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Seven days

by dharker 

Posted: 13 September 2010
Word Count: 445


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“And just be careful!” shouts his mother from the veranda.

“Of course I will!” his impatient repost.

Paul runs down through the olive grove, his seven year old footfalls stirring little zephyrs of dust. The heady fragrance of myrtle and oregano fills the air, grasshoppers chirrup in the grass, while a lark sings somewhere above. Paul stops for a moment to listen to the goat bells tinkling gently on the hillside, and giggles in sheer delight.

As he passes a tiny cottage, Paul spots the old lady sitting at the doorway, deftly peeling a pile of wild artichoke.

“Kalimera sas!” he shouts happily.

She raises a gnarled hand in greeting; her rheumy eyes twinkle and sparkle with a life and energy that belies her age. Her wrinkled, mahogany face splits in a toothless smile and she nods back a greeting before turning once again to her task in hand.

Down the hill he runs, the call of the golden beach more persistent with every step. Sea scented, ozone air fills his nostrils and the waves gently applaud his appearance.

Eagerly shucking his vest and sandals, Paul runs headlong into the surf and throws himself into the crystal sea. Submerged, the watery, muffled bubbles chuckle around him as he kicks out. Then like a cork, he pops to the surface and swims the short distance to the pontoon, where he levers himself out and lies panting on the bobbing deck.

Sun warmed, the salty trickles of seawater quickly evaporate on his chest. Tiring of the inactivity, he stands and dives heavily into the water, startling a gull into raucous flight.

"Paul... I'm here..."

Hearing his name, Paul looks back to the beach and sees his mother walking across the sand, carrying the picnic basket she’d been preparing when he'd left the villa.

"Coming mum!" he calls and swims back to the beach, hunger finally conquering his youthful desire to expend energy.

His mother welcomes him with a warm, fluffy towel and tenderly ruffles his hair before starting to set out the food.

As she uncovers the brim filled basket, she spots the look on his face

"You can just wait for your Dad to arrive young man! He won't be long!" she chuckles.

Paul grins back widely then blatantly steals a slice of the succulent, ruby red water melon, before running away giggling and clutching his prize.

He finds a rock poking through the sand, its face rounded by the sand and surf and takes a seat. Head now firmly entrenched in the watermelon, juice dribbling down his chin and with a melony edge tickling each ear, he sighs blissfully.

"Seven more days… seven more days…"






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Comments by other Members



tusker at 07:01 on 14 September 2010  Report this post
I can feel the heat, David.

This captures a beautiful place in my mind. It also stirs up another holiday I had in Paxos, years ago.

Jennifer

V`yonne at 10:17 on 14 September 2010  Report this post
I smaell olive groves - I feel bites ; Oh dear, I hate holidays But I like the atmosphere you created.

Little bits of advice (because you said you want to learn but feel free to ignore...)

I'd start with:
“Be careful!” shouts his mother from the veranda.

“I will!” his impatient repost.

The combine:
The boy runs down through the olive grove, his seven year old footfalls stirring little zephyrs of dust. He is accopmanied by a grasshoppers chorus and a heady fragrance of myrtle and oregano. Goat bells tinkle gently on the hillside and stopping for a moment to listen, he feels the giggle that has bubbled inside, finally burst out in sheer delight.

That loses nothing and it's shorter.

I'll just issue a caution about the use of this device:
stopping for a moment to listen, he...
Looking back to the beach he...
Wrapping him in a warm, fluffy towel, his mother...
Head now firmly entrenched in the watermelon, juice dribbling down his chin and with a melony edge tickling each ear, he...

It tends to take over. I have found that a character should always have a name - never 'the boy' - this avoids overuse of 'he' and allows for more variety in beginnings thus making the above less likely to be used.

SO:
Josey stops for a moment to listen to Goat bells tinkling gently on the hillside and he feels the giggle that has bubbled up inside him, finally burst out in sheer delight.

Mother is waiting with a warm fluffy towel full of hugs?

Always the school ma'am - Oonah

Now you might like to try giving him a name and getting rid of the rest of those?

dharker at 11:25 on 14 September 2010  Report this post
Excellent advice Oonah! It's the critique I'm here for and learning new skills. What you are suggesting makes a great deal of sense and I will do some modifications! Thank You!
Dave

V`yonne at 12:41 on 15 September 2010  Report this post
You're welcome Dave. You still have 5 of these:

stopping for a moment to listen, he
Shucking his vest and sandals, Paul
Getting bored after just a few minutes, Paul
Hearing his name called, he
Wrapping him in a warm, fluffy towel of hugs, his mother

I know it's difficult but it's a habit worth breaking. People don't even realise they're using this.

Much better
Paul stopped and listened for a moment.
Eagerly he achucked his vest and sandals.
Paul soon tired of that activity and then he...
His mother wrapped him in...

Bunbry at 12:55 on 15 September 2010  Report this post
Hi Dave, you are on the right track with this, but I think it is a tad 'over written' and it might be worth parring it down a little. For example this is the first section pruned somewhat!

“And just be careful!” shouts his mother from the veranda.

“Of course I will!” his reply.

Paul runs down through the olive grove - his footfalls stirring little zephyrs of dust - accompanied by the scent of myrtle and oregano. Grasshoppers chirrup while a lark sings somewhere above and a Goat bells tinkles gently on the hillside. He giggles in sheer delight.

As he passes a cottage, Paul spots an old lady sitting at her doorway, peeling wild artichokes.

“Kalimera sas!” he shouts happily.

She raises a hand in greeting; her eyes twinkle and sparkle with a life and energy that belies her age. Her wrinkled face splits in a toothless smile and she nods back a greeting before turning once again to her task in hand.

Down the hill he runs, the draw of the golden beach more persistent with every step.


How much description to put in is always a personal thing, but sometimes it can be over done! Our resident expert (in my opinion) with description is choille (Caroline) and you might be interested in looking at some of her stuff.

And I'm sure that some people will say stick to your guns, don't change a thing!

Hope some of it helps.

Nick

dharker at 13:46 on 15 September 2010  Report this post
Oonah and Nick... thanks for sticking with me on this! Great advice and I see exactly where you're going with this. There is some naivety in my writing that I need to work out and I openly admit that the words flow too readily sometimes! LOL! Your guidance and critique is very gratefully received!
Dave

Jubbly at 19:47 on 17 September 2010  Report this post
Myrtle and oregano, what lovely images for a holiday scene. I liked all your descriptions and the ruby red watermelon had me wishing I was there. Even though I don't think ruby is exactly the right colour, I was still there. Well done.

J


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