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Mon Sep 04, 2006 1:48 am
Fishr says...



Howdy, all!

Well, I haven't written in my novel, Bound for Glory: Our Brethren, for about three weeks; a small vacation if you will. So, I was looking over chapter three, and this paragraph caught my attention. I'm curious as to what everyone thinks about it - image wise, and well, if there's grammar mistakes feel free to point out those too. ;)

But really, I'm more along the lines wondering what these few paragraphs do to you. What image was created, if any? And if you 'saw' something, anything, what did you see?

The answers might help me to determine if the paragraphs are decent or if I need to alter words or sentences because really my goal was to suck the reader in by showing them something terriable.

Here it is:

"Weren't you afraid of being tried?" I asked uncertainly.

"Frightened is the word," father muttered. "Anything could have happened, depending on who was to lead the trial. The very least, my fate would more than likely have been stripped of my uniform and discharged, but certainly imprisonment was not out of question either. Whilst in the war, my ears heard the horrendous stories of the prison ships from my comrades. The stories were told by skilled storytellers, who could wield webs of painted portraits in our memory, as we sat around in a circle, listening. Whether it be propaganda or truth, the crackling flames illuminated fright in its purest form with the darting of the storyteller's pupils and grief-stricken expressions, as each of their hushed voices took turns. One such story described loathsome dungeons. Good, honest people were denied the light and air of Heaven. Scantily fed on poor, putrid, and sometimes uncooked food; obliged to endure companionship of the most abandoned, and those ill with infectious disease, worn out by groans and complaints of their suffering fellows, men would supposedly endure the ultimate sacrifice for treason, and being prisoners of war."

I watched Father clutch his shoulders tightly, and shivered. Afterwards, he crossed his arms against his stomach, glaring intently in my direction. I said nothing, and I was amazed mum hadn't either. Instead, I mimicked Father, in hopes that the mild pressure against my chest, would shield me from my own picture starting to emerge.

After a few seconds, Father unbuttoned his black waistcoat, slipped his arms out, and dropped it by his left foot. Beads of sweat had formed by his thick brows, and he immediately reached, and wiped them away.

"I believed I had a minor charge brought against me, but the absolute fear of sitting below the bowls of a ship, in the darkness, sitting among disease, starvation, and filth; it would have been a glorious hell, and death in that situation would be a blessing," he continued. "If such prisons existed or they still dwell, may the Lord protect His children in their darkest hour of need."

He gulped, and then swallowed. Thanks to him, the image fully presented itself now. I pictured fifty men below a ship, their heads jerking from one side to the next, with the rhythm of the waves. I saw pale, ghostly white faces. The men in my mind were frail, and bones protruded from under their flesh by their ribcages and jowls. As the image became more realistic, I hunched over, cupping my mouth, and heaved some salvia. I imagined all fifty gnarled fingers were pointing, as I stood watching the half-circle of men. Flies buzzed about, and some covered portions of the prisoner's face as well as the deceased.

A tiny weight was perched on my right shoulder. I rubbed my eyes, and wiped away globs of salvia from the corners of my lips. Afterwards, I swallowed also, attempting to force the image away.


Thank you for your time.
fishr
Last edited by Fishr on Tue Sep 05, 2006 2:40 pm, edited 1 time in total.
The sadness drains through me rather than skating over my skin. It travels through every cell to reach the ground. I filter it yet strangely enough, I keep what was pure and it is the dirt that leaves.
  





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Mon Sep 04, 2006 7:38 pm
Poor Imp says...



Brief grammar remarks first...

fishr wrote:"Weren't you afraid of being tried?" I asked uncertainly.

"Frightened is the word," father muttered. "Anything could have happened, depending on who was to lead the trial. The very least, my fate would more than likely have been stripped of my uniform and discharged, but certainly imprisonment was not out of question either. Whilst in the war, my ears heard the horrendous stories of the prison ships from my comrades. The stories were told by skilled storytellers, whom could wield webs of painted portraits in our memory, as we sat around in a circle, listening.


Either - "...some of whom..." or "who could wield webs of painted portraits..." Not direct object as it is.



After a few seconds, father unbuttoned his black waistcoat, slipped his arms out, and dropped it by his left foot. Beads of sweat had formed by his thick brows, and father immediately reached, and wiped them away.


"Father" repeated is redundant, as the previous sentences points out who it is performing the action. Leave it 'he', then?



"I believed I had a minor charge brought against me, but the absolute fear of sitting below the bowls of a ship, in the darkness, sitting among disease, starvation, and filth; it would have been a glorious hell, and death in that situation would be a blessing," he continued. "If such prisons existed or they still dwell, may the Lord protect His children in their darkest hour of need."


Typo - 'bowels'?

He gulped, and then swallowed. Thanks to father, the image fully presented itself now. I pictured fifty men below a ship, their heads jerking from one side to the next, with the rhythm of the waves. I saw pale, ghostly white faces. The men in my mind were frail, and bones protruded from under their flesh by their ribcages and jowls. As the image became more realistic, I hunched over, cupping my mouth, and heaved some salvia. I imagined all fifty gnarled fingers were pointing, as I stood watching the half-circle of men. Flies buzzed about, and some covered portions of the prisoner's face as well as the deceased.


First italicised -- "father" again when the sentence preceding uses 'he'. It tends to throw-off the flow, as if the reader's being prodded: 'look, it's father.' It would remain as clear, if not clearer, I think, if you leave it on the pronoun.

Second -- confused me? Heaved some...saliva? 0o'


A tiny weight was perched on my right shoulder. I rubbed my eyes, and wiped away globs of salvia from the corners of my lips. Afterwards, I swallowed also, attempting to force the image away.


What's the weight...? Typo - saliva, again?

As to the image, I think the father's narrative is woven amazingly well between son's reaction. I can see it well enough; and both characters outward action/aspect is vivid and apt.

Instead, I mimicked father, in hopes that the mild pressure against my chest, would shield me from my own picture starting to emerge.


This struck me especially as deft, contrast between - reflecting back to the father's manner. ^_^ And I enjoyed the entire scene, engaging, tension tangible.

...Hope that's somewhat helpful.
ex umbris et imaginibus in veritatem

"There is adventure in simply being among those we love, and among the things we love -- and beauty, too."
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Mon Sep 04, 2006 10:41 pm
Fishr says...



Wow, I suck with grammar, LOL! No, really, thank you Imp for correcting my mistakes. I knew their had to be several but I just couldn't find them.

I'm pleased too that I accomplished my goal.

Quote:
A tiny weight was perched on my right shoulder. I rubbed my eyes, and wiped away globs of salvia from the corners of my lips. Afterwards, I swallowed also, attempting to force the image away.


What's the weight...? Typo - saliva, again?


Well... that's my fault because I had decided not to add the other paragraph but here you go, Imp:

A tiny weight was perched on my right shoulder. I rubbed my eyes, and wiped away globs of salvia from the corners of my lips. Afterwards, I swallowed also, attempting to force the image away.

"Samuel? What is it?" mum asked with concern. Her hand remained, and I swallowed again.

"When Father described prison ships, an unpleasant imaged appeared," I remarked honestly.

"Shall I halt for now?" father said. "If revealing portions of my past is too unsettling, perhaps another time."


Does that clear up the 'weight' question? Although it might not because the excerpts I quote are in the middle of the scene. And I'm fixing all the mistakes right now. :)

EDIT:
Second -- confused me? Heaved some...saliva?
Well, heaving, in the manner I'm using it - to vomit; throw up. Is it possible to heave saliva? I thought it was, like if you cough hard enough, drips of it could seep out your mouth?
The sadness drains through me rather than skating over my skin. It travels through every cell to reach the ground. I filter it yet strangely enough, I keep what was pure and it is the dirt that leaves.
  





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Mon Sep 04, 2006 10:52 pm
Cassandra says...



As to the image, I think the father's narrative is woven amazingly well between son's reaction. I can see it well enough; and both characters outward action/aspect is vivid and apt.


^ Well said. :D This is not just a big blurb of thought, nor is it a lump of action. Both are woven together very well, which made it interesting.

Just one grammatical note:

Instead, I mimicked father, in hopes that the mild pressure against my chest, would shield me from my own picture starting to emerge.


^ Father should be capitalized here. There are a few other places in this piece where "father" should be capitalized as well, but I'm sure you can find them.

This really held my attention. Nice work. :D
  





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Mon Sep 04, 2006 10:56 pm
Fishr says...



Whoops, lol. Grammar is indeed my biggest flaw.

And thank you, Cassandra! :D That makes me feel pretty good. I'm so glad I actually accomplished something decent, LOL!
The sadness drains through me rather than skating over my skin. It travels through every cell to reach the ground. I filter it yet strangely enough, I keep what was pure and it is the dirt that leaves.
  





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Tue Sep 05, 2006 3:36 am
Poor Imp says...



Ah...heaved as in vomit - makes a bit more sense. ^_^ I just haven't ever seen it used in connection with merely spit/saliva; maybe because it sounded stronger than what 'saliva' usually connotes.

And the bit with the mother definitely clarifies 'the weight'.
ex umbris et imaginibus in veritatem

"There is adventure in simply being among those we love, and among the things we love -- and beauty, too."
-Lloyd Alexander
  





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Tue Sep 05, 2006 4:05 am
Snoink says...



Just remember! Titles are capitalized.

If I talk about my dad, then I'm not using a title at all. He is my dad. Now, if I talk about Dad, I have to capitalize it so that you know that I am speaking of him as a title. He is not your dad, he is my dad. He is Dad. Or Daddy... whatever.

And if I talk about my mom, or my mum, whatever, then I am talking about Mom. Yes... I gave her a title, so therefore I will capitalize that!

...me? Nit-pickish? Never!
Ubi caritas est vera, Deus ibi est.

"The mark of your ignorance is the depth of your belief in injustice and tragedy. What the caterpillar calls the end of the world, the Master calls the butterfly." ~ Richard Bach

Moth and Myth <- My comic! :D
  





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Tue Sep 05, 2006 4:08 am
Fishr says...



I'll try and watch the titles, thank you. It's just grammar has always been my greatest flaw and I can never get a grip on it.

Perhaps someday... ;)

So, I haven't correct the errors in the samples posted yet, just the story itself, but what do you think of the paragraphs, Snoink? What is your opinions on them?
The sadness drains through me rather than skating over my skin. It travels through every cell to reach the ground. I filter it yet strangely enough, I keep what was pure and it is the dirt that leaves.
  





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Tue Sep 05, 2006 4:28 am
Snoink says...



Hahaha... you know me. Anything that has something to do with torture and violence has me happy. :) If I didn't comment on it, most likely, I liked it!
Ubi caritas est vera, Deus ibi est.

"The mark of your ignorance is the depth of your belief in injustice and tragedy. What the caterpillar calls the end of the world, the Master calls the butterfly." ~ Richard Bach

Moth and Myth <- My comic! :D
  





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Tue Sep 05, 2006 11:47 am
Myth says...



That's erm.. pretty gruesome. I can almost picture it. If you wanted the reader to have their own 'image' of what was described by Welcome you succeeded.
.: ₪ :.

'...'
  





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Tue Sep 05, 2006 2:01 pm
Wiggy says...



Very good fishr! The description was fantastic, but I think you almost overdescribed, especially in the first paragraph, with Welcome. It sounds like half narrative/half dialogue to me. Maybe take out just a few of the description words. Like instead of saying "Scantily clad....etc.," you could say, "We were barely clothed, and our aching bodies couldn't stand the cold." or something like that. Sorry, I gotta go, or I'd give a more in depth crit.
"I will have to tell you, you have bewitched me body and soul..." --Mr. Darcy, P & P, 2005 movie
"You pierce my soul." --Cpt. Frederick Wentworth

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Tue Sep 05, 2006 2:54 pm
Fishr says...



Snoink - LOL! Yes, I'm the same way when I'm reading. If gore, violence or some sort of acute conflict isn't present, I'm hardpressed to entertain. I don't do well with romance novels, lol.

Myth - Yes, the prison 'ships', most notably - The Jersey - were as Welcome described, "A glorious hell." While these people were near death, instead of shooting the prisoners to end suffering, they were left sprawled out until they died on their own. Sometimes bodies would be left below for days at a time before a British soldier went down to check on the inmates and 'the death count.'

So, I'm happy I brought life to an event that happened in the Revolutionary days, which is why I had to be really careful when describing the 'ships' because history doesn't know about them until much further in time. I tried treating it as a 'myth' or a 'mystery' through the characters. I hope I succeeded on that much too.

Thank you for you comments Myth. :) It gives me nice insight.

Wiggy - First, I always get a kick out of your avatar, lol. It's great. Second, thank you as well for the comment. As for the first paragraph, I don't know, but I like the choice of words and the way it's at (for lack of a better word) for now. I'll file your suggestion in my mind for later use. :)
The sadness drains through me rather than skating over my skin. It travels through every cell to reach the ground. I filter it yet strangely enough, I keep what was pure and it is the dirt that leaves.
  





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Wed Sep 06, 2006 12:11 am
Wiggy says...



Cool. :D

I like your avvie too! I had to choose this one for myself though because it's definitely me. Random, out of it, and happy. XD
"I will have to tell you, you have bewitched me body and soul..." --Mr. Darcy, P & P, 2005 movie
"You pierce my soul." --Cpt. Frederick Wentworth

Got YWS?
  








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