The Tower Girls- 1

Edited: 30/4/11

CHAPTER ONE: THE TOWER

Below us, somebody cleared his throat.
Even from the top of the tower it was a self-important sound. I froze, looked up at my companion. She kept her gaze fixed firmly on her embroidery. Three… two… one…
“Rapunzel, Rapunzel, let down your hair!”
At that, she looked up, her blue eyes troubled.
“Punzi,” I said with genuine sympathy. “Will they ever stop?”
She rigidly stood up and went to one of the four window in our tower room and peeped out.
“It is I, Lord Ashton!” he said proudly.
“I’m not taking any visitors today, thank you,” Punzi called down to him. “But I appreciate your concern.”
“But Lady Rapunzel, I’m here to rescue you!”
Punzi drew the purple velvet curtain and sat down once more. Her hands went to her hair and she tugged at it in anguish. Because where once there had been yards and yards of hair, her golden tresses- though still glorious- now hung barely to her shoulders. It was shorter even than mine.
I didn’t know what to say next, whether to grumble about Ashton and his lot, wonder where my mother was, ask who possibly told them about the beautiful girl trapped in a tower, or dare I mention Henry-?
“I wish they’d stop calling me ‘Lady,’” Punzi said, picking up her sampler. “I’m as peasant as they come. I’m named after a vegetable, for goodness’ sake.”
“But you’re in love with a prince, so I suppose that makes you lady enough.” Oh, damn you, Mirzia Crackledawn, damn you and your big mouth, I thought. Just had to go and mention him anyway, didn’t you?
Of course, that made Punzi look up with hope in her pretty pink face. “Do you think he’s coming back, Mirzi?”
Honestly? I had no idea. I was fond of Henry, of course I was, and I hoped that he was alright. But I doubted it. My mother was a vicious woman and I couldn’t see the prince with dancing eyes escaping her wrath. If he had, surely he would have come back for us by now.
“Definitely,” I told her. Punzi gave me a relieved smile and turned her nimble fingers back to her sewing.
Punzi and Mirzi. To me, we’ve always sounded like a matched pair. My mother rarely called Punzi anything and if she did, it was ‘Rapunzel’ after the cabbages that Punzi’s father stole from my mother. The cabbages that they paid such a dear price for.
I always wondered why my mother called me Mirzia. Lady Mirzia, the Beloved Traitor was one of the greatest heroes of our country. But very few children were given her name. The people of Redbrook, the village where I grew up, called me it grudgingly. Now it was simply another thing I did not know about my mother, like I did not know why she had stolen Punzi, why she had locked me up here, why she had left us.
I tried to immerse myself in my book once more. Russ, Henry’s servant and friend, had given it to me by way of Henry’s picnic basket on one of his visits. It was one of the last books he had lent me before he and Henry vanished without trace.
“Rapunzel, Rapunzel, let down your hair!”
Punzi threw her embroidery down this time. “Oh, for pity’s sake, is he still here?”
I stood up, went to the window. Lord Ashton, dark and clad in full armour, still stood at the bottom of the tower.
“My lady, I beg of thee, come down with me.”
“My lord?” I pretended to be sweet and accommodating, leaning out far over the ledge.
“Yes?”
“Please go away.” I withdrew again, folded my arms and plonked myself back in my seat by the unlit hearth. Punzi lifted her head, smiled with her mouth though her eyes were tired.
“What’s funny is that they haven’t even worked out amongst themselves that there are two of us here,” she said, turning back to her sampler as I picked up my book.
“They can’t see us that well.”
“Yes, but they can hear our voices and see our hair.” That was true. Punzi was quiet and polite whereas I didn’t have nearly as much patience. And the difference between Punzi’s shorn gold head and my own, thick black hair would have been hard to miss, if you had half a brain.
Then again, most of the suitors didn’t. “They’re idiots?” I suggested. Punzi murmured in agreement.
I finished the chapter. The book was a heavy history of the Dauston family- that was our ruling royal family. Henry’s family. It was heavy going, and not very enjoyable as it brought back reminders that he had left us here, whether by his own volition or not.
The close set words made in the Story Monks presses hurt my eyes. I eventually shut it and set it on the small pile of books Russ had borrowed from the university library or perhaps taken from Henry’s own stores. Punzi had glanced through a few of them, read one or two of the novels, but I knew her heart wasn’t really in it. They had come up in Henry’s picnic basket for me, often stuffed with letters from Russ.
Russ. I wished I knew what had happened to him, if my mother had punished him like I was sure she had punished Henry when she found him halfway up Punzi’s hair. She had chased the two away into the woods, then come back and, with the vicious snaps of a rusty scissors, cut off the long rope of Punzi’s hair.
I held it for her as she climbed down and now I was cursing myself. I could have done it then. Let her fall, dashed her against the walls. Killed her. But I wasn’t able to, couldn’t find the courage. The worst thing was, my mother must have known that too, or she never would have trusted me. Instead, I waited until she was safely on the ground, released the plait and watched as it waved out behind her like a flag as she disappeared into the dark of the forest.
That was a month ago. We hadn’t seen her, or the boys, since.
“Wish we had more books,” I said to Punzi.
“Wish we had more white cotton,” she said, finishing off a thread. “Or that I hadn’t used so much on that dress.”
I snorted. “It’s a lovely dress, and you weren’t to know. Besides, it’ll come in useful when…” When what? When we escape? And just how were we going to do that? “It’s a nice dress,” I finished, then stood up. “I’ll see what’s for dinner.”
The store room was just below our living room, and below that there was just abyss until you get to the well and the latrine on the bottom level, which I assumed was about six feet off the ground outside. Time was, the store room was full of the basics Mother supplied us with and the luxuries Henry brought from the palace. But now it was taking all of my creativity just to scrape together enough food to keep us going. Cooking has always been my responsibility, cleaning, Punzi’s. We were both reluctant to do either at this point, sick and tired and scared.
I found some questionable salted pork and some cheese, a lonely looking tomato, a couple of eggs and carried them back upstairs.
“This is going to be an interesting one,” I told Punzi, looking at her usual place in the faded red velvet chair by the hearth “I’m thinking omelette- Punzi?”
Because her place by the fire was empty. She was by one of the windows, leaning on the ledge, her head out far.
“That’s not a good way of hiding from suitors.”
“Where is he, Mirzi? What’s happened?” Punzi’s voice was tight with tears, and she held herself round the middle like she had always done when she was upset.
I laid the eggs down on the table and went over to her. I had been telling myself for the past month that I should feign cheerfulness for Punzi’s sake. But that was a lie. Because Punzi wasn’t stupid. She had lived in a tower for seventeen years, but she had never been stupid. She knew exactly what might have happened to Henry. Truthfully, my attempts at acting happy were to keep myself from going mad.
“I don’t know,” I said, wrapping my arms around her as she did the same. Punzi and Mirzi. Best friends, surrogate sisters, the stolen farm girl and the witch’s daughter. “I wish I knew, but I don’t.”
We stood there for a long time, Punzi crying her tiny sobs, delicate like everything else about her. I bit back tears. My first night in the tower, the night my mother bricked me in, left me here, I had wept for hours and hours. After that night, I left all the crying to Punzi. I was always the comforter, the one who reassured her, who took Punzi up onto the roof where the two of us would watch the stars and forget whatever troubles we had. There was no use both of us succumbing to tears, no matter how bad things were.
This was the worst it had ever been. But the principle still stood. Punzi was upset, and I couldn’t be. No matter how much I felt like crying, no matter how many hours I spent awake while she slipped into a tear-induced slumber. I took a deep breath, pulled away from Punzi.
“I need to start the dinner,” I said and left her standing by the window.

Comments and corrections in red.

Stella Thomas wrote:This is so not ready and will probably be taken down again after Reviewing Sunday, but hey, might as well get some opinions! I know it's a little long, don't feel pressured to read the whole thing! Didn't read, because I don't like explanations or excuses. Let the story stand on its own.

You can tell a really self-important person from a mile away if they clear their throat at the same volume as they are about to shout. First off, it's awkward, so revise. I'm iffy about your breaking the fourth wall in the first sentence, as it prevents the reader from being immersed in the story. Finally, this isn't all that interesting - it's only mildly so. I'd like to see more.

Lord Ashton- who had already been here three times and coughed each time- was one such individual. Stilted. Disrupts whatever flow you had going. Revise. I froze and looked up at my companion, but she kept her gaze fixed firmly on her embroidery. I shut my eyes. Three… two… one…

“Rapunzel, Rapunzel, let down your hair!”

At that, she looked up, her blue eyes troubled.

“Oh, Punzi,” Punzi sounds so funny to me I simply can't take it seriously. oo" I said with genuine sympathy. Your putting genuine before sympathy makes me suspect something's up. Like she's trying too hard to show us that she's sympathizing with Rapunzel. As a result, I think your narrator is an unreliable one, though I'm quite certain that's not what you aimed for. “Will they ever stop?”

She rigidly stood up Rigidly isn't working for me here. and went to the single window in our tower room and peeped out.

“It is I, Lord Ashton!” he said proudly.

“I’m not taking any visitors today, thank you,” Punzi called down to him. “But I appreciate your concern.”

“But Lady Rapunzel, I’m here to rescue you!”

Punzi drew the purple velvet curtain and sat down once more. Her hands went to her hair and she tugged at it in anguish. Because where once there had been yards and yards of hair, her golden tresses- though still glorious- now hung barely to her shoulders. Sentence is awkward. Revise. It was shorter even than mine. Even than mine strikes me as odd. Revise.

I didn’t know what to say next, whether to grumble about Ashton and his lot, wonder where my mother was, ask who possibly told them about the beautiful girl trapped in a tower, or dare I mention Henry-?

“I wish they’d stop calling me ‘Lady,’” Punzi said, picking up her sampler. “I’m as peasant as they come. I'm not sure about how you used the word peasant. I think it ought to be an adjective there, but again, I'm not sure about this. :/ Maybe get a second opinion? I’m named after a vegetable, for goodness’ sake.”

“But you’re in love with a prince, so I suppose that makes you lady enough.” Oh, damn you, Mirzia Crackledawn Again, name is too funny to take seriously. I'm thinking this is supposed to be sprinkled with light humor? It tries a bit too hard with the names., damn you and your big mouth, I thought. Just had to go and mention him anyway, didn’t you? I just realized the MC's name is Mirzia Crackledawn. oo"

Of course, that made Punzi look up with hope in her pretty pink face. “Do you think he’s coming back, Mirzi?”

Honestly? Did I think that Prince Henry, no matter how gallant, how charming, would really survive whatever punishment my mother had decided to deal him? And even if he did, would he really risk it all again to come and rescue Punzi? I mean, really? The last bit of this paragraph doesn't quite fit with the MC's voice.

“Definitely,” I told her. Smiling, she turned her nimble fingers back to her sewing.

Punzi and Mirzi. We’ve always managed to sound like a matched pair. At least to each other, and then, I suppose, to Henry and Russ. But apart from them, Punzi has only ever known me and my mother. My mother rarely called her anything, or if she did, it was “Rapunzel,” after the cabbages that Jer Freeson, Punzi’s father, stole from her all those years ago.

And me, well, everybody had always called me Mirzia, though the people of Redbrook did so grudgingly. Lady Mirzia was one of the great heroes of our land, I suppose calling a witch’s daughter by her name didn’t seem right. Only a witch- and a presumptuous one at that- would give a child such a name, but that was what my mother was, Mistress Crackledawn, a formidable magician, the witch in residence of Redbrook village. Infodump.

I immersed myself in a book, one of the last few that Russ had given me before he and Henry vanished.

“Rapunzel, Rapunzel, let down your hair!”

Punzi threw her embroidery down this time. “Oh, for pity’s sake, he’s the fifth one today.”

“I’ll deal with him. If he didn’t meet Lord Ashton on the way here.” I put the book down and made my way over the debris- we hadn’t tidied in a good few days - and looked out the window.

“My lady, I beg you,” said the individual who was standing a few feet in front of a guard on horseback. Why he needed guards was beyond me. Punzi and I were hardly going to attack him.

“Beg me what?” I had taken to just impersonating Punzi. I didn’t want to explain who I was or what I was doing in the tower. Besides, they could only see a little of my face, maybe the shadow of my hair.

“Come down, come away with me,” he said.

“Elopement?” I offered to Punzi.

She crinkled her nose. “What’s his name?”

“Don’t know, never seen him before. What’s your name?” I called down to him.

“Lord Kerryan!” he shouted back.

Punzi pursed her lips. “Sounds familiar. Never visited, but the name…”

“My lady, please, I can give you a good life-”

“Hang on!” Punzi put down her embroidery. “Henry went to his wedding, remember? He’s married!”

I remembered Henry’s absence as he went along with his father the king to attend the wedding of… yes, it was Lord Kerryan. I leant against the windowsill staring at Punzi for a few moments, shocked. How many of the others had been married?

“Lord Kerryan?” I asked.

“Yes?” He nudged his horse forwards eagerly.

“Go back to your wife.”

He was gobsmacked. How could she tell? If they can't see her face, why can she see theirs? “She is- I, well- I would never presume-”

“And neither would I. Goodbye, Lord Kerryan. Send the Lady my regards.”

I left the window much to his protests. He begged me to go back, but Punzi and I simply went back to our occupations.

“What’s funny is that they haven’t even worked out amongst themselves that there are two of us here.”

“They can’t see us that well.”

“Yes, but they can hear our voices and see our hair.” That was true. Punzi was quiet and polite whereas I didn’t have nearly as much patience. And the difference between Punzi’s shorn gold head and my own, thick black hair would have been hard to miss, if you had half a brain.

Then again, most of the suitors didn’t. “They’re idiots?” I suggested. Punzi murmured in agreement.

I finished the chapter. The book was a heavy history of the Dauston family- that was our ruling royal family, that Henry was a part of- and while fascinating, the close set words made in the Story Monks presses hurt my eyes. I eventually shut it and set it on the small pile of books Russ had borrowed from the university library or perhaps taken from Henry’s own stores. Punzi had glanced through a few of them, read one or two of the novels, but I knew her heart wasn’t really in it. They had come up in Henry’s picnic basket for me, often stuffed with letters from Russ.

Russ. I wondered where he was, what had happened. If the witch Mirzi will either call her the witch or mother. Take your pick. had punished him as she had Henry when she found him halfway up Punzi’s hair. At the bottom, he could have escaped, at the top we would have hidden him- we did once, when Russ warned us that my mother had come back unexpectedly. Henry had crouched behind sacks of grain in the store room for more than an hour. But halfway up, he had no escape, no way of denying what he had been doing. Now we had no way of knowing what had happened. She had chased the two away into the woods, then come back and, in vicious snaps of a rusty scissors, cut off the long rope of Punzi’s hair.

I held it for her as she climbed down and now I was cursing myself. I could have done it then. Let her fall, dashed her against the walls. Killed her dead. But I wasn’t able to, couldn’t find the courage. The worst thing was, my mother must have known that too, or she never would have trusted me. Instead, I waited until she was safely on the ground, released the plait and watched as it waved out behind her like a flag as she disappeared into the dark of the forest.

That was a month ago. We hadn’t seen her, or the boys, since. You'd think Punzi would be mad at Mirzi.

“Wish we had more books,” I said to Punzi.

“Wish we had more white cotton,” she said, finishing off a thread. “Or that I hadn’t used so much on that dress.”

I snorted. “It’s a lovely dress, and you weren’t to know. Besides, it’ll come in useful when…” When what? When we escape? And just how were we going to do that? “It’s a nice dress,” I finished, then stood up. “I’ll see what’s for dinner.”

The store room was just below our living room, and below that there’s just abyss until you get to the well and the latrine at the bottom, though the floor was actually about six feet above the ground outside. Carrying water up the spiral staircase was a trek, but both fireplaces were in our main room so there’s not much choice. Awkward sentence. Revise. And in the store room we kept our sacks of flour and grain and sugar, our dried meat, our vegetables and fruit and other delicacies. Time was, I used to revel in organising all of it, smelling it all and looking at all the colours, wondering what I would make that day. Blablabla. I'm getting bored. >>" Large blocks of text aren't really my forte, and this isn't something vital to the story. At leaset, I don't think so. My mother never went down, whenever she brought us bread or milk or any other basics she expected me to put them in the store. So we were able to keep the wonderful food Henry used to steal from the palace’s own kitchens. But neither had given us anything- basic or frivolous- in a month. It was taking all of my creativity just to scrape together enough food to keep us going- cooking had always been my responsibility, cleaning, Punzi’s. We were both reluctant to do either at this point, sick and tired and scared. So you mean the witch isn't feeding them anymore?

I found some questionable salted pork and some cheese, a lonely looking tomato, a couple of eggs and carried them back upstairs.

“This is going to be an interesting one,” I told Punzi, looking at her place by the ‘sitting’ hearth as I had named it. It may seem excessive to have two fireplaces in one room, but with the four open windows with only the curtains protecting us, the wind howling down from the stairwell to the roof, on winter nights we could have both roaring and the bed dragged near [Delete to] one, curled up together under all our covers and clothes and still be cold. Lucky that it was summer, now that I had to ration wood to just enough to make a meal. “I’m thinking omelette- Punzi?” I haven't seen you show much, nor have I seen much body language. :/

Because her place by the fire was empty. She was by one of the windows, leaning on the ledge, her head out far.

“That’s not a good way of hiding from suitors.”

“Where is he, Mirzi? What’s happened?”

Here were the tears again. We had managed none yesterday, or the day before. I should have been expecting them. Should have been expecting the need to go wrap my arms around her and let her cry, as I had done so often in the past three years, more often than ever in the past month. Punzi would weep and I would rub her back and after a while she would smile and decide everything would be alright.

I should have, then, gone to her this time, forgotten the dinner, sat on the roof watching the stars until Punzi was better. Everything would be normal and alright and we could survive another few days- until Henry’s disappearance struck her again.

“I need to get the fire going,” I muttered and went back down to the store room. Lacks thoughts. No train of thought. She just goes: I should do this but I won't.

Final thoughts:

As it stands, I'm not really all that interested in reading on. It's a fairytale rewrite, but there isn't much for me to go on. Also, I believe you started your story quite early - I think you can still afford to start later in time. The story should start as late as possible. Right now there isn't much going on, which accounts for my boredom. Not much conflict here. In fact, it's rather fluffy.

You should also concentrate on body language. Your use of body language here seems forced and it's as if you put it in only because you had to. Very little is seen. We need more.

You also rely on telling a lot, which is a bad habit. Apart from telling, you dumped information on the reader twice in this short chapter. I'm not even sure the second infodump was useful to the story. It seemed rather superfluous, and even if it was going to come back later and bite us by becoming a key feature in a fight or something, I wouldn't have remembered it because it was far too boring. It's best to dole out information in small scoops, not in one giant bowl. Try to pepper the information throughout the story. It's cold during winter? Let her shiver in the room and interact with the objects therein. It's easier for the reader to remember details if you reveal them that way.

There's a logical gap in this - if the witch is Mirzi's mother, then why did she lock Mirzi up with Punzi? The witch will still have some sort of maternal instinct, and judging by the name she gave her daughter, she loves her child very much. Why is it, then, that she shoves her daughter in a tower together with a blond the witch doesn't think much of? Plus, why is the witch trying to starve her only child to death? She ought to be trying to train her daughter.

Also, if Punzi and Mirzi have been together since forever, then how come Mirzi knows what other people call her? Haven't they been locked up in the tower for the longest time? Who would come up to Mirzi and call her by her name, apart from her mother?

You need to explain your characters' thought processes and motives better. This is all over the place towards the end. Punzi suddenly starts crying, coming off as crazy, and Mirzi suddenly turns tail and leaves her friend alone. It's a major what the hell moment. We don't understand anything, you have to remember. You might, as they're your characters, but remember the reader is in the dark. We're blind, and we expect you to describe things to us. Explain the world for us.

Characterization is a bit weak. Sure they're snarky, sort of, but that's their only trait. I don't really see how they react. Your main character especially is a problem. This is in first person, meaning that the narrator's personality has to come towards us and whack us in the head with a baseball bat. She has to be something different, or, at the very least, wildly interesting. I don't really know why you chose her as your narrator. Most people tend to write in first person, failing to realize that first person is the most difficult point of view to pull off, perhaps at par with the omniscient third person point of view.

The piece is reliant on the voice of your character, and will be tainted with the biases of your character. I don't see any biases showing themselves here, nor do I think your character's voice is strong enough to support the story. It's rather weak and uninteresting. Unless you can find your character's voice, and justify the extra oomph it'd give the story, I'd recommend you shift this to third person. I've read many books that work in first person, but I've read third person books that I'm definite wouldn't have worked in first person.

While we're on the topic of point of view, this piece lacks your main character's thoughts. There are some thrown in there, but they're barely there. So little, and not nearly opinionated enough. I understand that maybe your character isn't an opinionated person, but she cannot afford to be boring, as the piece depends on her. Does she offer an interesting, unique perspective? As of now, she doesn't. Try to be objective. Does this piece really demand to be written in first person? No? Shift to third.

The relationship between Punzi and Mirzi is informed, and isn't explored satisfactorily. I know, this is just the beginning of the story, but you should still give some measure of depth to it. It's rather shallow as of the moment. More like: I'm only here because I'm stuck with you and no one else. No other vibe comes from it.

The light humor I believe you tried to insert here tries too hard to be humorous and, in effect, fails. Let it come naturally. If your MC is humorous, let her be the one to amuse us. Don't force it on her. The part with the married guy failed particularly hard, as your attempt at humor was far too obvious.

Finally, your tenses shifted a few times there. I caught some, but I'm fairly sure I didn't catch all of them. Try to reread and recheck.

Those were my opinions. PM me if you have any questions.

Sincerely,

Kara

Hey there, Stella! Firefly here, returning the favor of a review!

Mmm, a fairytale. Delicious!

Though, admittedly, Rapunzel never was my favorite, I do love how you made it your own. The girls (Punzi and Mirzi), the tower (giving it depth, so there's more than just the traditional sitting room), the persistent yet harebrained suitors--all of it you took from the original story, molded it and made it yours.

Not only that, but you've given your MCs depth--they're more than just two girls locked in a tower. They're two friends with a history, longing for the other halves of their hearts yet trying to avoid picturing the horrors that have undoubtedly befallen their loves, all the while trying to fend off the constant advancements of other men and survive. Nicely done, by the way.

But there were a few things that did stick out at me--well, more like one or two things.

You can tell a really self-important person from a mile away if they clear their throat at the same volume as they are about to shout.

This might be only me, but the structure of your opening sentence seems odd. I had to read it twice, and then move on to the next sentence before catching the full meaning of what you were saying. So, like I said, could just be me. But, as this is a review, I'd recommend looking over it and maybe try tweaking it a bit.

Lady Mirzia was one of the great heroes of our land, I suppose calling a witch’s daughter by her name didn’t seem right.

Another issue with sentence structure. Is the comma supposed to be a semicolon? Is this "great heroine" the same Mirzia that's locked in the tower, or a different one?

Other than these few nitpicks, I really liked this piece. It struck me as a lighthearted retelling of the traditional story, and was thoroughly enjoyable as such. If this wasn't your aim, or if you were hoping to convey the story in a more serious tone, then I'd suggest exploring your characters' depths a bit more--show us that the girls are hurting through Mirzi's thoughts/feelings, her actions (this is, after all, written from her perspective), and her interactions with the suitors and Punzi.

Either way, I can't wait to see what happens next!

Keep writing!
~Firefly

Unlike Kara, I think I actually would read on in this. It's stronger than it first appears -- after rereading, there's some decent potential in here for a story (although it's not what I would usually read). The best part of it was its believability -- I instantly accepted the premise and the story, and it felt natural -- the use of nicknames was especially cool. You wrote it pretty well. The dialogue is also strong, altough your sentence structure suffers a lot sometimes. But the latter is something you'll catch in later drafts so isn't of massive issue here.

What I didn't particularly like was the suitors -- they didn't really feel fleshed out. I realise they're momentary characters, but they just seemed throwaway names -- Ashton, Kerryan -- but they seemed exactly the same to me. Maybe just some different ways of talking, some better descriptions, would help. I'm also pretty confused why they all come to try it on with Rapunzel? That wasn't really talked about, although they talk about how annoying the suitors are, but never touch on why they keep trying, why it matters so much. My knowledge of the Rapunzel fairytale is pretty limited, but I seem to recall only one Prince who was interested, so the suitor angle is confusing for me at the moment.

I have to concur with Kara about Mirzi -- I didn't really get why she was there. It seems like a convenience at the moment, so you can have a narrator who isn't Punzi. That's going to need further explanation.

About the lack of conflict Kara mentioned -- I agree but only in the latter part, about the food, which was boring. I always skip over descriptions of stores or food because nothing tires me more. It reminds me of the Redwall books when Brian Jacques would spend nineteen pages describing the feasts involving triple blueberry and lime pies and long grass scones. But also throughout it could do with an insertion of action, or interest. You've started with a pretty limp scene, something that would fit comfortably in the middle of a novel, but here, it's stale. For a beginning, it probably needs to be a bit more grabtacular. I wasn't really pulled in, even if I came around to the story eventually.

Anyway, I'd like to see more of this Stella, and I hope you don't take it down. Good luck writing!

Hey, Stella!

First off, this was very entertaining. I didn't think the humour was forced at all; everything seemed something that should be expected from you anyway. I kept sniggering almost throughout the chapter, and not just because of the names. xD Oh, and Henry! I didn't know there was a Henry in your story.

In the beginning, when I didn't know there were two people in the tower, I was getting very confused with the "she"s and didn't know who it was that looked troubled and so on. Just make sure we're able to follow.

The paragraphs without dialogue nearer the end and the one about food were slightly boring to me, as well. This is a problem especially with the story background paragraphs, because of course I shouldn't be bored when having a chance to learn something about the story. I don't think it has to do with the way you write necessarily, just that this story is dependent on dialogue so much and dialogue in my opinion is the best part in this anyway, so paragraphs without dialogue are more difficult for me to focus on.

Crackledawn is an amazing name.

Killed her dead.

Nah, better just kill her alive. But seriously. I do think that mere "killed her" is abrupt and all, but the "dead" doesn't make it better. Maybe you'll come up with a way to get around it.

I like these characters. They're credible, and fun. However, so far I'm not seeing that much difference between them... I mean, you say that Punzi is quieter and shyer or something, but I think that her and Mirzi's way to talk is a lot alike. What is also slightly concerning is that the way they talk seems awfully much like the way you talk, although it might not be a bad thing. Just something to pay attention to. That's, like, one of the first things to avoid in a character, making them too much like you.

Then again, if it's amusing to read, I can't see who would really care.

All in all! I hope that you post more of this, because this is one story I could even try keeping up with. No, but really, I enjoyed this a lot. More, please.

x

Hey Stella. In exchange for the review on Cat Steps, I shall review this!

I found this pretty good. It was a bit confusing who the narrator was at first, since you introduced a brand new character to the myth, so it took me a couple reads of the first three paragraphs to realize it was a second character doing the narration. The first person was really subtle right at the start, hence that little bit of confusion. Once I read it over I got it and liked it, though.

The way you twisted around the fairy tale to have it she's constantly being called on by suitors was hilarious. It makes for a nice, original twist on the story. The extra character also made it interesting, although I think we could have used a bit more explanation on what she was doing there right from the start. Her relationship with Russ is brand new, yet the story is being carried on as if everybody knows each other. The fact you're downplaying that relationship makes it not totally confusing, but it'll need explanation at one point.

I found a few parts here, mostly the paragraphs that went over five/six lines, a bit hard to slug through. The read a bit as info dumps to me, and that's usually a bit boring to read. Your character voice makes them a bit more interesting, but, if possible, don't have our attention waver with huge chunks of information.

Hope this helps! Drop me a line if you have any questions.

~Rosey

I really, really loved this. >.< Especially the characters... Mainly Mirzia. Actually, now that I think about it, I found Punzi a little annoying... A little whiny... On her own at least. But put the two girls together and I think it'll be alright.

I liked how you made the fairytale your own. I'm intrigued by references you made to different things (the hero Lady Mirzia, and I want to know more about Russ) and I liked the way you gave us the story gradually through the narrative in most places, like that Punzi's dad stole cabbages from the witch, and that's why Punzi's locked in the tower. The suitors cracked me up. Especially the married one. XD

Like others mentioned, some things sounded a little stiff... A little awkward... Like the first sentence. I like the idea of it, but I think if you could find a way to say the same thing that's a little easier on the eyes, it might make it a bit better.

All in all, great job! I'm looking forward to seeing more! ^^

I just wanted to say I loved this! To me it sounds like a cross between the classic Rapunzel tale and Book of a Thousand Days. I really enjoyed your style of writing, and please pm me if you continue!!!

held it for her as she climbed down and now I was cursing myself. I could have done it then. Let her fall, dashed her against the walls. Killed her dead. But I wasn’t able to, couldn’t find the courage. The worst thing was, my mother must have known that too, or she never would have trusted me. Instead, I waited until she was safely on the ground, released the plait and watched as it waved out behind her like a flag as she disappeared into the dark of the forest.

Only thing- I was following the story just fine until I got here, and got terribly confused. I'm assuming the 'her' is the witch mother, in which case I have to wonder, why is she hanging from Rapunzel's hair? It needs clearing up.
Can't wait to see the rest of it!!!

I really, really liked this interpretation of Rapunzel. Its something I wouldn't have expected. Its good. Don't give up! I would love to continue reading this, if of course you are willing to keep writing it, which I do hope that you will. The narrator is very funny, and makes good points on things. The only thing I have against your first chapter, is your lack of confidence. I really hope that this will change and that you will have lots of confidence in yourself by the next chapter.

Ahh, I have to concur with Kara on some of the awkwardness of the sentences, the incomprehensibility of the motives of the narrator's mom (though maybe she didn't dump food because something happened to her... Hmmm), and the lack of body language. I wouldn't call it boring, though you could have cut out the infodumping- I only skimmed through it, and as it turned out, didn't miss much. Kara addressed most of the major issues, though I'm not about to read through it again to see if my points will overlap with hers.

Killed her dead.

I'd have written "Left her dead". You already discussed the methods of killing... What's left is to leave her there, right? :9

Another thing (red is mine):

“What’s funny is that they haven’t even worked out amongst themselves that there are two of us here,”Punzi said, -doing something casual like, combing her hair, sighing, whatever-.

You leave us with no image when you "change the scene" and tell us nothing more than what she said. There were numerous instances of this, so I assume you can recognize and correct them. :9

“Yes, but they can hear our voices and see our hair.”Okay, Punzi's saying this, so suddenly switching to the POV of the narrator throws us off a bit. Leave a line first (plus some description of body language would be good)-

That was true. Punzi was quiet and polite whereas I didn’t have nearly as much patience. And the difference between Punzi’s shorn gold head and my own, thick black hair would have been hard to miss, if you had half a brain.

And yet another:

“I’m thinking omelette- Punzi?”

Because (because what? No questions were asked, we were just following the scene, and furthermore, we don't know that Punzi's was supposed to sit by the fireplace. For a brief example of another complaint I have- that is, the narrator's emotions were hardly described- I put in my revised version in red.) I had fully expected to see Punzi at her usual seat by the fireplace, so when I found it empty, my heart skipped a beat. I instead found her leaning on the ledge by one of the windows... her place by the fire was empty. She was by one of the windows, leaning on the ledge, her head out far.

Okay, that's most of my nitpicks settled.

At the moment, the narrator is too mild and I have to agree with Kara on the lack of a narrator's voice. (As for the light humor...Homework assignment: Watch Monty Python. ) But I think it has potential. Just need to be more subtle in your humor, describe body language more, avoid infodumps, and have more emotional narration.

Hope it helped. The more crits you have, the more people have hopes in you!

Stelllllllla!

I like this fairy tale rewrite! It's fun.

Two things:

1. It seems unlikely that the witch would lock her daughter with Rapunzel. Maybe a reason for this?

2. I think one or both of the girls would be desperate for companionship at this point... I think it would be likely that they might want to talk with the suitors or something.

Still! Very good... *likes*

Keep it coming!

A brilliant twist on a classic fairytale, I thoroughly enjoyed this piece. I hope you keep writing, because you have a LOT of potential! Loved it!

Stella, I love your work. You can rewrite my stories anytime! Ok now onto a review for you. I love how you can take anything, like a classic story, and twist it, edit it and add to it to make it your own unique version. I am so gonna read the rest of this novel. You are an awesome writer. Please do not lose that! Writing is one of the best ways to express yourself. Overall I loved this. It was amazing how you went into depth with descripions and added to the original story. Liek how in the original there was one room in the tower one princess. Here you've added some twists of you own. In my opinion, these additions make the story all the more fabulous. Great Job!
Maith adh,
celticmusicgirl

STELLA. You should have told me that you edited this! But that's okay because Firestarter's review on the next piece made me remember this piece and I was able to get here from that. I'll critique the other piece too, okay?

This was fantastic, and I really want to read more. I can't remember much of the story how much was changed, but it seemed really smooth and the sisterly relationship seemed a lot more concrete. Basically? I loved it. I also want to find out why they don't have any food and where the prince and the witch are.

YOU HEARD ME, HENRY. WHERE ARE YOU?

...I know. He's blind and wandering around a bit. So sad. Hopefully, Russ is helping him! I kind of hope that Russ will be the first one to meet them, lol.

Anyway, I still love this and I am so glad you are continuing on and making this better! Keep writing this, m'dear! Or should I say bean-uasal?