In a world painted a consolidation of rusty brown hues, Maria Miles was a sight to behold. Sitting tall between the spoked wheels of her faded gig, rigid on a black square of material, she had squeezed one small boy onto the seat either side of her, so that, on the precipice as it were, they had to hold the wooden rails to keep from falling onto the speeding river of dirt below. In her right hand she held the leather reins, urging on the old horse, and with the other she tapped out a cadenced beat against her off-white dresses. The trees washed past as the small family raced towards the town, lost in the sea of tufty strands of gums that littered the outback. They had left the sweeping wheat fields behind them a few minutes ago, and the landscape had morphed into a creature untouched by the humans who had ravaged the land right up to its boundaries. 1
Within minutes the dense bush disappeared, and the far-off town became recognizable, with its low-built wooden structures that sprawled around the dust bowl at the bottom of the shallow valley. The dirt track joined with the well-trodden main road, and, as the sun bit its way over the vertical, Maria pulled the gig up outside the first of the shops. Shooing her boys, Sonny and Samuel, down onto the ground, she quickly slipped out of her faded, dirty apron and laid it on the seat. Carefully unfolding the square of fabric she had been sitting on, she revealed an identical black apron, much less aged, that she wasted no time tying at the neck and back. The sharply pressed creases gave the impression of careful laundering. She looked down the street towards the small gully in the distance and saw the traditional myriad of children, no doubt up to mischief, in their usual positions by the trickle of water. 2
“Off you go,” she briskly told Sonny and Samuel, “I need to run some errands.”3
The two boys took off down the street, barely stopping to wave to the various family friends who greeted them along the way. 4
Maria strode off in the opposite direction, towards the seed shop. It was a murky, dank arrangement, boasting the largest assortment of bits and bobs in the whole region. A wooden slatted building, it was susceptible to rain in summer and freezing winds in winter, to the point where conditions inside the shop were often worse than those out. Shelves littered three and a half walls, and items of all descriptions were stacked from floor to ceiling so that, from the outside, the channels of space between the slats were patterned by light and dark in a bizarre half-depiction of the objects inside. She walked up the steps and hesitated on the threshold before plunging into the dim light. As she walked down the isle, navigating around bags of seed haphazardly scattered on the floorboards, she felt eyes burning relentlessly into the back of her head. There were six other farmers in the store, and each had paused their endless regaling of gossip and tall tales to stare in wonder and murmur in low voices. She finally reached the counter, and Mr. Davidson, the store’s owner, turned to greet her, a certain confusion playing over his countenance upon recognition. 5
“Mrs. Miles,” he tipped his head, “Well, I sure didn’t expect to be seeing you in here again.” Noticing their audience he steered her by the elbow to near the doorway into the back room, a little more private than the front counter. “Why don’t we talk here?” 6
The accounts room looked just as haphazard as the front. Books and papers and inkwells lay abandoned on a desk, and Maria could almost envisage the mathematically challenged Mr. Davidson with his pen between his teeth, head in his hands, as he stumbled through the accounts. 7
“I’ve got a list of things we need at the farm,” she said. “The pump has broken again, and I need to order a piece. Then we need some extra bags of seed and more leather for the harness.”8
Again, the older man was confused. “The pump? Harness? But surely the new folk will buy their own?”9
Maria bristled at the line of conversation. “What new folk?”10
The reply was obviously not what he was expecting. Caught off guard, he stuttered, “Well, the ones who…the ones who are, you know, buying the farm.”11
The last remnants of softness disappeared from Maria’s eyes as quickly as the final leaves in autumn. “Nobody is buying the farm, Mr. Davidson.” Her voice held a false sense of joviality, promising that all good humor was a thin lid for anger.12
“Well, you don’t mean to tell me you’re keeping it! Who would run it?” He laughed a couple of times, short, breathy rasps, and then suggested, like it was the most preposterous idea in the world, “You?”13
His second chortle was cut short when, in all seriousness, Maria replied. “Of course. Until Samuel and Sonny are old enough: it is their inheritance, and…” She fought against the familiar tears. “And John’s will said I couldn’t sell it until my youngest is 21.”14
“Or,” Mr. Davidson said quietly, almost hesitantly, “Until you remarry.” 15
Maria wasn’t surprised the whole town knew about the conditions of the will. Gossip of every kind traveled faster than horses could pull gigs or children could run in these parts. 16
“Yes. But we only buried John William last week!” Stubbornly she fought back the rebellious tears. “Why, I haven’t been thinking of husbands!”17
“I know, Mrs. Miles, but I’m not sure you know what a responsibility it is. You see there’s so much to be done; so many chores-“18
“Besides,” one of the old farmers, Denton, cut in, chewing his tobacco sloppily as he leaned against a wooden shelf, “a woman’s place is in the kitchen: cookin’, cleanin’, takin’ care of her youngens.” 19
Her voice was as cold as the agile, speedy wind that ripped through at winter. “Who do you think ran the farm when John was away, Mr. Davidson? Mr. Denton? Who milked the cows, and worked the horses and bought the supplies and told Edward what to do? When John was off with that goddamned team of his, pulling logs, who took care of not just the farm, but twelve children?” She looked around the room with an intensity that ensured each pair of eyes she met quickly dropped to the floor. “None of you, not one, had a problem with my running the farm when John was away for months at a time. Why is it such a big darn problem now?”20
“Well,” Denton said, drawing out the words in a nasally huff, “that was different wasn’t it.” He looked around and the other farmers all nodded their assent. “Your husband told you what to do, and how to run it, and you just…held down the fort, while he was away.”21
She spun on him. “That is not true, Mr. Denton, and you know it! Even when John was at home, he barely went out into the fields! He never liked farming, he was a teaming man!”22
“Now listen here, missy,” Denton began, waggling one finger in the air, “Johnnie’s papa was the best darn farmer in all these parts-“23
Maria rolled her eyes and slammed her fist down on the wooden counter. “I may be a woman but that doesn’t mean that I can’t run a farm. In fact, I have been, for the last ten years. But that was okay, wasn’t it, because you could tell each other that John really ran it; that I was nothing more than a servant to his direction. But now! Oh, no, we couldn’t have a woman run a farm without her husband. Without somebody who has half a brain behind her! Every single one of you is living in the past! The suffrage is coming, whether you like it or not! One day we will have a woman farmer, a woman shopkeeper, a woman doctor and a woman prime minister!” 24
Slamming her fist down on the counter once more, she turned and strode down the isle, with each man nearly cowering out of the way as she brushed past. She picked up a bag of seed and stopped in the doorway, turning back with the sun silhouetting her hair golden brown. 25
“Put this on the account, Mr. Davidson.” She drove her eyes around the room again, piercing each man she met. “And as for you… I will be keeping my farm. And I won’t be getting married. And your,” she fought for the right words, “pig-headed egos will just have to deal with it.”26
So, leaving a shocked group of farmers in her wake, Maria Miles strode down the stairs to her gig, gathered Sonny and Samuel up onto the squished seat, and with military precision, took off the good apron, folded it exactly, donned the old one, and drove back home with the square material on the seat, being pressed for the next time it was called on. And it was in the glint of the sun on her children’s heads, and in the whistle of the wind through the trees, and the old log hut she had seen built, calling from far off in the distance, that she saw reason to fight for herself, her farm and a better Australia. 27
Author notes
Story for grade 12 english. Critique and comment much appreciated.
A contest entry
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350 points, ended March 3, 6 entries
Silver trophy winner
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Comments
1 - 13 of 13
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An amazing story to read - I loved the whole message of the piece and how Maria was willing to stand up for herself and, in effect, for all women and their rights. She was able to see that women are just as equal and efficient as men, and that stereotypes needed to be broken. In addition, the story was extremely well-written and the descriptions were fantastic - this is an absolutely flawless piece.
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I liked the message behind it. Obviously a very commonly talked of topic nowadays, but in the days I guess it was set, the thought of an independent woman was certainly unheard of. Great job for that!
At the beginning, however, I didn't get much impression of what the story was about. I almost got the impression that the main character was off to commit some sort of crime. Maybe if the whole thing started with her entering the shop, then it would place more emphasis on the overall message.
Great writing! -
Very nice
I had an idea, from the title, what it might be about, but you went into such depth and saw past what you were trying to say that I was very impressed. It seemed like the story was giving you the title, rather than the other way around which is so common among young people's writing. I liked how you explored the idea of a woman's liberation.
Some bits of it are telling the reader what's going on, but the majority is showing, and that's what's important. I liked the use of language, but in the end, I found all the metaphors and description, etc. a bit too much. You have to be careful there - I know, I used to do the exact same thing (I hope I've stopped).
I was thinking as I read through that perhaps changing the way some of the farmers spoke would be a nice addition, but I'm not from Australia so I wouldn't know whether farmers have a rustic accent or not. If they do, it might be nice to put a bit more of that in, but not so much that you can't understand what they're saying.
I'm going back to the description again, because that was the bit that bugged me. I'm going to say it like this: It's very much like building a brick wall. Basically, the pieces have to be chosen carefully, put into the exact right place and joined perfectly. Otherwise it will fall down.
The way you were doing it, sorry if I'm ranting, was that you jumbled it all on top of each other, and in the end it was hard for the reader to comprehend what you were trying to say. It was a poorly built brick wall.
Don't take this the wrong way, okay, this is an excellent piece of writing, and I'm suprised that your profile tells me you're only 14. I was expecting you to be aged 17-18ish. So this is very good. Just refine some of the description. This will make it more meaningful.
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The writing is great, though I think you use too much description and imagery at the beginning. It's funny 'cuz I write the same way, and I never really understood why some people didn't understand my writing style. I can see why they find it hard to comprehend, but I'll give you this: you eventually spell it out through further narration, but it makes the story wordy and long.
What I'm trying to learn right now is that you need to space out your imagery and flowery descriptions - save up your metaphors and spread them out. If you string them together so casually, they lose their poetic intent and makes it harder for the reader to understand. (Thanks for showing me the way~ *cue cheesy inspirational music*)
Also, more paragraphs. Break it down so the flow is easier and the reader's mind doesn't feel exhausted after reading two chunks.
p2 I never really did like the word 'myriad'. It never seems to feel right, and only rarely does it really work.
p7 Envisage. Good word, but it obstructs the fluidity of the sentence. I would suggest envision. Same meaning, simple yet strong, and it rolls off the tongue.
p20 I think the description sentence of her voice should be placed somewhere after she's already started speaking. After "Mr. Denton?" sounds good in my head. It explains her tone and sets it up for the rest and inadvertantly puts a pause to emphasize her questioning. And perhaps you could break that dialogue up into two paragraphs? (And, omg, 12 children - what the hell!? XDDD)
You really kept up the flow after the initial description festival, and I liked the dialogue. The moral principle of the story is great, and your character is strong-willed. I liked her, and I imagine a lot of women readers would enjoy reading this and would feel inspired afterwards. So long to the days when women were strong, conserved and held themselves with pride and moral principle.
Great story, and thanks for the read.
[Entered: Sycophancy of an Immortal]
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Great job.
Very well written. I felt like the imagery at the beginning was a little heavy and I was beginning to think the story would get lost, but then she walked into the store and it all went uphill from there. I see that you are writing this for an English class which explains the heavy imagery. Be careful that you don't lose that sense of action at the end. There are a lot of passive verbs used in the ending that could be replaced. Ex: "for the next time it was called on" could be for the next time she required it. Also there's a problem with consistency in the final sentence. the glint of the sun, the whistle of the wind and the log hut calling...you might consider the sun glinting on..., the wind whistling..., and the old log hut calling. Overall, though excellent story. Very well-written.
beginning: 3, language: 4, plot: 5, ending: 5, dialog: 5, characters: 5.
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p1 dresses? maybe you meant skirts, which is usually pluralized in reference to period clothing.
p2 myriad...I think this is only used as an adjective, not a noun. It's like saying "numerous", and "a numerous of children" doesn't work well. If you want a noun here, may I suggest "plethora"?
p12 OOH! LOVE the description of her eyes going cold! Final leaves in autumn. Nice!
p19 wait, where did Denton come from? I thought they went into another room. Was there no door? Bah, nosy farmers...
p20 at winter - in winter
p24 did they say "okay" in 1900's Australia? It sounds strange to me.
p27 seen built - I'm not sure I follow this. She watched it being built? Was it her home? If she was so participatory in the farm, wouldn't she have helped build it on some level as well?
Also, is "hut" a typical term for that type of home there? I have yet to get to Australia so I have no idea, but huts evoke round structures in Africa to me.
Overall, great story! I loved your main character; her steel spine and confidence shone through excellently. You also captured the ignorance and surprise of the men. I loved how they cowered at her departure, as if she'd grown into a dragon, instead of a woman who claimed her own farm. Hah!
Oops, edit: my story was Anasazi: Last Lament.
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Ah, yes, the tradiconal ways of women in the 1800's and early 1900's shatters. good work, glad you posted this. Hope to see more of this.
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Thanks
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Wow!
This is a brilliant piece of writing.
This is a wonderful story detailing the hardships facing women, especially unmarried or widowed, in the outback.
I could find nothing wrong with this story. The plot is pacy, the characters, especially the leading character, are strong and the dialogue fitted in quite nicely without disrupting or hindering the flow of the story.
I noticed no grammatical errors
A good story, very well written.
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Thanks for your comment, and I'm glad you enjoyed it
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cool! Very good. I like the title too...
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Haha, it took me ages to come up with the title, but I was sooo happy when I did, cause it fits really well
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