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Ramblin Johnny Shines
This is a conversation that I had with my grandpappy. He's a known rambler. I have written this as it was spoken to the best of my ability. Consider this your last chance to back out.
"When I was nine, it was Christmas day when Bobby Legett fell off the roof and broke his leg. Now Bobby was a rambunctious boy, a nice strapping lad, but his sisters was the real prize. Stephanie Gonza was the finest 18 year old on Elm Street. She was sweet as butter and smooth as sugar. If you could get her to look at you, then hoo-ey! You were lit! Nicest lady. Got me into bridge she did. Went over for a date, she had some friends over, and we played cards all night. Best date I've been on. You'd think that a growing young man knowing Bridge would be an negative, not a pro, but you'da be wrong on that count. Bridge has gotten me out of more deadly situations than it's put me in. One time I was playing bridge in a casino, and two fellows took me out back, stuck a gun in my mouth, and threatened to break my legs and my dick if I ever came back... but that's a story for another time. It was '38 in Laos. I was a tunnel rat. That meant that I was on my hands and knees crawling in the shit, trying to get Charlie before Charlie got me. It wouldn'tve been a hard job 'cept for the fact that I wasn't an officer and on account'a that I wadn't allowed to carry a pistol. Now my pappy didn't like that much at all and so what he di' is he'd gone and sent me an army cap 50 cal cap and ball revolver, all legal like mind you. A replica of a gun that'd seen service last century, fighting in the modern day. Well at least when I lived it, it was the modern day. So there I was, crawling through the AVRN tunnels. They'd gone and fragged the shit out of the place, so the dust was all up in the air, thick like when your sister vapes with that thing she's got. Don't like vaping that much, reminds me of when the mortars would come in. Shrieking like banshees, Shreeeeeeeeeeeee. Damn fucking scary those things were. I used to be posted as an artillery observer in the jungles, and it was a damn good posting. Got to sleep in a tree, didn't have to wear my regalia. There was a nice easterly wind that'd come through at night. Eh, I've gone off on a tangent. So anyways, first thing I found in there was a foot. Tossed that out at the Cap'n, who laughed at it. He was even happier when I drug the former owner of the foot out. Turn out the gook had a backpack full of intel. Oh boy did the officers have a field day with that. They prolly won the Battle of Tet Offensive because of it. Heh. One time I was clearing another bunker complex t'at was meant to be abandoned. Had an M60, bigass machine gun, and that cap-and-ball in a crossdraw. Charlie popped out of a kill-hole. Guess which one saved my life? That god-damn cap and ball. You can keep your glocks, your fancy pancy Taser. I've got my cap and ball, and I'll keep it till the day I die. That's why I don't support the war 'n Err-Rack."
"When I was nine, it was Christmas day when Bobby Legett fell off the roof and broke his leg. Now Bobby was a rambunctious boy, a nice strapping lad, but his sisters was the real prize. Stephanie Gonza was the finest 18 year old on Elm Street. She was sweet as butter and smooth as sugar. If you could get her to look at you, then hoo-ey! You were lit! Nicest lady. Got me into bridge she did. Went over for a date, she had some friends over, and we played cards all night. Best date I've been on. You'd think that a growing young man knowing Bridge would be an negative, not a pro, but you'da be wrong on that count. Bridge has gotten me out of more deadly situations than it's put me in. One time I was playing bridge in a casino, and two fellows took me out back, stuck a gun in my mouth, and threatened to break my legs and my dick if I ever came back... but that's a story for another time. It was '38 in Laos. I was a tunnel rat. That meant that I was on my hands and knees crawling in the shit, trying to get Charlie before Charlie got me. It wouldn'tve been a hard job 'cept for the fact that I wasn't an officer and on account'a that I wadn't allowed to carry a pistol. Now my pappy didn't like that much at all and so what he di' is he'd gone and sent me an army cap 50 cal cap and ball revolver, all legal like mind you. A replica of a gun that'd seen service last century, fighting in the modern day. Well at least when I lived it, it was the modern day. So there I was, crawling through the AVRN tunnels. They'd gone and fragged the shit out of the place, so the dust was all up in the air, thick like when your sister vapes with that thing she's got. Don't like vaping that much, reminds me of when the mortars would come in. Shrieking like banshees, Shreeeeeeeeeeeee. Damn fucking scary those things were. I used to be posted as an artillery observer in the jungles, and it was a damn good posting. Got to sleep in a tree, didn't have to wear my regalia. There was a nice easterly wind that'd come through at night. Eh, I've gone off on a tangent. So anyways, first thing I found in there was a foot. Tossed that out at the Cap'n, who laughed at it. He was even happier when I drug the former owner of the foot out. Turn out the gook had a backpack full of intel. Oh boy did the officers have a field day with that. They prolly won the Battle of Tet Offensive because of it. Heh. One time I was clearing another bunker complex t'at was meant to be abandoned. Had an M60, bigass machine gun, and that cap-and-ball in a crossdraw. Charlie popped out of a kill-hole. Guess which one saved my life? That god-damn cap and ball. You can keep your glocks, your fancy pancy Taser. I've got my cap and ball, and I'll keep it till the day I die. That's why I don't support the war 'n Err-Rack."
'eighteen' - write out numbers unless... well, here's a link to the guidelines. http://theeditorsblog.net/2013/01/13/numbers-in-fiction/
That negative/pro bit didn't seem to fit the voice of the character.
Honestly, I think the idea here - warning the readers to not read on - sounds more clever than it really is. I'll admit I laughed at that 'this is your last chance', but consider; any combination of the reader taking you seriously/not taking you seriously, enjoying/not enjoying the story, means you've contradicted yourself somehow and probably broken a bit of their trust.
Besides that, however, if there had been a compelling narrative buried in Grandpa's ramblings, I'd have probably still excused it somewhat. As it is, it's not particularly bad... but it's not really worth the work needed to dig the story out, either.
If you've actually copied this from your grandpa, though, everything's forgiven. :P He seems like an interesting guy.
That negative/pro bit didn't seem to fit the voice of the character.
Honestly, I think the idea here - warning the readers to not read on - sounds more clever than it really is. I'll admit I laughed at that 'this is your last chance', but consider; any combination of the reader taking you seriously/not taking you seriously, enjoying/not enjoying the story, means you've contradicted yourself somehow and probably broken a bit of their trust.
Besides that, however, if there had been a compelling narrative buried in Grandpa's ramblings, I'd have probably still excused it somewhat. As it is, it's not particularly bad... but it's not really worth the work needed to dig the story out, either.
If you've actually copied this from your grandpa, though, everything's forgiven. :P He seems like an interesting guy.
I'm going to pretend, for the purpose of this review, that this is a reliable narrator and his transcription is real.
(Note: I doubt that's true. I'm just assuming it is for this review.)
Composition is the art of arranging smaller pieces into a larger whole. Importantly, whether a composition is valid or realistic is a separate question from whether it is artistically pleasing or of literary value.
We can assume that this is a faithful transcription of the author's grandfather's recollection of the Vietnam war (...in the 30s?), which makes it an example of non-fiction. Ignoring that this is the fiction round, we can say that as a piece of biographical non-fiction, it is faithful to life.
When someone argues that this ramble does not have the qualities of a story, they are correct in a sense. The counterargument to that is that life doesn't always proceed as a story. Sometimes life really does ramble. So which is correct?
Well, I'm a fiction writer, obviously, so I'm going to say that even an autobiography, if it is aiming for literary merit, should contain the elements of a story. If one's life, transcribed, does not have narrative flow, then it's a life -- but not a story (or, at least, not a good one).
That's fine. Life doesn't have to be organized with the artificial structure of a story, especially as we understand them in the early 21st century. But stories must be organized with the structure of a story as we recognize them in the early 21st century.
So, um, long-winded answer: this doesn't work for me. Sorry, author. Sorry to your grandpa, too (assuming he's real).
(Note: I doubt that's true. I'm just assuming it is for this review.)
Composition is the art of arranging smaller pieces into a larger whole. Importantly, whether a composition is valid or realistic is a separate question from whether it is artistically pleasing or of literary value.
We can assume that this is a faithful transcription of the author's grandfather's recollection of the Vietnam war (...in the 30s?), which makes it an example of non-fiction. Ignoring that this is the fiction round, we can say that as a piece of biographical non-fiction, it is faithful to life.
When someone argues that this ramble does not have the qualities of a story, they are correct in a sense. The counterargument to that is that life doesn't always proceed as a story. Sometimes life really does ramble. So which is correct?
Well, I'm a fiction writer, obviously, so I'm going to say that even an autobiography, if it is aiming for literary merit, should contain the elements of a story. If one's life, transcribed, does not have narrative flow, then it's a life -- but not a story (or, at least, not a good one).
That's fine. Life doesn't have to be organized with the artificial structure of a story, especially as we understand them in the early 21st century. But stories must be organized with the structure of a story as we recognize them in the early 21st century.
So, um, long-winded answer: this doesn't work for me. Sorry, author. Sorry to your grandpa, too (assuming he's real).
I feel this kind of falls outside the standards of review as, assuming the top words are true, this is pure autobiography?
As such, I have no particular commentary to offer.
As such, I have no particular commentary to offer.
I actually chuckled once at how rapidly the narrator leaps from subject to subject, but in general, there isn't really much to this "story".
Wow. Reading that on an iPhone was like trying to gulp some sort of big chunk of bread or gobbet of meat.
I don't have much to add to what has already been said, as often when one reads after many already did. I feel the voice of the narrator (the grandpa) was good, but beyond that it is… sort of ramble yes. A collection of anecdotes cobbled together and linked by a wispy thread. It could be part of a longer story, but here, well, it's difficult to say it leaves any impression at all.
It's what rambles are: a shambolic pile up of words.
But I'm grateful you gave Cold the opportunity to crave the most rambling review up to date! :P
I don't have much to add to what has already been said, as often when one reads after many already did. I feel the voice of the narrator (the grandpa) was good, but beyond that it is… sort of ramble yes. A collection of anecdotes cobbled together and linked by a wispy thread. It could be part of a longer story, but here, well, it's difficult to say it leaves any impression at all.
It's what rambles are: a shambolic pile up of words.
But I'm grateful you gave Cold the opportunity to crave the most rambling review up to date! :P
When I was nine, it was Christmas day when Bobby Legett fell off the roof and broke his leg.
There is no way this is real