Anna's Artists Chat Thread

[lilmillefleur]

I really like it! And I know you didn’t ask for critique, but the one thing that threw me off was the great amount of description of the houses. I got lost a couple times. Instead of describing every detail, you can make a couple short, impactful statements about it. The house might be different from the rest of the neighborhood, tell us why. When you get to Sam’s house, simply tell us something like. “It wasn’t bright and flowery like the neighbors' house, but it was not any more ugly from most of the houses on Sam’s street. It was long, squat, and shabby like the rest of them, but that mattered little to Sam. As long as she could do whatever she wanted with her bedroom, she was content.”
You don’t need the reader to have the exact same picture as you in their head, they just need a shabby, ugly house. And they will keep this rather quaint picture in their mind for the rest of the story and look back on it fondly. Only mention a detail if it matters later on. Then it will stand out to a reader, and they will have an ¡Aha! moment.

That is helpful, thank you!! And yes to clarify I do take critique so it's all good.
Edit: As I reread through this I can definitely see it's the weaker of my 2 works so far, probably because I didn't really know how to start the story. But I'm revising it for a second draft right now!

 

[Amer]

That is helpful, thank you!! And yes to clarify I do take critique so it's all good

Well, that's good.

 

[lilmillefleur]

Yeah this piece is getting a major facelift for the second draft. haha I'm going to try to make a bit more use of the part where Sam is at her house, maybe highlighting the relationship she has with her parents

 

[Amer]

https://www.loe.org/shows/segments.html?programID=18-P13-00047&segmentID=6
Context so you don’t think I’m insane for the next installment, lol.

 

[Amer]

I decided to make black-cap a Sage-specific term so it made more sense.

Spoiler: Chapter 2

Peregrine drifted on the breeze, suddenly aware how cool it was, how green the trees were, how bright the sunshine. The wind tugged on his feathers, and he felt as though if he let it, it could take him anywhere. Without his burden, without the wind resisting his every move, Peregrine felt truly free. This was what he had always desired, sitting in his nest. This is what he had hoped for when he took that first great leap; when he had watched all those other birds flitting from tree to tree. This is what flying felt like, the greatest feeling in the world. The wonder never left Peregrine for all his life, and while he had a lot more thoughts about it I’ll spare you from the tangent.
But just as quickly as it had come, Peregrine’s euphoria was replaced with dread. He was distinctly aware of how chilly the breeze was and the darkness of the forest. The green trees seemed rather more like places for hungry things to hide than the sheltering sentinels Peregrine was used to. Brewing anxiety clouded the edge of Peregrine’s mind as he was made aware of just how alone he was. He couldn’t hear the song of a single bird. The only noise was the breeze, howling mournfully as it wandered through the trees as though it was looking for the lost sun.
Suddenly, Peregrine wanted more than anything to be in the presence of anyone else. He flew as fast as he could, tirelessly racing through the trees. As he looked around, he began to see the husks of canary huts in the trees, brown and decaying. How was I so distracted by that basket that I didn’t see these on the way to Zephyr’s house? And why did so many birds have to leave here all of a sudden?
Peregrine landed on a branch to think. How did it get dark so fast? I left Sage’s place at noon! He peered through the canopy as though the answer would come from the sky. And indeed it did. Plop! A fat raindrop landed right in Peregrine’s eyeball. He shook his head as his nictating membrane removed the offender. Raindrops were falling everywhere, and Peregrine suspected that the weather could only get worse. He was off just as fast as he had been, but now he was motivated by more than fear. The rain began to fall even harder, and Peregrine’s wings got heavier. Peregrine began to disregard direction. He didn’t care where he went as long as he found civilization, fast.
Soon, Peregrine was so cold and wet he could barely fly. He hadn’t eaten since lunch, which might not sound so terrible for you, but you’ve probably never had to sustain flight over long distances while it’s raining. A familiar hut came into view. It was hanging from spruce. No one but Sage owned a hut in a spruce. Peregrine dredged himself through the hole and plopped on the floor of the hut, dripping and resembling a puddle even more than he had in Zephyr’s hut. But nobody laughed this time.
A bird, still elderly but male this time, was holding a glow-worm in his claw. Sage. The whole room was lit by glow-worms. Unlike the kind that you may be familiar with, these glow worms were substantially bright and lit up the whole room.
“Who are you?” Sage asked, setting down the worm and hooking his beak beneath Peregrine’s to lift the face into the light. He nodded with satisfaction. “I’m glad to see you alive birdie. But wouldn’t it be more reasonable to go to your parents first, instead of flying to the west side of town to see me? They’re probably worried about you, you know.”
Peregrine’s mind was moving at a snail’s pace, but of course Sage was right. Sage’s house was on the west side of the village, while his own was on the east. And Zephyr’s was in the forest farther east.
“I must’ve gone around the whole village to get here,” he mumbled, not bothering to get up off the floor. “Got lost in the forest probableh…” His tongue didn’t quite cooperate with that word.
“Still, it’s no use trying to send you there now. Your new feathers aren’t built for that kind of flying. Aren’t waterproof,” said Sage. “I guess I’ll go tell your parents, then get you a warming stone.”
“No… don’t go…” Peregrine muttered, then changed his mind. “Do get a warming stone though. I’m cold.” He settled his miserable, dripping self into something resembling a sitting position.
“Well, I guess it won’t hurt your parents to worry a little,” Sage said, grinning. “Might actually show a little love when you return.” Pre-fledges and fledglings were famously in the way and demanding to feed, since they were pretty terrible at finding food on their own. “Here.” He ripped a towel out of a nearby drawer and tucked around the little bird. “I’m going to go get the rock now.”
“Wait,” Peregrine said, looking pleadingly at Sage. “Do you have any food? May I have some?”
Sage chuckled. Peregrine was too tired to protest being the object of his amusement. “Yeah. You might some some of them black-caps in the basket there.” He pointed a basket near the door with his beak.
Peregrine wasn’t sure what black-caps were, but as long as they even vaguely resembled food, he wasn’t going to complain. “Thank you, Sage.”
Sage chuckled and flew out into the rain while Peregrine investigated the basket. Apparently “black-cap” meant black raspberry. Like a falcon diving towards prey, Peregrine dove into the berries and ate them ravenously.
He had eaten half the basket when Sage returned.
He wiped his beak on his wing and looked at the rock strapped to Sage’s chest. It was steaming. It had come from the rock-warming kiln the birds had designed on the forest floor for birds who wanted to warm themselves without burning down their houses. it wasn’t very far from Sage’s house.
“Now we make two soggy birds,” said Sage. He was dripping. Both birds shared the warm, flat rock and preened themselves a while, drying out their feathers.
Sage shed his water a lot quicker since his feathers were more well-oiled. “So,” he said, hopping onto his perch while Peregrine preened. “What did Zephyr think about the black-caps?”
“Well,” said Peregrine. “She said it was her first taste of the black-cap crop, and how they were her favorite food.” He knew she had said more, but he couldn’t remember what it was. He’d been too distracted by the feathers.
Peregrine looked seriously at Sage. “Sage,” he said. “You always tell a lot of stories. Tell me about the red canaries.”
Sage looked peculiar for a moment. He looked left and right as though expecting someone to pop in through the wall. Then he said. “We’re not really supposed to talk about them, us storytellers. Can you keep a secret?”
Peregrine nodded. “Of course I can.”
“Well, it’s a very long story and I’ll have to start from the beginning. But it looks like a long storm we’ll have to weather. But you have to promise me something. No one can know I was telling stories about the red canaries. Promise me you won’t say a thing.”
A conspiratory grin crossed Peregrine’s beak. “I promise.”

 

[Sapphire Sebright]

I made Draft 2 and renamed my story to "White Lilacs"! I significantly stretched out the first chapter so much I split it into 2 chapters. I think it is paced a lot better this way, and imo it's a lot more engaging and interesting too.

Spoiler: Draft 2

I. A Plate of Cookies.
Tap tap tap. “Hello?” Sam rocked back and forth ever so slightly on her feet, carefully holding a seran-wrapped paper plate of sugar cookies. The wind blew gently, tickling the wind chimes that had been hung beside a window, and lifting up the wonderful smell of a garden from the backyard.
Several minutes passed. The cookies grew cold. Still no one answered the door. Sam checked the side of the house for the third time. Yes, their car was still there. She knew it was the only car this family had, because she had never seen any other. But a part of her began to doubt again. There has to be another car! There has to be some explanation! She rang the doorbell again. “Hello!”
A light flickered on upstairs and Sam nearly jumped out of her skin. Now she knew someone was home. She waited another minute. Rang the doorbell again. What could they be doing to not answer the doorbell for minutes? It must be something very important, she thought to herself.
Finally, Sam made up her mind. She placed the cookies on the welcome mat and headed back down the stone steps. As she turned back to get one final look at the little house, she noticed something in the window. It was a piece of paper taped to the glass, scribbled in ink with the words Come Back Tomorrow. Sam climbed the steps again, took the cookies back with her, and left.
Sam’s house, admittedly, wasn’t quite as cute as the neighbors’. But it wasn’t anything to be ashamed of, since many of the houses on the street looked just like hers. It was a plain and shabby one-story house. You could even call it ugly looking, with its peeling gray shingles and odd brick siding. But it was the only house her parents could afford, so it was good enough for Sam. So long as she could choose what to do with her bedroom.
“I’m home,” Sam called to the house as she sat in the mudroom and pulled off her sneakers. She could hear the TV blaring from the living room.
“Did you deliver those cookies?” Her mother called.
“They weren’t home,” Sam said.
“You heartless little liar. I saw their car in the garage. Did you refuse to give to that poor family? After all they’ve been through?”
Sam was caught off guard for a moment.
“Get in here and answer my question!”
Sam trudged into the living room. Her mother turned around on the couch to face her. Even with her arms dangling over the back of the sofa, she seemed intimidating. “So? What’s your excuse?”
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Sam submitted. “There was someone there. She taped a sign in the window telling me to come back tomorrow.”
Sam’s mother narrowed her eyes. “The audacity!”
“I--no. I think there was something going on--”
“I worked so hard to make a place for myself in this neighborhood and she had the nerve to brush aside my kind offering! Now I look like a fool! And my poor baby had to wait out in the heat for such a long time…” Her mother’s rant was starting to turn into a blubber.
“Well...maybe.” Sam sighed. “I’m going back again tomorrow.” She had grown accustomed to such rapid changes in mood, and in logic, from her mother.
“How about you give her a piece of my mind, while you’re at it,” her mother hissed. “Tell her, between us and her, she doesn’t deserve what we’re doing for her.”
“Then why are we doing it?” Sam squeaked. She had a lot of thoughts on the situation, but that was all she could manage.
“Just...just GET OUT OF HERE!” The poor woman had finally lost it.
Sam, feeling a bit hurt, slunk away to her room. She was thinking hard now. There was nothing wrong with new neighbors delivering cookies to the old ones, surely. Besides, mother claimed this family had been through a lot. She recalled that the other day when she had asked about it, her mother had deemed her too immature to tell her about their situation. “Such horrible, horrible things,” she’d said. “The world is cruel, but you are still young. You won’t be a child for much longer. Just enjoy it while it lasts.”
Sam’s mother never told her about her own childhood. So naturally, Sam assumed it must have been hard. Besides, it made it easier to sympathize with her whenever she got unusually difficult.
Sam also knew that for her, delivering cookies wasn’t a warm hello or a gesture of kindness for someone in need. Those were normal reasons you give cookies. No, Sam’s mother had to give cookies to reestablish her reputation as a respectable human being.

II. A Bouquet of Lilacs.
Sam was on that porch again the following morning, with the plate of cookies once again in her hands. Tap tap tap on the cheery yellow door. This time there was an immediate response from inside the house. A woman’s voice. It sounded gentle yet deep, with a kind of sad sweetness to it. Someone else may have described it as almost dripping like honey. “Come in, sweetheart.”
Sam grabbed the doorknob and it twisted under her hand. They left the door unlocked for me. She pushed it open, albeit cautiously, and tiptoed inside. She didn’t see anyone immediately, but she could see that the rooms of the house were just as fresh and bright as the exterior was. The walls were a crisp white all around, and the kitchen windows off to the left were full of potted herbs and flowers and streaming sunlight. And there were a few crayon drawings held up by magnets on the fridge. She has children, Sam thought. I wonder if there are any who are my age.
Now Sam could hear the woman shuffling around upstairs. She left the cookies on the table and continued a slow walk through the house.
“I brought cookies,” Sam said. She tried not to yell. The house was so different from her own, it seemed almost sacred to her.
The shuffling stopped for a moment, then the woman spoke again and began to descend the staircase. “Sugar cookies. I know. Thank you.”
She had the same kind of freshness as the rest of her house: she was wearing a green checked button-down shirt and a stained white apron. She had wavy auburn hair that was tied behind her neck in a loose ponytail, and her face was spotted with freckles. Unlike her bright appearance, however, her eyes themselves looked exhausted. They widened for just a moment when she saw Sam, as if there was something about her that was startling. Sam tried to brush aside the thought that this woman was judging her over some small thing, but her hands were up in her black hair now, twirling it around her fingers.
“I’m glad you like them,” Sam stammered nervously. She felt herself turn to leave.
“No,” the woman cut in. And then, “--I’m sorry. Don’t leave yet. I have something to show you.” The edge of sadness in her voice felt so different, so deep compared to her outfit, her surroundings...even for a woman with such a gentle and motherly aura, Sam couldn’t help but feel a bit wary.
“Tell me your name,” the woman pressed suddenly.
“Sam,” said Sam. She smiled, trying to act calm.
“Sam, do you like...flowers?” The woman asked. Sam couldn’t comprehend the woman’s emotions, nor her intent. She couldn’t place her trust in the woman just yet, not until she revealed more about herself.
“Yeah.”
Sam followed the woman as she crossed through her living room and took down a vase of white flowers from the fireplace mantle. “They’re lilacs,” she said. “My favorite flowers. You can keep them. You’re new here, aren’t you?”
“Yes....that’s awfully sweet of you.”
“Sam,” said the woman. “Do you want to know a secret?”
Sam didn’t answer. Her mind was churning.
“These are magic flowers. You believe in magic, don’t you?”
Sam had to pause. What kind of question is that? She was nearly fourteen years old. Even her own mother gave up on convincing her that those stories of Santa Claus or the Tooth Fairy were real. That was a long time ago, too. Sam remained silent, but her face was growing hot.
“I need you to do something for me, Sam.” The woman was still unreadable.
“These magic flowers,” the woman continued. “They can make your dreams come true...but...they have also brought terrible things. Terrible things...” Her eyes were fluttering, as though trying to keep them from wetting. Now Sam could read her emotions...she was distraught. “Please, Sam.”
No! Sam thought. This woman is a lunatic! I have to leave! She turned. And that’s when she saw it. A hallucination? She didn’t know. But it was a tall and ominous figure, black like a shadow, looming over her. The room grew dark. Sam almost screamed.
“Don’t be afraid. It is just a shadow...from another realm. It doesn’t see you.”
But it saw other shadows. A wispy myriad of people and animals of all kinds, running and crawling and flying about frantically. The great monster opened its jaws and pounced, and just like that the people were all gone.
“This monster may not be a threat now, but it will be,” she pleaded. “It has already caused much damage to me...to my family…” She shuddered. “Only a child like you can destroy it, or else the world will be thrown into chaos. Please, Sam. You won’t be alone. They know you are coming.”
Sam thought of the hardships her mother claimed this woman went through. And now here she was, and this woman hoped she would make them all disappear. Sam took a deep breath. Why would she say yes? What reason did she have? To spite her mother’s shallow kindness? Perhaps it was because she had always wanted to be a hero. Someone who could see things, maybe understand them, and do something about them.
She had the right code of honor. And she knew no one would miss her, either.
“Okay. I will help you.”
The woman smiled gratefully. “Smell the lilacs. Aren’t they lovely?”
As Sam put her nose to the sickeningly-sweet flowers, she felt her legs buckle under her. The woman caught her and held her in her arms. The shadows engulfed her vision.

Whoa, that is really, really good!
I do have a quick little thing to point out, though:

The wind blew gently, tickling the wind chimes that had been hung beside a window, and lifting up the wonderful smell of a garden from the backyard.

Maybe it was just me, but this one sentence was a bit confusing -- like the garden itself was from the backyard (mail-order garden).
If the garden is in the backyard, and the smell is coming from it, lifted by the wind, I think that it would be a bit easier to read as, "The wind blew gently, tickling the wind chimes that had been hung beside a window, and lifting up from the backyard the wonderful smell of a garden."
This might just be me, though. Other than that, it was really, really good!

 

[lilmillefleur]

Whoa, that is really, really good!
I do have a quick little thing to point out, though:

Maybe it was just me, but this one sentence was a bit confusing -- like the garden itself was from the backyard (mail-order garden).
If the garden is in the backyard, and the smell is coming from it, lifted by the wind, I think that it would be a bit easier to read as, "The wind blew gently, tickling the wind chimes that had been hung beside a window, and lifting up from the backyard the wonderful smell of a garden."
This might just be me, though. Other than that, it was really, really good!

thanks! i deleted my post here for just a sec, because I'm making a few more changes to make her decision to cross the threshold more believable

 

[lilmillefleur]

Spoiler: White Lilacs - draft 3

1. A Plate of Cookies.

Tap tap tap. “Hello?” Sam rocked back and forth ever so slightly on her feet, carefully holding a saran-wrapped paper plate of sugar cookies. The wind blew gently, tickling the wind chimes that had been hung beside a window, and lifting up the wonderful smell of a garden from the backyard.
Several minutes passed. The cookies grew cold. Still, no one answered the door. Sam checked the side of the house for the third time. Yes, their car was still there. She knew it was the only car this family had because she had never seen any other. But a part of her began to doubt again. There has to be another car! There has to be some explanation! She rang the doorbell again. “Hello!”
A light flickered on upstairs and Sam nearly jumped out of her skin. Now she knew someone was home. She waited another minute. Rang the doorbell again. What could they be doing to not answer the doorbell for minutes? It must be something very important, she thought to herself.
It was at that moment when she saw the Shadow Monster again. She was never one to believe in the supernatural, but this creature was the exception. A hallucination? She didn’t know. But it was a tall and ominous figure, and it was looming over her. Her skin crawled, but she didn’t think it could see her, and it had never hurt her before. She tried to ignore it.
Finally, Sam made up her mind. She placed the cookies on the welcome mat and headed back down the stone steps. As she turned back to get one final look at the little house, she noticed something in the window. It was a piece of paper taped to the glass, scribbled in ink with the words Come Back Tomorrow. Sam climbed the steps again, grabbed the cookies, and left. The shadow was gone, but she still couldn't shake it from her mind.
Sam’s house, admittedly, wasn’t quite as cute as the neighbors’. But it wasn’t anything to be ashamed of, since many of the houses on the street looked just like hers. It was a plain and shabby one-story house. You could even call it ugly looking, with its peeling gray shingles and odd brick siding. But it was the only house her parents could afford, so it was good enough for Sam. So long as she could choose what to do with her bedroom.
“I’m home,” Sam called to the house as she sat in the mudroom and pulled off her sneakers. She could hear the TV blaring from the living room.
“Did you deliver those cookies?” Her mother called.
“They weren’t home,” Sam said.
“You heartless little liar. I saw their car in the garage. Did you refuse to give to that poor family? After all they’ve been through?”
Sam was caught off guard for a moment.
“Get in here and answer my question!”
Sam trudged into the living room. Her mother turned around on the couch to face her. Even with her arms dangling over the back of the sofa, she seemed intimidating. “So? What’s your excuse?”
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Sam submitted. “There was someone there. She taped a sign in the window telling me to come back tomorrow.”
Sam’s mother narrowed her eyes. “The audacity!”
“I--no. I think there was something going on--”
“I work so hard to make a place for myself in this neighborhood and she had the nerve to brush aside my kind offering! Now I look like a fool! And my poor baby had to wait out in the heat for such a long time…” Her mother’s rant was starting to turn into a blubber.
“Well...maybe.” Sam sighed. “I’m going back again tomorrow.” She had grown accustomed to such rapid changes in mood, and in logic, from her mother.
“How about you give her a piece of my mind, while you’re at it,” her mother hissed. “Tell her she doesn’t deserve what we’re doing for her.”
“Then why are we doing it?” Sam squeaked. She had a lot of thoughts on the situation, but that was all she could manage.
“Just...just get out of here and let me be!” The poor woman had finally lost it.
Sam, feeling a bit hurt, slunk away to her room and sat on her bed. She was thinking hard now. There was nothing wrong with new neighbors delivering cookies to the old ones, surely. Besides, her mother claimed that this family had been through a lot. She recalled that the other day when she had asked about it, her mother had deemed her too immature to tell her about their situation. “Such horrible, horrible things,” she’d said. “The world is cruel, but you are still young. You won’t be a child for much longer. Just enjoy it while it lasts.”
She had never told her mother about the shadow. It stood crouched in the corner now, as though waiting to strike.
But Sam’s mother never told her about her own childhood, either. So naturally, Sam assumed it must have been hard. Besides, it made it easier to sympathize with her whenever she got unusually difficult.
Sam also knew that for her, delivering cookies wasn’t a warm hello or a gesture of kindness for someone in need. Those were normal reasons you give cookies. No, Sam’s mother had to give cookies to re-establish her reputation as a respectable human being.

1. A Bouquet of Lilacs.

Sam was on that porch again the following morning, with the plate of cookies once again in her hands. Tap tap tap on the cheery yellow door. This time there was an immediate response from inside the house. A woman’s voice. It sounded gentle yet deep, with a kind of sad sweetness to it. Someone else may have described it as dripping like honey.
“Come in, sweetheart.”
Sam grabbed the doorknob and it twisted under her hand. They left the door unlocked for me. She pushed it open, albeit cautiously, and tiptoed inside. She didn’t see anyone immediately, but she could see that the rooms of the house were just as fresh and bright as the exterior was. The walls were a crisp white all around, and the kitchen windows off to the left were full of potted herbs and flowers and streaming sunlight. And there were a few crayon drawings held up by magnets on the fridge. She has children, Sam thought. I wonder if there are any who are my age.
Now Sam could hear the woman shuffling around upstairs. She left the cookies on the table and continued a slow walk through the house.
“I brought cookies,” Sam said. She tried not to yell. The house was so much different from her own that it seemed almost sacred to her.
The shuffling stopped for a moment. Then the woman spoke again and began to descend the staircase. “Sugar cookies, I know. Thank you.”
She had the same kind of freshness as the rest of her house: she was wearing a green checked button-down shirt and a stained white apron, and she had wavy auburn hair that was tied behind her neck in a loose ponytail, and her face was spotted with freckles. Unlike her bright appearance, however, her eyes themselves looked exhausted. They widened for just a moment when she saw Sam as if there was something about her that was startling. Sam tried to brush aside the thought that this woman was judging her over some small thing, but her hands were up in her long black hair now, twirling it around her fingers.
“I’m glad you like them,” Sam stammered nervously. She felt herself turn to leave.
“No,” the woman cut in. And then, “--I’m sorry. Don’t leave yet. I have something to show you.” The edge of sadness in her voice felt like such a contrast to her outfit, her surroundings...even for a woman with such a gentle and motherly aura, Sam couldn’t help but feel a bit wary.
“Tell me your name,” the woman pressed suddenly.
“Sam,” said Sam. She smiled, trying to act calm.
Sam followed the woman as she crossed through her living room and took down a vase of beautiful white flowers from the fireplace mantle. “They’re lilacs,” she said. “My favorite flowers. You can keep them. You’re new here, aren’t you?”
“Yes....that’s awfully sweet of you.”
There was a long pause. Sam could tell the woman was thinking hard.
“Sam,” said the woman. “Do you want to know a secret?”
Sam didn’t answer. Now her mind was churning, too.
“These are magic flowers. You believe in magic, don’t you?”
Sam had to do a double-take. What kind of question is that? She was nearly fourteen years old. Even her own mother gave up on convincing her that those stories of Santa Claus or the Tooth Fairy were real. That was a long time ago, too. But the picture of the shadow monster in her mind would not go away. Her face grew hot.
“I need you to do something for me, Sam.” Sam couldn’t comprehend the woman’s emotions, nor her intent. She couldn’t place her trust in the woman just yet.
“These magic flowers,” the woman continued. “They can make your dreams come true...but...they have also brought terrible things. Terrible things...” Her eyes were fluttering, as though trying to keep them from wetting. Now Sam could read her emotions...she was distraught. “Please, Sam.”
No! Sam thought. This woman is a lunatic! I have to leave! She turned. And that’s when she saw it again. And this time, it could see her too. It lunged at her, jaws wide open. Sam almost screamed. She could feel the woman holding her close now, whispering in her honeysweet voice. It’s okay. It’s okay. It can’t hurt you now. Not yet. And just like that, it was gone again.
Sam thought of the hardships her mother claimed this woman went through. And now here she was, and this woman hoped she would make them all disappear. Sam took a deep breath. Why would she help her? What reason did she have? To spite her mother’s shallow kindness?
Perhaps it was because she had always wanted to be a hero. Someone who could see things, understand them, and then do something about them. She wanted to know why she could see monsters. She wanted to know how to make them go away.
She had the right code of honor. And she knew no one would miss her, either.
“I want to help you.”
The woman smiled gratefully.
As Sam put her nose to the sickeningly-sweet flowers, she felt her legs buckle under her. The woman caught her and held her in her arms. The shadows engulfed her vision.

 

[Amer]

Spoiler: White Lilacs - draft 3

1. A Plate of Cookies.

Tap tap tap. “Hello?” Sam rocked back and forth ever so slightly on her feet, carefully holding a saran-wrapped paper plate of sugar cookies. The wind blew gently, tickling the wind chimes that had been hung beside a window, and lifting up the wonderful smell of a garden from the backyard.
Several minutes passed. The cookies grew cold. Still, no one answered the door. Sam checked the side of the house for the third time. Yes, their car was still there. She knew it was the only car this family had because she had never seen any other. But a part of her began to doubt again. There has to be another car! There has to be some explanation! She rang the doorbell again. “Hello!”
A light flickered on upstairs and Sam nearly jumped out of her skin. Now she knew someone was home. She waited another minute. Rang the doorbell again. What could they be doing to not answer the doorbell for minutes? It must be something very important, she thought to herself.
It was at that moment when she saw the Shadow Monster again. She was never one to believe in the supernatural, but this creature was the exception. A hallucination? She didn’t know. But it was a tall and ominous figure, and it was looming over her. Her skin crawled, but she didn’t think it could see her, and it had never hurt her before. She tried to ignore it.
Finally, Sam made up her mind. She placed the cookies on the welcome mat and headed back down the stone steps. As she turned back to get one final look at the little house, she noticed something in the window. It was a piece of paper taped to the glass, scribbled in ink with the words Come Back Tomorrow. Sam climbed the steps again, grabbed the cookies, and left. The shadow was gone, but she still couldn't shake it from her mind.
Sam’s house, admittedly, wasn’t quite as cute as the neighbors’. But it wasn’t anything to be ashamed of, since many of the houses on the street looked just like hers. It was a plain and shabby one-story house. You could even call it ugly looking, with its peeling gray shingles and odd brick siding. But it was the only house her parents could afford, so it was good enough for Sam. So long as she could choose what to do with her bedroom.
“I’m home,” Sam called to the house as she sat in the mudroom and pulled off her sneakers. She could hear the TV blaring from the living room.
“Did you deliver those cookies?” Her mother called.
“They weren’t home,” Sam said.
“You heartless little liar. I saw their car in the garage. Did you refuse to give to that poor family? After all they’ve been through?”
Sam was caught off guard for a moment.
“Get in here and answer my question!”
Sam trudged into the living room. Her mother turned around on the couch to face her. Even with her arms dangling over the back of the sofa, she seemed intimidating. “So? What’s your excuse?”
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Sam submitted. “There was someone there. She taped a sign in the window telling me to come back tomorrow.”
Sam’s mother narrowed her eyes. “The audacity!”
“I--no. I think there was something going on--”
“I work so hard to make a place for myself in this neighborhood and she had the nerve to brush aside my kind offering! Now I look like a fool! And my poor baby had to wait out in the heat for such a long time…” Her mother’s rant was starting to turn into a blubber.
“Well...maybe.” Sam sighed. “I’m going back again tomorrow.” She had grown accustomed to such rapid changes in mood, and in logic, from her mother.
“How about you give her a piece of my mind, while you’re at it,” her mother hissed. “Tell her she doesn’t deserve what we’re doing for her.”
“Then why are we doing it?” Sam squeaked. She had a lot of thoughts on the situation, but that was all she could manage.
“Just...just get out of here and let me be!” The poor woman had finally lost it.
Sam, feeling a bit hurt, slunk away to her room and sat on her bed. She was thinking hard now. There was nothing wrong with new neighbors delivering cookies to the old ones, surely. Besides, her mother claimed that this family had been through a lot. She recalled that the other day when she had asked about it, her mother had deemed her too immature to tell her about their situation. “Such horrible, horrible things,” she’d said. “The world is cruel, but you are still young. You won’t be a child for much longer. Just enjoy it while it lasts.”
She had never told her mother about the shadow. It stood crouched in the corner now, as though waiting to strike.
But Sam’s mother never told her about her own childhood, either. So naturally, Sam assumed it must have been hard. Besides, it made it easier to sympathize with her whenever she got unusually difficult.
Sam also knew that for her, delivering cookies wasn’t a warm hello or a gesture of kindness for someone in need. Those were normal reasons you give cookies. No, Sam’s mother had to give cookies to re-establish her reputation as a respectable human being.

1. A Bouquet of Lilacs.

Sam was on that porch again the following morning, with the plate of cookies once again in her hands. Tap tap tap on the cheery yellow door. This time there was an immediate response from inside the house. A woman’s voice. It sounded gentle yet deep, with a kind of sad sweetness to it. Someone else may have described it as dripping like honey.
“Come in, sweetheart.”
Sam grabbed the doorknob and it twisted under her hand. They left the door unlocked for me. She pushed it open, albeit cautiously, and tiptoed inside. She didn’t see anyone immediately, but she could see that the rooms of the house were just as fresh and bright as the exterior was. The walls were a crisp white all around, and the kitchen windows off to the left were full of potted herbs and flowers and streaming sunlight. And there were a few crayon drawings held up by magnets on the fridge. She has children, Sam thought. I wonder if there are any who are my age.
Now Sam could hear the woman shuffling around upstairs. She left the cookies on the table and continued a slow walk through the house.
“I brought cookies,” Sam said. She tried not to yell. The house was so much different from her own that it seemed almost sacred to her.
The shuffling stopped for a moment. Then the woman spoke again and began to descend the staircase. “Sugar cookies, I know. Thank you.”
She had the same kind of freshness as the rest of her house: she was wearing a green checked button-down shirt and a stained white apron, and she had wavy auburn hair that was tied behind her neck in a loose ponytail, and her face was spotted with freckles. Unlike her bright appearance, however, her eyes themselves looked exhausted. They widened for just a moment when she saw Sam as if there was something about her that was startling. Sam tried to brush aside the thought that this woman was judging her over some small thing, but her hands were up in her long black hair now, twirling it around her fingers.
“I’m glad you like them,” Sam stammered nervously. She felt herself turn to leave.
“No,” the woman cut in. And then, “--I’m sorry. Don’t leave yet. I have something to show you.” The edge of sadness in her voice felt like such a contrast to her outfit, her surroundings...even for a woman with such a gentle and motherly aura, Sam couldn’t help but feel a bit wary.
“Tell me your name,” the woman pressed suddenly.
“Sam,” said Sam. She smiled, trying to act calm.
Sam followed the woman as she crossed through her living room and took down a vase of beautiful white flowers from the fireplace mantle. “They’re lilacs,” she said. “My favorite flowers. You can keep them. You’re new here, aren’t you?”
“Yes....that’s awfully sweet of you.”
There was a long pause. Sam could tell the woman was thinking hard.
“Sam,” said the woman. “Do you want to know a secret?”
Sam didn’t answer. Now her mind was churning, too.
“These are magic flowers. You believe in magic, don’t you?”
Sam had to do a double-take. What kind of question is that? She was nearly fourteen years old. Even her own mother gave up on convincing her that those stories of Santa Claus or the Tooth Fairy were real. That was a long time ago, too. But the picture of the shadow monster in her mind would not go away. Her face grew hot.
“I need you to do something for me, Sam.” Sam couldn’t comprehend the woman’s emotions, nor her intent. She couldn’t place her trust in the woman just yet.
“These magic flowers,” the woman continued. “They can make your dreams come true...but...they have also brought terrible things. Terrible things...” Her eyes were fluttering, as though trying to keep them from wetting. Now Sam could read her emotions...she was distraught. “Please, Sam.”
No! Sam thought. This woman is a lunatic! I have to leave! She turned. And that’s when she saw it again. And this time, it could see her too. It lunged at her, jaws wide open. Sam almost screamed. She could feel the woman holding her close now, whispering in her honeysweet voice. It’s okay. It’s okay. It can’t hurt you now. Not yet. And just like that, it was gone again.
Sam thought of the hardships her mother claimed this woman went through. And now here she was, and this woman hoped she would make them all disappear. Sam took a deep breath. Why would she help her? What reason did she have? To spite her mother’s shallow kindness?
Perhaps it was because she had always wanted to be a hero. Someone who could see things, understand them, and then do something about them. She wanted to know why she could see monsters. She wanted to know how to make them go away.
She had the right code of honor. And she knew no one would miss her, either.
“I want to help you.”
The woman smiled gratefully.
As Sam put her nose to the sickeningly-sweet flowers, she felt her legs buckle under her. The woman caught her and held her in her arms. The shadows engulfed her vision.

I like that you separated it into two chapters because now the time where she went to her room doesn’t seem like an awkward break.
I can already see that I don’t like Sam’s mother.
Okay, one thing. The Shadow Monster. I think he needs to be introduced better. Give me a little clue about who he is and how frequently he shows up. Right now the reader is probably poring over it trying to figure out how he came in.

 

[lilmillefleur]

I like that you separated it into two chapters because now the time where she went to her room doesn’t seem like an awkward break.
I can already see that I don’t like Sam’s mother.
Okay, one thing. The Shadow Monster. I think he needs to be introduced better. Give me a little clue about who he is and how frequently he shows up. Right now the reader is probably poring over it trying to figure out how he came in.

thanks. that will be what my next draft will try to accomplish. i kinda shoehorned it in, it is an important character but i wasn't going to have it show up in the beginning but without it there just is no catalyst