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There Goes the Neighborhood - by Bruce Cook
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Bud Brewster
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PostPosted: Thu Aug 20, 2015 8:45 pm    Post subject: There Goes the Neighborhood - by Bruce Cook Reply with quote

_____________________________________________

I created this piece of humorous fiction for a college class in the 1990s, and I think it turned out well. It's not science fiction at all, so don't expect anything out of the ordinary to happen. In fact, the whole point of the story is that the ordinary isn't always dull, and "normal" people often find themselves quite different from each other.

Anyway, enjoy this tale of an unusual suburban clash. Very Happy

_____________________________________________



_______________There Goes the Neighborhood

__________________________by Bruce Cook
___________________copyright@ 1993

Gladys Thornton didn't hear the doorbell the first time it rang because she was on her knees in the hall with her head thrust deep into the laundry closet. She was trying to reach the socks and underwear that were hiding behind the boxes at the back of the closet, next to the overflowing basket. If she didn't trace down all the little fugitives that tried to escape the washing machine, she would end up with a whole family wearing mismatched socks and day-old dirty underwear.

But the doorbell caught her attention on the second ring, and she struggled to her feet as she muttered unkind comments about door-to-door missionaries who bothered busy folks in the middle of the day. As she stood up, one knee tried to poke its way through the hole in the old jeans she had put on that morning before going to war against the housework. Gladys got her leg back inside where it belonged, pushed up the sleeves on the stained sweatshirt, and shoved her tousled hair roughly into place as she padded through the house in her fuzzy bedroom slippers.

When she passed her daughter's messy room, Gladys stuck her head through the door and said, "Hey, Debbie? How's the reconstruction coming, Kiddo?"

A pretty teenage girl popped up from the far side of the bed with an armload of dirty clothes and said, "I found a few more things under the bed, Mom."

"Ah-ha. So that's were your Fall wardrobe went to. Just throw them in with the rest — and don't forget to sort by color, sweetheart. Your father said he refused to wear any more pink t-shirts that got washed with your red sweaters."

Gladys stepped over the sorted piles of dirty clothes in the hall, wove her way through the boxes of miscellaneous items in the living room that were destined for Saturday's yard sale, and finally found the front door exactly where it was supposed to be — perhaps the only thing in the house that could make that claim.

She knew it couldn't be any of her neighborhood friends at the door because they would have called first to make sure there was fresh coffee in the pot. So, that meant there were strangers at the door, and that meant she'd lose at least a minute and a half of housework while she answered the door, which was a pity because she was already two weeks behind and could ill afford any further delay.

Every civic organization in town had demanded her presence at a meeting that week, from PTA to the Boy Scouts, and the house had deteriorated amidst the litter which her beloved-but-disorganized family always left for Dear Old Mom to clean up.

When Gladys opened the door she found herself facing an immaculately tailored young woman in a trim business suit, her hair fixed to perfection, her makeup so expertly applied that she looked like the cover of the Avon booklet which Gladys planned to browse through during lunch — if there was time for lunch.

A shiny green BMW was parked at the curb, and a man in an expensive business suit was talking to a teenage boy about the same age as Gladys' two sons — the same two sons who were in the driveway industriously washing the family's Dodge minivan, an aging vehicle that had more miles on it than most space shuttles.

"May I help you?" Gladys said to the woman.

"I'm sorry to bother you," said the woman, glancing at Gladys's battle-scarred jeans and fuzzy slippers. "My name is Barbara Sloan. That's my husband and son." She waved one well-manicured hand back towards the BMW. The man was discussing something with the teenager, pointing at the various houses in the neighborhood as he spoke.

"Yes?" Gladys said simply, reluctant to introduce herself to this fashion paragon and encourage more conversation than she really wanted.

"If you're not too busy, I was wondering if you could answer a few questions."

Gladys smiled politely and arched one eyebrow as she patiently waited for the woman to add a bit more info to her remark, but the woman didn't' take the hint, so Gladys said, "Questions? About what?"

"Well, ummm, my husband and I are buying the house across the street."

"Really?" Gladys's mood brightened. "Hey, that's great. We've been wondering what kind of new neighbors we might get. I see you've a got a son the same age as mine."

Out in the driveway the boys had stopped washing the minivan and were talking to the teenager.

"The closing is set for next Thursday, so it isn't really a done deal yet. My husband and I thought it would be a good idea to talk to some of the residents and, ummm . . . make sure this was the right kind of neighborhood."

The remark puzzled Gladys for a moment, but she didn't much like the sound of it. The kind of neighborhood this was seemed perfectly obvious to Gladys, so she laughed and said, "I guess it's just your garden variety American neighborhood. Nothing mysterious going on."

"Oh, I'm sure," the woman said noncommittally. "But you know how things are these days. The houses in this subdivision are up to the standards we want, but we thought we better check around a bit more and . . . you know . . . see what kind of people there are in the area."

"Oh," said Gladys — and Ah-ha she thought to herself. Now she understood. The lady wanted to know if the neighborhood was good enough for her. Just checking to make sure the local folks didn't include a few murderers or drug dealers or Libyan terrorists. Gladys studied the woman for a moment, noting the expensive hairdo and the elegant clothes. An opinion was forming about this surprise visitor, and it wasn't particularly favorable.

"So, you've decided on the house across the street, eh?" Gladys said.

"We were sure are first, but then we decided to look around a bit more. At the neighborhood, I mean. The house itself seems like a good investment, and it's well within our price range."

"Oh, I'm sure of that. Actually its under-priced. The family that lived there had to move to Denver when Ben Carlson's employer transferred him, so they had to sell the house quickly. They've had a little trouble finding a buyer. We hated to see them go, too. My sons were close friends with the Carlson's three boys."

"That must have been terrible for his wife," the woman said. "I mean, having to leave her own job."

"She didn't have a job," said Gladys. "I mean, other than taking care of a big house, three teenage boys, and a sweet clod-hopper husband. Naturally she took that job with her."

"Of course," Barbara said with a hollow smile. On a hunch, Gladys asked a question.

"What do you do for a living, Barbara?"

"I'm the district manager for a company called Gen Tech," the woman replied with quiet confidence. Then she raised her eyebrows and said, "How about yourself?"

"Oh, I'm just . . . " she shrugged casually, "a woman of leisure. You know, bon-bons and soap operas." Both women chuckled, but one of them was thinking dark thoughts about career women with superior attitudes.

From the curb the man called out that he was going to text a few questions to the realtor. He got into the BMW and closed the door. The teenager had struck up a conversation with Gladys's two boys next to the half-washed minivan. She heard the teenager talking about the new car his father had just given him. Gladys's oldest son was reluctantly admitting that when he got his license next year he would have to drive the boxy Dodge on dates. The other boy was the only one of the three that seemed to think this was funny.

Barbara gave Gladys a strained smile for a moment, then said, "I'm sorry, I didn't catch your name."

"My fault. Forgot to pitch it. I'm Gladys Thornton."

"Happy to meet you," the woman said with practiced formality. "Have you lived in the neighborhood long, Gladys?"

"About five years, I guess."

"Like it here?"

"Yes, indeed. The people are very nice."

Barbara nodded and said, "Hmmm. That's good. What are the young people around here like? I hear so much about teenage gangs in some areas."

"Not a gang in sight. Just lazy kids like my two boys," chuckled Gladys. "And I haven't heard of any gangs at the high school either."

"Ah, good. Actually, though, we aren't too concerned about the high school. Jeremy is going to a private school."

Gladys had to hold her face very still to keep her smile from slipping. The woman's smug manner was beginning to wear on Gladys's nerves. Out by the minivan she heard good old Jeremy bragging to her sons about how many video games he owned. The two brothers were making awkward attempts to get themselves invited over to the boy's house after he moved in.

With her false smile firmly fortified, Gladys said, "Why don't you come in for a cup of coffee and I'll tell you about your new neighbors."

"No, really, I don't want to impose."

"It's no trouble at all, Barbara. Might as well get to know each other if we're going to be neighbors. Come on in."

"Well . . . if you're sure."

Gladys led Barbara through the obstacle course created by the yard sale boxes in the living room. She knew without looking back that Barbara was casting a disapproving eye at the disheveled state of the place. And the kitchen was more of the same: a counter full of dishes that needed washing and a table littered with mail that hadn't been opened.

By nightfall Gladys would have the place livable again, but she didn't say that to Barbara. She just let the woman take it all in as Gladys found clean cups and filled them with the last of the breakfast coffee from the big pot. She pushed the clutter back on the table until there was a clear spot, then she sat down with Barbara and started filling her in on the neighborhood.

"I think you're just going to love it here, Barbara," she began cheerfully. "We have such interesting people on our street. I never know what to expect next."

"What do you mean?" Barbara said, being careful to smile.

"Why, its never a dull moment. Take the Swansons, for example. They live next door. They've got two boys, ages ten and twelve. We woke up one Saturday morning and heard somebody stomping around our the roof. My husband went outside to see what it was, and he found the Swanson boys up there arguing about the best way to get their kite untangled from our TV antennae."

"They were on your roof?" Barbara exclaimed, her eyes large with wonder. "How in the world did they get up there?"

"Ed — that's my husband — had left his ladder against the house after finishing some painting the day before. When Mrs. Swanson came out and saw her little darlings teetering on the edge of our roof, she went into hysterics. She threatened to sue us. But we straightened things out eventually. We've gotten along fine with them ever since. Except when they stole our lawnmower."

Barbara almost choked on her coffee, her eyes bulging as she tried to recover. When she got the hot coffee down, she said, "Stole your lawnmower?"

"Well, they didn't actually steal it, they just borrowed it without asking. Ed left it out in the yard when he went up to the hardware store, and when he came back Bill Swanson was using it to cut his grass. Ed was a little upset, but he and Bill had a nice screaming match out in the yard and cleared the air."

Barbara's brow furrowed in disapproval as she visualized her would-be neighbors bellowing at each other right out in public. The image pinched her mouth into a sour look.

"Is theft a big problem in this neighborhood?" Barbara asked gravely.

"Oh, probably no more so than anywhere else. Things like that happen in any neighborhood from time to time — theft, vandalism, pranks. Like the night somebody hung a pair of dirty underwear on our doorknob."

Barbara looked a little ill. "Dirty underwear? Uh . . . how dirty was this underwear?" she said hesitantly. She seemed to be ready to flinch at the answer.

"Real dirty," Gladys said pointedly. "Slap full of dirt, if you catch my drift."

Barbara did indeed flinch. She sat her cup down a bit harder than she intend and she dabbed her napkin on her lips.

"Who could have done such a thing?" she said in a low tone.

Gladys shrugged. "Beats me. We don't have any real enemies in the subdivision as far as I know." Casually she added. "Somebody broke out the window of the minivan a few months back, but that wasn't directed at us personally."

For a moment Barbara just stared. Then, "I beg your pardon?"

"It couldn't have been personal, because they broke the windows out of five or six other cars that were parked on the street." Gladys laughed and said, "Boy, honey, you haven't lived until you've been awakened at 3:00 AM by a policeman knocking on the front door to tell you that your car window has been smashed."

"Uh, yes, I'm sure that was a thrill," Barbara said in a frosty tone. Her color didn't look too good.

Gladys wore a sudden look of concern, and she spoke quickly. "Oh, please don't get me wrong, Barbara. Things like that hardly ever happen around here. We get along just fine with the neighbors. Really we do."

Barbara looked somewhat relieved by this. She studied her half-full cup for a moment and then said, "So I guess most of the neighbors are . . . well, nice normal people."

Gladys shrugged and then chuckled briefly. "Nice, yes . . . but I'm not too sure about normal."

Barbara waited with visible tension for Gladys to elaborate, but finally she had to do some prompting. "Uh . . . what do you mean?"

"Well, there's Mrs. Gordon, down on the corner. She likes cats. She likes lots of cats. Last I heard, she's got about thirty of them in her house."

"Thirty cats!" Barbara exclaimed.

"Right. She lives alone — other than her feline army, I mean. One of my sons does her yard work, and he said the inside of her house smells like a zoo. But at least their quiet, huh? Not like the dogs around here."

"What about the dogs around here?" Barbara said, leaning forward unconsciously.

"A lot of the folks in this subdivision have dogs in their backyard. They all get to barking sometimes, and it makes it hard to sleep."

"I see," Barbara replied, her face unreadable. She glanced at her watch and then took a careful of sip of her coffee. "Well, I really must be going, Gladys. Thank you for the coffee. This has been a very . . . interesting conversation." She got up and started edging towards the door.

"You're quite welcome," Gladys said cheerfully. "And I hope I haven't spoiled your good opinion of our community."

"Oh, not at all," Barbara said unconvincingly. "I'm sure its a wonderful place to live. But remember, I said we haven't definitely decided to buy the house, yet." She started picking her way carefully through the boxes in the living room. Then she stopped and turned back towards Gladys for a moment, chewing her lip as she debated asking one last question. "By the way," she said hesitantly. "My husband and I were wondering about something else, too. Are there any . . . well, are there any black families in the neighborhood?"

Somehow Gladys managed to keep a straight face. She didn't answer for a moment, she just stood there with her brow furrowed.

Quickly Barbara said, "It's not that we're prejudiced or anything — we're just concerned about property values. You know how it is." She began to look embarrassed as she waited for Gladys to say something. Finally she said, "Well, never mind. If you'd rather not say anything about it — "

"Oh, no, it's not that," Gladys said quickly. "It's just that I never really noticed if there were any black families on our street."

"Never noticed?" Barbara said. She was watching Gladys closely, trying to decide if she was serious or kidding or just plain crazy. The just plain crazy theory had been forming in Barbara's mind for the last fifteen minutes as she listened to Gladys talk.

"Wait a second," Gladys said. "Now that you mention it, I think the Ferguesons are black. They live right up the street. Hey, I've got! I'll call and ask them."

"What?" said Barbara.

"Sure. It won't take a second." Gladys picked up the phone and started dialing.

"Are you serious?" Barbara said. Just-plain-crazy was seeming more likely every minute. She started towards the front door, anxious to get out of this claustrophobic house. "Please, you don't have to do that . . . I have to be going . . . "

Gladys followed her to the front door, and just as Barbara opened it, she spoke into the phone. "Hello, Susan? This is Gladys Thornton. How are you, today? Oh, just fine, just fine. Listen, I'm here with someone who's thinking about buying the Carlson's place and she was wondering if there were any blacks in the neighborhood. Are you black, Susan?" Glady' listened for a moment and then said, "Well, I just never noticed, that's all. Oh, okay, I'll tell her."

Gladys covered the mouthpiece with her hand and said, "Susan said she never noticed either. She's going to look in the mirror and come right back."

Barbara Sloan gave Gladys a look of confused amazement as she stumbled out the front door. On the way past the minivan she grabbed her son and hauled him towards the BMW at the curb. A car had stopped in front of the house, and Gladys husband was saying goodbye to his car-pooling group just as the BMW sped away. With his hardhat tucked under one arm and his dirty work shirt draped over his shoulder, Ed Thornton said hello to his sons as he passed the soapy van, then greeted his wife at the door just as she was finishing her explanation to the Susan Fergueson on the phone. Ed could hear Susan's helpless laughter from the tiny earpiece as Gladys hung up.

"Who was that, Honey?" Ed said, thumbing back towards the street where the Sloans had last been seen.

"Oh, just some undesirable types that were thinking about moving in across the street. I think I managed to avert disaster by telling them about our interesting neighbors."

"What do mean?" Ed said, puzzled by the whole thing.

"I'll tell you about it over dinner."

Ed shrugged. "Oh, okay. Speaking of dinner, what are we having?"

Gladys' face lite up with gleeful pleasure and she licked her lips as she said, "Steak, fried chicken, pork chops, french fries, green beans, salad and other dishes too numerous to mention!"

"What in the world are you talking about, Sweetheart?"

"Go get cleaned up, Dear. You're taking us out to eat."

"Oh, I get it. But wait a second, what about the old family budget. Can we afford to — "

"Don't worry, we'll make up for it this Saturday with the yard sale. I'm putting all your power tools out, so we'll make a fortune."

Ed laughed and shook his head as he wrapped his arms around his crazy, wonderful wife and held her close. "After all these years, I still can't tell when you're serious and when you're kidding."

"I know, Sweety. That's my secret weapon."

_________________
____________
Is there no man on Earth who has the wisdom and innocence of a child?
~ The Space Children (1958)


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Custer
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PostPosted: Thu Aug 27, 2015 9:29 am    Post subject: Reply with quote



Well, it may not have turned out to be science fiction, but it's certainly great fun to read. The title did lead me to think of "And Then the Town Took Off", but we stayed strictly suburban.



I'm going to pass over relatively quickly loose/lose, your/you're, their/they're, and the occasional missing word, though I suppose I should mention that there were places where some extra punctuation would have made better sense of things, even starting with the very first sentence. And in that first paragraph, would "days-old" have fitted better than "day-old," which at least around here isn't considered particularly dirty for underwear!
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Bud Brewster
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PostPosted: Thu Aug 27, 2015 9:47 pm    Post subject: Reply with quote

Thanks for the feedback. Always appreciated. I'll do some work on this one too. Smile

One thing I've discovered about our individual styles of writing is that you favor more punctuation than I do. I noticed that in your short story.

I think the sentence below might be a good example. You mentioned that the first sentence in this story needed a bit of punctuation. What would you add? Very Happy

Gladys Thornton didn't hear the door bell the first time it rang because she was on her knees in the hall with her head thrust deeply into the laundry closet.

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Is there no man on Earth who has the wisdom and innocence of a child?
~ The Space Children (1958)


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orzel-w
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PostPosted: Fri Aug 28, 2015 1:40 am    Post subject: Reply with quote

Bud Brewster wrote:
Gladys Thornton didn't hear the door bell the first time it rang because she was on her knees in the hall with her head thrust deeply into the laundry closet.

I think it's fine as-is. There are plenty of other points that do need attention before a sentence that may or may not be improved by optional punctuation.

Just sayin'.

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PostPosted: Fri Aug 28, 2015 8:33 am    Post subject: Reply with quote

Quote:
Gladys Thornton didn't hear the door bell the first time it rang because she was on her knees in the hall with her head thrust deeply into the laundry closet.

It's by no means bad as it is but it is the start of the whole story so deserves to be slowed down a little rather than pumped out in a single breath. Leaving aside any controversy over whether "door bell" deserves to be one word two words or indeed hyphenated which is just a matter of taste I'd definitely go for a comma after "rang" and might be tempted to put one after "hall" too. Alternatively I might make "rang" the end of its sentence and leaving out the "because" start a new sentence with "She" which would make having a comma after "hall" slightly smoother.

Punctuation is such a useful tool in adjusting the flow of a narrative that leaving it out seems a waste though in other parts of the tale the punctuation is indeed flawless.


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trekriffic
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PostPosted: Fri Aug 28, 2015 10:54 am    Post subject: Reply with quote

Custer wrote:
Quote:
Gladys Thornton didn't hear the door bell the first time it rang because she was on her knees in the hall with her head thrust deeply into the laundry closet.

It's by no means bad as it is but it is the start of the whole story so deserves to be slowed down a little rather than pumped out in a single breath. Leaving aside any controversy over whether "door bell" deserves to be one word two words or indeed hyphenated which is just a matter of taste I'd definitely go for a comma after "rang" and might be tempted to put one after "hall" too. Alternatively I might make "rang" the end of its sentence and leaving out the "because" start a new sentence with "She" which would make having a comma after "hall" slightly smoother.

Punctuation is such a useful tool in adjusting the flow of a narrative that leaving it out seems a waste though in other parts of the tale the punctuation is indeed flawless.



Would inserting a semicolon after rang and eliminating "because" work as well?
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PostPosted: Fri Aug 28, 2015 11:32 am    Post subject: Reply with quote

Yes, that would be good - I like semicolons, though one does, I think, need to avoid using them more than once per sentence.

I guess I could have used one instead of that dash, though I suppose there is a slight difference in effect.

My previous post does seem a bit "in a single breath" without its commas... or maybe that's just me!


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orzel-w
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PostPosted: Fri Aug 28, 2015 1:48 pm    Post subject: Reply with quote

Here's a thread you might be interested in depositing a couple of cents, Custer.

http://www.allsci-fi.com/viewtopic.php?t=1262
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PostPosted: Fri Aug 28, 2015 3:05 pm    Post subject: Reply with quote

I see that you're one of the Four Horsemen of the Apostraphe - nice! I must confess that I get slightly fussed by people using "problematic" as if it just means that there is a problem, or thinking that prevaricating is the same as procrastinating... but there is a weekly column in The Times misleadingly called "The Pedant" which does point out how arbitrary a lot of so-called "rules" for grammar are. The writer, wisely, thinks that split infinitives are perfectly sensible, for example; we in sf have been Boldly Going down that avenue for decades now.

I don't think I'll Custer-bomb that other thread, but it was interesting to read!
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PostPosted: Tue Sep 01, 2015 9:10 am    Post subject: Reply with quote

Quote:
Gladys Thornton didn't hear the door bell the first time it rang because she was on her knees in the hall with her head thrust deeply into the laundry closet.

Call me crazy, but since I wouldn't pause at any point in this sentence, and since it's all one idea (she didn't hear the door because . . . ), I don't think it needs any punctuation at all.

The two main reasons for inserting punctuation like commas, semi-colons, and em dashes are (1) the sentence needs a pause to differentiate between items on a list or separate concepts in the same sentence, and (2) two sentences are joined with a comma and a conjunction.

Neither of those apply to that first sentence.

And the story is styled to be read at a good clip, sort of like a funny tale being told by a stand-up comic. Consider this paragraph, for example, which is meant to give you the feel of a busy mother who barely has time to catch her breath during her whirlwind day.


Quote:
But the door bell caught her attention on the second ring, and she struggled to her feet as she muttered unkind comments about door-to-door missionaries who bothered busy folks in the middle of the day. As she stood up, one knee tried to poke its way through the hole in the old jeans she had put on that morning before going to war against the housework. Gladys got her leg back inside where it belonged, pushed up the sleeves on the stained sweatshirt, and shoved her tousled hair roughly into place as she padded through the house in her fuzzy bedroom slippers.

What do you think, guys? Is it funny-but-true, and does it read smoothly? Any punctuation other than the four commas and the three periods would slow the flow in unnecessary places.
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~ The Space Children (1958)


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Custer
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PostPosted: Tue Sep 01, 2015 9:29 am    Post subject: Reply with quote

Personally, I'd still go for the comma in the first sentence, or the semi-colon and leaving out the "because;" I would also tend towards having doorbell as one word, though both ways are okay. But it's your story, so you have the final word... and most of the other ones.

The longer sentence seems perfect as it is, to me - just the right amount of punctuation for the authentic flavour of the moment. Her bedroom slippers are fuzzy, which seems a nice bit of extra detail. Maybe getting her leg back inside, after her knee tried to poke its way through the hole, is very slightly awkward, but I don't see any way around it, other than using knee again, which would be repetitious.
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PostPosted: Tue Sep 01, 2015 10:50 am    Post subject: Reply with quote

Custer wrote:
Personally, I'd still go for the comma in the first sentence, or the semi-colon and leaving out the "because;"

Hmmm. But wouldn't that change an important aspect of the sentence? Without the "because", the sentence it's just saying that her location in the house when the doorbell rang was in the hall.

It doesn't make it clear that the reason she didn't hear the doorbell was because she was so busy -- not because of where she was.

After all, she was in the same place when she noticed the second ring (still with her head in the closet). The only difference is that it took two rings to break her concentration.

As for commas and their effective usage, "To pause, or not to pause -- that is the question!" Even super-duper writers like you and me and Bill Shakespeare answer that one differently.

For example, here's a sentence I think is just a triffle over punctuated.


Quote:
In that first script I'd called the ship "H.M.S. Cookson," just using the name of one of the fanzine's community, but for a series, something a bit punchier, but maybe a little ironic, was needed, and, to fit in the captions, I came up with "H.M.S. Conqueror" - not realising that the Royal Navy did actually have a vessel by that name!

Eight commas.

It's fine the way it is, but it reads just a bit better if a few of those commas were left out or turned into periods, with maybe a cameo by a pair of parentheses, just for variety -- plus one word changed and one phrase relocated a little to the north.

Like this.


Quote:
In that first script I'd called the ship "H.M.S. Cookson", just using the name of one of the fanzine's community. But for a series, something a bit punchier was needed (and maybe a little ironic). To fit in the captions, I came up with "H.M.S. Conqueror" -- not realizing that the Royal Navy did actually have a vessel by that name!

Three commas.

So, it would appear that I have a slight fear of commas, while you can look 'em right in eye! Cool

* By the way, I fixed that doorbell. Thanks.
Very Happy
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~ The Space Children (1958)


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PostPosted: Tue Sep 01, 2015 11:58 am    Post subject: Reply with quote

Quote:
But it's your story, so you have the final word... and most of the other ones.

I'll admit that I did use too many commas in that paragraph, but in my defence it was just a comment rather than part of the story. I do have a tendency to gallop along using commas all the way, and have to go back later to change the punctuation into something a bit more various. Embarassed

It wasn't, initially, my suggestion to axe the "because" - but the idea did still seem in play. If the sentence is split in half that way, instead of linked up by the because, I think we still get the idea of cause and effect.

Can you come round and fix my doorbell too? I'm sure it's not half as loud as it used to be...
Surprised
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Bud Brewster
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Joined: 14 Dec 2013
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PostPosted: Tue Sep 01, 2015 1:44 pm    Post subject: Reply with quote

Custer wrote:
Can you come round and fix my doorbell too? I'm sure it's not half as loud as it used to be... Surprised

Hey, I noticed that about my doorbell too! It just didn't have the ummph it used to. But then I discovered that the problem wasn't the doorbell -- it was my friends.

They'd gotten older, and they couldn't push it as hard as they used to . . .

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Last edited by Bud Brewster on Thu Aug 16, 2018 1:40 pm; edited 2 times in total
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orzel-w
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Joined: 19 Sep 2014
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PostPosted: Tue Sep 01, 2015 1:56 pm    Post subject: Reply with quote

The doorbell button takes a lot of wear from long-term use and being exposed to outdoor elements.

Wait... This isn't a thread about repairing doorbells, is it?

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