Yesterday we got back from visiting with Roberto's family. We got home at about 3:00 in the afternoon. I had a Gang of Three meeting that evening, so I read the one short piece that another member submitted, took care of the family, then showered and left.
One of my fellow gangsters, B. J., made it, but Barb thought we were supposed to meet on Thursday night. B. J., "got" Suffrage. She got the black humor and the tenderness and the ironic twist ending. She also pointed out one of my usual problems--I often have to work on forshadowing the weird stuff.
She even liked this: I saw Sarge’s shredded face, grey as spoiled pork, with pine straw and leaves matted, missing one eye, part of the other eye staring into Monihan’s face, a silvergreen beetle crawling.
B. J. usually challenges me on description. A frequent comment is "How does that look?" asking for concrete, specific, showing description. The "Sarge" sentence did not need any more vivid description. But that is just a testimony of how her past comments have bored into my brain.
Associating with good readers and good writers has helped me improve. Perhaps I will eventually be "good enough," if that matters.