Snow- Ch. 3

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This chapter was kind of a struggle for me. i know its not as good as the others XD ~pointe


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Chapter III:

As I dressed that morning, I felt tears rolling down my face. Tears of joy, Tears of sorrow? I’m not sure. They rolled, one after another down my cheeks and then fell to the stone floor, splashing up and down like a ball. My dress was a blue cotton shift, and over top was a satin white skirt. A vest that was blue and white checked lay over that, and then my midnight blue cloak, which I tied around my shoulders with its silver ribbon. Someone pounded at my door, “Miss White, be ready to leave in half an hour.” Then footsteps echoed down the hall, walking away from my door. I flew to the window, climbing out onto the branch to bid farewell to my friends.

This is farewell my friends,
Not for long.
We will meet again in my dreams,
Very soon.
You will fly in the sky someday,
With me.
You and I.
This is not farewell.
This is a promise,
For a dream…

Short and sweet, it brought tears to my eyes. The birds chirped and hopped onto my skirt, tweeting sweetly. I bent down, my lips brushing their heads, and sang softly.

A bird is the gift from the sky to the land.
A nest is a gift from the land to the bird.
A song is the gift from the bird to land.
A song---- is what we wish for in our dreams---.
And the bird gives us that,
Carrying on their wings.
And we know, our fairy godmothers are there,
Flying with the blue birds,
Under the blue sky.
And we know,
We’re not alone,
When the blue bird sings its song—

I then deposited them carefully in their nest, petting their soft heads, then climbed into my room.
On a last thought, I threw my school scrolls into my carpet bag, deciding I could do some studies on the trip. I heard the footsteps of Hugo down at the end of the corridor. I picked up my carpet bag and left my room, shutting the door tight behind me.
~
Hugo and I walked to the castle gate, where two horses stood, waiting to be mounted.
He secured my carpet bag to the horse’s saddle, grunting under the weight of books and clothes. He then helped me up, making sure I was comfortably seated on its padded leather saddle. My step mother, tall and forbidding, stood at an upstairs window, watching us leave the castle grounds. I began to wave then changed my mind, instead tucking a loose strand of hair behind my ear. I felt a strong sense of longing as my horse walked through the gates. Then a thought came to me, scary but perhaps true; I would never return.

We travelled most of the day, not stopping for anything. I didn’t mind. My horse’s reigns were fixed to the back of Hugo’s saddle, and Hugo didn’t care what I did. We walked for an hour or so, me reading from my mythology scroll, him leading our horses straight ahead. He abruptly stopped, turning to face me. “Sing something.” then he turned and urged the horses forward again. I blushed. I had never thought somebody besides my tutor would have heard me sing, but Hugo was often beneath my tree when I would sing. Silly me, thinking no one could hear me if I didn’t want them to. I took a deep breath, summoning a song I thought he would like.

Sweet dreams my love,
Sweet sorrows when you wake.
Sweet singing to awaken you.
Sweet arms to hold you.

As I sang the fourth line, he joined in, his mellow bass joining my soprano.

Sweet stars in the sky,
Sweet hearts to break.
I see you beyond the garden gate,
And wish for all the sweet dreams to be mine.
Sweet dreams my love.
Sweet sorrows when you wake.
Sweet singing to awaken you.
Sweet—arms to hold you.

It was a love song my governess had taught me when I was small, sitting outside in the sun, singing all kinds of songs, all of which I remember.
Hugo and I sang all the songs we knew, and sometimes taught the other one new ones. The sun was setting and Hugo was leading us into a clearing when I sang the last ballad of the evening.

Once upon a time,
Such a magical line.
The line that reminds you,
There might even be,
A fairytale place.
Where dreams come true.
The dreams of dreamer,
Flit so far away.
The songs of singer,
We are going to say.
The stars of the sky,
Twinkle down at us.
You and I.
In once upon a time---.
The dreams of a dreamer,
Flit so far away,
The songs of a singer,
We are going to say----.

“We can sleep here,” Hugo said gruffly, stopping our horses in the middle of a forest clearing. The trees stood, large and imperious over the mossy ground, shadowing the clearing, so that in the failing light, it was almost pitch black. He helped me down from my horse, and then went off to find spruce to light a fire. I took my carpet bag down and lay it off to the side against a tree then began clambering up the side, nimble as a squirrel. “Hello,” I whispered to the birds that sat in the nest half way up the tree.
“I’m Snow,” the birds ignored me, as they often do when I was new. So I jumped back to the ground.
Hugo came out of the woods, carrying sticks and twigs. He placed them in a clear patch of ground, and struck flint against stone, lighting the pine branches. Soon after the fire was lilt, a peppermint smell filled the clearing. I sniffed, long and deep, and began rolling out my bedroll, till it was perfectly positioned against the tree.
Meanwhile, Hugo was scraping soft cheese on the bread, and meat on top of that. He handed the sandwich to me, his hand shaking slightly. I bit into the bread, which was slightly mealy. The meat was ham and melted on my tongue deliciously. “Mm...” I murmured, taking another bite of the food. “This is good.”
He grunted in answer, turning his back on me to unroll his own bed roll. I finished the morsel, and stood up, wiping my hands on my handkerchief. I walked out of the clearing to the edge of a path, where there was a stream. I washed my hands and face, pulling my clothes off except for the long cotton shift that doubled as a nightgown. Then I re-entered to clearing, hanging my clothes from a branch to create a make-shift curtain. “I’m going to bed,” I announced, then slipped into the sleeping bag, huddling down under the wool blanket.
The dreams of the dreamers,
Flit so far away.
hush, my sweet
these tornadoes are for you


-Richard Siken


Formerly SparkToFlame




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It's good, I don't know why you're disappointed with it. I only have two things to correct:
Tears of joy or tears of sorrow? I was not sure.
There, I think that's better.
And:
it brought tears to my eyes
There's nothing wrong with this, just that she seemed to already be crying, but tears are coming into her eyes again...Maybe saying the moment touched her would have sounded better.

:D That's all,
keep 'em coming!
when she needs to shelter from reality she takes a dip in my daydreams




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It's me again. I really like this one too. Once again, very few things to change. The only thing that really bugged me was when you said "the meat was ham". I was practicly in a trance, reading it, feeling like I was there until you said that. Explaining in stories is like a jolt back to reality, which you don't want. I would say something like "the delicate strip of ham melted in my mouth and flavors from the cheese erupted" or something like that. This is still amazing and I can't wait to read more.
Cats are like characters. You may say they're yours, but in reality, they own you. ~Me

You can take away all the arts you want, but soon, the children won't have anything to read or write about. ~Glen Holland




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Hey Pointe, Hawk here to review! :D

Okay, so there are a few things I'd like to mention before I get down to the nitpicks.

One is your formatting. When you go to post a new chapter, under the posting box you'll see something entitled Format Options or something similar; if you select the "Story" option, it'll automatically space out your paragraphs and make it much easier on the readers' eyes.

Second, you've got a lot of songs in the chapters, and frankly it feels like too much. I can understand her singing, but it's just constant and you write down all of the lyrics...as nice as the songs are, I want to read more about Snow and the plot, not every single thing she's singing. It takes away from the story's pace, also.

Another thing I noticed is that you tend to do a lot of telling, not showing. Now, this is something that a lot of writers struggle with (including yours truly!), and I know it can be hard to know just when you should be showing and how to do so. Take a look at this link; it gives a really good in-depth explanation on the intricacies of showing vs. telling.

Now, for the nitpicks:

My dress was a blue cotton shift, and over top was a satin white skirt. A vest that was blue and white checked lay over that, and then my midnight blue cloak, which I tied around my shoulders with its silver ribbon.


Your descriptions here are fine, it's just the way you word them that sounds off and not flowing. Try something like, "My dress was a blue cotton shift, on top of which was a white satin skirt. A blue-and-white checked vest lay over my dress, and covering all was my midnight blue cloak, tied around my shoulders with a silver ribbon." See how that has an easier flow to the descriptions?

Then a thought came to me, scary but perhaps true; I would never return.


Expand upon this; why does she think this? How does she feel about it? Does she ponder over it, wondering why she should have such a feeling? This is something that definitely needs more details.

We travelled most of the day, not stopping for anything. I didn’t mind. My horse’s reigns reins were fixed to the back of Hugo’s saddle, and Hugo didn’t care what I did. We walked for an hour or so, me reading from my mythology scroll, him leading our horses straight ahead.


I find this hard to believe; she's reading from a scroll while riding a horse that's being led? Even if it's going at a slow, leisurely pace, there's still going to be some motion that makes it difficult to read and especially absorb something educational. Also, she's got to be holding on to her horse's mane, saddle pommel, or whatever, which only leaves one hand available for holding onto the scroll, which is usually held with two hands.

Okay, so that's all I have to say. Looking forward to the next chapter! (:
There are two kinds of folks who sit around thinking about how to kill people:
psychopaths and mystery writers.

I'm the kind that pays better.
~Rick Castle




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You know, I really liked the chapter! At first, it seemed like it was out of any old story that you'd pick out of a library, but then it took off into something different. I love how expressive you were, especially with the songs that Snow sings. But that one part where Snow thought that she wouldn't come back to the castle kinda made me think. If you left it like that, it could make your readers think why she said that. Maybe you should put in how Snow feels when she thinks that. Include something thats shows if she has any remorse for leaving. I still like how you put everything else! Just change that one part, and I think it will be perfect.
Remember who you are. You are my son, the one true king. Remember!X)




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Hey Pointe,

Back for chappy three!

Ok, I don't have much to say that RH hasn't said already but it's worth repeating: there are too many songs here. You can give the first part, the one he joins in on, but that's it. You are filling up all the page space with the lyrics, and that is not why we're here. We're here to find out what's happening with Snow. How did is different, yet similar to the fairy tale.

Great chapter, keep writing!

Tanya



For according to the trollish philosopher Plateau, "if you wants to understan' an enemy, you gotta walk a mile in his shoes. Den, if he's still your enemy, at least you're a mile away and he's got no shoes."
— A Blink of the Screen by Terry Pratchett