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McAnally's (The Community Pub) => Author Craft => Topic started by: meg_evonne on June 24, 2009, 04:02:26 AM
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here's a paragraph from my 'for fun while taking a break' from YA. So would you read on? or not? then start your own thread with less than 250 words for others of your current WiP so we can post hooked or not hooked to your work. Enjoy!
"They opened the door to our brothel cell room without warning. We were naked and still in bed. If the phone last night had a heavenly glow, it didn’t apply to our counsel from the same region who stood in the doorway. He looked bedraggled and tired, not like he’d spent the night in pleasant pursuits. He was tall, pale, with long rusty hair, his nose was broken and he wore blue jeans with holes in the knees, Birkenstock sandals, and his t-shirt proclaimed, “Repent Asshole”, and a fat backpack slung over his shoulder. Okay, I could like this lawyer."
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Hooked (I especially like the "Repent Asshole") ;D...
Ok, here's mine:
"I should have known better. There had been plenty of warning signs. But Bill had sounded so excited and I missed seeing him that way. He's needed a lot of encouragement since the accident and I didn't want to miss the opportunity to be there for him. If only I'd- Well, I guess it doesn't matter now. Whatever he'd given me had begun to kick in and my brain was in no condition to help me get us out of here. Power over life and death he'd said. Power over life and death."
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Can't really tell yet... :(
Well here's mine. Its a short story start. Let me know!
Derek and I are, well, different. He’s tall, dark, and handsome, and everybody loves him. I am the Biology and Chemistry Major finishing my senior year of college. Don’t get me wrong; I’m not repulsive or a hermit or anything, but people are just drawn to him. He’s just shy of six feet, with raven hair and bright green eyes. I’m five-eight, with sandy hair and blue eyes.
Oh, and perhaps the biggest difference between us is that I am not a vampire.
Derek moved into the apartment a little over two years ago, answering an ad that I had placed in the local newspaper when I was looking for a new roommate. He was the only one to answer the ad, and, to be honest, I needed the help on the rent, so he moved in shortly after.
It took me a while before I found out his secret. He came home every night just before dawn. I caught him one time and asked why he kept going out so late and coming back so early. He avoided me for a couple of days and eventually, we sat down and talked.
He explained everything to me. He said that he had lived for nearly three hundred years. He told me about other vampires and other creatures of the night. He explained vampiric Laws to me, and he told me about their ruling body, the Imperion. Ever since then, we have been good friends. He had taken me to popular vampire clubs and we had partied together. All in all, my nightlife had improved since Derek moved in.
It was because of these night trips that my life, and ultimately Derek’s, would be changed forever.
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I'd read further, but it needs some major editing.
The first paragraph turned me off, but "perhaps the biggest difference between us is that I am not a vampire." got me interested.
The ad bit for a room mate is cool, but don't need all the other parts in there I think.
I'm intested in how main character found out, but instead of telling me, why don't you show me. Put me in main character's head as he watches the guy going out late, coming back... what other things would he notice, like does he smell like blood? Is his tongue red? (gross) or he can't always be a neat sucker---blood on his clothes etc?
Finally, it seems like the vamp is coming clean too easily. Maybe you can trail him, confront him, then have him tell the story? Right now, I'm figuring the room mate's going to be snack! Snark snark.
Sorry, I already plopped down a section. Someone else put in one? Please??? In fact, hang on....
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This is very rough, haven't looked over it much at all since I wrote it. And at the moment it's the start, but that might change, haven't decided.
Whenever I read a book, and I read a helluva lot, the hero or heroine is usually someone special. The last of a dying order, a prince or princess, even if they grew up a farmboy or shepherd. Someone with special powers, like raising the dead, using magic, or turning into a wolf. The descendant of King Arthur or Caesar. Someone incredibly handsome or beautiful.
Not someone like me.
Me? I’m “cute.” I can’t fucking stand that word. I’m short and overweight. Ok, fat. My hair is brown. Where it’s not strawlike and reddish blonde from hair dye and sun. It’s not as scraggly as it used to be, but it’s so very fine that when it’s gathered all together, it has all the thickness of a carrot. A baby carrot. Blue eyes, white skin. And glasses. I look like a librarian. Could it be any more boring?
“Yes.”
Ah, hell. Shut up... Now people think I’m talking to myself.
“But you are.”
All I was trying to do was kill myself. I missed my dand and grandmother. And I was just so tired of being alone all the time. How was I supposed to know that stupid dagger was magical? And possessed?
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Meg- Hooked. Nicely done. Only thing--I didn't make an immediate connection with the phone's heavenly glow and the lawyer, but that might be just me.
Nothinwicked/Starbeam, honestly I think you could both just start off with the very last few lines of your individual pieces, because those were the ones that really grabbed my attention:
"Power over life and death he'd said. Power over life and death."
::That:: caught my interest. Let's see what happens next.
All I was trying to do was kill myself. I missed my dand and grandmother. And I was just so tired of being alone all the time. How was I supposed to know that stupid dagger was magical? And possessed?
Ditto. Now I want to know about this dagger and where it came from.
He Who Walks Backwards I'll echo what Meg said. Maybe a good starting point would be the moment when the character finds out that Derek is a vampire. That could be a good flashpoint for conflict.
(EDIT: Caffeine rush, sorry) What I meant to say is that I think all three pieces could benefit by placing more focus on grabbing the reader's attention right off that bat and worry about exposition/explanation till later. All three have intriguing premises and look promising.
Here's mine:
A mask of blood covered the face of the abomination that was once a beautiful young girl and its eyes shined with something that cut even deeper than madness. The light of Rhea's lantern revealed the creature crouched on the Cypress bower, feasting on the young cowpuncher's eviscerated remains. The dead man hung slumped over the branch like a jaguar's kill, dribbling crimson streams onto the brush below. A breeze wafted the miasma of death over Rhea and she caught a whiff of his last meal—beef stew—amidst the stench of spilled guts. Without a sound the girl-thing bounded from the tree and charged, running upon all fours.
Rhea's grip tightened on her tomahawk, but before the girl-thing managed three strides a shadow whisked through the grass like an eel through water and crashed into it. The beast Rhea had named "Pluto" threw the girl-thing nose over toes with a toss of his horns. The abomination rolled to its feet screaming and tried to bite its attacker, but Pluto entwined it with his sinuous body and pinned it to the ground.
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Starbeam: wow, I liked a lot of stuff in here! I agree that the strongest line is the last part, "All I was trying to do was kill myself. I missed my dand and grandmother. And I was just so tired of being alone all the time. How was I supposed to know that stupid dagger was magical? And possessed?"
That's the strongest line and I think it's a great starting point, but what I also like is who you pulled together as a main character. She's interesting! She's quirky to be talking to herself and I like that she's not the normal hero walking the streets. I do want to spend time with the main character.
NothingWicked: I don't have enough yet to feel that I'm hooked into it. That last line again is strong. Can you post more? :-)
belial: Graphic death scene--cool. The girl creature intriguing and really interested in the Pluto, which I assume is a compatriot of Rhea and is neat. Plus the body description gives me a sense of the environment without actually describing it.
In the first paragraph I lost my physicality. The first sentence took me into the girl creature, the next three sentences took me to the body and then it was back to the girl creature. This may have been on purpose and your choice. I personally would feel more comfortable with the 2nd sentence that introduces Rhea through the lantern, moves on to the body... continue to the last line and then incorporate the first sentence into that last bit.
To me, I feel more comfortable with the camera view idea. Right now the camera is shifting too much and I got lost. Starting with the lantern that reveals the body, the description of the body, then the camera eye would move to the girl creature. Does that make sense?
Oh, hey ya, I'm hooked!
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Here's mine:
October, 1947
Eighteen months ago, Jerry Straight left his Times Square office to get three corned beef sandwiches and a pack of Chesterfields and vanished off the face of the earth. As mysterious disappearances went, it didn’t get a lot of press coverage, and the cops barely made a show of concern before shrugging their shoulders and moving on to the next big thing in crime. Jerry was no Judge Crater; he sure as hell was no Amelia Earhardt, and the authorities didn’t like to waste a lot of time on what they considered a lost cause. The city was full of guys like Jerry, little fish in a great big pond, trying to make an honest living and help out a few people in need along the way.
For the most part, the only people who cared that Jerry had made like a magician’s assistant were Russell and me. Russell was Jerry’s partner and one of a few, maybe the only real friend he had, but even he missed a lot of the signs that all was not well in Jerry’s world. A guy who has everything going for him doesn’t walk away from his whole life without a word to anybody. A private dick with a reputation to uphold doesn’t do a runner in the middle of a case. Russell spent more than a few sleepless nights wondering if he was somehow responsible for his partner’s disappearing act, or worse, that Jerry could have been done away with by the very guys they were investigating...
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Oh, and of the previous fragments, Meg Evonne's and Belial's definitely hooked me. ;D
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I've actually been debating over whether that bit is more fitting as a sort of blurb/forward/preface kinda thing. I think Simon Green's Drood books do this kinda thing. The actual story start(which needs lots of work) is:
"You're dripping on the carpet."
I blinked and looked around. I stood in the middle of a white room. Everything was white. Except the man in black. I had a somewhat hysterical urge to ask if he was the Dread Pirate Roberts.
He was dressed head to toe in black. And it looked like the exact same costume, as well. Aside from the cowled black cloak falling and hitting at the ankles. The only color I could see was a golden shimmer from beneath the hood.
"Dont just stand there; clean it up."
He had a British accent, too. Why did that feel like home? He gestured, and I followed the movement.
Blood was sliding down my hands and drip-dripping onto a spreading red stain. It looked very bright against the white carpet. I still held the dagger in my hand, but even though blood dripped from the point, the blade was clean.
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Does it have to be an opening ?
Some stories want to open with hooks, and some with nets.
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From a project that is well back-burnered now; it has an opening frame, and this is the transition to the main story.
"They think they understand it, now, this Secretary of State Linebarger and his bleedin' shadow soldiers. They give me these books to read and take my notes and comments as if it mattered. They think they know where it began and why it came out this way and why the rats are here in the Big Apple after my hide, after so long. And maybe they do. But they weren't there at the beginning, and I was, before anyone knew who Onkel Adolf was, before the Iron Moons and Mosley and the Bomb and everything. To listen to them, you'd think it was that poor mad bastard in Serbia who set the course of the twentieth century, but I was there ten years later when the shot came that really changed history, shivering in the rain on Upper Mount Street in ratty old pants and boots way too big for me, in O'Sullivan's squad that had made a bollocks of things as usual, waiting for word from the Big Fella to tell us what to do next. Seemed so little at the time, just another street fight in a city full of street fighting, but I remember it, oh yes; March 22nd in the year of Our Lord nineteen hundred and twenty-eight, at half-past ten in the morning. I was there the day Jack Kennedy died."
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I think Neurovore's fragment works just fine as a story opener and needs no other intro; the alt-history angle is intriguing (though I'm a bit baffled by the second sentence - is it a typo?)
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I think Neurovore's fragment works just fine as a story opener and needs no other intro; the alt-history angle is intriguing
A little busy with referents and alt-referents for my taste in an intro (I counted 8-9 maybe 10 attention points, some of which may warrant further tracking for being different, quite a few are probably throwaway distractions). Hook lipped, not set.
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I think Neurovore's fragment works just fine as a story opener and needs no other intro; the alt-history angle is intriguing (though I'm a bit baffled by the second sentence - is it a typo?)
That was a copy/paste error, will fix.
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A little busy with referents and alt-referents for my taste in an intro (I counted 8-9 maybe 10 attention points, some of which may warrant further tracking for being different, quite a few are probably throwaway distractions). Hook lipped, not set.
Fair enough; my viewpoint character there is Hitler's nephew (a real person who had quite a bizarre life in our history, and who is sort of fascinating in a throughly venal but not competent enough to do anything about it sort of way.) The actual point of divergence of this history is during the Irish Famine, which is somewhat less severe and occasions less emigration including several people who would otherwise have been significant in US history. The principal reason why this one is backburnered for the moment (apart from the gargantuan amounts of resarch reading that still needs doing) is that the particular creepy obscure right-wing real-world Catholic figure who was in this world going to be attached to the mystical wing of the Third Reich in the early 1960s and a significant player in the time period of the frame has since I put the story structure together been elected Pope and is no longer obscure, which kind of annoyingly shifts the balance of how it can be read (in much the same way as the original 1999 publication of The Atrocity Archive using al-Qaeda as its "obscure real-world terrorist organisation most people will not have heard of in any detail" kind of did not work as such and was changed for the more recent Ace editions.)
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Does it have to be an opening ?
Some stories want to open with hooks, and some with nets.
mine wasn't an opening. I was editing a previous chapter before moving into writing the next (a great tip that someone here posted) and found a description of a minor character that fell in love with, so I posted it. I did however do so conscious of the fact that it could have been an opener as well.
So maybe we should clarify a bit, or better yet just be careful to pull out 250 that can stand strongly on their own. Thoughts?
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So maybe we should clarify a bit, or better yet just be careful to pull out 250 that can stand strongly on their own. Thoughts?
I don't know that giving a reasonable feel for the work needs something to stand on its own, exactly, but some context for each piece would be good. (I mean, I think "It's a gendered-species thing. You wouldn't understand." catches the tone of the project of mine it belongs to rather well, but it's not really enough to convey what the story is doing.)
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I personally would feel more comfortable with the 2nd sentence that introduces Rhea through the lantern, moves on to the body... continue to the last line and then incorporate the first sentence into that last bit.
LOL. I'm the king of second guessing myself. When I first wrote the opening paragraph to this piece it went something like, "The light of Rhea's lantern revealed the creature sitting in the Cypress bower feasting on the eviscerated remnants of the young cowpuncher." Then for some reason I changed it. I dunno why... ??? Oh well. You're totally right about the camera view. Thanks for putting me back on the right track!
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On the latest samples:
Lizwiz- You've constructed a really good hard boiled detective voice right off the bat, though my gut reaction is that it threatens to become derivative. The circumstances surrounding Jerry Straight's dissappearance tickle my curiosity though. Are they mysterious or unusual? If so, maybe you could try to work that in.
Starbeam- Hooked! I like the way you plunged the reader right into the mystery. We have no idea what's going on, but neither does the narrator and I'd definitely like to know what happens next. Nice!
Neurovore-
Hook lipped, not set.
I feel the same way. From what I see you've got a really intriguing story full of historical intrigue. The bit presented didn't quite grab me. However, since we're not limited to beginnings, why don't you post a blurb from his experience when "Jack Kennedy died?" I'd really like to see his viewpoint on that historical event. (Especially since I live in Dallas.)
The principal reason why this one is backburnered for the moment (apart from the gargantuan amounts of resarch reading that still needs doing) is that the particular creepy obscure right-wing real-world Catholic figure who was in this world going to be attached to the mystical wing of the Third Reich in the early 1960s and a significant player in the time period of the frame has since I put the story structure together been elected Pope and is no longer obscure, which kind of annoyingly shifts the balance of how it can be read
That's a tough one to tackle. The only thing that occurs to me is to suggest creating a simulacrum of the guy--someone that's close enough to suit the purposes of your story but doesn't constitute a historical representation. In any case, good luck with the story!
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Neurovore-
I feel the same way. From what I see you've got a really intriguing story full of historical intrigue. The bit presented didn't quite grab me. However, since we're not limited to beginnings, why don't you post a blurb from his experience when "Jack Kennedy died?" I'd really like to see his viewpoint on that historical event. (Especially since I live in Dallas.)
Jack Kennedy dies as a small kid during the Irish Civil War; the Kennedys never emigrated and old Joe is DeValera's right hand man in Dublin; nobody's going to come within miles of Dallas, it's basically an alternate WWII story with a frame of assassins in New York after our protagonist in 1963 while there's a Cuban Missile Crisis-equivalent going on about the Third Reich putting nukes in orbit. (I suspect that if this ever sells there will be a swastika strangling a shamrock or something similar on the cover.)
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On the latest samples:
<<Lizwiz- You've constructed a really good hard boiled detective voice right off the bat, though my gut reaction is that it threatens to become derivative. The circumstances surrounding Jerry Straight's dissappearance tickle my curiosity though. Are they mysterious or unusual? If so, maybe you could try to work that in.>>
Jerry's back by the end of chapter 3, and lots of complications ensue. FYI, I've already completed the rough draft of this novel; I'm currently revising and hope to show it to some good impartial critics by the end of the summer.
<<Neurovore-
I feel the same way. From what I see you've got a really intriguing story full of historical intrigue. The bit presented didn't quite grab me. However, since we're not limited to beginnings, why don't you post a blurb from his experience when "Jack Kennedy died?" I'd really like to see his viewpoint on that historical event. (Especially since I live in Dallas.)>>
Re: Neurovore's piece, my guess was that it was a time-travel story in which the timeline had somehow got completely FUBARed by somebody's meddling in world events. My bad!
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Starbeam: thumbs up on the bloody beginning :D
Liz: on jerry straight. (good name, as I forget names and I didn't this one!) I'm liking it, but I feel a bit distanced from it,. It's definitely got that P.I. feel. Looking forward to seeing more voice from your main character. I did get a couple 'he's or him's' confused in the 2nd paragraph as to whom was being referrenced.
Neurovore: Why does it not surprise me that your first posting of 250 is so deep seated into the character, in his distinctive rather rambling mind set, that I wanna tell him to hurry up and get to the point! He's so real to life that he grated. The premise is really intriguing from your posting that I would read on. As this is the transition, would love to see the beginning of the main section.
And...changed my mind. Maybe no preset info posted unless we put in spoilers. Neurovore's is a good posting that shows that the explaination can spoil the fresh read later. :( I'm thinking it's better to do the 'in the cone' bit. Post and hush until everyone has a chance to read it?
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Neurovore: Why does it not surprise me that your first posting of 250 is so deep seated into the character, in his distinctive rather rambling mind set, that I wanna tell him to hurry up and get to the point! He's so real to life that he grated.
TBH, another reason why that project has so rarely come to the front of my attention is that that viewpoint is a completely miserable bastard to spend any time with in my head.
Neurovore's is a good posting that shows that the explaination can spoil the fresh read later. :(
We could put our contexting info in spoiler tags, perhaps ?
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OK, here's another selection from elsewhere in my manuscript:
No doorman was on duty; the desk clerk put down his magazine and eyed me with a suspicion that vanished once I told him my name. "Miss Malloy. Mr. Russell's mentioned you. Just go on up." I staggered to the elevator, stabbed at the 'up' button, and at that moment the front door swung open again, revealing a mountainous figure clad in a vicuna overcoat.
Son of a bitch.
Ignoring the clerk's indignant query, he charged toward me across the lobby.
Screw this, I thought, and pulling off my pumps I stuffed them into my shopping bag and ran like hell for the stairs. Judging from the raised voices behind me, the clerk was doing his best to hold off Vicuna Man. I hoped for his sake he had a shotgun, or at least a Louisville Slugger, hidden behind his desk.
Russell's is a fourth floor corner apartment, a pretty decent place for the neighborhood; he picked it up cheap some years ago after a nasty murder was committed there and no-one else would go near the place. Their loss.
The stairs were slippery-wet, smeared with shoe dirt from hundreds of people, mingled with pools of what I really, really hoped was water. Within seconds my feet were numb with cold and soaked through, my stockings ruined; but hey, I'd rather blow a buck-fifty on a new pair than face Vicuna Coat Man. Up one, two flights, and I heard it: the fire door being banged back on its hinges and heavy footfalls in pursuit.
Clutching my parcels with one hand and the railing with the other I doubled my speed, taking the stairs two at a time and risking life and limb as I slipped and skidded on the worn slate.
"Hey, little girl." His voice echoed weirdly up the stairs. "Come on down and play."
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Yeah Liz, that is really cool. The mix of grubby human life with her sparky character just right. Like the perfect amount of chocolate on ice cream. :-) I'm in the scene with your character completely. Bare stockings in the moist stairwell, reminded me of my son-in-law's gross, very gross one when he was in college. I was so glad when he moved in with my duaghter. I couldn't take the smell.....
Which by the way reminds me... lots of scent possibility here besides the sight and touch ones. :-)
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[Charles Barkley] "Hey guys, can I play, too?" [/Charles Barkley]
“'Beth' is a normal name,” he said. “Don’t you like it? Would you rather be called ‘Elizabeth’ or ‘Lizzie’? I don’t know about ‘Lizzie’… it sounds like something green and scaly.”
Beth sighed, then flopped over on her back. “I would love to be an ‘Elizabeth’ or ‘Lisa’… I’d even settle for a green, scaly ‘Lizzie’ but thats not what I was named for.”
Jack thought for several moments, but couldn’t come up with any other amalgamations of names he’d ever heard that would yield up a shorter ‘Beth.’
“You won’t think of any others,” she said. “I told you, it isn’t normal.”
“Then why did you tell me to guess?”
She sat up, and her green eyes held Jack for a very long moment. “If you’d gotten it on the first or second guess, then I’d know that you weren’t normal,” she finally said.
“Great,” he muttered. “So I’m normal. What of it?”
She smiled. “Normal is good. I don’t get nearly enough of it.”
“You look normal to me,” Jack said. “Even if you do dress kind of funny.”
“This is all we have unpacked right now. The rest of my stuff is all boxed up and buried.”
They sat in silence, the girl staring at the sky, which was going from blue to deeper blue of late evening. The boy stared at the girl, the fine lines of her face starting to stand out in the deeper light of evening, the lashes drinking in the shadows, making her eyes seem wider, larger than they had in the afternoon.
“So if I’m never going to guess it, are you going to tell me?” Jack said, still turning names over in his head. Lizbeth, maybe. That was strange.
“They say that knowing something’s name gives you power over it,” she murmured.
“What kind of power?” Jack asked.
“I don’t know. Power. Like…” her voice trailed off as she thought. “Like.. When you’re in trouble and your mom calls you by your full name.”
Jack shuddered. “Yeah,” he said. “That's power, all right.”
I'd ask ya'll to be gentle... but will settle for only half-rotten tomatos being thrown my way ;)
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@ Meg-Evonne: Good thought; stairwells always smell of cat pee, don't they? ;D
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yeah, i wish it had been cat pee.. LOL
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Rob, Just realized that I forgot to swing back by this thread. Sorry to be so slow. Hopefully others will also chip in once we bring it back to the top of the line!
I like these two young people and their conversation on names. They have a nice by-play going, and it brings up several great questions in the reader's mind. Who is she? How did they met? How did they come to be together in the quiet of evening to discuss this.
once the dialog gets going I appreciate that you are using actions to set the scene. I've been told now by two authors, that I really respect, this little rule. "Only use said, asked, whispered--nothing else." They do not like qualifiers. In your case, this happens frequently. I think you need to trust your dialog and your character's voices more and it will keep the scene moving faster.
Uhm, how do I show that.... try reading this section aloud your way and the way that I've edited as these authors would have indicated... Maybe it won't show anything! But I'll try, please forgive me for taking a heavy hand to it. You really, really can trust your dialog Rob--it's good! Also you can trust the reader to keep who is speaking without footnotes--so to speak. LOL
[Charles Barkley] "Hey guys, can I play, too?" [/Charles Barkley]
I'd ask ya'll to be gentle... but will settle for only half-rotten tomatos being thrown my way ;)
Ahh, gentle takes too long!!! And I know you are a strong enough writer to be firm in your own preferences. LOL
“'Beth' is a normal name.,” he said. “Don’t you like it? Would you rather be called ‘Elizabeth’ or ‘Lizzie’? I don’t know about ‘Lizzie’… it --sounds like something green and scaly.”
Beth sighed, then flopped over on her back. “I would love to be an ‘Elizabeth’ or ‘Lisa’… I’d even settle for a green, scaly ‘Lizzie’ but thats not *what* I was named for.”
Jack thought for several moments, but couldn’t come up with any other amalgamations of names he’d ever heard that would yield up a shorter ‘Beth.’
“You won’t think of any others, Jack.,” she said. “I told you, it isn’t normal.”
“Then why did you tell me to guess?”
She sat up, and her green eyes held Jack's for a very long moment. “If you’d gotten it on the first or second guess, then I’d know that you weren’t normal,” she finally said.
“Great.,” he muttered. “So I’m normal. What of it?”
She smiled. “Normal is good. I don’t get nearly enough of it.”
“You look normal to me,” Jack said. “Even if you do dress kind of funny.” (Might decide to describe her dress, but that would slow down the dialog flow)
“This is all we have unpacked right now.** The rest of my stuff is all boxed up and buried.”
They sat in silence, the girl staring at the sky, which was going from blue to deeper blue of late evening. The boy stared at the girl, the fine lines of her face starting to stand out in the deeper light of evening, the lashes drinking in the shadows, making her eyes seem wider, larger than they had in the afternoon.
“So if I’m never going to guess it, are you going to tell me?” Jack said, still turning names over in his head. Lizbeth, maybe. That was strange.
“They say that knowing something’s name gives you power over it.,” she murmured.
“What kind of power?”
“I don’t know. Power. Like…” her voice trailed off. as she thought. “Like.. When you’re in trouble and your mom calls you by your full name.”
Jack shuddered. “Yeah, like when I broke Mom's favorite crystal vase.,” he said. “That's power, all right.”
RobJN's manuscript original copy has 343 words vs 296. Does it seem sharper, crisper? Less distraction from your great voices? Also in this format you can easily see Jack's interested in her style of voice vs Beth's style of hesitation and slight sadness, which was hidden and harder to pick out of the flow.
*what*----best and neatest choice of words in this section that's going to drive me crazy until I get the answer---just what not who was she named for? LOL
**This line has nothing to do with slowing down the dialog, but it raised all these questions, that are important, yet it makes me think about who 'we' and that pulls me out of being part of their relationship dialog. So I wondered if you could include it elsewhere, once this tentative relationship is explained to the reader? So it's sort of moving me out of where you want my mind to be at this point, I THINK...
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Wow, the edits really do add some 'snap'... but I wonder if the pace is a bit *too* fast. Hm. Fine line in pacing that opening scene.
I do appreciate the advice on the "said" "asked" and "whispered." As a good chunk of the work is dialogue, I'll need to go through with the diamond-edged red-pen ;)
I thought it was going to just be a short story, or maybe a handful of scenes that would work themselves out.... But the latest word count on the project sits around 75,000 -- several hundred, at least, you've shown me I can do without. Well, editing is what happens after I finish bleeding out all over the page.
*what*----best and neatest choice of words in this section that's going to drive me crazy until I get the answer---just what not who was she named for? LOL
I'd almost forgotten that she snuck that in there. Crafty girl, that Beth... ;D
So, I take it you're hooked? ;) [shameless plug] You can find the answer on the blog (http://storybookfactory.blogspot.com) where the first draft is going up, bit by bit. [/shameless plug]
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I would add "answered" and "replied" to the list of dialogue modifiers. Very, very infrequently I will add an adverb to the mix (e.g. "he said irritably") but I try to avoid them whenever possible*; one every 1000 words or so seems okay; otherwise it can get tiresome reading -ly, -ly, -ly all the time.
*if, for instance, I find myself using convoluted syntax and far too many words just to avoid the adverb.
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Just a style thing, but it relates to pacing: long words like 'amalgamations' tend to throw the reader off pace when they're in short-word text. Consider 'hybrids' or even 'amalgams' or 'mutations' or ....
BTW, I heart ‘retort’.
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Just a style thing, but it relates to pacing: long words like 'amalgamations' tend to throw the reader off pace when they're in short-word text. Consider 'hybrids' or even 'amalgams' or 'mutations' or ....
I didn't consider this but it makes complete sense. Thanks for the tip Comprex!!!
Wow, the edits really do add some 'snap'... but I wonder if the pace is a bit *too* fast. Hm. Fine line in pacing that opening scene.
YEP and that's where the author makes the stand--like Gary Cooper in High Noon!!! :-)
I thought it was going to just be a short story, or maybe a handful of scenes that would work themselves out.... But the latest word count on the project sits around 75,000 -- several hundred, at least, you've shown me I can do without. Well, editing is what happens after I finish bleeding out all over the page.
Yeah, and we THINK we are in charge, right?
So, I take it you're hooked? ;) [shameless plug]
Absolutely! (especially after getting a clean look at your great dialog!
You can find the answer on the blog (http://storybookfactory.blogspot.com) where the first draft is going up, bit by bit. [/shameless plug] thank you. i will.
Rob, I put a follow on your blog, why isn't it under your name? And I start from the back right? I think mine is under meg_evonne, but I rarely post there.
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Rob, I put a follow on your blog, why isn't it under your name? And I start from the back right? I think mine is under meg_evonne, but I don't post there, I just post once in awhile.
Yes, the beginning of the tale is at the end of the blog, with the newest installment towards the "top."
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...but I don't post there, I just post once in awhile.
egads, I posted that sentence in an author's forum? crimmineee. Okay I was tired.
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Guys, be careful here. There's potential, even in a paragraph, of story ideas territory.
I'm not saying stop, I'm just warning to be careful! :)
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Fire, of course, is known for it's transformative properties. Though primarily destructive, it can also burn away the impurities. The finest steel, after all, is forged in the hottest flames. I suppose you could say, then, that when Tom torched my car at a stoplight, he was turning me into a better weapon.
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"Meet Steve Adams. By day, a mild-mannered cubicle drone in the offices of Semantech Corp; by night, a cape-clad crusader for truth, justice, and good grammar everywhere. Look -- up in the sky! Is it a bird? Is it an F15 fighter jet? No! It's....THE READING RANGER!!!!"
(This is an idea for an origin story about a superhero whose cover story is that he plays a campy superhero on a PBS kiddy show.)
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Fire, of course, is known for it's transformative properties. Though primarily destructive, it can also burn away the impurities. The finest steel, after all, is forged in the hottest flames. I suppose you could say, then, that when Tom torched my car at a stoplight, he was turning me into a better weapon.
My itchy editing fingers what to change to: "Fire is known for it's transformative properties. Though primarily destructive, it burns away the impurities. The finest steel is forged in the hottest flames. So when Tom torched my car, he was turning me into a better weapon."
But I know you are looking for an interesting voice here--so ignore my twitchy, itchy fingers! I'm in editing mode on the YA---AGAIN. arghhh.
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"Meet Steve Adams. By day, a mild-mannered cubicle drone in the offices of Semantech Corp; by night, a cape-clad crusader for truth, justice, and good grammar everywhere. Look -- up in the sky! Is it a bird? Is it an F15 fighter jet? No! It's....THE READING RANGER!!!!"
(This is an idea for an origin story about a superhero whose cover story is that he plays a campy superhero on a PBS kiddy show.)
Like the premise! Like the posting! Love the layering of a Real Superhero who plays a grammar superhero on TV, whose day job is "mild-mannered cubicle drone" Seriously, this could be the new "Captain Underpants", don't you think? LOL Where does he change his clothes? In the little boy's restroom of schools? Who would be the love interest--a big eyes, busty 3rd grade teacher? This really is a jewel Liz!
Yep, this is a Middle Grade gold mine, I think. Hang on to this one!!!
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young YA, beginning of my sequel. I'm still editing the original...
"The text message read, “You suck. Dare go near Randon & we'll make your life hell.” Eve punched off her phone. Texts with similar rants arrived regularly since she started her first semester at the American Rome School. The first had been feeble attempts, but over the course of the semester they had become quite adapt at hurting and embarrassing her."
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Thanks, Meg! Never thought of doing it as YA, but that makes a LOT of sense. (I'd envisioned it as a satire of theatre in which the protagonist longs to be a serious actor but is typecast by his role in a kid's show and struggles against his destiny as a real superhero. His love interest was supposed to be the costume designer on his show, and her name was Tasha Trent, because of course they ALWAYS have to have alliterative names. ;))
The threatening text message makes an interesting start to a story; I feel that in the interests of authenticity, however, it should be written in illiterate shorthand.
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The threatening text message makes an interesting start to a story; I feel that in the interests of authenticity, however, it should be written in illiterate shorthand.
Though that risks losing the sort of reader who looks at the first two paras and might then decide to stop if it looks like a whole book written in illiterate shorthand.
Plus, netspeak/textspeak of any kind will date really fast. If you write it and it sells immediately you finish it, you'd be very lucky for it to hit shelves two years after you write it, and two years is most of a generation for online communities, no ?
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My itchy editing fingers what to change to: "Fire is known for it's transformative properties. Though primarily destructive, it burns away the impurities. The finest steel is forged in the hottest flames. So when Tom torched my car, he was turning me into a better weapon."
But I know you are looking for an interesting voice here--so ignore my twitchy, itchy fingers! I'm in editing mode on the YA---AGAIN. arghhh.
Your edits make it punchier, sure. The question is whether punchier is what the voice wants.
As opening lines go, compare:
1) "OK, he's dead. You can go ahead and talk to him."
2) "You are reading this book for the wrong reasons."
3) "It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the season of Light, it was the season of Darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair, we had everything before us, we had nothing before us, we were all going direct to Heaven, we were all going direct the other way— in short, the period was so far like the present period, that some of its noisiest authorities insisted on its being received, for good or for evil, in the superlative degree of comparison only."
Each of them serves to set up a very defined voice, in distinctly different ways, no ?
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"OK, he's dead. You can go ahead and talk to him." - Hey love this one. Is it a quote? I'm not familiar with it, btw I did pick up Charlie Huston's "Already Dead" and enjoyed it. Thank you for the referral! There was a lot to like in there from style to technique. It doesn't grab me like JB does, but well worth the money to buy it. It's a tad on the dark side for me. I will pick some more of that author's titles up.
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Re-reading Don's post and now prefer it the original way---since my editing is over for the moment on the YA. Sigh. Don't you love it when you edit it, then a month later change it back the way it was originally? Worse yet? When it's your editor that does it!!!! :-)
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"OK, he's dead. You can go ahead and talk to him." - Hey love this one. Is it a quote?
It is, indeed; Greg Egan's Distress, an interestingly strange medium-near-future SF book. It's not the best Egan's ever done, by quite a ways actually considering Permutation City and Diaspora, but it's got the best hook first line.
I did pick up Charlie Huston's "Already Dead" and enjoyed it. Thank you for the referral! There was a lot to like in there from style to technique. It doesn't grab me like JB does, but well worth the money to buy it. It's a tad on the dark side for me. I will pick some more of that author's titles up.
Glad you enjoyed; the fifth and last of those is due in October, so as urban fantasy series goes it has the advantage of having a clearly defined and failry close actual end. Though they do stay about that level of dark all the way through.
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These stories are from the vaults. Haven't really worked on either of them in years, but I'd love to hear some opinions:
“Floyd Marlin, are you aware that the Federal law which you have been accused of breaking carries a mandatory death-sentence if you are found guilty?”
"The evil wizard spat a blob of slime, hate and magick directly into my left eye, and another in my right."
“'Welcome to the Treehouse,'” the stranger said, in slightly accented 21st century English, settling himself down in the seat across from me as I set down my pint of rich, amber-hued cider. As the language had been subsumed by Dutch more than two centuries ago in this particular parallel world, he had my full attention. I had never seen him before, so he would also have my pint in his face if he didn't explain himself. Quickly."
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I would definitely cut the words "in this particular parallel world." First, how would the narrator know he/she is in a parallel world, and second, I think it would be more interesting to show that gradually instead of stating it right off the bat. Otherwise, #3 has my attention.
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I would definitely cut the words "in this particular parallel world." First, how would the narrator know he/she is in a parallel world,
I liked that, I read it as establishing the narrator being a veteran of travel between parallel worlds.
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I'm with neurovore on that. Also I want to know what the treehouse is, and what someone with the ability to experience multiple worlds would be like. Guess you hooked me. I'd have kept reading, if I'd picked it up at the bookstore to browse (Which I frequently do).
I don't like the first two as much.
1. 'Federal' threw me off. It's too mundane and I can quickly get tired of authority protaganists.
2. I dislike it when the first sentence involves violence. It sets the pace as too fast for my taste and usually implies that there will be little development of character.
These are just personal opinions, so don't act on them necessarily. I'm only one potential audience member.
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Oh goodie, love the ones from the vault. LOL
“Floyd Marlin, are you aware that the Federal law which you have been accused of breaking carries a mandatory death-sentence if you are found guilty?”
Personal opinion only! Not unique enough in my opinion. If I only had the one line, then I would pass.
"The evil wizard spat a blob of slime, hate and magick directly into my left eye, and another in my right."
I'm a sucker for Harrison Ford intros. I'd keep going for sure.
“'Welcome to the Treehouse,'” the stranger said, in slightly accented 21st century English, settling himself down in the seat across from me as I set down my pint of rich, amber-hued cider. As the language had been subsumed by Dutch more than two centuries ago in this particular parallel world, he had my full attention. I had never seen him before, so he would also have my pint in his face if he didn't explain himself. Quickly."
Lengthy and didn't grab me, but on re-reading several times, I wondered what the Treehouse was. Also the Dutch was a neat twist. Paricular parallel world-okay by me, sets the stage etc. Then why is he so pi****d off? So for an agent--no, because it didn't grab me, but as an interesting start to a first draft--possibilities for sure.
And who is next? poke, poke or bump, bump depending on your preferred terminology. :-)
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"The first of the four horsemen reined in his stallion, hooves striking sparks on the Casino floor and sending pit bosses and players scrambling for cover. Controlling his rearing mount with difficulty, he drew his Colt Peacemaker and fired six shots into the ceiling. "Nobody move!" he shouted. "This is the Apocalypse!""
(I was playing craps last night at the Mohegan Sun and actually thought I heard someone shout that line, but I was mistaken. Anyway, the above occurred to me and I thought I'd share. ;D)
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"Kieran Kinsella inadvertently joined the Beat Generation the night he backed over Jack Kerouac with his mother's Buick Roadmaster."
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I would definitely cut the words "in this particular parallel world." First, how would the narrator know he/she is in a parallel world, and second, I think it would be more interesting to show that gradually instead of stating it right off the bat. Otherwise, #3 has my attention.
This is one of several story-fragments I built around a particular character that I designed for a GURPS: Infinite Worlds campaign.
(For non-GURPS fans: this is an RPG scenario in which cross-dimensional travel is as safe and commonplace as internal-combustion engines are in our world. Most people have to use vehicles or "projectors" to travel across the dimensions, but a double-dozen "worldjumpers" can do so through sheer force of will.)
The character himself ("Zed Starbrucker") is a respected professional worldjumper who is taking a 24-hour leave in a place where his bosses absolutely cannot interrupt him.
The rest of the story-fragment explains that the action takes place in a parallel universe where certain fundamental laws of physics operate differently, creating a dimension that cannot be accessed except by worldjumpers.
Good points in your critique, though; explaining all of this in the first paragraph would require too much jargon. I'll see about adjusting that in another draft.
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I'm with neurovore on that. Also I want to know what the treehouse is, and what someone with the ability to experience multiple worlds would be like. Guess you hooked me. I'd have kept reading, if I'd picked it up at the bookstore to browse (Which I frequently do).
"Treehouse" is the name that the other worldjumpers use to describe this particular parallel world. There are around two dozen of them on one side or the other (or neither side) of a cross-dimensional war. However, they all found this particular parallel world and declared it neutral ground. Sort of like maintaining diplomatic "back-channels" between the U.S. and Soviet Russia back in the bad old days. They settled on "Treehouse" to describe it based on various aesthetic elements (greater respect for nature, greater cultural preference for using wood in construction and artwork, etc.) and because everyone liked it better than "Manorhouse" or "Cosmic Switzerland".
I don't like the first two as much.
1. 'Federal' threw me off. It's too mundane and I can quickly get tired of authority protaganists.
Good point! The speaker is addressing the protagonist. I'll see about making that a little more obvious in the next draft.
2. I dislike it when the first sentence involves violence. It sets the pace as too fast for my taste and usually implies that there will be little development of character.
If it helps any, earlier drafts of this scene were much longer and had more action. Basically, imagine the scene in "Blood Rites" where Harry & Co. are heading into the confrontation with Mavra's scourge. Now imagine that scene starting off the book as a flashback, and you'll have some idea of the structure with which I started.
These are just personal opinions, so don't act on them necessarily. I'm only one potential audience member.
Never fear, I'm thickening my skin as best I can. All feedback that doesn't descend into impugning the author's genetics and hygiene has at least some merit. Thanks, everybody!
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This is fun.
I know I'm being stupid but I'm nervous to put any of my current ideas out into an open forum. I'll try to write something now just as an exercise. I'll try to post it soon. Anyway keep it up all you brave writers.
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I almost cheated and put a portion of the climactic chapter where the fairly untrained heroine engages the antagonist in hand to hand combat in a sewer with a three foot piece of rusted rebar, but I decided against that and and went with part of the prologue:
The shadow slides up his hoodie, wrapping itself almost lovingly around his torso. He shivers involuntarily. As the shadow closes around his neck, the tingle of unease at the back of his mind blossoms into full-blown panic. He sprints, desperately making for his apartment and the safety of a locked door.
A sudden clamping of the shadow forces all the air from his lungs in a whoosh. Jacob collapses, falling face first into the road. The unyielding asphalt scrapes painfully against his face, but he doesn't notice as his body now feels likes it is on fire. The creature's tendrils sink into his chest to wrap around his heart and squeeze. His mouth and lungs work in a futile effort to draw breath.
In its haste to feed, the monster let its grip go slack. The pressure redoubles with a rib-cracking crunch. Spots appear before his eyes. His oxygen-deprived limbs begin to convulse despite the monsters efforts to keep him still.
Jacob thrashes soundlessly against the asphalt, but quickly his efforts begin to slow. The blood pools in his limbs and then spots dance before his eyes.
Jacob stares upward. The stars, normally dim spots in the city lights and smog, shine brilliantly in his field of vision before everything goes blissfully dark and quiet.
After a few minutes, the shadow moves again. It glides silently over the sidewalk and down an alley, a fine dust rising in its wake.
It needs some work. The original idea had this in the second person, which wouldn't work for the YA story I'm writing, and so the flow and grammar still needs some work.
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What is YA?
This is the first few paragraphs of the opening chapter to part two of a three part novella I'm writing,
We like to run, it energizes us. Our lungs start to burn and our head gets a little foggy. Adrenaline rushes to our fingertips and the soles of our shoes protest with a numbing agony. The beat in our toes rattles up our spine and our fists pump with deliberation and anxiety. Predator on prey, salivating at the thought of our next meal. The thought drives us to the brink and then we push ourselves over.
Our name is Katon.
We are an ancient people and we are hungry.
Our prey is a small time hood, peddling drugs to school children. It matters not to us who they are or what they do, but to our employer. Interpol. It's amazing what we can get away with if we got a badge, a gun, and a general understanding of how to sidestep the rules.
Here's our target, here's the paperwork. Dead or alive, sounds great to us, it does. Though our prey is usually more dead than alive when the night is through.
But hey, what do us immortals have to fear in this age of bureaucracy. If we screw up, it goes through the hands of about thirty of our superiors before it ever reaches the desk of someone that matters. By then, the issue has blown over and whatever body bag's we left behind are yesterdays news. They just want results, and we gives them results.
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YA=Young Adult.
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Ah, yeah, then what I wrote is definitely not YA lol.
Not sure if that was part of the criteria...
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Ah, yeah, then what I wrote is definitely not YA lol.
Not sure if that was part of the criteria...
It wasn't, that just happens to be what my writing at the moment is.
And the quoted section was my submission...not a critique.
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We like to run, it energizes us. Our lungs start to burn and our head gets a little foggy. Adrenaline rushes to our fingertips and the soles of our shoes protest with a numbing agony. The beat in our toes rattles up our spine and our fists pump with deliberation and anxiety. Predator on prey, salivating at the thought of our next meal. The thought drives us to the brink and then we push ourselves over.
First-person-plural tense for a viewpoint character is an interesting choice. Are you suggesting that the speaker is a non-human lifeform that lacks a cultural (or psychic) distinction between the individual and the collective? Are you suggesting that the speaker is a high-functioning multiple personality disorder? I admit that these paragraphs hook me, but the bait definitely sets up some significant expectations.
Our name is Katon.
We are an ancient people and we are hungry.
Our prey is a small time hood, peddling drugs to school children. It matters not to us who they are or what they do, but to our employer. Interpol. It's amazing what we can get away with if we got a badge, a gun, and a general understanding of how to sidestep the rules.
Ah! A bit of explanation about why Katon does what they do. Interesting that they are involved with law-enforcement, rather than freelance.
Here's our target, here's the paperwork. Dead or alive, sounds great to us, it does. Though our prey is usually more dead than alive when the night is through.
"it does" represents an interesting character quirk. Referring to night makes me think of vampires, though. I suggest tossing in more "this is not a vampire" hints. Rumor has it that the current writing market is oversaturated with vampire stories...
But hey, what do us immortals have to fear in this age of bureaucracy. If we screw up, it goes through the hands of about thirty of our superiors before it ever reaches the desk of someone that matters. By then, the issue has blown over and whatever body bag's we left behind are yesterdays news. They just want results, and we gives them results.
*activate grammar check*
"What do we immortals" will get past the proofreaders, as will a question mark at the end of that sentence.
*deactivate grammar check*
I understand you're trying to give us a hint of the speaker's thought-style. Keep going, though, I want to see more of Katon.
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YOUNG ADULT, aiming at 12 to 15
Ready to query in the next 30 days
I queried five agents and was shocked when one asked for 50 pages and a 2nd requested my e-manuscript and also hard copy mailed to her. These two agents were extremely gracious and they provided some good insight, but I wasn't ready---close but no bananas as they say. LOL This time I want to be ready for those requests, if the miracle repeats itself. SO your strongest critiques and suggestions are really needed now.
Thank you in advance. You are all great!
These are TWO beginnings and therein is my difficulty--Here is the mundane start of my YA, followed an alternative forward flash from a later chapter as an intro and reader's contract as to the level of violence in the book.
I'm getting down to the wire and feeling like I have to make a definitive decision. Your help is GREATLY, GREATLY appreciated.
"The plane circled Rome and headed into the rising sun. The sky was bright and beautiful, but the intense colors washed hazily together the further they dropped. Pollution, but it didn’t keep Eve from gasping as she picked out familiar sites. She’d researched them and made an exhaustive list to visit. Her parents were waiting for them in the airport below, and her dad promised to take her to see all of them. It was night in New York, but here it was a new sunrise, a new adventure, and a new day. Yeah, like that was going to make a difference.
When the second half of her sophomore year began at the American School in Rome, her nightmare would pick up where it always did—with her as the new, awkward, lonely, bookish Eve O’Mara. Her mother said Eve was bumbling and clumsy because she’d shot up in height, but of more distress to Eve was that her breasts grew at the same fast pace.
Eve adjusted her glasses, blew her heavy brown bangs out of the way, and shook her long ponytail. It had gotten caught in the stiff button down collar of her school uniform blouse, and its starchy smell wafted upwards, even after a full day and night of wearing it. She and her brother had gotten on a flight straight from completing their finals at Eden’s Croft Prep School.
“What do you see?” Kai asked, his older sister’s breath(e)* huffing in his ear as Eve leaned over him to look out the window. He elbowed his sister with typical sibling scuffling.
*maybe it's one of those midwest word usage things, but breathe just isn't the right word for me, but Spell/Grammar check says it should be breathe.... help?
OR the forward flash intro from later in the book. Does it reveal too much? This is the full forward flash..358 words
“Kai, stay here.”
Kai wore his obstinate face, the one that said, “Don’t mess with me.” The face that said, “You’re only my sister and you aren’t in charge.”
Technically she was. Their parents were missing, held by an agent of Hell, and at fifteen Eve was three years older than Kai—in her book, that left her in charge.
“Eve, Mom and Dad are in there being used in some kind of ritual, aren’t they? I’m not waiting out here.” He thrust his jaw out and crossed his arms.
Eve turned to Randon. Even in their current dire circumstances, she couldn’t quite ignore the fact that he was distractingly attractive—not that she was complaining. He had a Hollywood face and a body to match. More importantly, he was two years older than she was and had one year of magic under his belt, while she had only just discovered her powers.
Randon’s distress was clear in his face, and she knew he was thinking about his father, who was also inside. “What do you think?” she said.
“He’ll just follow us in.”
“Fine,” Eve said, “Stay close and do what we tell you to do.”
The church was dark as they crept in, but for one spot. There luminous blue light arched over a ritual circle, creating a shield that hissed and sparked. The wavering, ever-fluctuating light shot upwards. It increased in size and intensity like a slow-growing fire, as it fed on those within.
Fodder for the feeding, and bound with vines, Eve’s parents and Randon’s father lay huddled at equidistant points inside the circle. Wicked, sharp thorns sprouted from the vines, piercing their bodies. They convulsed with agony. The thorns drew blood, which dripped down upon the marble floor of the ancient church. The nightmare scene froze Eve in place.
Eve’s stomach heaved at the disgusting scene and the enormity of her task. She forced it to stay down—she didn’t have time to get sick. Eve had just found out about magic, and she’d just found out that her parents were wizard investigators of the paranormal. How was she going to stop this?
Thank you again....
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I would recommend the second. I think the spark of danger/action/tension that this second snippet provides would be a good hook for your projected audience.
Please don't take that to mean that your first into isn't as good. It provided a great snapshot of the brother-sister relationship and allows readers to learn a good deal about the protagonists in just a few paragraphs.
At 29 it's a toss up for me, as I think they're both strong introductions. But when I was 13-14 I'm pretty sure I would've been hooked more easily by the second.
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I'd go with the second one also--the first just doesn't engage me--though I'd consider dropping "held by an agent of Hell" which veers into "telling, not showing" territory. Oh, and it's definitely "breath". ;D
The rest of it's just tweaking, eg:
<<Kai wore his obstinate face, the one that said, “Don’t mess with me.” The face that said, “You’re only my sister and you aren’t in charge.”>>
to:
<<Kai wore his obstinate, don't-mess-with-me face, the one that said, "You're only my sister. You aren't in charge.">>
Oh, and when I've done my next rewrite and am ready to start querying agents myself, I'd very much appreciate your input, Meg, as you seem to be doing very well in that area.
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I agree. The second one. The first one isn't bad. It introduces your character well with description and character traits to look forward to, but some of the wording still seems a little awkward. The breath or breathe thing and also the last sentence when Kai comes out of nowhere. I had to read that sentence 3 times to really get that Eve was leaning over Kai because having her look out the window at the beginning made me place her in the window seat. I would make these changes for clarity.
Pollution, but it didn’t stop Eve's gasp from the aisle seat as she leaned toward the window and picked out familiar sites.
She and her brother, Kai, had gotten on a flight straight from completing their finals at Eden's Croft Prep School.
I'm not published or whatever so take these only at face value, but you did say you wanted critiques so those are the changes I would make. Even with added clarity I'd still go with your option 2 since it just generally feels more polished and is more exciting.
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Okay I'm gonna give this a shot, but I'll admit I have mixed feeling about this. The need for feedback is outweighing my nerves for the moment though so here goes. This is a couple of paragraphs from one of the early chapters in the piece I'm working on currently. Do your worst. :-\
Almost done. I just had one more thing to do before I left. My room was on the second floor so I bolted up the stairs two at a time. Without thinking, I put stuff I would need for a sleepover at a friend’s house, like a toothbrush, some extra socks, among other things into a small bag with a single strap that slung onto my back. Then I grabbed the original copy of the riddle and stuffed it in my back pocket. Lastly, I grabbed Obi, put him in my jacket pocket, went back to the front door, and looked out the peephole.
Dennis was standing on the front porch with his back to the door.
“Ahhh!” I forced my mouth shut but it was too late. He spun around and came at the door like a freight train. I just had time to get out of the way before my front door was kicked open. As he entered his eyes met mine and the smile that came across his face made my spine turn to jelly.
He lunged for me and I stumbled away from him, got to my feet, and tore back into the house. I didn’t bother to look behind me as I ran. I knew he was there from the mini earthquakes his feet made as they hit the hard wood floors. I tried to knock things over to slow him down like I’d seen people do on television, but Dennis must have watched a lot of the same shows I did because he was avoiding everything I knocked over. As I flew through the kitchen I pulled the refrigerator door open and cringed as I heard him collide with it.I didn’t stop running until I was out the front door, and across the street hiding with Lester. While I stood there as still as I could, we heard the huge man run out into the middle of the street and then stop. I figured he was trying to decide where I would go next, and he would probably be right so I had to get there and get out before he showed up looking for me.
“We need to get back to the shop and fast.”
“Did you find what you were looking for in the house?”
“Yeah and its pointing me back to the shop.”
“Won’t that Dennis guy be looking for you there?”
“Yep.”
“But we’re going back there anyway?”
“Yep.”
“Why?”
“Because what I think these people are really after is there, and I’m going to need a little liquid magic.” I grabbed up all of my things and fit everything in my backpack except Obi and the keys which I kept in my pockets. I started to run back to the shop with Lester chugging along beside me.
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“What do you see?” Kai asked, his older sister’s breath(e)* huffing in his ear as Eve leaned over him to look out the window. He elbowed his sister with typical sibling scuffling.
*maybe it's one of those midwest word usage things, but breathe just isn't the right word for me, but Spell/Grammar check says it should be breathe.... help?
OR the forward flash intro from later in the book. Does it reveal too much? This is the full forward flash..358 words
“Kai, stay here.”
Kai wore his obstinate face, the one that said, “Don’t mess with me.” The face that said, “You’re only my sister and you aren’t in charge.”
Never trust your computer's grammar check, even when it's right. It should be "breath" -- the noun, what goes in and out when you "breathe."
I also liked the second opening: it packs more of a punch, demands a bit more attention than the first, and has a rocked-forward-on-the-balls-of-the-feet feeling, whereas the first comes as a leisurely Sunday stroll.
However, I'm not exactly sure where you're going with the magic angle: is it a widely-known thing? If Eve recently came into her powers, was it a surprise to her, as well?
If so, then emphasizing the "oh-geez-I-have-to-go-back-to-school-now-this-is-normal-life" beginning may be more appropriate for the story.
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@ Gritti: It's okay. Plenty of action, though it does beg the question of why your protagonist didn't lock the door if he(?) knew Dennis was after him. Could do with some judicious editing; it could stand to be broken up a bit and I feel as though you're overdoing explanations of things like the contents of the backback when all the focus should be on the main problem, i.e. getting away from Dennis. Also, I don't get what you're saying here:
I figured he was trying to decide where I would go next, and he would probably be right so I haddo on television, but Dennis must have watched a lot of the same shows I did because he was avoiding to get there and get out before he showed up looking for me.
"Liquid magic" sounds interesting--what is it in your world? (I was reading it as your hero wanting to knock back a few to give him the courage to stand up to Dennis, but I have a feeling that isn't it. ;D)
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Thanks LizW65, the confusing lines you referenced were a result of a poor cut and paste job on my part, but thanks for the feedback. I took this right out of the middle of my chapter four, and I realize it doesn't really make perfect sence, out of context. You're feeling is right. The liquid magic is not alcohol, and the main character is 15 years old. Should have mentioned that too. Still working on it.
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Here's the opening of my book. It's a vampire story aimed at Adults.
I awake in the frigid night air, the darkness glaring in my eyes, the silence thundering in my ears. Everything feels different and new. I lay on the stomach, my face pressed against cool, damp earth and there is a strange taste in my mouth, something metallic and pungent.
The last thing I remember is running through this enormous campground; massive trees flashed by while my heart pounded in my chest and my breath - nothing more than ragged gasps. Gunshots echoed through the night and fell heavily to the ground. Then, I saw him step out of the shadows to loom over me and my world dissolved in a blur of pain and darkness.
Somehow, I can smell him, a mixture of soap, cologne, and … blood? I know he is near, watching me. "What did you do to me?" I growl as I rise slowly to my feet. I look down at my stolen blood-stained t-shirt and finger the four small holes in the black fabric, just the right size for .38 caliber bullets. I lift the shirt to examine my chest, but all I see is unbroken skin – no sign of an injury.
"I saved you, brought you back. From Death,” he says in soft, calm voice.
I'd love to know what you all think. I'm still not sure if the change of tense works in the second paragraph.
JG
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@JGrace: I think it works better if you stick to all one tense, present or past, your choice.
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@LizW65 While I would agree with you, the whole story is written in the present tense, but the character is describing something that happened to him in the past. Would using present tense work there?
Or would it be better to write the whole scene that he's describing in present tense? Maybe as a prologue. hmmm...
Thanks for the input!
JG
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@Gritti, Thank you for the clarification on where the piece was located! I was confused as to why Dennis wanted him, etc. So it's another YA, yeah! I agree with Liz' assessment. I like the action, the intensity and I suspect that is why you picked this section to share. You've got the elements (A, B, C, etc) of the chase and they are working for you.
Professor Meg speaks---feel welcome to stab my crit's heart!!! Just remember the key elements are already in your post and they are great!
Tension can be built lots of ways, but one way is to shorten your sentences. When you read it out loud, you'll get a feel for the pace you are setting. This kind of scene can take a very fast pace.
Quote from: Gritti on September 10, 2009, 06:48:32 PM
"*Almost done. I just had one more thing to do before I left.*1 [*My room was on the second floor* 2 so I bolted up the stairs two at a time. *Without thinking,*3 I put stuff I would need for a sleepover at a friend’s house, like a toothbrush, some extra socks, among other things *into a small bag with a single strap that slung onto my back.[/s]4 Then I grabbed the original copy of the riddle and stuffed it in my back pocket.* *Lastly,* 3 I grabbed Obi, put him in my jacket pocket, (went back to the front door, and looked out the peephole)*."
I'm willing to bet the goal of this paragraph is to show his panic, grab the riddle and Obi? If so, right now those last two items are buried under the other stuff.
Tightening might look like: 1. slows the action, doesn't add. 2. If he's running up the stairs, let the reader figure out its upstairs. 3. 'without thinking' and 'lastly' can be shown through action 4. 11 words to say backpack, unless having a single strap pack is essential :-) Each of these parts can act like molasses on the reader, slowing the action you have between.
"I bolted up the stairs two at a time, cramming overnight stuff into my backpack. Then I grabbed the original copy of the riddle, stuffing it into my back pocket and I thrust Obi into my jacket pocket, (went back to the front door, and looked out the peephole).
The beginning panic/rush action reveals that well and the same goes for your action writing in the rest of the post. I mean this happened and that and then this and then that. All great sequence elements! but you also have to invest your reader so they want the character to get away.
The description that I cut added nothing to WHO the character was, nor HOW he felt, and didn't further the plot--these are key descriptions to making readers happy. These descriptions did nothing to further the plot or build character. Take one of your JB books and pick out some action dialog. Look at the white space around it. Look at how he thrusts in Harry's comments. Look at how the character is 'shown' so you get invested in the action on a personal level.
Here at this point you have the opportunity to show me what the character feels, fears, wants, whatever by adding description the reader wants to know. (went back to the front door, and looked out the peephole) is an action that reveals a tiny bit, but you can flesh it out so the reader is sucked right into the action. HOW does he approach the back door? What does he FEEL when he looks out the peephole? What does he FEAR is outside the peephole? The reader wants to experience his thoughts, his concerns. Also as far as pace, this is a quiet bit before you smash right into action a moment later.
Really a nice start, Gritti
Now why can't I get all that into my writing... ah well, the main point initially is to just get it down in any format it takes to get the job done. Re-editing the heck out of a paragraph here or there in a first draft is nice, but it can suck you in editing and not getting the pages finished! Best writing to you!
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I awake in the frigid night air, the darkness glaring in my eyes, the silence thundering in my ears. Everything feels different and new. I lay on the stomach, my face pressed against cool, damp earth and there is a strange taste in my mouth, something metallic and pungent.
The last thing I remember is running through this enormous campground; massive trees flashed by while my heart pounded in my chest and my breath - nothing more than ragged gasps. Gunshots echoed through the night and (I) fell heavily to the ground. Then, I saw him step out of the shadows to loom over me and my world dissolved in a blur of pain and darkness.
Somehow, I can smell him, a mixture of soap, cologne, and … blood? I know he is near, watching me. "What did you do to me?" I growl as I rise slowly to my feet. I look down at my stolen blood-stained t-shirt and finger the four small holes in the black fabric, just the right size for .38 caliber bullets. I lift the shirt to examine my chest, but all I see is unbroken skin – no sign of an injury.
"I saved you, brought you back. From Death,” he says in soft, calm voice.
We need Neurovore to check in on this one. Already Dead, by Charles Huston is written so closely in the main character's head and internal thoughts that the vast majority of the book is in present tense. I enjoyed the book a great deal because of it's unusual style and the great story that went with it. The gritty closeness to his vampire is uncomfortable for some readers--but it was a blast to read. (By the way, this is coming out in graphic I understand.)
There are so many things in this posting that I like--the senses of smell, touch, sound, taste, sight, the action of the story. The confusion over the tenses DEFINITELY needs to be worked through, because it's TOO GOOD not to do so. In some sentences you've mixed past with present and vice versa. Tossed in infinitives that manage to clash--again that might very well be your purpose! One simple correction with your past tense middle would be the initial "remember is" if you want that paragraph to be past use 'was' instead. Then again, I liked the last line with its past tense dialog, followed by the present tense 'says' because it jangled. Are you putting us on? I'm terrible with sarcasm. LOL
You've simply challenged my reading here in lots of places that's cool. The "darkness is glaring" gives me a freaky WTF but "silence is thundering" works so... I have to shake up my thought process to say, if I accept the 2nd, then I should accept the first. If you had shifted the two around? Nope, I get the same reaction from my dead mind. I just can't see darkness as glaring--try as I might, but it's cool if you can!
You've taken me on a trip through the fun house, shook up the brain cells. If on purpose then thank you, but if not then you really got to get that under control so you can let yourself fly!
Then the worse part? The part I hate saying. I'm not a vampire reader, but recently I've been seeing lots of stuff from TV to books to movies that use this, "I'm a vampire and I brought you back to save you bit." Is it over done? You've got a lot going for you here, I wonder if you need a fresher angle?
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Thanks so much for the feedback Meg! It really gives me a lot to think about!
The words in the first few sentences really were chosen on purpose. I wanted to give the unreal impression of what someone might experience when they wake up as a vampire. I wanted to replay the character's last memory in his mind.
The tense issue isn't a problem through the rest of the book because it is ALL written in present tense, so the reader takes a ride right along with the main character.
What's funny is the whole "bringing you back to save you" thing really takes a major twist: the main character is an escaped convict who has just been shot by a policeman. A vampire moves and decides to save him (and the reason why is explained later on in the book).
I'm glad I was able to shake up those brain cells. I'm hoping that people get drawn into the story and really take off with it. So far, I've had good reviews with people who've read it.
Thanks again!
JG
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I must also say a very humble thank you to meg_evonne. The advice was much needed.
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JG, agents love twists! I figured you had something up your sleeve. That's the problem with short posts.
Gritti, why thank you, but consider it as "Meg is procrastinating and not getting back to her YA" Editor called, wants to meet. Procrastinating sounds really good right now. What if she hated my rewrite of the beginning chapters? I loved 'em!!! Doesn't matter, she's more of a teacher rather than my editor. So it sounds like I've more 'learning' ahead of me. LOL
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Good Luck Meg!!!
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We need Neurovore to check in on this one.
It seems mostly solid on tense to me, save that that "lay" in the second sentence reads sloppy - I'd change it to "lie" for clarity of focus. (Yeah, I know in US English people can use "lay" in present tense as a synonym for "lie", but it could also read as a misplaced past tense, and you absolutely don't want ambiguity when you're setting up your POV.)
Already Dead, by Charles Huston is written so closely in the main character's head and internal thoughts that the vast majority of the book is in present tense. I enjoyed the book a great deal because of it's unusual style and the great story that went with it. The gritty closeness to his vampire is uncomfortable for some readers--but it was a blast to read. (By the way, this is coming out in graphic I understand.)
The fifth and final volume in that series is coming out in about a month, too.
There are so many things in this posting that I like--the senses of smell, touch, sound, taste, sight, the action of the story. The confusion over the tenses DEFINITELY needs to be worked through, because it's TOO GOOD not to do so.
I don't see confusion there, though. "Last thing I remember is" goes into a mini-flashback in which things are in past, then they hop back to present again when that is done. The character is in present-tense remembering some stuff, so I'd keep that.
You've simply challenged my reading here in lots of places that's cool. The "darkness is glaring" gives me a freaky WTF but "silence is thundering" works so...
What that says to me is a messed-up and notably different sensory experience to what the character had before.
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JG, agents love twists! I figured you had something up your sleeve. That's the problem with short posts.
And why what one actually sends agents is opening plus synopsis. (Nerving myself up to do that with a project sometime soon. Aaagh I hate synopses.)
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Aaagh I hate synopses.)
how are you for précis?
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how are you for précis?
Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaagh.
Or to put it more coherently, if I could tell the story in a shorted form in ways that captured what was worth having about it, that would be what I would write in the first place.
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Or to put it more coherently, if I could tell the story in a shorted form in ways that captured what was worth having about it, that would be what I would write in the first place.
:D
I had you pegged as adept in enough fun games of tone to be barely able to resist writing the same story again.
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Okay, this is 380 words, but it's the entire prologue to a fantasy and hasn't had any kind of change in quite a long time. It will eventually. And really needs it.
Lightning split the sky, and thunder rumbled through the oppressive silence. Two shrouded figures sat before a decrepit old woman, waiting as she sat entranced.
A skeletal hand rose and pointed at the smaller of the two. “From love will death arrive,” the croaking voice muttered then lapsed into silence.
The figure pushed back the hood of his rough woolen cloak. A flash of lightning glimmered across the shimmery white hair and pale skin. Gray eyes turned a question toward the taller figure.
“Master?” he whispered. The other held up his hand and motioned for silence. They turned their attention back to the old woman. She sat high on her stone seat, silhouetted against the sky as with each flash of lightning. Blind eyes were turned skyward as if seeing the will of the gods written in the looming thunderheads.
Her eyes returned to the pair, and the pale figure shuddered under her stare.
“From the marriage of true love’s touch, she who reunites the old blood with the new shall save this land from evil arising.”
“Go now. We have learned what we came for.” The quiet, insistent voice persuaded the apprentice to rise. He began picking his way down the rubble strewn trail, glancing back only once. After he left, the master rose and pushed back his hood to reveal a figure as dark as the apprentice was light.
He drew a serrated dagger from the sleeve of his cloak, his knuckles whitening around the hilt as he advanced toward the oracle.
“From death shall love bring life. You,” a finger rose to point at the master, “will from old blood and new find death.”
“And you, dearest, oracle, shall find death now,” he murmured in her ear. He slid the dagger between her ribs and twisted it. Her breath gurgled as blood filled her lungs.
He stepped back, cleaning the blade on the old woman’s robes. The oracle slid from the stone seat and lay in the grass. He watched blood bubble on her lips as the glazed eyes stared at the roiling clouds.
A last breath gurgled, and he turned, tucking the knife back into his sleeve. He descended from the mountain by the same path his apprentice took.
Lightning flashed again, illuminating the empty mountainside.
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Starbeam; establishes the voice and the genre of story well and early on, definitely. It does give the impression it's not a subset of the genre I like, though, so it would not make me pick the book up if that was the first page and I read it in a bookshop, and the other information i had about it did not indicate otherwise. (Does anyone pick up books on spec without a bit of googling first any more ?)
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Starbeam; establishes the voice and the genre of story well and early on, definitely. It does give the impression it's not a subset of the genre I like, though, so it would not make me pick the book up if that was the first page and I read it in a bookshop, and the other information i had about it did not indicate otherwise. (Does anyone pick up books on spec without a bit of googling first any more ?)
Yeah, that's kinda what I was thinking when I skimmed it last night. Course, I wrote it about 10 years ago, and only did minor changes about 5 years ago in college. I don't really google books, for the most part, but it's rare that I get a book without reading a synopsis and either the first page or sample chapter. And if it has a prologue I read a bit of that then switch and read a bit of the first chapter. I've seen enough prologues that differ in voice from the actual book.
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I havent always had the best luck in the world, then my life was completely turned upside down and inside out one freezing october night, thats when it got a million times worse.
I ran, pulse pounding as air whipped against my skin and adrenaline filled my body to the brim.
A wolf howled behind behind me as i ran through the forest, a dozen tiny cuts still oozing where branches reached out of the darkness and tore at my skin.
I stooped down as quick as possibly and picked up a large branch, ready to fight for my life as another, louder howl jolted me into frantic movement. all was quiet for a few dozen seconds as i made my way so i turned my head to search the surrounding area and could see the wolf, framed by moonlight almost bearing down on me. i attempted to pick up my pace but a branch decided to grab at my foot and knock me off balance, throwing me to the ground and making me black out for a millisecond as my head hit a rock.
Be honest, be brutal... As long as you all think i'm pretty :D
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People don't black out for a millisecond; that's too short a time for a human brain to register.
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course you can. not actually being knocked out, but if you have a concussive hit, you can black out for a second or so.
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course you can. not actually being knocked out, but if you have a concussive hit, you can black out for a second or so.
A second or so, yes.
The difference betwen "a second or so" and a millisecond is the same scale as the difference between twenty minutes and "a second or so".
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Bleh, i'll change it to a second then. how bout the rest o' it? hooked? :)
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I read the paragraph and mentally summarized it as "I was being chased by a wolf and tripped, hitting my head on a rock." Which made me wonder why I had to read a whole paragrapth to get just that much data.
It may be just me personally, but I think the majority of even published authors have a ton of trouble with pacing on suspense parts. If the suspense part is too wordy, like this one, I'm just going to skim it and probably miss part of the plot which will keep me from being 'into' the book. But I think you may just be trying to use a very difficult peice of writing for your hook when you could use something easier as your hook.
But yeah, I'm not hooked. But I DO think you're pretty :)
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And why what one actually sends agents is opening plus synopsis. (Nerving myself up to do that with a project sometime soon. Aaagh I hate synopses.)
SOOOOO have ou done it yet? Huh? Huh? Just teasing, but if you need a push I can be more obnoxious. Writing a good synopses is the problem....
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SOOOOO have ou done it yet? Huh? Huh? Just teasing, but if you need a push I can be more obnoxious. Writing a good synopses is the problem....
Have been successfully not doing this for five weekends so far. Aaaaaagh.
I don't need obnoxious push, I need settling from some other fronts of my life to give me the mental energy to just sodding do it.
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Well, this is a dream/premonition from a chapter of mine. Its 184 words.
Do your worst.
I was walking down a narrow brown stone corridor that was dimly lit. Everybody around me had nondescript faces, with dull noses, no eyes and no definitive facial structure at all. The only thing that set them apart was the clothing worn. When people talked, I couldn’t locate the person talking. It was confusing.
What’s going on? I thought.
There were seven people in front of me wearing black velvet robes, seemingly guarding the one in the middle, with the six ‘guards’ in front of the guarded creating a ‘w‘ formation.
“So, I see you’ve made it. I hope you realize you’re going to die here.” A creeping voice said, in a way that made me feel suffocated.
Although the faces were hooded and shaded, I deduced that the guarded was the one speaking. I felt the presence of people around me, so I looked to my side and myself and saw that two people robed in white were behind me to my sides.
But for some strange reason both of them felt very familiar. If only they had their hoods down…
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Starbeam: Okay, love the dialog for the old woman, love the premise, love the murder, nice use of lightening and you keep bringing it back, which is nice. Cool prophesies! Like like like.
Only problem for me, your contract with the reader is to keep them in a space they understand, well unless you don’t want them too. (Snark, snark.) Here I think, you aren’t taking the time to set the scene. Really dislike the “Two figures sat, woman sat.” confusing w/ repetition of ‘sat’ good place to delve into the scene’s description a bit more, I think. Again, who’s skeletal hand? And who’s croaking voice? Is the woman the taller figure? I can assume the other unidentified character. Last paragraph, I sort of thought they were both pale...so why not use the term apprentice and make sure the reader knows which one you are referring.
Paragraph 4: HERE is your great description. I'd use this first, the others supplicants showing one as Master and one as apprentice, and then go for it.
My question was why the oracle wasn't better protected? Are they that common in this world? BUT love the murder etc. :-)
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I haven't always had the best luck in the world, then my life was completely turned upside down and inside out one freezing october night, thats when it got a million times worse.
I ran, pulse pounding as air whipped against my skin and adrenaline filled my body to the brim.
A wolf howled behind behind me as i ran through the forest, a dozen tiny cuts still oozing where branches reached out of the darkness and tore at my skin.
I stooped down as quick as possibly and picked up a large branch, ready to fight for my life as another, louder howl jolted me into frantic movement. all was quiet for a few dozen seconds as i made my way so i turned my head to search the surrounding area and could see the wolf, framed by moonlight almost bearing down on me. i attempted to pick up my pace but a branch decided to grab at my foot and knock me off balance, throwing me to the ground and making me black out for a millisecond as my head hit a rock.
Be honest, be brutal... As long as you all think i'm pretty :D
Geez, permission to crush. YAH! I don't have much though. :-) Sorry. A tendency in my opinion to use qualifiers and modifiers too often. I don't know why, but everyone seems to frown(s) on them. My personal thoughts are that they get in the way of what you are doing. They are weak compared to good action, description, dialog--whatever. They just suck. So here are the qualifiers and modifiers that I noticed. Read it above aloud, then read this aloud below. I think that you'll agree the writing is stronger without them. I counted eight "as" phrases. Pull them and reword without them. You'll see that it again is much stronger! (I think this is what Alura noticed when she read it.) Okay, so maybe one more thing. Split some of the sentences up and make two, or three. :-)
AND OF COURSE YOU ARE PRETTY! (Uhm, did we get a photo somewhere guys?) Love ya and huggies, Hell's Belles!
I havent always had the best luck in the world, then my life was completely turned upside down and inside out one freezing october night, thats when it got a million times worse.
I ran, pulse pounding as air whipped against my skin and adrenaline filled my body to the brim.
A wolf howled behind behind me as i ran through the forest, a dozen tiny cuts still oozing where branches reached out of the darkness and tore at my skin.
I stooped down as quick as possibly and picked up a large branch, ready to fight for my life as another, louder howl jolted me into frantic movement. all was quiet for a few dozen seconds as i made my way so i turned my head to search the surrounding area and could see the wolf, framed by moonlight almost bearing down on me. i attempted to pick(ed) up my pace but a branch decided to grab(bed) at my foot and knock(ed) me off balance, thr(e)ow me to the ground and making me (I) blacked out for a millisecond as my head hit a rock.
Be honest, be brutal... As long as you all think i'm pretty :D
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Philliph, running late. I promise to read yours too!
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Bump Neurovore. So did you 'sodding' do it yet? :P LOL.....
My editor/coach liked it, and then spent an hour and a half fixing it. Okay, I have a new rule about 'ing'. ONLY use them if that is what is happening right that moment and never use two in the same sentence--cause you can't do two things at the exact time. EXCEPT there are always exceptions to the rule.
Yes, i do tend to use.... I ___ed, ____ed, ____ing clause. I thought it was okay. But maybe not, probably not. Shoot, what was that blasted rule again?
She also made my 16 pages into 18 pages. I'm going back and pulling 3/4 of the additions out. I'm writing it in MY voice. WAIT correction! I will go back and pull 3/4 of the additions out.
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Starbeam: Okay, love the dialog for the old woman, love the premise, love the murder, nice use of lightening and you keep bringing it back, which is nice. Cool prophesies! Like like like.
Only problem for me, your contract with the reader is to keep them in a space they understand, well unless you don’t want them too. (Snark, snark.) Here I think, you aren’t taking the time to set the scene. Really dislike the “Two figures sat, woman sat.” confusing w/ repetition of ‘sat’ good place to delve into the scene’s description a bit more, I think. Again, who’s skeletal hand? And who’s croaking voice? Is the woman the taller figure? I can assume the other unidentified character. Last paragraph, I sort of thought they were both pale...so why not use the term apprentice and make sure the reader knows which one you are referring.
Paragraph 4: HERE is your great description. I'd use this first, the others supplicants showing one as Master and one as apprentice, and then go for it.
My question was why the oracle wasn't better protected? Are they that common in this world? BUT love the murder etc. :-)
Heh...like I said, I wrote it around 10-11 years ago, and haven't changed much since. Little bit of the prophecy wording, and switched the pale and dark descriptors for the two guys. Set this story aside a while back to work on my urban fantasy, but still planning on getting back to it eventually. And will likely rework the prologue, though I think I want it to stay about as short and not get long winded like some.
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Here's a bit of the opener from the sequel to my WIP, still very rough:
Somebody was in his apartment.
He heard the guy halfway down the hallway and froze, senses on full alert, body tensing with adrenaline and outrage in spite of fatigue and the late hour.
He didn't need this. His right leg, weakened by an old injury, throbbed; muscles cramped and knotted into a tight ball of pain that spread outward through his body. The freezing drizzle that had fallen most of the afternoon had long ago soaked through his heavy wool coat; he was cold, bone-tired, and sorry for himself. Muscles ached; his body shook with fatigue, and a dull pain pulsed behind his eyes. He wanted his dinner, which wafted maddeningly delicious aromas from the takeout bag from Ruby Foo's tucked under his arm. He wanted a scalding hot bath, a drink, a good book, and his bed.
What he didn't want was for his work to follow him home like this.
The intruder made no secret of his presence. He didn't need to. At this hour the building's other residents had long since retired to their own suppers and beds, and they kept mostly to themselves anyway. Ted, the latest in a long line of night watchmen, was no slouch with a basball bat, but he was five floors down, nose buried in this month's copy of Amazing Stories. Russell would have to take care of this one by himself.
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Okay, I have a new rule about 'ing'. ONLY use them if that is what is happening right that moment and never use two in the same sentence--cause you can't do two things at the exact time. EXCEPT there are always exceptions to the rule.
Can we get a before & after on one of these?
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Well, this is a dream/premonition from a chapter of mine. Its 184 words.
Do your worst.
I was walking down a narrow brown stone corridor that was dimly lit. Everybody around me had nondescript faces, with dull noses, no eyes and no definitive facial structure at all. The only thing that set them apart was the clothing worn. When people talked, I couldn’t locate the person talking. It was confusing.
What’s going on? I thought.
There were seven people in front of me wearing black velvet robes, seemingly guarding the one in the middle, with the six ‘guards’ in front of the guarded creating a ‘w‘ formation.
“So, I see you’ve made it. I hope you realize you’re going to die here.” A creeping voice said, in a way that made me feel suffocated.
Although the faces were hooded and shaded, I deduced that the guarded was the one speaking. I felt the presence of people around me, so I looked to my side and myself and saw that two people robed in white were behind me to my sides.
But for some strange reason both of them felt very familiar. If only they had their hoods down…
Lots to play with here. ;D Since it's a dream, you may want to work on making it more fragmented and disorienting, maybe go with present tense. So, if I may:
"A narrow stone corridor, dimly lit. A sea of black-robed figures: featureless, eyeless faces, blobby noses. Voices, muttering, but I can't hear the words.
Six of the figures appear to be guarding a seventh. He speaks, something in his voice making me feel suffocated: "So here you are at last. You do realize you're going to die here."
Sensing movement behind me, I look round and see two other figures, garbed in white. Their faces are covered, but for some reason they feel familiar..."
Anyway, since dreams seldom make sense from a logical standpoint, the trick is to play with senses, mood and emotion, all the things that do come into play in dreams. Any smells? Does your protag. feel frightened, curious, detached from the action? When he tries to focus on objects, do they become less distinct? Is this a premonition of his death, and if so, what is the most important aspect of the vision? Has he seen the place before? And so on. Hope this helps.
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I sense a momentary bending of the rules here, as some posts are now from the middle of stories, and not from the beginning.
And all of this talk of dreams has had me picking across my hard drive, looking for ... something I could post here.
I've been dying to do so, but can't cram a properly redone opening into the word limit. :D
So here goes, This was written a couple of years ago for some online fiction that I was doing.
Please forgive the present tense, which makes the whole thing sound a bit loopy, but I'm at work now and have no time to re-tense it. It is otherwise unedited, although it could do with a few changes. ;)
It's a smidgen over the 250 word limit too, as it's part of a longer bit. Hope that's okay ...
Gru’ud starts awake, alone in Shield Hall, uncertain if he has heard screaming, or has been screaming. His body is dripping a cold clammy sweat, his limbs still twitching and jerking.
A quick glance up toward the quietly sleeping crows tells him he is safe, and that the screams were not his own. The crows make excellent watchmen. He struggles to his feet and fumbles on his robe, his hands trembling as he ties the sash.
Gru’ud’s mind is reeling from the visions he has seen, his thoughts racing now, out of control. He stops what he’s doing and closes his eye and forces his breathing back to normal. Regaining control he then calms his heart, willing it to return to its normal rhythm. Finally, he stills the spasms in his limbs, their desire to strike out now subsiding. Gru’ud opens his eyes, and begins to recall, committing all that he can to memory.
The nightmares had come to him three in a row, ever an ominous sign. And he knew for no reason that if he could just discern their meaning, much death, perhaps his own, may yet be avoided.
The first had begun with a scene from his youth, a birthing at Uncle Nazz’s compound. Gru’ud had seen many while helping his uncle, and recognized the tools and the linens. But he saw no sign of Nazz nor of the midwife and turned to look toward the bed. He could not see the woman lying there, but could hear her grunting and breathing. Attending the birth, and blocking his view, stood a black robed figure, silent, as was the mother. Her breaths were coming faster and the grunts more intense, but the mother never cried out. With one final groan the birth was completed, but Gru’ud heard no squalling from the infant.
The figure in black, who had not helped with the birthing, reached down and plucked the child up. It drew the babe close and muttered some words, then held it aloft for all to see. But Gru’ud’s dream vision had already begun to fade and he could see nothing of the child, but it filled him with dread and revulsion. As the scene slid completely from his view, his heart filled with a deep, kindred sadness, for he knew that the child was an Abomination.
Hooked, or not hooked?
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Bump Neurovore. So did you 'sodding' do it yet? :P LOL.....
Friday is writing night. I'll take another whack at it tomorrow or Sunday.
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Heh...I just wanna see what sorta comments I get for this one. It's nothing yet, though I have ideas of where it might go.
Belynda hugged her arms across her chest, grasping her shoulders, rocking back and forth. Tears glimmered down her cheeks, and she muttered over and over.
“Why did you have to leave me? I can’t live without you. I need you. Please, why did you leave me?”
Words rolled around in her head, and she reached for a pen and paper to write the poem that was forming. She felt hollow inside, her one true love had left her, and she didn’t know why.
Running the pen across the paper, she kept muttering under her breath, not caring that her tears stained the paper under her hand. It was better that way; he would know how much he meant when he saw the tear-stained paper.
***
“Who the hell reads this shit?” I said, flopping the book closed and practically pushing it back to the shelf. A girl nearby, wearing her hair in short dyed black spikes, turned around.
“It’s not shit; it’s beautiful,” she said, holding the book to her chest. I eyed her up and down. Along with the spiky hair, which was apparently also shot through with purple and pink, she had several hoops in her ears, pale makeup, and she wore black and white striped tights under an oversized black metal band tshirt. Really, how emo could you possibly get?
“Yeah, you keep believing that.”
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Lots to play with here. ;D Since it's a dream, you may want to work on making it more fragmented and disorienting, maybe go with present tense. So, if I may:
"A narrow stone corridor, dimly lit. A sea of black-robed figures: featureless, eyeless faces, blobby noses. Voices, muttering, but I can't hear the words.
Six of the figures appear to be guarding a seventh. He speaks, something in his voice making me feel suffocated: "So here you are at last. You do realize you're going to die here."
Sensing movement behind me, I look round and see two other figures, garbed in white. Their faces are covered, but for some reason they feel familiar..."
Anyway, since dreams seldom make sense from a logical standpoint, the trick is to play with senses, mood and emotion, all the things that do come into play in dreams. Any smells? Does your protag. feel frightened, curious, detached from the action? When he tries to focus on objects, do they become less distinct? Is this a premonition of his death, and if so, what is the most important aspect of the vision? Has he seen the place before? And so on. Hope this helps.
Hmm, thinking about it this way really does make room for many more options.
Thanks, the advice will likely help me in this dream, and definitely a few others.
Well Gruud, i suppose i shall post something. maybe the exact beginning of it.
Oh yeah, i'm not trying to be conceited or anything, i'm just not replying to anybody elses hooked or not hooked replies because i dont have any of the expertise wanted. just you guys wait a few years...
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Well, mine is 100 words over. i tried to take note of douglas adam's awesomeness and incorporate it into my own book. I have revised this piece like a bajillion times. Would this have any of you thinking "Hmm, i think i'll read this," if you picked it up in a library?
My name is Ranulf Iroquois Tesven. I’m fifteen years old and a few inches short of six feet tall. I have sun-bleached blonde hair with strips of the brown hair I used to have, azure eyes, and, for the most part, white with a slight tan. I wore tan trousers and a thin white t-shirt undershirt with a black one covering it with black, hard leather shoes as I walked down from my old white wooden house to the beige brick butcher shop a half-mile down the dirt road.
At my waist was a money pouch with a dagger containing a four-inch blade, the maximum length for a teen to carry in my town of Reor-Fliyon (Ray-oar Flee-own).
Only three more years and I would be able to carry a true hunting knife! I thought.
I carried with me eight dragon coppers, three leafed irons, and a single silver with the King’s face on it in a brown money pouch.
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Note:
The money of Pantenime, namely dataries (Day-tear-ees), is a coined type of currency. Each coin has a different value. The way they are valued is established by the materials the iron base is coated with and the insignias/emblems carved into them.
A copper with a dragon emblem would be translated to one dollar. An iron with a leaf insignia being five, an iron base with a copper lion insignia is ten, a copper base with a silver ox emblem is fifteen. A pure silver plated coin along with King Quaerine’s face being twenty.
From there the coin values jump from twenty to thirty, forty, fifty, and finally one-hundred.
An onyx plated coin with a snake symbol would be thirty, an onyx plated coin with a golden flower insignia would be forty, and a gold with a feather emblem would be valued at fifty. And last, but not least, a platinum plated coin with an eagle symbol would be one-hundred.
–––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––
While walking, I constantly thought about being in King Quaerine’s personal army, the glory of the kingdom. I imagined myself ten years older, muscular with a scruffily bearded face, and wearing the eagle symbol of the king on my gleaming silver armor, marching on my way to war with Galtea eighteen years ago.
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Can't remember where I left off. It's been awhile, so I'll start with Liz's:
Lizwiz: Good use of descriptors and conveying the character's mood. Hooked.
Gruud: If you check earlier posts I think they ammended it so it doesn't necessarily have to come from the beginning. Any 250ish words that can stand alone. Anyway...yeah yours hooked me. Interested in knowing what kind of abomination we're dealing with here.
Starbeam: This made me chuckle. I'm not really sure where you're going with it, but I imagine Belynda as one of those "goth" kids that write laughably bad poetry about vampires and suicide and such. I liked seeing one being the butt of a joke and would be interested to see where it's going. Hooked.
Philliph: I like where you're going with this. It's easy to identify with the youthful energy. A few bits of advice: (Mind you, I'm not a professional writer by any stretch so take this all with a grain of salt.)
Ranulf gives a pretty vivid description of himself in the first person. I think it would've been more appropriate in the 3rd person, just because when you're telling a story I think you put less emphasis on giving an objective description of yourself. Now, maybe if he was very vain, and he was bragging about how handsome he is, that might be different. But it appears that his physical appearnce isn't necessarily an important facet to this character at this time and could've been saved for later.
Likewise with the description of the monetary system. It's obvious that you've put a lot of thought into it, and that's great, but I think the specifics could be revealed later on. But, as I was saying, I think most of us can relate to Ranulf's situation. Young people want to grow up and grab the world by the horns. I'm interested to see where this is going.
Alright here's mine, from Dallas Texas, weighing in at 213 words...
Jack sat in the dark whispering with his mantra while Tess bounced around the campsite, butchering I Just Want to Have Something to Do Tonight by The Ramones. The opossum's blood cooled and crusted on his hands as he walked a mental tightrope between the waking world and world of dreams. The moon sank low on the horizon and the campfire burnt to shimmering red embers. Then he felt it—a frigid wind that seemed to frost his bones.
The reflection of something dark and indescribable filled the glossy pools of the dead animal's eyes. He was suddenly reminded of the time he and his dad had gone hiking and he'd heard the warning rattle of a rattlesnake hidden in the brush alongside the trail. Jack had known something deadly was watching him, feeling his body heat, tasting him from an arm's length away with its flickering tongue. This same sense of unnatural intimacy crept over him as he stared into the eyes of the sacrifice. It's not a reflection. This death—this blood—is an open doorway and I'm looking through it. Something's on the other side, looking right back at me.
He dropped the carcass and ran up the hill like the devil was chasing him; the idea seemed very plausible.
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Philliph: I like where you're going with this. It's easy to identify with the youthful energy. A few bits of advice: (Mind you, I'm not a professional writer by any stretch so take this all with a grain of salt.)
Ranulf gives a pretty vivid description of himself in the first person. I think it would've been more appropriate in the 3rd person, just because when you're telling a story I think you put less emphasis on giving an objective description of yourself. Now, maybe if he was very vain, and he was bragging about how handsome he is, that might be different. But it appears that his physical appearnce isn't necessarily an important facet to this character at this time and could've been saved for later.
Likewise with the description of the monetary system. It's obvious that you've put a lot of thought into it, and that's great, but I think the specifics could be revealed later on. But, as I was saying, I think most of us can relate to Ranulf's situation. Young people want to grow up and grab the world by the horns. I'm interested to see where this is going.
Alright here's mine, from Dallas Texas, weighing in at 213 words...
Jack sat in the dark whispering with his mantra while Tess bounced around the campsite, butchering I Just Want to Have Something to Do Tonight by The Ramones. The opossum's blood cooled and crusted on his hands as he walked a mental tightrope between the waking world and world of dreams. The moon sank low on the horizon and the campfire burnt to shimmering red embers. Then he felt it—a frigid wind that seemed to frost his bones.
The reflection of something dark and indescribable filled the glossy pools of the dead animal's eyes. He was suddenly reminded of the time he and his dad had gone hiking and he'd heard the warning rattle of a rattlesnake hidden in the brush alongside the trail. Jack had known something deadly was watching him, feeling his body heat, tasting him from an arm's length away with its flickering tongue. This same sense of unnatural intimacy crept over him as he stared into the eyes of the sacrifice. It's not a reflection. This death—this blood—is an open doorway and I'm looking through it. Something's on the other side, looking right back at me.
He dropped the carcass and ran up the hill like the devil was chasing him; the idea seemed very plausible.
Thats what it was!!! ever since i wrote it i felt something was wrong. i even badgered my friends about it. 3rd person was the answer.
But, being my semi-stubborn self i am going to keep the note part in there.
Look for me on the best-selling authors list in a few years ;D ;D ;D ;D
Hopefully.
Belial, i'm hooked. ever since i read my first Darren shan's Cirque du freak i have been looking for anything awesomely dark and vampirey. but this isn't vampirey. anyways, i'm still hooked. :-\ ;) :) :D ;D 8)
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Belial: I like it. Nice job of establishing a creepy atmosphere. My only issue is with the first paragraph, where I had to re-read a couple of times before I realized Jack, not Tess, was the one with bloody hands.
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Alright I'll try the opening of the piece that I started last yeat but lost modivational steam on...let me know if i sould leave it alone or revisit it when I get a chance.
The prisoner opened his eyes and rolled over onto his stomach. He reached out his hand to hover above a tiny speaker set into the heavy metal frame of his bed. “4, 3, 2, 1”, he said out loud and then covered the speaker.
“GOOD MORNING 1012 – RECOUP TIME IS OVER –TODAY YOU’RE ASSIGNED TO THE LAB AND THE DOCTOR IS ALREADY WAITING SO GET MOVING. - NORISHMENT IN 5 MINUTES.”
Everyday had started the same way for the past 13 months. If he hadn’t started covering the speaker during the first week he’d probably gone deaf before too long. He rolled back over, sat up, and closed his eyes preparing for part two of this ritual awakening. Instantly the room was filled with light so bright he could see it through his eye lids. “That’s another point for me Doc.” He considered anytime the Doc failed at making him miserable a small victory in their silent war. If life in prison had taught him anything, it was to revel in the small victories because you simply never had any other kind. He smiled the only smile he expected to have all day and began to get ready.
The Doc is waiting….that’s just great he thought and looked around his room. Room, yeah right, technically it was his 5 foot cube “cell” but he’d decided long ago that to maintain a positive outlook he would think of it as his, very very cozy, room. True, he could never fully stretch his 5’11’’ frame while inside his room, but on the bright side, it was a cinch to clean up.
Hooked or Not?
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Bump Neurovore. So did you 'sodding' do it yet? :P LOL.....
I through-read and proofed 167,000 words on Sunday, so partly.. It turns out to have been a really good idea, because doing a synopsis of this novel would really have been impaired by not remembering what happens in it.
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I through-read and proofed 167,000 words on Sunday, so partly.. It turns out to have been a really good idea, because doing a synopsis of this novel would really have been impaired by not remembering what happens in it.
ROFLMAO
We're you the one who said, "if I can write it in fewer words, I would have done so?" LOL
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We're you the one who said, "if I can write it in fewer words, I would have done so?" LOL
I'm not the only person to have said that, but I do abide by it as a way of looking at things.
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yeah and I'm procrastinating.... geez, get to work Meg
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Alright, heres the first piece of a new book i'm starting to work on. Hope it catches your interest.
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A bright spinning multi-hued flash of light. A hard something charged out to hit my head and then snapped. While I’m falling towards the ground at an awkward angle, I notice that sunlight is skimming the tops of the trees as a few small birds pass overhead. Then a rough but oddly soft surface rushed up to catch my back and another hard something hit me in the back of the head.
Then blackness.
I jolted up, becoming dizzy, then let myself fall back down. There are birds chirping, and the sound woke me up from my half sleep. I open my eyes and realized I’m in a forested area. It smells like spring, but the weather is still cold. The sun had risen enough that I can see it though the leaves. Head aching, I stood up to look around and drink in my surroundings.
I’d taken the time to think about it and I surmised that I was in a forest but I didn’t know which one. The trees surrounding me are a mans width and five times as tall. I looked down to where I had landed and saw that I was standing on top of a flowered bush with a rock in the spot where my head had landed.
Around me I heard hushed footsteps then lifted my arm and opened my mouth to beckon them towards me, hoping to ask where I was. As I came to a realization I shut my mouth before my breath can make it there.
I’m in a forest, I told myself. I have to be cautious, dangerous animals could be living in this forest.
I quietly moved a for a few minutes, roughly circling the spot where I had awaken to get my blood flowing. I tried to remember how I got here, but I couldn‘t. I could barely remember anything past the bright flash of light, and this scared me. My heart rate started accelerating.
I could remember the basic stuff though, so I guess that comes as little consolation. For example, I knew that the something that had rushed out to hit my head was a branch. I had stopped walking, realizing that I didn’t hurt at all. I lifted up my arms to look at them, checking if they were cut or bruised from the fall, but they didn’t look like normal human hands.
They were prosthetic.
But I don’t remember what put them on my arms, nor did I know the necessity for the replacement. I examined them closely and found that they were strangely unique.
My hands…In my right palm was an inset sphere that glows with physically clashing edged strands of black and yellow that resemble electricity. Extending away from the sphere, but still connected to it, are glowing, pulsating blue strips that–are one-fourth of a centimeter in width–reach all the way down my fingers to the tips, and there they expand into a circle that is three-fourths of a centimeter in diameter. My left hand is the same way, except for the fact that the sphere and glowing blue strips are on the back of my left hand, rather than on the palm, and in the sphere, rather than black and yellow electricity, is a dull shade of purple.
Hmm, electricity, I thought.
I started forward again, walked into the shade of the trees in front of me and spotted a mound of dirt, cleared of any shrubbery to my right. I stared at it, concentrating.
I continue gazing at the mound, and I lifted my arm up, outstretched at shest level and in a controlled movement I napped my thumb and middle finger of my right hand together, creating sparks.
As I predicted, a thin and relatively weak bolt of lightning struck the dirt, solidifying the topmost patch into a glass-like substance.
I jumped back despite my prediction, and tripped over an above-ground root. I patted my hand on my leg, thinking it was going to catch fire. I stood up and took a quick glance at the glass-like dirt.
Scared of myself, I fled the area, trying to reach the end of the forest. After a few minutes of frightened running, I reached the brink and what happened next seemed completely impossible. What happened next blew my mind completely.
I was in a desert. I looked to my right and my left and there was nothing but sand except for the forested area behind, and when I focused, I could see the end of it to either side of me.
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Sorry for going over the directed word count every time. I hope it was worth it.
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Here's a fragment for y'all:
"On the morning of February sixteenth, 1948, notorious bank robber Norman Beady was found strangled to death in his jail cell while awaiting arraignment, apparently by his own lawyer.
This was strange for two reasons.
The first was that lawyers are not in the habit of killing their own clients outright when the preferred modus operandi is to bleed them dry over an extended period of time. The second reason was that Norman Beady had died two months ago during a botched escape attempt from Attica prison, where he was serving the fourth year of a twenty-year sentence for robbing an armored bank truck at gunpoint."
Hooked or no?
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I like it. I need more to really know if i'm interested though. i'm not exactly hooked but if i picked this up in a library i'd probably check it out. Does that define hooked?
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Here's a fragment for y'all:
"On the morning of February sixteenth, 1948, notorious bank robber Norman Beady was found strangled to death in his jail cell while awaiting arraignment, apparently by his own lawyer.
This was strange for two reasons.
The first was that lawyers are not in the habit of killing their own clients outright when the preferred modus operandi is to bleed them dry over an extended period of time. The second reason was that Norman Beady had died two months ago during a botched escape attempt from Attica prison, where he was serving the fourth year of a twenty-year sentence for robbing an armored bank truck at gunpoint."
Hooked or no?
Tempo and referents need a of bit polish for my tastes. Particularly in the spots I highlighted.
I do like the subtle coexistence of 'bleed dry' and 'should've been dead already' in the same paragraph.
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I like it the way it is, Liz. Eh, go with what comprex said though, he probably took college classes in writing, and I didn't.
I'd have finished the first chapter at least with it as is.
It's slightly reminiscint of The Great Train Robbery (the book) to me, and I LOVE that book.
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Hey did anyone get a chance to read my Sci Fi story? I posted it a on September 19th but haven't heard anything from anyone about it. I refuse to believe it is so awsome that nobody had any comments, but I think maybe it got missed in some of the conversations. So anyway, this is me asking for everyone to go back and check it out. Please.
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Seconded. aside from my self-absorbtion...
Gritti, i thought it was pretty cool. also amusing "Thats another point for me, doc" i liked that.
A five by five foot cell? what country does this guy live in? thats a pretty vile thing to do to a guy. aside from that i thought it was cool. keep writing :D
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Thanks so much for the comment, and the prisoner isn't in a country...he's not on Earth, but in a space station.
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Awesome. Is this after the 2012 incident? because that would be the safest place to find haven if it does happen...
Or have we evolved to a level 1 civilization? Have we finally found out how to travel to jupiter in less than 2 days? i think it takes years right now, but i know it definitely takes four months to get to mars if you slingshot around venus, then venus again(second revolution around the sun), and then earth.
Science Channel don't fail me now...
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Philliph,
I hadn't thought of the whole 2012 thing, but that definately opens up all kinds of new possibilities. And I'm afraid humans haven't achieved level 1 quite yet (In my imaginary world anyway). The prisoner is not human, but is in our galaxy. I started this story last year and lost steam on it I'm not really sure why. I planned a sort of alien goes to earth in a desperate attempt to escape from a hitman (also alien but different race). Oh yeah and the space station is orbiting Jupiter. It had lots of good pieces but I decided to put it on the back burner while I worked on an idea with a little more magic than tech, but I'll be sure to pull it off the shelf again and finish it. Thanks so much for the feedback.
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Philliph,
I just read the three (if there was more I must have missed it) pieces you've posted and I have to say they are all very cool. Can't say I have anything to add to the critiques you got, but each one has parts that grab at me. I'd say you definately have the heart of a writer...keep it up.
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heres one i have been playing with for a while.
Gold.
Shimmering gold moving softly in the wind.
As the bewitched eye follows the brain is shocked back to consciousness by a figure standing impassively, also watching the golden tresses. For tresses they are, lost from their anchor and blowing gently across the courtyard in the light spring breeze. The figure turns away, turns their back on the corpse covered in a blanket of shimmering blonde, ignoring the fine threads of hair caught on robes soaked in blood. The woman (for the figure is female, as is the woman vacant of life sprawled across the dark stone flags) moves to a fountain in the very centre of the sheltered courtyard and begins to wash methodically. Without turning her head she adresses another, one lost in the shadows of the protecting walls, and a shadow of something else, something other.
"And so she is dead. Payment is expected by sundown tomorrow."
"It will be there."
"And you? Will you be there?"
The dark watcher does not answer, causing the woman to turn and address them directly.
"Will you be there?"
Movement indicates a nod, but in the fading light it is hard to be sure. The woman watches, waiting for any indication of a definite answer. Finally the dark one speaks again.
"At your stepmothers funeral? Of course. Perhaps the key question is, will you?"
Around the base of the fountain blood begins to pool.
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heres one i have been playing with for a while.
Gold.
Shimmering gold moving softly in the wind.
As the bewitched eye follows the brain is shocked back to consciousness by a figure standing impassively, also watching the golden tresses. For tresses they are, lost from their anchor and blowing gently across the courtyard in the light spring breeze. The figure turns away, turns their back on the corpse covered in a blanket of shimmering blonde, ignoring the fine threads of hair caught on robes soaked in blood. The woman (for the figure is female, as is the woman vacant of life sprawled across the dark stone flags) moves to a fountain in the very centre of the sheltered courtyard and begins to wash methodically. Without turning her head she adresses another, one lost in the shadows of the protecting walls, and a shadow of something else, something other.
"And so she is dead. Payment is expected by sundown tomorrow."
"It will be there."
"And you? Will you be there?"
The dark watcher does not answer, causing the woman to turn and address them directly.
"Will you be there?"
Movement indicates a nod, but in the fading light it is hard to be sure. The woman watches, waiting for any indication of a definite answer. Finally the dark one speaks again.
"At your stepmothers funeral? Of course. Perhaps the key question is, will you?"
Around the base of the fountain blood begins to pool.
I'll read on.. Hooked
I wonder what else my parents lied to me about. Looking back, i think it's silly that this was the first thought to go through my mind as the monster in my closet was slowly making its way toward my bed. Well, I think it was a monster. It could have been George Burns. One of the two. It was still six feet away from me, apparently in no hurry.
I could have used my old childhood method of dealing with monsters-- hide under my blankets. That wasn't an option. My flashlight and Teddy Bear were both packed away somewhere. I decided to do the next best thing. I picked up my bedside lamp, yanked the plug out of the outlet, and threw it at the thing's face. It connected... Hard. I was a quarterback in high school. Monster George never even flinched. Hell, it never even attempted to block it.
By this point, the initial shock had worn off, and I was headed toward the door. The knob turned, but the door wouldn't budge. The monster continued its patient advance. It was four feet away now. I kicked my flimsy wooden door. Nothing happened, and I'm no lightweight. I tried another kick and got the same result. Three feet away. I couldn't get to the window. The monster was too close. Two feet.
It stopped. It smelled like cigars and mothballs. Maybe it is George Burns after all. "What do you want?" I asked. No reply. It just stood there watching me for maybe a minute or so. Then, it reached a withered hand into its rather fashionable jacket pocket, pulled out an envelope, and handed it to me. It turned and stalked back into the closet.
I stood in stunned silence for a while after the thing had left, envelope in hand. I debated whether or not to open it. What the Hell? I opened it, there was a small piece of parchment inside, folded once. I opened that. Huh. I had been invited to a party.
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I wonder what else my parents lied to me about. Looking back, i think it's silly that this was the first thought to go through my mind as the monster in my closet was slowly making its way toward my bed. Well, I think it was a monster. It could have been George Burns. One of the two. It was still six feet away from me, apparently in no hurry.
I could have used my old childhood method of dealing with monsters-- hide under my blankets. That wasn't an option. My flashlight and Teddy Bear were both packed away somewhere. I decided to do the next best thing. I picked up my bedside lamp, yanked the plug out of the outlet, and threw it at the thing's face. It connected... Hard. I was a quarterback in high school. Monster George never even flinched. Hell, it never even attempted to block it.
By this point, the initial shock had worn off, and I was headed toward the door. The knob turned, but the door wouldn't budge. The monster continued its patient advance. It was four feet away now. I kicked my flimsy wooden door. Nothing happened, and I'm no lightweight. I tried another kick and got the same result. Three feet away. I couldn't get to the window. The monster was too close. Two feet.
It stopped. It smelled like cigars and mothballs. Maybe it is George Burns after all. "What do you want?" I asked. No reply. It just stood there watching me for maybe a minute or so. Then, it reached a withered hand into its rather fashionable jacket pocket, pulled out an envelope, and handed it to me. It turned and stalked back into the closet.
I stood in stunned silence for a while after the thing had left, envelope in hand. I debated whether or not to open it. What the Hell? I opened it, there was a small piece of parchment inside, folded once. I opened that. Huh. I had been invited to a party.
I really like this Don and timely with 'Where the Wild Things are'. It'd be great to see a YA spin off. I love the George Burns reference and that you carry it through. I like the quirky set up. My suggestions would be minor. 'was slowly making' to 'made' --the sentence with it was ungainly to me. In third paragraph 'was headed' - suspect that you could find a better verb to show what character is feeling.
I liked the switch to the small, clipped sentences of 'three feet' 'two feet' and similar use of of same pattern in fourth paragraph for adding tension. Fantastic line here --> "Then, it reached a withered hand into its rather fashionable jacket pocket, pulled out an envelope, and handed it to me." <Love that you let me wonder why this closet monster has a 'fashionable jacket'...draws me in, making me read actively.
The prior sentence of 'He stood ... for a minute or two', consider cutting. Let the small, clipped sentences stand out in contrast to that fantastic line marked above.
Last paragraph----perfect, as is the rest. Nice, nice job Don.
Okay how does this hold your attention?
Set up - Eve has followed her spirit guide to the top of St Peter's Basilica in Rome.
Eve had crept out onto the open walkway that wrapped around the top of St Peter’s dome, the cold wind whipping at her clothes. The claustrophobic corkscrew climb had been bad enough, but Rome’s skyline separated by a thin hand railing had her frozen. She hated heights. A raven flew by, passing uncomfortably close to Eve’s shoulder, and then, inches from her death grip on the balustrade, it perched—huge and ugly, something round in its beak.
Mortified by the drop of hundreds of feet, Eve tightened her hold and swiped her free hand at the bird. “Shoo. Go away!” It opened its mouth, dropping its treasure, but wasn’t intimidated. “I said—go away!” She swept her free hand again at raven and it flew up into the air. It flapped its wings, talons extended, threatening, diving towards her. She released the railing and stumbled back against the dome, dodging the raven’s attack. She landed hard on all fours, the raven’s treasure spinning on the narrow walkway. It slowed and then lay, the bloody eyeball staring up at her.
Eve scrambled away, clawing at the dome’s wall. Her hands smeared on something wet and warm that covered her palms—a trickle of fresh blood flowed down the dome curve. The wind whipped as Eve traced the crimson trail upward, her eyes locking on the man’s body stretched across the top of the dome, speared by St Peter’s cross.
edited as I left the last paragraph off when I cut and pasted.
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heres a paragraph from one of the books im writing.
"surrender, you are out numbered, if you do not colmply, we will be forced to kill you.)
Murdocs footsteps were light, more agile, and his brain started to procces things at at a thousand miles per second. buy the time the guards saw Murdoc move, he had taken the pistol from the lead gaurds holster and shot him in the head with it and killed the 2 men directly behind the lead gaurd. befor the other guards could even re-adjust their aim, Mudoc had already ran to the closest gaurd near him, pulled the pinn on the grenade hanging from from the gaurds body armor, and kicked him directly in the chest, causing him to fall back into the remaing gaurds behind him. Murdoc quikly jumped behind the cover ove a flipped over metal table for protection from the blast. He did all this in a matter of seconds.
Murdoc could only stare in amazment at what he just did.
what have they done to me? Murdoc thought in wonder.
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o yeah and meg, im hooked.
i like the part about the guy being gutted on the st. peters cross, makes me want to read on to find out what the hell happened to him, and who the hell did it!
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Hi PB, I like the name Murdoc!
heres a paragraph from one of the books im writing.
"surrender, you are out numbered, if you do not colmply, we will be forced to kill you.)
Murdocs footsteps were light, more agile, and his brain started to procces things at at a thousand miles per second. buy the time the guards saw Murdoc move, he had taken the pistol from the lead gaurds holster and shot him in the head with it and killed the 2 men directly behind the lead gaurd. befor the other guards could even re-adjust their aim, Mudoc had already ran to the closest gaurd near him, pulled the pinn on the grenade hanging from from the gaurds body armor, and kicked him directly in the chest, causing him to fall back into the remaing gaurds behind him. Murdoc quikly jumped behind the cover ove a flipped over metal table for protection from the blast. He did all this in a matter of seconds.
Murdoc could only stare in amazment at what he just did.
what have they done to me? Murdoc thought in wonder.
For ease in reading, make sure that you separate the paragraphs by a space to provide more white space. Dense reading on the internet can hurt this old lady's eyes! (and young people's too!)
This is a first draft, correct? So you're looking primarily for reader comprehension. I believe the Murdoc is normal human, changing into re-mastered super human maybe by the last sentence, right? This could be clarified by giving me additional info where you say, "more agile" more agile than what? Place me physically so I know and understand that first sentence.
Watch for time reporting. In the first sentence I'm present with the green sentence, then you have several time qualifiers in orange. If you put those into action the reader will know without you having to report it to us. You know what would be cool? You've got Murdoc in fast motion and the guards in slow motion, right? Tell me that instead. Murdoc's body blurred, his guards slowed. Murdoc pulled etc.
Anytime you can change a time sequence to an action verb--you're the pro!
And skip your last Murdoc thought line, let me the reader figure that out... which I did so it was a repeat.
Did you have a set up on this or is this your start?
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Okay how does this hold your attention?
Set up - Eve has followed her spirit guide to the top of St Peter's Basilica in Rome.
Eve had crept out onto the open walkway that wrapped around the top of St Peter’s dome, the cold wind whipping at her clothes. The claustrophobic corkscrew climb had been bad enough, but Rome’s skyline separated by a thin hand railing had her frozen. She hated heights. A raven flew by, passing uncomfortably close to Eve’s shoulder, and then perched --inches from her death grip on the balustrade. Something round in its beak.
Good -- did her spirit guide show her to the place in 'real time'? Or is she retracing her footsteps, say from a past dream? I'm curious as to the *how* she got there. Obviously, it's something big, to have her climbing all those steps in spite of her fear of heights -- which, by the way, I'd like bit more of a sensory cue from her about it, rather than just being told she was afraid of heights. Does her stomach flip? Do her palms sweat, making the grip on that balustrade all the more tenuous? Is she hit with vertigo? How does her fear of heights manifest itself? Me, I feel my stomach drop when I (stupidly!) look down from a high ledge.
Also, I played a bit with the structure of that second to last sentence -- making the raven's appearance and landing a bit smoother. Not too sure about the description of what the raven has in its mouth, though. My first thought upon seeing "round" was "coin" or "button." Maybe a touch more description of what's in its beak? Does it shine? glisten?
Mortified by the drop of hundreds of feet, Eve tightened her hold and swiped her free hand at the bird. “Shoo. Go away!” It opened its mouth, dropping its treasure, but wasn’t intimidated. “I said—go away!” She swept her free hand again at raven and it flew up into the air. It flapped its wings, talons extended, threatening, diving towards her. She released the railing and stumbled back against the dome, dodging the raven’s attack. She landed hard on all fours, the raven’s treasure spinning on the narrow walkway. It slowed and then lay, the bloody eyeball staring up at her.
Eve scrambled away, clawing at the dome’s wall. Her hands smeared on something wet and warm that covered her palms—a trickle of fresh blood flowed down the dome curve. The wind whipped as Eve traced the crimson trail upward, her eyes locking on the man’s body stretched across the top of the dome, speared by St Peter’s cross.
Ew. But who is he? I wanna know!
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I got a great re-write line where to tie the raven's treasure in. Listen to this! What a great re-write. And why didn't I think of that?
"She landed on all fours, the raven's treasure spinning on the narrow walkway. It wasn't until it slowed and lay still, rocking gently, that she recognized it was an eyeball starring up at her."
Rocking gently.... oh my back is creepy crawling!
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I got a great re-write line where to tie the raven's treasure in. Listen to this! What a great re-write. And why didn't I think of that?
"She landed on all fours, the raven's treasure spinning on the narrow walkway. It wasn't until it slowed and lay still, rocking gently, that she recognized it was an eyeball starring up at her."
Rocking gently.... oh my back is creepy crawling!
Yes! Better. But... wouldn't it rock gently, and then lay still, staring up at her?
I nit-pick, I know.... sorry! But yes -- good direction.
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LOL yes, you are right! Now where's our next 250 from you, kind sir? I know you're still writing!
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Okay, so it's a bit more than 250 words. :-\ You all remember Jack and Beth from my earlier contribution? Beth has fallen asleep on the couch at Jack's house, after a very long Halloween night*, and the next morning, has some difficulty waking up. So his younger sister, Ellie, provides a solution, egged on by the other two, older sisters, Hannah and Charlotte.
In addition to "hooking," I'm also looking at how well (or not) I'm doing at individualizing the different voices in the scene's dialogue. I welcome any tips or tricks ya'll might have for scenes with a lot of participants. (The Thanksgiving scenes around the table took I don't know how many rewrites...!)
“When the byoo-tee-ful princess won’t wake up, then Prince Charming has to give her a kiss,” Ellie said, matter of factly.
“I’m not going to kiss her!” Jack said.
“Nothing else seems to work,” Hannah said. “As strange as things are around that girl, I wouldn’t be at all surprised if it actually worked.”
“I’m not— No!” Jack said, standing up from where he’d been kneeling by the sofa.
Jack’s mother set two plates on the table.
“What’s all the fuss now?” she asked. “Is she still not up yet? I don’t know that I have any adrenaline in my medical kit.”
“Mom, she hates needles.”
“Well, we seem to be running out of options.”
“I made an option!” Ellie said. “Prince Charming has to kiss Sleeping Byoo-tee!”
“Well, make it quick,” said Jack’s mother. “Breakfast is getting cold.”
“Mom! I can’t just—”
“Wait, let me go get my camera!” Hannah bolted for the stairs.
Jack took a deep breath.
“Okay, well, you don’t all have to watch.”
“Wait!” came Hannah’s cry from upstairs.
Jack knelt down again. Shook Beth’s shoulder. Deep breathing, a whispered word under her breath, but not so much as a flutter of an eyelid.
He brushed a lock of hair from her cheek.
He leaned over, heart hammering, kissed her forehead. It was cool, smooth under his lips.
Nothing. Not so much as a wiggle of her nose or a flicker of movement under her eyelids.
There was a bright flash and an electronic chirp from over his head.
“I’m just going to let her sleep here all day if you don’t all back off,” Jack growled.
“Hannah, dear, put the camera down and eat your breakfast.”
“Jack, you missed. You haveta kiss her on the mouth!”
“Lips,” corrected Hannah. “Mouth kissing is… something I’ll have to talk to you about when you’re older.”
“I think I’m going to be sick,” said Charlotte.
* "How long was it?" you ask? Read the blog :-P
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thanks meg for the imput!
i do have a setup on this story, that paragraph i put in happens later.
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Meg: Hooked. I'm definietly jonsing to see who's hung on the cross and why.
Thoughts on extracted eyeball: I wonder if a human eyeball might have a texture/shape/weight of a large purple grape. After reading the scene I imagine dropping one of those bad boys on the kitchen floor and wonder if an eyeball wouldn't react similarly. I think the first bounce would be 5-6 inches then followed by 3-4 much shorter, quicker bounces and then go rolling over on its side pupil pointed foreward and parallel to the ground. Perhaps a bit of bloody retina hanging off the back? Also, depending on the amount of trauma the eye endured I could easily see it having sustained a hematoma thereby staining much of the white area red. Sorry. It's late and I'm feeling ghoulish. :P
Polarbear: Hey, welcome aboard! I see you're a new writer here and it's always great to see new blood. There are lots of smart people here with good ideas to share so you've come to a good place.
Your piece definitely stared with a bang, no pun intended. It's a good way to grab the reader's attention. My first bit of advice is to check grammar/spelling. As Meg pointed out errors like "buy" instead of "by" or "befor" can stick out and distract a reader. Before posting something, I'd recommend pasting it in MS Word and running spell check. Then read it aloud one time slowly to yourself. That's a good way to catch common mistakes. You've got good action here and I'm interested to see who Murdoc is and what got him into his situation.
RobJN: Hooked.
I think you did a good job with the voices. They feel unique and dynamic. I like the new spin you put on an old fairy tale. It's cute and fun and I can't wait to see what happens when Beth wakes up.
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thanks belial! yeah ive noticed thtis is a good bunch of writer each with their own unique style, and its nice to have some help instead of just " this sucks" or " that looks like something that was in my toilet last night" lol ;D
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Here's a bit from the fantasy thing I pick away at on another message board:
She regarded us with wide-eyed curiosity as she sat with her knees drawn up before her, the cloak arranged about her thin shoulders. She held a steaming cup of Durin’s tea, sipping occasionally, but did not eat from the trencher before her.
We’d all tried greeting her, but she simply blinked quizzically at each of us, shaking her head to indicate that she did not understand. Ana tried Old Alphatian to no avail, and similar successes were met with my Old Traladaran and Gilliam’s scraps of Alaysian. We even tried scratching letters in the dirt but these she frowned upon and rubbed out with her feet in frustration.
“We tried to put hose and boots on her,” Durin said, when Old Seth wondered about her bare feet. “You’re more than welcome to try yourself, if you don’t mind a foot in the eye.”
“Can’t get her to wear anything but a simple white gown,” said Kuric. “She won’t have anything with any color in it against her skin. Stripped it right off and ran about the room in a panic,” he added with a chortle, then blushed.
As we spoke, I watched the girl. She watched us intently, her eyes going to whomever was speaking. Occasionally, her brow would furrow, but then she would shrug and take a sip of tea and go back to watching.
“Why are her lower arms bound?” asked Gilliam, spying the wrappings beneath her sleeve.
Durin and Kuric stared at each other for a long moment.
The girl, though, saw Gilliam’s gesture, and had followed his glance. She held out her arm to Kuric. She pulled up her sleeve, and pointed to the complex knot -- it was obvious she would not be able to untie it with one hand.
Kuric patted her arm and shook his head. The girl glanced from the dwarf to the man, shrugging at Gilliam. She then drew her sleeve back down and tucked the cloak all the way about herself.
“Bad things happened the last time her arms were uncovered,” Kuric said. “Very bad things.”
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In addition to "hooking," I'm also looking at how well (or not) I'm doing at individualizing the different voices in the scene's dialogue. I welcome any tips or tricks ya'll might have for scenes with a lot of participants. (The Thanksgiving scenes around the table took I don't know how many rewrites...!)
Hooked, oh yeah!
Voices, wonderful. Distinct (and cute) enough that I had no difficulty with knowing who is speaking when.
My only comment would be that I'd like to see what they look like, but you covered that in earlier pages I'm sure. Personal preference would be to combine the action for a character with the dialog next to it. And maybe the action toward the lower portion into one paragraph. "Jack knelt down again. Shook Beth’s shoulder. Deep breathing, a whispered word under her breath, but not so much as a flutter of an eyelid.
He brushed a lock of hair from her cheek.
He leaned over, heart hammering, kissed her forehead. It was cool, smooth under his lips." into one paragraph.
Really cute and engaging, lively characters that I'd love to spend more time with!
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Combining action and dialogue -- I think I need to work a bit on that, yes.
Hooked, oh yeah!
Voices, wonderful. Distinct (and cute) enough that I had no difficulty with knowing who is speaking when.
Really cute and engaging, lively characters that I'd love to spend more time with!
Got 120 posts on the blog... Is that enough time with 'em? ;D
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Here's a bit from the fantasy thing I pick away at on another message board:
interesting and sort of nasty this time. last time was cute but your fantasy piece left me with too many questions. What happened the last time? Why doesn't she have a means of communicating? Sounds like she's been there a bit. Lots of good reader type questions, so again---nice!
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interesting and sort of nasty this time. last time was cute but your fantasy piece left me with too many questions. What happened the last time? Why doesn't she have a means of communicating? Sounds like she's been there a bit. Lots of good reader type questions, so again---nice!
That snippet is actually from the chronicle's "day 2." And your questions get slowly answered as the tale unfolds. I hope the 'nasty' you refer to is a 'darnit, now I have to keep reading' kind of nasty :-D
I know you're busy with your own writing, but if you want the rest of this, PM me.
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I hope the 'nasty' you refer to is a 'darnit, now I have to keep reading' kind of nasty :-D I know you're busy with your own writing, but if you want the rest of this, PM me.
Yes, nasty in the G** D*** it, now I keelll to read more.
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Yes, nasty in the G** D*** it, now I keelll to read more.
Muah ha ha... all part of my Evil Plan™
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long ago, when the galaxy was just starting to form, there was war between all that existed. it raged for centruries, destroying many planets and existinces. they fought for control of the Origin planet, were power in magic was immencly powerful, and whoever controlled it, controlled all. yet when they all most destroyed the planet and all exitence, they decreed that no person can touch the Origin planet, for the death of it would be the death of everything that ever existed. the ones that stayed on the origin planet eventually lost touch of there magic, and the Powers sent creatures there to protect the living on the planet, and to keep watch for any invaders. the protectors soon got bored, and lazy do to the treatment they recieved from the humans of Origin, and eventually stopped watching all together. now, evil forces are one the move again, conspiring to take back Origin once again. little do the know that one humans power is slowly starting to wake up, and gain the magic, that was lost, more powefull magic than you can imagine. but what will this human do with it? will he use it to stop the control of his beloved planet, Origin..Earth, they know call it, or will he decide to control it, and use his magic to control all that existed? for destiny is not written in stone, and this one human childs destiny is about to unfold, and only his actions can save, or destroy, all that has ever existed.
it needs some work, but this is an idea that me and my dad came up with.
tell me what you think!
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Hi Polarbear! I'm responding even though I have a huge aversion to cold and given the few weeks of subzero Midwest weather, I'm still going to dive into your premise. :-)
for destiny is not written in stone, and this one human child's destiny is about to unfold, and only his actions can save, or destroy, all that has ever existed.[/i]
I love this hook. Enough said.
Questions: How old is he? As a woman writer, why did you decide on a female character.
The child is your story and the rest is background. Who exists around this child? Parents? Friends? Why does magic manifest in this child? Why are his powers going to be strong enough to save his planet? What upbringing did the child have? Was it happy, sad, boring, exciting? Does he connect with people? Prefer science and numbers over people? What events in the child's life made him who he is?
Is he sad most of the time? Has he overcome adversity? Is there a romantic connection in store for the character? And on and on. Take a couple big sheets of paper and draw a circle on the left side. Draw circles for anyone around him and who they are? Write in the events that occurred in his life. Then move the circle to the right, add a few years, and and again draw the people around him & who are they? How did they get there? What events happened? Then keep going with more circles to the right. When you hit where the story begins draw several lines to the right--these can be possible storylines. The more you have the more fun you're going to have. Mix those up and figure out which storylines can work together. Have a blast and be as wild and crazy as you possibly can. At least one should have a 100 lb gorilla. I mean JB had one right? (Jungle) So you don't use it, but think wild! Let your creativity go. When you have a minimum of 20 storylines? Then the fun begins.
As to world building...
long ago, when the galaxy was just starting to form, there was war between all that existed. it raged for centruries, destroying many planets and existinces. they fought for control of the Origin planet, were power in magic was immencly powerful, and whoever controlled it, controlled all. yet when they all most destroyed the planet and all exitence, they decreed that no person can touch the Origin planet, for the death of it would be the death of everything that ever existed.
I get the end of days. These kind of stories are really hot right now. (My personal favorite is still Alas Babylon. I'm not sure you could even find a copy now.) But WHY is Origin so important? Why would touching it end everything, which is already ended right? You need something MORE than your character lives there. Use a lot of thought here. Character building is just a blast, but world building is your structure that everything else must wind around. It's the structure that everything plays upon. This isn't organic, but science. Will this be like earth? does it look like earth? Is it radically different? (A classic read for world building is Ringworld by Niven/Pourelle of something completely new and different.) Maybe you want to use a Mars environment--something you can research and paint your character into. Don't assume that a real earth like ours makes it easier, but it might be--for you.
Back to WHY is Origin important. It's not enough to say it and come up with a reason. It has to be a reason that your readers are going to care about. Really care about. Whole books are out there about how to build worlds. It's tricky and hard work, but a wonderful puzzle to put together. Again, have a blast doing this! Writing and getting your ideas down is the greatest thing in the world, Polarbear.
lthe ones that stayed on the origin planet eventually lost touch of there magic, and the Powers sent creatures there to protect the living on the planet, and to keep watch for any invaders. the protectors soon got bored, and lazy do to the treatment they received from the humans of Origin, and eventually stopped watching all together.
Again, WHY? Why did they lose their magic? What are the implications other than perhaps making them weak and helpless? Who watched the protectors?
now, evil forces are one the move again, conspiring to take back Origin once again. little do the know that one humans power is slowly starting to wake up, and gain the magic, that was lost, more powefull magic than you can imagine. but what will this human do with it? will he use it to stop the control of his beloved planet, Origin..Earth, they know call it, or will he decide to control it, and use his magic to control all that existed?[/i]
These are really great questions and as I indicated above, this is where your story begins.
Polarbear, this is cool. Have fun visualizing and firming your world and your character into something so concrete that you could walk in it with your characters. Don't forget that girls will want to read your stories too, so add a magic sidekick and let her kick a**!
Keep us posted! I'm taking a class online (I'm 56, so you never stop taking classes! writing is an ongoing forever project!) and one of the students is a 5th grade teacher and her entire class participated in that NaMo thing in Oct. 50,000 words in one month. All of them completed their word count and finished their stories. Something that I don't think I could do! It is easier though if you've already built your world, your characters, and outlined your plot line before you start writing. that doesn't mean you can't write it in your head and then write it up. In fact you will for sure. It could take all of 2010 to do that and then write it up!
Finally, you'll learn to write YOUR WAY. The above may be nonsense and not work, something else will. Keep trying until you find a method that works for you! And never stop writing or creating in your mind.
Hugs Polarbear and no I will never do a polarbear plunge into subzero weather with you!!! I'd like the photos though as I sit somewhere in the warm sun!
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thankyou meg for the info.
i will definitly keep you posted along the way!
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As an overview, it works to grab my attention. However, I'm reminded of the "crawl" text in the Star Wars movies-- more telling the story than showing. I'd much rather learn those details over the course of the story than have it fed to me in two paragraphs in the Prologue. You could go a lot of different ways with this: does the tale open in present day Earth? Or perhaps during a certain period (Wild West? Victorian England?). Certainly would give the return of Magick moer "oomph" if we're not directly expecting it.
More thoughts when I get back home...!
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Here's the opening to an old short story that I wrote years ago. I've been working on it lately, hoping to get it up to snuff.
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I am Úlfr. I embraced the Rage for the first time in my sixteenth winter. Three other initiates stood with me that day: Gunnbjörn, Kolbeinn, and Jólgeir the left-handed. We wore our helms and nothing else. The winter cold bit hard; down to the bone. Ice flakes dusted my eyebrows and patchy beard. My fingers and toes were purple and my shrunken manhood looked like a turtle hiding in the bushes! But neither the cold nor the sounds of battle bothered Gunnbjörn; he laughed as he threw snowballs at us and made fun of our shriveled pricks.
We huddled amongst the veteran warriors waiting for the chance to prove ourselves. A stone's throw away I heard battle cries and the ring of steel upon steel; I heard men's dying screams and tried to convince myself that I wasn't afraid. Till this point we'd been waiting in reserve while the rank and file fought. But Evangr, our war chief, had just spotted an opening in the enemy's line and now it was time to attack. He gave the order to make ready.
Like a squall that blows in suddenly on a peaceful day, a change came over the veteran warriors. They transformed from a group of men to a pack of two-legged wild things that screamed, beat their chests, and bit their shields. The berserkers punched each other and howled till the noise drowned out everything but the sound of the blood pounding in my temple. Then they grabbed the initiates and threw us to the forefront of the mob.
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Hooked, I like it!!
I love the phrase "I embraced the Rage" (with capitals), which deftly elevates it to a rite of passage, and possibly even more; a whole religion, perhaps, that defines an entire people ...
One quick thing that jumped out at me was "Like a squall that blows in suddenly on a peaceful day".
IMO the use of the word "peaceful" here muddles the emotions of what you're really trying to show ... and steals its thunder (no pun intended).
Changing that word to "sunny" or "summer" or similar will return the oomph, and the emphasis, to the thing being described, and might be a better fit for your metaphor.
Otherwise I thought it was great.
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Good grab, belial. It drips with atmosphere right from the start, very immersive. Nothing like a few umlauts to make you start feeling that cold north wind.
I have to agree with Gruud about the "peaceful day" slipped in there, as Ulfr & co. are girding (or... ungirding, I suppose) for war. It's a bit jarring, and swings the attention away from the situation at hand.
One other minor nit pick (I do that a lot, sorry) : The last sentence, there, reads as if Ulfr, the narrator, isn't, and then is an initiate, with the use of "...the initiates" and then following with "threw us to the forefront."
All in all, though, I would definitely read on to see how this plays out. The very setup begs all sorts of questions about themes, character motivations, and you've already set a great tone with those opening lines. With the main character, Ulfr, already on the verge of initiation, I have to wonder just how the first battle and what comes after will change him.
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Before I post mine, I want to think the OP for starting this game. It has really given me the chance to understand (at least as best as I can) how to go about the story content vs. word ratio. I love how it's forcing me to pack as much interest into that amount of words as possible and I'm going to try to continue that. Hopefully I hit that mark, if not I will continue to try. I love most of what I've seen so far, there is alot of "windows" of univereses I would love to read in a book one day in this thread.
Starbeam: Hooked, I liked it!!
And here's my contribution. It's not my main WIP but it's something I'd like to work on once I'm more comfortable.
(250 word cap starting now)
“The irony of it all…” Tim said crouching over her body, “She has black and white furniture here, yet the moments before her death is a ‘gray’ area.” He muttered.
“Why is he talking like I’m not even here? “Asked the worried soul.
“Pay him no mind, Joann” I said. “He’s not from our time.” I got up and walked over to comfort her as best as I could. “So you’re certain you didn’t know the person who killed you?” I asked.
Joann was hesitate with a response. She simply closed her eyes and looked down.
“Joann, I understand this is a bit…..” That’s all I could muster when she raised her head up again with cold dark eyes open….
I felt the chill before the words were spoken.
“No,but you do, Nathan."
The unholy scream from Joann forced me and Tim to our knees in agony. This pain was like nothing I ever felt amongst the living. It felt as if I was dying again……… All I could do was lie on my face and stare at the empty floor.
Where Joann’s soul suddenly collapsed. The pain stopped as soon as she landed. I jumped up immediately and backed away. “Remember the rules….” Said the deep chilled voice behind me. I turned to see…..Death.
Death muttered some words and Joann’s soul was gone.
Second by second he faded away in thin air and with his evil grin he reminded us in Joann’s voice, “Remember the rules...."
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Beliel, yep even peaceful me would be hooked. I scratched my head trying to figure out they were able to check out each others turtles when it's so d*** cold. LOL Seems to me that would be the last part a man would be showing off in freezing weather. :-) Also if they are brand new to battle, seems to me this would be the least of their concerns with "A stone's throw away I heard battle cries and the ring of steel upon steel; I heard men's dying screams" Still better a turtle that purple!
Really neat beginning!
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It was a Dream...
All I could hear was the ringing in my ears, oh how I wish it to stop! All I could feel was a fire across my back, and a drum in my head. Even though I can feel these earthly pains I stand in whiteness, with a holo-monitor. It’s always the same... I stand their looking at a screen portraying my life, but nothing of what I want to see. Always the horrors that haunt me, lives I’ve snuffed out, destruction that I’ve caused. Images of battles, of torment. It haunts me, makes me want to pull my heart out of my chest! The choking feeling always nags at me... Never leaves me... Until I wake...
I looked at myself in the mirror, and saw someone nearly zombie-like staring back. Six and a half foot tall. Scruffy, dirty black hair. Left brown eye, and right one red, a slight discoloration around my right eye. Across my body I saw many scars, my right arm was gone, in it’s place was a metallic limb. A prostheses. Same was true for my entire right leg. Half my abdomen was missing too, in place was a metal bracer for my left side. I can’t remember what happened to them, for as long as I could remember, I’ve had these. I can only remember the past 70 years of my life, and I haven’t changed physically in all that time.
I turned my back to the mirror, and assessed the damage. A large cut, stretched across my back, from my left shoulder and too the right side of my lower back. That might get infected. Flash backs of the days before played through my mind, I was ontop of a cargo truck manning a machine gun, we were transporting valuables from one city to another. Stuff like food and medical supplies. It was a low tier escort job. There wasn’t supposed to be any trouble, but a scum infested gang tried stealing the supplies. On had gotten on the transport with a machete and decided to see if was still sharp by slashing it across my back. On top of all that the second transport was demolished. Which is why I only got 2,600 creds’, instead of the promised 5,000. Which left me short on a huge upgrade for my Armored Power Fram that I wanted.
Sighing I got into the vapor shower.