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Icaruss
Disgustingly Honest.
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 Posted: Sat May 24, 2008 8:06 pm Post subject: |
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Random Thought #54: One of my classic comments is that you shouldn't use itallics for thought. I know most of you do, but I still stand by it. First person narration is already a collection of thoughts and comments, you shouldn't separate what you call narration from you character's opinions and feelings. Plus it looks ugly.
Oh, man. You write good. Fantasy and Science-Fiction are the toughest thing to write. You may think it's easier for you to write a grandiose Space Opera but I can asure you that reading one and finding one that is good is the hardest thing for a writer. Because most of the time the writer gets distracted with the races and the history and the descriptions and forgets about the story. I'll make a confession no one asked for: I don't like Tolkien. I think he's boring. By the time I was done with his books I wanted to go out and see an action movie. The Lord of the Rings movies proved he had a story in there somewhere, but the book was just, for me, a lot of text.
You don't make those mistakes. You know this isn't about the elves and the dwarves and the half-elves and the half-dwarves. You know this isn't about the secret cities and the swords and the sorcery. You know this is about this girl who has been told all of her life that she's disgusting, that she's an aberration, and she even believes it herself. I love that. You convey her emotion perfectly. She is perpetually sad, but it's a quiet sadness. Sadness she's gotten used to.
"I tucked my head under my arm and peered at the audience behind me. The boys gawked. The men stared. The young women drew in their breaths. I stared at them unblinkingly."
You are fantastic.
Random Thought #139: Londlow. Heh. Sounds a bit like London, which makes me think it's supposed to be London. What kind of place is this? I'm thinking a steampunky kind of place. You know, Elephant Man, that sort of thing.
I haven't read the second part, but this is the kind of introduction you remember. I love it. |
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All you little girls, settin' out that line,
I can make love to you, woman, in five seconds time.
Ain't that a man? |
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TL G-Wooster
boh
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| Posted: Wed Jun 04, 2008 11:57 pm Post subject: |
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Arhosfeydd
We slept that night at another inn. This one was bigger and cleaner, but after what had happened at the last inn, Quennel wasn’t ready to entrust his hybrid to the stables again.
‘A quiet room,’ he said to the landlord. ‘Do you have one near the back? So that people don’t get…’ He trailed off and nodded sagely.
The landlord didn’t seem to appreciate sage gestures. ‘So that what?’ he demanded. ‘I keep a respectable inn, I do, and if you’re going to make trouble –’
‘Nothing of the kind.’ Quennel leaned forward confidentially. The landlord had come out to our cart per Quennel’s request, and was leaning against the side. Quennel attempted to take his arm, but the landlord shrugged him off.
‘Look,’ Quennel said. ‘I got a hybrid. You can see that.’
The landlord looked down at me and wrinkled his nose. ‘Ugly thing, ain’t it?’
‘It may not win any beauty prizes, but it’ll win me a fortune. So I don’t want to leave it in your stable, do I? What if something happens to it?’
‘My stable –’
‘Is one of the finest around, I don’t doubt. But I like to keep an eye on it, so I’ll keep it in my room, and all’ll be fine. Just so long as our room is quiet and out of the way, see?’
The landlord saw. He shrugged. ‘Just don’t make no trouble, and I won’t say nothing.’
Cor, I thought. His negatives leave something to be desired.
‘All right, bring it in.’ The landlord led the way into the inn. Morley and Quennel shielded me from the eyes of the other customers, and we passed through the main room safely. Up a flight of stairs to a short corridor and the landlord opened a door to a room.
Morley dumped our bags on the floor, and the landlord said, pointing, ‘Water jug, bed, window… For thruppence.’
‘Where?’ I said.
The landlord actually jumped. ‘You never said it talked!’
‘You didn’t ask.’ Quennel gave my lead a jerk. ‘Where what?’
‘Where’s the four thruppence?’ I blinked at the landlord. ‘Kind landlord sir said water jug, bed, window, four thruppence. Water jug, bed, window,’ I pointed at each one in turn. ‘I don’t see four thruppence. Are they under the pillow?’ I made a dive at the bed, but Quennel hauled me back.
‘The thruppence is your payment!’ the landlord snapped. ‘Thruppence for one night and one night only.’
Quennel fished around in his pocket and handed him the small silver coin. ‘Don’t mind the hybrid. Half the time, what it says doesn’t mean anything.’
The landlord frowned, said curtly, ‘Well, mind you keep it under control,’ and left, closing the door with perhaps more vigour than was necessary.
Quennel tugged on my lead again to get my attention. ‘Try an’ use your loaf for once, eh, Raven?’
I wanted to say, Speaking of which, when’s dinner? but decided against it. Quennel had been pushed as far as he could tonight and he was tired and sore from the long ride. A tired and sore Quennel was not a Quennel that allowed his exhibits backchat.
Morley said, ‘What about a drink and something to eat?’
‘You stay here and watch the hybrid. I’ll bring you both something up.’ Quennel went to the water jug and splashed his face. He tied my lead to the bed rail and then went out the door.
Morley sat on the bed and began to take his boots off. I sat on the floor, rested my head against the straw-stuffed mattress and flexed my shoulders.
Morley began to whistle softly under his breath. I recognized the tune and joined in, cheerfully out of tune. ‘Elizabeth Harley was a-going to church, to church, to church, Elizabeth Harley was a-going to church for to-o be wed.’
‘You’re out of tune,’ Morley said irritably.
‘And you’re out of sorts.’ I twisted around and grinned at him.
He hmphed. ‘You’ve cheered up since the last stop.’
‘I bounce,’ I told him sweetly. ‘And that was noon. Now it’s the evening. That was in a stable. Now it’s in a proper room. That was just after Quennel socked me round the ear. Now I’m untouched – so far. That was when –’
‘Shut up.’
I blinked pathetically. Morley began whistling again. I sat back against the bed and began playing with my fingers.
Quennel came back about half an hour later, bearing cakes and ale.
‘Can’t you stay with it now?’ Morley asked, chewing bread and mutton together in his mouth.
‘I’m still busy downstairs. And anyway, what d’yu want to do down there? All the serving girls are either men or fat and old. Though I suppose that means they can’t afford to be choosy.’
Morley stared at Quennel’s grinning face and said, ‘Shut the hell up.’ He folded up his bit of meat in the bread, got off the bed and went to the door.
‘What do you think you’re doing?’ Quennel sounded outraged.
‘Going downstairs to the fat and ugly serving maids.’ Morley slammed the door.
Quennel yanked it open again. ‘Morley!’ he yelled. Morley evidently ignored him, and Quennel came and sat down sulkily on the bed.
‘You annoyed him a bit too much,’ I observed, digging a bit of gristle out between my teeth.
Quennel ignored my comment and instead shoved a hunk of bread in his mouth.
I picked up the newspaper that Quennel had brought up along with the food and opened it. It was mostly local news about missing cows and crop rotation, but there was a small bit about the approaching marriage between Prince Thunor and the Sersuran princess Iuliana. The paper said that the marriage was ‘cementing the peace treaty between two old enemies.’ It seemed that half the people I heard talking about it were violently against the match, because of all that had happened in the wars, and the other half were violently endorsing it for the very same reason. I knew that Quennel didn’t have much of an opinion, either way. He said it wouldn’t effect us, no matter what happened. I supposed we would hear a bit more about it in Selseaton, seeing as that was where the royal family lived for most of the year, but royal weddings didn’t interest me much, so I turned to the last page of the newspaper and read the Bill of Mortality for the last week instead.
It was dark by the time I’d finished my own dinner. Morley still wasn’t back, and Quennel was still cross and silent. I polished off the stray crumbs and curled up on the floor. I could hear the sounds of festivity in the room below: the landlord demanding that someone pay their bill, a violin squawking a few notes, some drunk trying to start off a catch with his friends. I rested my head on my hand and went to sleep.
–––
The next day could have been a mirror image of the first: hot, dusty and boring. The only difference was that we arrived at Selseaton, instead of another inn, at the end of it.
The light was fading from the sky, colouring it a pale pearly grey near the horizon and fading into lavender, light blue and eventually a deep, soft blue like faded cloth higher up. A few tiny stars poked their way through. What is the point of stars? I thought, squirming in a vain effort to get a semblance of comfort. My behind was numb enough to have a bone marrow test without anaesthetic. For beauty, sure. They exist just to be beautiful? Can anything do that?
The carter clicked encouragingly to his horse. ‘’ey oop, girl. Nearly ’ome now.’
The horse’s pace quickened slightly, and the cart rattled over the cobbled streets. I leaned over the edge of the cart and stared down. Cobbles, cobbles everywhere but never a stone to throw. I supposed you could make a pun out of that, if you were clever.
A few shops windows were lit from within by a glowing candle, showing the black silhouette of a watchmaker or printer or bookbinder working late, bent over a desk with a jeweller’s glass in their eye. Something scuttled in the gutter-shadows, claws scratching on stone.
Morley shuffled deeper into his cloak and mumbled complaints to himself. I sighed and rotated my ankles. ‘Are we there yet?’
‘In the next street,’ Quennel said. He gave my lead a tiny tug. ‘So stop complaining.’
‘’mnot. I’ve been good. I have been good, haven’t I?’
‘Yes, you’ve been good.’
The cart turned into the next street. It was very dark by now, and the only light came from a lamp hanging above the door of one of the buildings further down. It was at this building that we stopped. Quennel got down, and Morley and I followed.
I stretched my arms out from the shoulder and executed a very stiff and probably very sloppy pirouette. ‘Ee-ee, stiff!’
‘Oi.’ The cart driver turned and nodded at our luggage. ‘If you want that, then take it.’
‘All right, all right. Morley take this stuff in.’ Quennel went to the front of the cart and began digging in his pocket for the fare.
Morley shoved the leather trunk into my arms and taking the large crate in one hand and my lead in the other, knocked on the door.
After a moment, it was opened by a woman in a white cap. She peered at Morley, looked past him to the cart and then reeled in her gaze, snagging her hook on me. Her mouth opened to the size of a shilling and she said, ‘Oh!’
‘Please’m,’ I said, grinning widely and stupidly, ‘we’re here to fix your plumbing.’
‘Good evening, ma’am,’ Morley said, gritting his teeth. ‘I think we’re stayin’ here and all?’
‘Oh! Oh, yes – yes of course. Come in.’ She held the door wide and we managed to squeeze past her into the hall.
Quennel was close behind, bowing to the lady. ‘Good evening, ma’am… I think Pace is expecting us?’
‘Yes, yes he is. If you put your…’ She paused, and looked at me again, chewing on her lower lip.
‘Hybrid?’ Quennel suggested. ‘Luggage?’
‘Hybrid? Oh my…’ She stared, then gave a little laugh. ‘A hybrid! My word, that’s something. Yes, put the hybrid in the back room. Your luggage can go upstairs and…’ She opened a door and yelled, ‘Pace! It’s Mister Quennel and, Pace –’
A shortish, red-haired man almost bounced out of the door. ‘Ah, Mister Quennel, Mister Quennel, Mister Quennel…’
‘And hybrid, plus Morley,’ I chipped in.
The redhead – Pace – clapped Quennel on the shoulder. ‘They talk and talk, don’t they, these freaks?’
‘Yes.’ Quennel shifted under Pace’s hand, uncomfortable, yet wishing to appear polite. ‘How many do you own?’
‘Own? Oh, I don’t own any. I’m just their manager, you understand. They’re their own bosses, free to leave at any time they want. Only they don’t, of course.’ He grinned. ‘Though a hybrid’s something different entirely – entirely different.’
‘Yes,’ Quennel said again, looking as though he were trying not to squirm.
‘Well, then.’ Pace beamed affably. ‘Why don’t you let your servant take the hybrid into the back room and you come in and sit down and have a drink? Thirsty thing, travelling.’
‘I’m not his –’ Morley began indignantly, but Pace had already gone back into the room. I could see a fire burning and a flask and glasses set out on a table beside some very comfortable looking chairs.
Quennel shrugged and grinned wryly. ‘Go to, servant. Raven, behave yourself.’
The door shut in Morley’s face. The woman in the white cap smiled encouragingly at him and led the way down the hall. She opened a door at the end and said, ‘Put it in here. I’ll feed it later on, when the others have their dinner. We’re eating late tonight, you see.’
Morley nodded and we went into the room together. It was a fairly large room, with panelled walls and a rather threadbare carpet on the floor. There was a fire, and that, along with a candle on the scratched table top, was the only light in the room. The dark blue curtains, patched unevenly with light blue patches and sewn with white thread were drawn tightly together. In front of the fire sat a little girl and two young men. In the chairs behind them sat a man and a woman. They all looked up as we entered. I could feel their eyes, looking, looking, looking. Looking as Morley unclipped my lead and gave me a little push forward. Looking as he shut the door and left. Looking as I looked back at them.
The little girl was a hunchback, the two young men were twins, joined at the hip, and the woman had no arms. The man looked normal.
Okay, I thought. My fellow freaks. Takes one to know one, I suppose. I sat down on the floor, legs crossed, about five feet away from them. From here I could feel the warmth of the fire on my skin, and the gooseflesh on my arms began to settle. And so we stare the night away, waiting for one to talk and always being disappointed. What’ll happen if I get closer to the fire? Will their stares intensify until I simply shrivel up and vanish? Or will they wait until I get close enough and then tip me into the fire? Do freaks have walls around their minds? Or are they simply –
‘G-g-g-good evening,’ the man said. He nodded courteously. ‘What is your n-n-n-n-name?’ |
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Most people run screaming to the therapist when they hear voices. I write. –Laurie Halse Anderson
Last edited by TL G-Wooster on Thu Aug 14, 2008 10:55 pm; edited 1 time in total |
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lyrical_sunshine
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| Posted: Thu Jun 05, 2008 6:27 pm Post subject: |
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| TL G-Wooster wrote: |
Arhosfeydd
We slept that night at another inn. This one was bigger and cleaner, but after what had happened at the last inn, Quennel wasn’t ready to entrust his hybrid to the stables again.
‘A quiet room,’ he said to the landlord. ‘Do you have one near the back? So that people don’t get…’ He trailed off and nodded sagely.
The landlord didn’t seem to appreciate sage gestures. ‘So that what?’ he demanded. ‘I keep a respectable inn, I do, and if you’re going to make trouble –’
‘Nothing of the kind.’ Quennel leaned forward confidentially. The landlord had come out to our cart per Quennel’s request, and was leaning against the side. Quennel attempted to take his arm, but the landlord shrugged him off.
‘Look,’ Quennel said. ‘I got a hybrid. You can see that.’
The landlord looked down at me and wrinkled his nose. ‘Ugly thing, ain’t it?’
‘It may not win any beauty prizes, but it’ll win me a fortune. So I don’t want to leave it in your stable, do I? What if something happens to it?’
‘My stable –’
‘Is one of the finest around, I don’t doubt. But I like to keep an eye on it, so I’ll keep it in my room, and all’ll be fine. Just so long as our room is quiet and out of the way, see?’
The landlord saw. He shrugged. ‘Just don’t make no trouble, and I won’t say nothing.’
Cor, I thought. His negatives leave something to be desired. (Haha.)
‘All right, bring it in.’ The landlord led the way into the inn. Morley and Quennel shielded me from the eyes of the other customers, and we passed through the main room safely. Up a flight of stairs to a short corridor and the landlord opened a door to a room.
Morley dumped our bags on the floor, and the landlord said, pointing, ‘Water jug, bed, window… For thruppence.’
‘Where?’ I said.
The landlord actually jumped. ‘You never said it talked!’
‘You didn’t ask.’ Quennel gave my lead a jerk. ‘Where what?’
‘Where’s the four thruppence?’ I blinked at the landlord. ‘Kind landlord sir said water jug, bed, window, four thruppence. Water jug, bed, window,’ I pointed at each one in turn. ‘I don’t see four thruppence. Are they under the pillow?’ I made a dive at the bed, but Quennel hauled me back.
‘The thruppence is your payment!’ the landlord snapped. ‘Thruppence for one night and one night only.’
Quennel fished around in his pocket and handed him the small silver coin. ‘Don’t mind the hybrid. Half the time, what it says doesn’t mean anything.’
The landlord frowned, said curtly, ‘Well, mind you keep it under control,’ and left, closing the door with perhaps more vigour than was necessary.
Quennel tugged on my lead again to get my attention. ‘Try an’ use your loaf for once, eh, Raven?’
I wanted to say, Speaking of which, when’s dinner? but decided against it. Quennel had been pushed as far as he could tonight and he was tired and sore from the long ride. A tired and sore Quennel was not a Quennel that allowed his exhibits backchat.
Morley said, ‘What about a drink and something to eat?’
‘You stay here and watch the hybrid. I’ll bring you both something up.’ Quennel went to the water jug and splashed his face. He tied my lead to the bed rail and then went out the door.
Morley sat on the bed and began to take his boots off. I sat on the floor, rested my head against the straw-stuffed mattress and flexed my shoulders.
Morley began to whistle softly under his breath. I recognized the tune and joined in, cheerfully out of tune. ‘Elizabeth Harley was a-going to church, to church, to church, Elizabeth Harley was a-going to church for to-o be wed.’
‘You’re out of tune,’ Morley said irritably.
‘And you’re out of sorts.’ I twisted around and grinned at him.
He h(u)mphed. ‘You’ve cheered up since the last stop.’
‘I bounce,’ I told him sweetly. ‘And that was noon. Now it’s the evening. That was in a stable. Now it’s in a proper room. That was just after Quennel socked me round the ear. Now I’m untouched – so far. That was when –’
‘Shut up.’
I blinked pathetically. Morley began whistling again. I sat back against the bed and began playing with my fingers. (Playing with her fingers? What's that mean?)
Quennel came back about half an hour later, bearing cakes and ale.
‘Can’t you stay with it now?’ Morley asked, chewing bread and mutton together in his mouth.
‘I’m still busy downstairs. And anyway, what d’yu want to do down there? All the serving girls are either men or fat and old. Though I suppose that means they can’t afford to be choosy.’
Morley stared at Quennel’s grinning face and said, ‘Shut the hell up.’ He folded up his bit of meat in the bread, got off the bed and went to the door.
‘What do you think you’re doing?’ Quennel sounded outraged.
‘Going downstairs to the fat and ugly serving maids.’ Morley slammed the door.
Quennel yanked it open again. ‘Morley!’ he yelled. Morley evidently ignored him, and Quennel came and sat down sulkily on the bed.
‘You annoyed him a bit too much,’ I observed, digging a bit of gristle out (from) between my teeth.
Quennel ignored my comment and instead shoved a hunk of bread in his mouth.
It was dark by the time I’d finished my own dinner. Morley still wasn’t back, and Quennel was still cross and silent. I polished off the stray crumbs and curled up on the floor. I could hear the sounds of festivity in the room below: the landlord demanding that someone pay their bill, a violin squawking a few notes, some drunk trying to start off a catch with his friends. I rested my head on my hand and went to sleep.
–––
The next day could have been (was) a mirror image of the first: hot, dusty and boring. The only difference was that we arrived at Selseaton, instead of another inn, at the end of it.
The light was fading from the sky, colouring it a pale pearly grey near the horizon and fading into lavender, light blue and eventually a deep, soft blue like faded cloth higher up. A few tiny stars poked their way through. What is the point of stars? I thought, squirming in a vain effort to get a semblance of comfort. My behind was numb enough to have a bone marrow test without anaesthetic. For beauty, sure. They exist just to be beautiful? Can anything do that? (Um...what?)
The carter clicked encouragingly to his horse. ‘’ey (Capitalize?) oop, girl. Nearly ’ome now.’
The horse’s pace quickened slightly, and the cart rattled over the cobbled streets. I leaned over the edge of the cart and stared down. Cobbles, cobbles everywhere but never a stone to throw. I supposed you could make a pun out of that, if you were clever.
A few shops(') windows were lit from within by a glowing candle, showing the black silhouette of a watchmaker or printer or bookbinder working late, bent over a desk with a jeweller’s glass in their eye. Something scuttled in the gutter-shadows, claws scratching on stone.
Morley shuffled deeper into his cloak and mumbled complaints to himself. I sighed and rotated my ankles. ‘Are we there yet?’
‘In the next street,’ Quennel said. He gave my lead a tiny tug. ‘So stop complaining.’
‘’mnot. (Try to make that a little clearer) I’ve been good. I have been good, haven’t I?’
‘Yes, you’ve been good.’
The cart turned into the next street. It was very dark by now, and the only light came from a lamp hanging above the door of one of the buildings further down. It was at this building that we stopped. Quennel got down, and Morley and I followed.
I stretched my arms out from the shoulder and executed a very stiff and probably very sloppy pirouette. ‘Ee-ee, stiff!’
‘Oi.’ The cart driver turned and nodded at our luggage. ‘If you want that, then take it.’
‘All right, all right. Morley(,) take this stuff in.’ Quennel went to the front of the cart and began digging in his pocket for the fare.
Morley shoved the leather trunk into my arms and(,) taking the large crate in one hand and my lead in the other, knocked on the door.
After a moment, it was opened by a woman in a white cap. She peered at Morley, looked past him to the cart and then reeled in her gaze, snagging her hook on me. Her mouth opened to the size of a shilling and she said, ‘Oh!’
‘Please’m,’ I said, grinning widely and stupidly, ‘we’re here to fix your plumbing.’
‘Good evening, ma’am,’ Morley said, gritting his teeth. ‘I think we’re stayin’ here and all?’
‘Oh! Oh, yes – yes of course. Come in.’ She held the door wide and we managed to squeeze past her into the hall.
Quennel was close behind, bowing to the lady. ‘Good evening, ma’am… I think Pace is expecting us?’
‘Yes, yes he is. If you put your…’ She paused, and looked at me again, chewing on her lower lip.
‘Hybrid?’ Quennel suggested. ‘Luggage?’
‘Hybrid? Oh my…’ She stared, then gave a little laugh. ‘A hybrid! My word, that’s something. Yes, put the hybrid in the back room. Your luggage can go upstairs and…’ She opened a door and yelled, ‘Pace! It’s Mister Quennel and, Pace –’
A shortish, red-haired man almost bounced out of the door. ‘Ah, Mister Quennel, Mister Quennel, Mister Quennel…’
‘And hybrid, plus Morley,’ I chipped in.
The redhead – Pace – clapped Quennel on the shoulder. ‘They talk and talk, don’t they, these freaks?’
‘Yes.’ Quennel shifted under Pace’s hand, uncomfortable, yet wishing to appear polite. ‘How many do you own?’
‘Own? Oh, I don’t own any. I’m just their manager, you understand. They’re their own bosses, free to leave at any time they want. Only they don’t, of course.’ He grinned. ‘Though a hybrid’s something different entirely – entirely different.’
‘Yes,’ Quennel said again, looking as though he were trying not to squirm. (Hmm...why is Quennel so uncomfortable? It seems like he and this man would get along well.)
‘Well, then.’ Pace beamed affably. ‘Why don’t you let your servant take the hybrid into the back room and you come in and sit down and have a drink? Thirsty thing, travelling.’
‘I’m not his –’ Morley began indignantly, but Pace had already gone back into the room. I could see a fire burning and a flask and glasses set out on a table beside some very comfortable looking chairs.
Quennel shrugged and grinned wryly. ‘Go to, servant. Raven, behave yourself.’
The door shut in Morley’s face. The woman in the white cap smiled encouragingly at him and led the way down the hall. She opened a door at the end and said, ‘Put it in here. I’ll feed it later on, when the others have their dinner. We’re eating late tonight, you see.’
Morley nodded and we went into the room together. It was a fairly large room, with panelled walls and a rather threadbare carpet on the floor. There was a fire, and that, along with a candle on the scratched table top, was the only light in the room. The dark blue curtains, patched unevenly with light blue patches (yucky repetition of 'patch') and sewn with white thread were drawn tightly together. In front of the fire sat a little girl and two young men. In the chairs behind them sat a man and a woman. They all looked up as we entered. I could feel their eyes, looking, looking, looking. Looking as Morley unclipped my lead and gave me a little push forward. Looking as he shut the door and left. Looking as I looked back at them.
The little girl was a hunchback, the two young men were twins, joined at the hip, and the woman had no arms. The man looked normal.
Okay, I thought. My fellow freaks. Takes one to know one, I suppose.[/i] (I think you should just leave it with 'my fellow freaks'.) [b] I sat down on the floor, legs crossed, about five feet away from them. From here I could feel the warmth of the fire on my skin, and the gooseflesh on my arms began to settle. [i]And so we stare the night away, waiting for one to talk and always being disappointed. What’ll happen if I get closer to the fire? Will their stares intensify until I simply shrivel up and vanish? Or will they wait until I get close enough and then tip me into the fire? Do freaks have walls around their minds? Or are they simply –
‘G-g-g-good evening,’ the man said. He nodded courteously. ‘What is your n-n-n-n-name?’ |
Ooh, I like it. I was about to tell you to move along the plot a little, but you did it with the introduction of the freaks and their "manager." Nice work.
Most of the bold stuff is just suggestion, but some of it is grammatical errors.
Hmm, as far as characterization...Morley is getting pathetic, which is not a bad thing. And Quennel is scared. I don't totally understand that. Are we going to find out why? Because he doesn't strike me as the type to be scared without reason.
And Raven's introspective. Where'd that come from? Again, make sure you give us a REASON. I like it, and it could totally work - just be careful.
Okay, now that I'm done shredding, I really did like this. I'm kind of excited to see how the 'freaks' all react to each other. Yay! Write more soon. |
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~iCarly
"Stories are light. Light is precious in a world so dark. Begin at the beginning. Make some light." ~Kate DiCamillo |
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gyrfalcon
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| Posted: Fri Jun 06, 2008 10:43 pm Post subject: |
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| Quote: |
| I sat in the back of the cart, my lead tied to a large crate that held most of Quennel and Morley’s clothes and possessions. |
This does not seem especially smart on their part—if she chose to tug or whatever, that crate could tumble off and smash!
| Quote: |
| The other luggage included a smaller crate containing two scrawny chickens and a leather trunk. |
Ambiguous wording—the leather trunk was in the crate?
| Quote: |
| Houses changed to hedges |
Growing small and greener while they shed their roofs and windows!  I know what you mean, but it is an…interesting verb choice.
| Quote: |
| Lying on my back, I could see the sky burning bright blue above, like a wide, smooth bowl turned upside down. I was inside the bowl, looking up at the carefully glazed base. Smears of thick white paint – clouds – hung motionless in the blue, making pictures of people and animals within themselves. |
Fan. Tastic. *sits in awe of awesome description*
| Quote: |
| , but even that thought could not change the fact that the sky was beautiful; powerful, omnipresent. |
Why should the thought of the tattoos being redone change those facts? I mean, wouldn’t there be other things that would destroy her mood more?
| Quote: |
| a stream of grumbles and feelings: the seat was too hard, the sun too hot, the dust too annoying, and the carter too stupid. |
Very well done.
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| Man, I thought. I like that. |
I’m pretty sure she’s being sarcastic. But only pretty sure—could you make it a bit more clear?
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| I wonder if Quennel would swop – my Sense for his pure human blood. |
I fully admit that this may be a Brit/American spelling thing, but as far as I know it’s “swap.”
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| Morley made a rude gesture at the inn door and led me to the stable, which was a long, thin building joined onto the inn at the back. |
“What she just lets him lead her on a leash! Like some kind of animal!? Were that me, he’d have to drag every single step of the way.” ~Danteel
(Sorry, he wouldn’t shut up…)
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| Inside it was light, smelling of hay and leather. |
I think you’re missing a crucial stable smell here…
All right, again, I’m pretty sure of the correct answer, I just wanted to ask: where exactly is the lead attached on her? I think it’s a collar, and if you made this clear in the last chapter and I’ve forgotten, just ignore me. Just wanted to be sure.
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| After waiting a minute or two, I reached up and untied my lead. |
Seriously. Do they think she’s as stupid as they say she is?
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| There was a spider struggling to reach the top of the door. It slipped and swung on its thread, legs waving frantically. I caught it on my finger and stuck its thread on the wall. The spider caught and began to climb. It found a knothole and rested there a moment before continuing its journey. When it reached the sloping ceiling, it scuttled around aimlessly for a bit before settling down. It twitched a front leg triumphantly and began to spin. |
I love this entire paragraph. The detail is wonderful, as is the description, and the fact that our girl’s so intent upon it tells us a great deal about her character. Also, and I realize this is small, but I love the way the spider has become “it” where a moment ago “it” was her.
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| My next door neighbour |
I thought you said the next stall was empy!
I like the simplicity of the horse’s “thoughts,” but how on earth would a horse regard her as a big thing?
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| Handstands first, arithmetic afterwards. |
As it should be.
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‘I am the one hiding under your stairs; fingers like snakes and spiders in my hair.’
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This whole entire thing is so masterfully done. New writers should be sent to your work to see how to do proper character development, vis a vis showing and not telling. *applause*
That is a wonderful verb. More people should be made aware of it’s magnificent potential.
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| ‘I am Doctor John Carter, loved up and down County General for generations! I cut patients open and diagnose them after they’ve been chewed up by runaway alligators!’ |
May I assume she’s quoting?
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| ‘And just what is going on here?’ Quennel demanded. |
Crap. And we were having so much fun, too.
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| If you fiddle with ’er again |
This is either a very interesting hint to Quennel’s psyche, or an inconsistency that might need to be cleared up—why is she sometimes “it” and sometimes “her/’er”?
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| I stared up at the ceiling. The spider had begun a web, weaving and gluing silk like the whole world depended on it. |
Perfect ending. *bows*
Overall
At the risk of repeating myself: fan. tastic. I mean it. There is absolutely no feeling of rushed-ness in the stable scene, it’s perfect, and I absolutely love…well, everything. The exercises, the dumb stable boys, the TV, all of it. Really fantastic, darling, I’m sorry it’s taken me so long to get to it! |
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"I would take the song of the swan as my entertainment, the cry of the gannet and the call of the curlew in place of human laughter...storms would pound the rocky cliffs whilst the tern, icy-winged, answered them..." ~The Seafarer, 10th century |
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TL G-Wooster
boh
Epic Novelist
Gender:
Age: 16
Joined: 07 Feb 2007
Posts: 3616
Reviews: 818
Country: in Bavaria where the sheep seldom wear spectacles
459 Points
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| Posted: Wed Jun 11, 2008 12:59 am Post subject: |
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Craffter busnes
‘I beg your pardon?’
The man sighed and began again. ‘What is your n-n-n-n-name?’
I grinned. His stutter was hilarious. ‘The Raven, the only hybrid out of Kiona.’
‘A hybrid?’ The armless woman’s bright blue eyes opened wide in surprise. ‘A real life, honest to goodness hybrid?’
‘Less of the honest to goodness,’ I said, ‘but certainly real.’
‘My, my. Fancy that.’ She lifted a foot and pointed to the fire. ‘Come closer, there’s enough room.’
I scooted a few inches closer. ‘How do you do that?’
‘Do what?’
‘All that with your feet. It looks so weird. But it’s kind of cool.’
‘I’m sorry, I don’t understand you.’ She looked offended. ‘I was born this way. I learned how to use my feet like this.’
‘And y-y-y-y-you d-d-d-do it very well,’ the man said, smiling at her.
‘I don’t think you can talk about being different, anyway,’ said the right hand twin. ‘You’re the strangest one in the room.’
‘Thank you,’ I said modestly. ‘I think you’re strange too.’
‘We’re all d-d-d-d-d-d-different,’ the man said peaceably. ‘I’m C-c-c-olb-b-b-by, but I’m st-t-t-taged as Gaub-b-b-bert, the st-t-t-t-uttering Florian rigolo.’
‘Tough luck,’ I said. ‘Either way, you’ve got a b to trip over.’
‘This is Eldreda the Armless W-w-w-w-wonder and these are Lionel and Lynd-d-d-d-don, the One Twin. And this is Frona.’
I blinked at the One Twin. ‘Left blondie – Lionel, right blondie – Lyndon. Gotcha.’
The little girl, Frona, looked up, gave a tiny, tight smile and stared at the floor again.
‘Who called you the Raven?’ Eldreda asked. ‘Your manager?’
‘Master,’ I corrected. ‘He thought it sounded fancy… My hair was longer then as well, when he found me, so it looked blacker.’
‘He named you because of your hair?’ Lyndon asked incredulously.
‘There’s worse reasons. It’s better than being called simple “freak,” anyway.’ I stretched out my arms towards the fire, feeling the heat concentrate in my palms. ‘I made fire once,’ I said conversationally. ‘In my hands.’
‘Bet you didn’t,’ said Lionel.
‘Did too.’
‘If the Elves have still g-g-got the G-g-g-gifts, then it st-t-t-t-t-tands to r-reason that half-elves have ’em too,’ Colby said.
‘Ain’t the Elves big on fire and air and all?’ Eldreda asked.
‘Fire, water, earth and air,’ I chanted. ‘Fire, water, earth and air, fire, water, earth and air, fire, water, earth and air… Doesn’t that sound nice?’
‘It’s just words,’ Lionel said.
‘But such words! The rhythm, the onomattywotsit, the assythingy, the scheme of the overall underlying thingybob.’
‘I don’t tumble,’ Lionel said sulkily.
‘I do.’
‘Well, d-d-don’t q-q-q-qua – don’t argue. Mistress Ad-d-d-d-die’ll be c-c-coming soon. We’re eating late, y-y-you see.’
This last was directed at me, and I nodded. ‘Second time around, no less sweeter to hear.’
‘I’m sorry?’
‘The eating late. What’s it going to be?’
‘We are having stew,’ Lionel said. ‘No idea what you’re having.’
I grinned at him. ‘There’s glad I am. Surprises are like spices, sa?’
‘“Sa”?’ Eldreda scratched her cheek with her toe. ‘What’s that?’
‘It’s Elv-v-vish,’ Colby said.
‘Actually,’ I said, grinning still more, ‘it’s Danann.’
‘D-d-d-d-d-d-d-dan – ’
‘It’s making fun of you,’ Lyndon said.
‘It’s mocking your stutter,’ Lionel added.
‘Who, me?’ I blinked.
Colby looked surprised and rather hurt. There was an awkward silence. I lay down on my stomach with my feet in the air. Frona shuffled away from me, her humped back ducking up and down. She looked about eleven, but small for her age. I put my chin on my arms and blew on a thread hanging from her dress.
‘Stop it.’ Frona snatched her dress hem away.
‘She speaks!’ I exclaimed joyfully.
‘’Course I speak.’ She huddled together, her head resting on her drawn up knees.
‘Frona don’t like speaking much to people she don’t know,’ Eldreda said.
‘Very right and proper.’ I reached out and patted Frona’s shoulder. She flinched. ‘Never, never talk to strangers. Won’t you come into my parlour, said the spider to the fly. I do desire we be better strangers.’
‘Don’t fiddle with her,’ Lionel said. ‘She doesn’t like it.’
‘I never fiddle,’ I said sternly. ‘I can’t fiddle, actually. I never learned how to play the violin.’
‘Shut up.’ Lyndon twisted his head around as far as he could to glare at me. ‘You talk far too much.’
‘Alas, we all have our faults.’ I sighed and rolled onto my back. ‘Did you know that if you have a TIA, you might get a bigger stroke in the future? I wonder how you tell if you’ve actually had one – a TIA, that is – and you’re not just feeling tingly and weird? ’Course, not having had one myself, maybe you can tell at once. If you can’t tell, it might explain certain things, like Morley’s imbecility… but no, TIAs don’t cause brain damage, do they?’
‘I have no idea,’ Eldreda murmured, looking dazed.
‘Shut up,’ Lyndon said again.
‘No, they don’t. Still, you’re supposed to watch out for a full-blown stroke afterwards, so I s’pose you must be able to tell. But the treatment sounds really gross. Again, not having had it actually done, I can’t give you a full, first-hand account of it, but it’s to do with pulling something… I can’t remember what. Something intestinal. Anyway, you pull – ’
Lyndon tried to twist around but he fell over Lionel’s legs and lost his impetus. I looked at him calmly. ‘Next time you want to swat me,’ I advised, ‘move quicker and not with a twin hanging from your side.’
‘Shut up, just shut up! Why won’t you just be quiet!’ Lyndon flapped his hand ineffectually in my general direction. ‘Why do you have to talk so much – I can’t understand a word you’re saying!’
The door was pushed open by Mistress Addie, the woman from before, holding a large tray, which she set on the table. On the tray was a large pot, and six bowls. She began doling stew out.
‘Is the hybrid eating with us?’ Lyndon asked, not hiding his disgust.
‘That’s what Mister Quennel said.’ Mistress A. scooped up a spillage with her finger and put it back in the pot. ‘He said as how it would behave quite nicely, and it knew how to use a spoon.’
‘It’ll b-b-b-b-b-b-be f-f-f-f-f-f-fine,’ Colby assured her, giving Lyndon a warning glance.
Mistress A. took the pot and left. I sat up and crawled to the table on all fours. I selected one of the bowls and sat down cross legged on the carpet, sniffing the steam rising from the heavily spiced mixture of cheap meat and old vegetables.
Colby got up and handed the others their bowls. For some time, there was no sound except a few slurps and quick exclamations when someone burnt their tongue.
I finished my stew and scraped around the inside of my bowl, trying to collect all the juices. My spoon made little scratching noises against the wooden bowl, and Lionel said grumpily, ‘Stop that.’
‘Stop what?’ I scratched my bowl again.
‘That.’
‘Oh, you mean this?’
‘Yes! Why is it so hard for you to just keep quiet?’
I blinked at him, gulped and blew tiny raspberries with my lower lip, making a string of wet popping noises.
‘Just ignore it, Lionel,’ Lyndon advised.
I covered my head with my hands. ‘No, you’re looking at me! Go away!’
‘D-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-don’t you think it’d b-b-b-b-be nice if you were quiet for j-j-j-j-just a little?’ Colby suggested.
‘I’m afraid,’ I said, ‘that I talk in my sleep as well.’
‘Oh, great,’ Lyndon muttered.
I grinned at him and reached up to put my bowl on the table. Then I lay down, my back to the door and my face to the fire. A bit of charred black log snapped and a burst of brilliantly gleaming orange sparks flew up into the chimney. I rested my head on my hand and closed my eyes, seeing blotched masses of colour on the inside of my eyelids, a lingering echo of the fire-brightness.
The others began talking above my head, and their quiet murmurs, along with the occasional pop and rustle from the fire were the only sounds in the room.
∂
The next day we put on our first performance in Selseaton. The house where we and the others were staying was an official freak shop; it could be rented by anyone so long as they had money and an exhibit. Pace allowed Quennel to share the shop, and Quennel paid half the rent; that way everyone was happy.
The other freaks were exhibited in the front room of the shop, immediately behind the shop window which displayed the garishly painted posters advertising whichever freaks were in residence at that time. Quennel had put one of my posters in the window as well: a painting of a creature that looked like a human crossbred with a dog, and the words, The Only Hybrid In Kiona – Half-An-Elf and Half-A-Human. I knew that I didn’t look quite as hideous as the poster made out, but both the picture and the words were brightly coloured and they certainly drew crowds.
Pace had let Quennel use the smaller room set behind his freaks’ one, and both Quennel and Morley spent the better part of half an hour getting it ready. Morley was putting up the curtain, and I sat watching him, handing him nails when he needed them.
Quennel rested a moment in his sweeping of the floor, leaning on his broom. ‘Raven.’
‘Yes, master?’ I balanced a nail between my first two fingers.
‘Pace said that his freaks had complained about you. You were annoying them last night.’
I closed my fingers carefully, still balancing the nail.
‘I thought I told you to behave.’
Silence. Morley paused, looking down at me, then across the room at Quennel.
‘Raven.’
‘I… did behave. I only – I only talked.’
‘What,’ – Quennel rested his broom against the wall and came to stand in front of me – ‘what have I told you about talking?’
‘I… do too much of it. I don’t talk sense. I don’t talk right. I shouldn’t –’
‘You’re doing it again!’
I tried to watch both his hands and his feet at the same time.
‘Look at me, hybrid.’
I darted a quick glance up at him, then ducked against the wall as he kicked me. ‘Ow – master –’
‘Keep your mouth shut. You understand me?’
I clutched my ankle, biting my lip in pain. ‘Yes, master.’
‘We are sharing this shop, hybrid, and sharing means getting along with people. I have to listen to Pace’s pompous dribble, and you are going to get along with his freaks, otherwise we’ll be in the streets, having to wait for an empty shop, simply because I have such a bloody stupid hybrid who won’t do as it’s told! Do you understand me?’
‘Yes, master,’ I whispered.
‘Good. Morley, take a turn with this broom. The Raven’s tattoos need doing again.’
Morley shrugged and took the broom. ‘Better you than me, Quennel.’
‘The Raven is going to behave this time, aren’t you Raven?’
I bit the tip of my tongue and gave a small, jerky nod. Quennel went out the door; I heard him go back down the passage to his room. Morley began sweeping, whistling Youth’s Yuletide Spirit softly to himself. I fiddled with the feathers tied to my wrists, then let my fingers touch the smeared paint marks on my arm. They were meant to resemble Elvish tattoos, but at the moment they just looked like wavy lines of smudged blue and brown paint. I had seen real Elvish tattoos; the marks I wore were nothing in comparison – a childish parody. If tattoos were a mark of status, what did mine say about me?
Quennel came back with the leather trunk. He opened it, brought out brushes and paint pots. ‘Now,’ he commanded, ‘stand up and keep still.’ I held my arm out and he began rubbing at the old tattoos with a damp cloth. I closed my eyes, feeling the blissfully clean coolness scrub away the old, dry paint. The walnut juice stains would stay on for months, but they were different. They were ingrained into my skin; they were a stain that I could forget about if I tried hard enough. But paint clung to my skin, drying and cracking in those idiotic designs. It irritated me, made me want to scratch it off, but I knew from experience what would happen if I did that. Quennel was proud of the tattoos in the same way that he was proud of his showman’s patter.
‘Hold still!’ Quennel snapped. He lay down his cloth and taking up a brush, dipped it into the pot of brown paint. The cold wet trail of paint slid across my arm, like a snail’s track of slime. I shivered and Quennel growled.
∂
The freak shop stayed open until nine o’clock, which was when it shut for the night. There were sometimes exceptions – people who didn’t want to be seen visiting a freak show but were too curious not to, and others who simply wanted a private viewing. For these patrons, the entrance was raised to a shilling; sometimes more if the person looked wealthy enough.
It had been a good day’s work. Quennel counted up almost seventeen shillings which he then tied up in small bag to be secreted in some hidden inner pocket at a later date. He patted my head. ‘Good Raven. Good freak.’
Pace appeared at the door. ‘Quennel! Come, Addie’s getting dinner. Put your Raven in with the others again, but just make sure it behaves this time, eh?’ He laughed and patted Quennel’s shoulder.
‘I am sure it will behave,’ Quennel said stiffly. ‘This time.’ He gave me a meaningful glance from the tail of his eye.
I nodded, and Morley gave me a tiny push past Pace and into the hall. He took me back to the freaks’ room, where they were already ensconced before the fire. Colby was reading a book, and the twins and Eldreda were playing cards. Frona sat staring into the fire.
No change there, then, I thought, sitting down beside Colby’s chair. He looked down at me rather coolly.
‘Your m-m-m-m-master let you come here again, then, d-d-d-d-d-d-d-did he?’
I nodded.
‘My my,’ Lionel said in wonder. ‘It’s silent! Your master give you a talking to?’
I nodded again, and now Colby smiled. ‘N-n-n-n-n-never m-m-mind,’ he said kindly.
Eldreda smiled as well, and the twins looked a little less sulky. Frona remained impassive.
‘So, did you have a good day, then?’ Eldreda asked me, holding a card between her toes.
I opened my mouth, shut it again and nodded.
‘I think you can talk a little,’ Lionel said.
‘But just a little,’ Lyndon added quickly.
I looked over my shoulder at the door. Still, Quennel hadn’t said I wasn’t to talk at all… ‘Yes,’ I said finally, keeping my voice low. ‘It was a good day.’
‘Oh, splendid.’ Eldreda was too polite to ask just how much we had taken, and suddenly I smiled at her.
‘Do you think that something can exist, just because it’s beautiful?’ I asked.
‘I’m sorry?’
‘It’s just something I wondered about.’
‘Oh. I don’t know, really.’ Even though I wasn’t trying, the thought that went with Eldreda’s speech was so strong that I caught it unawares: poor thing, thinking about beauty like that.
I blinked. Thinking about beauty like that? Like what? Just because I was on the opposite end of the spectrum to beauty, that didn’t mean that I couldn’t think about beauty, did it? Did it?
‘Raven?’
I shook my head. ‘I’m tired.’
‘Stay awake for your d-d-d-d-d-dinner,’ Colby said. ‘It’ll be here soon.’
I rested my head against the chair leg and yawned. After a moment I closed my eyes and began humming quietly to myself.
‘What song’s that?’
I opened one eye. Frona had turned around and was gazing at me. She was really quite pretty, I realized, in spite of her hump. Her eyes were light blue, surrounded by pale lashes and her straw-blond hair framed her white face in heavy, shining locks.
‘Suo Gân,’ I replied, closing my eye again.
‘Does it have words?’
‘Mm-hmm.’
‘How do they go?’
‘Hunan blentyn, ar fy mynwes, clyd a chynnes ydyw hon…’
‘I don’t understand it.’
‘No duh,’ I murmured.
‘Is it Elvish?’
‘Nope. Welsh.’
‘What’s Welsh?’
I sighed and opened my eyes. ‘It’s the language of a country full of whales. That’s why it’s called Wales, see? My da was a whale. That’s what my poster should really say – Half-An-Elf and Half-A-Whale.’
‘He wasn’t really a whale. You’re just saying that.’
I suddenly remembered that I wasn’t supposed to be talking, and shut up.
‘He couldn’t be a whale, could he?’ Frona asked, with quite distressing naivety.
I shrugged. It didn’t matter if she didn’t understand the difference between being half a whale and being half Welsh. Anyway, at that moment Mistress A. came in with the tea, and the subject was dropped. |
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Most people run screaming to the therapist when they hear voices. I write. –Laurie Halse Anderson
Last edited by TL G-Wooster on Thu Jul 24, 2008 10:56 am; edited 3 times in total |
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lyrical_sunshine
δυναμις
Master of the Forum
Gender:
Age: 18
Joined: 11 Sep 2007
Posts: 1353
Reviews: 208
Country: YOUR FACE!!! *bursts out laughing*
792 Points
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| Posted: Wed Jun 11, 2008 3:05 am Post subject: |
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Brilliant. Fabulous. I have absolutely nothing to critique - I'm just suddenly inspired to go and tear Firebrand to shreds in shame. I love the last bit - when Raven's trying not to talk and kind of failing. I also like the little bit of foreshadowing about beauty. It gives an idea that something interesting is coming, but we don't know what it is.
Great, great job. Please tell me you will try to get this published someday. Please? |
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"I am their lawyer, and THIS is my necktie!"
~iCarly
"Stories are light. Light is precious in a world so dark. Begin at the beginning. Make some light." ~Kate DiCamillo |
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scasha
What would Keynes do?
Novelist
Gender:
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Joined: 03 May 2008
Posts: 272
Reviews: 148
Country: Under the stars of another sun
436 Points
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| Posted: Wed Jun 11, 2008 6:59 pm Post subject: |
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Hey TL G-Wooster! Here's the review as promised:
Review Key
Red = Comments
Bold = Words I've inserted that I think could work better.
Let's do this thing.
| TL G-Wooster wrote: |
Craffter busnes
‘I beg your pardon?’
The man sighed and began again. ‘What is your n-n-n-n-name?’
I grinned. His stutter was hilarious. ‘The Raven, the only hybrid from out of Kiona.’
‘A hybrid?’ The armless woman’s bright blue eyes opened wide in surprise. ‘A real life, honest to goodness hybrid?’
‘Less of the honest to goodness,’ I said, ‘but certainly real.’ Love it!
‘My, my. Fancy that.’ She lifted a foot and pointed to the fire. ‘Come closer, there’s enough room.’
I scooted a few inches into the hut (try to tell us where they are  ) closer. ‘How do you do that?’
‘Do what?’
‘All that with your feet. It looks so weird. But it’s kind of cool.’
‘I’m sorry, I don’t understand you.’ She looked offended. ‘I was born this way. I learned how to use my feet like this.’
‘And y-y-y-y-you d-d-d-do it very well,’ the man said, smiling at her.
‘I don’t think you can talk about being different, anyway,’ said the right hand twin. ‘You’re the strangest one in the room.’
‘Thank you,’ I said modestly. ‘I think you’re strange too.’ Didn't really like the I think you're... part. Instead I suggest that you say, You're not quite ordinary either or something like that
‘We’re all d-d-d-d-d-d-different,’ the man said peaceably. ‘I’m C-c-c-olb-b-b-by, but I’m st-t-t-taged as Gaub-b-b-bert, the st-t-t-t-uttering Florian rigolo.’
‘Tough luck,’ I said. ‘Either way, you’ve got a b Okay, what exactly do you mean by "b"? Is it an unfinished word? to trip over.’
‘This is Eldreda the Armless W-w-w-w-wonder and these are Lionel and Lynd-d-d-d-don, the One Twin. And this is Frona.’
I blinked at the One Twin. ‘Left blondie – Lionel, right blondie – Lyndon. Gotcha.’
The little girl, Frona, looked up, gave a tiny, tight smile and stared at the floor again.
This sentence was a bit too long for my taste. Split it up.
‘Who called you the Raven?’ Eldreda asked. ‘Your manager?’
‘Master,’ I corrected. ‘He thought it sounded fancy… My hair was longer then as well, when he found me, so it looked blacker.’
‘He named you because of your hair?’ Lyndon asked incredulously.
‘There’s worse reasons. It’s better than being called simple “freak,” anyway.’ I stretched out my arms towards the fire, feeling the heat concentrate in my palms. ‘I made fire once,’ I said conversationally. ‘In my hands.’
‘Bet you didn’t,’ said Lionel.
‘Did too.’
‘If the Elves have still g-g-got the G-g-g-gifts, then it st-t-t-t-t-tands to r-reason that half-elves have ’em too,’ Colby said.
‘Ain’t the Elves big on fire and air and all?’ Eldreda asked.
‘Fire, water, earth and air,’ I chanted. ‘Fire, water, earth and air, fire, water, earth and air, fire, water, earth and air… Doesn’t that sound nice?’
‘It’s just words,’ Lionel said.
‘But such words They're not just words! The rhythm, the onomattywotsit, the assythingy, the scheme of the overall underlying thingymabob.’
‘I don’t tumble,’ Lionel said sulkily.
‘I do.’
‘Well, d-d-don’t q-q-q-qua – don’t argue. Mistress Ad-d-d-d-die’ll be c-c-coming soon. We’re eating late, y-y-you see.’
This last was directed at me, and I nodded. ‘Second time around, no less sweeter to hear.’
‘I’m sorry?’
‘The I got confused when you say the here. What are you talking about? eating late. What’s it going to be?’
‘We are having stew,’ Lionel said. ‘No idea what you’re having.’
I grinned at him. ‘There’s glad I am. Surprises are like spices, sa?’
‘“Sa”?’ Eldreda scratched her cheek with her toe. ‘What’s that?’
‘It’s Elv-v-vish,’ Colby said.
‘Actually,’ I said, grinning still more, ‘it’s Danann.’
‘D-d-d-d-d-d-d-dan – ’
‘It’s making fun of you,’ Lyndon said.
‘It’s mocking your stutter,’ Lionel added.
‘Who, me?’ I blinked.
Colby looked surprised and rather hurt. Shouldn't your main character feel bad? If she feels indifferent show us either way There was an awkward silence. I lay down on my stomach with my feet in the air. Frona shuffled away from me, her humped back ducking up and down Wow. Didn't know she had a hump. You might want to specify before you say it so nonchalantly . She looked about eleven, but small for her age. I put my chin on my arms and blew on a thread hanging from her dress.
‘Stop it.’ Frona snatched her dress hem away.
‘She speaks!’ I exclaimed joyfully.
‘’Course I speak.’ She huddled together, her head resting on her drawn up knees.
‘Frona don’t like speaking much to people she don’t know,’ Eldreda said Make the way she says this seeem more defensive. It doesn't seem as though she cares. Maybe she hugs Frona or something .
‘Very right and proper.’ I reached out and patted Frona’s shoulder. She flinched. ‘Never, never talk to strangers. Won’t you come into my parlour, said the spider to the fly. I do desire we be better strangers.’
‘Don’t fiddle with her,’ Lionel said. ‘She doesn’t like it.’
‘I never fiddle,’ I said sternly. ‘I can’t fiddle, actually. I never learned how to play the violin.’
‘Shut up.’ Lyndon twisted his head around as far as he could to glare at me. ‘You talk far too much.’
‘Alas, we all have our faults.’ I sighed and rolled onto my back. ‘Did you know that if you have a TIA, you might get a bigger stroke in the future? I wonder how you tell if you’ve actually had one – a TIA, that is – and you’re not just feeling tingly and weird? ’Course, not having had one myself, maybe you can tell at once. If you can’t tell, it might explain certain things, like Morley’s imbecility… but no, TIAs don’t cause brain damage, do they?’
‘I have no idea,’ Eldreda murmured, looking dazed.
‘Shut up,’ Lyndon said again.
‘No, they don’t. Still, you’re supposed to watch out for a full-blown stroke afterwards, so I s’pose you must be able to tell. But the treatment sounds really gross. Again, not having had it actually done, I can’t give you a full, first-hand account of it, but it’s to do with pulling something… I can’t remember what. Something intestinal. Anyway, you pull – ’
Lyndon tried to twist around but he fell over Lionel’s legs and lost his impetus This word feels out of place. You use colloquial speech and then suddenly you say that instead of balance. Try to stick with one type of language usage. . I looked at him calmly. ‘Next time you want to swat me,’ I advised, ‘move quicker and not with a twin hanging from your side.’
‘Shut up, just shut up! Why won’t you just be quiet!’ Lyndon flapped his hand ineffectually in my general direction. ‘Why do you have to talk so much – I can’t understand a word you’re saying!’
Okay, so far, all you've had is dialogue. No action. And the dialogue is almost like a repeating circle, it doesn't move the plot anywhere. I got a little bored with it. I don't think you need that much dialogue because, in essence, it is utterly useless. It reveals very little about the characters. Some of the dialogue is needed but not all of it. That's just my opinion
The door was pushed open by Mistress Addie, the woman from before, holding a large tray, which she set on the table. On the tray was a large pot, and six bowls. She began doling out stew out.
‘Is the hybrid eating with us?’ Lyndon asked, not trying to hide hiding his disgust.
‘That’s what Mister Quennel said.’ Mistress A. scooped up a spillage with her finger and put it back in the pot Awkward wording. Try to make it smoother . ‘He said as how it would behave quite nicely, and it knew how to use a spoon.’
‘It’ll b-b-b-b-b-b-be f-f-f-f-f-f-fine,’ Colby assured her, giving Lyndon a warning glance.
Mistress A. took the pot and left. I sat up and crawled to the table on all fours. I selected one of the bowls and sat down cross legged on the carpet, sniffing the steam. It smelled ofrising from the a heavily spiced mixture of cheap meat and old vegetables.
Colby got up and handed the others their bowls. For some time, there was no sound except a few slurps and quick exclamations when someone burnt their tongue.
I finished my stew and scraped around the inside of my bowl, trying to collect all the juices. My spoon made little scratching noises against the wooden bowl, and Lionel said grumpily, ‘Stop that.’
‘Stop what?’ I scratched my bowl again.
‘That.’
‘Oh, you mean this?’
‘Yes! Why is it so hard for you to just keep quiet?’
I blinked at him, gulped insert comma here and blew tiny raspberries with my lower lip, making a string of wet popping noises.
‘Just ignore it, Lionel,’ Lyndon advised.
I covered my head with my hands. ‘No, you’re looking at me! Go away!’
‘D-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-don’t you think it’d b-b-b-b-be nice if you were quiet for j-j-j-j-just a little?’ Colby suggested. Also another thing I noticed. I think you use way too many letters when you do his stuttering. Just use a few because at times it's hard for me to make out the words
‘I’m afraid,’ I said, ‘that I talk in my sleep as well.’ Loved this line
‘Oh, great,’ Lyndon muttered.
I grinned at him and reached up to put my bowl on the table. Then I lay down, my back to the door and my face to the fire. A bit of charred black log snapped and a burst of brilliantly try not to overload your readers with adjectives gleaming orange sparks flew up into the chimney. I rested my head on my hand and closed my eyes, seeing blotched masses of colour on the inside of my eyelids, a lingering echo of the fire-brightness.
The others began talking above my head, and their quiet murmurs, along with the occasional pop and rustle from the fire were the only sounds in the room.
∂
The next day we put on our first performance in Selseaton. The house where we and the others were staying was an official freak shop; it could be rented by anyone so long as they had money and an exhibit. Pace allowed Quennel to share the shop, and Quennel paid half the rent; that way everyone was happy. Again, too long of a sentence. I took the ending out but if you choose to include it, I suggest you make it a new sentence
The other freaks were exhibited in the front room of the shop, immediately behind the shop window which displayed the garishly painted posters advertising whichever freaks were in residence at that time. Again, that was a runon sentence. Split up your ideas Quennel had put one of my posters in the window as well: a painting of a creature that looked like a human crossbred with a dog, and the words, The Only Hybrid In Kiona – Half-An-Elf and Half-A-Human. I knew that I didn’t look quite as hideous as the poster made out, but both the picture and the words were brightly coloured and they certainly drew crowds.
Pace had let Quennel use the smaller room set behind his freaks’ one, and both Quennel and Morley spent the better part of half an hour getting it ready. Morley was putting up the curtain, and I sat watching him, handing him nails when he needed them.
Quennel rested a moment in his sweeping of the floor, leaning on his broom. ‘Raven.’
‘Yes, master?’ I balanced a nail between my first two fingers.
‘Pace said that his freaks had complained about you. You were annoying them last night.’
I closed my fingers carefully, still balancing the nail.
‘I thought I told you to behave.’
Silence. Morley paused, looking down and me, then across the room at Quennel.
‘Raven.’
‘I… did behave. I only – I only talked.’
‘What,’ – Quennel rested his broom against the wall and came to stand in front of me – ‘what have I told you about talking?’
‘I… do too much of it. I don’t talk sense. I don’t talk right. I shouldn’t –’
‘You’re doing it again!’
I tried to watch both his hands and his feet at the same time.
‘Look at me, hybrid.’
I darted a quick glance up at him, then ducked against the wall as he kicked me. ‘Ow – master –’
‘Keep your mouth shut. You understand me?’
I clutched my ankle, biting my lip in pain. ‘Yes, master.’
‘We are sharing this shop, hybrid, and sharing means getting along with people. I have to listen to Pace’s pompous dribble, and you are going to get along with his freaks, otherwise we’ll be in the streets, having to wait for an empty shop, simply because I have such a bloody stupid hybrid who won’t do as it’s told! Do you understand me?’
‘Yes, master,’ I whispered.
‘Good. Now take a turn with this broom. Morley, hurry up with that curtain.’
∂
The freak shop stayed open until nine o’clock, which was when it shut for the night. There were sometimes exceptions When you said exceptions, this sentence didn't quite make any sense, you should clarify that "they open the shop only for exceptions, people..." because the way you've worded it doesn't make a lot of sense – people who didn’t want to be seen visiting a freak show but were too curious not to, and others who simply wanted a private viewing. For these patrons, the entrance was raised to a shilling; sometimes more if the person looked wealthy enough.
It had been a good day’s work. Quennel counted up almost seventeen shillings which he then tied up in small bag to be secreted in some hidden inner pocket at a later date. He patted my head. ‘Good Raven. Good freak.’
Pace appeared at the door. ‘Quennel! Come, Addie’s getting dinner. Put your Raven in with the others again, but just make sure it behaves this time, eh?’ He laughed and patted Quennel’s shoulder.
‘I am sure it will behave,’ Quennel said stiffly. ‘This time.’ He gave me a meaningful glance from the tail of his eye from the corner of his eye
I nodded, and Morley gave me a tiny push past Pace and into the hall. He took me back to the freaks’ room, where they were already ensconced before the fire. Colby was reading a book, and the twins and Eldreda were playing cards. Frona sat staring into the fire.
No change there, then, I thought, sitting down beside Colby’s chair. He looked down at me rather coolly.
‘Your m-m-m-m-master let you come here again, then, d-d-d-d-d-d-d-did he?’
I nodded.
‘My my,’ Lionel said in wonder. ‘It’s silent! Your master give you a talking to?’
I nodded again, and now Colby smiled. ‘N-n-n-n-n-never m-m-mind,’ he said kindly. Never mind what?
Eldreda smiled as well, and the twins looked a little less sulky. Frona remained impassive.
‘So, did you have a good day, then?’ Eldreda asked me, holding a card between her toes.
I opened my mouth, shut it again and nodded.
‘I think you can talk a little,’ Lionel said.
‘But just a little,’ Lyndon added quickly.
I looked over my shoulder at the door. Still, Quennel hadn’t said I wasn’t to talk at all… ‘Yes,’ I said finally, keeping my voice low. ‘It was a good day.’
‘Oh, splendid.’ Eldreda was too polite to ask just how much we had taken, and suddenly I smiled at her. Suddenly = bad word haha
‘Do you think that something can exist, just because it’s beautiful?’ I asked. This question sort of came out of nowhere. You need to lead up to it. Show us what raven's thinking or something because I really don't know where this came from
‘I’m sorry?’
‘It’s just something I wondered about.’
‘Oh. I don’t know, really.’ Even though I wasn’t trying, the thought that went with Eldreda’s speech was so strong that I caught it unawares: poor thing, thinking about beauty like that. I had to reread that sentence to understand what she was talking about. Maybe say the tone of Eldreda's voice said more almost like poor thing... or something like that. Just make it clearer
I blinked. Thinking about beauty like that? Like what? Just because I was on the opposite end of the spectrum from to beauty, that didn’t mean that I couldn’t think about beauty, did it? Did it?
‘Raven?’ Eldreda sounded concerned.
I shook my head. ‘Nothing. I’m just tired.’
‘Stay awake for your d-d-d-d-d-dinner,’ Colby said. ‘It’ll be here soon.’
I rested my head against the chair leg and yawned. After a moment I closed my eyes and began humming quietly to myself.
‘What song’s that?’
I opened one eye. Frona had turned around and was gazing at me. She was really quite pretty, I realized, in spite of her hump. Her eyes were light blue, surrounded by pale lashes and her straw-blond hair framed her white face in heavy, shining locks.
‘Suo Gân.’ I replied, closing my eye again.
‘Does it have words?’
‘Mm-hmm.’
‘How do they go?’
‘Hunan blentyn, ar fy mynwes, clyd a chynnes ydyw hon…’
‘I don’t understand it.’
‘No duh,’ I murmured.
‘Is it Elvish?’
‘Nope. Welsh.’
‘What’s Welsh?’
I sighed and opened my eyes. ‘It’s a country Welsh isn't a country. so maybe say it's the language of a country full of whales full of whales. That’s why it’s called Wales, see? My da was a whale. That’s what my poster should really say – Half-An-Elf and Half-A-Whale.’
‘He wasn’t really a whale. You’re just saying that.’
I suddenly remembered that I wasn’t supposed to be talking, and shut up.
‘He couldn’t be a whale, could he?’ Frona asked, with quite distressing naivety.
I shrugged. It didn’t matter if she didn’t understand the difference between being half a whale and being half Welsh. Anyway, at that moment Mistress A came in with the tea, and the subject was dropped. |
Overall Comments:
You have a very interesting story here. I liked the witty dialogue between your characters. It was cute!
Plot: This chapter was a little slow for me. The beginning rambled on a bit and I thought the chapter picked up speed a little bit with the freakshow. However, I would have liked to have seen more of that. What did the people who were looking at them do? Did they poke her? Make her angry or uncomfortable? I thought that was one of the most important scenes of the chapter and you kind of breezed past it as opposed to the dialogue where you kind of just chased your tail. SHow us more of what's happeneing.
Characters: Frankly, I would have liked to see a bit more of what Raven is like. I don't really understand her. At times her voice has biting sarcasm and at others she's hiding in a corner like a frightened child. SHow us the thoughts that go along with these actions. If we just watch her do things we can't really understand why she acts the way she does.
Format: Watch out for runon sentences. I pointed out a few but I probably missed a lot. Also, make sure the reader can understand exactly what you are saying.
Other than that, well done! It was an enjoyable read! I'm sorry if some of my comments sounded a little harsh. You don't have to agree with any of them . Keep up the good work! |
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