Working Title: .... uh, I dont have one

This is a taster of my most recent story. I cant think of a title, so...help! This is the REVISED VERSION of part I chapter I



A red haze hung over the Eye of the Goddess like a bloody shroud, a bad omen if ever there was one. A sandstorm was coming. Amara could feel the dust in the air – dry enough to prickle her skin and strip the moisture from her lips. She licked them surreptitiously, and frowned. The third storm in as many weeks. The Goddess was angry.

The woman turned abruptly as her door opened, her hand moving to the dagger at her waist. A small girl of about twelve, short-haired and slender, bowed apologetically and looked down at her tiny feet, clearly expecting a rebuke. Amara’s hand relaxed, but barely. Children could be assassins too.

“Yes?”

“Begging your pardon, Lady,” the girl said softly. “The Mother requests your presence in her study, if you are at liberty. Her Grace bids me tell you that it’s important.”

Amara regarded the chit with narrowed eyes. The girl was one of her mother’s Daughters, or one of their children – only they wore that distinctive white habit, belted with gold. It was a rank of privilege, and she clicked her tongue with impatience. Personally, she had found children were better seen and not heard, unless they happened to spill something of importance. While she knew her mother retained some to deliver messages and others for more clandestine work – namely, as spies – she herself refused to employ them. She did, however, keep a wary eye on any that got too close...or felt themselves secure enough to enter her chambers without knocking.

The child had clearly been instructed to wait for an answer, so Amara rose from the day-bed and drew herself to her full height, studying the girl’s downcast face while she pretended to gaze absently into the distance.

“You may tell the Mother I will join her momentarily.” She said at last, silently committing those youthful features to memory. The girl was pretty, with a determined slant to her chin. She would bear watching. “I must change first, this heat is unbearable.”

“Yes, Lady.” The girl bowed again, and made the sign of the Goddess against the flat breast of her robe before turning to go.

“A moment.”

Freezing instantly, the child turned. She kept her eyes on the floor, but there was something in the set of her shoulders that Amara didn’t like. It was almost disdainful.

“What is your name, girl?” She asked, deliberately leaving out her rank.

“Daughter Ris Elina, Lady, second-born of the Priestess Elina Mata of the Second Temple.”

“Look at me, Daughter Ris.” Amara commanded. She watched as Ris slowly lifted her chin, and leaned forward to stare directly into her eyes. “Next time you will knock before you enter these rooms, or I will not be responsible for what happens. Do you understand me?”

The eyes were opaque; for an instant, she did nothing, putting up a wavering resistance to Amara’s own, heavy stare. Then her lashes swept down against the tanned skin of her cheek, gracefully conceding defeat.

“Yes Lady.”

“There is a storm approaching. See that arrangements are made to secure the palace.”

“As you wish, Lady.”

The girl made a silent obeisance, and left.

Bubble! You can write stories as well as peotry, why didn't you say? Personally, I liked it. If I picked up a book in a book shop and read this I would be tempted to buy it. The general feel of it was right. (If that makes sense, which I'm pretty sure it doesn't) It was interesting, and it intrigued me too, especially the girl. I was fairly indefferent to the idea of a sandstorm coming, and if that was all that was in the way of conflict it would not have been of buying material, but the gil intrigued me a lot.

this is my first time posting anything in the FICTION section (drum roll please!)

*does drum roll on the computer desk*

A red haze hung over the Eye of the Goddess like a bloody shroud, and Amara knew in her bones that it prophesied death.

Well, I like the reference to the sun as the Eye of the Goddess, throws us straight into your world. However it doesn't really feel right to say "and Amara knew in her bones that is prophesied death." It's fine to say that it prophesied death ... I just don't like it that it tells us this by saying Amara knew. Does that make sense?

She turned abruptly as her door opened, her hand moving to the dagger at her waist. A small girl of about twelve, short-haired and slender, bowed apologetically and looked down at her tiny, sandaled feet, clearly expecting a rebuke. Amara’s hand relaxed, but barely. Children could be assassins too.

I like this bit! I like the little sentence on the end there. Nice.

She said at last, silently committing those fragile features to memory. The girl was pretty, and she had a determined chin. She would bear watching.

This confused me a little. Does she bear watching because she's pretty and so forth?

I can't find much wrong with this. You threaded the religion and other world builing things through this very well, as though it was the perfectly normal thing. It also gave me a clear picture in my head of what was happening and all the little details. And I like the character, Amara. I like it how she's tough and wary.
Above all I want to know what this little girl has in stall for Amara!

Sorry I had to be fairly brief, I am told I must get off the computer.

Yeah, same as what Eloere said It's a great story. The first paragraph made me go...'oh, another one of those', but I kept reading, and it had me wanting more by the end!!!! I knew what you meant when you said the g irl bears watching, but I think the first paragraph is too sandy...lol, if that makes sense. More!!!!! we want it, we want it...***chants*** lol, nice story, (have I already said that? )

Thanks guys [wipes sweat from forehead] Whew. The reason you didnt know I wrote prose, Eloere, is because I've WAY too scared to post anything here for ages. Almost too scared to write, even. I've been going through a traumatic period of writers block regarding fiction. It started when I was about thirteen and its only just starting to fade! SCARY!
I'll take your suggestions under advisement, both of you - cheers for that. However, I think you will find that the 'prophesied death' thing is necessary - the sandstorm is merely a convienient *cough* natural phenomenon I made use of, not the main conflict. But have I said too much??? lol.
What you said about seeing all the little details made me laugh...I'm very detailed with stories...obsessive, sometimes. When I've posted a few more you'll see what I mean.
As to the part about the girl, I suppose I understand how it could be confusing...by the time I got to there I was too wrapped up in my own little world to realize other people mightn't know what I meant. I might do a bit of tweaking there. This story has been tormenting me (LITERALLY, let me tell you) for months, almost years, and now I've finally got up the courage to write it...and even post it!...I want to perfect it. Whee!! Oh, and I'll be generous: heres some more...

REVISED VERSION of part II chapter I as of Sept 17 2005


Amara crossed once more to the window, shielding her eyes against the glare. She could sense the air quickening, and felt her own blood move in response. The Goddess was stirring, and the honey-coloured earth danced to the music of her voice, spreading the odd, husky scent of myrrh on the rising breeze. Smiling slightly to herself, Amara pulled down the tapestry that had been rolled up above the open window, securing the sides tightly to small metal hooks embedded in the stone for that very purpose. Sandstorms were a usually nuisance, but this one could hardly have come at a better time, she thought. At least, so far as she was concerned.

After securing the other windows against the oncoming storm, Amara left her darkened bedroom and stepped into the Robing Room instead, pulling off the top layer of her gown. The filmy blue silk pooled at her feet and she relished the momentary freedom. The air was close and hot, particularly here, where there were no windows, and it was with a twinge of reluctance that Amara slipped on her least favourite over-dress, a pale, insipid green one. She belted it loosely about her waist. She had always hated this dress – her mother had had it made for her to wear when her elder brother was married, and the memory of that day clung to it like a bad smell. Still, it would suit her purpose admirably. She would hate to have to ruin one of her favourites.

The corridors were largely deserted as she made her way towards her mother’s quarters. Amara was not surprised- most would not yet have risen from their afternoon siesta, and with the heat this intense it was likely that supper would be a late one tonight. She was pleased. It would make things all the easier.


“She sent for me.” She told the guards at her mother’s door. They nodded; evidently they had been warned that she was coming. She saw one of them eyeing her speculatively and sashayed past, looking at him under her lashes as she went. Might as well give him something to think about.

The room in front of her was large but dim, the tapestries flapping gently against their restraints as the wind picked up outside. Amara entered and closed the door, dust swirling about her as she approached the day-bed on which her mother was reclining.

“Mother.” Amara said, bowing low.

“My dear Amara.”

The older woman got up to receive her, her loose brown hair tumbling over her shoulders as she stood. Standing nose to nose, the two were like sisters – the same dusky waves, the same inscrutable black eyes. Only their faces were different. Amara had her father’s slender, upturned nose and full mouth, while her mother was thin-lipped, her nose short and beaky. There was still a quickness to her, too. She seemed to live just within her skin, pulsing beneath the tanned surface like a cat about to pounce.

“What’s this? You come armed into your mother’s presence?” She touched the dagger at her daughter’s side.

“These are troubled times.” Amara said lightly, holding her mother’s gaze. “It’s not safe, even here.”

“Oh, Amara, you worry too much.” Keleos smiled, but her hand drifted casually to her waist, feeling the blade that was attached to her own belt. “The palace has always been a sanctuary for us.”

Amara shrugged.

“Please, take it off. You have nothing to fear from me.”

“As your Grace wishes.”

She removed the knife and its sheath and set them on the table in plain view. Her mother’s shoulders visibly relaxed, and the faintest of smiles touched her mouth.

“There,” she said. “That’s a lot more friendly now, isn’t it?”

I'll jump right in here.

The first paragraph there is beautiful, nice description, but if I were you I'd cut some of it out. The sad truth is that too much description can kill a story. Put only what is necessary. It's very very hard - watching a scene you've slaved over get cut from 2000 to 250 can be heartbreaking. But it does help.

After securing the other windows against the oncoming storm...

To me this seemed odd. Why doesn't she have servants or such do it? It seemed like she would be in the position to order somone to do it.

The sandstorm and the ease with which they ready for the coming sets the world up nicely, and good job for that. Just remember what the goal is in whatever your writing and don't get stuck on sidetracks or bog everything down in details.

I really like where this is going. Keep writing, and never give up. There have been so many times that I faced rejection on a story adn wanted to quit cause I thought I couldn't do it, but just keep writing no matter what! And good luck!

I like where this is heading.
For the records though, a porcelien throne is going to be immediately related to a toilet. I know i won't be the only one who thinks that.

porcelain throne?

hahahahahahahahaha.

TOILET.

hahahahahahahahahahaha.

sorry it might not be constructive but that really just cheered me up.

and the story was very nice, too. i can't say i'm that much of a fan of this kind of fitcion, but i did think this was well written and engaging. kept me readin, anyway, and that's always a good sign.

OK, this is a great story, But CHANGE THE TITLE.

When I first read the title I though of a toilet. I thought it was going to be some spoof fantasey story where the king sat on a toilet insted of a golden throne. But then after reading the story I relizied, no, its not its a real story. So I suggest changing the title to something different.

And I also agree with Silverstar, you have alot of good description but too much of it, its clutterd wuth to many words and it makes it confusing to read.

"She would hate to have to ruin one of her favourites."

Great line, that made me go "Oooh, what is she going to do!?!".

Very good, I think the second post was the best part.

Very well, I will bow to your wishes and change the title, although personally I would never have thought of it that way. Perhaps I am simply unique. Or perhaps its just Americans.

Silverstar, thank you for your encouragement but you're just going to have to put up with that first paragraph, because every word (yes, every word) is necessary. Maybe later you'll see why, if not, I'll just have to kill my story with description coz it aint going anywhere. However, I will see what I can skim off from other areas. Ditto, hekategirl. Thanks for your input.

As for her securing the windows herself, as you will come to realize (or at least, as I hope you will come to realize) Amara is not a very trusting person. She is largely self-sufficient, despite her position...perhaps because of her position. Unlike your usual pampered princesses she does not feel the need to have servants do everything. You will soon see why, I promise

! What are you suggesting about Americans, Bubble?! I now undersand the toilet humor comment. *laugh* Don't worry about the lost title. You may have changed it anyway. A really good title comes after, not before, a story is written. Most of the time.

As for general editing, my personal opinion (oh, wow, I am such a hypocrit '#-o' )...Okay. I'll phrase it this way: From personal experience I find that editing etc...is more productive AFTER you've written everything because otherwise you're stuck on the same paragraph, page, chapter, etc...for ages and with the story complete, you can decide what is necessary and what isn't. So. The first paragraph may or may not need exact wording, as it is. Only you know that. But you may change your mind after you've examined the "finished" product.

Heh. Love the line "Children can be assasains too".

I think you introduced Amara's character well. There's not a lot for me to say that other's have not already said. It's a great start, very interesting. I'm looking forward to reading more of it.

I can't believe you haven't been writing more fiction...But you're a poet? I might have guessed that. You write very well.

Still laughing about the porcelien throne... Literally.[/i]

Me? Suggest that Americans are anything other than paragons of human perfection? Never. [-o<

Thanks for your comments J. Haux. Upon further reflection, I've decided that maybe a few words *can* be cut from the first paragraph after all...hehe before I was slightly angry about another matter so I was being petulant and sulky and didnt want to even THINK about changing my precious story. But I've calmed down now. Really. I've just spend an hour editing the first chapter (its complete, for the most part, though I havent posted it all here) so I hope its a bit better. I'm gonna edit my first post now.

Yeah. Sure. ( :^o )

I'm glad, Bubble. Oh! So you CAN brutally edit your story, if you've written it.

I enjoyed it.

~Jacquie~

Poetry to story is quite an easy switch, actually, if you have any sense of writing. In fact, sometimes the best fictional writers are poets, if only because their word choice is superb. Don't worry about this... a good beginning to a story.

Just a couple of things...

surreptitiously

Obtained, done, or made by clandestine or stealthy means.

In fiction, you generally try to stay away with these obtuse four syllable words. Plus, there's an unwritten rule for not using adverbs that much.

Amara regarded the chit with narrowed eyes

Word choice; is chit the right word? It sounds a little bit more obtuse.

The girl was one of her mother’s Daughters

The capital letter for D is slightly confusing and may turn some off. Perhaps you can rephrase it differently?

It was a rank of privilege, and she clicked her tongue with impatience

Why would she click her tongue with impatience just because this girl has a rank of privilege? Perhaps you can delete that action part of the sentence.

While she knew her mother retained some

Some what? And "retain" should probably be a better word. Right now, it sounds like a euphenism.

“You may tell the Mother I will join her momentarily.” She said

Ah... the poet's curse. Go here to find examples of dialogue grammar: forum/viewtopic.php?t=3746. I'm sure you can figure it out. ^_^

Anyway, good luck. Nice read. I'll read the next part soon...

This post removed by me as being way too snarky. What was I on? Anyway. Mature self knows better **giggles** Sorry Snoink

Oops, I thought I read that you were finally just beginning to write fiction again. Sorry! I must've confused you with someone else... I remember a recent good story here, and it was by a poet who had just begun to dabble with fiction. Grr... I'm losing my touch.

And doesn't insomnia suck?