rather not ruin it if I ever get a chance to read the full text. I never doubted we'd eventually learn what happened to Amos, even if we never saw him again.

Take Care,
Penny

 

[dr_mabeuse]

I love that image of the houses looking as if they’re ready to flee. That just says so much.

I like what you’re doing, a tight focus on the arrest, then pulling back to fill in the background and put the scene into context. That’s going to work beautifully, and it’s a very smart strategy, especially for telling a complicated story: switching focus between the general and the concrete. I actually think the scene is fine as it is, but let me see if I can tweak it a bit.

I assume that what you’re trying to show is the shocking and brutal arrest of an innocent black man by a bunch of racist, small town lawmen, who possibly have a lynching in mind. I say this because from my reading there might be some doubt as to Amos’ innocence. I’ll tell you why farther on.

Also, I ask your indulgence is this review is a bit muzzy, but I’d just like to kind of reel off some ideas about this scene. I know it’s odious to be told how another would write your stuff, and I apologize for that, but these are just ideas.

For this first scene to be really effective, I think you want try and convey the terror and confusion of being roused from sleep at some ungodly hour and bundled into the back seat of a racist’s squad car. The scene as written has a lot of menace, but to my mind it needs more fear and adrenalin.

Your instincts are dead on target. At the beginning you show us the story very cinematically, very objectively, and you let us figure out what’s going on by what we see and hear, and that’s slick. It puts us in the same boat as Amos, who also has no idea of what’s going on, and it draws us into the scene as witnesses. To preserve that feeling, I think I might even eliminate the mention of the markings on the sheriff’s car (although I do like the mention of the star and the way you bring it back at the end). It becomes obvious enough once the action starts that he’s the law. I think maybe you telegraph things a bit when you tell us that the cars formed a “cordon” too rather than saying they pulled up to the sides of the house. And part way through you go into passive voice. (…a scream comes from the house.” “The prisoner is pulled to his feet….”) which takes me out of the scene and distances me from the action.

Personally, I think I’d even extend the movie-like approach to this scene. Rather than telling us that the sheriff is a large, beefy man with cowboy boots and hat, I’ talk about the heels of his cowboy boots banging on the hollow porch, and have him lift his Stetson to wipe the sweat from his brow.

Sweat, yeah. I’m a weather freak. This is the South at night and I assume it’s hot and close and humid. I assume the sheriff has a big wet patch on the back of his shirt and under his arms. When the cars pull up, I bet there are bugs in the beams of their headlights too, always an ominous symbol to me.

In a middle-of-the-night bust like this, the cops rely on bewilderment and confusion to get you into the cuffs, which is their number one goal. You’ve got the pounding on the door right, but I think your sheriff is too polite, and Amos’ responses too reasonable and wide awake. I don’t know if this was intentional or not. You may be suggesting that Amos was already awake and dressed and maybe even waiting for them, and that’s why I said I wasn’t entirely convinced that he was innocent. He got dressed awfully fast. If I were writing this, I’d have him come to the door in his shorts, all sleepy and straight out of his warm bed, unable to put two logical thoughts together. I’d have the cops push the door open as soon as he’s unlatched it and barge into his house, guns drawn. There’d be lights in his face, white strangers in his house, guns drawn. He’d be shoved about and not be given a chance to get his wits about him.

As I said, priority number one is to get him cuffed before he can make trouble. They’d certainly cuff his hands behind his back and not in front where he could still use them, and that gives you the very powerful image of a man roused from sleep standing bewildered and handcuffed in his underwear in the kitchen of his own home. He doesn’t know what’s going on and neither do we, but we feel outraged. Amos’ story becomes our own.

I think Amos’ protests would be limited to “What is this? What’s going on? What do you want with me?”

Because Amos is half asleep and scared out of his wits, I think his impressions would be very fragmentary and disconnected too, and that can be used to ramp up the emotion of the scene. What does he see? He sees the beefy white men, the sweaty necks, the gleam of the sheriff’s badge and the blinding light from their flashlights, the terrifying strobe of the red police flasher in his windows. I really like your image of the sheriff’s hand flickering as it comes down on Amos’ head, but again, it takes us out of Amos’ experience of the scene and draws the focus back. Maybe it would be better if he saw the dull glitter of the gun barrel and then felt it slam into the side of his head. You know the way you kind of taste blood in the back of your throat when you’ve been hit in the head? That kind of thing. That would be the end of Amos’ perceptions. Then we’d switch back to an objective view of the men dragging him off.

I’d also like to see a caesura (fancy, huh?) or pause between the exit of the sheriff’s car and the truck’s leaving. I’d like to see the sheriff’s headlights disappear and then wait till we hear the crickets start up in the silence. That writes finis to Amos and shows the indifference of the men in the pick-up. As they get in the truck and slam the doors and drive away, they might hear Mama calling for Amos as she realizes he’s gone. (Okay, maybe that’s too corny. But what happens to Mama?)

The men struggle to get the thing out of the pickup. They might even swear. (“Hold the thing up straight, goddamn it!”, “Shit, the fucker’s heavy!” Nice irony as they handle a cross.)

In any case, I think this cross-burning scene deserves a little more weight. It’s such a powerful symbol, and I have to think that the men would stop at the crossroads and really enjoy their handiwork.

Unless you really need, it, the mention of the Klan at the end isn’t necessary. I think we all know who burns crosses on people’s lawn.

Anyhow, Rumple, excuse me for rambling. This looks to be a really powerful story. I think this scene needs to be really naked and intense, and I hope you can use something in what I’ve said.

Now to read the other comments.

---dr.M.

Edited to add: Oh, I see. The headlights were off from the start. Well, I'd still have their tires crunching on the weeds.

I also missed the sound of the car doors slamming in the night. Maybe it's just me, but that's also an ominous symbol, very final and full of portent. I'd like to hear the doors slamming on the pickup as they drive off.

 

[Virtual_Burlesque]

Rumple,

Your handling of the story is not unlike what I had in mind, except that I did not envision any actual connection between the two characters, like Mark’s lawyer uncle defending Amos. I was misled by your statement that we never see Amos and the Sheriff again, to mean they disappear completely. My error.



I would keep the chicken coop. From what little I know of rural crossroads settlements, chicken coops are endemic, and what else could there be? 1968 is too late for a stall for a horse, a mule, or a cow, with all those rusting cars it wouldn’t be a garage, and a toolshed would tend to indicate employment, which goes against the atmosphere I believe you are trying to create.

I would rather see you change the perch than lose the chicken coop.

Three small frame houses perch on the other side as if ready to flee at the slightest noise.

In place of perch try substituting squat, or huddle or (with only a slight change of emphasis) pause. Any word that does not contain an allusion to anything a chicken might do.



On further thought, and with Dr_M’s lead, I also believe the Sheriff is too polite.

I agree that he would hammer on the door and issue such threats that Amos would open the door before he was fully dressed. Also, that the door would be shoved in as soon as the latch is released.

Where I differ with Doc’s treatment, is that I don’t see the Sheriff going into Amos’ house, at least not longer than it takes to drag Amos out into the night, under the bright lights and the watching eyes of the Sheriff’s posse. (A couple deputies – whatever – could invade the house and start creating a racket, breaking things and scaring Amos’ family.)

Meanwhile, Amos would be outnumbered, in a semi-dressed state, being questioned by an authority figure with a gun, before a group of anonymous spectators.

That is the ideal state for controlling an interrogation – even if all that is going on is a bully showing off for his friends.

You could have Amos befuddled, or thoroughly awakened and trying to protest his innocence (I doubt that he would be making any demands–not even for information.) In any case, the Sheriff would never give him an opportunity to finish his response.

[Note: The Sheriff does not REALLY want information from Amos. He already has his facts and is not looking for – or accepting – Amos’ side of the story. As Box pointed out, the Sheriff’s motivation, beyond arresting Amos, is to humiliate him, and make sadistic sport of Amos, in front of his followers.]

If you decide to go with the Doc’s caesura (Shades of Eddie & The Cruisers!) the answer to Doc’s question about what happened to Mama could be that after stoically stanching her tears, she can be heard methodically righting the furniture and cleaning out the debris that the Sheriff’s hoods created when they trashed her house.



PS Penny,

I have absolutely no personal experience with the South – or any other direction – in 1968. I do have an eye for details in the movies, and have seen a number that were set in that era.

The downside is that I also find acceptable many of the anachronisms which, over the years, Hollywood has perpetrated upon an unsuspecting public.

It makes me shy away from writing in an historical setting.

 

[Rumple Foreskin]

Doctor Zoot,

Thanks for the kind words and the constructive crit. Your suggestions are always helpful. Here are responses to some of them.

Rumple

--.

And part way through you go into passive voice. (…a scream comes from the house.” “The prisoner is pulled to his feet….”) which takes me out of the scene and distances me from the action.

RF: I’M GOING TO LOOK AT THAT PASSIVE SWITCH, PENNY FUSSED ABOUT THE SAME THING. ALSO I’M GOING TO THINK ABOUT THE SUGGESTION YOU MADE IN THE PS: “Well, I'd still have their tires crunching on the weeds.”

--

Personally, I think I’d even extend the movie-like approach to this scene. Rather than telling us that the sheriff is a large, beefy man with cowboy boots and hat, I’d talk about the heels of his cowboy boots banging on the hollow porch, and have him lift his Stetson to wipe the sweat from his brow.

RF: ANOTHER SUGGESTION I’LL COGITATE ON.

--

Sweat, yeah. I’m a weather freak. This is the South at night and I assume it’s hot and close and humid. I assume the sheriff has a big wet patch on the back of his shirt and under his arms. When the cars pull up, I bet there are bugs in the beams of their headlights too, always an ominous symbol to me.

RF: SOUNDS GOOD

--

In a middle-of-the-night bust like this, the cops rely on bewilderment and confusion to get you into the cuffs, which is their number one goal. You’ve got the pounding on the door right, but I think your sheriff is too polite, and Amos’ responses too reasonable and wide awake. I don’t know if this was intentional or not. You may be suggesting that Amos was already awake and dressed and maybe even waiting for them, and that’s why I said I wasn’t entirely convinced that he was innocent. He got dressed awfully fast. If I were writing this, I’d have him come to the door in his shorts, all sleepy and straight out of his warm bed, unable to put two logical thoughts together. I’d have the cops push the door open as soon as he’s unlatched it and barge into his house, guns drawn. There’d be lights in his face, white strangers in his house, guns drawn. He’d be shoved about and not be given a chance to get his wits about him.

RF: GOOD SUGGESTIONS, BUT THE NEEDS OF THE NOVEL INTERFERE. IT’S NOT THAT LATE AND THE SHERIFF WANTS EVERYONE TO SEE HIM ARRESTING AMOS.

--

As I said, priority number one is to get him cuffed before he can make trouble. They’d certainly cuff his hands behind his back and not in front where he could still use them, and that gives you the very powerful image of a man roused from sleep standing bewildered and handcuffed in his underwear in the kitchen of his own home. He doesn’t know what’s going on and neither do we, but we feel outraged. Amos’ story becomes our own.

RF: GOOD POINT. I WAS TRYING TO KEEP IT BRIEF, BUT THE ADDED HELPLESSNESS JUSTIFIES THE ADDITION.

--

I think Amos’ protests would be limited to “What is this? What’s going on? What do you want with me?”

RF: I FOLLOW YOUR THINKING. HOWEVER, THIS IS A SMALL TOWN, RURAL SETTING. EVERYONE KNOWS EVERYONE ELSE.

--

I’d also like to see a caesura (fancy, huh?) (SHOW-OFF) or pause between the exit of the sheriff’s car and the truck’s leaving. I’d like to see the sheriff’s headlights disappear and then wait till we hear the crickets start up in the silence. That writes finis to Amos and shows the indifference of the men in the pick-up. As they get in the truck and slam the doors and drive away, they might hear Mama calling for Amos as she realizes he’s gone. (Okay, maybe that’s too corny. But what happens to Mama?)

RF: WATCH IT SMART-MOUTH, OR I’LL “CAESU-YOUR-RA” TO DA MAX. BUT DIRE THREATS AND CALUMNIES ASIDE, I’LL LOOK AT ADDING A LITTLE SPACE BETWEEN THE CARS LEAVING AND THE MEN CRANKING THEIR TRUCK. CAN’T MESS WITH MAMA, THOUGH, I LIKE THE TIMING OF HER CRYING.

--

The men struggle to get the thing out of the pickup. They might even swear. (“Hold the thing up straight, goddamn it!”, “Shit, the fucker’s heavy!” Nice irony as they handle a cross.)

RF: I RATHER NOT BREAK THE SILENCE AND KNOWING ME, I MIGHT EVEN ADDING A TOUCH OF HUMOR.

--

In any case, I think this cross-burning scene deserves a little more weight. It’s such a powerful symbol, and I have to think that the men would stop at the crossroads and really enjoy their handiwork.

RF: THEY DO.

--

Unless you really need, it, the mention of the Klan at the end isn’t necessary. I think we all know who burns crosses on people’s lawn.

RF: IT PROBABLY NEEDS TO STAY.

Thanks again, Doc. Don't hesitate to reply to my reponses (or vice versa) or add something else that comes to mind.

Rumple

 

[dr_mabeuse]

Wait a minute, Rumple. I'm kind of a sloppy reader, and I often misunderstand things that aren't crystal clear. I'm not quite clear on what happened to Momma and just who this Beatrice Little is. They're not the same person, are they?

 

[Rumple Foreskin]

Burley,

I really appreciate all the time and trouble you’ve put into this, not to mention your suggestions. Here are a couple responses. You might want to glance at the ones I gave Doc since they relate to several other points you raised.

Rumple

--

Your handling of the story is not unlike what I had in mind, except that I did not envision any actual connection between the two characters, like Mark’s lawyer uncle defending Amos. I was misled by your statement that we never see Amos and the Sheriff again, to mean they disappear completely. My error.

RF: SORRY ABOUT SCATTERING CONFUSION INSTEAD OF LIGHT ONTO YOUR PATH TO UNDERSTANDING. BUT, IF IT WASN’T FOR MIS-LEADING, I’D DO NO LEADING AT ALL.

--

I would keep the chicken coop. From what little I know of rural crossroads settlements, chicken coops are endemic, and what else could there be? 1968 is too late for a stall for a horse, a mule, or a cow, with all those rusting cars it wouldn’t be a garage, and a toolshed would tend to indicate employment, which goes against the atmosphere I believe you are trying to create.

I would rather see you change the perch than lose the chicken coop.

Three small frame houses perch on the other side as if ready to flee at the slightest noise.

In place of perch try substituting squat, or huddle or (with only a slight change of emphasis) pause. Any word that does not contain an allusion to anything a chicken might do.

RF: THIS RESPONSE MAY TAKE SOME TIME, SO I’M GOING OUT OF ALL-CAPS. You’re welcome.

“Perch” was supposed to indicate a precarious, threatened, maybe even temporary state of being. In the beginning, it also had some vague allusion to “nocturnal predators” back when that was, “nocturnal birds of prey.”

You probably won’t find this in most dictionaries, but for country folks, “perch” is what wild birds do when they’re moving about looking for food. “Roost” is what birds, including chickens, do at night. That, plus being generally slow-witted, is probably why I never picked up on the “perch – chicken coop” connection.

Of your suggested substitutes, “huddle” might work best although. To me, it doesn’t imply the same nervous readiness to flee, but it ain’t bad. Thanks.

 

[Penelope Street]

Fussing was I?

I always thought Beatrice was Amos's mother. There's no one else there, right?

Great point about the quick-cuff strategy likely to be employed by the police. Seems so obvious now that Doc's pointed it out, but I never even thought about it. Guess I've always been a slow-cuff person myself.

I don't follow the logic of this:
IT’S NOT THAT LATE AND THE SHERIFF WANTS EVERYONE TO SEE HIM ARRESTING AMOS.

If that's what the sheriff wants, why doesn't he arrest Amos at noon? Plus I don't see how the cops dragging Amos out of the house already cuffed in his underwear is any less of a public spectacle than cuffing him on the porch.

Take Care,
Penny

 

[Rumple Foreskin]

Wait a minute, Rumple. I'm kind of a sloppy reader, and I often misunderstand things that aren't crystal clear. I'm not quite clear on what happened to Momma and just who this Beatrice Little is. They're not the same person, are they?

One and the same, Doc. Here are the key parts.

“You don’t hafta do that. My Momma’s in here. You already done scared her ‘bout half to death.”

The Sheriff steps away, pulls his revolver back out and uses it to motion for another white man to join them. Then he glares at his prisoner. “You’re a goddamn pervert—you know that, boy? We got an eyewitness who saw you looking into the bathroom window of a white, widow-lady named Myrtis Oglesby. AMOS LITTLE, you’re under arrest as a Peeping Tom.”

Once the cars are out of sight, the truck moves down the now deserted street. It stops across from the third house, the one with the front door still open. Inside, a black widow-lady named BERNICE LITTLE is alone and crying for her son. The men get out, lift something from the bed of the truck, and then lug it into the vacant lot.

Do you think I need to making that clearer or did you just skip a groove?

--

This is the passive line that bugged you and Penny.

The prisoner is pulled to his feet, then dragged off the porch and tossed into the back of the deputy’s car.

This is a possible replacement. Any thoughts?

Another deputy joins the first. They pull the prisoner to his feet, drag him off the porch, and shove him into the back of the lead car.

Rumple

 

[Rumple Foreskin]

I always thought Beatrice was Amos's mother. There's no one else there, right?

Great point about the quick-cuff strategy likely to be employed by the police. Seems so obvious now that Doc's pointed it out, but I never even thought about it. Guess I've always been a slow-cuff person myself.

RF: Maybe Doc's had more experience with cops than good folks like you and me, Penny.

I don't follow the logic of this:
IT’S NOT THAT LATE AND THE SHERIFF WANTS EVERYONE TO SEE HIM ARRESTING AMOS.

If that's what the sheriff wants, why doesn't he arrest Amos at noon? Plus I don't see how the cops dragging Amos out of the house already cuffed in his underwear is any less of a public spectacle than cuffing him on the porch.

RF: In a similar vein, why use all those cars and deputies to arrest a peeping tom? Why not send a young deputy inside to pull Amos out so the Sheriff could arrest him? There are several logical variations.

Answers: If all he wanted was to arrest Amos, the sheriff could have either had him picked him up the next day or just passed the word for him to come by the courthouse. The alleged peeping tom incident happened earlier that evening. As the excerpt from chapter six semi-explains, the sheriff is under pressure from his family and the Klan to arrest Amos quickly and make a big deal out it. Later in the book, the reader learns from klan backers that there was no peeping tom incident. They think it's funny.

--

On my latest reponse to Doc, I include a possible sub for that passive sentence that bugged you. It's a WIP, but if you get a chance, let me know what you think.

Rumple

 

[dr_mabeuse]

Here's my problem with Beatrice: I thought that the pick-up had pulled up to the house along with the sheriff's car and the others. Then I thought that the sheriff and his boys had left, leaving the pick-up standing outside Amos's house. When you told me that the pick-up then drove to the third house on the left or whatever, I assumed they had moved down the road, and burned the cross outside of someone else's house, the house of a woman named Beatrice Little.

That's why I wanted that caesura. I thought the two events - Amos's arrest and the burning of the cross - were two related but separate events, and that these good ol boys were on a general anti-black spree, evening scores in Sandtown.

I missed the fact that Amos' last name was Little, and the way you referred to his Momma in that last shot as "a black widow-lady named Beatrice Little" made it sound like you were introducing a new character. Apparently, I also missed the fact that the pick-up truck wasn't part of the posse.

That's why I asked what happened to Amos's Momma after his arrest. I didn't realize she was Beatrice.

I think you might have to make all that clearer. I just went back and checked, and you don't really say where the pick-up is during the arrest, only that the men inside watched the cars roll past. Then as the sherrif drives off, the men in the pick-up wave, which they might do if they were parked on Amos's property watching the arrest. And in the excitement of the bust, Amos's last name - not very remarkable anyhow - flew right by me unnoticed.

I also want to add something about this bust. I guess I'm so conditioned to expect the worst in this kind of situation that I just assumed this was going to be a near-lynching. I mean, fat white cop, poor black man, deep South, 1968, sex crime (or nearly): that all says lynching to me, and that's why I was looking for more rough stuff and brutality.

Now that I read your explanation, I understand that there's more to this arrest than I thought, and that it's not the stereotypical race-war bust. The sheriff is apparently doing a little showboating too. Is that right?

I wonder if anyone else made the same assumptions I did. Maybe the showboating has to be showboated a little more?

 

[Rumple Foreskin]

Doc,

I'm not trying to cop a plea, or even chicken coop one, but so far you're the only person to get those items confused. Sometimes a particular style can throw us for a loop. Maybe that's it or your sinuses are acting up or you're right. Strange I know, but it happens. I was right at least once last year, I think.

I could give the truck's precise location. Best I recall, at one time I'd done just that. But maybe a simpler solution would be to plant that pick-up. Check the end of the first paragraph and let me know it you think that helps.

Headlights off, three large cars glide through the muggy Louisiana night like nocturnal predators. Each front door brandishes an angry, ornate star and the words, Kisatche Parish Sheriff’s Department. In the dark cab of a pick-up truck, two men watch THEM ROLL PAST.

The cars turn right onto a dead-end street with no lights and no name in a nowhere place called Sandtown.

You mentioned earlier about how the sound of closing car doors seemed like a nice, ominous touch. I've been tinkering and came with with this.

Another deputy joins the first. They pull the prisoner to his feet, drag him off the porch, and shove him into the back of the lead car. There’s a ragged volley of closing doors. With sirens on and lights still flashing, the three large cars with the words Kisatche Parish Sheriff’s Department and an angry, ornate star on each front door swing around and leave. As they drive past the dark pick-up truck, everyone but the prisoner waves at the two men sitting inside.

Rumple