[Other Original] [SWC] The Sun Sets in Marseilles

[Margot]

Here we are! My first piece of fiction written for this forum since 2009 and my entry for this year's SWC Get Together event. The only edits I made were fixing up some of the punctuation issues I had, which will hopefully make it an easier read. Writing again for this section was nerve wracking, but I'm very excited to be sharing a story once again :)

The Sun Sets in Marseilles​

We sat in an overwhelmingly humid room on the hottest of summer days in Birmingham, Alabama. The year was 2016 and I was just about to turn fifty-two years-old. My hair was speckled with more gray than my natural black, my skin was beginning to wrinkle and spot, and I was trying to ignore the pain creeping up my hands to my wrists. I don't know what I had envisioned for myself when I hit my fifties, but I assure you it wasn't me sitting in a hot room, on a hot day, with an old, frigid attorney I was paying sixty dollars an hour to sweat all over my divorce papers.

Laura sat across from me looking just as miserable. She was in a modest black dress, looking very much like she off to lunch somewhere important after this meeting. Her hair was straightened and sitting just below her chin making her look much more stern than she actually was. It was an odd feeling, having to meet under these conditions nowadays.

Our marriage, like most, was a happy one at some point. But this is how they all end, don't they? In an attorney's office trying to find the most humane way to put them out of their misery?

A solid fifteen minutes passed while the attorney looked over our papers. Laura sat fanning herself while I crossed my arms looking staring up at the beige, cracked ceiling.

"Mr. Crane," the attorney croaked as he cleared his throat "It's my understanding that you have a few paintings in your possession that you created. Do you intend to keep or sell these items?" the attorney asked, finally looking up.

My paintings. It was weird being asked about them in such a formal manner. They were simply a part of me, much like my skin or hair. I didn't see them as a commodity. In truth, my old paintings seemed to be nothing more than placeholders in my basement and attic. I had intended for a while to get rid of them and start fresh with new paintings that I would actually hang up in my home. My plan was to do that once I retired.

"No, they're not for sale," I yawned, "I'll probably throw those old ones away."

Laura stopped fanning herself and looked over at me, wearing an expression I couldn't quite read - anguish? Pity?

"You are most certainly not going to be throwing those paintings away. I like the one of the sunset you did during our honeymoon in Marseilles. Don't throw that one away," she stated, beginning to rapidly fan herself once more.

"I don't remember you ever taking a big interest in my paintings," I scoffed back. Our attorney sucked in his breath, looking slowly at Laura and then over to me to see if this would lead to a much bigger fight as these small ones always do. First we're talking about who gets the crock pot and the next thing you know we're fighting over why her sister Cathy got a free pass to smoke in the house while I had to pay an extra goddamn sin tax in my own home just to have one.

"Oh, Samuel, attentiveness was never really your strong suit, was it?" she sighed.

_________________________________________________________________________________________

I was attentive. To be a painter, you have to be. That's how you take a painting from just a picture and elevate it to an experience.

I remember that sunset in Marseilles like it was yesterday. We were staying in a small apartment off the coast - we were young and poor and in love, so the place was dirt cheap. I mean the-plumbing-didn't-work-half-the-time cheap. That first night though, was magic.

The sky was blue, but a deep mystical blue with tints of purple and it began to fade into the most striking shade of pink that glided across the sky. A few clouds sat in the distance, and the ocean was soaking up all of the sky's colors. Getting that on canvas was nothing short of a miracle when you consider that like the master painters before me, I had no picture to reference. Just my memory of how I felt when I looked at the sky that night. The night that followed our "I do's" and all the plans we made about how our lives would turn out from that day forward.

Laura was going to save up a lot of money by working two jobs so we could take a year off and spend it abroad. Maybe in France like we were now, or the rainforests of Costa Rica looking for birds and sloths. I was going to work as a finance manager at one of the big national banks and buy her pretty boots to wear all over Europe. After that maybe we'd even have a kid - a boy named Michael or a girl named Jane, after her favorite band: Jane's Addiction. I thought it sounded morbid, she laughed and called me a square.

Our first day in Marseilles was spent on the beach, eating grapes and brie while we watched the boats sail across the sea. We'd talk for hours and stop every now and then to look at our matching rings and smile like two love-drunk teenagers. Later that night we drank what we thought was the best red wine we ever had and danced to the soft music making its way through our open window from the beautiful five-star hotel somewhere down the street. My hair was still black, and hers long, curly, and wild. Our skin had yet to wrinkle and was smooth to the touch as we swayed along to the tempo like the waves in the sea, as close as we'd ever be.

__________________________________________________________________________________________

She may say that I'm not attentive, but I know there's a nice empty spot above her bookshelf where she can hang the painting of the sunset in Marseilles.
​

 

[Miz en Scène]

Writing again for this section was nerve wracking, but I'm very excited to be sharing a story once again

And what a story it is!

I feel kind of embarrassed by my own fic after reading this one. Yours is good. Really good.

The plot, I think, is simple, and that's by no means a bad thing. It's so simple that I'd describe it as really tightly written – which I'm jealous off. It's a story with a great focus that never strays, and it stands up incredibly well solely on the strength of its descriptive narration. The way you wrote about the painting was also remarkably beautiful. I've always thought the way people described the sky to be a mark of how well a writer they were, and yours certainly delivers. Beyond that, there's not much dialogue, but the dialogue that's there is also really realistic. Certainly something actual people would actually say. Dialogue realism is one of the hardest parts of writing to master, imo.

Like I said in the SWC thread, there's this whole literary fiction vibe I'm getting from this, and I'm really glad to see I wasn't wrong. I know I'm just gushing right now, but I really do think this is one of my favourites so far (though I've only read the only other one which has been posted haha) from this year's contest.

Anyway, compliments aside, there are still quite a few issues I want to point out, if only for the sake of making this a balanced review.

"Mr. Crane," the attorney croaked as he cleared his throat "It's my understanding that you have a few paintings in your possession that you created. Do you intend to keep or sell these items?" the attorney asked, finally looking up.

In this one, you've got this thing where you indicate the lawyer speaking twice (croaked / asked). It's not necessarily a cardinal sin, but also it's not strictly necessary either. We know it's a question, and we know he's speaking, so the latter "asked" is quite redundant.

"No, they're not for sale," I yawned, "I'll probably throw those old ones away."

This one's also a minor gripe, but I've got this thing against people using verbs that don't actually indicate speaking to act as dialogue tags. I get that the meaning is understood, but at the same time the little prescriptivist inside of me is screaming at me to point this out. In any case, moving yawned to before the dialogue would also work. Or a more elegant approach might be to terminate your dialogue in the first part so that "yawned" becomes an expression of action.

Something like, "No, they're not for sale.(period here)" I yawned.(and here)"I'll probably throw those old ones away."

And one last thing is this fairly major part of the narrative where the writing could have been slightly better.

"I don't remember you ever taking a big interest in my paintings," I scoffed back. Our attorney sucked in his breath, looking slowly at Laura and then over to me to see if this would lead to a much bigger fight as these small ones always do. First we're talking about who gets the crock pot and the next thing you know we're fighting over why her sister Cathy got a free pass to smoke in the house while I had to pay an extra goddamn sin tax in my own home just to have one.

Here, what really struck me as weird is the narrator presumptuously going into the mind of the lawyer. That strikes me as more of a third person omniscient technique. It's not a good thing in its own right, but it gets worse because it interrupts the flow when you jump right back into the narrator's mind with the diatribe about crock pots. So I kind of stumbled there because I was briefly thinking that all the lawyer's clients have this crock pot argument, which seems awfully specific. Maybe indicate that you're going back into the narrator's mind by stopping at the "looking at us" part and starting a new sentence with "He's probably thinking that…" or something of that nature?

Anyway, aside from that it's all good. I really liked the story (a bit too much really) and my commiserations on it for not placing higher.

 

[Bay]

Already gave my comments, but I'll post them here too under a spoiler (saved the grammar stuff since you mentioned editing those) and also add some of my favorite parts.

Spoiler:

Nice twist to this prompt where the couple is getting a divorce but the narrator still has fond memories of their honey moon. The painting described does sound very nice. While I like the last lines there, I thought perhaps you could add a bit more reaction to the narrator, like a smile or something, to show how nostalgic he was on their wedding night. Perhaps even add his wife asking, "why you're smiling?" and maybe he's like, "nothing", haha.

Okay, a few favorite lines and other additions.

I don't know what I had envisioned for myself when I hit my fifties, but I assure you it wasn't me sitting in a hot room, on a hot day, with an old, frigid attorney I was paying sixty dollars an hour to sweat all over my divorce papers.

This was what got me hooked already, having this story start with the couple's divorce. as mentioned, your twist for the nostalgic prompt was well done.

"You are most certainly not going to be throwing those paintings away. I like the one of the sunset you did during our honeymoon in Marseilles. Don't throw that one away," she stated, beginning to rapidly fan herself once more.

Even when they're in a divorce, it was nice the wife still is fond of his paintings.

Still like the description of the painting there. Re-reading the next part where the narrator talks about their future plans, it is bittersweet as those sound like good ones and starry-eyed, but I'm assuming in the end these didn't happen.

Nice to see your writing there, hope to see more of yours soon!