Short Story Review

Them Old Cowboy Songs by Annie Proulx

Um....wow.

STORY: Let me just say that I did not like this story. And it wasn't because of the apocalyptic birth scene or the nasty coyote activity. My problem with Little Author Annie's story is that it features such a long build-up in the beginning. She tells too much. As a fiction student, I've been taught to maintain a healthy diet of show and tell and I thought that Proulx spent a little too much time shopping on the TELL aisle of the Fiction Grocery Store.

STYLE: However, we were told to focus on the Point of View of this story. In short, I loved the POV. Proulx has a way of sounding like a smalltown gossiper when she tells you a story. She stays with the vernacular and is very observant about the world of which she speaks. It's like listening to my grandma tell me a story of two people she knew back in the day (before the wife buried her child and died...)

So, to sum it allll up. I didn't much care for the story but was impressed by Proulx's voice in telling it.

Until next time, Fiction Fans!
-Chevy

Short Story Review

The Idiot President by Daniel Alarcon

I've decided on how I'm going to do these short story responses. Ready for it?

There, I just showed you.

I'm going to come up with a QUESTION that the short story leaves me. That way I have plenty to talk about while I attempt to answer it. And I'm going to break the story into two parts: STORY and STYLE. Here goes!

Question: Is this an optimistic or pessimistic story?

STORY: In all honesty, I didn't like this story for the first couple of pages. The main character was a few body temp degrees away from the Big Greenroom in the Sky and his two acting pals never really seemed to care. It felt like he wasn't taken seriously--even when he was really sick. But when the crowd goes wild and our nameless actor soaks up their enthusiasm...that's when I started enjoying it. And that's why I think this is an optimistic story. A realistic, optimistic story. It's about a struggling actor who literally struggles for his life while on a show tour. He's a fighter.

STYLE: What I enjoyed most about Alarcon's writing were the tiny, exact details and images used throughout. "I would have rather been poor anywhere else in the world than be rich here". The main character says this of the small town he and his troupe visit on their tour. It's such a simple statement but it carries so much power because we know exactly what he means when he says it. Another one of my favorite lines is when he describes the sound of his voice in his deepest moment of illness: "...the raspy plea of a heart patient." The author could've rambled on about how his straw-dry throat scratched out the sounds of a man near death, blah blah blah. But instead he left us a short description that isn't restrictive: it allows us to hear what we think a heart patient sounds like.

All in all I thought this was a really good short story. I honestly cared about this character and what would become of his life and career. It was a feel-good story in disguise.

Wow. That was deep!

Until next time, Fiction Fans.

-Chevy

A Story's Worth a Thousand Words

The following is a 1000-word short story of mine. It is based on actual events. Of course said events have been altered and the dialogue underwent a witty face-lift. But that's the beauty of writing, isn't it? Enjoy...

PLUSone by Chevy Carter

“For god’s sake Terri does it even matter?”

“Well I don’t know, like I’ve ever bought one,” she shrugs. “Do you think she’d rather have the one that says “YES/NO” or the one with the little plus and minus signs.” At that she shoves two different boxes is my face, both irritatingly similar. I do several double takes, trying to distinguish between the two life-changing products.

“I don’t know, Ter. I still say the whole plus/negative thing is confusing. It would be fine if it weren’t for the other bar,” I say, pointing to the second spot on the pregnancy test. One spot hosts the plus or minus sign and the other is merely a vertical line. What that vertical line is for is far beyond me. “Why can’t it just be a plus or minus, as in Plus one body in your uterus or minus one big fat giant scandal. I should be a pharmacist.”

Terri nervously tucks her bangs behind her ear. She’s been jumpy since the minute we set foot in Wal-Mart. And she’s not even the possible mommy-to-be. “Just help me pick one out, Kev. My mom is supposed to go grocery shopping today.”

“God forbid she be forced to recognize you as an adult,” I let slip under my breath.

She’s too busy deciding between e.p.t. and First Response to hear me. “Huh?”

“Nothing. Just go with the words. I’ll pitch in if it’s extra.”

She nods, a pinch of relief washing over her face. As she’s grabbing the YES/NO test, I notice the irony of this particular aisle of the pharmacy. As promised by the aisle sign, the pregnancy tests line the bottom two shelves. The real kicker is the top two shelves, generously stocked with sexual products. Green apple flavored lube, magnum XL condoms and heated sensual oils are but a few of the items readily available to the sexually active bargain hunters. Have too much fun with these products, shoppers and you’ll be heading on down two shelves to Pregnancy Scare Central.

“Please hold this,” she says, shoving the box in my face. “I’m not comfortable strolling around Wal-Mart on a Sunday with a pregnancy test. I roll my eyes and snatch it out of her hand. I have no idea how I got roped into this, anyway. Chloe isn’t even my friend. Barely know the girl. But she and Terri have been friends since junior high and any friend of Terri’s…blah blah blah.

As we are leaving the pharmacy section and getting back into the main shopping traffic, Terri grabs my arm, stopping me mid-step. “Should we get an extra one? Just to be sure? I heard that you can get a false negative or positive if you’re on any medication or the pee stick can be screwed up or something.”

All I can do is stare. “So glad I’m gay.”

We split up. I send Terri to groceries to pick up a large bottle of tea—Chloe’s gonna need it. I double back to the Planned Parenthood aisle to grab another test, this time a plus/minus one. Variety is the frenemy.

I told Terri to meet me in the candy aisle because if this thing goes south then all three of us are going to need criminal amounts of chocolate. I don’t really know why I’m stressed about this little debacle—it’s not my future and figure on the line. However I am letting Chloe use the tests in my apartment because she doesn’t want her boyfriend to know and Terri is living at her parents until we graduate next fall. A life could change in my apartment. How TLC is that?

While deciding between dark and milk chocolate, I get a text from Terri asking me to meet her at the fourth self-checkout register near the grocery entrance. God I feel like I’m in the middle of a drug deal. I snatch a bag of dark chocolate M&Ms and head that way.

Terri is tapping her foot at mockingbird speed when I get to the register. “Did you see anyone you know?”

Holy Christmas, I should’ve asked for a Valium prescription while we were at the pharmacy. “No, the coast was clear. Can you wait to have a seizure until we get to my apartment?”

“Just checking, cranky! Let’s get this over with.” As Terri is scanning the two pregnancy tests, an older-looking woman with a big smile on her face approaches.

“Terri Cook I thought that was you!”

The color drains from Terri’s face. She spins around, dropping the tests into the opened shopping bag. “Granny Bowman! How are you!” She kind of yells more than inquires. It’s scary. This Granny character pulls her into a big hug and I swear her eyes linger on the shopping bag by the conveyer belt.

“Just fine, sweetheart. You know I tell Lindsey that she needs to bring you over more often. I’d cook for you girls and everything!

While Terri fumbles a response, I finish scanning the products, careful to cover the tests with the chocolate and tea. While swiping my debit card, I hear my name and tune back into the conversation. “Yes, my friend Kevin. We met freshman year,” Terri smiles. “Kevin this is Lindsey ‘s grandma, Martha. We call her Granny Bowman. Granny Bowman, this is Kevin.”

We exchange polite hello’s and Granny B returns to her stuffed cart of already bagged groceries. I grab the receipt and the bag, leading Terri out of the store. Before she can say anything, I chime in. “I’m sure it’s fine. I don’t think she saw anything.”

“God I hope not,” she pants. “All of our grandmothers are friends. Word travels way too fast.”

We reach the car and climb in. Chloe is staring out the window, no doubt imagining two distinctly different futures. Before anyone can say anything, Terri’s phone beeps.

It’s a text from Lindsey.

Terri stares at the screen, longer that it would take to read a message.

“Lindsey wants to know what we’re naming our baby.”