Life Is A Foreign Language
Read Life Is A Foreign Language Online
Authors: Rayne E. Golay
Life
Is A Foreign Language
A Novel
Rayne E.
Golay
© Copyright
2005 Rayne E. Golay.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the written prior permission of the author.
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ISBN 1-4120-5409-5
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Contents
Pacific Northwest Writer’s Association
Contest 2004-Critique
LIFE IS A FOREIGN LANGUAGE
Overall I really loved this story.
Your basic idea and theme are clear. Despite being limited to a small excerpt of your book these carried right through. I like the imagery of the rose. It’s often used in literature because it’s so powerful, and your use here doesn’t feel like a cliché. What happens to Nina happens to us all: the realization that roses come with thorns and so does love.
I like what you did at the very beginning: got the story going instead of describing weather or back-story. So I was drawn in right away. I found your plot very plausible and believable throughout. Good orchestration of your characters in their daily motions and interactions throughout your excerpt.
Although it’s seldom possible to write a story without switching character viewpoint, I am usually most satisfied when I spend most of the time in one character’s viewpoint. You’ve done a good job as I felt like I was solidly inside Nina’s head most of the time. I felt part of the story.
Nina’s motivations are clear: basically she’s there to grieve, heal and build a new life. And from the little bit I’ve read I see that she manages to do this, even though it causes her further grief. I’m satisfied that her character arc of learning how to live and love again doesn’t necessarily mean that every part of her life is going to be okay. Readers depend on writers to put them into uncomfortable situations vicariously, and you’ve certainly done that.
I thought you drew your secondary and peripheral characters quite well.
In your dialog it was mostly obvious through the grounding you used who was speaking. I see you seldom use dialog tags for the speaker, but they way you’ve written your story they would only get in the way so good job here.
I was seeing and smelling Florida through your story, so great job with your setting.
I think the tone of your piece befits the subject matter. You as the writer stand in the background and tell your story simply, letting your characters shine. Overall an excellent piece.
Good luck!
LIFE IS A FOREIGN LANGUAGE, READER FEEDBACK
LIFE IS A FOREIGN LANGUAGE
kept me turning the pages from beginning to the end. As the story got into full swing, I so hoped for a happy ending, but that was not to be in the classical sense of the word. Nina Brochard is a wounded woman. Hurt, she dares to take the risk to start the process of change, to love and embarks on the path of healing. I came away enriched by knowing the people in this novel. RAYNE E. GOLAY writes with fresh and lucid sensitivity. Her characters are made out of whole cloth.
John Moederle, Masters Degree in
International Relations
Geneva, Switzerland
Michael Hamilton, the male protagonist in the novel
LIFE IS A FOREIGN LANGUGE
is a man I would have liked to have in my life. All through the novel, I found myself wondering if Nina Brochard would learn the lessons he was so clearly there to teach her. Was I learning them myself in some indefinable way? RAYNE E. GOLAY’s visual descriptions have an immediacy about them that allowed me not only to read the story but to actually live it. She writes with a refreshing style, a voice all her own.
Deborah Anne Walton, English Teacher
Geneva, Switzerland
In the novel
LIFE IS A FOREIGN LAGUAGE,
Nina Brochard’s internal voyage from abnegation and humiliation through to self-realization tugged at my heart and mind. I learned a lot from this novel. Nina’s story is universal and moving, with which the reader certainly can identify. RAYNE E. GOLAY describes her main characters strikingly, yet manages to leave room enough to tickle one’s imagination. I visualized Nina’s and Michael’s emotional and physical nuances in vivid Technicolor. Brava!
Janet Hacin, Psychotherapist
Geneva, Switzerland
This book is for Rene, in loving memory.
My husband, my rock.
With special thanks to the following:
YAEL, my daughter, for your very valuable comments after reading the first draft;
ARON, my son, for never questioning;
VANIA, my granddaughter, the smile in my heart;
ALAN LANTIERI, a great artist and a wonderful friend, for believing in me; BETTIE WALES, my skillful editor;
My six readers; your wise remarks and suggestions were an inspiration; and
All my fellow writers at Writers Village University for your constructive feedback.
My deep gratitude to DON PRATT who carried the message that turned my life around.
Dream what you want to dream; go where you want to go; be what you want to be, because you have only one life and one chance to do all the things you want to do.
Florida!
Nina Brochard gazed across the expanse of manicured lawn and exotic shrubbery, inhaling deeply of the fragrant April air. This was all so different from France. The best part—it was half a world away from André.
She’d finally taken the step to save her sanity, and prayed the price she would have to pay wouldn’t be too steep. Having arrived only the night before, she felt jet-lagged and so homesick she could cry—her entire body ached from the pain of separation. Brushing away the tears she shook her head. Now wasn’t the time to dwell on the past or fall apart; practical things needed to be done.
Notepad and pen in hand, she went to the garage and hit the switch that controlled the outside lights on each side of the door. When she arrived last night, one of them was dark. Just to make sure, she flipped the switch on and off a couple more times, but indeed, the one on the left was burned out.
She looked at the growing list. “Most of this stuff is more than I can handle by myself,” she muttered, “but I’ll be darned if I can’t change a light bulb.”
Leaving pen and pad on the hood of the car, she hoisted the folding ladder from its hooks on the back wall and opened it under the burned-out light. Three rungs up, eye level with the light fixture, she reached to unscrew the light bulb. Nina was about to remove it from the socket when she felt the legs of the ladder sink into the soft earth. She fumbled, trying to grab hold of the wall, scraping her knuckles against the stucco as she fell. The ladder landed on top of her with a stunning whack to the side of her head.
Nina lay flat on her back in a prickly fern, a knot of branches poking her painfully between the shoulder blades. Her right foot, twisted at an angle, was still caught in the ladder.
She breathed deeply, trying to clear her head. Her thin T-shirt did nothing to soften the fiery burn of the needles. By wiggling her foot, she was able to free it, but felt a sharp, piercing pain in the ankle. With an effort she pushed the ladder to the side.
“Are you hurt? Here, let me help you.”
She looked up to see a man bent over her, his hand outstretched. He seemed gigantic as she lay on her back, glasses askew. She’d lost one loafer and her hair was a likely mess of unruly curls. The relentless midday sun beat down on her, intensifying the hot wave of embarrassment at being caught in such a predicament. She tugged at the T-shirt to cover her bare midriff.
Unceremoniously he lifted her in his arms and put her on her feet. “Better?”
Her clothes clung like a second skin, moist with perspiration. She took a step and bit her lower lip. “Ouch, that hurts.”
“Your ankle?”
“Yes. I must have sprained it.”
“Let’s get out of this heat. I’ll take you inside.”
