Noodles And Voices


I have to thank my friend Mary Crocco very kindly for this post, and for agreeing to let me use her writing as a way to look at voice in writing. When Mary first sent me the following short story to post on The Vandal, we exchanged ideas on how to improve it, and then after a number of exchanges, ended up with two versions of the story. One in the first person, and one in the third. I know which one I prefer, but maybe those of you reading this post will have a different opinion. So here we are. One story, two voices. Noodles At 1 a.m. Mary

Short Story : Frankie and Juno – A Fable by Danielle de Valera

Frankie and Juno

Frankie and Juno She was a beautiful cat with fur the colour of moonlight. Four times a week she worked out at the gym, determined to keep her fabulous figure. Ah, the power of it. He was a grungy-looking tom. He came from a broken home, had no money. His mother cleaned rich animals’ houses so he could go to college. She believed in him; she deemed it worth the sacrifice. When she learned of her son’s obsession with the beautiful cat, she warned him, “Handsome is as handsome does,” meaning: it’s what animals do that counts, not how handsome they are. But he had eyes only for the moonlight queen, who

Short Story : A Fourth Grade Dream by Mary Crocco

Short Story : A Fourth Grade Dream by Mary Crocco

A Fourth Grade Dream “Take out a piece of paper, girls and boys. Today I want you to write a paragraph about what you would love to do with your life. What is your dream?” said Mrs. C to her fourth grade students. Browse any book or movie rental store and you’ll undoubtedly see various titles such as, Find your Dream, and Follow your Dream, Unleash your Dream, and Stay True to your Dream. Shelves are overfilled with inspirational books and movies about Gathering Resources for your Dream. So what ever happened to our fourth grade paragraphs we wrote to Mrs. C? Did any of those girls and boys fulfill

Short Story – The Art of Interpretation by Mary Crocco

The Art of Interpretation I couldn’t explain what caught my eye in that painting. Hanging out with a group of women, dressing up, and making a fuss over flowers, are all my least favorite things to do. So what was it that made me sit down on the observer’s bench in front of that painting and gaze at it for so long? What was it that drew me back to the Phoenix Art Museum several times to view it for hours on end? On my first visit to the museum, I felt drawn toward the painting, Spring Flowers, by Julius Stewart. It was enormous taking up a large area of