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KJ
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 Posted: Mon May 12, 2008 12:23 pm Post subject: Needles and Roses - Chap. 5 |
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This is actually one of my favorite chapters because, in my opinion, it's when things begin to get more exciting. There's a huge twist of plot that anyone who's read this loves. So I hope you like it.
Newly edited. |
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Last edited by KJ on Sat Jul 19, 2008 3:37 pm; edited 1 time in total |
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kitty15
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| Posted: Sat May 17, 2008 12:45 pm Post subject: |
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This was good. I can't say that the plot 'twist' was completely unexpected as it wasn't but I enjoyed it nonetheless. I'd like to see a deeper, more gruesome description of the red-haired girl and the other vampire. Afterall, that's the essential pivot of this chapter and you need your reader to feel Rachel's pain and her fear. Other tan that though, it was really good. The plot was believable in a weird, sureal way and the characters are really well defined.
Your historical is, however, still lacking in places. Describe these alleys, are they dark and flithy? Are the buildings on either side tall? Do washing lines stretch across building to building with ragged garments hanging from them, only the type of clothes no one would want to steal. How does the blood look on the cobbles -- I assume it's cobbled? -- and is it dark or is the scene washed in moonlight?
Keep up the good work, specific comments sent by pm as usual,
Heather xx |
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Esmé
consider rephrasing
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| Posted: Sun May 25, 2008 2:56 pm Post subject: |
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KJ,
So I finally reached the point where I'll have to wait for the next installments with the rest. I can't say I'm to happy about it, really. And yes, what I am writing right now - this - is pointless, but I do want this to be counted as a review, heh. But, my critique: |
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JFW1415
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| Posted: Sun May 25, 2008 3:14 pm Post subject: |
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Before I Critique
Hey KJ! I’m so sorry I took so long. To make up for it, I’ll just skip the rambles and send this in.
Also, the comments were being stupid, so I just added comments in the middle of sentences/paragraphs.
After I Critique
Again, I’m in love with your story.
Two things I noticed throughout the whole piece:
- You didn’t have much description. You really need to use all the senses, let me feel like I’m there. (At the end you don’t need to, though, since she’s too preoccupied with the pain.)
- She rants – a lot. The paragraphs are all getting really wordy, and it’s a bit boring.
Also, introduce the vampire slowly. When it grabbed her, I started believing it. But from when I saw it to that part, I was bored, and upset that you just ruined a perfectly good book with vampires.
That’s it. (I hate this – you never need many critiques!) The ending was great, but the rest really need work. It’s not your best.
Good luck, and happy editing!
~JFW1415
(Everything else is in the attachment. There actually aren't as many comments as usual this time, since you really just need to work on showing and taking away the rants.  ) |
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In response to hearing my new story idea: "Aunt April": Oookaaay. You are one sick little puppy aren't you? |
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KJ
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| Posted: Sat Jul 19, 2008 3:50 pm Post subject: |
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| *EDITED* |
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In_the_Moonlight
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| Posted: Mon Aug 11, 2008 10:40 pm Post subject: chapter |
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| okay so far that is my all time fav chapter for needles and roses. |
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kitty15
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| Posted: Sat Aug 16, 2008 7:23 pm Post subject: |
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A moment pasees, passes and Beatrice suddenly rushes back, hugging me again, before darting right out of the door for good this time. |
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| “Here.” Violet appears with the tea tray, a typical scowl on her face, and shoves it in my hands. She also leaves. |
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| I smooth my apron nervously [You should at least comment on the difficulty of this. She's holding a tea tray, presumably quite heavy. And she's ballancing it on one hand? Or perhaps her hip? Either way, this would be tricky so at least comment on the difficulty in it.] and force myself to propel forward, entering the bright room. |
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“No, thank you,” he says in a low voice, not taking his eyes from me. I find that I can’t tear my own gaze away. I am not caught in the way that the dark young man had held my eyes; he had been almost hypnotizing me. No. Rand has always had an entirely different way of meeting the eyes—he caresses them, as if he cares and wants to know all your secrets. Any poor fool who believes him—like I had once did—will pay. Subtly and in such a way you won’t know that you’ve lost something until much, much later. |
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| “Rachel? My tea, please?” Miss Nathanial asks with strained politeness. If we were alone [Comma here.] I have no doubt she would have thrown one of her delightful tantrums. I blink, breaking the invisible string between me and Rand, and give the small teacup to my young mistress. |
I just wanted to make a general comment on this scene before I move on. You need to make more of an effort to describe the room, the teapot and table in particular I think. Does she not look at the walls to avoid meeting his eye, tracing the patterns with her eyes. Does she not look at the floor, trying to hide from him?
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No. There isn’t anything walking anywhere except me. I was childish, foolish for believing that strange young man and letting him frighten me into thinking that something is out to kill me. I had been was dazzled by his thick lashes and his mouth… his mouth… |
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It is everything everyone says it is. The streets are narrow and grimy. Groups of people huddle underneath the gaslights aligning the sides of the street, and they whisper amongst themselves. The smell is worse than it had been was in the old woman’s shack—it reeks of horse droppings, overpowering urine, and refuse. These streets aren’t empty as empty as mine are, regardless of Joseph Hawkley’s unfortunate death. [This sentence is real strange. Typo I'm guessing? But I can't make much sense of it...] Either they don’t care whether they live or die, or are just ignorant, and think that there is no danger lurking in this city. |
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The woman who had shouted at me is squatting by a doorway. She has a harsh, heavily painted face. Her hair is a mass of tangles on top of her head. She wears a thin dress that is so low that her breasts almost fall out of the neckline. I shudder in distaste and look away. [It all feels a little listy. She is this. She is that. She wears this. She has that. I think you need a little sentence variation here.] |
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Oddly enough, my struggle for control on over my emotions and mind has ceased, and a strange calm has flooded my being. I begin walking again, noting with nervousness that the people sitting on either side of me—on the streets and against the buildings—are watching me. But a mixture of horrified curiosity propels me to keep going. I chafe at my arms to do something with my hands, as they’ve been clenching painfully in my skirt. |
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He drops the bottle and it breaks on the stones, the same way the other had did. He sneers at me once more and goes back to the wall, where he slumps in the same position he had been in as before. Looking at him, it almost seems as if nothing has occurred. |
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I gasp when one of the men grabs my collar with both beefy fists and tears it savagely. The top three buttons of my blouse pop off, and I scamble scramble away, only to run into the shins of three others. They run their fingers through my hair, now unbound and tumbling over my shoulders in tangles. I scream, and begin to kick and flail my fists every which way. My feet and fists do connect with some, and I am satisfied to hear oomphs of pain. |
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Why did I tell him that? I rarely confide in anyone, much less stangers strangers. It must be something about the way he’s gazing at me… like he knows that he can get me to tell him anything. His eyes emanate arrogance and frusteration frustration. |
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| Once inside, and I have shut the door, [Maybe 'Once inside, with the door shut,'.] I lean against the solid wood. A dreamy smile curves my lips. Seconds tick by and I slowly regain my senses. |
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Suddenly I bolt upright, my eyes flying open. The magic of his eyes are is gone. What has replaced it is pure disbelief. My nostrils flare. How dare he? How dare he order me about like I’m his sister or his—his—wife! He’d He had no right to yell at me, or lecture me so! He acted as if I am a mindless child! I may be many inconsequential things, but a child is certainly not one of them. Although he had certainly made me feel like one. |
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I lay and listen to my heart accelerate. The single black iron post outside shines through the panes of my window, casting patterned and dim yellow shapes across the bare wooden floor. I hate how my mind plays tricks on me. The walls seem bigger somehow. It almost seems as if they are breathing in, anticipating something I cannot possibly divulge. I turn on my side, and feel something in my pocket crumple. Rand’s letter. With a sigh, I take it out of my pocket and toss it on the floor beside thebed the bed. |
I find this chapter a little dull. I think that Rachel is much too calm through and after most of the ordeal. It's impossible to feel for a character who isn't panicking, who doesn't completely fear for herself. She alternates between calm and afraid too often and there is no distinct emotion left for the reader to relate to. Also, after all that sitting in an alley with guys tearing at her collar and pulling at her hair, Sarah should say something more. She should be heavily disheveled and vaguely aware of the fact. She should be grateful to be alive and she should go up to her room and cry. Instead, she calmly ascends and reads a letter she has received. And true, she shreds it but still no crying, still rational thoughts of making sure the evidence s gone. Perhaps it's just your persona's character but it's irritating!
Other than that, there's just my usual suggestion of a little more description and more periodic detail. Try to make these scenes come alive for us, try to make us see and smell and feel these streets.
Heather xx |
_________________
Lest hope corrupt your foolish heart,
quick cast her out and let depart
the acrid whims of angel's wings
which clutch at twisted puppet strings. |
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