Dirt chpt 3- feedback on dialogue

[sldwyer]

Chapter 3 Dirt - would like feedback on dialogue. Sammy is 13 and Birdie is 7. I'm not around children this age very much, so any help would be appreciated.

Sammy dragged Birdie toward the back porch. He refused to answer her endless questions or talk at all, which, in turn, made her all the more upset. The shock of finding his parents hanging from the barn rafters shook him down to his toes. It made no sense to him. Why would they do something like that? What had he and Birdie done to make them go away? The questions kept bubbling up through the pain of losing the only two people in the world who had cared about him and his sister. And now he sat there on the rickety back steps slowly coming to the realization that from this moment forward, he was on his own.

“Why are momma and daddy up there in the barn? How come they won’t come down?” Birdie persisted in pummeling her brother with questions all the way across the yard. “I want momma.”

“Birdie, jus’ shut up yer mouth,” he shot back. “I gotta think and I can’t do that when yer mouth is agoin’ all the time.”

Sammy plopped down on the porch step. His elbows on his knees and his head resting on his hands. His chest rose and fell in deep, haggard breaths. He took quick glances at the barn where his parents hung, trying to come to grips with their death. Death was a given in the rural farm lands; cattle, pets, and old people. Only this didn’t fall into the usual.

“Sammy...”

“I said shut up. They’re not coming down cause they’re dead. Okay?” Sammy shot a fist toward his sister. Not to hit her, only to emphasis his anger. “An’ I don’t wanna hear you say nothin’ else. I gotta make plans.”

She opened, then closed her mouth. Her eyes, round as saucers, glared first at her brother, then toward the barn. Her shoulders began to shake, her eyes filled with tears. Her small bowed lips began to quiver. Unable to hold the hurt any longer, Birdie let out a blood curdling scream.

She shocked Sammy so greatly, his arm slid off his knee and his face fell, banging his lip against his knee. “Damn,” he cried, his hand wiping away the blood from his lip.
“Oh, yer in big trouble. Yer swearing like old Ms.Danner down the road. Yer gonna get your butt whooped,” Birdie said between sobs.
“Yeah, and who’s gonna whoop it? Ain’t nobody ‘round to do it no how.”

Birdie backed off, scrunching herself up against the corner step. She put her head in her lap and sniffled.


The sun reached it's mid-day point while they sat there, Birdie, huddled against the corner step, and Sammy trying not to stare at the barn, for most of the morning. Breakfast, and now lunch, had come and gone. Neither one of them wanting to move. A thousand different thoughts raced through Sammy's mind. As much as he wanted to make them all go away, they kept blasting in, one after the other. One moment all the good memories would flash through, then be buried beneath an avalanche of visions of his parents swinging from the barn rafters. He rubbed at the sides of his head.

The blazing sun beat down on the dry earth sending ribbons of heat waves shimmering across the land. The dead branches of the old Ashe tree rattled against each other like skeleton bones in the wind sending an eerie cadence to the emotions Sammy fought.

“Come on. We need to get mom an’ dad down ’fore someone comes by,” Sammy said. He rose from the porch step and headed toward the barn.

Birdie shook her head and said, “I ain’t goin’ in there no more. I don’ wanna see em.”

“Don’t be a big baby,” Sammy yelled across his shoulder, still heading for the barn.

“I ain’t a-goin’,” she screamed.

“Then don’t. I reckon I have to jes do it my self.” Aint much she could be a-doin' anyways, he thought.

Sammy entered the cool interior of the barn and willed himself to look once again at his parents, silently hoping it had only been his imagination and they wouldn’t be there. Hoping had nothing to do with his life now, as evidence by the two hanging bodies.

He hesitated when he reached the ladder, took a final glance up, then climbed to the empty hay loft and pulled out the knife he got for Christmas last year. The blade, once shinny and new, was crusted with dirt and God knows what else, since he never cleaned it. As many times as his pa had nagged him about taking care of his things, he usually forgot to shine the blade each time he used it. He hoped it would still be sharp enough to cut the ropes. With hesitant steps, Sammy approached the rafter where the ropes had been tied. He tried not to look at the bodies hanging beneath the loft.

Reaching as high as he could, he sawed at the thick rope, sending the body to swinging and causing a thick swarm of black flies leaving the body. Sammy brushed the flies from his face and continued sawing, the rope braid becoming thinner and thinner until the weight of his father broke the last thread. The body plunged to the dirt floor with a loud thud. Cracking bones echoed in the barn sending shivers up Sammy's back.

“Sorry dad, I jes couldn’t do it no other way,” he said while wiping away a tear that had escaped from his eye. He turned away from the scene and walked to the back of the loft. Squatting, his head held tight between his knees, he grappled with the horrific thought of doing the same to his poor ma. He rocked and rocked until he thought he could stand to finish the task at hand.

He raised his head and took a deep breath and walked back to start sawing at the other rope. Crying now with every stroke of the knife, he made quick work of the job only he could do. As the last thread stretched, Sammy steeled himself, covering his ears, for the sound of his mother falling to the ground. Instead of landing next to his father, she fell across the front of the truck and then slid to the floor. Sammy’s knees buckled and he slid to the loft floor, heaving large sighs of emotional pain. He couldn’t look at them, not yet.


The worst part was done, now he had to dig the graves and bury his parents. If only he could get Birdie to keep their secret, it could buy him some time to make plans. No way would he allow the state to take him and his sister, split them up and give them to someone else to raise. He wouldn’t do it. Never, for the rest of his life, would he understand how his parents could leave them this way.

Sammy stood and made his way across the dusty loft and started down the ladder, making sure he kept his eyes away from the two bodies on the floor. He reached the last rung and jumped to the dirt floor. Skirting the bodies, he ran out of the barn into the fresh air.

Birdie hadn’t moved from her corner of the steps. From the look of her face, she had been crying the entire time Sammy had spent in the barn. She watched her brother as he scuffed across the hot yard to the shade of the tree. Once there, he stood looking out across the fields.

Finally, Sammy returned to his seat on the porch steps, sitting with his back toward the barn. Ignoring his sister, he tucked his knees up under his chin and rested his head. His eyes squeezed shut as if to block out all he had seen and done. He knew nothing would ever remove those images that burned behind those eyes, or the sound of the bodies falling. He felt as if he was going to be sick and heave, not that there would be anything in his stomach to bring up, he hadn’t eaten today and last night the most his mother could put together had been a skinny bean sandwich.

“Sammy.” Birdie whispered.

“What?” Sammy said.

“What’re we gonna do? There ain’t nobody to take care of us now.” Birdie scooted down the steps to sit beside her brother. She rested her head against his thin shoulder.

“We ain’t goin’ to no state home. We’re gonna stay right here.” he tried to assure her.

“But, Sammy, momma ain’t here to cook fer us and daddy... well... how we gonna git any food or stuff?” She pulled on his arm to get his attention. “Huh?”

“I’ll take care of us. I can work the farm and cook too. We don’t need no body to help us. We’re stayin right here.”

“But, Sammy.....”

“Jus’ shut up, Birdie. I said I’ll take care of us. But you gotta make me a promise,” He said.

“Sure, Sammy. Little pinkie promise.” Birdie raised her pinkie finger, having to hold down the others. At seven she hadn’t quite gotten the hang of keeping one finger up with the others curled down.

He gave his sister a squint and a scowl.

“I said I promise,” Birdie whispered, cowering under her older brother’s glare.

“We can’t tell nobody about momma and daddy being gone.”

Her head perked up and her eyes opened round, and said, “Why?”

“Cause, stupid, the mean ol' people from the State’ll come and git us. They’ll take you one place and me to another. Then we won’t never see each other agin.”

Birdie took a deep breath and shook her head. Her eyes grew even larger, tears threatening. “I don’ wanna go to the State. I don’ want them people to take me away from you.” Now tears flowed, making tracks in the dirt on her cheeks. “I want momma.”

“Well you can’t have her. She done hung herself and daddy, too. They ain’t never gonna be here no more.” He stood and glared down at his sister. “Now promise not to tell.”

“Okay. Okay. I promise,” Birdie agreed, then frowned. “What’re we gonna tell if some body asks?”

“I’ll think of somethin’. We don’ gotta go to no school now since it closed, so’s nobody’s gonna ask. Jes stay at the house and keep you mouth shut.”

Sammy glanced at the barn. He knew he had to bury his parents before the heat got to them. He wasn’t looking forward to the job. He strode to the barn and gabbed the shovel and walked around the yard trying to decide where the best place to dig would be. He finally chose a spot near the berry bushes his mother planted. Not that the bushes would ever grow those sweet berries any longer. Dead prickly branches still clung to the weathered boards of the barn.

Each shovel of dirt thrown out was replaced by loose sandy earth sliding back down from the sides. Digging two graves became as much work as digging four. By the time the holes were dug deep enough, Sammy could barely raise his arms. He climbed out of the hole and sat on the ground, his back resting against the pile of dry earth piled beside the hole.


The sun had begun sinking behind the hill when he finished shoveling the last dirt on his parent's grave. He threw the shovel down and stood looking at the lonely mounds beneath the dead berry bushes. Birdie stood beside him, a pitcher of cold water in her hand. Sammy reached for the pitcher and drank the cold sweet water until he thought his stomach would explode.

They both stood together for a few moments more. The wind picked up and gritty dirt stung their faces and arms. Sammy turned away from the mounds, weary and heartbroken, he walked as if in a daze.

Birdie ran up behind him and pulled on his arm. “Are we gonna eat supper?” she asked.

Too tired to give much more than a grunt, Sammy kept walking toward the house.

www.sldwyer.com

[ABFTomioka]

Hello!

I really like the premise of your story. It's a difficult one to tell, since so many tragic events took place during that time. Putting the focus on children makes it even more poignant. If it's a novel for adults, though, having child characters can be tough, because they have different thoughts at their age and do things that seem illogical. Like not going to the State! :) But kids grow up fast in tough times; I guess that's what's going to happen to Sammy.

I like your dialogue, especially because that accent is difficult to keep up! But really it's good, and age-appropriate to the characters, I think. Some of your writing might benefit from a little more editing, since a few sentances are long or perhaps worded a little awkwardly, but if you read them aloud I bet you could catch onto that.

Wonderful story!

[sldwyer]

Thank you. It is not a YA. Sammy carries the story along with some people he gets to interact with. There are a few really serious scenes that I don't think would lend to a YA genre. It was a horrific time in the dust bowl and there are many stories to be told. I am surprised that more writers do not use that time period for their works. Even romance can happen in the worst of times.

I am in the process of editing and am looking at sentence length and structure. I wanted to get the dialogue down since it is used through the whole book.

Again, thank you for taking the time to read and comment. Since this is the third chapter, I will not be posting any more chapters after this, unless I get really stuck and need some of this sites' great critiques.

[fersnerfer]

I like the story.

I like Sammy's dialog more than Birdie. I think my biggest issue is that they seem to speak as though they were the same age, when you stated that Birdie is only 7.

I would try cutting down her dialog a little. While not an expert on children dialog by any means, it seems to me that there are going to be a lot of thoughts at the age of 7 that can't quite be articulated in a situation like that. I think Birdie's silences might end up being more poignant than her words.

Just an example:
“Okay. Okay. I promise,” Birdie agreed, then frowned. “What’re we gonna tell if some body asks?”

i would maybe pare that down to:

“Okay. Okay,” Birdie agreed, then frowned. “What’re we gonna say?”

Another example:
“But, Sammy, momma ain’t here to cook fer us and daddy... well... how we gonna git any food or stuff?” She pulled on his arm to get his attention. “Huh?”

vs.

“Sammy, I'm hungry an' momma ain’t here.” She pulled on his arm to get his attention. “Huh?”


Or something similar.

I'll be the first to admit that I am no expert with kids myself, but the ones that I do know who are that young do a lot more thinking than talking. It could just be me.

Good luck with the story though. It's quite good.

[priya g.]

Sammy and Birdie are children, alright. Just a few pointers:
1. Birdie shouldnt understand everything at one go- she cant interpret the word DEAD. she is only 7 years old. Sammy should use words such as GONE TO HEAVEN or NOW HAVE BECOME A STAR etc to prove the innocence of the kids. at Birdie's age, parents dont exactly explain dreary situations like death.
2. Birdie's maturity levels- a child doesnt know what happens when someone leaves them forever, or what happens when they become orphaned.
3, Sammy's behaviour is perfect for a teenager- sulking and a bit at a loss of words. but if his parents have died, there has to be a touch of emotion.
hope this helps!

[writeonsistah]

Hi! I enjoyed your story and don't have a ton to add in addition to what's been said, but I have a few comments.

-In the opening paragraph, it took me a minute to understand who the speaker was. "Sammy dragged Birdie toward the back porch. He refused to answer her endless questions or talk at all, which, in turn, made her all the more upset." <-- That second sentence switches POV's from Sammy to Birdie. Perhaps instead of saying it made her upset, which sounds like the feeling is being described by her, you could show the physical action that makes her emotion clear.

-I thought the words 'a-goin' and 'a-doin' were a bit awkward (maybe it's a rural convention I'm just unfamiliar with though) and imagine that the kids would just say 'goin' and 'doin.'

-In the 7th paragraph, you say 'emphasis' and I think you mean 'emphasize'

Overall, nice work. :)

[sldwyer]

Thanks for the great feedback. I have been working on editing and revisions for the entire manuscript - trimming sentences and dialog. I agree with the statement concerning Birdie's understanding of the situation and her length of sentences. One thing I had to learn about the times and rural living is that children grew up very fast. There was such a short time for real childhood back then. They worked the farms and were married off in their early teens (anywhere from 15 to 17 seemed to be the age for a girl to marry). I spoke with several people from that era and part of the country. It is amazing what they did at an early age.