[Closed and Obselete.]
. . .
(Rated for Language)
Prologue
The very first Chair of Wind and Darkness was not so very different than the one you might be sitting in now. It was very simple, white wood and wicker, and it stood on four elegantly swooping legs before a desk so that it could spend its quiet days near the window that overlooked the lawn, the stone courtyard and the stately trees outside.
It sat, in all its years, in a little airy room beside a small desk while the gauzy curtains blew in from the window and swept, billowing, against it.
It was such a chair that, looking at it, you could easily see yourself sitting in it, could easily imagine that the book on the desk was yours as it ruffled from page to creamy page, blown into a chaotic flurry by the breeze. The feeling could arise that all those neat, black-inked, handwritten pages were yours, paragraphs and words that compounded to build personal secrets, dreams, hopes; all the good things in life and all the bad, unhappy things you only lived through by screaming your outrage at the sky - the things you’ve endured and looked back on and understood. And forgiven.
You could easily imagine that, to see the chair. What you could not imagine would be that this plain, serviceable, simple chair reigning before an evenly plain desk and a single, beautiful book could be the Chair of Wind and Darkness, something that you’ve doubtless known about your entire life. Though likely never by that name. And likely never in that way.
Chapter One
In the dream it was raining. Raining was not ordinarily a bad state for the weather to be in, but in the downtown sector of the city Barduev, it was an inconvenience which made the Agra-Wazir District particularly challenging to get through - the sunken sidewalks and muddy, flooding gardens lay a level below the street. Shan Tefur’s boots and the bottom of his long black jacket were completely soaked as he stood beneath the looming columns of the Provincial Development Building, the only government building on this street and therefore the only one with a raised porch.
He ran thin white fingers through his dripping dark hair and looked left down the avenue towards the Kier District and the general direction of his apartment. A glance up the street towards his destination and he leaned forward a bit to glance up a the stinging misty curtain that wasn’t allowing him to see either. He stepped back a pace on the porch and paced for a moment in the pre-moonlight shadows, drying his hands uselessly on the soaking edge of his coat.
As he turned once he caught a quick glimpse of the guards who had been following him since the Academy Block. They were huddled under the porch roof of some dark house, miserable in water that was up to their ankles in the depressed stonework - five... no, six of them, right there across the street. Still, their presence irritated him, and he sighed, rubbed a hand across the back of his neck and took a step out from under the overhang.
“Strazhas!” he shouted across the street, cupping his hands around his mouth so that the noise carried through the rain. The call had an astonishing lack of volume through the downpour but still they heard him. Strazhas were trained to hear in the dark, in the rain. And they had no choice now that he had seen them - they slipped around the corner of their building and disappeared into the alleyway as if they were just a handful of old friends out for a walk in the soaking night. They were still going to follow him, of course, they were just going to do it a little more discreetly.
He swore and looked right and left again sharply, up and down the street through the downpour. He ran a and down his dripping face, moving a bit and craning his neck to see down the now empty alley. It occurred to him that he was wasting time, that at this point getting wet was the least of his worries. Finally he went to the opposite side of the porch, turned and ran for the edge, with the mind to jump far enough so as to get to the area of semi-dryness under the next porch, sunken though it was. He tripped pushing off the edge and landed on a knee in the wide, soaking street in between, bruising his palms and getting himself thoroughly drenched. He pulled himself up with his long, once fastidious coat tangled around his leg and shin-deep in water, and he kicked the rain-water in an arch of spray towards the main street. Shan saw the movement beyond the rain as the inexpertly trained Strazhas dispersed and spread out, waiting for him farther up the avenue, drier than he and, for the moment, under a porch roof.
The clock on the mantel piece in the City Director’s office had a miniature pednulum that swung back and forth, back and forth, tick tock, tick tock, a rythmic cheerfullness that seemed out of place in the middle of the night, with the rain pounding down on the city. Shan watched it almost furtively without so much as turning his head, watched it expressionlessly as back and forth it ticked and seconds, minutes, went by. He let his eyes flicker away from it, stared straight ahead at the water-logged window beyond the deserted desk and felt his jaw just barefly from the strain of trying to stay absolutely still. He was well aware of the Strazhas over in the doorway, standing just behind him and to his right so he couldn’t quite see them - but their reflections shone clear on the bombarded far window. Shan realized he was rubbing his fingers up and down the one slowly drying edge of his jacket where it rested over his knee. He stopped; and after a moment’s consideration he flung in down and away from him to that it draped gracefully down over the edge of the cushioned chair. He sat back, sighing as if he was merely impateint and had not a care in the world. His jaw moved again. Still, he did not look at the Strazhas, who were still standing there, quiet breathing in the doorway. Instead, his eyes were drawn inevitably back to the clock, the pendulum that swung itself back and forth so zealously, and in it’s polished glass face he saw himself in the chair, saw the Strazhas over there beyond his shoulder.
He tried to keep his eyes on the time piece, but nervousness got the best of him and when he went to run his fingers back through his hair, he realized that his hand was trembling. He look at it for a moment as if it was some foreign thing that left unchecked could do him harm - he smiled for the Strazha’s sake, pretended to be unconcerned and even amused. He clenched and open his hand several times and shook it, but the trembling persisted. It fell down beside him to conceal itself amongst the folds of his jacket and gripped the fabic at his leg tight enough to whiten his hand and keep it from shaking. He pushed his hair back again, this time with his left hand and rested his elbow on the carved arm of the chair. He put his head down and without moving his hand ran his fingers back and forth across his forehead, half to dry his face and half to disguise the fact that we was wide-eyed, studying the Strazhas in the glass reflection of the clock face.
These were not the Strazhas from the street. Those had been poorly trained, hastily conscripted; they were runners, which was to say that their sole purpose was shadowing people in the streets. They reported on where their targets went and where they came from, and that was the extent of their duties. They were not, as a rule, well-trained to do this. Stealth was normally of little importance most days in busy Barduev, and what stealth was required the more experienced Strazhas could figure out on their own.
These were Strazhas Elite, the equivalent to military Kasimovs, and yet in amy ways more dangerous because they killed without discretion. without declaration of war. Shan had been a Kasimov, obvious to whoever noticed the slim, dark coat and the row of three silver stars on the collar. That fact would not keep a handful of Strazhas Elite from killing him, if they had orders to do so. Especially if they had orders to do so. They had been waiting for him in the hallway, despite the fact that he had used the less frequented steps rather than the side portico. They had followed him up the steps without talking, never making a single noise on the red carpeted stairs. He had know thay were right there behind him the entire way up to the second floor. He hadn’t looked at them. An hour had gone past and still he had not looked at them. He just sat in his chair and stared unflinching at the clock, waiting for the Lord Sovereign while his right hand trmebled uncontrollably amongst the folds of his damp coat.
There was light in his eyes...
He wished he had caught himself when he had fallen. He hated to fall.
There was light in his eyes...
There was bright glare coming from the window - it slid across the pillow and into his eyes, unwelcome sunlight that had come too early. He turned away from it but the light followed him, illuminated the white wall and made it reflect back. Morning - after all, there was no getting around it. And there was light in his eyes.
He sighed and kicked off the sheet, which somehow through the course of the night had gotten tangled around his leg. Stupid sheets. He pushed himself up and sat on the edge of the bed, running his hands through his hair and studying the long, slim military coat that lay in a mess on the floor, a black puddle of heavy fabric. The three silver stars on the high collar were just barely from under a carelessly thrown fold, identical points of light in a night sky. Some light from the window slid over it and momentarily illuminated them. Beautiful? Yes, he thought, yes it was. But it also stood for something in which he no longer believed, and he was beginning to wonder if through all the innumerable things he had done he had ever once believed it. The last time he had worn it; when was that? Well, he had worn it last night, but seriously went out and worn it as a uniform, worn it to show everyone who he was, what he stood for? Wearing something because it happened to be available and wearing something because you believed in what it stood for were two different things completely. He shook his head and chose not to think about it; of course he had believed it, so does everyone when they first start something. It’s not a condition of whether or not you go on believing it, you begin something and you get used to it. You never sit around debating about it. He wasn’t without purpose to such an extent that he didn’t have better ways to spend his time than to sit here and carry on a one-sided debate about his life.
As if it would matter.
Shan stared at the jacket for a moment longer until it came to him that while he was staring, it was still on the floor. What the hell was he doing reminiscing when his coat was laying in the dust? He got down and picked the jacket up, irritated with himself for being careless enough to let it lie there the whole night, for taking so long to get it off the floor. He laid it over the back of a nearby chair, picking a bit of whitish lint off of the back with his finger nail, and the thick feel of the cloth brought back the memory of the dream.
Where had he been going? He couldn’t remember. It was the first coherent dream he had had in a long time, and now he couldn’t remember it. It had been raining, he recalled. Raining in Barduev. God, he wished it would rain. He wished the water would just pour down out of the clouds, wash away the dust on the street, in the gardens, in the air. They said that this was the worst drought since the Academy was built, and in his dream it poured. What was the sense in that? No reason, he thought, no sense.
The rain, that brought him back to his coat, which had gotten soaked. The coat... ah the coat. Why couldn’t he forget about it? He fingered the silver stars on the collar, sighed, ran his hands over his face and sat back down on the bed. Stars. Three silver stars, the rank of a Kasimov. Three ranks down from a general, at the age of twenty-nine. Not as if it would matter. No more days of glory and war for him, just commendation from the government - you did well but the military has a better use for officers that aren’t from old money. Sit around and do something interesting. And because you’re a war hero, you get to keep the medals. Because you’re a war hero, you get to keep the coat.
He sighed, rubbed the back of his neck and noticed the pistol that was lying on the bed-side table. Damn. It occurred to him and not for the first time that it was incomprehensibly stupid of him to leave it out like that. He wasn’t an officer anymore; he wasn’t in enemy territory - what was he thinking, that some assassin was going to creep into his apartment in the middle of the night? He removed the clip and threw it in the drawer, irritated with himself and whatever drunken recklessness had prompted him to leave it out in the first place. For the love of God, no one was interested in killing the pointless Kasimov who had been relieved of command. Lovely, he thought, you lose rank and you become paranoid.
He had fought so many battles in heavy, long black. So many men had saluted him that day they had taken Peremid. And now here he was, waking up too late in an apartment that was too small, dreaming about rain in Barduev and wasting his life away. Three identical starts in the night sky indeed. And here he was sitting down again, back in a circle.
Disgusted, he got up and turned to go wash up in the cramped bathroom. As he washed his face over the sink, he thought about the falling in the street. He hated so much to fall. He hated more to fall in the street. Everyone could see you in the street. Of course, everyone would be right there, ready to offer help and to get you up and on your way again. Ready to embarrass you. Private falls did not hurt so much. When you fell alone, in your apartment, in a deserted alley, your pride did not fall as hard. You didn’t have to get right up, dust yourself off and pretend it didn’t hurt. You could take your time. You could stay where you were, right where you were, until you could get your shocked muscles to stop hurting. First it would be the knees. Then it would be the arms. Then the legs. And you could put your trust in the ground until you could stand up again.
Chapter Two
The speaker’s voice boomed out over the civilians heads in the dark auditorium, loud, harsh and graced by hollow distortion as it echoed over the hundreds of the packed-in working class and thundered up to a vaulted ceiling. It seemed even louder over the left side, over the leagues and leagues of deserted chairs, empty but for the dozen or so Kasimovs lounging high up in the consecutive middles of the far-back rows. Some of them had a boot hooked up on the back of the chair before him, as if to demonstrate to whoever cared to look that he was thoroughly hot and bored; which of course he was perfectly entitled to be, as a Kasimov. The people were perhaps too respectful, too intimidated to sit near them. Of course they had stared before the lights had gone down, little children who looked wide-eyed at the military dress sabers and the long coats, the medals that glimmered in the dark heat. They had doubtless been told not to talk to Kasimovs, not to approach them - those, on a higher plane of soldiery. High and strong like glossed granite, more polished around the edges.
The speaker , distant down there in a pool of artificial light, wore the brown uniform of the meth-maritime, a long defunct navy that somehow still thought itself old and glorious. It was not. The Kasimovs... cared not. They were there out of military obligation, not because they wanted to be.
Shan sighed and put his head down, feeling the beginnings of a headache pounding back behind his eyes. He pushed his fingers through his sweat-soaked hair and leaned back in a single motion, wished furtively for rain to wash away this atrocious heat. The fact that he was all decked out in full Kasimov regalia didn’t help at all: the stars on his cuffs now as well as his collar and shoulders; the silver Nival Award he had gotten when they had taken Peremid, small and old and more ornate than they made them now, military sabers crossed in high relief over the state cross; and all the medals on his chest that he’d won coming up through the ranks.
He had buttoned the numerous tiny catches of his rounded collar high and tight this morning, as it was meant to be done - but heat can undo even the most rigorous military training, and it had long ago been unbuttoned and loosened up. He was perversely pleased to see that he wasn’t the only one succumbing to the heat; even the Kasimovs who were still enlisted had their jackets half unbuttoned and their collars turned down.
Only one of the solitary meth-maritime captains was present, alone, a row down from the dramatic, dominant Kasimov black. He was a lean, middle-aged man with just as many medals as the Kasimovs, but he didn’t seem affected in the slightest by the heat. He kept himself still and straight, kept his red collar with it’s five golden bars up and tight, as if to make some sort of statement. The Kasimovs all outranked him, on every account. If keeping up an immoveable face was making a statement, they were secure in their rank and felt it was a statement they did not need to make. Well, they were; Shan wasn’t in the least. He didn’t like the meth-maritime for the same reason he didn’t like Strazhas, for the same reason that a hawk, having been transformed into a blue bird, is afraid of the other hawks. Here he was no longer in a position to give orders, to say who the Strazhas stalked and guarded and who they didn’t. Here he was a civilian with a long coat. The paradox terrified him.
That’s not a long coat, his friends had laughed at him when he had come back to the officers tent with silver stars and a coat that screamed promotion! before any of them had even been considered as candidates. Hell, long is an understatement, it’s down past the tops of your boots. They had made fun of him incessantly that first night, partially because he was their friend and it seemed natural. Partially because he was a Kasimov and they weren’t and a very small part in every one of them hated him for it. So they had gotten drunk and had slapped him on the back and had laughed at the hate to chase it away. And years later, here they all were, Kasimovs in the throes of glory and honor and high society, enlisted men with reputations as soldiers. And here he was beside them, cast off and relieved of command, first to rise and first to fall. Ironic indeed.
Not much had changed overall, he thought, leaning back in his chair as he listened to the speaker drone on about taxes and government. They were all plenty older now, a few more scars here and there, a few more medals. But nothing had truly changed. The enlisted Kasimovs of fine militaristic power leaned back in their chairs and exchanged discrete looks and made subtle fun of the meth-maritime captain a row below them. Despite his self-discipline, the captain’s fair hair dripped sweat and stained the back of his slowly wilting, crimson collar. A handful of the Kasimovs above and behind the man silently delighted in this - no officer, conscripted or free, ever missed the opportunity to prove to the meth-maritime that they were not so terribly impressive as they seemed to think. Kasimovs were, as a rule, arrogant. But then, the meth-maritime were arrogant, too. Probably even more so, and it made them fair game.
Shan took another deep breath as his fingers unconsciously found their way back to his hair. He went to unbutton his cuffs and then put his arm down again, sighing noisily. What he needed was this damn heavy coat off...
“You all right?” A Kasimov next to him nudged his boot with a foot and leaned back in his seat. Shan looked over at the unfamiliar face - the officer was much younger than the rest of them, probably just promoted. Unfortunately for him, he had happened to be in Barduev when the meth-maritime held it’s monthly lecture, which all the military personnel in the city were of course required to attend. It suddenly occurred to Shan that fifteen Kasimovs, the entire number present, was a staggeringly huge portion of officers to be in one city at one time. Kasimovs were normally rarer than... he thought for a moment, slow and hazy in the overwhelming heat... rarer than decent air conditioning... “I ask,” the young Kasimov said to him, “because you look like you’re about ready to dissolve.”
Shan looked over at him and almost smiled, but the youth’s eyes went immediately down to the cross of state at his throat and then down across the myriad of medals.
“Look, kid, the day I pass out from the heat while someone’s watching is the day I commit suicide the old-fashioned way.”
“Spoken like a true Kasimov.”
“Thank you,” Shan smiled with exaggerated gratefulness, nodded and faced forward again. “Spoken... like a kid who just got promoted to the Kasimovs.”
The young officer grinned at him, a spot of light-heartedness in the midst of grim Kasimov Ideal. Shan figured it would last for about three more weeks at the most. “I’ve just never seen a cross of state before,” the kid told him finally, eyes flickering up to Shan’s face and then almost adoringly down to the medals again. The speaker was still going on and on about military ideals and the navy captain turned his head a bit to hear what they were saying. The two Kasimovs a seat over from him were playing cards very discretely. They were also both cheating, just as discretely.
“Well, it won’t be the last one you see, I’m sure. You’ve been in the Kasimovs what, a week? I got this three years in - give it some time.”
The young Kasimov remained expressionlessly fixed on the medals. When he glanced up and realized that Shan was looking at him, he smiled quickly and apologetically and made himself busy looking at the meth-maritime on the podium. His thin hands flitted nervously over the edges of the coat that lay in his lap. The plainness of the coat was what drew Shan’s attention, plain black with only the three silver stars of a Kasimov on the collar. As Shan’s had been at the
beginning, as it had been at the end, before the myriad of medals that he no longer wore when he went out, no longer loved. Because he no longer believed in them, long since disillusioned. And for what reason had he been relieved? ...told that the future lay with the young Kasimovs, the Kasimovs to whom ideology meant something. For what reason had he been relieved... for those who still had the ambition, imagination and the drive to command? (They said this to
the man who had just single-handedly master-minded the victory at Aeiso, who had long ago taken back Peremid).
He had pointed this out to the political officers who had come to relieve him of his command.
The government, the war effort is forever in your debt, they said in attempt to appease him.
Thanks so much, said Shan, refusing to be appeased. You’re all heart and it’s been a real pleasure, but I’m a Kasimov and I intend to stay one.
You have nothing to offer anymore.
Really.
Kasimovs go on in life, they said as if they could possibly know. Some Kasimovs lose rank. Sometimes they go back to living as civilians and realize in the final result that they already gave everything they had to offer to the State. That they’re better off elsewhere.
What the hell is this? Shan said furiously. We just crushed the Aeiso rebellion into the ground for God’s sake. Or are you perhaps referring to financial offering?
They did not like that. You had no orders to march on Aeiso, the political officers threw in his face, dredging for something, anything, to throw him off.
The military had orders to put down the revolt. Mine was the closest legion.
Really? All that action... just couldn’t wait for another medal? the officers said, smiling humorlessly.
What the hell...
Kasimov Livny could have handled it.
Livny? He wanted to scream it at them but in the end just stood there with his thumbs hooked in his belt. Livny was unholy hammered on the entire Aeiso campaign. He was seven days away with an army that wasn’t ready to move.
He could have handled it, Kasimov, they said, getting defensive.
This doesn’t have anything to do with Aeiso, he told them in quiet outrage that was threatening to become a whole lot louder.
No answer to that. They cleared their throats, as if it was not a topic open for discussion. You’re relieved of command, Kasimov Tefur, one said. We’ll have your papers now... Now, Tefur.
He... hit one of them. And about two seconds later, fine, billowing,
Kasimov black went down in a swarm of gray jackets. Shan pulled his saber out from under himself as he fell and took the sudden barrage of punches and kicks, finally managed to twist it out of its sheath. The political officers struggled up and back in a hurry. Shan rolled on one knee and with effort pulled himself up against the opposite wall, rumpled and breathing hard, as dishevled as it was possible for a Kasimov to be. A thin streak of blood ran down his cheek where one of the officer’s wedding rings had caught him. They were all staring at the saber clenched in his slowly trembling fist, wide-eyed as people caught in a cage with a wild animal. The job of a political officer was to talk; the job of a Kasimov was to kill and they were afraid of him with a weapon.
You want my papers, dammit? Shan rasped, gasping for air. Fine. See this? He let go of the wall with effort and pulled his rumpled certification out of his jacket. He threw it at them but it anded on the floor at their feet, pages flying. Fine, take it. Take all of it. He threw his sheath at them and they parted quickly, shoving each other back. Let me the hell out of here.
He fell on the steps outside. A handful of soldiers threw away their cigarettes and came over at once to help him, but he still had his saber and when he looked at them they pretended they had been going elsewhere. The political officers that lingered in the doorway didn’t touch him. They all knew he had fallen from more than just the steps.
He struggled to his feet while his body ached and advised against this. He walked down through the camp, bloody and disheveled with a saber clenched in his fist and everyone affected not to notice. At the entry post they took his medals, which they promised would be sent ahead to him. Only about half of them actually got delivered (the rest “lost in transit”).
Shan did not like political officers, either.
And he lived, breathed and bled Kasimov. So too would this kid - and someday, somewhere, he might live long enough to lose it.
Shan only realized he was drowsing with his head on his fist when the meth-maritime/Kasimov pissing game reached its conclusion and woke him up. The kid had lit a cigarette though the auditorium was non-smoking. The Kasimovs hadn’t corrected him; the good captain, a row down, had gotten up and reprimanded him. The Kasimovs, ever defensive of their own, despite the circumstantial right or wrong, had pulled rank. By the time Shan had become as alert as he possibly ould with the horrendous heat and that pounding headache, the kid had dropped his cigarette on the floor and ground it down with the heel of his boot, obviously trying to brush aside some of the imminent trouble. The older Kasimovs - his protectors, tormentors, idols - got up, a few of them. Some words were exchanged, some grabbing and shoving occurred before the meth-maritime started to pull back his arm to hit Livny across the face.
...Livny? Damn, Shan thought as he recognized the fair hair, the tall figure, long jacket hanging unimpressively opened and crooked. I took Aeiso for you.
Livny had his fist clenched in the meth-maritime captain’s collar, but the kid had a grip on Livny’s wrist. Shan sighed, jerked at the tight cloth at his throat and pushed himself out of his chair. He pulled the kid off-balance and down back into his seat and shoved Livny back, breaking his grip on the captain’s collar just before the captain swung a missing blow that would have broken Livny’s nose. Livny struck Shan’s arm away and rounded on him, only to recognize belatedly the calm darkness of his expression, the cross of state and the highly polished Kasimov’s stars. It seemed that there was nothing he could think of to say, so finally Livny just nodded. Shan nodded minimally back at him - unholy hammered on the entire Aeiso campaign - and looked beyond Livny to the captain.
“Sit down,” he commanded in the stark, dead silence.
The captain ran a hand over his immaculately combed hair and smoothed out his crinkled collar. “Is that an order?” He sounded out of breath.
“Just sit.”
“The Kasimov almost shoved me over the row. It’s easy to fall here.”
“I know that,” Shan said, gripping the side of Livny’s jacket in his fist. "That’s why I want you to sit down.”
The meth-maritime sat, pristine and righteous in all that old, naval,
pseudo-glory.
“Thank you,” Shan said hoarsely and, running his fingers through his
drenched hair, sat down himself, pulling Livny down into the chair next to him.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Shan whispered furiously and evenly in Livny’s ear as Livny fell back and completed the motion. Livny shoved his hand away but Shan grabbed the shoulder of his jacket and rammed him back again. “You know what happens if they catch you in a fist-fight with a maritime officer?”
“Don’t talk to me in that damn supercilious tone...”
“You’re irrational, think for once, or maybe you look forward to
loosing rank...”
“You mean like you?” Livny said poisonously, prying his fingers off and fixing him with his cold, pale-eyed stare. He jerked his jacket straight and got up again, reeling away to recover his original seat a row up. The kid had already taken it and didn’t move even when Livny glared at him - Livny ended up sitting by Shan again.
The kid also managed to overhear that last part of their conversation.
“You lost rank?” he said, now really interested. Shan threw a look at him, irritated in this pounding, pounding, heat... The meth-maritime captain turned around in his chair.
“Thought you meth-maritime actually paid attention to your own lectures,” Shan said to him, agitated. The captain ignored him and instead answered by producing a cigarette and finding a lighter for it. The young Kasimov glowered incredulously, and nudging the officer next to him with his knee, looked pointedly at him to make sure he noticed. The captain leaned back and sighed, letting the smoke leak out in tendrils from his lips and nostrils; it curled upwards, thick and white, overpowering in the heat.
Shan tried with great effort to ignore it - the enlisted Kasimovs would have said something, but at exactly that point the speaker introduced someone else and all the civilians far over to the right stood up. The Kasimovs griped under a collective breath and pulled themselves up straight, once more out of militaristic obligation, sabers rattling and clinking dully against black belts. The captain looked irritated, tossed his head in irritation and slipped his cigarette between his lips, shoving his lighter into a pocket.. As a result he was about five seconds later on his feet than the Kasimovs. They perhaps felt... somewhat pleased about it, but the meth-maritime pulled his jacket straight and adjusted the gun in his belt, making a much nobler picture than the Kasimovs, who stood hot and exhausted in disarray, medals crooked and black jackets hanging long and unbuttoned in the stagnant heat.
The new speaker was also meth-maritime. He thanked his predecessor and started in on something long and arduous about the State ideal. Shan sat down again in the dark, collapsing back into his seat and wiping palmfuls of sweat from his hair. A half a moment later the new speaker mentioned the name of the Lord Sovereign and the black wave of Kasimovs sighed up again in the heat, silhouettes that rose against the dingy windows far up behind them. The wave sank down again, but Shan stayed perched on the edge of his seat, fingers of his left hand curled around the chair-back before him, ready to pull himself up again. The speaker was obviously the type that enjoyed keeping his audience attentive.
His voice, loud and discontent, echoed out over the auditorium: “Over the years the meth-maritime has bided its time, waiting for its own chance to be recognized, to once more prove its immeasurable worth. It was in the final days of the siege on Aeiso that it finally got its chance...”
“...to run and hide on the ocean while the Kasimovs blew the damn doors down...” Livny interjected under his breath, fumbling with his lighter and a forbidden cigarette.
The meth-maritime captain turned around partially in his chair. “Shut up.”
Livny, a row up, leaned back nonchalantly, letting his lighter click shut and breathing white smoke. “Nah, it’s just a fact, we went in there with about a million men and took the city and you... well, what did you do?”
The captain turned around again and leaned back, putting his boot up. “A little something called naval gun fire.”
“Oh sure, naval gun fire...”
“Shut up both of you,” Shan said to them without looking over. He took his fingers away to run them through his hair and they left greasy marks where they had been clenched on the wooden seat back.
Livny looked over and blew a jet of smoke up and down at his face. "What you don’t like talking about Aeiso?”
“Dammit, I took that city for you...”
“Aw, I’m touched...”
“You should be, I lost rank over it.” Shan reached over in irritation, snatched Livny’s cigarette from between his fingers and threw it away, grinding its ashen ruin into the floor. Livny hardly seemed to care - he let his head fall back against the seat, proclaiming to the Kasimovs above him Shan’s treachery and the fact that he was now out of cigarettes. The kid, a row up, leaned forward to give him one of his from a freshly open packet - brand new like everything else about him.
“Seriously?” he asked, presumably about Aeiso.
“Yeah, no kidding, he broke a political officer’s jaw when they came to relieve him, too...”
“Wow.”
The captain whistled lowly between his teeth, shaking a cigarette out lazily between his fingers.
“Oh shut the hell up all of you.” This was just to much, this heat, up here in front on windows that didn’t even open anymore...
The Lord Sovereign’s name was mentioned and they all heaved themselves up again, put their legs down in boredom, lazy and hot irritation, for the required fifteen seconds before collapsing back again.
“The meth-maritime struck with precision, with speed,” the speaker went on while Shan fiercely willed Livny to keep his mouth shut. “... a major victory for the naval powers...”
As they sat back down Shan was quickly made aware of how little effect his mental powers had on real life, because Livny swept his coat out of the way and said “Ah come on, I’ve known some women that hit harder than meth-maritime.”
Some Kasimovs laughed quietly. The meth-maritime captain spun around, white-knuckling the back of his seat. “What the hell is your problem?”
“You are my problem.” Livny went on without even hesitating, putting his cigarette to his lips again, still talking slowly and absent-mindedly, as if he really didn’t care even to grace the meth-maritime with the fullness of his attention. “You and the rest of that idiotic group you march for, pretending to be officers of the state when you’re really just a bunch of undisciplined sailors...”
Shan shook his head in disgust. “For the love of God.”
Livny looked over at him and smiled, lolling in his chair. “You. Got. Thinner,” he announced from nowhere. “How’s the wife?”
“I’m not married, you lunatic.”
“Ahhh... but I knew that, didn't I? What, you and Kyra never got together?”
“No.”
“Ah well,” Livny sighed. “Probably for the best.”
Shan threw him a look.
He pulled himself up again and so did Livny, swinging his legs down in annoyance. The captain got up, too, but still half-turned around and still clenching the wooden back of the seat, quietly and rapidly criticizing Livny on his views, his obvious lack of experience in real war... As they sat yet again, Livny made an incredulous face at the captain and gestured to him with his cigarette to calm himself.
“Can’t you just shut up and sit down?” the captain hissed, falling back into his chair.
“Excuse me?” Livny asked in offended pride. “Shut up and sit down? This idiot at the podium’s making hash out of the Kasimov Ideal.” He turned his just marginally to drown Shan in a suffocating cloud of smoke.
Points:
Time spent:
Canary word: Present
Possible AI signals:
Original Text:
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125,007 Literary Works • 672,816 Reviews
Shireling: Thanks very much for the comments, and I'll be fixing the typos on the redraft, never fear. ^_~
Till: Dankeshon, mein Morgenstern! Yes, it is a bit confusing, tangled up - one of the auditorium scene rough drafts. I'm working on clarifying everything for the next one, and I'll be sure to keep your comments in mind. This draft alternately depressed me and gives me the creeps. I don't like to look at it, haha. Too scary to face. Hopefully number three's the charm. ^_^'
[Livny is a Kasimov, by the way - Illltev is the only maritime officer in the audience.]
--
More to follow. Shortly, with any luck.
So, with the realization of a scanner, I scanned this! Note, I didn't scan the pages I didn't write on (What is the point of that
) and I was writing this in a car soooo more than normally bad hand writing. If you can't understand anything I wrote, just ask. ^_~
More Chair in the making? Yesss! I've been needing another Shan fix for awhile.
The changes you made in the first chapter are good, although I still think that 'pednulum' should be 'pendulum' and you should swap 'biblical' in the cigarette scene with 'epic.'
What's biblical about the amount of discarded cigarettes anyway? As large as the flood or the exodus? I don't think so.
Anyway, I'm looking forward to finding out more about Shan and his world.
Keep up the good work!
The Local Hobbit
PS: Sorry about the double post
Glad you've enjoyed it thus far, Kay Kay. ^_^
Ahem. An update. Last night was my first (and quite certainly, last) all-night writing spree. In which the Chair was brought back to life with some sketches and well-placed kicks aimed at getting the Kasimovs' collective attention. So I may some new material to post... meaning, then, that the promised PM may not be too terribly long in coming. We'll see if I can't work up some extra Chair magic for you guys. ^_^
I read most of it and liked what I read so far. I got to the end of chapter two and promise I will read that when i find time. Keep writing. I can't wait to read more.
Thanks very much, Shadow.
Ah... yes, there is a good amount of typos in this draft. Just another reason to get the new one churned out quicker, eh? They are observed, but thank you for pointing them out anyway - I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask you to be tolerant of them at the moment until I can get a better-revised draft up. o0
In any event, thanks again for the comments and the crit. ^_^
Ooh, these chapters are so long, it makes it difficult to crit. But it seems to be good, so far.
Either? Either what?
And = hand?
Pednulum = pendulum, I think.
In = it
To = so
There's too many typos like the above in here, which take away from the story. And you don't want that to happen, cos this is a VERY good story. Took me a while to get into it, but once I had, I found it great!
Thanks... even so, I hope I'm not driving you too insane with all of this. ~_~ It would be so much easier if I was just to will you all of my characters and scraps and have you make sense of it. I think at this point you would do it more justice.
*pokes lifeless heap of rambling dialogue*
Crazy bird shall do best to be patient, love.
STOP RUSHING OVER!
What, do I have to give my first-born male child to you people along with the promise that you'll get a PM? ^_~
Haha - don't go insane, Gyr, even if you are our crazy bird. Just be patient with me, if you can.
Dreamy, you do realize you're driving a poor bird mad? Every time I see that you've posted here I rush over!!!
And no more chair..... *sniffle*
*hides scribblings beneath an old notebook*
No peeking. ^_~
Writing it, I promise, I promise... I don't want to get whacked with the Big Writing Stick. ^_^
Ooh, I critted all of the first chapter the other day! You'll have to wait a little while for it though. =)
Now where's the next chapter..? You better be writing it! *peers over DD's shoulder*
Cal: Your pretzel logic may be reassuring? ^~ Ah well... with any luck I'll have more for you to crit in not too long a time.
Kay: Feel free to skip to wherever you most feel like skipping - I'm glad for your feedback anywhere. ^_^ (Dan tried to get me turned on Armenian tea, but I dunno...)
*cheers for script*
*hugs Kay*
Argh! I feel bad everytime I see people post crits... as I'm reminded how I still haven't done it yet. *hides face in shame*
Mind if I skip to my favourite chapter (the beat up Shan scene - not that I don't love Shan or anything... I just really like the chapter) and do that one? Might be easier and quicker for me that way. I hope...
Muhaha - I will turn you into a tea addict, I will! Basic guide for you - Assam or (even better) English Breakfast in the mornings, Earl Grey in the afternoons and in the evenings. I've heard Darjeeling is a good afternoon tea too, though I haven't really drank it, except once from a vending machine and that doesn't count...
Okay - I'll try and get a crit done as soon as I can. Granted, that may not be before July, but I'll still try...
Hugs!
Kay.
PS. My script is over 20k!! Hurrah! (not finished though)
O M G,
I've started a trend.
And, don't you know everyone is A Shan Fan. Or, another note, if not, why aren't they?
We wouldn't dare lynch you, we love Shan, thus we love you, he's in your head afterall.
Ta,
Cal.
*hugs*
Thanks so much, Till. ^_^ Your opinion means a lot, especially on this. I'm just flattered that you took the time to go through it and write everything in. So much for no line-by-lines, right?
I would love to get ahold of the originals - add them to my accordion folders dedicated to Chair notes and paraphenalia.
Merci once more, and I'm estatic that you enjoyed it. ^_^
Okay so... I am posting these
I'm really glad you can read my hand writing xD You probably know it well by now...
I loved it! If you can read something Email/PM/IM me. I can mail you the originals. [What Else am I going to do with them???]
Much thanks for the extended commentary and crit, Shireling. Ah, yes, it is a good bit tidier and cleaner now that I've had such an amount of time to work on it - even so, I'll add your suggestions into the fray that is my reivison notebook. ^_~
Sleep well!
I finally got around to giving you a review. Although I read, or rather skimmed, through all of your previous critiques, I may still point out what others have already pointed out due to forgetfulness and said speed reading. So bear with me.
This is an interesting prologue. I like the description of the chair and book, but what does it have to do with the poor, decommissioned, disillusioned officer, Shan?
I am not saying that you need to change it, just curiosity on my part.
Here I think you might want to change ‘evenly’ to ‘equally.’
Pre-moonlight? Is this supposed to show that it is evening in Bardeuv in his dream? If so, it seems an odd way to me. I would just suggest cutting it to shadows only or maybe use 'lengthening shadows' to show the late hour if that is what you meant.
Pednlum-Pendulum. I think this has been pointed out already but I offer it again in case it would seem that I had missed it [noble look of hawk-eyed editor, marred by noticing a misspelling in my own review which is hastily corrected]
Barefly-briefly. Also at first I thought that this sentence meant that he felt his jaw with his hand, yet in this later sentence-
It seems to point to him just chomping his jaws a bit. Which is it? Just a little bit of confusion I thought.
Do you mean breathing quietly? Or to say ‘a quiet breathing in the doorway,’ showing that the only sign of their presence was their breath and reflection?
I don't get this. Why is the window bombarded? Sounds like it is being shot at.
It-I assume.
Again, I think remember someone else catching this one.
It's to its.
Fabric.
Poor guy.
In many ways, I believe. Period to comma.
'He had known that they' I think this is what you meant to say.
Trembled.
Lying. Small difference that I haven't figured out yet but my spellchecker caught it.
This sounds as if a Kasimov is a rank like a major or colonel. From the following pages though it is clear that the Kasimovs are a branch of the military, not a rank. It just seems confusing. Maybe you meant 'the rank of a Kasimov _____' insert his rank here. Or 'the insignia of a Kasimov'?
Overall I liked this part about after he has just woken up. The slow circular thoughts are just like I have in the morning sometimes.
I just thought that this sentence could be condensed to 'Disgusted, he got up and went into the cramped bathroom.' Before I feel that 'got up' and 'wash up' clashed a bit. Especially since the next sentence describes him washing up, it seems superflous to say he was going to. But that is my personal opinion. You decide.
Well here ends my critique of chapter 1. I hope it is helpful but since you last edited here at YWS in September of last year, I am sure you have several if not all cleaned up by now. Right? And more chapters written?
I'll try to give you my thoughts on plot, character, and whatever else I can think of sometime but right now all I can think of is sleep...Oh, and go head and PM me with any questions and I will try to answer them.
Write On!
Vas is das? A new reader? Someone... I didn't hold at gunpoint to get here? Someone... not the Imp? Or Snoink, Crysi or Kay? Someone... new?
Thank you, Shireling, very sincerely. Your comment, even sans a crit, is extremely motivating, and extremely condusive to giddy good cheer. ^_~ 'A Shan fan', eh? Made my evening, you know.
Thanks again. Perhaps I might PM you, a few thoughts and questions for the sake of getting new and fresh viewpoint on a very old story [and only getting older]? I've been too long on haitus from this, and I would certainly value anything you have to say on it, from plot to character to sentence length, even if you'd rather not go over an entire crit. ^_~
Hello, I found your story a few days ago and devoured it. Simply loved it. I am now a Shan fan. I was going to give you a critique but it seems that you already have several editors and crits to work over so for now I'll just give you a thumbs up. Please write more soon *puppy dog eyes*
... I still have to log onto that and find you there. ^_~ I'm so hideously behind.
I'll write. I promise. And I'll drink tea. You know, Kay, I think you've got me hooked on it while writing... I go through so many cups of tea now while I'm at my desk, it's not even funny. Alas, I'm stuck with cheap Lipton. I need to find some magnificent Earl Grey.
(...and yes, post more of the Chair. Promise. Cross my heart and hope to die. Don't lynch me. ^_~)
*pokes*
Write, Dreamy, write!
And drink tea. For some reason, sitting on my own with a cup of earl grey gave me all my good ideas for Script Frenzy. =D
... I swear this is a trap. *more such shifty eyes* Or a vicious cycle, of a sort - the more you post telling me that you thought I updated, the more I post telling you I'm sorry I haven't and then you post in reply to that, having seen the new update. ^_~
I'll tell you what - I'll put The Piano Player and its sphere of influence aside for the weekend and work on getting more of the Chair written and posted. And if you don't get a PM, then nothing was updated. You guys are making me feel half guilty here. XD
*hugs the lot of 'em*
*flails*
Like... this has been the only story I've read completely on YWS and when I saw it updated, I hoped that either this meant:
1) You had updated this.
2) You had published it.
So yeah.. Write!
You'd better PM me, too, darlin.
I jumped when I saw this thread was updated...
Ach, DD, I'm well served for posting the feint Presque Vu link. I did think, almost, you'd posted here... !_! ^_^''
IMP
Haha, don't cry over it. *hugs*
I'm not going to try to sneak an update in here on you, I promise. I shall PM you the very instant I submit the next bit, the next redraft, the next rewrite, whatever. If you don't get a PM? Then there is no update. ^_~ No heart attacks. How on earth would I explain that to the paramedic crew?
DREAMY!!! I saw that you had posted and nearly had a heart attack of joy that there was more Chair!!! *sobs*
Indebted to you as always, Cal. You always do give such helpful critiques. ^_^
*shifty eyes* Livny may... or may not be a sociopath...
As for poor Shan, I think your mention of BBC Robin Hood commercial fits rather well. All he wants to do is go smoke a cigarette and take a walk, but life's seems to have other plans, doesn't it? And I very glad you like him so much as character (Pros once told me to"just shoot him and get it over with so he stops kvetching"). ^_~
I'll be sure to work out the punctuation and great love of ellipses on the redraft, Cal. Once again, thanks so much.
And four...
Tada,
Cal.
Finally scanned in the rest.
Here ya go, dearie.
Cal.
Cal, thank you so much. So much. So very much. Did I mention how much. I have to say, no one's wondered yet if Livny's on crack, but you'll be pleased to note that he's not - only wonderfully snarky. ^_~
*hugs*
Hey dahling,
Look you finally got around to critiquing Chair? ME! Erm, if there is anything unclear or vague, or my chicken scratch is illegible please holler.
Oh, I just realized like 3/4s of the way through Chair that I am spelling Kasimov wrong, I am spelling it with a z, Kazimov. 'Cause every time I think of Kasimov, I think Kamikazi. All Shan's fault, of course.
Three and Four to come.
Ta,
Cal.
Thanks Lilyy and Fish, for the read and the possible crit - very much appreciated. ^_^
On the bright side, this is due the 26th, so I figure it has to get posted at some point before that... if you want, I can PM you when I finally get the revised continuation up. ^_^
Phorcys: You make good points with both the Prologue and the first chapter... the prologue, though, has been changed since, so perhaps it's a bit more character-driven now. It lacks mention of the the Chair as... well, a chair, entirely. ^_~ Thank you for the notes on Chapter One - it was quite helpful in the revision.
Crysi: >.< Don't kill me.
Got through first 1k
Prologue
The very first Chair of Wind and Darkness was not so very different than the one you might be sitting in now. It was very simple, white wood and wicker, and it stood on four elegantly swooping legs before a desk so that it could spend its quiet days near the window that overlooked the lawn, the stone courtyard and the stately trees outside.
Ok, this isn’t really a spell-binding beginning, personinally I dislike how an author talks to a reader however I can see its good points.
It sat, in all its years, in a little airy room beside a small desk while the gauzy curtains blew in from the window and swept, billowing, against it.
Point in this paragraph?
It was such a chair that, looking at it, you could easily see yourself sitting in it, could easily imagine that the book on the desk was yours as it ruffled from page to creamy page, blown into a chaotic flurry by the breeze. The feeling could arise that all those neat, black-inked, handwritten pages were yours, paragraphs and words that compounded to build personal secrets, dreams, hopes; all the good things in life and all the bad, unhappy things you only lived through by screaming your outrage at the sky - the things you’ve endured and looked back on and understood. And forgiven.
This seems to go on and on but it still seems to flow. Well done.
You could easily imagine that, to see the chair. What you could not imagine would be that this plain, serviceable, simple chair reigning before an evenly plain desk and a single, beautiful book could be the Chair of Wind and Darkness, something that you’ve doubtless known about your entire life. Though likely never by that name. And likely never in that way.
The end of the start is good, I now feel that I must read into chapter 1 and get into the story. Its not a favourite way to begin of mine because it isn’t a story of a character. However you have fulfilled the purpose: I am forced to scroll down.
Chapter One
In the dream it was raining. Raining was not ordinarily a bad state for the weather to be in, but in the downtown sector of the city Barduev, it was an inconvenience which made the Agra-Wazir District particularly challenging to get through - the sunken sidewalks and muddy, flooding gardens lay a level below the street. Shan Tefur’s boots and the bottom of his long black jacket were completely soaked as he stood beneath the looming columns of the Provincial Development Building, the only government building on this street and therefore the only one with a raised porch.
Beautiful. You begin with a simple sentence and extend it by introducing a character and give a location as well. My only critiscism is the “Agra Wazir” it seems a bit of a mouthful to give to the reader at the start of the novel./b]
He ran thin white fingers through his dripping dark hair and looked left down the avenue towards the Kier District and the general direction of his apartment. A glance up the street towards his destination and he leaned forward a bit to glance up a the stinging misty curtain that wasn’t allowing him to see either. He stepped back a pace on the porch and paced for a moment in the pre-moonlight shadows, drying his hands uselessly on the soaking edge of his coat.
[b]I think “thin, white” would be better but it seems a cluttery first sentence just to stay that he looked to his apartment. Ok, the second sentence doesn’t seem to work for me at all, it doesn’t make sense. Maybe you want to reword that one.
As he turned once he caught a quick glimpse of the guards who had been following him since the Academy Block. They were huddled under the porch roof of some dark house, miserable in water that was up to their ankles in the depressed stonework - five... no, six of them, right there across the street. Still, their presence irritated him, and he sighed, rubbed a hand across the back of his neck and took a step out from under the overhang.
It would read better if you used the “—“ before miserable instead of the comma. Throw in his name again here instead of using “he” all of the time as I almost forgot who the story was about.
“Strazhas!” he shouted across the street, cupping his hands around his mouth so that the noise carried through the rain. The call had an astonishing lack of volume through the downpour but still they heard him. Strazhas were trained to hear in the dark, in the rain. And they had no choice now that he had seen them - they slipped around the corner of their building and disappeared into the alleyway as if they were just a handful of old friends out for a walk in the soaking night. They were still going to follow him, of course, they were just going to do it a little more discreetly.
Perhaps give a teensy weensy niblet of who the strazhas are here.
He swore and looked right and left again sharply, up and down the street through the downpour. He ran a and down his dripping face, moving a bit and craning his neck to see down the now empty alley. It occurred to him that he was wasting time, that at this point getting wet was the least of his worries. Finally he went to the opposite side of the porch, turned and ran for the edge, with the mind to jump far enough so as to get to the area of semi-dryness under the next porch, sunken though it was. He tripped pushing off the edge and landed on a knee in the wide, soaking street in between, bruising his palms and getting himself thoroughly drenched. He pulled himself up with his long, once fastidious coat tangled around his leg and shin-deep in water, and he kicked the rain-water in an arch of spray towards the main street. Shan saw the movement beyond the rain as the inexpertly trained Strazhas dispersed and spread out, waiting for him farther up the avenue, drier than he and, for the moment, under a porch roof.
I think once again you put too much strain on how the character looks, I don’t think it needs the amount of importance you put into it. Fastidious seems a little complex in context of the piece, I’d change it to a synonym.
I'm going to print this out as well, I think--I really like what I've read so far.
The ladys at my college LRC will hate me for it, and say I'm wasting paper (they say that even if it's work -_-") but I'm printing this off so I can have a read through over Christmas too, something to stop me from going mad between writing and revision. *hums and skips away*
AAAARGH. Dreamy, you're driving me crazy! You're replying to everyone, and I always get so excited when I see you've made a new post on this thread... And then I just see you're thanking someone for a critique or the offer of a critique. Hmph.
I shall, Phorcys. Thanks so much. ^_~ I am in your debt.
Ive just copied all 12 000 words into word and I aim to do a mega crit over Christmas of this because I promised Id do it then forgot about it as I departed YWS for a few weeks because of studying and all. Well now I have no excuse, Ill read it and hopefully I will enjoy it like everyone else has.
Watch this space.
I'm so glad you thought it read well, Roxanne. ^_^ Thank you very much for taking the time to read it all.
As for the time period... there isn't an exact time period - it's urban fantasy. If you'd like to think of it in means of our time periods, think somewhere around or between Worlds Wars I and II. ^_~
This is a fantastic piece, and it doesn't read too slowly that you get bored of it, but not too fast so you don't know what's happening.
The description in this is amazing, just the right amount. I always have too much or not enough!
My only question is what time period is this supposed to be set in? When I read about the clothes that Shan's wearing it makes me think of it being set a long time ago. Is this right.
Finally, my favourite line:
'He turned his just marginally to drown Shan in a suffocating cloud of smoke.'
I don't know why I like this so much, but it's got so much detail in it, yet it is so simple!
Any more yet?
RR*
Well... that's because the deadline keeps changing, of course.
Actually, it only got switched over to the second marking period (academically). The first slip-up with the deadlines was merely because I had miscalculated where the first marking period ended...
*yes, that's it, confuse the person who inquired...*
No pressure on the crits, Kay. I feel guilty for not posting more regularly.
Dreamy...
Your dad lives in Bongolia? Where's that?! XD
Hehe, I'm glad my parents aren't on this site. I'd get embarrassed enough if my friends saw my stuff on here.
Also... I have to crit chapter four still! I think it was four that I was doing. Hmm...
So how is the deadline going? It seems to increase every time I ask.
Kay
Ah... hi Dad. ^_~
Love ya. ^_^
See, this is the anticipation of the deadline building up for you. Just think of how pleased you'll get to be when I actually turn the thing in. In the meantime: because Jack activated your account for you, that doesn't mean you get to read it while I'm elsewhere and pleasantly unsuspecting.
Be good.
I would just L.O.V.E. to crit this ...BUT you will not let me read any of this. Oh, No , ALL your friends got to read the chair but NNNOOOooo !!! not me
What do they got that I dont got ? Courage ? well we'll see !
Much thanks, Trident! ^_^
I value your advice and I very much appreciate what you have to say. As to the aspects that you say need some work: thanks for pointing them out, and I'll get right on that. As to the compliments: thanks so much.
I'm very glad you generally liked it, Trident, very glad. ^_~
Okay, chapters two, three, and four were absolutely amazing. I came into this thinking 'Ok, here we go. I'm going to read three chapters and it's going to take a while.' And then I started. Before I knew it, I was done, sitting here thinking to myself, 'Next chapter please!' That is a sign of great writing.
Okay, let's start with Snoink's comment that two and three are too long. It is true and it's not true. If one skims the chapters (like I believe Snoink has said she has done before) then you don't really get much out of it. However, if I really get into a story, I seem to read much slower than a story I don't like, and take in every detail. I did that here. Sure, there may be little things you can cut (like Shan's obsession to play with his hair and everyone elses' obsessions to play with their coats and the like). But I still think what you have doesn't detract from the whole.
Livny is, I believe, one of those characters that you paint your own picture of. Snoink offered that you should describe him more. I don't really think that necessary. His annoying nature gives the reader enough. Now if you were to give him an annoying attribute, such as his right incisor missing or he has neck fat that jiggles as he laughs, then I would be all for it. But otherwise, I believe his actions are sufficient for now.
Now, I'm not going to focus just on Snoink's critique. Here are my own thoughts: After Shan leaves the auditorium, there was a period in which I was let down. He didn't really do anything to show his anger/irritation. There was instead more of an inner monologue. That's fine, but give me something else that shows him doing something instead of just mulling.
EDIT: Never mind, I he gets frustrated, throws his sliver cross. Somehow this slipped from my mind while I was thinking back on it. It should be fine the way it is.
The fighting scene in chapter four after he went through the door got a little redundant for me after a while. Most of it is exciting, but some of it just seems to be happening over and over again.
I look forward to more chapters DD. This is quality stuff. And props to you for keeping the fantasy part out for as long as you have. I think that really elevates a story. And then when the readers have established this world that is so similar to ours BAM! there's the fantastical and we are left breathless. It makes it all the more believable. I really do hope you do something with this story. It would infinitely be worth the trouble.
Sir Trident (that's my first signing with that title, hooray!)
Oy... thank you all - Jacquie, Trident, Imp, Snoink - for the comments and critiques.
At the moment I seem to be working on Draft #3 of the Chair (yes, I'm farther than Chapter 4 in reality ^_~), and I shall take all your advice into account.
Hahaha... I've been wanting to reread this and give a non-crappy critique. So, after I did my history test, I decided to read it and stuff! Fun stuff, no?
I'm not going to bother with full-out grammar critiques, because I don't want to type this critique for the rest of the night, but please know that just because I don't nitpick doesn't mean grammatical errors aren't there. In the first couple of chapters, I was drowning in run-on sentences. To help improve your flow, you're going to want to chop them up.
And OMG, if you're writing in a possessive, it's not "it's", it's "its." So every dog has its day.
Okay! Now for the content.
An Orwellian Approach?
Hahaha... this seems so 1984.
But, unlike 1984, there's something that you don't do. You don't really describe the society very well, instead throwing us in the society and hope we know better. Which might work except for several other things that will be covered later in the critique. Still, the Strazhas remind me of the thought police. Well... the elite ones. They sound uberly creepy and stuff. Yeah... I liked the Strazhas. In a creepy/cool sort of way.
Dreamy's Blind, OMG!
Okay... maybe not. BUT SERIOUSLY. You have some description of images, but not of humans really. So we don't really have a picture of Livny in our minds. Which might be okay and everything, but obviously he's an important character and he needs to described more! And maybe not just a description of what he looks like, but Shan's opinions on him also might be nice. I mean, he demonstrates it through his actions, but we love to hear about characters he thinks about. It's not just bad.
Speaking of which... chapter 2 and 3
Hahaha... we love random titles, don't we?
Anyway, I thought these chapters dragged on forever. I can see their significance in setting up the world you've created, but OMG. It goes FOREVER. Like, it has some conflict and stuff, but it isn't powerful enough and you could do such much more with less words! This doesn't mean chapters 2 and 3 suck completely -- no, far be that! They were pretty good. But compared with chapter 4, which rocked beyond all imagination, they paled in comparison.
Oh dear... let me tell you an example from my own story.
Okay, so I was working on chapter 12 and 13, and they were separate, but OMG. They went on forever, not in the obvious way like, "Oh, this sucks" but in the more subtle, "This goes on forever, yet it's written well. Hmmm..."
You see, one thing that you have to do as an author is to make people forget completely about their surroundings. You have to make them suspend reality, if for only an hour, and completely absorb them in. As soon as your readers think, "Oh, this is taking a long time," then you've stopped the magic. You have to continue it.
So what will you have to do? Well, with chapter 12 and 13, I had to cut it, to condense it into one chapter. Maybe you can do the same? I'm not saying that my solution is a perfect fit for your story, but at the moment it lags a little.
Figure out what you want to include in this story. For example, one thing that I liked was the kid (more on that later) and the cigarette. But that was overdone, and I'm sure you can cut down the amount of cigarettes that get crushed. Humor is fun and all, but sometimes it can be overused.
Ending of Chapter 4
OMG. This had so much potential, but NOOOO. You had to slaughter it.
*kills Dreamy*
First of all, CHARACTER REACTIONS. So they ignore Shan, including the Kasimovs. This is stupid. I mean, if I ignore someone, I still notice them. Like, if I didn't see someone entirely, then that would give me an excuse, but DUDE. This gives a perfect place for character development, YET YOU'RE AVOIDING IT.
*stomps on Dreamy's dead body*
Okay, you know how sometimes you can ignore someone deliberately, but before you officially ignore them, you accidentally show a bit of your emotions? Yeah. The same thing could be used here. Maybe Livny smirks before he turns away from Shan -- or to make matters worse, chuckles or makes a snide remark about how the rats have grown bigger in this day and age. And what if the kid's eyes grew round and, though he tried to look away, his eyes kept falling and another Kasimov had to pull his arm to drag him to another place instead. And this makes that chapter, which is totally awesome in the first place, ten times better!
*kicks Dreamy's dead body*
Get the hint?
In conclusion?
Anyway, you must have been drunk when you wrote that blog entry about it sucking completely. Or high or SOMETHING. Because for what other reason would you say that this story sucks? It's awesome. Do you hear me?
It's awesome.
So therefore, you must continue. Otherwise, my herd of pigs is going to team up with Crysi's herd of dragons, AND WE SHALL HUNT YOU DOWN. Got it?
So... um...
Do you have any questions you would like to ask me about the story? If so, I can answer without totally BSing it now! *shock/gasp*
...see? You dont have to be harsh on yourself. I can do it for the both of us!
Depression deceives, DD--makes things as dull and vague as if you were unholy hammered. ^_~ Don't trust the negatives. The Chair is intriguing and consistent very much because of your style which, if not the most common sort of narrative one find's today, is certainly as viable as any other. It wouldn't be what it is without the Dostoyevsky-esque loquacity. ^_^
And, ah, that's enough here. I won't flood the Chair with it.
IMP
Okay DD, I've started reading The Chair. It's late, so I've only read the prologue and chapter one, so hopefully I can get to the rest soon.
I tried to read over some of the comments others left, but I didn't want to spoil the other chapters, so I just skimmed the other crits.
The prologue is very intriguing and I would say it drew me in more than if you were to start at the first chapter. I loved the ordinary/extraordinary concept that the chair exhibits. It's a good, reliable characteristic of fantasy.
While I would have liked to see a bit more action in chapter one, it may not have been appropriate. You were building your character and setting and did a nice job of it. I was a bit confused, though, about the porch. I couldn't quite grasp what you meant by it and where exactly he was.
The majority of this paragraph seemed unnecessary. It just kind of repeats some things you've already said. Maybe try and cut some of it down so your readers don't get too bored.
After he woke up, the writing gets a little messy; I have to say things over in order to make out what exactly they mean. Some of the sentences seem plain. It was a bit preachy too.
Near the ending, I can see the writing picking up greatly. The whole idea of falling made me a little bit confused. Is he actually falling off of something or is it a metaphor or reference to something else that is like falling?
Anyway, I love your style, and I should be reading some more chapters soon. Sorry all if she replies to this and you think it's another chapter!
It's like reading a novel...an incomplete novel.
Your characters are believable, the dialogue's great, you have lovely imagery; it's engaging storytelling. And I am hooked! I've been in suspense waiting for more, so I finally had to tell you how much I love it! 
If I can, I will try to give you a critique, but it may be a long time in coming...or not at all, since I might lose the courage. I've become very timid about giving critiques.
Well, good job, and don't be too hard on yourself. You've got great style.
~Jacquie~
As much as I respect and value your opinions, both as a writer and an great friend, are you sure about that?
I don't particularly care for my style myself - it is as you say, rather verbose, long sentenced and Dostoyevsky-ish. ^_~ Which might at times be a good thing but I don't think it reads well and I don't care for it. At all.
However! This may be writerly paranoia and disillusionment creeping in, so perhaps you're right. I just wish I could get from point A to point B without using quite so many words. I feel that by doing so I often lose my potential audience halfway through, when they can't bear to dredge through any more description. I just wish there was some way I could write without beating every sentence and every paragraph to death.
Though if you advise me to keep it as it is, I value your advice greatly and I would take it. ^_~ You've stuck with this story from the very first posting of the rough dream scene, and you likely have a better feel for it than most others.
Thank you, Imp... ^_^
Your style is verbose, DD, long sentences and somewhat on the side of bleakly eloquent. (As I've noted--Dostoyevsky. ^_^)
Your prologue sets the atmosphere and tone. Do please, ignore the above. !_!
Ah yes, the prologue is already significantly cut down and rewritten, I merely haven't changed it here. The second person, too, is demolished -- as are a good deal of the repetitive adverbs and adjectives.
Thanks for the input, but rest assured, it's been edited. ^_~
I don't know if someone has covered what I've said. I don't have time to check. But if I do, make it doubly true, humkay?
Okay. The prologue, like most prologues, actually, is unnecessary. I'd actually say scratch it. You don't need it. And you don't keep what you don't need, right? It's the reason a toilet can flush. Think of what the prologue gives. The answer, besides from excuses, should be no.
Also, you should avoid second person. It's extremely unpopular. I mean, you'll find fans for it, but they are few and far between. If you keep the prologue - and you shouldn't - lose the third person, and avoid it from now on.
And the whole thing is pretty bloated. It's not wordy, because the vocab. is pretty standard, but you have a lot you don't need. And although you're writing the fantasy genre, it's not really an excuse.
You should seriously consider rewriting the whole thing just to prune away the bloated prose. It's a big job, I know, but well worth it. I mean, as a guide line, rewrite = draft - 15%.
Also, cut out the adverbs. It's weak. Get rid of what you don't need. That's what I say, even in fantasy. You can still have beautiful descriptions, you can still paint a woundrous picture... but just remember that less is more most of the time.
Prune, prune, prune, and prune some more. Get rid of everything you don't need - uncluding the prologue.
-Fantasy
POST! Jeez. Everytime I see there's a new post on this thread, I rush to check for more chapters.
Oh, and I hope you don't mind - I'm basing one of my NaNo characters off Livny. I fell in love with him, and thus Strikard was born.
Maybe it's a good thing you haven't posted more - I fear I'd model too much of my NaNovel off this!
Thanks Rosethorn!
That was quite helpful and I'm very glad you liked it. Oy, I've gotta post more before I lose my audience's attention. ^_~
((Continued...))
There is no way of knowing where this story will go from here. Which is excellent. If the reader knows exactly where the story will go, why would he read it?
I have to admit, the title had me worried. It reminded me of Robert Jordan or Terry Brooks. It sounds like one of those "high fantasy" novel titles. I've never liked the "high fantasy" novels for many reasons. But I'm glad to see that this story most definetly is not dry like a "high fantasy" novel. That's why I don't think the title quite matches the story, though the chair hasn't played any significant role yet.
Your story holds me captivated and I am eager for more! I hope I have been of some assistance.
As always,
POKE
Written like a true novel! It's original, with an excellent pace. The beginning is somewhat slow and it took me some time to grunge through. I'm talking about the dream sequence here. But the rest of the story moves at an enjoyable pace with enough action and dialogue to please.
Yes, I love your dialogue! Your characters actually have character! *gasp* Their personalities are engaging! I especially like Livny. GREAT character, especially since he's not the main character. He's definetly a favorite which definetly pushed me forward. If I could bluntly praise you, I've liked all of your characters so far. They're real. I really liked chapter two. It reminded me so much of a screen play because of the rich dialogue. It was entertaining!
About "the kid"...I love how you don't mention his name. If you give him a name, it alters his character, I believe. Names hold character and even the absense of a name can hold character.
What I think gives this story, characters aside, a true "novel" essence is the Strazhas, Kasimovs, and all these other completely original ideas. These are the sort of things that stick with you after you finish reading. I'm not sure exactly what to categorize these things, but hopefully you know what I'm saying.
((This critique will be continued. My apologies.))
Gyr wants more Chair! *batts eyes* pretty please!!!
Heh, not quite, but nearly there. I'm getting rather far now, and I'm ashamed I'm not posting more of it here - but that's think about YWS, once people begin to brit your piece, you want to make sure it's perfect before you even post it. ^_~
Thanks a lot for the continued crit, Imp. I'm glad you're finding this of higher quality than I am - the other day I was resisting the urge just to burn the thing and start over.
Much appreciated, as always, Imp. Thank you! ^_^
(Chp. 4, being finished in critique here...)
Shan's interjection of thought breaks the thick paragraphs--it keeps the pace up, and sharpens suspense. You've still got the habit of long sentences, doubtless, but varied now and less wandering. ^_^
'No one but he...'? Pronoun declension confused, I think, possibly--pardon me if my Russian is obscuring my good English. ^_~ It sounds as if Shan could say it. If it were to remain more formally distinct narrative it might (and this is for the author's discernment) end more precise like so-- "No one but he and they--stalking each other to the sound of..."
Sentence variation here is deft--breaking it with colon, etc. No flippant pakah, but all the tone. ^_^ The image of a little more frantically, little more desperately hits it mark.
Cinematic device, almost, above. ^_^ And that's not to deprecate in the least, it creates a good still before the startling action, calm before storm.
Rather less precise than your short sentences have been. Stayed? Stayed with 'they all' and we get a tone that sounds conversational despite its point in the narrative--far from. Stood --though bland itself--has a harsher sound, and more specific, than 'stay'. Even ...they remained, stationery...? A suggestion again--and I know you've got an eye and ear for it to decide which and what will work.
Though hardly dash-in-your-face look! perfect detail, the accent, to give this Strazha something more to characterise him than Shan's fear. ^_^
The action with dialogue works to keep things moving. I could only pick at action order. Switch 'fingers' and 'clenched'--
All sentences here end, seemingly, in relation to (at, for) Shan. Only the final one seems to hang, perhaps saying what's implied. It does need to finish on something--'...his head around to see.' might flow more smoothly (?).
--and 'cigarette' typo. ^_^
---
(Oy, and I thought I had the time to brush this critique up and finish. ^_^'' Soon to be done then. I hope the following chapters are coming at some pace, not driving you too mad?)
IMP
Sure thing, Gyr. ^_^ Thanks. Oy, I'm oozing down the page... I've got to get more posted.
*gives ice cream*
And remember, take deep, cleansing breaths!
Thanks very much, Imp. ^_^
Fine crit! I'll try to get some more of the Chair posted over the weekend -- ah, but we've heard that before haven't we? ^_~
Still, the deadline looms close and I've got to get something accomplished...
Critique in chp. 4
Hullo DD...a critique at last, or most of one. ^_^ The tension in this bit is tangible, and is involving enough that I tend to dismiss the idea of critiquing. An irrelevant sidenote to reading.
Fragments and repetition here set the dissonant tone. Without the structure, you might have a laundry list--but instead you've got an eerie distance, and the staccato breaks in fragmented foreshadow a certain violence.
It is something to be painstakingly careful on; fragments and the distancing of "...to an obvserver..." come out by an unthoughtful reader as hackjobs. But I don't think anyone will ever have a case against DD for being thoughtless. ^_~
The briefest of suggestions here: Though pulling is perfectly correct, it flows more smoothly than much of the rest. The above is one of the longer sentences--to keep the staccato sharpness, change to 'pulled'?
Recalled to mind an ironic contrast to his dreams. ^_^ Here--in no phantom fear--he is in fact being followed, but 'tis on 'sunny Pershozhen...' with plenty of passers-by; and no one notices. Intentional? Apt, either way.
This chapter manages to be present--rather unpleasantly for a reader who is sympathetic to Shan. ^_~ Shan's distress is painful. And you keep that consistent in the steady referral back to his thoughts and sensation/feeling.
Second sentence in the paragraph above pushes immediacy in length. The ending trails. Perhaps: Maybe even drop 'somehow'--up to you.
Fragment here - while dramatic - almost misses connecting to the previous thought. A dash (--) might prove more clear, still convey the broken off violence.
Descriptions of the strazhas--vivid throughout without breaking from Shan's experience. ^_^
Oy, and present tense break for a sentence before back to past. I love the idea of it; but does it draw too much attention to itself? It might make the same impression with less to be bewildered by, were you to leave 'run' --'ran'. To be especially jolting, it could be made its own paragraph. It sits rather between the two at the moment, middle of the paragraph anomaly.
...Builds to breaking-point, and Shan snaps. Fragments hit the action perfectly. ^_^
(and to be finished soon... my time runs shorter than I thought. !_!)
Please get it posted ASAP and be sure to PM me when you do! I really want to read what happens next.
Next chapter's not posted yet, I'm procrastinating. ^_~ I want to edit it more.
I can PM if you like, and let you know when it's posted. I'll get to work on the POVs, too... *pulls hair out* Argh... ten more days until [possible?] deadline...
Wow, DD, I like the third chapter! You set up the story a little more, and the cliffhanger on the end is GREAT! (I'm still trying to figure out this site-- do you have the fourth chapter posted somewhere?)
Just watch out for point of view inconsistencies. For a moment it switched from Shan's to Linvy's point of view near the beginning, and that made me stop and say, "Wait a minute, whose point of view are we?"
Please let me know where I can find the next chapter! Thanks.
Cheers! ~Shafter
Heh, thanks, Shafter. ^_~
Oy, yes and the typos. Slippery little things, every time I go through to find them, I always miss a few. The dialogue? Where, exactly, if you don't mind... I'll change it if I can. ^_^
I'm very glad you enjoyed the first two chapters!
Wow!
DD, that was awesome! I just finished reading the first two chapters of your story (all I had time for); great start! I love your way with words, the dialogue, the description, the world you've created. I can hardly wait to read chapter three!
I noticed a few typos that you may or may not have already found. In chapter one it says "pednulum" instead of "pendulum;" there's one "it's" that should be "its;" and someone says "loosing" instead of "losing." Also, sometimes the dialogue seemed a little repetitious, although that may be important later; I don't know.
Other than that, I have nothing to say but, when are you going to publish this?!
Cheers! ~Shafter
While I'm not quite sure that I deserve all of that, I now love you and my soul is forever yours. ^_~ The Bird shall have more Chair soon, I hope...
"Chiar of Wind and Darkness is one of THE best books (yes, I said "books", as in "including published stuff") that I have read in YEARS!"
O.O Muahahaha, but it's a novella. *winks*
*takes a deep breath*
Ah, you're right, I feel much better. ^_^
*inhales*
*exhales*
*eats ice cream*
I love you, Gyr. Thanks so much... writerly depression is not a good thing to have on one's birthday, but what with all the ice cream and flattery, I think I may have gotten over it. That was the sweetest post.
And I could never - ever -ever- ever- rip up Gypsie Eyes. It's too awesome. ^_~
Dahling, I am here to save you from the depths of despair!
You. Are. Fantastic. Amazing-Wonderful-Incredible-Marvelous-Glorious; Chiar of Wind and Darkness is one of THE best books (yes, I said "books", as in "including published stuff") that I have read in YEARS! (not inlcuding King of Attolia, but that's a special case). I mean it. Really. Your post on Gypsie Eyes cheered me up so much, I really wanted to return the favor. And it is NOT empty flattery, I really mean it.
*gives ice cream*
Now, go sit down and breath nice deep breaths. Priority one is not to freak out. Priority two is to write/post more Chair so bird does not go bezerk. Bird. Wants. More. Chair.
Bird. Needs. More. Chair.
Give. Bird. More. Chair.
Oh, yes, and I've posted Chapter 3 of Gypsie Eyes. Go rip it up if it will make you feel better.
I love you I love you I love you I a million times love you would you like a cookie perhaps?
*gives aeroman a cookie*
Ah. Verbosity. The very same thing I told you about, huh? Oy... bad trait on my part. ^_^ But I really can't tell you how glad I am that you liked it so much. I am... beyond estatic.
Lol, and the "You. Got. Thinner." line everyone seems to like, but I'm not sure why. I didn't think it was all that brilliant.
Hehe, I'm giggling like an idiot, so I'll stop there, but THANK YOU!
Woooooheeeeee! What a story!!! This, my friend, is one of the best, most original, fantasy stories I've read to date! It took me about an hour and a half to read through it, then make some mental notes, and go through the critiques. At first how lengthy the entire topic and story was, totally made me not want to take the time, but I'm so glad I did! I would like to make 6 points of interest that stuck out for me...
#1-First of all one of the things that hit me, repeatedly, throughout the story was how perfectly you developed your characters and stuck to their personalities. I really enjoyed Livny in the auditorium scene, he brought a flair and humor that needed to be there. The comment he made, "You. Got. Thinner." really made me laugh!
#2-Another thing I noticed was you were very good at the pace of the story, everything ran so smoothly that it seemed to just zoom by once you got into it. That is one of the things that I admire about JK Rowling, her pace is seemless and that is why people read her books so fast.
#3-One of the things I thought of with this whole military ideal throughout the story was the Nazis. Most of the characters seemed very stuck up in their military ideas. Plus the whole black trench coat idea, etc... It was all very good.
#4-You were very descriptive about everything, I had a clear picture of the setting, characters, appearance, everything. Superb job, now some may say it is a bit wordy. Which, I think at times it is. The pace of the beginning isn't as good as the rest possibly because of the over word usage.
But the good thing about your wordiness, is that you do, do it consitently and so it fits very well once you get into the story. Perhaps work on getting more into the meat, but you have a certain knack where even though you write really wordy, it fits.
#5-The one thing that did bother me about the piece was how large the paragraphs were. They're monsters! Haha, maybe separate them a bit. It was kind of overwhelming for me and I think it would make the piece more attractive possibly if your paragraphs weren't so huge.
#6- I really loved some of your scenes, especially the auditorium. The air in that scene was created perfectly, it was a great blend of emotions. Also I really liked your "Beat the snot out of Shan" scene. The atmosphere was created flawlessly, I felt so bad for the guy. I could feel that his pride was wounded and that he hated how he couldn't defend himself against them. Plus you did all the beatings really well, and didn't overuse anything.
Summary
#1-Great characters, awesome development.
#2-Pace was perfect.
#3-The military forces resembled the Nazis for me.
#4-Very descriptive, which was good, but just make sure you watch yourself!
#5-Paragraphs were a bit too large, I thought.
#6-Scenes were awesome!
Overall, I loved it! Superb, stupendous, amazing, Keep up the great work Dreamy!
-Aero
*happily munches cookies* You're the best cook ever!
Wiggy
If it's allright, it might be more handy in the thread, that way I don't accidentally delete it when I'm cleaning out my inbox.
Wiggy: Oy, such a busy gal. You need a vacation. *gives Wiggy cookies*
No prob DD! Sorry I couldn't get more done-but I'll get more done soon, promise! Religion has just been uuuuugh! I have 6 papers (don't worry-some are from previous weeks) due this week and need to finish them first-then the Chair will be critted!
Wiggy
I read the first couple paragraphs (prologue, right?) and practically fell out of my chair. Yeah, it was that fabulous. So, I'm finally getting started on your crit -- yes, I haven't forgotten!
I'll work the same way as MH, and hopefully have this finished for you by Friday. Would you prefer this by PM or on this thread?
Love ya, MH. ^_~
*falls over*
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..
...
....
.
.
.
...
*gets up*
*falls over again*
My God, the Chair's been bombarded in my absence. *struggles weakly up*
Cal I bow to you and am forever your devoted servant. Don't laugh it's not funny, here, here's my soul.
Wiggy my gal! ^_^ Much thanks!
Muahahaha. I've printed the crits out. I am now invincible!
This is now, officially, being copied and pasted into a word document, so that I might read it and jot down my thoughts, when I have enough free time to properly examine the marvelous and complicated piece of writing that it is.
I am sure that any errors I find, or any corrections I recommend you make, will have already been stated earlier by one of the many other critiquers of this piece, but I will make them nonetheless, in my effort to improve The Chair of Wind and Darkness.
Yours truly,
MH
p.s. When I complete each chapter, I shall disclose it, along with my comments, in a private message that I will then send to you.
All right, DD, I promised I'd start to crit it, so here's the crit for the introduction! lol My crits are in italics.
DD, you are such a talented writer it isn't funny. I really had to nitpick for those last few crits. I'll do more when I can. Hey, slow but steady wins the race! Maybe I'll even have the whole thing critted by the time you get back!
Wiggy
Looks who’s back… and so soon. You don’t know how lucky you are.
Well, here I am again. Hope this helps. If you need any clarification on any of my notes ask away.
] It occurred to him that he was wasting time, that at this point getting wet was the least of his worries. [I would split up this sentence: It occurred to him that he was wasting time. At this point getting wet was the least of his worries.] Finally he went to the opposite side of the porch, turned and ran [ran? maybe there is a better word here: dashed, darted, scampered, rushed... towards] for the edge, with the mind to jump far enough so as to get to the area of semi-dryness under the next porch, [another wordy, scrambled phrase; the edge, with the mind to jump as far as the next porch,] sunken though it was. He tripped pushing off the edge [tense shift here - He tripped as he pushed off from the edge…] and landed on a [his rather than a] knee in the wide, soaking street in between, bruising his palms and getting himself thoroughly drenched. He pulled himself up with his long, once fastidious coat tangled around his leg and shin-deep in water, and he kicked the rain-water in an arch of spray towards the main street. [Again another long sentence that needs some clarification.] Shan saw the movement beyond the rain [erm… something can be beyond the rain?] as the inexpertly trained Strazhas dispersed and spread out, waiting for him farther up the avenue, drier than he and, for the moment, under a porch roof. [This also needs a little clarification, the connection between Shan and Strazhas comes off hazy.]
]
Yours,
CL.
Chapter One
In the dream it was raining. Raining was not ordinarily [ordinarily: superfluous word, and it clouds your sentence with a large, tongue-stopper.] a bad state for the weather to be in, but in the downtown sector of the city [I don’t think you need ‘the city’] Barduev, it was an inconvenience which made the Agra-Wazir District particularly challenging to get through - the sunken sidewalks and muddy, flooding [flooding is superfluous because you already describe it as raining, so just - muddy gardens] gardens lay [nix lay] a level below the street. Shan Tefur’s boots and the bottom of his long black jacket were completely soaked as he stood beneath the looming columns of the Provincial Development Building, the only government building on this street and therefore the only one with a raised porch.
He ran thin, [comma here]]white fingers through his dripping, [again comma] dark hair and looked left down the avenue towards the Kier District, [another comma here] and the general direction of his apartment. A glance up the street towards his destination and [you need a transition word here, perhaps - then] he leaned forward a bit to glance up a the stinging misty curtain that wasn’t allowing him to see either. He stepped back a pace on the porch and paced for a moment in the pre-moonlight shadows, drying his hands uselessly on the soaking edge of his coat. [The drying gets me, if you say it’s useless because his coat is soak, then drying is not the right verb, perhaps wringing?]
As he turned once [nix once] he caught a quick glimpse of the guards who had been following him since the Academy Block. They were huddled under the porch roof of some dark [nix dark] house, miserable in water that was up to their ankles in the depressed stonework [another confusing syntax, the in the depressed stonework is the weird part] - five... no, six of them, right there across the street. Still, their presence irritated him, and he sighed, rubbed a hand across the back of his neck and took a step out from under the overhang.
“Strazhas!” he shouted across the street, cupping his hands around his mouth so that the noise carried through the rain.
[new paragraph]The call had an astonishing lack of volume through the downpour but still they heard him. Strazhas were trained to hear in the dark, in the rain. And [And, superfluous.] they had no choice now that he had seen them - they slipped around the corner of their building and disappeared into the alleyway as if they were just a handful of old friends out for a walk in the soaking night. [no need for - in the soaking night. Now, it just seems you are hitting us over the head with the weather.] They were still going to follow him, of course, they were just going to do it a little more discreetly. [Teeheehee, I like Shan already.]
He swore and looked right and left again sharply, up and down the street through the downpour. He ran a and [is that supposed to be hand?] down his dripping face, moving a bit and craning his neck to see down the now empty alley. [These actions seem rushed. Plus the moving a bit throws me. What is moving? Confused. Also Shan seems to do a lot of things involving hands to the face area.
The clock on the mantel piece in the City Director’s office had a miniature pednulum [pendulum?] that swung back and forth, back and forth, tick tock, tick tock, [I’m not sure you need the tick tock, tick tock. Just - …back and forth, back and forth, a rhythmic…] a rythmic [rhythmic?] cheerfullness [ick, I hate -ness words, because they are tongue-stoppers among other things, use only if at last resort, maybe there is something else you can put here.] that seemed out of place in the middle of the night, with the rain pounding down on the city. Shan watched it almost furtively without so much as turning his head, watched it expressionlessly as back and forth it ticked and seconds, minutes, went by. [This sentence is fragmented.] He let his eyes flicker away from it, stared straight ahead at the water-logged window beyond the deserted desk and felt his jaw just barefly [barely?] from the strain of trying to stay absolutely still. He was well aware of the Strazhas over in the doorway, standing just behind him and to his right so he couldn’t quite see them - but their reflections shone clear on the bombarded [? Confusing?] far window. Shan realized he was rubbing his fingers up and down the one slowly drying edge of his jacket where it rested over his knee. He stopped; and after a moment’s consideration he flung in down and away from him to that it draped gracefully down over the edge of the cushioned chair. He sat back, sighing as if he was merely impateint [impatient?] and had not a care in the world. [Too much information - how about - sighing impatient(ly).] His jaw moved again. Still, he did not look at the Strazhas, who were still standing there, quiet breathing in the doorway. Instead, his eyes were drawn inevitably back to the clock, the pendulum that swung itself back and forth so zealously, and in it’s polished glass face he saw himself in the chair, saw the Strazhas over there beyond his shoulder. [Split up sentence - …forth so zealously. In it’s polished glass face he saw…]
He tried to keep his eyes on the time piece, but nervousness got the best of him and when he went to run his fingers back through his hair, he realized that his hand was trembling. He look [looked] at it for a moment as if it was some foreign thing, [comma here] that left unchecked could do him harm - he smiled for the Strazha’s sake, [put ‘and’ here after comma] pretended to be unconcerned and [exchange and for comma] even amused. He clenched and open his hand several times and shook it, but the trembling persisted. It fell down beside him to conceal itself amongst the folds of his jacket and gripped the fabic [fabric?] at his leg tight enough to whiten his hand and keep it from shaking. He pushed his hair back again, this time with his left hand and rested his elbow on the carved arm of the chair. [chair? where did this chair come from? Is it a magic chair? Did Shan summond the chair?] He put his head down and without moving his hand ran his fingers back and forth across his forehead, half to dry his face and half to disguise the fact that we [he?] was wide-eyed, studying the Strazhas in the glass reflection of the clock face.
These were not the Strazhas from the street. Those had been poorly trained, hastily conscripted; they were runners, which was to say that [nix which was to say that] their sole purpose was shadowing people in the streets. They reported on where their targets went and where they came from, and that was the extent of their duties. They were not, as a rule, well-trained to do this. [nixed everything after well-trained] Stealth was normally of little importance most days in busy Barduev, and what stealth was required the more experienced Strazhas could figure out on their own. [Recast: Stealth was of little importance most of the days in busy Barduev; what stealth was required, the more experienced Strazhas could figure out on their own.]
These were Strazhas Elite, the equivalent to military Kasimovs, and yet in amy [many?] ways more dangerous because they killed without discretion, [comma instead of period] without declaration of war. Shan had been a Kasimov, obvious to whoever noticed the slim, dark coat [a coat can be slim?] and the row of three silver stars on the collar. [Had been? That’s interesting….] That fact would not keep a handful of Strazhas Elite from killing him, if they had orders to do so. Especially if they had orders to do so. They had been waiting for him in the hallway, despite the fact that he had used the less frequented steps rather than the side portico. They had followed him up the steps without talking, never making a single noise on the red carpeted stairs. He had know thay [they?] were right there behind him the entire way up to the second floor. He hadn’t looked at them. An hour had gone past and still he had not looked at them. He just sat in his chair [again with the magic chair. Chair, where?] and stared unflinching at the clock, waiting for the Lord Sovereign while his right hand trmebled [trembled] uncontrollably amongst the folds of his damp coat.
There was light in his eyes...
He wished he had caught himself when he had fallen. He hated to fall.
There was light in his eyes...
There was bright glare coming from the window - it slid across the pillow and into his eyes, unwelcome sunlight that had come too early. He turned away from it but the light followed him, illuminated the white wall and made it reflect back. [tense shifting here - …followed him, illuminating the…] Morning - after all, there was no getting around it. [Hmm, not sure the fragment of ‘Morning’ works, perhaps: It was morning after all, there was no getting around it.] And there was light in his eyes. [Nice use of repetition.
He sighed and kicked off the sheet, which somehow through the course of the night had gotten tangled around his leg. [Legs? Or any particular leg?] Stupid sheets. [heheheh] He pushed himself up and sat on the edge of the bed, running his hands through his hair and studying the long, slim [again slim coats?] military coat that lay in a mess on the floor, a black puddle of heavy fabric. The three silver stars on the high collar were just barely [barely, what? barely seen?] from under a carelessly thrown fold, identical points of light in a night sky. Some light from the window slid over it and momentarily illuminated [hmm, you used illuminate in the previous paragraph, maybe another word: illumed, defined? Unless you are drawing a metaphor between the wall and the stars.] them. Beautiful? Yes, he thought, yes it was. [it was? Aren’t there three stars? Wouldn’t it be: yes they were?] But it also stood for something in which he no longer believed, and he was beginning to wonder if through all the innumerable things he had done he had ever once believed it. [Split sentence: …he no longer believed. He was beginning to wonder if through all the innumerable things he had done if he had ever once believed.] The last time he had worn it; when was that? Well, he had worn it last night, but seriously went out and worn it as a uniform, worn it to show everyone who he was, what he stood for? [Sentence polishing: Well, he had worn it last night, but when had he seriously gone out and worn it as a uniform, wore it to show everyone who he was, and what he stood for?] Wearing something because it happened to be available and wearing something because you believed in what it stood for were two different things completely. He shook his head and chose not to think about it; of course he had believed it, so does everyone when they first start something. It’s not a condition of whether or not you go on believing it, [semi colon instead of comma] you begin something and you get used to it. You never sit around debating about it. He wasn’t without purpose to such an extent that he didn’t have better ways to spend his time than to sit here and carry on a one-sided debate about his life.
As if it would matter.
Shan stared at the jacket for a moment longer until it came to him that while he was staring, it was still on the floor. What the hell was he doing reminiscing when his coat was laying in the dust? He got down and picked the jacket up, irritated with himself for being careless enough to let it lie there the whole night, for taking so long to get it off the floor. [Again, rushing here. Take a look at these sentences and recast.] He laid it over the back of a nearby chair, picking a bit of whitish lint off of [nix of] the back with his finger nail, and the thick feel of the cloth brought back the memory of the dream. [hmm, I would have the following as it’s own sentence. The thick feel of cloth brought back the memory of the dream.]
Where had he been going? He couldn’t remember. It was the first coherent dream he had had in a long time, and now he couldn’t remember it. It had been raining, he recalled. Raining in Barduev. God, he wished it would rain. He wished the water would just pour down out of [hmm out of really doesn’t go with down, perhaps - down from the clouds…] the clouds, wash away the dust on the street, in the gardens, in the air. They said that this was the worst drought since the Academy was built, and in his dream it poured. What was the sense in that? No reason, he thought, no sense.
The rain, that brought him back to his coat, which had gotten soaked. [Recast: The rain had brought him back to his coat, which had been soaked.] The coat... ah the coat. Why couldn’t he forget about it? He fingered the silver stars on the collar, sighed, ran his hands over his face and sat back down on the bed. Stars. Three silver stars, the rank of a Kasimov. Three ranks down from a general, at the age of twenty-nine. [Recast: Three ranks down from a general, and at the age of twenty-nine.] Not as if it would matter. No more days of glory and war for him, just commendation from the government - you did well but the military has a better use for officers that aren’t from old money. Sit around and do something interesting. And because you’re a war hero, you get to keep the medals. Because you’re a war hero, you get to keep the coat. [HAHAHAHAHAHA! YES!]
He sighed, rubbed the back of his neck and noticed the pistol that was lying on the bed-side table. Damn. It occurred to him and not for the first time that it was incomprehensibly stupid of him to leave it out like that. He wasn’t an officer anymore; he wasn’t in enemy territory - what was he thinking, that some assassin was going to creep into his apartment in the middle of the night? He removed the clip and threw it in the drawer, irritated with himself and whatever drunken recklessness had prompted him to leave it out in the first place. For the love of God, no one was interested in killing the pointless Kasimov who had been relieved of command. Lovely, he thought, you lose rank and you become paranoid. [*glee*]
He had fought so many battles in heavy, long black. [Uh confused by the heavy, long black…] So many men had saluted him that day they had taken Peremid. And now here he was, waking up too late in an apartment that was too small, dreaming about rain in Barduev and wasting his life away. Three identical starts in the night sky indeed. And here he was sitting down again, back in a circle. [Oooo…]
Disgusted, he got up and turned to go wash up in the cramped bathroom. As he washed his face over the sink, he thought about the falling in the street. He hated so much to fall. He hated more to fall in the street. Everyone could see you in the street. Of course, everyone would be right there, ready to offer help and to get you up and on your way again. Ready to embarrass you. Private falls did not hurt so much. When you fell alone, in your apartment, in a deserted alley, your pride did not fall as hard. You didn’t have to get right up, dust yourself off and pretend it didn’t hurt. You could take your time. You could stay where you were, right where you were, until you could get your shocked muscles to stop hurting. First it would be the knees. Then it would be the arms. Then the legs. And you could put your trust in the ground until you could stand up again. [Magnifico! I love the ending.]
Recap
1. Long sentences! It seems your crutch to have prettyful, long sentences, but your problem is that you have too many of these. The same syntax is being used, try changing up the structure of your sentences to make it more fun. Also many of these long, descriptive sentences are hazy about what is actually going on.
2. The use of the word ‘trembled’. Hah, a crutch word of yours, please for the love of Shan’s hair and hands find another verb. *wink* Another crutch word is ‘sigh’. Shan does a lot of sighing.
3. You know that part in books where it’s just blocks of printed text, and you end up skimming them, or skipping over them because they are full of long, complicated sentences. Yeah, those. (or maybe it’s just me) But that is what I felt some of your paragraphs in Shan’s dream were, skip worthy on the sole purpose of the structure.
4. Well, you have some sentence structure issues, but overall I heart Shan, and lurve your ending.
Until next time,
CL.
Heyla Dreamy,
Shall we begin on my Chair crit, eh? So this is how it works, cause my handwriting is near illegible on these things, instead of scanning it in I am typing it up into the story. Everything that I have to say is in brackets, bold, and dark blue. Also, being that I haven’t read everything everyone else has said on Chair, I probably will repeat something, forgive that.
CL.
Chair of Wind and Darkness
Prologue
The very first Chair of Wind and Darkness was not so very different than the one you might be sitting in now. It was very simple, white wood and wicker, and it stood on four elegantly swooping legs before a desk so that it could spend its quiet days near the window that overlooked the lawn, the stone courtyard and the stately trees outside. [You have an elongated sentence here - I suggest trying not to rush everything into one sentence, or adjusting it so it was not so with maybe comma, semi-colon, colon. Something to think about…]
It sat, in all its years, in a little airy room [The two ‘in’(s) throw me, perhaps - all of its years, in a little, airy room… Oh and you forgot the comma after little; remember when there are two are more descriptors, there should be a comma separating them. It’s something I often miss or forget.] beside a small desk while the gauzy curtains blew in from the window and swept, billowing, against it.
It was such a chair that, looking at it, you could easily see yourself sitting in it, could easily imagine that the book on the desk was yours as it ruffled from page to creamy page, blown into a chaotic flurry by the breeze. [Hmm… something just doesn’t fit, this is my recast: It was such a chair that, looking at it, you could easily see yourself sitting in it; you could easily imagine the book on the desk was yours as it ruffled from page to creamy page, blown into a chaotic flurry by the breeze.] The feeling could arise that all those neat, black-inked, handwritten pages were yours, paragraphs and words that compounded to build personal secrets, dreams, hopes; all the good things in life and all the bad, unhappy things you only lived through by screaming your outrage at the sky - the things you’ve endured and looked back on and understood. [Again, another long winded sentence at the but of a long winded sentence. Recast - The feeling could arise that all those neat, black-inked, handwritten pages were yours; that paragraphs and words compounded to build personal secrets, dreams, hopes - all the good things in life and all the bad, unhappy things you only lived through by screaming your outrage to the sky - these things you’ve endured and looked back on, and understood. And forgiven.]
You could easily imagine that, to see the chair. [I r Confused. You could easily image that, sounds better, not so confusing.] What you could not imagine would be that this plain, serviceable, simple chair [cut down to two adjectives] reigning before an evenly plain [evenly plain?] desk and a single, beautiful book could be the Chair of Wind and Darkness, something that you’ve doubtless known about your entire life. Though likely never by that name. And likely never in that way.
Recap
1. Great prologue here, it brings your reader in, it does exactly what prologues are supposed to do, and it doesn’t introduce a character. Well another than the Chair, that is. *wink*
2. You have some great, flowy language here, but some of it seems scrambled. Make your sentences flowy-er, if that is even a word.
Yours,
CL.
Make that... two weeks from now. Promise. ^_^
Thank you Myth, I might just take you up on that offer. ^_~ I really appreciate your crits... heh, now I have to post more so I can drag you back here to point out the mistakes.
*head/desk*
EDITED: the typos...
... still have yet to fix up the actual rewriting, the addition of the mention of the other two Strazhas, namely... ^_^
Chapter 5 to be posted by Monday, hopefully.
EDIT 2:> Make that Tuesday, or quite possibly Wednesday.
I've been known to notice tiny details.
Now I just have to wait for more installments of The Chair. If you need anything else looked at PM me and I'll get onto it.
Argh, the typos... Curse my typing skills!
And thank you very much for pointing them out, they shall be edited directly.
Good idea, that. The seeming non-existance of two of the Strazhas did occur to me writing this, but for some reason I was so convinced that the reader would forget that in the midst of the action that I never took the time to edit it. I'm not sure how I duped myself into this belief. ^_~ I shall try to work a mention of them in... with distinguishing characteristics, if you think it would add. The reason I stopped the indentifying uniqueness at the Peremidian was because I was taking into account Shan's personality and thought process. He's being hunted by Strazhas, he's not really going to notice the differences between them. I put in the Peremidian accent because I wanted a little subtley in there... Shan fought a war in Peremid remember. He still regards these people as the enemy.
But I'll go over it again, if you like.
I will indeed. Thanks a million Myth! ^_^
I’m debating whether ‘redocumented’ is a word or not.
Is that meant to be calm?
... a rhythmic frenzy ...
Typo: coat
... the corner of their building ...
I’m sure it should be ‘condition’ and not the plural ‘conditions’.
... before they killed him ...
... his fingers ...
... lost it completely ...
... surrendered ...
... alleys further down.
... into thin air ...
... first assassin's ...
“Empty,” one of them said, sounding amused. Shan flung his saber up but the Strazha, quicker, got his wrist and snapped it around, took his legs out from under him. The impact on the pavement bruised Shan’s cheekbone and for a moment he could almost swear that every one of his teeth had just gone right up through his head.
The repetition of ‘one of them’ ruins the flow of the sentence. Try something like: “You think a Kasimov can stalk Strazhas, yeah?” one asked in bemusement and flung a cigarette down in the dust by Shan’s face.
... a strangled gasp ...
So there are five Strazhas and two seem to be ‘invisible’. One is talking to Shan, one is holding him down and another takes his sabre. What about the other two? Is Shan able to see/hear them? And try and give the mentioned Strazhas something to identify them like the one with the Peremidian accent.
And what is the difference? Or are we not told?
His voice started ...
So if you ...
... from one but ...
How about a exclamation mark there?
... and hauled him ...
Did you mean to use ‘this’ or ‘that’ instead of ‘the’? : This infuriated him for some reason, even more than the beating / That infuriated him for some reason, even more than the beating.
How about: One added, “To such humilities ...”
Or: “To such ... bend nowadays,” one added.
... he was vulnerable ...
... fluttering a bit ...
... disheveled Kasimov ...
... Kasimovs on their way ...
... filthy stars.
Oh, what a way to end. I’m really hooked on The Chair. It was so sad reading that chapter, Shan goes through so much on his own, I mean, being beaten up by FIVE Strazhas!
You might want to shorten the action sentences, make a few choppy. I’ve pointed out the typos and such that I’ve noticed – it’s not a very big problem but it helps to take care of them.
Please write more!
Livny seemed to be …
I didn't see much to critique but mind the typos.
I've read C4 and it definately has a lot of action. Since no one else has got to that part yet I'll take a close look and get back to you. All I can say is things are certainly going downhill for Shan.
DD, I might just do a chapter by chapter crit since I literally have no time! OMG I feel soooo guilty in not having critted it yet...and you being the awesomest person you are...*head/desk* I'll get to it....woe is me, geometry let me be!!!!
Sure thing, Myth, thanks. ^_^
*gives Myth cookies*
Ah, after re-reading I see your point. Well.. the suggestions there if you decide to change things around at a later stage. =)
Well, I got that.
Oop, just editing Chapter 2 and I was re-reading your crit... Here.
Yeah... what I was trying to do with that was make the reader remember the flashback scene to Shan's relief. The political officers mention that a 'Kasimov Livny' (whom the reader has not yet met) could have handled the situation. Shan counters by informing them that the Livny was in no state to command. So I guess I wanted it to be something of an Aha! moment, where the reader goes: Livny! Ooh... that guy! That guy from the flashback! ...since here you get to suddenly meet him in the flesh.
Lol, not so much? ^_~
... No more chance for haikus...? O.o
)
(Imp's "quirked eyebrow of vaguely dubious inquiry"...
*sighs* No more chance for haikus...
Heh, yeah, got it. Thanks Myth. ^_^
Enjoy the cookies.
Wait. I think I may have confused you there. I was talking about how to improve the flashback. It was puzzling to read so I was saying instead of telling what happened, show it.
Like:
Shan is in the auditorium, its hot .. etc
*
(Begin flashback)
Here you'll write what happened the day Shan lost rank.
*
Shan is brought back to the present because so and so..
Get it now?
Aw, cookies!
T'was because of the sweating.
Hmm... I did consider doing that but I didn't want ot be repeptitive. The line 'come to relieve him of his command'... it's only a litle distance up the page:
Do ya still think it's needed then, farther down? I mean, since you get an impression of what's going on from the previous paragraph... Or are you suggesting that I just change that paragraph ending in general? ^_~
Good points, Myth. ^_^ I shall edit that.
Heh, okay. Thanks a lot, Myth, these are really great crits your giving me.
*hugs*
Was his hair wet because he had washed in the bathroom or was he sweating?
Repetition of ‘statement’. Synonyms are your friends!
‘the’ is missing in that sentence between ‘who’ and ‘Strazhas’.
I got this...
... on the podium. Remember, people act/speak on stage.
I love the flashback. It shows Shan’s downfall but is ruined because you could have done it on its own. When I say that you could have written it as it happened. As Shan thinks back to that day, tell the reader what took place instead of him thinking it. So you can start it something like:
“The government, the war effort is forever in your debt,” one of the political officers said. They had come to come to relieve him of his command.
“Thanks so much,” said Shan, refusing to be appeased. “You’re all heart and it’s been a real pleasure, but I’m a Kasimov and I intend to stay one.”
...
And when the reader is brought back to the present scene you’ll continue with where you left off. Did you understand that?
Maybe you could suggest there were ‘no-smoking’ signs around the auditorium.
The Kasimov hadn’t corrected him; the good captain, a row down, had gotten up and reprimanded him.
Or take out 'a row down'
Since the last sentence is a thought, it should be in italics.
Plus, as Livny was introduced 'suddenly' I think you should think about Shan seeing him (from behind, the side?) and thinking the Kasimov was familiar and then realises it was Livny. That's just a thought, cos I was reading and thinking "Where did he come from?"
fifteen
Numbers are to be written out.
I now see where Imp got the quote.
A lot of tension in this chapter. I’m surprised Shan doesn’t knock the captain and Livny’s heads together.
I wouldn't really want to fix anything else. Just some sentences may run on for a while, when you spot them read it out (as Imp suggested) and you'll realise it is a mouthful.
Always welcome.
If you think its necessary then you should keep it otherwise ditch it, but its really up to you.
Hmm... you do make a good point about the prologue. I'll take a look at it and perhaps do up a quick rewrite. ^_^
(Yeah, the addressing the reader in the first part and then not after is inentional. Do you think that needs changed?)
Thanks Myth!
Now the dream sequence I'm still thinking over so I'll add in any suggestions when I crit C2.
Right, this is going to be one of the bits I’ll give suggestions to. The repetition of ‘you could easily imagine’ was a tad bit annoying, I’d leave the first one in and replace the others.
I don’t get that ‘blown’ bit. Is it describing the creamy colour to be blown or is the page being blown?
It was such a chair that, looking at it, you could easily imagine yourself sitting on it. You can almost picture the book on the desk as your own and then the pages, creamy and white, ruffled in a chaotic flurry as it was stirred by a breeze.
You can see I’ve written the same thing using synonyms and combining sentences, I didn’t do it all as I wouldn’t know how you would write it. Hope that helps though.
One other thing. The reader is addressed in the prologue and forgotten in the other parts of the work. Was that intentional?
Well, I hope it comes along well for ya... as soon as it gets sorted out. ^_^
(Ahem, to quote Crysi: I will hurt you if you do.)
It was a great read, you're not allowed to give it up.
(Thanks again, Miss Myth!)
I'll take a look again and give a few suggestions. QotH is on hold at the moment, I want to get a few things sorted first.
Hi Myth, thanks for the crit. ^_^ I really appreciate it.
Right you are... sorry about that, I'll fix it.
Thanks Myth! Yeah... long-windedness. I do that a lot and I'm not sure how to fix it. Kay told me the same thing about the dream sequence - any suggestions on how to make that a bit clearer?
Thanks again Myth, it's always a pleasure getting a crit from you. ^_~
How's the Queen of the Harpies coming, by the way...?
Hello Dreamer!
At last I've had time to re-read. There are a few typos you can look over through careful reading - if you want them pointed out I'll do so.
The Strazhas are people right? Then you would need to replace ‘which’ with ‘who’.
Remember, the 's' in Strazhas needs to be capitalised.
I love the description of the coat as ‘a black puddle of heavy fabric’. And ‘stupid sheets’? Exactly what I think when that happens to me.
Shan’s humiliation of falling is an excellent addition. I know I would hate to fall in the streets with people looking (it has happened often enough in school) and pretending it doesn’t hurt.
I only got to Chapter One and will get to the other bits later. A few of the sentances are really long and I lose focus so maybe you could shorten a few and keep others long-winded?
Great going so far but maybe you could make it more clear when Shan is dreaming and the point when he wakes. When he is in the room I thought for a moment he was awake but further reading suggested he was still dreaming.
I look forward to the next parts.
Heh... *hugs*
Sheer happiness suffices. ^_^
(I told you it wasn't THAT bad.
)
Ah, but first copy's already promised to Kay...
I love you Crysi. Here, have a cookie. *gives cookie* You make my day. And yes, heh, I'm only 14... don't remind me. Shall be 15 in October. ^_^
Ahh! Don't hurt me! Heh, I don't plan to give it up - I can't, it has a deadline. ^_~ And I look forward to the pointing out of the confusing spots... I'm sure there are some in there.
Thank you so much, Crysi. I am... speechless. But a very happy speechless.
^_^
...which is a good thing.
...Wow.
Not many stories can affect me the way yours just did... Only the good ones.
That was breathtaking (no pun intended).
There were a few confusing spots (and when I have more time I'll try to come back to this post to edit it and add in specifics), and a few typos, but... wow. Jeez. You really have this action thing down. Are you SERIOUSLY only fourteen?
The use of swearing was, in my opinion, justified. I swear I could hear the panic rising in his voice. When I would go to predict the next action, I was generally right - you went with very natural reactions to things. EXCELLENT job.
I will hurt you if you ever give up on this story. This will sell. And I will be one of the first in line to buy it.
Chapter 4
Soldier: We’ll have the medals sent along after you, they need to be documented first so they can write you up temporary papers. Sir... your face. You’re... you’re bleeding.
Kasimov Azov Tefur: And yet another blinding flash of insight from a product of modern soldiery. Aren’t we all.
Soldier: Just a moment, sir, I need your saber.
Kasimov Azov Tefur: Have no illusions that you’ll be getting it.
Soldier: There are orders.
Kasimov Avoz Tefur: (walking away) Fine, my orders, find a way to get them cleared. You have a problem with it, arrest me. Or shadow me with Strazhas if it pleases you, I don’t give a damn either way.
Soldier: Forgive me, sir, but you have no longer have the authority to give that order.
Kasimov Azov Tefur: No? No, perhaps you’re right. But try to keep this in mind. I have a saber. And I know how to use it. And right now I feel one hell of a lot like using it. So humor me.
It was more disbelief than the actual threat they posed that caused Shan to hesitate in the street. To an observer, it wouldn’t have looked like much: a Kasimov walking cold and distant, which they habitually were, straight and collected. A Kasimov looking briefly up, catching a glimpse of a reflection out of the corner of his eye, head coming up as he did a double-take. A Kasimov stopping dead in the street, pulling up short so abruptly that for a moment his coat billowed out in front of him, thrown by the breeze and his momentum. A Kasimov who didn’t run - why would he? An observer would not be able to see what was fifteen yards back, what the Kasimov saw because he was trained to. A casual observer would pay it no mind.
The Strazhas that Shan saw reflected in the glass of a shop window stopped when he did, loitering at a corner. One glanced over another’s shoulder at him and then the eyes flitted away as he found a lighter for his friend’s cigarette. Five Strazhas on sunny Pershozhen Street that no one saw because no one wanted to see them.
Shan stared at the reflections, the epitome of calm and control as his hands trembled uncontrollably at his belt and he tried to breath. A hand crept up to his chest; he could feel his heartbeat through his shirt, pounding in a rhythmic frenzy under threat of extinction, as if it was going to help somehow. People were starting to stare, to glance back in irritation as they shoved past him where he stood oblivious and trembling in the street.
Walk, he told himself. Walk, walk, walk for the love of God walk and whatever you do don’t run.
But the urge to run was almost overwhelming. He fought his hand back down slowly to his hip and was very aware of his saber. He was very aware of his coat, of his stars, so easy to mark, so easy to follow.
The Strazhas leaned against the corner of their building and talked a bit, nonchalantly, never once looking at him. As if they were old comrades... what, a handful of old friends out for a walk in the rain? The memory of his dream tugged at him in the blistering heat and breeze, like a mockery of his current condition. In a dream, if you ran they were not encouraged to pursue; if you fell in the street they did not kill you; sunlight came to the rescue. While here it was his enemy, was exhausting, made thinking difficult.
They were moving again. A casual shove off the wall and they were walking again, slipping between clumps of pedestrians without so much as a glance at them. Shan tried to imagine the impossible, how many of them he could hold off before they killed him in a deserted street, got him right where they wanted him. The thought that he was, for the moment, out of practice with weapons showed up with amazing clarity. It was enough to get him moving again.
The difficulty wasn’t the forward impulse, wasn’t the walking - it was the avoidance of downright dashing down Pershozhen Street. Every instinct told him to, every ounce of will in his body was urging him to move faster, to run. Instead he walked with even measured footsteps, kept his eyes on the windows and his fingers clenched around the hilt of his saber. They had stopped following him; they slipped around a corner and were gone down an alley. In the sudden caution in the stride of a Kasimov gone tense, they knew he knew.
Shan made it very slowly to the end of the street, every muscle strained and trembling. He made it just barely, and the instant he slipped around the dusty corner of the Provincial Development Building he lost it. His foot slipped off the curb and he almost went down on a knee, but caught himself in time to get around the corner and throw himself back against the wall. Fingers run though the hair once, a curse and the urge to look over his shoulder and around the corner back down the street repressed. He took out his pistol with shaking fingers and realized that he had removed the clip that morning in Kier. Which was when he lost it completey. And ran.
It was, in a sense, ironic that in all his years as Kasimov, through all the wars, he had never once been suspected of foul play, had never fallen prey to the politics of rank, had never once been shadowed by Strazhas. And it was now, just off Pershozhen Street and in peace-time yet, twenty-four hours away from losing even his temporary papers to civilian ones, that he had finally caught their attention.
God knew why. A hundred times since he had slipped off the main street to run for the back alleys, he had asked himself why. He had gone over every exchange, every conversation he could remember in his mind, seeking an incriminating word, a phrase, a betrayer. There was none. All that remained was the political officer whom he had struck across the face... but then that had already been taken to and dismissed from a military court. Kasimovs ruled behind the scenes in the military courts. Kasimovs always looked out for their own, despite the circumstantial right or wrong.
As if that was somehow going to help him now. All the Kasimovs in the city were a quarter mile away sitting around bored in the heat, getting into a fist-fight with a meth-maratime captain. Even if they hadn’t been: Strazhas were of a different Idai and therefore did not operate under the orders of the Kasimovs. Just as the meth-maratime did not, being naval and therefore without an Idai. The discrepancy of military branches was a difference he was very well aware of at the moment.
Shan hunted low along the back of the Capital Wall and kept his empty pistol down between his knees. Its useless presence at least gave him a small measure of confidence, of self-assurance. The hand that held the gun shook so violently at the wrist that his pistol rattled against the steel of his saber and he had to use two hands to keep it steady.
You should have run, he told himself silently, stalking his hunters in the deserted alley. You should have run on Pershozhen, anonymous in a crowd, should have shed your coat and stars and run.
Because now they had him right where they wanted him - alone and virtually defenseless, no witnesses no bystanders. No one but him and them stalking each other to the sound of broken water pipes dripping. It was a trap that he had allowed himself to walk into. And he knew that there was no way to win: you stayed where you were, surrendered? They shot you in the back of the neck. You stayed where you were and fought them? They used their sabers: and were you lucky enough to have one in your possession, you died a little more desperately, a little more frantically, but at least you went down fighting. Running encouraged pursuit and staying resulted in death and the fool who stalked the Strazhas in return? He didn’t know - it wasn’t as if anyone in such a situation had ever come back to grace others with the details.
A scrap of damp newspaper glided and tumbled down the alley to his left; his gaze followed it and as it crossed a narrow intersection, he saw a shadow flit by. His pistol was trained on the spot in an instant. His fingers trembled as he got his back to the stone and reached out a hand along the wall to guide himself. He stared wide-eyed at the intersection of alleys further down. His fingers blundered off concrete and into thin air as he discovered the end of the wall and its corner. He slipped around, looking over his shoulder as long as he could to keep the alley in sight, turned - and came face to face with five Strazhas.
There was a sharp intake of breath, a sudden rush for pistols and sabers. They beat him to it, five pistols snapped up and steel hissed on steel - he had his pistol to the first assassin’s forehead and the fist that held his saber far out from his side was shaking fiercely.
They all stayed like that for a moment.
“Shan Azov Tefur,” the dark-haired one said in a thick Peremidian accent that slightly obscured the words.
“Go to hell,” Shan whispered wide-eyed, clenched his fingers white on the hilt of his saber. The muzzle of a pistol pressed against his cheek and a hand reached out and pried the gun from his fingers.
“Empty,” one of them said, sounding amused. Shan flung his saber up but the Strazha, quicker, got his wrist and snapped it around, took his legs out from under him. The impact on the pavement bruised Shan’s cheekbone and for a moment he could almost swear that every one of his teeth had just gone right up through his head.
“You think a Kasimov can stalk Strazhas, yeah?” one asked in bemusement and flung a cigarete down in the dust by Shan’s face. Shan spat at him and was rewarded with a savage kick to the head, a knee between the shoulder blades and the muzzle of a pistol in his hair. The Peremidian crouched down in front of him and Shan twisted his head around to look at him.
“Shan Azov Tefur?” that one asked again, softly.
“Go to hell,” Shan repeated infuriated into the dust as whoever was behind him clenched his fingers in his hair and rammed his forehead against the pavement. His eyes closed involuntarily and tightly against the pain and tried to get to the fresh cut above his eyebrow but someone pulled his arms back. Hands searched through the pockets of his jacket and found his papers.
“Yes, so it would appear, Tefur it is.” The Strazha threw away the papers and they fluttered off, wind chasing them down the alley. “A Kasimov from Krasnyi, how impressive.”
“I’m not a Kasimov.”
“You have stars on your collar, you’re a Kasimov.”
“I need my papers,” Shan rasped into the gravel.
“No you don’t. You’re going to the Kasimoval Idai tomorrow to get your civilian papers, no? Surely you don’t still need your temporary papers, not an ex-Kasimov like yourself.”
Someone picked his saber up from where it was lying in the alley but he didn’t see what he did with it.
"Put my damn sword down,” Shan told him, the effect somewhat ruined by a strangled gasp and curse as a boot slammed into his ribs, a voice that made obvious his effort to hold back tears.
“The terror in your tone can only allow me to assume that you’ve never been stalked by Strazhas before.”
Shan fought to keep his eyes in focus and blinked heavily. The one threw his saber back down on the pavement, apparently not in favor of its make.
“And would that be Street Strazhas or Strazhas Elite?”
“You don’t seriously think that the Strazhad would send out five Strazhas Elite just to beat the living shit out of a Kasimov, do you? You flatter yourself, Tefur, you’re not that dangerous of a man.”
“I can’t breathe,” Shan whispered as the knee moved farther up and put pressure over the back of his neck. He stretched out a frantic, fumbling hand in search of his saber. A booted foot slammed down on his fingers and he barely stifled the scream that rose in his throat. It took effort to pull his injured hand beneath him as he struggled to turn his head, gasping through tears.
The Peremidian ignored him. “A Kasimov should know,” he said, "the difference between Strazhas Elite and Street Strazhas...”
“I’m a poorly trained Kasimov,” Shan rasped, struggling harder to get the knee off his neck, struggling with the strength of frantic desperation. He thrashed, trying to twist his head around, to get his fingers under the weight. His voice started to rise uncontrollably, a shrill whisper: “I can’t fucking breathe...” The Peremidian said something and the knee came off. Shan tried to heave himself up on an elbow as he gasped for breath but someone kicked him. A moment later he was hauled up and slammed against the wall. He couldn’t stand - the Strazha had to hold him up. A knife slid out from nowhere and pressed against the skin near his ear.
“Now I’m only going to ask you this question once,” the Peremidian told him quietly. “And if you lie to me, I’m going to start cutting. So if you particularly value your hearing, you’re going to want to choose your answer very carefully.”
“I’ll scream,” Shan said, gripping the hand that was clenched on his throat, fighting for breath through blood and tears.
“Ah, but no you won’t,” the Strazha whispered close up by his face. “Because you’re a Kasimov. And I’ve known enough Kasimovs to know that when they get cornered, when they collapse or bleed or get kicked into the dust by Strazhas, they don’t scream. Because for a Kasimov it’s pride all the way. They don’t want to be seen filthy and bleeding. Which is why they have to make sure they look absolutely fastidious when they walk down the street, hair slicked back and collars buttoned up just so. Which is why you aren’t going to scream. Because to scream is to admit a weakness and I don’t think you can do that as a Kasimov. I think it’s a hazard of the trade.”
“Go to hell.”
“I’m glad we understand each other. Now I want you to keep in mind that there’s a knife pressed against your face.” The Strazha leaned closer and said in that intensely soft tone of his, “Where is it exactly, that your loyalties lie, Kasimov?”
As if he wasn’t going to tell them what they wanted to hear.
“To the State,” he whispered. “To the Kasimoval Idai and above that to the Lord Sovereign.”
The Peremidian hit him with incredible force across the head and face with his free hand. Shan sagged a bit and he pulled him up again.
“And if I had wanted the standard answer, I could have gone and asked a civilian.” He was perhaps waiting for Shan to say something additional, and when he didn’t he added. “Are you sure it’s not the Kasimoval Idai above the Lord Sovereign?”
They’re practically one in the same, he thought. He said, “Yes, so why the hell are you hunting me?”
And again, as if it was some sort of reaffirmation - “Are you sure about that?”
“Are you sure you’re beating the living shit out of the right Kasimov?”
A fist slammed into his stomach and as the force knocked the wind out of him and drove him down and forward, he rammed a shoulder into the Peremidian’s chest. The blow sent the Strazha off to one side and into one of his comrades as Shan evaded two others, tripped past a third and in an agonized move, ran.
Two of them had pistols out, but the Peremidian was quicker with Shan’s discarded sheath. “No!” he shouted sharply at them, snatched it up from the dust and flung it after him. It caught him in the neck and shoulder, pitched him forward down on one knee. The Strazhas were right there in an instant and as Shan struggled up and away from them they slammed him through the rotted door of a deserted storage shack. He got a blurred impression of a small table and a few empty shelves before he came up against a wall, threw himself off it and tried to shove his way through the Strazhas to the door. One caught at his arm and dragged him back; he spun, felt his elbow connect with the side of someone’s face, saw the dark hair of the Peremidian and got a hand free for that one’s throat. But they had him by the arms again and hauled him back - he flung his feet up off the floor and caught one in the jaw, found purchase against a body and kicked in manic frenzy, twisting as a fist slammed into his ribs. The Peremidian had his throat again and heaved him down. Shan felt something hard and solid at his back, reached out blindly in search of a weapon, any weapon. His fingers caught at the edge of the table and brought it over with him.
It was worse than it had been with the political officers. Strazhas hit harder, for one. And they weren’t afraid of him... he had no saber this time. They went on hitting him even after he lost his balance and went down with the table and one of the shelves. He tried to wrestle a pistol away from one but a booted foot slammed down on his arm once, twice and again, and then on his hand.
“Don’t kill him,” the Peremidian told them, as if reminding them of their orders. “Be careful not to kill him.” At once point it occurred to him that he was at least giving them a good fight, but there were too many. The blows - the blows were too many. Eventually he lost whatever organized defense he had to the pain and after that they beat him without hindrance, having gotten him right where they wanted him. When they were done making their point sufficiently, the Peremidian got him by the collar and the arm and hauled him outside again just to throw him against the Capital Wall. He got kicked again while he was down on the pavement with his arms wrapped around his head.
“Just remember,” the Peremidian said softly from somewhere nearby, “that we can get to you. We can always get to you.”
That infuriated him for some reason, even more than the beating. He made an effort to struggle to his hands and knees and was kicked back down again. “Stay in the dust, Kasimov, I’m sure the coat’s washable.”
One of them added, “To such humilities the Kasimovs bend nowadays.” He kicked Shan’s empty pistol toward him, a move which had the intense flavor of mockery.
"I dare you to scream, Tefur,” the Peremidian said. And then the Strazhas were gone, down the alley and around the wall, leaving nothing of themselves behind. They even picked their cigarettes up out of the dust before they went, leaving no trace. Leaving nothing but a long streak through the dust to signify a struggle; nothing but a rotted door falling off its hinges; nothing but a dusty, bleeding Kasimov in the filth at the base of the Capital Wall, gasping for breath. He couldn’t have screamed even if he had wanted to.
At least fifteen minutes passed before it even occurred to him to move. Training did it finally - he was vulnerable, predictable, enemies could come back and find him. A joke that Livny had once made years ago flitted through his mind: Best to always present a moving target.
After the effort of getting his legs under him, he doubted he had anything left in him to do any more than lean into the wall and try to breathe. He felt sick and tired, kept running his hands through his hair and over his face, as if it would somehow sort everything out. He even tried to drag himself into some semblance of order, jerking his jacket and medals straight, trying to brush some of the dust off of his uniform.
He saw his papers abandoned near the corner of a deserted building, fluttering a bit in the hot breeze. It took a long time for him to get to them, trying to stay straight or in the very least, upright. When he bent down to retrieve them pain gripped his chest and a cramp ran up through his ribs, an incomprehensible agony. He ended up on one knee, gasping with one hand at his chest and the other searched for his papers. His fingers touched them and he crumpled them in his hand, along with some of the filth and gravel of the back streets. He needed the wall to pull himself up again. He found his empty pistol and managed to drag his saber up - it took him five trembling tries to run it into it’s sheath.
He ended up collapsing as he stepped out onto Pershozhen. People affected not to notice - they didn’t want to see the fallen Kasimov, the bloody, disheveled Kasimov, the dust on the jacket that muted the brilliance of the three silver stars.
Tense and trembling muscles revolted, shocked, and gave him no strength. Fury sufficed in the end to get him on his feet, and he walked the mile to Kyra’s apartment. He passed a handful of Kasimovs on their way out of the meth-maritime lecture - the kid stared. Shan didn’t look at him, just walked on down Pershozhen with his weapons and filthy stars. He fully expected to collapse with every step, but pulled himself straighter as he bit his lip to keep reactionary tears back and struggled to breathe.
He fell twice getting up the stairs to Kyra’s apartment.
Thanks Imp! ^_^ Time is a bit limited right now, I'm afraid, but tomorrow I'll go through and make the suggested changes. Thank you very much!
Ah yes, the snot-beaten-out-of-him scene. Almost done. I hope to have it up by either tomorrow or the day after... otherwise Wiggy'll come after me with haikus again.
I love you, Imp, for these brilliant critiques, for all the time you put into making my projects halfway readable. Thank you so much. ^_~
(Chp. 3)
At this point, DD, you've gotten your tone and voice, plot and character steady enough that mostly I can only search for the small things. ^_^ Shan is characterised consistent, and even supporting (Livny) characters speak and act fittingly - or not so fittingly in Livny's case. ^_~ Though that's beside any critiquing point.
Dry good humour...easy use of long sentence - nothing out of place. ^_~ But is there a Bible in the world of Kasimovs? It wouldn't necassarily affect anything, as it is in the narrative itself and not a remark by characters.
Heavily and idly describe adverbally well - though the sentence length seems to make 'heavily' a bit conspicuous. Sans 'heavily' does it still say what you intend?
As a technical ambiguity - is it meant to be: '...my cigaratte on me, well, forget asking this kid here for one, I'll just go to the meth...'? 'Well' without commas blends into the lengthy sardonic remark - and I assume Livny is pausing for effect? "...grinds out my cigarete on me - (irony)well, forget..." ?
"Next to Shan..." adds words to a long sentence, not necassary to the meaning. Again, a couple rather long adverbs... Just note as you use them whether they're repeating what's implied, or clear - or whether they're describing instead something vague or unnoted. ^_^
Entire image well-envisioned; atmosphere of it all easily helps keep Shan's frustration - anger at this point - clear. ^_^
Does Shan mean to repeat 'that'? He tends to be rather brief, or at least clear... "No, because that was a gift." - flow better?
I haven't ever heard of a sabre being 'pulled on someone'. Livny looked about ready to take a sabre to him. ? Possibly more modern language you want to avoid - up to you. ^_^
Camaraderie?
...Might flow more evenly if you used present progressive - '...shaking his head, put his boot up again.'
The finishing parapraphs, length and all, are Dostoyevsky as far as telling something succinctly, length and all. Shan is developed/developing...and the images and feelings aren't forced here at the end. ^_^ Some people have called Dostoyevsky pathological for his depth, the tangled suffering and complexity within the minds and actions of his characters...but he really only managed to make the subconscious as much part of a story as the conscious. Not angst -- truth. ^_^
(How has working around 'snot beaten out of him' scene gone? ...soon finished? I hope you won't die for any expletives. ^_~)
COOKIEEEE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! *munch munch* Sorry. coudn't help myself.
Whee! I love you.
I'm so so so sorry it's taking so long to get more up, I'm a hopeless procrastinator... soon I hope.
EDITED:> the typos and suggestions.
Thanks so much Adam. Hehe, here, have a cookie. ^_~
Sorry sorry sorry
Sweet. Very very good. I cant believe your 14. I wish i had your talent when i was 14. I am like so impressed. And this is just so cool. So many original ideas. Tihs is one of those stories that pulls you in deeper and deeper. LOve it! can't wait to read more.
Fair enough. I just think this kind of information is more interesting if it is weaved into the story, rather than given before the story begins. But the way you've written it, so it's not just a history lesson, it does work.
Heh, thanks Rei, for the comments. ^_^
Ah yes, the prologue... it's sort of necessary to explain what the chair is or at least that there is one... it's refered back to rather pointedly later on.
But I do thank you extensively on the comments. I really wasn't expecting one, to be honest - lol, a good surprise. Thanks a lot and I look forward to more thoughts...
(And maybe I'll go take a look at that prologue...)
Guess what! I'm finally getting around to reading this. I'll be commenting on it one chapter at a time, though. My attention span is not so good.
So here are my thoughts on the prologue. It's nice. Very easy to read. It doesn't give away anything about the story that it shouldn't, and it hooks readers, making them interested, and wondering what this chair thing is and why it's so important.
At the same time, it feels almost unnecessary. What is the point of telling us all this before the story starts? Why not just jump in and get us hooked by giving us interesting characters and a little bit of the conflict? This is just a personal preference, mind you. The key to prologues is deciding whether or not you really have to have it.
Yeah, that is a pretty funny image... ^_^
But they "tend to toss-off certain words with amazing nonchalance"? AHHH! Like what? Like where? *dies*
Argh, Dad would probably understand, but I dunno about mom... o.O She got upset when I said that my piano lesson sucked. Not appropriate language for a girl, apparently... ^_~
Ah yes...I can just see Shan, ready with some violent exclamtion pausing and saying..."Oh shucks." Hilarious image, joke...but of course, seriously... 0.0
But no, none of the cursing seemed particularly notable for more than what it was. With the relative 'time period', though fantasy, it all fits rather well especially among your military men - who it can't be denied, do tend to toss-off certain words with amazing nonchalance. ^_~
Shan though would have a lot more point - and no nonchalance, I'm pretty certain - in cursing his head off with what's coming... Perhaps the parents will understand in light of the dire circumstances in the next chapter?
Important Issue in the Chair:
I don't swear. Mainly because my parents would kill me if I did. Now - as you have likely noticed - there is some cursing in the Chair. Admittedly nothing beyond hell and all the variations of damn, but the problem is in the next scene there is... a section of dialogue involving the f word. And I don't really know what to do about it.
So I suppose - since my parents are going to be reading this - is there any place so far where the swearing (however minor) sort of jumps out at you, seems out of place, seems over-the-top? I sort of doubt it, but I don't want mom and dad to kill me... which is probably another reason I'm procrastinating with the next scene... lol, don't want to die via the f word. Lol, maybe I can say oh shucks instead in the 'snot beaten out of him' scene... ^_~
Heh, I'm too used to this piece. I can't find the individual parts anymore where he does that... Lol. I'll go through it again tomorrow and smite the offenders. ^_^
Thank you very much Crysi, for the fine crit and the encouragement. This is making me depressed at my current lack of progress on it, but your comments really helped.
~Dreamy
(Cruel to leave it hanging like that? Hehe, stick around for the 'getting the snot beaten out of him scene' as it seems to be dubbed lately.) ^_~
EDIT:> Ah yes, and he's there even though he's technically no longer a Kasimov because the relief is not yet official. This becomes apparent a few scenes later when he is summoned back to officially hand in his temporary military papers and his medals... ^_~
EDIT 2:> Muahaha! I know where Crysi's sig is from now! ^_^
Dreamy... You make me want to give up any hope of being a writer and go curl up in a corner and WEEP.
No, seriously. This is fantastic. At first I was turned off by the length - I'm pretty impatient when it comes to critiquing - but as I was scanning down to see how long it was, I stopped and read some of it, then decided I definitely HAD to go back and read the whole thing.
So I did.
And I must say, I'm so impressed by this... Your characters are extremely well-developed, and you never seem to write out of their characters. The entire situation is intruiging (although I had to wonder why he was still there, if he technically wasn't a Kasimov anymore, or did I miss that point?) and entertaining.
I admit, I was slightly annoyed by the constant running-of-fingers-through-hair bit, partially because I recognized it almost immediately as a character trait, and partially because it seemed to be mentioned every other paragraph. Stretch it out a little. It seems to be a nervous habit of his, and while he does seem irritated/paranoid most of the time, I think we get that it's his little habit.
There were a few grammatical and spelling errors, as well as some formatting errors - line breaks where there shouldn't be any - but with a quick run-through I'm sure you can catch most of them.
There was one part I wanted to comment on...
I'm not too fond with the end of the sentence. I don't think you need to break it up like that. It's unnatural, in my opinion, and that breaks the standard you've formed of completely drawing in the reader with the dialogue.
Other than that, though... Geez. I don't even want to look at my story. Definitely continue this - it's something I really want to follow. Oh, and that ending? Cruel, to leave us hanging like that. But very, very effective. I had forgotten about that part of his dream until you brought it up - excellent use of distraction.
Bravo.
Imp has good, helpful opinions. ^_~
Yeah... I'll hold onto it until I'm done, but I don't particularly like it in there either. It's just that in the old thread, such was suggested:
Lol a little overboard, perhaps, on the embellishing? The whole second half of that dream sequence isn't really new... when I first started this I was going to actually make the scene in the rain be the opening scene in real time rather than a dream, and that was the scene that followed it (with some details cut out to match this draft...). I think I may get rid off it... or cut it down significantly. We'll see.
But I thank you very much Imp, for the input. ^_^
Somehow the best things tend to come out of nowhere. ^_^
Though I've answered some, here's a response to 3:
-I just noticed the change in the dream sequence last night. It may just be nostlalgia, vaguely speaking - I liked it shorter. It made the waking more sudden, and it being a dream less obvious before he wakes.
But the extra bit does have an ominous alost foreshadowing about it; and it gives detail on what a Strazha is. The only difficulty with that is that the information is a bit heavy, and not needed for the suspense of his dodging strazhas in the first. I would hold onto it, and once you've finished the entire draft look to see whether it's needed later or no.
-The kid - so far - would be too many names, I think, if he had one. He's rather neatly defined in his position as 'the kid'. ^_^
-Altercations: Nothing stood out glaringly. Some of it seemed tangled at times with names - as if perhaps you went back and put something in assuming the roles were already defined? Perhaps only a bit... I wouldn't have guessed it had been gone over and added in though. ^_^
-No, not boring and not too angsty - and it's hardly long enough to drag even if it were. ^_^ It sets a good atmosphere and tone.
-Seeing as how I suggested italics, I don't need to answer, I suppose. ^_~
--
I'll just critique chapter 3 before I go on any longer. I hope you can get quite a few comments and opinions. The Imp's opinion...that's all.
1.Not a problem, Wiggy.
Take your time.
2.To Imp--> EDITED. Thanks a lot for the crit and the pointing out of the typos. Lol, I do apologize about those... I write too fast.
Hehe, laughing at loud? Always a good thing. I was aiming to break up some of Shan's morose desolation with Livny's grand ability to annoy. Lol, I seriously have no idea where that line came from. ("Livny looked over at him and smiled, lolling in his chair. 'You. Got. Thinner,' he announced from nowhere. 'How's the wife?') It wasn't in the first draft and it certainly wasn't in the notebook I typed this from... heh, it sort of materialized on the screen. Which is a good thing - glad I could get Imp to laugh out loud. ^_^
3. Allright, all, these are for anyone and everyone who'd like to give their opinion, but this has been bugging me and I need some feedback:
- Does the extra scene in the beginning dream sequence (the addition of Shan's destination and the Strazhas in the doorway) add to or detract from the beginning? Does it make it too long? Too vague? Too hard to get through? Should the dream sequence be shorter?
- In... Chapters 2 and 3, does 'the kid' need a name?
- Do the pretty regular altercations in Chapters 2 and 3 between the Kasimovs and the meth-maratime flow well? A lot of it was edited in on top of the previous draft, so I was wondering if any of it sticks out as being noticeably added in?
- Do ya think Chapter 1 is still to boring and angsty?
- Is the prolouge better without the forgotten narrarator 'I'?
- Does the flashback to the fight with the political officers work better with the dailogue italicized?
- Do you think the end of Chapter 3 is too abrupt, when Shan leaves the lecture furious and discovers he's being stalked by Strazhas? It feels like something's missing in there... any ideas on what the could possibly be? ^_~
Thanks guys... I'll try to get the next part (ah yes, the 'getting the snot beaten out of him' scene) up and posted soon.
Printed it out. I'll be critting it soon.
(chapter 2 crit continued)
--"Young officer" saying - a bit long, and repeating; the sentence above implies it's 'the kid' speaking. More easily flow - "You lost rank?" he said, now really interested."
--Then on the pounding...pounding heat - triple with caps pushes the emphasis over a cliff; a little too much. Try '...pounding, pounding heat...' with the italics and see how it sounds. Reading aloud always helps - as long as you're not in a room full of people...in that case, it just makes you sound crazy. ^_^
Typo -- 'pain' ought to be 'paying' or 'paid'?
Long sentence...and feels longer for its sequence of action. (The one following it is long as well.) The length might not drag if you varied the structure, perhaps -
Flows a little better so. Either Adam or Phorcys noticed that you don't tend to use the present participle, present progressive - mostly, that's rather nice. It's overused. But in this case it can give a long sentence a jumpstart. ^_^
...'far over on the right.' Oy, quite a few words all jammed together - perhaps: "...far to the right."?
Looked irritated and tossed his head in...what? then slipped his cig. between lips...? I assume there's word missing there. Then is the puncuation meant to be an ellipse or a period/full stop?
'Gratified' sticks out somehow. And 'somewhat' might be more precise? 'Perhaps' implies the vagary of the feeling, then somehow repeats it; but 'somewhat' says that they were a bit gratified/pleased, some, a bit.
So...'They perhaps felt...somewhat pleased about it (rather than 'because of it')'
This, again, good action for Shan and other than the struck-out bit (more words repeating...) it was neat; a bit of humour as well with the dry remark about the speaker. ^_^
--'Auditorium' I'm sure.
Unless the meth makes a mistake, ought to be 'bided its time' - for bidden would mean it was telling time what to do.
--'its' chance, possessive - typo, I suppose.
The only flaw in long description and telling are the extra words that slip in. 'Back' and 'back again' when simply, the captain can 'turned around again and leaned back...' without sacrificed the meaning or flow.
The good side of long sentences describing - I love Livny's image, and the tension it leaves pending for the next exchange. ^_^
--Typo 'asked'.
A bit confused again for its length. You've already noted that they 'heaved themselves up...' so the 'pulled themselves to their feet' - repeating. Takie it, sentence remains intact and just as clear on image. ^_^
...'collective' not really needed. The way the sentence is set, it drags the end. Perhaps try without it?
--'totally' ...strikes a bit contemparary and could be left out either way. Another brief adjective that would fit better (if you think one should be) is 'quite'. Though 'absent-mindedly' doesn't need the pointed interjection of being 'total'. ^_~
This bit had me laughing - out loud, actually. Livny's ridiculous nonchalance is perfect; the dialogue very well done, character tone and tension held - and this was hilarious. ^_^
Livny still obnoxiously in character. ^_^ Only a note - you've used 'incredulous' quite a bit - a very good word. Just watch that you're not using it when the situation implies the reaction already, and not using it always when it could be varied. 'In disbelief', 'scoffing' - similar meanings, might fit in some places as well. ^_^
Now the posts below aren't showing, so I can't read anymore. If I weren't nodding at the computer, perhaps I'd have enough ingenuity to pull-up another window - but as I'm nodding, that might be ill-advised. @_@
...so, again, this to be finished soon.
Consider it done.
Thanks for the suggestion.
Haven't read through this version, but I've got a suggestion nonetheless! Instead of making that first little part, about the Chair, "Chapter 1", why not make it the prolouge? It seems appropriate...
Oi...
This shall be done chapter by chapter. One every time I get on the computer and/or have time.
What a coincidence it is that your first chapter is incredibly little.
I liked it. Great Imagery. Very cool. I'm interested and curious. In the last paragraph, reigning and doubtless could be changed. Maybe...if you wanted...not that big of a deal...
Nice work.
-MH
Yuppers. ^_~ No continuation yet, you need to give me till tomorrow for that, but it's the second draft.
Is this the new thing? That I swore I'd look at?
Lol, the fingers through the hair bit. It was all over the place in the first draft and to be honest I didn't really notice and hence didn't edit it out. But you really are right, I think I'll go take care of that... *edits*
Heh, in all truth I was wondering the same thing and by the time I got to asking myself "What exactly is your fascination with cigarettes?", I realized that I had been meaning to satirize it all along. Which was funny, when I wrote it. ^_~
Thanks for the comments, stilltyping. I'll be adding on more later... maybe you'd like to come back for that as well?
Wiggy>> I look forward to it. Thanks a lot, Wiggy. ^_~
I've read most of it, DD, but I have to get off now and do some things that I've procrastinated long enough. Ugh. But you did an awesomely awesome job so far and I'll read the rest tomorrow and give you a good crit.
Great stuff. Reads at a great pace. Amusing at times and intense at others.
I'm very interested in learning more about Barduev. Your description, while simple, has managed to say a lot. Indeed, the air of this story in general is intriguing. Its not your average fantasy, I can tell.
I found the sentences flowed well enough. You don't really notice, however, as it is with good writing: the reader focuses on what's happening rather than word choice.
Mechanically sound.
I like the bit about the chair at the beginning. Contrasting that serene image afterwards with Shan and his companions and the dark coats etc., makes you wonder how it will all come together. Exciting.
All I really noticed that could use some help was Shan's incessant habit of running his hand through his hair. Was this intentional? I'm assuming it is a sort of character building tecnique- kind of an irritating habit. Which is great- if you go about it more dicreetly. Vary the way you phrase it, for instance. Instead of always saying "He ran his hand through his hair..." you could say "his fingers subconsciously found their way to his hair, again.." or "his nervous hand touched base..." only, of course, you would word it better than I do.
I was starting to wonder whether you realized how many times your characters stood up and flung their cigarettes, until you satirized it. I love that part.
Chapter Three
It occurred to Shan that whatever custodian ended up sweeping the floor up in the back rows would be finding a number of half-smoked cigarettes of biblical proportions, because he took Livny’s and threw that one away, too. It was too hot for this. "What's your problem, they didn’t even mention the Kasimovs...”
“Well, yeah, that’s why I take offense.”
Livny seemed to be making a sincere effort to make the ritual waste of cigarettes a national event, because he reached up to the kid for another one and smiled at Shan.
“You know how this works out?” the kid asked, giving him one. “You all end up smoking and pissing each other off and by the time this lecture’s over I’ll be out of cigarettes though I never actually got to smoke any.”
“Good,” Livny said. “You’re learning. And I bet by this point someone liberated your lighter, too.”
The kid looked momentarily alarmed and hastily began feeling his pockets and jacket. The effort did not reward him with a lighter and he swore in disbelief.
Shan looked at Livny in irritation and said “Give it back to him.”
Livny chuckled around a cigarette, saying, “And what makes you think I’ve got his lighter?”
“Because,” Shan said, reaching over and sliding a lighter out of Livny’s coat pocket. “I know you a hell of a lot better than you think I do.” - Which was almost a contradiction, he realized suddenly... the Livny he had known and served with at Peremid would have broken his wrist had he dared to attempt that little maneuver years ago.
The captain changed position in the seat in front of them, shaking his head and commenting idly to the darkness before him, “This is unbelievable.”
“Who, me?” asked Livny, still grinning.
“Yes you. You steal from another Kasimov?”
“I was gonna give it back.”
“Sure you were.” He then added, apparently to Shan, “I thought you
Kasimovs actually smoked.”
“We do. Why exactly?”
The officer slid a cigarette from his pocket and offerred it back to them over his shoulder. Livny looked at it in general disgust. “What the hell makes you think I want your crummy roll-your-owns?”
“I wasn’t giving it to you.”
“No?”
“No, I was giving it to him.”
Presumably Shan. It took Livny a moment to process this, and finally he looked over at him. “It would appear that the good captain is offering you a cigarette,” he said, grinning. Shan glared at him, out of humor and dying in the heat, leaned forward solely out of courtesy for the maritime and took it. The captain silently offered him a lighter, which he declined - he had his own.
“Ian Illtev,” the officer said. “Nice to meet you.” He offered Shan a hand blindly. Shan stared for a moment and then remembered himself and shook it.
“Shan Tefur,” he said. “Pleasure.”
Livny was grinning openly at him as he breathed out the smoke, and it took every ounce of noblesse oblige that Shan had to keep from bashing his face in.
“Meth-maritime cigarettes better than Kasimov ones?” Livny whispered
hoarsely, leaning over beside him and jabbing him with an elbow. “Huh? Well are they? Come on, I need to know this stuff, next time someone grinds out my cigarette on me - well, forget asking this kid here for a new one, I’ll just go to the meth-maritime...”
At this Livny broke down into a fit of silent giggling, which ended abruptly as he momentarily restored his cigarette to his lips and once more breathed the smoke all over the side of Shan’s face. “Here, let me do you a favor...” Livny reached out and took the cigarette from Shan’s fingers, flicked it away and got a new one from the kid. “You don’t want to smoke that crap, here, you need a decent cigarette...” Livny lit it for him and thrust it between his fingers again while Shan closed his eyes and counted to ten to keep from killing him. He finally looked at Livny.
“I don’t want to smoke,” he said.
“Well why the hell not, you didn’t have a problem with maritime roll-your-owns...”
“No, because that was gift.”
“Oh yeah?”
“Yeah, he probably felt sorry for me having to sit here next to you.”
Livny’s smile dropped and the captain let out a stifled snort of laughter from the next row.
“Shut up,” Livny said down to him.
“Mm, I didn’t say anything...” the captain murmured, sounding amused. A slight chuckle somewhat ruined the effect. It was a one-sided amusement - Livny looked about ready to take a saber to him and Shan momentarily wondered how Livny would look dead in Capital Square. Revenge was apparently a theme on Livny’s mind as concerned the meth-maritime, because he couldn’t seem to let it alone. Shan could feel himself getting ready to crack.
“Anyway it’s unbelievable for you maybe,” Livny said, deftly finding his way back to the original argument. “You obviously have no sense of camaraderie . As far as rank and affiliataion go, you obviously don’t have any sort of honorable... glorious image to uphold....”
“Really.”
“Yes indeed, look, you didn’t even salute when you came in, we were here before you and every one of us outrank you, see...”
“I don’t have to salute you, you’re army, I’m maritime.”
Shan tried counting to ten again, but only got to four by the time Livny broke in again, saying, “You think that matters? You’re a captain, we’re all Kasimovs, of course you have to salute me. What. What the hell, don’t look at me like that...”
The captain had turned around again. “Is there something you particularly hate about the meth-maritime?”
“Yes,” Livny said after the barest moment’s hesitation and consideration. “Yes, I hate that you drag us to these pointless things. I hate your arrogance, I hate your pretense, I hate your attitude towards everything. Look on the bright side, when we have a revolution, at least we’ll have an excuse to get rid of the
Navy during the chaos. At least Kasimovs actually have some dignity behind the name.”
That did it. “No,” Shan said suddenly, quiet and furious. “No it doesn’t at all and if anyone in the world’s responsible for a breakdown in the honor and power of the Kasimov Ideal, it’s people like you who can’t resist pulling rank on officers you’ve never even met before...”
He got up, gathered his overcoat and ran his fingers through his hair, pulled his jacket straight. Livny laughed uncomfortably. “Shan,” he said, nudging his leg with a boot. “Hey. Shan. They’re meth-maritime for crying out loud, trying to pretend this lecture actually has a point to it...”
Shan rounded on him. “Yeah?” he whispered, enraged at himself, at Livny, at the Kasimov Ideal in general. “Yeah, well maybe it does have a point to it after all and I just haven’t heard it yet because I’m sitting up here high and mighty... with the damn... Kasimovs...”
He jerked his coat angrily, flung his cigarette on the floor and dged past the other Kasimovs, who tucked their knees up and back for him to get through. Livny let out an incredulous breath and shaking his head, put his boot up again.
The Lord Sovereign’s name: they all stood up again, a wave of dramatic black against the filthy windows, metals glittering, sabers rattling. He saw them all up there as he took the steps down the side two at a time in his haste to get away from them, Kasimovs up there alone in high up darkness, the black silhouettes of angels of death, and all mortal men.
Shan rammed open the door at the bottom with his shoulder, the loud chunk echoing up thorough the auditorium, a small and temporary spot of light in the darkness before it sighed shut behind him. He found himself in a tiny stone side alley, one end opening out onto the main street of the district, one end closed off, a mess of old bricks and crates, ancient decomposing vegetables. He turned around a few times in the heat, his eyes hurting against the bright noon light; and finally reached up to undo the silver award medal at his throat. The longer it took the more furious he became; the more furious he became the more his fingers trembled and couldn’t undo the ties. Finally he just ripped it off, tearing the ties and flung the silver cross away across the alley. He turned away, breathing hard, ran his fingers through his hair and swore, went a few paces towards the main street. He stopped and finally went back for it, swearing quietly as he bent down and picked it gingerly up out of the filth. And slid it into his pocket, where he wouldn’t even have to acknowledge its presence... but the cloth was stained and torn now, and he felt immediately guilty for it.
Shan ran a shaking hand down his face. And went out of the alley and walked in a city he didn’t love, stars on his collar that he no longer cared for, no longer glorified. He walked to chase the sick fear and guilt away. And like the hate - it didn’t up and leave, just sat there on the dark and looked at him, took the shape of fifteen fine Kasimovs before it assumed an invisible face and melted back into darkness. And he went on walking as fast as he could to outrun it in a city which slept through a drought and perhaps, somewhere between the periods of rain and drought had dropped a word, a thought, a memory, and had since ceased to know that it had been, and had ceased to care. It left its Kasimovs out there in a lecture they didn’t believe in to stand up, black wave in the darkness and sink down again, hot and bored with their coats and medals and stars. Arrogant Kasimovs, of which he was one... they ceased to hear the words. And they ceased to care.
He was halfway back to the Academy Block when he realized there were Strazhas following him.
****************************
Better?