First two drafts of "A Mother's Love"

Writing a publishable story takes time. I now have one story published, but it took awhile to get there. “A Mother’s Love” started out as a Liberty Hall challenge. We were all challenged to write a story that was exactly 500 words over July 4th weekend of 2005.

This is what I wrote:

[quote]
A Mother’s Love

Maria sat at the kitchen table, head in her hands. Paper and pen lay upon the scuffed surface. She knew her days were few and she wanted let Jose know that she would always love him. She had so much to say, yet she did not know exactly what to say. With blurred vision and shaking hand, Maria reached out, picked up the pen, and began to write.

My dear, dear Son,

I trust that you are well today. Jose, I love you and always have. Even through the bad years, I have loved you. Though you did everything I told you not to do; even though you beat me, I still cried tears of love over you, my Son.

My sorry runs so deep when I come and see you in madden fits. How I long to cradle you in my arms and tell you that all will be well. But the padded room stays firmly locked and all I can do is watch through the reinforced glass window as you throw your body from wall to wall.

But oh, how my heart soars when your mind is clear and you greet me with your broad smile. Oh, what wonderful visits those are! We sit and talk of the few good days of old. I tell you repeatedly that I love you; with teary eyes you tell me the same. Oh, those precious, precious words. They are like aloe upon the scars of pain that over lay my heart.

Oh, my dear Jose, my heart grieves. I feel that your being here is my fault. I’m so sorry that I failed you my Son. My days are few, yet you’ll live on. Please, oh please, don’t ever forget your mother’s love.

With the deepest love a mother can bestow,
Maria Juanita Castillo (your mom)

Feeling week from anguish, sorry, and poor health, Maria laid the pen down and rested her head on the table. A few minutes later, she slowly rose from the table and went for an envelope and her keys. Her letter was safely placed in her purse and the car keys were in her hand as she slowly, painfully made her way down the stairs and out to her old, rusted car.

The loud muffler of Maria’s car was silenced and she walked toward the door. She gradually opened the heavy door and signed in with the receptionist. She was told that her son was in the waiting room. Her heart soared. Maria entered the room expecting Jose’s board smile, but instead she saw her son just sitting there staring at the title floor. The doctor came to Maria and informed her that her son had had a stroke and was unable to see or speak. With a sinking heart, she gave her son a long embarrass and told him repeatedly that she loved him. After several kisses applied to his check, she then slipped her letter in his hand and left – never more to return.
[end quote]

I received 10 crits from LH members. In the voting I received 1 vote for Best Dialogue and 1 for Best Character Development.

I took those comments and worked on the story again. When I had what I liked, I submitted it to NoteBored’s Polished Stories Challenge. My story now had 879 words. There was only one other story entered into the challenge, and I received one crit and no votes.

Re-Write

[quote]
A Mother’s Love

Maria knew her days were few and she wanted let her son, Jose, know that she would always love him. She had so much to say; yet she did not know exactly what to say. Maria sat at the kitchen table, head in her hands. Paper and pen lay upon the scuffed surface. She thought about their lives, her’s and Jose’s. How she found herself expecting with no ring on her finger. Maria thought about the hard hours at the meat factory to provide for her son. Tears misted her eyes as she remembered the long hours way from the only special thing in her life. Her memories walked through her thoughts; they were all so clear, like watching a movie. Tears streamed down her cheeks when her thoughts rehashed her son’s drug use and his physical and verbal abuse. She had lost control; she had lost his love—she had lost him.

Quiet sobs shook Maria was she remembered the call from the police. Jose had been found passed out during a drug bust and had been taken to the local hospital. He spent a month in the ICU. The doctors informed her that the drugs had damaged his brain cells and he would never be the same again. Her memories rolled on. She had taken Jose back home to care for him. He had good days when his brain was clear. Jose also had his bad days when he would throw things all around the house, while Maria hid in her bedroom shaking with fear. As the months passed her son’s good days became fewer and fewer. With a heavy, grieving heart, Maria took her son to a psych ward.

Slowly Maria lifted her head and looked around her. She remembered that while she was a child, she had always planned on having a big, beautiful house. She had hated the dump she grew up in. But her dreams never became a reality. Her current housing was worse than her childhood one. She now lived in a two-room apartment and slept on the couch. There was no phone in the house and very little heat in the winter. She had sold her car a couple months ago to pay some of Jose’s bills. She had sacrificed all for her son. Maria once again lowered her face toward the scuffed table. With blurred vision and shaking hand, Maria reached out, picked up the pen, and began to write.

My dear, dear Son,

I trust that you are well today. Jose, I love you and always have. Even through the bad years, I have loved you. I cried tears of love over you, my Son.

My sorrow runs so deep when I come and see you in your rages. How I long to cradle you in my arms and tell you that all will be well. But all I can do is watch you throw your body against the padded walls through the small window.

But oh, how my heart soars when your mind is clear and you greet me with your broad smile. Oh, what wonderful visits those are! We sit and talk of the few good days of old. I tell you repeatedly that I love you; with teary eyes you tell me the same. Oh, those precious, precious words. They are like aloe upon the scars of pain that overlay my heart.

Oh, my dear Jose, my heart grieves. I feel that your being here is my fault. I’m so sorry that I failed you my Son. My days are few, yet you’ll live on. Please, oh please, don’t ever forget your mother’s love.

With the deepest love a mother can bestow,
Mom

Feeling week from anguish, sorrow, and poor health, Maria laid the pen down and rested her head on the table. A few minutes later, she slowly rose from the table and went for an envelope and her small pile of quarters. Her letter was safely placed in her purse while the quarters were slipped into her pocket; painfully she made her way down the stairs. She leisurely walked the block and a half to the bus stop.

As the bus bumped along, Maria was saddened to think that this might be her last trip. She wished she could see Jose more often, but it was such a struggle to afford the weekly trip. She reached up over her head and weakly pressed the yellow strip to signal for her stop. She descended the bus steps and walked the block to the psych ward.

She gradually opened the heavy door and signed in with the receptionist. The receptionist told Maria that her son was in the waiting room. Her heart soared. Maria entered the room expecting Jose’s broad smile. However, she showed just in time to see the beginning stages of rage grip her son and uniformed people dragging him off to a padded room. With a sinking heart, she walked to the viewing window. Jose looked at her for a brief moment and she gave him a “kiss.”

Then he was lost to her and the world. Maria turned and made her way back to the receptionist. She signed the letter into Jose’s possession and then turned to leave—never more to return.
[end quote]

In May 2006, I did another draft of this story. This time ending up with 894 words. This story was sent to Haruah and they requested a rewrite.

Which I did and I submitted the re-write back to NoteBored’s Polish Stories Challenge for more feedback, in case Haruah rejected it. The story ended at 964 words, I got to crits, and 1 vote for Best Polish.

Haruah liked what they saw, but still wanted another re-write to iron out a rough beginning. After struggling with understanding the comments and loving my story, I finally got a semi-re-write done. I really didn’t change any words; I just changed the order of the story. And that is the one that was accepted and now published. (The editors did change a few words, but nothing major.)

Want to see how this story looks now? Check it out: “A Mother’s Love”