Friday, March 26, 2010

8. Ella's Dance

Ella stared at the white alabaster urn the funeral director had given her. It was hard to believe that Grandma had become nothing more than a pile of white ashes. She longed to feel her grandma's thick arms around her and to smell her sweet perfume that hung in the air like an August fog. How does a cream-puff-of-a-lady become a bag of brittle bones? she wondered.


  1. oh, I do like this. wonderful grandma arms. But confused a little at the cream-puff statement. from her thick arms, it felt like she was a substantial woman, not a cream-puff. Just my opinion! Love the august fog line. awesome.

  2. I think this is very strong. Not sure where we are going from here, but I assume it's a coming of age tale. Great, telling details.

  3. Great start! Nice details and description.

  4. Strong start! I'd change the cream-puff line, if it's a physical picture you want me to see of Grandma maybe you can use a different word. Chunky? Very nice details!

  5. Hi

    Some lovely descriptive writing here and a very effective start to a story because we are immediately in sympathy with Ella.

    good luck!


  6. I like this, but there were just a few little nit-picks (that's my favorite word lately!) that pulled me out. First, you repeat the word "white" -- white urn and white ashes. I'd cut the "white" descriptor of the ashes, personally, because we all know what ashes look like. Also, because you just mentioned the urn, the "bag of brittle bones" threw me. Because she's not in a bag, she's in an urn. And she's not bones, she's ashes.

    I hope this helps and best of luck!