Winning Over Winchester (Chapter 1)

I wrote this on Monday, and I sort of like it. Winning Over Winchester
is only a working title, so tell me what you think about it.

If you want to respond, just call me Munch or Munchkin, whichever one you prefer. Um...that's it, basically. I really want reviews, so don't be afraid as long as the criticism is constructive.

Enjoy Winning Over Winchester!

Chapter 1: The Homeless Beggar

It was Christmastime, freezing cold, and snowing.
An old beggar sat on the street corner, singing for passersby. He sang a song that he had written. It was mostly meaningless, but the beggar was sure it had to mean something. There was no way it meant nothing whatsoever. Was there?
The lyrics of the song were sad enough to make the singer cry every once in a little while.
As he sang, he held out a hat for anyone to drop a coin or two into.
Occasionally, someone would actually feel free to do as he was intending for them to do.
“’Ello, Ma’am,” he said, holding out his hat as a woman walked by.
She just snickered and kept walking, but he kept smiling.
Even after several more similar cases, he kept singing and smiling.
Maybe he was crazy to have such joy after so many people laughing at and ignoring him, but whatever made him happy and kept him that way was fine for him.
What was his name? His name was William Jonathan McKinley.
Who, exactly, was he? He was a poor, homeless man in Winchester, England.
“Excuse me, sir, could you sing something for my wife?” asked a man. “She is very ill, and this would lift her spirits a great deal.”
He began singing a happy song about life and the beauties of it. His mother had sung that song to him right before bed when he was a boy.
The man stood in awe while he sang, marveling at his beautiful voice, despite his appearance.
Once he was done, William gave a large smile to him.
He dropped a coin into his cap, for the man was very poor himself, and strode away.
“Thank you,” said he, smiling once more. “Anything is appreciated.”
His smile was quite unattractive with dirty teeth and dry lips, but still sincere.
He observed the coin and then dropped it in his pocket.
He once again held out the cap and began to sing the sad song that he had written.
“Sir?”
“Yes, little one.”
“What are you called?”
“William John McKinley,” he replied. “But if your heart so desires, you can call me Billy, Bill, or Will.”
“What does it mean?” asked a little boy, but he did not understand. What did his name mean? No. “Your song, sir, what does it mean?”
“You will know in due time, boy,” said William.
“But why can I not know now?” he asked.
“I cannot tell you.” William’s eyes lit up. “A song can mean a myriad of things.”
The little boy was dissatisfied, and walked away to his sister immediately, his feet pounding heavily against the ground.
“Sister, he does not explain the song to me!”
“He does not have to, son,” said the boy’s sister.
William laughed as he whined to his sister about not knowing the song’s meaning, and as she explained to him why he did not have to.
“Little one, don’t be sad,” he extended his hand to the boy, and the boy hesitantly grabbed it. William knelt down, so he could be level with him. “I didn’t tell you the meaning to the song because ‘alf the time I don’t know what I’m singing about meself.”
“Then why do you sing it?”
“Because I like to sing. Was singing ever against our law?”
“No.”
“Exactly, my boy. Now you ‘ave a merry Christmas. Can you do that for me?” he smiled, and the boy nodded solemnly and dutifully.
He ran back to his sister. “Sister, I have made a friend,” he said excitedly.
“I am sure you have,” she smiled, and then turned to William. “God bless you, good man, and have a wonderful Christmas yourself.”
The beggar smiled. “I think I will!”
His sister dropped two coins into William’s cap.
“I’d give you more, but it is all I have,” she sighed.
“As I said, anything is appreciated,” he smiled and winked at the two of them.
“Thank you, William John McKinley,” said she, for she had overheard him say his name.
“Let me know your lovely names so that I can remember you by your name.”
“I am Christine,” she replied. “This is Charles. Farewell; have a good Christmas.”
“Charles and Christine,” he repeated, when they were gone, thinking about the words. “Charles and Christine.”
How nice they have been, thought the beggar to himself. I hope they do have a merry Christmas.
But then, something hit his head. It was as cold as ice and quite hard. He felt around his head, but whatever it was had disappeared.
“Oh, well, then,” said William, puzzled, but he dismissed the subject immediately and continued to think about the words for the rest of the day. When he fell asleep that night, he dreamt of the words!
It was very uncomfortable on the ground, yet William John McKinley smiled as he slept.
William John McKinley smiled as he slept.
And he smiled so very sincerely indeed!

It was Christmastime, freezing cold, and snowing.
An old beggar sat on the street corner, singing for passer-bys. He sang a song that he had written. It was mostly meaningless, but the beggar was sure it had to mean something. There was no way it meant nothing whatsoever. Was there? This question sounds weird here. Even more so because the narator is third person, and therefore omnipotent. Something that is omnipotent hardly asks questions. Why don't you try to tell in third person what the beggar was thinking, because I think you were trying to do that in the first place, but you ended up telling it in a way that it would seem that the narrator was thinking it.
The lyrics of the song were sad enough to make the singer cry every once in a little while.
As he sang, he held out a hat for anyone to drop a coin or two into.
Occasionally, someone would actually feel free to do as he was intending for them to do. feel free to give money to a beggar? Wrong word choise here.
“’Ello, Ma’am,” he said, holding out his hat as a woman walked by.
She just snickered and kept walking, but he kept smiling.
Even after several more similar cases, he kept singing and smiling.
Maybe he was crazy to have such joy after so many people ignored him and laughed at him, but whatever made him happy and kept him that way was fine for him.
What was his name? His name was William Jonathan McKinley.
Who, exactly, was he? He was a poor, homeless man in Winchester, England.
“Excuse me, sir, could you sing something for my wife?” asked a man. “She is very ill, and this would lift her spirits a great deal.” So was the man with his wife? Why did he ask the beggar to sing to his wife if the wife wasn't there?
He began singing a happy song about life and the beauties of it. His mother had sung that song to him right before bed when he was a boy.
The man stood in awe while he sang, marveling at his beautiful voice, despite his appearance.
Once he was done, William gave a large smile to him.
He dropped a coin into his cap, for the man was very poor himself, and strode away.
“Thank you,” said he, smiling once more. “Anything is appreciated.”
His smile was quite unattractive with dirty teeth and dry lips, but still sincere.
He observed the coin and then dropped it in his pocket.
He once again held out the cap and began to sing the sad song that he had written.
“Sir?” Tell us that some one has appeared. don't just drop in random conversation
“Yes, little one.”
“What are you called?”
“William John McKinley,” he replied. “But if your heart so desires, you can call me Billy, Bill, or Will.”
“What does it mean?” asked a little boy, but he did not understand. What did his name mean? No.okay.... What was the reason for this part. why would the boy want to undertand the man's name? Make the text less confusing. “Your song, sir, what does it mean?”

I'm sorry but I ran out of time. It's already past 11 pm here, so I'll review the next half tommorrow. But it was good, just a tad bit confusing.

Thanks for the input. I'll definitely change some stuff, but I'll only post it once all of your corrections have been made so I don't have to post it twice and you don't have to read it twice.

Anyone?

I thought it was a good start to a story that could have potential. It's really late, so I didn't see anything to critique on yet. Lord Anzius seemed to have done enough. But, like I said, it's the first chapter, so it's just getting started. I will be looking forward to reading more.

“You will know in due time, boy,” said William.

“But why can I not know now?” he asked.

“I cannot tell you.” William’s eyes lit up. “A song can mean a myriad of things.”

The little boy was dissatisfied, and walked away to his sister immediately, his feet pounding heavily against the ground.

“Sister, he does not explain the song to me!”

“He does not have to, son,” said the boy’s sister. [son? brother would be better, or even better: Dear brother.]

William laughed as he whined to his sister about not knowing the song’s meaning, and as she explained to him why he did not have to. This sentence is unnecesary, but if you want to keep it you should change the structure... and words. For example: "William laughed as the boy persistently continued to whine to his sister."

“Little one, don’t be sad,” he extended his hand to the boy, and the boy hesitantly grabbed it. William knelt down, so he could be level with him. “I didn’t tell you the meaning to the song because ‘alf the time I don’t know what I’m singing about meself.”

“Then why do you sing it?”

“Because I like to sing. Was singing ever against our law?”

“No.”

“Exactly, my boy. Now you ‘ave a merry Christmas. Can you do that for me?” he smiled, and the boy nodded solemnly and dutifully. solemnly and dutifully.... This seems unnecessary. You just say what he does in such a vague manner. Add some content to his actions. "he, smiled, and the boy, still seemingly dissatisfied for not getting his answer, nodded dutifully to his request." but remember that is just a suggestion, and not necessarily the best solution. Try to think about it.

He ran back to his sister. “Sister, I have made a friend,” he said excitedly.

“I am sure you have,” she smiled, and then turned to William. “God bless you no comma good man, and have a wonderful Christmas yourself.”

The beggar smiled. “I think I will!”

His sister dropped two coins into William’s cap.

“I’d give you more, but it is all I have,” she sighed.

“As I said, anything is appreciated,” he smiled and winked at the two of them.

“Thank you, William John McKinley,” said she, for she had overheard him say his name.

“Let me know your lovely names so that I can remember you by your name use pronouns. You repeat the word "name" two times very close to one another, and it makes the text sound weird. use ´"them" instead of "your name".”

“I am Christine,” she replied. “This is Charles. Your missing description here. She just continues her speech by saying farewell. That's awfully cold of her. Explain what she does before she continues by saying farewell. Farewell; have a good Christmas.”

“Charles and Christine,” he repeated, when they were gone, thinking about the words[names]. “Charles and Christine.”

How nice they have[had] or [are] and ditch the been if you use [are] been, thought the beggar to himself. I hope they do have a merry Christmas.

But then, something hit his head. It was as cold as ice and quite hard. He felt around his head, but whatever it was had disappeared.

“Oh, well, then,” said William, puzzled, but he dismissed the subject immediately and continued to think about the words for the rest of the day. When he fell asleep that night, he dreamt of the words!

It was very uncomfortable on the ground, yet William John McKinley smiled as he slept.

William John McKinley smiled as he slept.

And he smiled so very sincerely indeed!

Nice story, but you need to read it through a fw times and you'll notice how you start picking up some mistakes and things you want to improve. There's not much action in this piece... I mean that it has a lack of movement. But overall a nice good piece. Keep up the good work.

Thanks for reviewing! I'll read through it and see what I can change. I really appreciate it. Chapter 2 will be coming soon. Please review that one, too. I'd love to have your input on all of the chapters.

An interesting story I must say Munchie! I particularly enjoyed how you fiddled with this idea of how an old beggar man understands the ways of the wise. Your story also shows how you understand how the world works with people taking advantage of the weak and poor-off. But you reminded us of how there are still a few good souls out in the world.

The story itself, though showing great meaning and depth, needs some work on actually flowing. All the breaks make it a bit choppy, but the dialogue shows a bit of strength in them.

Keep revising and I think this will turn out great!

PM if you need anything,

Thief

Thanks for your encouraging words, Theif.

The whole concept of a beggar who had very little materialistic things, but had so much in things that money couldn't buy was just something I thought was really cool. I had to write it! So, the finished product went something like what you saw.

Here is the actual finished product:

Chapter 1: The Homeless Beggar

It was Christmastime, and it was freezing cold and snowing.
An old beggar sat on the street corner, singing for passersby. He sang a song that he had written. It was mostly meaningless, but the beggar was sure it had to mean something. There was no way it meant nothing whatsoever. It was just impossible.
The lyrics of the song were sad enough to make the singer cry every once in a little while.
As he sang, he held out a hat for anyone to drop a coin or two into.
Occasionally, someone would actually do as he wanted.
“’Ello, Ma’am,” he said, holding out his hat as a woman walked by.
She just snickered and kept walking, but he kept smiling.
Even after several more similar cases, he kept singing and smiling.
What was his name? His name was William Jonathan McKinley.
Who, exactly, was he? He was a poor, homeless man in Winchester, England.
“Excuse me, sir, could you sing something for my wife?” asked a man, who was standing with his coughing wife. “She is very ill, and this would lift her spirits a great deal.”
He began singing a happy song about life and the beauties of it. His mother had sung that song to him right before bed when he was a boy.
The man stood in awe while he sang, marveling at his beautiful voice, despite his appearance.
Once he was done, William gave a large smile to him.
He dropped a coin into his cap, for the man was very poor himself, and strode away.
“Thank you,” said he, smiling once more. “Anything is appreciated.”
His smile was quite unattractive with dirty teeth and dry lips, but still sincere.
He observed the coin and then dropped it in his pocket.
He once again held out the cap and began to sing the sad song that he had written.
“Sir?” asked a small voice, making the beggar stop singing.
“Yes, little one.”
“What are you called?”
“William John McKinley,” he replied. “But call me whatever your heart desires.”
“What does it mean?” asked a little boy, but he did not understand. “Your song, sir, what does it mean?”
“You will know in due time, boy,” said William.
“But why can I not know now?” he asked.
“I cannot tell you.” William’s eyes lit up as he began. “A song can mean a myriad of things. You see—.” But the little boy was dissatisfied, and walked away to his sister immediately, his feet pounding heavily against the ground.
“Sister, he does not explain the song to me!”
“He does not have to, dear brother,” said the boy’s sister.
William smiled as the boy was persistent in his whining. However, he began to feel sorry that he had made the boy upset.
“Little one, don’t be sad,” he extended his hand to the boy, and the boy hesitantly grabbed it. William knelt down, so he could be level with him. “I didn’t tell you the meaning to the song because ‘alf the time I don’t know what I’m singing about meself.”
“Then why do you sing it?”
“Because I like to sing. Was singing ever against our law?”
“No.”
“Exactly, my boy. Now you ‘ave a merry Christmas. Can you do that for me?” he smiled, and the boy, though still dissatisfied, nodded dutifully.
He ran back to his sister. “Sister, I have made a friend,” he said excitedly. “I am sure you have,” she smiled, and then turned to William. “God bless you good man, and have a wonderful Christmas yourself.”
The beggar smiled. “I think I will!”
His sister dropped two coins into William’s cap.
“I’d give you more, but it is all I have,” she sighed.
“As I said, anything is appreciated,” he smiled and winked at the two of them.
“Thank you, William John McKinley,” said she, for she had overheard him say his name.
“Let me know your lovely names so that I can remember you by them.”
“I am Christine,” she replied. “This is Charles.” And she walked over and shook his hand. “Farewell; have a good Christmas.”
“Charles and Christine,” he repeated, when they were gone, thinking about the names. “Charles and Christine.”
But then, something hit his head. It was as cold as ice and quite hard. He felt around his head, but whatever it was had disappeared.
“Oh, well, then,” said William, puzzled, but he dismissed the subject immediately and continued to think about the words for the rest of the day. When he fell asleep that night, he dreamt of the words!
It was very uncomfortable on the ground, yet William John McKinley smiled as he slept.
Indeed, William John McKinley smiled as he slept.
And he smiled so very sincerely indeed!

Any better?

Chapter 2: The Mayor’s Assistant

Now, in that same town of Winchester, there lived a mayor named Smith. Now, Mister Smith’s first name was unknown to everyone except his assistant and his wife.
Smith had a problem.
“There is no way that beggar can stay there!” he said worriedly.
“Why not, Sir?” asked his assistant, Fredrick Alexander O’Brien, who was originally from Scotland.
“People just do not want to see a…” he said, struggling for the right words. “People do not want to see a dirty, odiferous, and completely obsolete beggar sitting on a perfect street corner.”
“Sir, I think you are being much too rash,” said Fredrick.
“We will move him to a hospital,” suggested Smith.
“But what if he is not ill?”
“Then we will put him in a mental asylum.”
“But what if he is not crazy?”
“Then…then he will have to move somewhere else. Maybe he could go to Scotland!”
“Scotland does not need any more beggars either,” retorted O’Brien.
“But am I the mayor of a town in Scotland?” he asked, and Fredrick shook his head. “Exactly. I do not care very much about the well-being of any town but my own.”
The assistant sighed. He looked in the mirror. His hair was not grey, but dark brown. His face was not wrinkled with age, but young and handsome.
O’Brien was only eighteen, but he insisted that he was four months away from being nineteen, and that he was not a child. But still, four months from being nineteen or not, he was far too young to be under so much pressure.
“What are you looking at?” interrupted the mayor. “You are handsome, my boy, but not quite that handsome!”
“No, no, sir, I was just wondering if my father looks anything like me, and observing my features closely,” he apologized.
“Oh, well, then, I suppose my frustration was in vain.”
“No, do not fret about hurting my feelings. It does not happen easily.”
“Are you sure, son?”
“I am quite sure. Do not fret,” he
repeated. “I am not hurt quite that eas—”
O’Brien could not finish his sentence. He had caught sight of someone—someone talking to a small boy and a lovely girl.
At that very moment, something hit the beggar’s head. It was too small for Fredrick to see, but he knew that something had hit the beggar’s head!
“O’Brien,” said Mister Smith quietly, but Fredrick did not hear. “O’Brien,” he said once more, this time a bit louder. “O’Brien!”
“Yes, sir!” he responded, nearly put into a state of sheer panic.
“What were you doing?”
“Nothing, sir.”
“Then why did you not look at me when I spoke?” demanded Smith.
“I’m not sure, sir,” he said, his eyes drooping slowly to the floor.
“You saw something!” he accused sharply.
“I saw nothing in particular,” he insisted.
“Then what were you doing!?” he demanded once more.
“Nothing,” returned O’Brien softly.
“You are frustrating me beyond my wits!”
“My apologies, sir,” he said, his eyes returning to their other position.
“Thank you for apologizing,” said the mayor in a very matter-of-fact tone. “Well, then, you must be off.”
“But, sir, we must continue, mustn’t we?”
“No, I think we are done.”
“Oh…I—I thought we were continuing.”
“No.”
With this, the young assistant stepped outside into the cold, shivering. The mayor had borrowed O’Brien’s coat for his own son. He had reason to shiver.
His hands were bright red, and his nose began to take on the same color.
“Why did I allow him to take my coat? I am cold,” he wondered, his teeth
clattering.
Of course, he did understand that the only reason he allowed the mayor to keep his coat was that he could be fired if he did not. But, knowing that he could never know why he even wanted to keep the job, Fredrick dismissed the subject immediately.
And so Fredrick Alexander O’Brien went home, without a coat, and ever so cold. However, the weather did not keep him from thinking. He thought about many things.
First, he thought about the weather. It was very cold and very snowy. The snow had begun to pile up to three inches, and his feet sunk into it, which made them even colder.
Second, he thought about the mayor and his job as his assistant. He thought that he should quit. He thought that his pay was much too meek.
And third, he thought about the beggar, and what they would do about him. He was concerned that he would not have somewhere to go.
His feet sunk, his pay was too low, and he was concerned.
And though it was cold, Fredrick Alexander O’Brien could think so very clearly.

And so, the correcting begins!

Anyone? Please?