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Bound for Glory



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Fri Jul 20, 2007 9:05 pm
Fishr says...



Time to retrain. Yup. Always retraining, going back over notes, and combing through my non-fic chars with a fine tooth. I came to the conclusion I'm way over my head, LOL!

To solve this, I must re-read until I feel comfortable again. If anyone is attempting HF, my best piece of advice is, don't be afraid of re-training. Look at me. I've been into the American Revolution since I was 12, and now I have to go back to reading.

On that note, I became imersed last night. Four hours writing, and lookie what came out of it. I bring to your attention an excerpt. I love dialogue, and Hancock. He's my new favorite.

The good Doctor nodded solemnly. He reached inside his brown waistcoat, and instantly produced the book. “Are you positive she can be trusted?”

Mum leaned in, and whispered, “What’s happening? Why is someone questioning me, Samuel?”

I responded by leaning to the left and whispered also. “It is a standard procedure. You are about to be sworn in, like I, and every person in attendance today. Under the Bible, you cannot lie, as I am most certain you are aware; it would be an act of a sin. Essentially –“

“Mister Garrison, do care to enlighten us with the whispers,” Hancock said, and boldly if I might add.

“She asked about the Bible’s purpose,” I said in half-truth. Knowing full well that attacking one’s integrity, such as Doctor Warren who questioned the loyalties of my own kin, I do not think it would happen, to be thrown, dismissed, banished from a group I have known for six years, but it was possible I would no longer be a member, especially now that events have taken a horrific turn, and placing me at the forefront of the gates. It was clear by the tones that we all were irritable, perhaps more than others. Indulging in attacking morals and personal opinions currently; it would simple to strike a nerve, and cause disorder. I have made those mistakes before in past meetings. In fact, John Hancock, who God-honestly never sugarcoats the truth or shields his opinions, once remarked that I was a firebrand, and my attitude at times can be matched with Sam’s tongue-lashing against the British Parliament.

I watched Doctor Warren’s stride. It was quick and with purpose. He handed the Bible to Paul. Before he accepted it, I watched Paul look within the direction of Doctor Church, who appeared to be standing rigid. Then it dawned upon me. The other doctor has not spoken a word, yet there he stood, not straying away, nor displayed signs of regret in joining us. I rubbed my chin thoughtfully, and pondered about the situation silently.

He took the book, and handed it to Sam. “Pass it on down to the young Garrison,” Paul instructed.

“Ye do realize,” he stopped, and faced the entire group, “that time is precious. We cannot appear so conspicuous in our approach. Before Boston rejuvenates, we should move to the safety of a sanctuary. Perhaps, with John’s coach, he can fit five people inside, then we move this party elsewhere, and continue.”

“Yes, I do believe my coach is capable of that task,” Hancock replied.

“Just pass the Bible, Samuel Adams, and pipe down. We are the only fools out and about.”

I managed to grin slightly, and envisioned Sam scowling in Paul’s direction.

“Here, Master Garrison. Do it, and be quick,” Sam commanded irritably.

I gripped the book, and just looked at the gold lettering stupidity as if it was the first time I set eyes on it. I glanced up at Sam questionably. “You are allowing me to swear in my own kin?” I asked one of the original leaders.

He sighed, and it was apparent he did not approve of the question.

“The lad is still young, Samuel. He is not from an affluent family whose backbone was politics. He-“

“Hancock, hear with open ears, and cease on mocking of my social standing in society,” I warned. “That is the fifth remark, and yes, I have kept track.”

I watched Hancock nod, and I accepted the gesture as an apology.

“Master Garrison,” Sam spoke, and then tugged the laced cravat lightly. He pointed an index finger directly into my face as if I were being accused of a crime. Before I was able to protest, he flashed me a wink, and I relaxed slightly, but I remained on guard. I now was somewhat aware that my longtime mate was essentially putting on a show for the others. He was fully in his public character, and I suspect he was also conscious of the bond shared between us, and wished to prevent leaking information. I will never understand the reasoning but every person exhibits a weakness, and Sam Adams’ has chosen sadness and loneliness as his defects.

“Master Garrison!” I heard a familiar voice yell. “Where is thy mind today?” Sam asked.

I had expected Paul to protest or say something witty in his typical, sarcastic form but no, he remained silent, and so did the others. It was most unusual but instead of further dwelling on his peculiar behavior, I turned my attention to the right, and faced Sam. “I presume you are calling upon my duties?”

Sam nodded. “Remember who ye are. Do you know it?”

I nodded also, but there was little pride on this day. I responded, emotionless, and without enthusiasm, “In a vote, I was elected to become another leader but it would never have happened without a Samuel Adams and a Revere who refused silence, argued my case, and eventually, after much debate, I was accepted. I am a Loyal Nine, one of the originals who joined so long ago.”

“By default,” Hancock replied, in which I ignored his comment. He means well, but his mannerisms are deplorable at times. I do have one quality over Hancock. I am a leader now, yes, but I am the youngest Whig within the radical party, and rose to that rank in only four years at the age of nineteen. I presume no other can hold that recognition in a political group.


I like this part too.

Mum,” I said.

“Give me the Bible, Samuel.”

I produced a faint smile. It was the best I could muster. I was pleased she seemed to be accepting the situation, and more so, my position but I had hoped Mum would have contributed something, since it was her and others that were responsible for the deaths.

Keeping my composure, I shook my head, and spoke firmly. “No, I do apologize but you have no authority here.”

“You sound like Welcome,” mum whispered grudgingly.

“I am his son,” I responded, letting her know I heard the comment. “Regardless, to be inducted, let it be heard, known, and accepted by every person on this eve of retribution, an individual stands before us today. She is a women but she is one such person I have had the pleasure to know my entire life. She is a strong spirit. She is thoughtful but cunning.” I halted with my speech, and licked my lips for the next part. “Her name is Martha. She is my Mother, and she was a witness to the crime.” I looked into her eyes for council, preparing myself for revealing everything.

“Go ahead. Tell them the truth,” she said.

Mum was astoundingly calm and collective or so she seems physically. There were some whispers between Paul and Sam, and I noticed through the corner of an eye John, Doctor Warren and Hancock were also exchanging whispers. Doctor Church stood silently but for some odd reason he appeared content or at least he did not seem the least threatened by not being included in private discussions.

“I am a witness to the crime,” I continued after the brief pause. “No, no, Hancock. Please put your hand down, and do not interrupt. We both have assembled today to offer our accounts of the Mass –“ I shook my head sullenly, and groaned. I felt Sam touch my right shoulder, and patted it.

Accepting the gesture as a sign of affection, and happy he finally was willing to display it in public, I pressed on, but now with a newfound burst of energy, thanks to Sam.

“We both have assembled to share our accounts of the incident upon King Street. May March fifth be remembered, and my fellow Bostonian’s deaths be avenged!” I shouted angrily. “I was there. I saw those God-awful Lobsters shoot with no remorse. I saw bodies crumple. And where was the help? No, those soldiers just stood, and watched those who were still alive. They just stood!”

“Easy, Master Garrison,” Sam replied. He stopped patting my shoulder.

“You are going off course. Make it fast,” I heard Paul say.


My happy go-lucky Paul Revere is disappearing. Bummer... ;)
The sadness drains through me rather than skating over my skin. It travels through every cell to reach the ground. I filter it yet strangely enough, I keep what was pure and it is the dirt that leaves.
  





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Sat Jul 21, 2007 4:40 pm
Writersdomain says...



Retraining is so invigorating. :P I hope you have all your notes in one place?

It sounds like things are coming along nicely! *hugs* And those excerpts were yummy.

Writing 4 hours straight? :shock: You are my hero.
~ WD
If you desire a review from WD, post here

"All I know, all I'm saying, is that a story finds a storyteller. Not the other way around." ~Neverwas
  





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Sat Jul 21, 2007 6:47 pm
Sam says...



Hmm...there is a book out that I have forgotten the title of- Patriot Battles, maybe? Very good; it goes through each of the battles thoroughly and has a section in the beginning that chronicles what everyone's life was like. It even had a medical section, which I about died over. ^_~ I think you'd enjoy it.

Ooer, I love Samuel. He rocks, quite frankly. XD
Graffiti is the most passionate form of literature there is.

- Demetri Martin
  





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Sat Jul 21, 2007 10:06 pm
Fishr says...



WD - I'm looking at them now actually, lol. Or at least my "red book" is open. Its purpose is connected to chars, setting, scripts, etc. My "green book" holds all my historical tid bits. ;) Both are open currently, still, from the previous night.

But yes, things seem to running soothly. No brainfarts yet. But that could change very quickly. My chars seem to have a way with that.

Sam - Ohhh.... Sweet! I will definately look into it!

Can I ask you both a question? What draws you guys to Sammy G.? Like what about him do you like?

LOL! I don't know. I like him too but he drives me nuts mostly.
The sadness drains through me rather than skating over my skin. It travels through every cell to reach the ground. I filter it yet strangely enough, I keep what was pure and it is the dirt that leaves.
  





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Thu Jul 26, 2007 7:52 pm
Fishr says...



Image

Doctor Benjamin Church:

Friend or Foe?
;)

Yup. I'm learning about the Patriot; member of the Sons of Liberty... or shall we say British spy?

*gasp* There's friction within the ranks... This should be good - I think, hope... *mutters something about how evil characters are*
The sadness drains through me rather than skating over my skin. It travels through every cell to reach the ground. I filter it yet strangely enough, I keep what was pure and it is the dirt that leaves.
  





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Wed Aug 01, 2007 7:53 pm
Fishr says...



I've hit a writer's block. Ain't that just peechy. XD

But's it's all good. Gives me time to plan Book 2. I know. I haven't released the title yet, but soon hopefully.

At any rate, planning the second book is becoming quite interesting. There's three characters I've been dieing to introduce, and the more I read, it looks like there will be more new faces, namely Washington. Woot!

I'm especially excited for Valley Forge.

And... *contains self* ... I can't wait to finally, after several years, bring forth Garrick Soutwick. You may despise him at first, but I'm positive you'll adore Garrick afterwards. He's the type of person that comes off as a insullting, tounge-lashing (cursing), sour, tough individual that is nearly impossible to have a civilized conversation with. You know them. They put on this hard front attitude - a show, but really there self esteem has hit an all time low. They just don't want to show it. It's a weakness to show unhappiness. The same holds true for Garrick.

The only thing I have to do is work out his speech. Garrick has a serious injury that never healed properly, and it prevents him from speaking normally. That, and my pal is also a Southern boy. Added with the Southern dialect, and speech pattern; poor Samuel. XD

Last bit of reading I'm doing, besides re-learning the major battles, since I'm nearing 1775, is I'm educating myself on Highland Scotland, primariely the "Black Watch" regiment. Erm, no I lied. Heh, I'm also reading more about the Boston Tea Party in conjunction with the Massacre. Might as well kill two birds with one stone.

Whew! I'll need some type of reward once I'm done.
The sadness drains through me rather than skating over my skin. It travels through every cell to reach the ground. I filter it yet strangely enough, I keep what was pure and it is the dirt that leaves.
  





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Thu Aug 09, 2007 1:02 am
Fishr says...



Well, since my writer's block is still riding high, I went, and opened a file.

It's the end. XD

No, I'm not finished. Far from it. I just wrote the ending far in advance. XD I hate it though. My beloved Samuel is different. Cold. Hateful. Callous. He's changed.

Though I wrote the end two years ago in the very early stages, I fear that there still may be a possibility that will be the person he'll become. Everything his Father wished, and verbally pounded into him - not to be currupt, he became.

Is Samuel's destiny paved before him? Is his future set in stone. Time will tell. I just detest the person I originally created. It's not the Samuel Garrison I know, and it's hard to grip the person he could potencially become once he hits that time in his life.

Whoever said writing was easy; they need a reality check. XD
The sadness drains through me rather than skating over my skin. It travels through every cell to reach the ground. I filter it yet strangely enough, I keep what was pure and it is the dirt that leaves.
  





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Thu Aug 09, 2007 1:25 am
Writersdomain says...



Ah, the horrible wonders of dynamic characters. Sometimes it is so painful. If it is any solace, I understand. But keep your chin up and keep on writing. When you come to the end, you will know how to present Samuel. Often times, planned changes and endings transform before the end. Best of luck, my dear!
~ WD
If you desire a review from WD, post here

"All I know, all I'm saying, is that a story finds a storyteller. Not the other way around." ~Neverwas
  





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Thu Aug 09, 2007 2:32 am
Caligula's Launderette says...



Fishr,

It seems odd. My Regan went the other direction the ending I have written in advance portrays her as a soften, kindlier person, more whole.

I was discussing something with Sam the other day about writing.

ME: I watched this program on this guy once, he works for NASA and he's a published author, very good one too, I'll paraphrase here, but he said something like, "Writing is all about sitting at the computer or with your notebook and waiting, waiting for the inspiration to come, waiting for the words to come, and the only way you'll be able to write is to sit and wait for it." or something like that, you get the gist.

SAM: ...people see authors like JK Rowling and think, "That must be a terribly exciting job."

Writing, easy... bah!

:D

I look forward to reading more of Bound. To see how Samuel grows.

And, DOWN WITH WRITER'S BLOCK! Here, I'll send you some brainwaves for a kick-start.

Ta,
Cal.
Fraser: Stop stealing the blanket.
[Diefenbaker whines]
Fraser: You're an Arctic Wolf, for God's sake.
(Due South)

Hatter: Do I need a reason to help a pretty girl in a very wet dress? (Alice)

Got YWS?
  





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Mon Sep 03, 2007 1:00 am
Fishr says...



Thank you CL and WD! Much appreciated.

*

Update:

The Writer's Block still reins over me. It's in full control. I've spent weeks just reading, and waiting... Could be months before I find myself back on track.

Today, I have accepted the truth. I am way over my head. Now that I've crossed that hurdle, it's finding the correct course in continuing. Rest assured I haven't and won't submit, if that's what you're thinking. ;) I just know that my current situation is actually too advanced. Too many faces to take on at once, and still keeping to the events is mighty challenging.

I like challenges.

Currently, I've opened up Bound, and I'm gawking at it stupidily. XD
Perhaps early in the morning, I'll be struck with a marvelous solution. (I just hope it's not dawn)!
The sadness drains through me rather than skating over my skin. It travels through every cell to reach the ground. I filter it yet strangely enough, I keep what was pure and it is the dirt that leaves.
  





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Sun Sep 16, 2007 5:42 pm
Fishr says...



Boy, now I feel a little depressed. :shock: I can only imagine what readers will think? Then again, this period I've been involved with since I was twelve is a charged one but undoubtly depressing or at least the people involved in it, no matter which side of the fence you had put your loyalities on.

Bet I have you all confused, yes? ; )

Here's an excerpt:

"On the contrary, I do, Martha," he said in a sullen tone. "No, I endured quite a few lashes from misbehaving, although I cannot remember the record now. I am sure there must be quite the collection of scars along my backside.


"I am not as young or impudent as I once was, Father. As you may have temporarily forgotten I have had my first taste of evil on King Street – and it is sour."

Father's eyebrows arched upwards. He nodded, and produced the faintest of a smile. "Was it not a pleasant scene?"

I shook my head fiercely, and stamped my right foot angrily.

"No, I suppose not then," father replied. "No, no man, boy – or beast – should witness destruction but it does happen. No, no, a boy should not feel a burning sensation. Fire hurts, my son."

That was an odd comment. What the blazes did my grandfather do to my Father?!


Editing is fun but looking back; I wasn't prepared. Like Sam Adams, "I do not respond pleasently to raw emotion..." And I don't. I brush it off. So, in a nutshell, I was struck. The odd thing is, I have written this passage several months in advance, and now I feel remorse? Funny how that happens...

Good news though. My brain fart is coming to an end but it's a slow process. I'm forming bits and pieces to continue, strengthening character's profiles, and most importantly, strengthening the plot. :twisted:

I can't wait! I can't wait to get over this blip, and start on the Tea Party. Hehe... Oh, won't that be fun...
The sadness drains through me rather than skating over my skin. It travels through every cell to reach the ground. I filter it yet strangely enough, I keep what was pure and it is the dirt that leaves.
  





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Thu Sep 20, 2007 12:52 am
Fishr says...



Moving forward, a few years ahead of schedule. There is a scene that keeps reeling, replaying in repetition. It's bothering me that I'm unable to write out that vision yet, so I will here, by Speed Writing, and not use Word. Word's built in grammar and spell checker would be distracting - and annoying. Therefore, I will be writing for ten minutes, without using spell check. I wish to keep my original session untouched.

Don't cringe and yell too much. ; )

Ready? *breathes...* Here we go!


I slit his throat, and watched the body drop. There was a sickning gurgling sound, and some bubbles emerged on his lips. A few shakes, then, nothing. The man was dead.

I reached behind, and wretched my knife where the tip was embedded in the body's upper back, and glared at my next victim. Fully prepared to slit the next's throat, another man that stood next to the body stared blankly at me, and my family that he brought forth in tretchery.

"Traitor!" I roared.

That is all this man needed. He sprung to life instantly, turned and sprinted away.

Firmly gripping my weapons - the hatchet and knife - I made ready to travel after Benjamin Church in hot presuit. Vengeance burned. It hurt, ached, screamed. The urge to kill again must be quenched. But before I lifted a foot, a heavy hand rested on a shoulder and gripped it tightly. It tugged.

I pulled away gruffly and shouted, "No!"

"Yes" the voiced barked.

"No, Father," I responded, lowering my tone.

Another hand perched itself on my opposite shoulder and gently tugged at my bare skin.

"But..."

"Please, Samuel. Stay...," Mum protested.

"But, that scoundral is escaping," I mumble. "We are in serious trouble now." I turn around and face them, putting all thoughts of the body near my foot farthest from my mind. Tossing the dead man in the woods seemed ideal. Let the animals feast on his miserable, worthless carcass. He was not worthy of a proper buriel, even the likes of him. Even if that man was from Father's country, he meant to shoot one my kin. "Benjamin may report to other Loyalists, and engulf our home."

"True. Very. But I am in no shape to make a trek to town. Martha on the other hand..."

Father left the statement hanging, as he watched her curiously.

Mum shook her head, and sighed. "I'm as feeble, frail as Welcome. I'd tire before half a mile."

Peering quickly over my shoulder, that rotten Church was a mere speck off in the distance. I growled that of a wild beast, and tightened my grip upon my weapons.

"Samuel...," Father said.

I knew what he was thinking. We need assistance. A sanctuary. Sam was the obvious choice, and preferable. He would be the closest to us since his home is near Griffen's Warf but he had only a single horse, and a borrowed one at that. Shadow Fang may not be with his temperory master today. Pual lives too far. Living in the North End of Boston, it would be costly time in attempting to reach his home, if Paul was present.

The last choice was not a favorable one since we have clashed before but his carriage was capable of holding five people. I just pray the man is home, counting his day's wages upon Beacon Street.

"Samuel...," Father said, shaking me gently, and jolting me out of my thoughts. "Your knuckles are white. Tell us son. What plans are bursting within you?"

I looked at my hands, and he was correct. I loosened my grips upon the hatchet and knife, and studied their faces carefully for any traces of fear.

There was none. Only concern.

"I have a plan. It is purely farfetched, and the three of us will surely die if I fail," I say in a steady tone. "I will rush, as fast as my legs will carry me, and make my way to Hancock's home. If Christ favors me, Hancock can travel swiftly, and rally some of the Whigs. We can track dowm, and do what we do best." I smile wickedly, and wink.

"No more bloodshed," Mum responds weekly.

"What are you planning-"

"A riot of course!" I bellow. "A bloody wonderful riot, and our guest of honor?" I wink again, then let it fade within seconds. "First, I must despose of the evidence." I look down at the body. The urge to kick it is nearly unbearable. That man attempted to kill. And not just any target, my family! I resist but just barely, and instead spit on the carcass. I sheath my weapons, not cleaning them, slip my arms underneath and grunt as I try lifting. There is a stabbing pain in my neck and I drop the body. Too heavy so I opt to drag it. There would be a trail of blood but that should be easy to clean up - hopefully!

As I drag it away, quickly as possible, I shout, "I will drop this thing off somewhere in the forest, and let the animals eat him. If he is found, there might not be much left, and there are no bullet holes. A poor soul that was caught at the wrong end," I sneer.

"Pull him far enough so the body is not connected to our house," Mum suggests.

"I will," I shout, hurrying, pumping my legs to their full exstent.

Next stop: John Hancock's home.


Well, that was twenty minutes - Whoops! As soon as I started, as predicted, I couldn't stop. :)

Let me know your opinions on this quote. All feedback is graciously welcomed.
The sadness drains through me rather than skating over my skin. It travels through every cell to reach the ground. I filter it yet strangely enough, I keep what was pure and it is the dirt that leaves.
  





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Thu Oct 04, 2007 8:19 pm
Fishr says...



Rings. A three or so month Writer's Block, and I write about stinking rings? :shock:

I'm not even sure if it's imparative to the plot, but it kinda looks pretty and shiny, and no, not the rings. ; ) This question has been playing around in my head for quite some time. The question is, "How are you really able in detecting a member of the Sons of Liberty versus a Tory/Loyslist?"

After all, by 1770, the numbers had swelled. Every, or nearly, colony had a secret organization called - yup, you gessed it! The Sons of Liberty. But the rings are important. It's long been rumored among historians and the like who believe a Whig wore such an interstrument on their right finger, but not on any particular one. These special rings could have been seen, marked with an "L" in the center. The "L" stood for Liberty.

Soo... that's what was written. A page and a half about lousey rings, LOL! The only other good thing that's starting to unfold - I think - is Martha is slowly but surely showing us that she is indeed is as wiley and rebellious as her son, Samuel. But the Whigs that have gathered after the Massacre crisis - the Adamses, Doctors Church and Warren, Revere, and a one other person; the majority of the radicals aren't too impressed. Why? Because Martha is a woman. ; ) Only Revere and Sam Adams have argued her case.

I think it might get rather intriguing once things unfold.
The sadness drains through me rather than skating over my skin. It travels through every cell to reach the ground. I filter it yet strangely enough, I keep what was pure and it is the dirt that leaves.
  





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Thu Oct 04, 2007 8:29 pm
Twit says...



Hmm, that quote was good, but a few things: you skip tenses, and I really think you should change "Mum" to "Mother". It don't feel right. ^_^

The Sons of Liberty!

AMERICAN REBEL: We need a name that will go down in history!
STITCH: Ooh, I know, I know! "The X-MEN!"
AMERICAN REBEL: It's just come to me: The Sons of Liberty!


ROFL, I LOVE that bit. Sorry, where was I? *ahem*

Have you read the book "Jonny Tremain" by Elizabeth someone-or-other? That's a good one, and I recognize some of those names from reading it.

Three months of the Block? Gee.... :shock:
"TV makes sense. It has logic, structure, rules, and likeable leading men. In life, we have this."


#TNT
  





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Thu Oct 04, 2007 8:31 pm
Myth says...



I really need to start posting my critiques on BFG.

Three months? I don't think I've anything that bad. You are writing sgain, now?
.: ₪ :.

'...'
  








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