Hi there. I return with more words in your general directions.
OK, I've already said how much I loved this piece, so now on to the edits. I go paragraph by paragraph.
The first two paragraphs before the divider were very innocuous and subtle. I love the undertone that they set for the rest of the piece. You established very quickly that he was a musician and that his wife had died. There was also an illusion of time that was fuzzy, with the fact that the Philharmonic seemed to have taken an inordinate amount of time to get back to him. I really like this opening. It was brilliant. Soft and yet, a powerful hook.
Then you took us to the day of the rehearsal. Oh, what a wonderful hint, the tie! He had lost some fine bodily-motoric capabilities. The poor George. And how he couldn't recognize his old friend, and how he kept baiting the conversation until he did remember. This was palpably done. Superb details, you.
And then you dropped the fact that his wife was Maxine. A devastating fact, Marion was his daughter and was still alive. The implications of the relationship between the father and daughter being ripped apart by his disease was beautifully alluded here. I enjoyed this part very much.
Then you came to one of the most beautiful part in the story, well, at least for me. I love it that music remains his one true form, still his bastion of sanity, of self. A mighty fortress amidst the encroaching fog of losing his identity. Just lovely. I wish he could stay there too, but well, of course he couldn't. And the taxi scene that followed was like a pull back to reality. He couldn't even remember his home address. Poor, poor George.
And the ending! Oh, such a fine play at the moments where George fell apart to pieces. Your handling of the climactic moment was very deft. The call from his daughter, and his indignancy that -he- above all, should know his own family! Oh, wrenching. Wrenching.
Poor daughter. Poor George.
One moment he could be there, very present, even coming up with the curse of Shostakovich, and the next, he was gone. Lost and eaten by his disease. I really enjoyed reading this, keppiehed. I have said it before, this is one of my favourite pieces of yours. Just beautiful work.
I'm sorry me edit is not very critical, but I hope you can get some use out of finding out which bits really touched me. I enjoyed reading your works very much. Hope to see more! <3
I can't tell you how much I send thanks for you taking the extra time to go back through and re-edit. I know that my piece fell through the cracks and was in that weird limbo space this week, so I thank you greatly for the favor. I would never turn away the huge words of praise you sent, either. I am glad that it touched you. Thank you so much for taking the time. It means a lot to hear from a fellow writer of your quality how much you liked it!
OK, I've already said how much I loved this piece, so now on to the edits. I go paragraph by paragraph.
The first two paragraphs before the divider were very innocuous and subtle. I love the undertone that they set for the rest of the piece. You established very quickly that he was a musician and that his wife had died. There was also an illusion of time that was fuzzy, with the fact that the Philharmonic seemed to have taken an inordinate amount of time to get back to him. I really like this opening. It was brilliant. Soft and yet, a powerful hook.
Then you took us to the day of the rehearsal. Oh, what a wonderful hint, the tie! He had lost some fine bodily-motoric capabilities. The poor George. And how he couldn't recognize his old friend, and how he kept baiting the conversation until he did remember. This was palpably done. Superb details, you.
And then you dropped the fact that his wife was Maxine. A devastating fact, Marion was his daughter and was still alive. The implications of the relationship between the father and daughter being ripped apart by his disease was beautifully alluded here. I enjoyed this part very much.
Then you came to one of the most beautiful part in the story, well, at least for me. I love it that music remains his one true form, still his bastion of sanity, of self. A mighty fortress amidst the encroaching fog of losing his identity. Just lovely. I wish he could stay there too, but well, of course he couldn't. And the taxi scene that followed was like a pull back to reality. He couldn't even remember his home address. Poor, poor George.
And the ending! Oh, such a fine play at the moments where George fell apart to pieces. Your handling of the climactic moment was very deft. The call from his daughter, and his indignancy that -he- above all, should know his own family! Oh, wrenching. Wrenching.
Poor daughter. Poor George.
One moment he could be there, very present, even coming up with the curse of Shostakovich, and the next, he was gone. Lost and eaten by his disease. I really enjoyed reading this, keppiehed. I have said it before, this is one of my favourite pieces of yours. Just beautiful work.
I'm sorry me edit is not very critical, but I hope you can get some use out of finding out which bits really touched me. I enjoyed reading your works very much. Hope to see more! <3
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