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Young Writers Society


Something is lacking, I'm not sure what though



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Sun Apr 08, 2007 5:14 pm
Fishr says...



Being the fourth person to write about the Salem Witch Trials in the HF area, I feel there is a certain element missing in my story. I'm just not sure if it's the characters, the plot, voice (dialogue), clothing, or what have you... I kinda feel there is a sense of detachment from the characters, like they are a paper cut-out but prehaps they are developed enough? I don't know, I just think I'm missing some detail here to set the mood, so to speak. Then again, prehaps I'm racking my brain over nothing, lol! So, I posted what has been written so far, and I'd really like opinions - everything under the sun! :P Thank ye. ;)

*

Prologue


1st Janry, 1729

In the Name of God Amen


And after the quill finished writing the inscription and date in perfect form, its master feverously continued scratching on the parchment, with the single glow of a candle not far from the gentleman's left elbow.

The room in which, the ailing magistrate sat, hunched, and thoroughly intent on finalizing his precious entry, the darkness resembled that of the prison; cold, dank and unbearable. Nineteen lives were sent to the Hangman's Noose, in the year of sixteen hundred and ninety-two, and our fellow diarist was appointed to the court of Oyer and Terminer as one of seven other Judges of the accused citizens of Salem, Massachusetts. He would be swept with the hysteria, but unlike his associates, who willingly badgered, and sneered in a victim's face, this gentleman felt guilt, and on the day of Prayer and Fasting, he publicly admitted remorse. He was the only Judge to do so.

But the diarist was not alone…

In the room, a young lad was sitting on the stool, and watching intently as the quill obeyed its master's pace.


* * *

Hobbs Family of Topsfield

The arrested folk were brought to us. To be examined and see if the three might not be as the assumed, William and Deliverance Hobbs shall pay their dues, but not without the one who has claimed she had sold herself, "body and soul to the 'Old Boy.' Abigail was to be executed in the year of our Lord, Amen, the 22nd of September but the cunning tool of Him allowed her time to reflect – prepare.

I recollect that John Hathorne nearly was as wily as the Great Being Below, and if not for his cunning ways, may the lives not haunt but ever forgive my sincere mistake to their deaths.

It was the 19th of April when she was officially arrested. Sharp but uncertain eyes were looking Abigail up and down by me. As plain as the poor girl was dressed, her expression was not different. In fact, there was a rather simplistic face, but she stood with firmness; fear had not yet granted a favor into its whim.

Hathorne sat next to I, and my other counterparts to examine Abigail Hobbs. In my ill-fated sickness, oh Blessed Be, I remember the talk.

___


"I am a witch," Abigail readily admitted.

"Rest assured honesty will not necessarily suppress conviction," John Hathorne replied casually. "Is there more in which you are not telling us?"

She nodded without hesitation. "Shortly before arrest, I had been advised to flee out of the jurisdiction of the Court by the spectres of Judah White of Casco and Sarah Good of Salem Village, whom I suspect to also be witches."

"And do you plan on leaving?"

"No, I had no intention."

"And the other two? What of them?" Hathorne pressed.

"They had ordered me not to tell authorities."

"And is there anything else you must confess before verdict?"

"Yes, I hurt three afflicted girls – Ann Putnam Jr., Abigail Williams, and Mercy Lewis – by sticking thorns into three dolls made in similar fashion by the devil."

The revelation stirred and aroused us. Hathorne whispered, and asked questions of what to do. The same practice was carried down the table in front of us in hushed whispers. Finally after much debate, we had heard all that was needed, and Hathorne ordered that she be segregated from the other prisoners until A. Hobbs was to be tried by the Court on a later date.

W. and D. Hobbs were arrested on the 21st of April and examined thoroughly the next day. The man known as William; I regret sincerely that he was to be put through such an exhausting trial. No person had such resilience than that of the stubborn nature of William Hobbs except, perhaps, another known as Giles Corey.

I recollect that Hobbs entered the courtroom, and no sooner had a single foot stepped, the afflicted persons began to cry. I remember plainly, Hathorne and I exchanged confusion, and stared at this meek person.

"Have you hurt these persons," Hathorne asked, and pointed to Abigail Williams, Mercy Lewis and Mary Walcott, who all were standing rigidly behind William Hobbs.

Silence.

"What say you, are you guilty or not?"

"I can speak in the presence of God safely, as I may look to account another day, that I am as clear as a new-born babe," answered William.

"Clear of what?" Hathorne persisted.

"Of witchcraft."

"Have you never hurt them?"

"No."

"Have you not consented that they should be hurt?"

Before Hobbs was allowed to answer, Abigail Williams cried allowed that his spectre was approaching Mercy Lewis, and within seconds, Mercy was screaming in what appeared to be a most unpleasant case of agony.

After some time, silence greeted us favorably. It was Hathorne though, who dismissed it. He bellowed, pointed a finger at Hobbs, and asked in a most fearsome tone, "How can you be clear when the children saw something come from you and afflict these persons? Why not follow your wife's example and confess guilt?"

No more did this frail person appear sickly but had God given him strength, W. Hobbs first showed his resilience. He appeared sturdier or much engerised suddenly. Perhaps if my mind was not misguided, I would have accepted God's good graces and not foreseen Hobbs' sudden energy in front of us as a sign of the devil working His black ways but interfered with my colleague presiding the Trials – Hathorne. I did not. I watched.

"What do you call it? You look upon them and they are hurt."

Silence.

"Mark my words, you shall come clean in order to be forgiven," Hathorne warned in a firm tone. Even I sensed tension, and I remember slipping my chair a few inches to the left, away from hot wind.

Receiving not a reply, he asked Hobbs carefully, "When is it, your last attendance to a public religious meeting? Surely, a man of faith must be a regular?"

"I have not been in a long time."

"And why?"

"Sir…-"

"Are you withdrawing information?" Hathorne interrupted. "And why is your cheeks flushed?"

I do remember at this point, I interfered, and suggested that he adhere to the presidings – No personal questions unless they must come forward.

"As you please, Mister Sewall. I will not press but he must answer the questions. Does this satisfy you?" he turned, and asked me directly.

I nodded.

Hathorne turned again and kept his direction forward. "Your answer?"

Hobbs replied in a near whisper, "I have been too ill to leave my house, a fact I kept secret from my closest friends, until now."

"Can you act witchcraft here, and by casting your eyes turn folks into fits?"

"You judge your pleasure. My soul is clear."

"Do you not see that you hurt these by your look?"

"No, I do not know it," Hobbs replied a bit uneasy.

"Don't you overlook them?"

"No, I don't overlook them."

"What do you call that way of looking upon persons, striking them down?"

"You may judge your pleasure."

"Well, what do you call it?"

"It was none of I," Hobbs said.

"Who was it then?"

"I cannot tell who they were."

"Why, they say they see you going to hurt persons, and immediately you hurt persons."

If such a signal was present, Abigail Williams again cried out that Hobbs' spectre was going toward Mercy Lewis, then warned several other persons that the spectre was approaching them, and in each case the person whose name she called immediately began to scream, rolling about on the floor in what looked to be agony.

___


"Saaamueeelll"...., a childish voice called. "Samuel Sewall."

I put the quill upon the desk, and rubbed the aches out of my right hand.

"Samuel, why is your hand shaking?

I turned to the boy speaking of me and said simply, "I am of age."

"But your memory, it's good. How come?"

"Blessed be a child's curiosity never be forgotten but why ask this of me? I have not pressed you."

"No, you pressed someone else, to death!" the boy hissed.

Waving my right hand, not the least amused, I dismissed the comment.

"Well? How come your memory is so good if you are so old?"

"I never said I was old. I said I am of age. There is a difference. If I was as old as you presume me to be, I would not have the God's honest strength of writing for any length of time."

Satisfied when the boy had not questioned after, I read what was written to myself and being satisfied, I continued through the course of events.

___
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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Sun Apr 08, 2007 5:33 pm
Lady Pirate says...



I personally feel like it is lacking emotion. This was a very emotional time in American History, we study it in English, and American History. It was a time of strength, and holding true to yourself even though it meant dying for what you believed in. And it wasn't just women, it was men as well. John Proctor was one man out of a few to also lose his life. Giles Cory was another. -It's just missing emotion.

The first section is really formal. You can have emotion and still keep that formal air, you know what I'm saying?

What I do when I feel that my writing is lacking emotion. I take one piece of the writing, and switch it into 1st person. Take your main character, and in a separate document rewrite the story from the 1st person POV. It will tell you how that character is feeling at that moment.

Get what I'm saying??
I hoped that helped, let me know if you have any questions.
'My words fly up, my thoughts remain below.
Words without thoughts never to heaven go.'

William Shakespeare
Greatest English dramatist & poet (1564 - 1616)
  





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Sun Apr 08, 2007 5:35 pm
miyaviloves says...



What Lady Pirate said, this was auch a huge and emotional part of history you oculd reall use that to your advantge in your work, so good luck!

Meevs
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Sun Apr 08, 2007 5:47 pm
Fishr says...



Hehe...

That is one factor I thought as well but I wanted to see what others thought.
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.
  








You must never give into despair. Allow yourself to slip down that road, and you surrender to your lowest instincts. In the darkest times, hope is something you give yourself. That is the meaning of inner strength.
— Uncle Iroh