All Comments on 'F5: The Games She Plays'

It could be interesting to see what happens next as he follows the clues.

I'm honestly not sure what I think about this. It's well-written, but it seems the first of a series -- as opposed to a story with an ambiguous ending -- so, hmmm. The emotions come across well, though.

Such a hard one to score. Technically sound, expertly rendered, but it read more like an introduction than a proper story. There was a great deal of telling, and very little doing. Yet, it had so many good elements in it, and was such a relatable, resonating story--at least for me. Who hasn't loved that girl, and been the unwitting victim/beneficiary of that lovely, chaotic storm?

In its current state, I suppose it has a kind of elegance, but I longed for more. I wanted the adventure, not allusions to past exploits and a nod to the future.

I really wanted to know what the game was about.

It just stops. I too tried to find the next page. The story was already irritating me, though, before I got to the just-off-the-cliff stop. Problems with setup for a reader--in addition, there were five mechanical problems in the first paragraph alone, which continued to intrude on the reading--which is something I tried to get into, because it seemed to be trying to weave a melancholy "can't live with her/can't live without her" mood that I was thinking might be good.

The setup problems: First, OK she plays games with him. It wasn't established that the items on the table should be seen as part of the game she's set. Has she used this setup before for a game? Were these items highlighted enough for him to recognize that they were part of a game? Not that I could see. And then, too, the time setting. It wasn't pinned down. Items are used to help set period. I know they still play the mandolin, but mandolins are literary symbols of the ancient past. We get "hippy" right away, but these two together just make the question of time period more of a whiplash concern taking attention away from the story. Every element you use should be important in a story and should serve it. Why the mandolin? It hurts rather than helps setting the scene/time period.

Once you get with an editor, the "goodness" of your writing and storytelling will probably quadruple. Until then, I think you need to think about keeping the reader with you and not off trying to figure out where we are and you need to do a little research on what a story is. You've got the dilemma--another one of her games, and this is beginning to threaten their relationship--but you need a resolution unless material has been dropped at the end of this, and the tension wasn't compelling. The butter knife pretty much killed any tension for me. A butter knife? Really? Where's the tension in that? For that matter, why a butter knife altogether? The knife is one of the three required elements. Getting back to every element needing to be important to the story, what's important to this story in a butter knife? I looked in vein for why a butter knife and how it fit anywhere except for an external story element requirement. If it's there, I missed it. Maybe it's there, but I didn't see it, and an author doesn't really want the reader backtracking and not being able to find some key element they expect to see.

I think this could have played better if the wife's disappearances or games or whatever were more innocent. I guess most of the time they were (in addition to being eccentric, which is pretty cool), but there seemed to be multiple times she had an affair (unless I'm reading it wrong). I can see taking someone back after one affair, but multiple times I find less believable. Plus the one time she takes off to have an affair AND takes one of the children while leaving the others behind is really off-putting.

Changing the "games" to be more innocent and eccentric would have made the story better, in my opinion, and the ending tease, which to me is the best part of this story, would have played even better.

I can identify with the husband in one way, in that it can be exasperating to deal with someone who is so out there. I think you captured that dynamic well.

of a longer story. It is well written, but feels abandoned. I'd love to read the rest of the story!

The concept of this story was very unique and interesting. The husband snd wife characters seemed a perfect contrast to pitch a little conflict in the tale. I like the use of the items from the opening lines as these confusing little clues she leaves for him, snd as of yet, it's the first butter knife I have read in this contest. Nice job thinking outside the box there. Everything was set up to head in the right direction for a good read.

And what I read was pretty good. True there was a whole lotta telling and not showing. Thats fine, because you told it in kind of a dreamy look back in the past. It was cool to relax and study the past, how they came to be, and watch for clues along the way. The writing was very good grammatically and mechanically.

But really that's all we are left with. The past and a sudden present with not much suggested for the future. I liked the idea of her restless nature and his constant attempt to avoid complacency in the relationship. But we only got to see past transgressions. There was no true hint as to what her current game was going to entail. I think everyone was wanting to know. The clues never really led us anywhere. It's not really what would qualify as an open ending. That would be fine, but there's not enough really suggested to leave anything "open" for interpretation. We get to relive the past and are told of her games, we learn it is a game, then nothing more.

So it did feel like there should have been a second page. Keep FAWCing though, because it's clear from the writing itself you have the skill.

So hard to score this!

Your characterization was a solid 5. I thought you used deft touches to describe the relationship between these two and I thought it was clear that her disappearances had become more and more benign, a game they both enjoyed on different levels. I completely believed that he had accepted her leaving and sometimes taking other lovers, whether she told him or not, as part of the total package of life with an eccentric bohemian stuffed into a suburban life. They're an escape for him, too, since he gave up being a musician to support his family.

Your copy editing was a 3. Typos and some usage errors roll off me as long as the story is compelling, but yours became somewhat distracting, which was a shame because your writing is solid.

Your ending was goddamn enraging. There have been plenty of stories in this round of FAWC that have used open endings, some more successfully than others, but what you have here is two missing pages. Made me cuss at my monitor when I realized there wasn't more to the story. The good news is that I was hungry enough for more of your story that it made me mad not to get it.

This was such a nice start, and written well, in spite of some repetition. I like the developing characterization of the husband, and the feel I was getting for the wife. But there just wasn't enough for me to make it a satisfying story. I would be interested in reading it if there were ever more to read.

I'm in agreement with others here, very well written, but...

I think it could use some smoothing out...she disappears and has affairs or not and he's worried she's at it again. But then we learn it's also fun and games as well and his family is in on some of them. So which is it and in what order? When she disappears these days should he be worried or anticipate some fun?

For awhile I felt like I was in the LW zone given the initial setup. I was irked at her for being so thoughtless and high maintenance and I was irked at him for putting up with it. So ya got me feeling...well done!

Warning: My comments will tend to be harsher than complimentary. It is meant to help. I hope that by identifying what *didn't* work for me, the author might have some insight into areas of improvement, so far as one reader's opinion goes. I didn't read the other comments, until composing my own.

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* First impression during and after the read. *

" . . . out of place in frugally furnished room." I think you're missing a 'the' between in and frugally.

Need to say this. Pet peeve of mine are first paragraphs with errors. You'll often lose me as a reader. If you can't get the first paragraph right . . . . In this case it's your first sentence. The other one was given to you.

" . . .low and surround by two large . . ." Surrounded, not surround.

Second sentence, second mistake. You definitely would have lost me as a reader.

"Once again he looked slowly taking in every little nuance." Awkward sentence, probably should have the word 'around' either before or after slowly.

" . . . sometimes like now; it drove him to distraction." - I think this would be better punctuated as: sometimes, like now, it drove him to distraction.

" . . . she ran away with mandolin player . . ." with 'a' mandolin player, perhaps?

Starting to wonder about this guy and this relationship. She leaves him for a month with another guy in a hippy colony, and he takes her back? WTF? And he calls it a flirtation? Buy the guy a dictionary.

" . . . held some cache but the . . ." I think the word you're looking for is cachet.

" . . . was barely with his means had had meant . . ." I think you meant within, not with, and you have one too many 'had's here.

Starting to understand a little of their issues. She's a flake. He loves her. They're from two different worlds.

Scary how weak-willed this guy is. She leaves, takes the child, has an affair, and it's just another day. Sad.

I'm getting pissed at the daughter. He's miserable, and they're laughing at him? What is the deal with the games.

So it's a game? Was it always a game? Honey is grown up, and the wife had an affair when she was a baby - is it 20 years later? Twenty years of this crap?! The man has the patience of Jonah, or the spine of a jellyfish.

Alright, where's the rest? I mean, seriously, that can't be the end. You must have forgotten to submit it or something. This isn't an open ending, it's a fail.

Too bad, despite a lot of editing issues, it was an interesting story, different, and engaging. You managed to make me feel and take sides, which is good. I wanted to know what was happening. Unfortunately just as you got me totally engaged, you dropped the ball.

As for the items, for all it means in this story they could have been a rock, a pickle and a dump truck. The hanky had some tie in, but a butter knife?

* Favorite Elements *

Interesting, different plot. Good character development on the part of the husband.

Engaging, and kept me wondering.

* Issues *

Need some editing. That and an ending. Ok editing, ending, and a spine for the husband. And maybe new locks for the house.

Frustrating. It could have been a very interesting, compelling and engaging story. It's a third of one.

The thesis of a whole family of erotic funsters is light and spicy and quite stimulating. The story starts off a little repetively as was mentioned in a previous comment. But it moves swiftly and smoothly into the core of the story and leaves me really curious about this new game.

Tired of his wife's games he implemented his own plan. He had been packing his things for awhile. He made one call that got the movers to the house. He made a second call that moved 75% of their assets to his private accounts, then moved those funds again to an offshore account that was untraceable. A third call was made to his attorney to serve his wife with the divorce papers. The PI he had hired knew exactly where his soon to be ex-wife was located. As the movers finished packing and left, he made one final call to his Daughter to say goodbye, tell her that he was tired of the games and was leaving her Mother. That after the divorce was final, he'd be in touch with her and her brothers. End of the silly game. This was unconvincing at best, boring at worst.

But not one that I enjoyed. I'm not sure about the other games that she has played throughout their marriage but it sounds to me like she has some serious issues. As a husband, how did he not divorce her when she left him for a month of debauchery with another man or men? And what man (or woman for that matter), who was half asleep, would expect his wife to be packed and leaving when she whispers in his ear "I love you"? It sounds like his job in semi retirement was portable. I think he should have one of two responses. File for divorce and ignore her going forward would be the easiest and probably the best. Regardless of his love for her, the type of mental instability she's demonstrated over the years is probably only going to get worse and why would he want to continue to torture himself with her idiosyncrasies? The second choice might fit into your fictional story a little better. He should pack himself up and take a long vacation. And I mean at least a month if not months. Ignore her clues, pick a destination and head out. Only AFTER he has left would he phone his children, tell them he isn't playing their Mother's game, that he has started a game of his own. She can either figure out his game or she can continue on her own. That he was tired of chasing her, that if she wanted him, she could try and find him. And he should have made himself VERY hard to find. Maybe after a year he could file for a divorce using abandonment. In any case he needs to leave this crazy woman. No, I didn't like this unfinished story at all.

But as I understand it, this particular story will never be continued? Which is too bad. I don't like that he feels "resigned to his fate". And I would like to either find the wife or at least understand her motivation to start this game. Too many unanswered questions. I don't want a continuation of the general story. I want a finish to THIS story.

Ya what the hell is this about.

If I understand the author, this was written as a part of some weird challenge. I'm not sure why this chapter has to be quite so unfinished, but since this writer continues to post and has made no mention of continuing this, I feel this is all we will get. Which makes for a problem. Unfinished, as it sits, this was a very unsatisfying read and I'm not sure why any author would leave it like this. With FTDS no longer with us, someone else would have to take this thread up, ask the author's permission to finish (this author is still active and posts stories now and again) the story and then actually write a decent finish. Maybe someone like George Anderson might attempt such an ending. Highly unlikely that happens. So we're left with this mess. Not good. Not good at all.

Anon, if you don't want to come across an unfinished story, I would suggest going to a book store and paying for your literature. Thankyou Ellie for fulfilling my imagination

Sorry, author. I would have shed this weird woman at the time of the mandolin player. Who needs such an upside down brainless twit for a partner?

Back in 2014, an anonymous commenter wrote a crude ending to this story. While crude, it matched my feelings as well. So . . .

When he reached the top, he paused briefly, listening. The old house softly creaked in the wind. Nothing too strong; just late autumn winds, blowing the last of the leaves from the trees. The yard needs raked. Not today. The thought settled a weight into his mind. It was always this way. The weight fell on him. He had accepted this fact when he won her. Delightful, vivacious, affectionate, spoiled. The heaviness of the life of a working man making his way in the world seemed intolerable to her, as the wife of that man, at times. He turned on the landing. Photos on the walls illuminated their life. Two had only them. Walking down the hall, a visitor could read the growth, the increase and then the decrease in his family as the children came, grew, then left to make their own lives. As happened more frequently lately, his turning on the landing caused his ankle to ache. Such a small thing, a slit twist to the ankle, nothing more than anyone did a hundred times a day, now brought the occasional dull ache. He ache and the thought of the ache soured his mood. He walked slowly back into his bedroom and settled carefully on his bed. His deep breathe brought the aromas and odors of the room, filling his mind with memories. The sweet odor of his wife. A mixture of her soap, her boutique shampoo and body wash, her beloved White Shoulders. Under it, the faint sweetness of an old woman's aging body. His eyelids lowered as a breathed deeply again. This time he detected the sour odor of his unwashed body. A deep memory of his grandfather bubbled to the surface. When his grandfather died, his father had taken him, still a young boy, to the funeral parlor to make the final arrangements. The man remembered the inside of that room, dusty, musty, with a hint of the sour rot if decay not fully covered by the cloying perfumes and candles. The memory brought the man's eyes opened and he began to rise. The sudden thought of death chilled him and he found himself needing the comfort of his wife's gaiety. But she was not there. He settled back, his lower back now joining his ankle in causing him to wince. His left arm, broken falling from a ladder while placing the last of her Christmas ornaments one icy Christmas Eve, the two fingers on his right hand permanently twisted from the woodworking accident while hand crafting her chest of drawers. The ache in his heart from those men, those absences, the loss of their daughter, the burden of the weight of their life, the ache of lost vacations, holidays taken only by her and the children as he struggled to surround her with joy, peace, happiness, and love. His gaze travelled around the room. So much made by him, so little by her. Their wedding picture hung in a frame lovingly carved during evenings after coming home exhausted from his work. The furniture, the nick nacks, all gifts from him to her. Her gifts - adventures. Her adventures. Her puzzles. Her tricks. Her vacations from him. He no longer thought of those peculiar items on the table downstairs. Bitterness rose in him. Tired, oh so tired. What he most desired was rest. Rest from his labors. Rest from that dull ache of sorrow. Rest. To sit in his daughter's kitchen, a mug of warm coffee in his hands and to watch her boys play in the brisk autumn air until they ran into the house, shouting, shoving, laughing. His face lit with a smile and he began the first movements to stand before the thought but him, pushing him back into the bed. The puzzle. How sick he was if the puzzle. Tired, oh so tired of puzzles. Tires of her puzzles. Tired of her including his.sons, his daughter, in her plans. Tired of feeling ever so outside. Tired of those years missed. Tired of the mockery of those pictures lining the hall. Tired of looking at them and seeing her, the children, but so many without him. All those memories she shared with the kids. His memories - work.

The idea came, fully formed. He rose,.walked to his bathroom and carefully went about preparing for the day - the first day of the adventure. He carefully packed. His children always loved his wife's puzzles. They delighted to laugh at him as he struggled to solve them. His wife's ever-boisterous retelling of his mortifying embarrassment at the nudist colony never failed to have his daughter and two daughter-in-laws rolling with laughter. His son and son-in-laws were more restrained, but never failed to smile at the take. He always hid his mortification with a smile. After all, this was why he married her. And that was why it was time for him to give his family a puzzle, an adventure. The thought came that this would obviously ruin whatever plans they had. No problem. Once they solved the puzzle, they would forget the pain, the worry, the fatigue and just laugh. He carefully pulled his old clarinet case from his closet. Carefully carrying it and his packed suitcase down the stairs, he stepped into his wife's room and placed his clarinet in the center of the triangle formed by his wife's clues. A sudden idea came. Filled now with energy, he strode to the hall closet and pulled an insole from his work boots. He laid that on top of the clarinet case. A quick check of the house ensured all the doors and windows were locked. He stopped briefly in the kitchen on his way to the garage. Picking up the phone, he dialed his daughter. Her laughter tinted voice rang out through the phone, "Dad. No calling for clues. You have to play the game right." His curt reply, "Cathouse" silenced her, but the sound of a dial tone cut off the question before she could voice it.

As he drove away from the house, he wondered if she, or his wife, would understand his clues. He had always loved jazz. For years he had spoken of his dream, to take a tour of jazz, beginning in New Orleans, then up through St. Louis before ending in Chicago. Perhaps the clarinet and clue, "Cathouse" would be enough for them to follow him to New Orleans. If they did not find him, then he intended to sample those fine cathouse whores of New Orleans he had heard of in his years as a youthful musician. He did not intend to spend every dollar of their life savings on whores, but he did intend to clean out all of the cash they had in the bank. She could keep the house, unless she followed the clues. After all, he did leave that insole for his falling arches. That should be enough to get them to St. Louis. If not, well, he would have his adventure. Then when he was done, this time, she could pick up the pieces. This time, he would tell the stories. This time, she would ache. Suddenly, he no longer ached. His fatigued fell away from him. The weight lifted from his body. This was his adventure and he felt fine.

Okay - I just wrote that straight through. No checks for grammer.