To Keep No Secrets (Chapter Six added)

b]
Prologue[/b]

Reader, can I ask you what a crime is to you? Is it the rape of an innocent little girl who put herself out on the street in the first place? Is it making a scam to receive money from the government? And, without said government, would there be no laws? We are told there are rules of nature: life, liberty, the pursuit of happiness.

If you've ever seen the cult movie Ed Wood's "Plan Nine From Outer Space", this seems to be like the opening there. "Greetings, my friend. We are all interested in the future, for that is where you and I are going to spend the rest of our lives. And remember my friend, future events such as these will affect you in the future....." Okay, yours is better than that, but you get the idea. The series of rhetoricals does nothing for me. Probably because it's human nature, it's difficult to make people care about the Terrible-Things-That-Happen-To-People-Who-Aren't-You, unless you force them to think about it. Gabriel Garcia Marquez's novels are worth reading soley for the opening lines. In the first paragraph, never be indefinite, stand your ground, ensnare attention in some way, by provoking your reader, or immersing them in something vivid. A convention of the crime genre is to start off with a scene that's some how disturbing but that you don't quite understand until later, it seemingly doesn't relate to the main part fo the story. Of course you don't have to keep to convention but it's there to use or subvert.

Crime:
1. An action or an instance of negligence that is deemed injurious to the public welfare or morals or to the interests of the state and that is legally prohibited.
2. Any offense, serious wrongdoing, or sin.
3. a foolish, senseless, or shameful act

What does this tell us? What is the purpose of this definition? I see the seeds of your idea here, and I believe in the power of wordplay. Margaret Atwood uses it constantly to reflect upon the values of a society, and most of the best poets do also. Rather that going directly to definitions, you could explore the etymology of the word.

'Crime: c.1250, from O.Fr. crimne, from L. crimen (gen. criminis) "charge, indictment, offense," from cernere "to decide, to sift" (see crisis). But Klein rejects this and suggests *cri-men, which would originally have been "cry of distress." The L. word is glossed in O.E. by facen, also "deceit, fraud, treachery."'

http://www.etymonline.com/index.php?sea ... hmode=none

Criminal is an adjective and a noun. So at what point does an adjective become a noun? At what point does what you do and how it is judge supercede every other aspect of you? Crime cannot be a verb, you have to 'commit' it, similar to 'commiting adultary', both suggeting a stage of temptation.

Chapter One

“Don’t worry; I bought it under the name Alfred Douglas. They won’t know it’s me and they won’t be able to find us. They don’t even know I’m married.” I shut the car engine off and pulled the keys from the ignition.

That he's reassuring her only as they arrive suggests a few things to me. Either Fleur is kind of fragile, she was shocked for the journey, and only now is she becoming upset about it, and he's being fatherly to her, which is why he adopts such a definite tone, with the repetition of 'won't', or she's been nagging him the whole time and he says 'won't', because he's gotten defensive. I couldn't quite decide through this which it was, especially when she says that he knows she doesn't like strangers, that could either be angry, hurt that he's defying her, or betrayed because he's supposed to always protect her. Is it one or the other, or a combination of the two?

never, under any occasion, Spanish.

A forbidden language.. curiouser and curiouser says Alice. I am intrigued

Fleur was a mix of sick genetics. She looked Irish (red hair, blue eyes, freckles), spoke French from birth, and her parents were American. She grew up in England (not learning English until she was seventeen) then moved to France. Not a year later, she met me.

I love the phrase 'sick genetics'. But the rest of this exposition has something a little laboured about it. You are a mistressful writer, and you don't actually need to tell us this if it doesn't come naturally.

Once inside, I persuaded her to think that the only reason I yelled was because of the stress I was under. It makes me laugh; I am a terrible liar, yet no matter how foolish the things I say are she will believe me to the end.

I like that you don't include the conversation, you just have him alluding to it. It fits, it grounds it too, robs it of melodrama and also gives insight into the two characters. V good. I like the tone you have, you can sort of feel the cogs of translation of it, if that makes any sense, but not in a stereotypical way which is very hard to achieve. V clever.

Those were bought under the name Alfred Douglas as well, but Fleur would be the one answering the door. She had a fear of strangers, so I didn’t let her in on this small detail. If I could answer the door for her, I would, but I cannot risk being seen.

I like the sparseness of this, you don't get bogged down in detail, you tell us exactly what we need to know, no more. V enticing.

“Mon Dieu! You should see the stain on this wall!”

“Is it glowing?”

“What? No, but it’s huge. It looks like someone vomited on the wall and just left it there for a few days.” Her voice sounded far away and it made the house feel hollower than I knew it was.

“Then I don’t care.”

Sparkling shiney dialogue. I laugh.

Argh, I shall continue this critique later, as I have so many stories to get to, but I am addicted to this story, I like your tone and style, you've really got something. Dying to know what happens.

Love and babies,
Kit.

Finally edited Chapter Four. I also finally wrote chapter five, too I'm hoping readers like it. The ending was chanted in the last edit of it, from one paragraph, to real action. I think it is better, but I'm also wondering if I came out with it too strong. Also, if you don't critique anything, at least answer this: Does the POV work?

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Chapter Five

He came back into the room, crushing the roses in his fist. As he paced towards the waste basket he looked up at me, perhaps to be sure I was watching. He dropped them inside the can like you would throw away a gift from an estranged ex-girlfriend.

“The flowers would be better if they came from me.” I whipped the tears out of my eyes and nodded.

“You are right. Of course they would be.” My own words surprised me. Shouldn’t I be angry with him? No, I seem to be agreeing with his statement that he is better than my brother. How could I betray Felicion like that?

“See, you are agreeing with me. Now let’s finish putting the groceries away and maybe I’ll find the inspiration to finish painting you.”

I felt ill inside thinking of posing for him naked again. I did it so often, that is true, but I never enjoyed it. I could not deny what he asked of me; as the wife I was in the position not to argue. I loved to pretend I was a model, but I had never wanted to pose nude. I was not only stripping myself of clothes, but of my dignity.

As I continued putting foods in the cupboard, Lev came up behind me and leaned against me. He breathed heavily in my ear, that beastly pant of his, and caused me to shiver from the end of my spine to my eyebrows.

“Can’t you put them away faster?” he whispered.

I smiled to choke back my real feelings, and laughed to cover the choking. Sure enough, everything was put away quicker than I would have liked.

He took my hand in his and pulled it up to his lips. “You are not mad at me for what I said about your brother, are you?”

“No.” I pulled my hand back, and walked to our room.

“Then why are you being so quiet?”

“I just feel uncomfortable, that’s all. Your friend made me uncomfortable.” It was a good lie, and I knew he would take to it.

“Ah, Alexei, he is a fool and I’m sorry for it, dear.” He was chasing me down the hall.

I lied on the bed curled in a ball. I tried to ignore him though I knew he stood in the doorway, as heated as a teenager. Lev finally came past the border of the room, and lied next to me. He smothered me with his over-loving caresses.

“Are you sure that is all bothering you?” It seemed that for once he was paying more attention to my feelings, rather than his own inner beast. Or maybe it was his way of getting me to undress.

“Yes, he bothered me. The way he looked at me felt wrong. He stared at me as if I was a piece of meat.”

“Alexei is insensitive to women. To him, they are only made for one purpose.” He rubbed his hand from my elbow up to my shoulder, and I laughed inside. Did he see the irony in what he had said?

“You want me to pose, don’t you?”

“You know you like posing. Doesn’t it make you feel like a model?” He pulled the sleeves of my dress down over my shoulder, and soon the whole dress was coming down. It slid past my breasts, past my hips, right past my ankles. I had made no effort to stop him; it was like willingly being raped.

He kissed me on the temple and stood. “Finish undressing yourself for me, will you? I’ll get the easel.” I complied with his requested, and before he had come back I was entirely nude and in the pose from this morning.

“I am ready, mon beau,” I cooed when he walked in. His smile had become all too wide. He set up the easel, placed the canvas on it, and stared at me intently. What did he really think of me?

All I could do was stay placed as a statue of artwork for him. My mind would not sit still, though. I couldn’t even decide what to think about. Should I worry over what he had said about Felicion, or should I question again why we are locked in this house? Felicion came to mind like needles in my skin.

“Can’t you just leave?” Felicion began, “I don’t want you staying in that house with him. You don’t even know what he has done, do you? He killed a woman! Aren’t you in the least curious what he was doing with another woman?”

“Lev wouldn’t love anyone other than me. Sadly, he is too much like you.”

“Your words are cold. Fleur, I’m only trying to help you. Do you know how guilty I would feel to find out I had let you stay there, and he had killed you?”

“You should be guilty anyway.”

Lev walked towards me and tapped my chin upward. “Sit up more, your chin is down too far and it makes your breasts hang ugly.”

“I was unaware breasts could hang beautifully?”

“You would be surprised by what artists can do with the ugly.” He panted with such vigor; I doubt he realized exactly what he had said.

I wished to catch him off guard, and I knew this would work well at it. “Are you saying that I am ugly?”

He stopped painting immediately and came to me, shaking his head like a clock would tick. “That was not what I meant, not at all. You know I think you are the most beautiful creature on this earth.”

“I know…It was just how you said it, it didn’t sound that way.”

He nuzzled his face in my hair, and kissed the base of my neck. “May I continue painting now, my dear model?” I nodded, and let him go back to the easel.

“And what am I guilty of?” Felicion asked me. I could see the worry in the way he brushed back his hair.

“You’re a horrible person. You say Lev is, but I wouldn’t doubt that you both are. Why couldn’t you have fallen in love with each other? I’m sure you’d be happier that way.”

Felicion was in complete shock. “How dare you compare me to him? You know how well I took care of you! I worked two jobs to get you through university and you turned around and married some—“

“You took care of me so well because you felt guilty.”

“I hate the way you twist my words.”

It was true he felt guilty. Why else would he spend his good money on flowers for his pitiful sister? Because he knew I was right.

“You move too much, hold still or this will never get finished.” Lev was demanding in everything. Sometimes it was refreshing to be demanded, rather than constantly be asked what you would like to do.

“But I am tired of sitting still! And I am getting chilly. May I put my clothes back on, great artist?”

He grinned at me and put his paint brush down. “Please, don’t. I like you better this way.” He crawled on top of me and began pushing his tongue into my mouth. Though I wanted to bite the revolting thing off, I could not deny that I enjoyed it a little.

“So are you finished painting?” I asked, grinning just like he had.

“Oh, yes. I’m very finished.”

I was glad to have him come at me like this, rather than have him stare at my unclothed body. He never looked at me too closely while we made love.

He took off his shirt, and came at me like the beast he was. I could see it in his eyes, he wanted me. But that is too strong of an understatement, because he always wanted me.

Lev kissed me all over, but something inside of me didn’t see this. No, he wasn’t kissing me. Felicion was.

“We’re going to play house together: you are mom, and I am dad. So go make me a sandwich!” Felicion giggled at the way he had made fun of Dad.

“Wait, stop!” I pushed Lev off of me.

He was in the middle of some insane act upon me, and I had pushed him right off the bed. He looked up at me with fire in his eyes, but I saw the embers dull.

He jumped back onto the bed, “What’s wrong?”

“What do you mean?”

“You’re crying. What’s wrong? Is what I said still bothering you? I’m sorry, but you know—“

“No, It’s not that…” my voice left my lungs.

“What should Mommy do for Daddy?”

He ran his fingers through my hair, and I shivered.

Yep, the point of view works perfectly and I already told you I love your story!

Wow, I love the perspective you put it in, it really works. Fluer's point of view is very interesting, I mean, I always felt that he was seriously going to hurt her, but it was more scary when you were actually her and feeling her fear. Great job on that. One thing though:

He nuzzled his face in my head, and kissed the base of my neck.

*against, rather than in?

I loved this. Make sure to write more dear Clau!

Keep at it!
~Rieda

I liked this chapter. The change from Lev's POV to Fleur's. It also makes me hate Lev more and like Fleur better. The flashbacks to Felicion and Fleur when they were children was a nice aside to the fact that they may be incestuous.

Now on to my little critiques!

Claudette wrote:He dropped them inside the can like you would throw away a gift from an estranged ex-girlfriend.

I didn't think this really fits your style. Maybe it's just my perception of it but it doesn't fit the mature fluidity that the rest of the chapter has.

Claudette wrote:I whipped the tears out of my eyes and nodded.

I believe you meant "wiped" correct?

That's all I'm feeling up to picking out right now! I hope this helps, at least somewhat

*Hugs*

LUNA

Alas - DD has wandered about the forums and found her way to Secrets. ^_~ I'm going to start back at Chapter One, if you don't mind, and work my way on through. This is long to crit line-by-line - if you like, I'll add in my suggestions in green, that way you can see what is yours and what're my ramblings. ^_~



Chapter One


“Don’t worry," I said, shutting off the car engine and pulling the key from the ignition. I bought it under the name Alfred Douglas. They won’t know it’s me and they won’t be able to find us. They don’t even know I’m married.” [s]I shut the car engine off and pulled the keys from the ignition[/s].

I had chosen a cottage on the outskirts of [s]a German city[/s] [Insert Name, German City] by running my finger[s]s[/s] over a map until I decided to stop. I spoke no German but my wife did well: French, German, the occasional English—but never, under any [s]occasion[/s] circumstances, Spanish.

While parked in the [s]drive way[/s] driveway, I managed to slip my hand onto her knee and squeeze between palm and [s]finger[/s] thumb.

“How do they not know we are married?” Her lips quivered.

“I married you under the name Parker Hesse.”

Fleur was a mix of sick genetics. She looked Irish (red hair, blue eyes, freckles), spoke French from birth, and her parents were American. She grew up in England (not learning English until she was seventeen) then moved to France. Not a year later, she met me.

“I guess we should go inside.” She looked like she was going to vomit, but made no effort to open the door. “Lev, I’m so worried.”

“Just get out of the car and we can talk about it later.”

“But I have this feeling that if we get out of the car, we will die because they’ll be able to find us. [s]The[/s] It's like the car can protect us somehow.”

“Forget your feelings; just get out of the damn car!”

Once inside, I persuaded her to think that the only reason I had yelled was because of the stress I was under. It makes me laugh now; I am a terrible liar, yet no matter how foolish [s]the things I say are[/s] my words she will always believe me to the end.

The house smelled like dust[s],[/s] and I was beginning to regret not having taken the tour before buying it.

“It’s so bare," said the incompetent housemaid who also played wife. "Where is the furniture?”

“I just bought the place; should it really have furniture? They’re shipping the fridge, stove, dishwasher, mattress, [s]etcetera[/s] everything else, today.”

Those were bought under the name Alfred Douglas as well, but Fleur would be the one answering the door. She had a fear of strangers, so I didn’t let her in on this small detail. If I could have answered the door for her, I would have, but I [s]cannot[/s] could not risk being seen.

“Did you get a coffee maker?," she asked. "I hope you did.”

“In fact, no, I didn’t. Will that be a problem?”

“No, I suppose not." She wandered into where the kitchen was supposed to be. “Mon Dieu! You should see the stain on this wall!”

“Is it glowing?”

“What? No, but it’s huge. It looks like someone vomited on the wall and just left it there for a few days.” Her voice sounded far away and it made the house feel [s]hollower than I knew it was[/s] even hollower.

“Then I don’t care.”

“You never care. Do you think I should clean before the furniture comes?”

“Clean with what?” I walked through the different rooms and tried to imagine what it would be like if we lived here for more than a year. I would have to shoot myself if that happened.

“Well you know…We do have water, after all.”

“Just leave the place alone. It's not our home, it’s our hideout.”

“Can’t I just make it comfortable?”

“What for?”

“Oh fine, you win…”

I heard her slump against the wall like a toy being dropped by a distracted youngster. I stepped out into the front room [s]to stare[/s] and stared down at her, maybe even thought of sitting [s]sit[/s] beside her. I wasn’t completely sure.

“You look really pretty when [s]you are[/s]you're trying to be cross.”

“But I [s]really[/s] am cross!”

As I sat down, I kissed her lukewarm temple and rubbed the dimple on her chin. Fleur was soft; her face rested easily in my palm. She was as soft as the petals [s]of her name[/s] that were her namesake. Fleur is flower in French, for my readers who are not as lingual as my darling. Her delicate cheeks turned rosy and a giggle escaped from her lips.

There was a heavy knock on the door before our lips could [s]finally[/s] come together in their own form of intercourse. We were so ready to act [s]as newlyweds would[/s] like newlyweds in an unfurnished house, but my rose jumped and her head hit mine. I found later in the spot a quarter shaped bruise.

“Fleur, darling, go answer the door,” I whispered. I pressed another kiss to her forehead and went into another room to hide.

She followed behind me, protesting, “You know I’m scared talking to strangers!

“Just let them in…”

“But I don’t—“

“Let them in!”

From the other room, [s]I thought[/s] I could hear the stupid pigs talking to my flower as she answered in [s]with[/s] her nervous voice. Hello, mattress delivery. He-hello, could you bring it in for me? What, no one to help you? No, I’m…home alone. Well then, we’ll have to bring it in, won’t we Jeb? Yes sir we will! I could see the creepy smiles those pigs [s]might have[/s] had on their faces as they glared at my wife’s ass.

Fleur stayed quiet while they brought it in. I’m sure she stood in a corner, arms crossed, trying hard not to scream. After I heard the mattress drop, there was no discussion, no question, not even a flirt or proposition with my wife as I assumed might occur. Door closed, tires squeal[s]s[/s]ed, and I was out of [s]my[/s] hiding.

They had laid the mattress in an unsuitable place: where I had planned the kitchen to go. It made me wonder if they had seen the vomit stain, and thought we might like to sleep near such a vulgar thing. I didn’t give it much thought; instead I came back to what I had been doing before anyone had interrupted.

“That wasn’t so bad, was it?” I asked as I sat down on the mattress. Fleur had already been seated, as if she knew we were to continue our game.

“You know I don’t like talking to strangers.” She stared down at her feet.

“Come on…You’ll get over it soon, right?” I kissed her temple [s]as a way[/s] to cheer her back up

“Maybe.” She giggled and pulled at the buttons of my shirt.

Never would she unbutton my shirts but instead pull at the buttons as if her efforts to undress me were futile and I would have to help her. I guided her fingers through the task, and soon we acting just like the newlyweds [s]pictured in my mind earlier[/s] that I had pictured earlier.


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Over-all, Till, I like it - both the story you're setting up here and the characters you're introducing. Your writing style works for this. Spare, but not so spare that the reader misses anything. ^_^ Just make sure you watch your tenses and your punctuation in some places. And with that, I shall return to get Chapter Two typed for you.

Ahhhh Darling, you don't really need to do line by line for me! (And I'd perfer you not to! I'm lazy! What a surprise?) but thank you anyway Maybe I'll go back and edit it.

Really, my goal is to see my major holes and things, with character flaws and over all scenes, because this is a first draft and I'd prefer line by line editing for perhaps my second or third but... I probably should take it into consideration anyways, eh? ((I suppose it feels odd going all the way back to 1 and editing it. Oh well!))

Spasiba for finally getting to it

Sure thing, Till, I'll work on that for the next chapter - forgive the line-by-line, then, Chapter Two's crit shall be gloriously decked out in a confusing jumble of overall scene commentary.

No problem - I just feel bad for taking so long to get to it. I'll try to get Chapter Two finished tomorrow. The Chair has taught me not to stall. ^_~

Notes on character and plot - as commanded. As I've read all of your chapters, I'll give you the general rundown here, rather than the line-by-line.


Action:

- Your action is pretty good throughout, it flows well. One thing to watch for, though, you want to make sure you don't get too redundant. Lev, for instance, shouts a lot, and mainly in instances where it seems illogical for him to shout, or too abrupt. I gather that he is not a particularly reserved man to begin with, but I think it would help to eschew some of the random shouting. If he really feels the need to shout, set it up a little more. It's very abrupt. Here, for instance:

“Nyet*, did you really think I would?”

“We need the money!” I shouted.

And here:

It….it was,” Fleur hesitated, “Felicion.”

“Your brother!” I shouted. “But isn’t he in France with some horrible factory job?” I felt myself shaking though I wasn’t sure if it was with surprise, anger, or a combination of the two.

(Oh, and I wanted to mention that Lev's interactions with Alexei are very well done. ^_~)



Character & Writing:

That last quote (above) is also a bit of an info-dump. Space it out a bit, Till, the whole thing. You've got all the time in the world. ^_~ Two characters, stuck in a house together - they're not going anywere. Slow down a bit, take your time and notice things. Everything. The detail, the colors, the body language. Keep the action paced, if you can, and drag it out a bit more. You don't want to fall into the same pattern of reaction and reaction - write it as an exercise for a bit. Write it as if no one will ever read it: be a little bold and free. (Note that bold and free doesn't necessarily mean taboo. XD)

Also (and this ties in with Dialogue) make sure that your characters interact as they would in a real world. Assume, for instance, that you were Fleur - or Lev, if you wanted to be. (God, or even Alexei, if you were to be brave. !_!) Give yourself all the backstory and memories and hopes and fears that the character possesses, and put yourself in that situation. How do you react? If you were simlutaneously an invisible guest in that house, watching everything unfold, what notes would you take on what occurs? Would you look at a certain chapter and think Now why does she do that? That's not like her at all...

This sort of writing is tricky - splitting your mind into three parts: (1) the character, (2) the writer, (3) the observer, but in the end I think it would help you flesh out your scenes a little better.

Another thing you might want to look at, character-wise, are the origins of your characters (and I think Sam spoke on this). You state that Fleur is French/English - Lev is clearly Eastern European, and yet they sound and act very American. It's good to understand that each and every culture carries with it its own sensibilities - what is common in one society might be nonchalantly accepted, while in another society where it is not as common, it might meet with shock and displeasure. It might do you some good to research modern Russian/French/German culture - make sure you understand how the common person would act, speak, live. I think it would add an new level of depth and layer to your characters (though they are well-done as they are, for the first draft. ^_~)

Felicion's relationship with Fleur made me think of Act of Love - it's an unexpected but intriguing plot twist. If not one that gives you chills. ^_~


And that brings us to dialogue.


Dialogue:

Lev's was quite well done, actually - it fit with his character well and his interaction with the other character's. One point with his, though - in the Prologue (and in his thoughts) his voice is very different than his speaking voice. What is internally formal and refined comes out as laissez-faire and unpolished - the disparagy is a bit noticeable.

Also, Fleur's dialogue seemed a bit unrealistic at times. While she is of a generally subservient nature, one has to assume that part of her would still be a bit defiant. Yet she maintains this facade (Chapter Five identifies it as a facade, really) without any hint of the contrary. Anyone, no matter how much they've practiced, how completely they've honed down their 'act', so to speak, bits of their dialogue will always slip. Let her grow and expand a bit as a character - through the dialogue, for Fleur - rather than the action.


Point of View:

... which pertains most directly to Chapter Five. I have not a single negative thing to say about this, it worked flawlessly and added so much to Fleur's character. ^_^


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I really like this, Till (as I already said in the Chapter One crit). I hope some of my comments are useful for the next draft - I look forward to reading it. ^_^


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Edited and Tagged: (Critted for the CCF)

(Note that bold and free doesn't necessarily mean taboo. XD)

I'm sure that is something you would tell only me, and no one else? -_- Some reputation I have been building, am I that vile a person?

Your comments were SO helpful, and yes Sam touched on the cultural thing, but it had confused me. Your words on it helps a bit. Although, I'm not sure how to search culture and things like that, it's harder to find that sort of information, for me at least. So if you have any suggestions or could help me out with that, I would love it And, of course they sound American! I'm American! lol.

Again...thank you X99999999999 that completely sums up everything that I shall be looking out for in the rewrite .

NOTE: It'll be in the rewrite, of course, because I want to finish it at the least. lol. I should hurry up and finish it, before the year ends.

Well... you have got a penchant for the taboo, Till - but there's nothing wrong with that. Taboo isn't vile, after all, it's just forbidden. And a bit daring.

As for culture and sensibilty, here's what Wiki has to say about it:

Cultural Studies
French Culture
Russian Culture #1
Russian Culture #2


I hope all that's of some use. Also, it might help to read a few books by modern European authors, watch some modern (or close to modern) European films - get a feel of how the actors/character on the screen interact and view their circumstances. It might give you some pointers on how to touch up on that aspect withFleur and Lev.

Heya, Claude! I very nearly threw confetti about when I saw that another chapter was up.

THE NEW POV: Interesting- in a good way. It was just sweet, just sentimental enough to really make you feel sorry for Fleur.

However you've got to really make sure that it doesn't turn into a romance novel, the type you buy at Walgreens that has a painting of a bronzed, muscled man with long hair and a ripped silk shirt on the front. Yeah. With this situation, and Mr. Borderline Creepy- a.k.a. Lev- it'd be easy to do that. How to avoid it?

- Make sure you've got description mixed in that's not sexually related. Sounds simple, yes, but it's very important- it'll give your readers a break from all the hip rubbing and slow undressing. Also, this story's got quite a soft, antiquated feel too it- which is good, but there tends to be less opinion and 'feeling' to it when you're describing a rug. That way, you've got a little more in there that people will take seriously.

(We're mean readers, really. )

- Make sure that your characters are brought to one extreme or another in their personalities when they're faced with such a situation. Ergo, Mr. Borderline Creepy should be excruciatingly so, and Fleur...you could pick up either side to her. Why? Extreme human emotions bring out the best or worst in their owners, so any author with a brain should remember that. More forethought= more believability.

MOTIVATION AND HOOKS: Hmm...between all the pretty dialogue and descriptions, there's not a whole lot going on. In every chapter, Lev complains about his situation and then paints Fleur nude. It's not a bad thing, but after five chapters, we need a little excitement.

Want the slower pace, but still want people reading?

- Start with a bang. You could use either a cool first line- which is always tough, unless you're the kind of person it just 'comes' to- or start with some action. And no, not scaling a building action, but something out of the ordinary that'll make people want to go on.

Example...erm...Hourglass starts off with Luke spinning a globe and naming world capitals. Eh, snore, when you think about it- but then the schoolmaster comes in and all Hell brakes loose. That's only the first page, but in theory (since I started with action), it'll keep people going because they're looking for more thrills.

- Think of every chapter as a mini-story, or a descriptive piece. That either means no action, or pulling out the English book for beginning, middle and end. Snoink's 'Freak' is a grand example of this.

- End with the same bang...recycled. Foreshadowing is nice, as well as good lines and cliffhangers. The same chapter of Hourglass *cue audience groan* ends with:

All gathered in the room stood completely still, wrought with a tension that Verplanck seemed to savor in his wavering lips. “Essentially, little Irwing, you have no future.”

*gong*

So, obviously some of the book is spent proving this wrong. You want to have your last lines be like the stepping off point...sort of like those Mexican cliff divers. You have to have something pretty darn worthwhile in order to plunge a few hundred feet into cool, seeweedy goodness.

___

Yummy chapter, Claudester. Lev is strangely compelling to follow...he's one of those people that you long to hate, but he's so darn likeable.

Sam. I love you. But I'm sure you already knew this.

Yes, one of the largest things I've noticed: I have no action. It's horrible. Stuff starts happening eventually, but it's stupid. You're supposed to start books when the action happened, I started before hand to lead you into the characters and the action; but that gives us no action for now because I have this so mildly thought out XD I figure if the beginning sucks that bad when I'm done, I'll truncate it somewhere closer to the action and fix things up.

Your idea to think of each chapter as a short story was helpful, I'll keep that in mind for six. (I'm sure it won't come around for a month or so... I'm so darn slow)

Thank you SO MUCH! How can I repay thee?

I forget how much I edited of Chapter five. You all must keep in mind I have lost almost all will and want.
--

Chapter Six

Alexei stood outside the store, lightly puffing a cigarette. Above him the sign read: Artwork and Collections. He was the owner and manager, which could have been why the shop was only open from ten in the morning, to four in the after noon. The rest of the time, Alexei was either recovering from a hang over or building up another one for the next day.

A freckly red head walked up to Alexei nervously. The man looked confident, though nervous: his evergreen eyes couldn’t keep still.

“Do you want something?” Alexei muttered. Smoke rose out of his lips.

“I’d like to look at some artwork; this is an art shop, right?” The man was sarcastic.

“Don’t be a smart ass,” Alexei replied. He threw his cigarette on the ground and led the man in.

The man was calmer now as he walked through the store. Alexei wondered what he was doing; the way he only briefly glanced at the work made it look like he was looking for something specific.

“If you are a cop, I swear on my mother’s grave, I didn’t steal those paintings from—”

“I’m not a cop. I’m looking for something by a specific artist. Lev Kozovich, have you heard of him?”

Alexei paused for a moment. He tried to make the moment as short as possible. “Well, yes, I have heard of him, but I have nothing by him. I do, however, have some art work by someone who was his student. Do you like his style?” From behind the counter Alexei rubbed his hands together in a panicked way. Stupid cops.

“Oh, I was sure that I heard Kozovich sold here? No, I’m more interested in Kozovich, his style doesn’t interest me.” The man stood still, as if contemplating whether to leave. He looked like he would vomit.

“You realize you look like you are going to be sick, don’t you? If you are going to vomit, please, leave. Can’t have this store smelling any worse than it already does.”

The man smiled, and the disgusting look on his face faded. “I have changed my mind. I will look at those paintings.”

Alexei lifted his hand, “You don’t happen to be a very poor spy, do you? That sick face you had looked like nervousness.”

He laughed, but his voice cracked. “I just want to buy artwork.”

“If you actually plan to buy something, that’s well with me.” Alexei led him to the front of the shop, where he had some of the work in the window display.

The man flipped through the paintings, still barely glancing at them. Then he stopped on one: a red headed girl leaning over a chair and smiling, though it was made from geometric shapes.

“This is Kozovich’s student?”

Alexei nodded. He ran his fingers through his hair, hoping the man would buy something and leave. He wanted to go back outside and smoke another cigarette.

“What is your name?” Alexei asked.

“Why do you ask?” He continued flipping through the paintings, ignoring the one he had stopped at before.

“Well, I could ask Pierce to paint something for you personally. What are you looking for?”

The man paused, “You know the artists personally?”

“I buy the paintings from him as he paints them, but I do not know him personally.” Alexei tried to restrain his urge to pace the room and smoke five cigarettes at once.

“Where does he live? I’d love to come by his studio.” The man’s question seemed reasonable enough, but Alexei could feel under his skin that something wasn’t right.

“Pierce likes to keep his studio a secret.”

“You know, this art work looks a lot like Lev Kozovich’s. Are you sure this isn’t his? He isn’t painting under a false name?” The man spoke with confidence, far from ready to back down about anything he said.

Alexei wasn’t sure whether to ask him who he was or kick him out and accuse him of trying to steal. “Would you like to walk yourself out of the store, or should I throw you out?” He didn’t try to hide his frustration.

“You really are hiding something, aren’t you?” The man laughed. “I’m sure you’d recognize my name, I bet Lev curses to it. Which is fine with me, I curse by his.”

Alexei stood silent trying to run through a list of Lev’s enemies: everyone. “Again, would you like to show yourself out?”

“Where is he hiding her?”

“Who? If you weren’t so fucking mysterious you might be a better spy.”

“Fleur Kozovich.” He spit out the surname like it sung his lips.

Alexei’s mustache curled up as he smiled. “Well, you obviously suck at being a cop so you must be the flower’s brother.”

The man stayed silent, careful not to deny or admit anything. He shifted uncomfortably, and put the paintings away.

“Are you going to ask me something, or should I throw you out while I still have the chance?”

“Where are they living?” Now that the man had nothing to hide, he seemed less nervous.

“I’m not telling you. You really could be a cop pretending to be the little whore’s—” Before Alexei could finish his sentence, he felt the air knocked out of him and he was on the floor. The red head was on top of him, holding him down.

“Don’t you talk about her like that,” he muttered through gritted teeth. The man held him down, but was unable to keep him down. Soon Alexei rolled over on top of him, and now the man was pinned down.

“Can I throw you out yet or do you want me to insult your sister more?” Alexei got up off the man, assured he wouldn’t try to knock him down again.

“I’ll just leave; I can see you won’t tell me anything worth knowing.” He got up roughly, and walked to the door way. He pulled a card from his pocket with a number written on it, and handed it to Alexei. “If you do change your mind though, as I know Lev can be somewhat difficult to deal with, do call me? I really want to get my sister away from him.”

He took the card and laughed. “I’ll let her know that when I visit.” He cornered the man and got him out of the door. He stood on the street and glared at Alexei. “You know, Felicion, your sister has the cutest curves I’ve seen yet. Think you could convince her to show me more?”

Felicion took a step forward but Alexei stopped him. “Don’t even try to play brave brother again. I’m holding all the cards in this one, right? No other way you could figure out where your pretty petal is staying. Fuck off.”

Felicion walked off, cursing under his breath. Alexei pulled another cigarette out and lit it. “I’m glad I’m an only child.”

This, Mlle. Clau, is a placeholder then?

I've a first read through and impression, but no too much time.

Brief notes:

-Alexei sounds less American than Lev, but not distinct enough from Felicion, or distinctly Russian. Naturally, there's got to be a solution as well as a problem. You've been working on your Russian, yes? Do you notice how the sentence structure is completely unlike anything in English, and very unlike French?

Try inserting some of that into Alexei's (and earlier on, with Lev) diction and speech pattern. Russian doesn't use articles; uses noun declensions, etc.

-Drop needless words, if you can. You've often inserted an extra 'from' or an 'up' when your sentence makes perfect sense, and moves more smoothly, without them.

-The dialogue seemed much too straightforward. Alexei is a crook. Felicion is...what? How could you address the cop issue without having Alexei ask and Felicion bluntly deny over and over again?


Now I'm running; class and fencing. Good luck, Clau - I will try to get to all of it eventually. ^_^



IMP