Julaina Kleist-Corwin’s story is our third place winner in the spring/summer 2013 Writing It Real writing contest. Guest judge Terry Persun wrote to us that he chose the story because he liked the pacing and grew “to know the characters, all the while not knowing which to trust or which he liked better.” He also commented that there were times that he “could see them baiting one another, as though they all knew each others’ secrets” and “the ending was unexpected…nicely done.”

Julaina was among those who revised and re-entered our contest after receiving my responses to the draft she sent in. She wrote me that she was pleased with the detailed response I’d sent to her and that after rewriting, she planned on submitting her story elsewhere. Therefore, we are publishing only the opening of the story this week — first the opening in the first version she sent, then Julaina’s comments on how she used my responses in her revision, and finally the revision that won.

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Dinner in the Jungle – Initial Version
by Julaina Kleist-Corwin

“Where are your friends tonight, Darrick?” asked Consuelo who was not only the waitress but also one of the jungle tour guides for the small resort on the tip of Costa Rica’s southern peninsula. Darrick checked his watch for the third time. Late, they were always late. He sat at the table for three as he had the last several evenings, waiting for his traveling companions to join him.

“They are riding the horses. I told them to come with us to Cano Island, but they chose the beach tour on the animals.” Maybe if his friends had come with him, Consuelo wouldn’t have argued with him all afternoon. Annoying tour guide, telling him what to do and what not to do.

“They’re always on jungle time even in the States.” The diners at the nearby table were close enough to hear him. He tried to correct his Russian accent. It made him feel like an expatriate, which he was, for reasons he’d like to forget. “Five minutes, no more, then I’ll order.” He waved his hand to shoo Consuelo on her way.

The dim, bare bulbs hanging from the veranda’s wooden slatted ceiling made the open dining area a lighted oasis in the surrounding dark jungle property. Frogs croaked a few feet away. They gathered more of their kind as each evening progressed; now the croaking was loud enough to wake a light sleeper.

The fragrance of the moist ground and encroaching foliage crept in blending with the kitchen food aromas. A slight breeze carried a mixture of smells tantalizing Darrick’s senses.

The tourist group from Germany filed into the eight chairs at the table on his left. He understood their conversation. He was fluent in Russian, German, English, and French. In a few minutes, their jokes about the whale-watching excursion earlier that day bored him. He checked his watch and then snapped his fingers in Consuelo’s direction. She glanced at him, but turned away and prepared the tables for more guests.

He called to her, “Consuelo. I want to order. I’ll not wait any longer.”

She nodded but disappeared around the corner into the kitchen. He tapped his well-manicured fingers on the white tablecloth. How dare she ignore me? He’d complain to her superiors.

He would teach his fellow travelers a lesson, too. They were rude to make him wait for dinner three nights in a row. He’d eat without them. They’d feel guilty, apologize, and then tell him all about their horseback riding adventure. Whatever could be exciting about riding an animal? Horses smelled and their bodies were dirty. He’d change the subject as soon as possible and then report his day’s activities, although there was little to report. The snorkeling and island tour weren’t anything spectacular. He had taken the same outing two years ago when he vacationed alone.

This time had been worse, hotter and drearier than before, and the altercations with Consuelo upset him; he wouldn’t tell them about that, of course. Maybe he’d elaborate on the lava spheres he had seen last time and act as if he had gone there today. What difference did it make? Last time, this time; who cared?

The couple finally entered the dining area. Cory’s tall, slim, led the way. Marian followed in a blue-flowered cotton sarong complimenting her blond hair that glowed under the light of the bare-bulbs. “Good Evening,” Darrick lowered his voice hoping to mask his frustration.

“Good Evening, Darrick.” Cory glanced around at the other diners and smiled at the guests. With a gallant flourish, he pulled out a chair for Marian.

Such fanfare. Cory always wanted attention. Darrick turned away from him to connect with Marian. Her movements seemed to be in slow motion. Slender fingers reached for the glass of lemonade. The liquid tilted to the rim of the glass and she swallowed. Her tongue circled the residue off her blush-colored lips. Rousing himself out of the growing heat inside his body, he explored her face, the delicate and well-balanced face, and the admiration in her eyes that none of his four wives offered him.

*

Her lips moved but he didn’t hear her words. Her questioning expression seemed to want an answer from him. “I was forming a hypothesis as you and Cory arrived; my thoughts are still in string theory. I didn’t hear what you asked of me.”

She raised her glass in a toasting gesture. “A master in our midst, always in deep thought.”

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I sent Julaina my responses and she considered them; here are her thoughts: 

I appreciated Sheila’s suggestion to begin with the setting instead of the dialogue. I had forgotten how a of couple sentences about the place in the beginning anchors the reader.

Sheila asked why the couple was always late. If it was because they really didn’t like Darrick and procrastinated with getting to dinner on time, or were they busy being romantic? In my mind I knew why they were late so I added that they thought it was fashionable and I did it with Darrick’s dialogue since I couldn’t head hop. Sheila’s question was about information I hadn’t realized was as important as it was. I think the most important suggestion Sheila gave me was to elaborate on the reasons why Darrick left Russia and clarify that the number of wives he refers to weren’t because he was a polygamist. So I had to find a way to show that the ex-wives banded together to ruin him financially. That information helped to provide a reason for the reader to have sympathy for him even if they could guess that he was an unreliable character. Just as a villain needs something to make him likable, that concept applied here too. Sheila also wanted more about why the three were vacationing together in the first place, so I added information about the men being co-workers and Darrick wanting to seduce Marian away from Cory. I hinted that the reason was that he felt competitive with Cory on all levels.

I don’t want to give away the ending, but Sheila helped me use dessert as a metaphor also.

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Dinner in the Jungle – Revised
by Julaina Kleist-Corwin

The small restaurant, surrounded by jungle, had waist-high wood railings for walls and sat upon a large platform. The evening air filled the structure and cooled the patrons after the humid, sunny day. “Where are your friends tonight, Darrick?” asked Consuelo, the waitress at dinner and a tour guide during the day for the small resort on the tip of Costa Rica’s southern peninsula. Darrick checked his watch for the third time. He sat at a table for three, as he had for the last several evenings waiting for his traveling companions to join him.

“They’re always on jungle time even in the States. They think late is fashionable. I told them to come with us to Cano Island, but they wanted the beach tour with animals.”

He glanced at the nearby couples that dined close enough to hear him. He’d made a conscious effort to mask his Russian accent, to hide sounding like an expatriate, which he was, for reasons he’d like to forget. Those greedy ex-wives banded together to ruin him. Divorce settlements weren’t enough. They demanded everything he had. Even if it meant leaving his beloved Russia, he slipped away to San Francisco.

Consuelo cleared her throat. “So, you eat now or not?”

“Five minutes, no more, then I’ll order.” He waved his hand to shoo Consuelo on her way.

The dim, bare bulbs hanging from the veranda’s slatted ceiling made the open dining area a lighted oasis in the dark jungle property. Frogs croaked a few feet away. They gathered more of their kind as the evening progressed until the croaking grew loud enough to wake a light sleeper.

The fragrance of the moist ground blended with the aromas from the kitchen. The still air held the mixture of smells that hovered over his table as if to putrefy Darrick’s desire for food. He yearned for a civilized dinner in a plush hotel with soothing music, Debussy or Brahms. He pulled his chair closer to the table, away from the encroaching foliage on the other side of the wood railing. The sounds, smells, and thick jungle closed in on him. Loud voices and laughter that joined the frogs’ din in the darkness made him want to shout for silence.

The trip was different from last year when he had enjoyed this remote location on his own. Maybe he shouldn’t have convinced Marian and Cory to travel with him this time. Maybe a vacation with Cory in addition to the day-to-day work at the office with him made these days intolerable. Maybe the attempt to seduce Marian would fail. He couldn’t tolerate failure, not in business, not in love, and certainly not in competition with Cory.

The tourist group from Germany filed into the eight chairs at the table on his left. He understood the robust bantering in their native tongue. Besides Russian, he was fluent in German, English, and French. Their jokes about the whale-watching excursion earlier that day bored him. He checked his watch and then snapped his fingers in Consuelo’s direction. She glanced at him, but continued to prepare the tables for more guests.

He called to her, “Consuelo. I want to order. I’ll not wait any longer.”

She nodded but disappeared around the corner into the kitchen. He tapped his well-manicured fingers on the white tablecloth. He’d complain to her superiors that she dared to ignore him.

He would teach his fellow travelers a lesson too. Three nights in a row they made him wait for dinner. He’d eat without them. They’d feel guilty, apologize, and then tell him all about their horseback riding. To him, nothing about riding an animal could be exciting. Horses smelled and their bodies were dirty. He’d change the subject as soon as possible and then report his day’s activities, although there was little to report. The snorkeling and island tour were not spectacular. He had taken the same excursion last year.

He wouldn’t tell his friends that today had been worse, hotter, and drearier than before, and the altercations with Consuelo upset him. Instead, he’d elaborate on the lava spheres he had seen last year and act as if he had been there today. It didn’t make any difference. Last time, this time, who cared?

The errant couple finally entered the dining area. Cory, tall and slim, led the way. Marian followed in a blue-flowered cotton sarong complimenting her blond hair that glowed under the light of the bare-bulbs. “Good Evening,” Darrick lowered his voice to disguise his frustration.

“Good Evening, Darrick.” Cory glanced at the other diners and smiled at the guests. With a gallant flourish, he pulled out a chair for Marian.

Such fanfare. Cory always wanted attention. Darrick focused on Marian’s movements that appeared to be in slow motion. Slender fingers reached for the glass of lemonade. The liquid tilted to the rim of the glass and she swallowed. Her tongue circled the residue off her blush-colored lips. Rousing himself out of the growing heat inside his body, he explored her face, the delicate and well- balanced face, and the admiration in her eyes that none of his previous wives offered him. She tantalized his need for recognition, his need for undying love, his need to win this prize.

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I know I am hooked at this point. Will Darrick win the prize he seeks? What are the three of them doing in this place at this time? How will the personalities interact and what will Conseuala’s participation, role and outcome be? These questions propel me forward (and do not leave me jarred).

To study the revisions, ask yourself these questions:

If you felt more engaged in revised opening, is it because there is a scene you can settle into comfortably as you meet the characters? Because you feel more coherent in time and space?

Is it because Darrick, the one through whose eyes the narrator sees the world in this third-person limited point-of-view, says less but his words and gestures to Consuelo effectively show his personality?

Is it because Darrick speaks more believably, and we still get the background we need, in fact more clearly (he isn’t a polygamist but has four ex-wives), is less boisterous and more aware of keeping others from seeing his fury, his ego, and his manipulation at every turn?

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Julaina, please remember to tell us where we can read the story in its full version when it is accepted in a fiction venue.

And readers, please leave Julaina a comment here with your thoughts about her decisions in revising the opening and how what you note might help you writing strong openings in your drafts.