Young Writers Society

Hey Brad! I really enjoyed this. It struck me as different to your usual style which threw me at first but it's nicely written and you have some good characterization. Here's your critique:

"As long as what you are afraid of is something evil, you may still hope that the good may come to your rescue. But suppose you struggle through to the good and find that it also is dreadful? How if food itself turns out to be the very thing you can't eat, and home the very place you can't live, and your very comforter the person who makes you uncomfortable? Then, indeed, there is no rescue possible: the last card has been played." [I'm not too fond of your choice of quote but I suppose I haven't read a long enough section of the story yet to see how it fits in so I'll reserve further judgment until later.]

—C.S. Lewis

The Stranger

1.

The musty scent of old leather and old wood spilled over every crack in the saloon. Behind the counter, large barrels with old [Maybe use ancient here instead?] spigots rested one atop the other all the way to the ceiling. The barmaid moved like a butterfly from one set of customers to the other, flashing an attractive if toothy [I'd suggest extending the butterfly image just a touch and putting if toothy in brackets, something like: '...like a butterfly, floating from one set of customers to the next, flashing an attractive (if toothy) grin...'] grin as she did. It was mostly dark inside - the only light coming from the candles hanging along the walls and on the tables. [Expand this description a little please. Maybe describe the tables a touch - are they wooden? And old or new wood? Dirty or clean? Matching or rather mis-matched?] Towards one end of the bar, two plump Pukwudgies sat, feet dangling high above the ground from the stool, and a tall man clad in a trench coat sat beside them.

"Ya ain't gonna find nothing of the sort here, Kid," the larger Pukwudgie said, tilting his glass back.

"Why'd you say you were here again?" the smaller one asked, glancing over from the bar. [But aren't all three sat at the bar? This is a touch confusing. And clearly he must have said he's looking for something considering the previous speaker's sentence. Try to clear this up a bit.]

The Kid [I take it that 'The Kid' is a title of sorts for this man...] took the last swig from his beer and set it down [s]against[/s] heavily upon the wood counter so it made a loud thud. "No reason in particular," he said. He hoisted himself up from the stool and brushed off his sleeves. "Thank you, gents, for your time."

"Is that all?" the waitress asked with a slight drawl, looking over at them from the far side of the counter. She finished drying a glass and set it down while walking over to his empty bottle. [I think your waitress should ask him if he'd like another rather than if he's finished. Unless her behaviour is purposefully strange?]

"That's all, miss. I've got to be getting back to the madam now." [Does he say this reluctantly or matter-of-factly? Does he look impatiently in the direction of the door? Does he smile? I'm just curious as to his character. Maybe give the reader a glimpse of that creepiness the other men discuss later.]

"Alright," she said slowly, smiling. She picked up his bottle and lifted it over her head. [Why? Does she have a tray on her head or something? Or is she sort of toasting him?] "Don't be a stranger."

He tipped his hat and grinned in the dark light. "Don't worry. Nothing too strange about me." He turned around and walked towards the swinging doors. His boots made a heavy sound against the floor, not quite a scrape and not quite a stomp.

As soon as they were sure he was out of earshot, the larger one looked to the smaller one and scoffed: "Nothing too strange about him? He was downright creepy. If I ain't never saw the whiskers of a feral 'wolf [Is that little apostrophe suggesting he means werewolf by chance? If not, remove it.] all glistenin'-like in that alley, I think he'd be the damned creepiest thing I ever saw."

The smaller one nodded emphatically. "And his eyes—you see those eyes? All yellow and swirly. Like some kind of twisted Cheshire Cat, I says." [Good characterization. I love their accents.]

"Mhm," the big one agreed, setting his empty glass down. "'Nother round, darling."

The waitress looked over at them with a hint of disdain. "Don't you think you boys had enough to drink for one night?"

"Not after getting the willies from that fella," the small one replied.

She rolled her eyes and picked up their glasses. "He seemed perfectly fine to me." [How does she say this? What tone of voice? I'm not really getting much of an idea of her character except that she liked the guy.]

They both rolled their eyes as she lifted the mugs to the spigot. [They don't really seem the type to roll their eyes. They're grown men, they've had quite a lot of drinks and I think catching each others eyes and snorting or snickering would befit them more.]

"Oh hush," she said, finally walking back over to them with full glasses in hand. "You can't be running off the newcomers. He just doesn't know how things are done around here is all" [You're missing a full stop after all.]

"Hmph," the big one said. He watched as she returned to the others before he leaned towards the smaller one. "If ya askin' me, I think she needs to get her nose checked."

The smaller one snickered before draining his glass. "Did you get a whiff of that too?"

"Mhm. Ain't got no smell about him."

"It's suspicious!"

"A downright scandal!" [Loving this dialogue.]

"Well, Bub, I got to be heading out." The smaller one pushed his glass to the edge of the counter and jumped down from the seat. "We're going to Damascus tomorrow."

"Damascus!?" Bub squealed, following the smaller one's lead and jumping down. "Are you out of your gourd?"

"I ain't calling the shots," the small one shrugged, waddling to the door. "I got to feed the youngins somehow." [Maybe describe Bub's anger fading at this point or have him pause and consider it.]

"I hear ya," Bub said, shaking his head as they exited the saloon. "I'll see ya next week then, Tute."

"Take care, Bub. Tell Mumsel I said 'ello."

"Will do." [Maybe just slip another line in to describe them heading off in different directions and you could always slip in a little about the front of the saloon too, how the sign looks, what the ground's like etc.]

2.

"Darian, I told you—!"

A thundering crash echoed through the apartment as pile upon pile of books fell to the ground. Marcel raced into the library and gaped at the mess on the floor. Darian stood, frozen in place, book in hand. At his feet a small mountain of books [Maybe novels to avoid the repetition of books? Or volumes?] from the emptied shelves splayed out. "Sorry," he winced, lowering his arm.

"Ugh." Marcel stepped over some of the outliers and began picking them up. [Add a little detail here. Does he pick them up carefully, unfolding the pages of any that have landed open and are starting to crease? Or does he just grab them all and make a crooked pile?]

"I can pick them up, Marcel—"

"Just...go away." [Different people have different rules for ellipses. I tend to treat them as an average form of punctuation and therefore have a space after them but I think it's optional...] Marcel couldn't bring himself to look at his brother. "Now. Please."

Darian watched as Marcel slowly sank to the ground, slowly picking through the books. He hadn't meant to knock them off the shelves; he just wanted the one book to read, and he would have got it too had he not been distracted by...by what?

He noticed a strange light outside the living room window. He glanced over his shoulder to see if Marcel was watching—he wasn't. Slowly, quietly, Darian moved from the hall and towards the window. It was dark, and he nearly fell tripping over the small coffee table. Glancing over his shoulder to see if Marcel had noticed the sound, he continued, slower still, towards the light. It had started moving, swinging [Maybe swaying would fit better?] back and forth as though it were slow dancing in the wind, as though it were grinning at him. But there was almost never any wind in Roanoke, at least not that he could remember, and this light wasn't like the candles he'd grown accustomed to: it seemed to radiate from no particular place and illuminate the very atoms of the air.

He toed up to the window, his face inches away from it when he felt a cold draft wash over him. His skin prickled at the sudden chill, but his eyes remained transfixed on the glowing light. It was growing softer, but he was certain he could hear something coming from it: it was like a whisper that reached around his body and tickled at his ear until he was certain the sound was coming from the room itself. The coldness had seized upon his body; he was standing in a full tremble as the light faded away and the whispering seemed to grow louder and more full-bodied. It was still inarticulate, but he knew it was speaking or, rather, breathing. A hand suddenly snapped around his waist and tore him from the window, but he couldn't see whose it was. [Good description and action here. Also, a nice use of suspense =)]

This is who we are...

"Darian? Darian! What are you doing?"

The hands moved along his body, and he felt how very warm they were against him.

"You're freezing! What happened to you?" He now recognized Marcel's voice, and a blurry white light was coming into focus again. It was sometimes obstructed by what he assumed were Marcel's movements. "Dari! Talk to me. Say something."

Marcel looked around to see if anyone had entered the room before putting his arm around his brother's waist and guiding him to the bedroom. He set him down on the end of the bed and wrapped a blanket around his body. "Dari," he said, voice quivering, "talk to me, man. Say something, okay?"

Darian felt blood rush to his head and nearly passed out, but Marcel braced his body and kept him upright. His vision returned all at once, and he recoiled at the explosion of light. Marcel was looking him in the face, hands gripping his shoulders, and noticed the sudden dilation as his eyes adjusted to the light. "Darian!" Marcel cried. He threw his arms around his brother and knocked him back against the bed in a full-bodied hug.

"Hey," Darian said, startled by the weakness of his own voice. "What...what happened?"

Marcel pulled away from him and shook his head. "I don't know! You were standing in the living room just staring out the window, and I—"

"The light." Darian sat up and looked down the hall. "It was this light. It spoke to me."

Marcel furrowed his brow. "Ahuh." He stood up and brushed himself off. "What light?"

"There was a light outside. I saw it."

Marcel shook his head. "There isn't a light outside."

"I'm telling you, there was a light. I just wanted to see what it—"

"What it was? Jesus Christ, Dari, don't you realize it could have been a trap? Vampires have been luring people out of their—" [Vampires=awesome! And I love the way you just throw it in.]

"It wasn't a vampire! It wasn'—"

"How do you know it wasn't?"


"Because I would have known. I know what we deal with, and this wasn't anything like that. This was different. It was strange, like something new...." [Be consistent with ellipses. Stick to three dots each time.]

"Yeah? Well screw that. You can't just go investigate whatever looks interesting unless you want to get yourself killed."

Darian unfolded the blanket from around him and stood up, pointing. "Go look. Come on."

"There's nothing out there!"

"Go. Look."

Marcel threw his hands up and they both walked down the hall. They turned into the living room and looked out the window, but it was completely dark. "See? There's nothing there."

"But I--I saw it, it was right there, Marcel. I'm telling you."

"Yeah," Marcel nodded. [Nodded sympathetically? Nodded skeptically/ worriedly?] Let's get you some rest." Marcel patted Darian on the shoulder and walked back to his bedroom.

Darian shook his head as he sat down on the bed, confused. "I know it was there. I saw it."

"I'm sure you did."

"Marcel, really. I know what I saw."

"I'm not saying you don't. I'm just saying it's not there."

Darian scoffed and tugged his shirt off his body [What sort of body? Give me some physical description, Brad! Is he tanned/ pale, slim/plump, toned/not?] and started unbuttoning his jeans.

"G'night, Dari."

"Yeah. Whatever."

Marcel turned and walked back to the library. As he walked by the living room, a spot of light caught his eye; he wasn't sure what he had seen, really, but it couldn't have been a light. He paused in the hall, considering, before he turned around and walked into the living room.

Nothing.

It was completely and utterly dark.

Heya, Brad!

The musty scent of old leather and old wood spilled over every crack in the saloon. Behind the counter, large barrels with old spigots rested one atop the other all the way to the ceiling.

"Thank you, <== Comma! gents, <== Comma! for your time."

She rolled her eyes and picked up their glasses. "He seemed perfectly fine to me."

They both rolled their eyes as she lifted the mugs to the spigot.

"I ain't calling the shots, [period instead]" [s]the[/s] The small one shrugged, waddling to the door. "I got to feed the youngins somehow."

A thundering crash echoed through the apartment as pile upon pile of books fell to the ground. Marcel raced into the library and gaped at the mess on the floor. Darian stood, frozen in place, book in hand. At his feet a small mountain of books from the emptied shelves splayed out. "Sorry," he winced, lowering his arm.

"Yeah? Well, <== Comma! screw that.

"But I--I saw it, it was right there, Marcel. I'm telling you."

Darian shook his head as he sat down on the bed, confused. "I know it was there. I saw it."

Minx,

I like this second part much better than the first. The use of the light is delightful and I love the dialogue between the boys. In this chapter you've a better mix of action and word, and your description is by no means terrible, it's just the right amount to be there but not over bearing.

Your first chapter, as I've mentioned, lacked a suitable amount of description to please me, as it were. But it was offset by an interesting way about it.

I enjoy the switch of perspectives and the way the situations feel different, they feel disconnected but connected, and that's really good. They do feel like separate times, the scene change being so large in situation and feeling, but I think you offset that well with adding the description, it doesn't feel like an anaomaly, the scene, so you've obviously suceeded in making it right.

The light interests me, and I'm looking forward to reading more on the whole story.

*Hearts* Le Penguin.

*Updated*

Interesting.

[spoiler]
Talking about these?

***

1.

The musty scent of old leather and old wood spilled over every crack in the saloon. not sure I like "spilled over". At the very least, it feels like the smell of old wood should be "rising from" the cracks, not rolling over them like fog... Behind the counter, large barrels with old spigots rested one atop the other all the way to the ceiling. The barmaid moved like a butterfly from one set of customers to the other, flashing an attractive if toothy grin as she did. It was mostly dark inside - the only light coming from the candles hanging along the walls and on the tables. Your initial description seems unusually unfocused and all over the place. I'd like to see more of a "panning shot" to establish setting, but instead you cut to a bunch of different images, never lingering long enough to let us see them fully. Towards one end of the bar, two plump Pukwudgies sat, feet dangling high above the ground from the stool, and a tall man clad in a trench coat sat beside them.

"Ya ain't gonna find nothing of the sort here, Kid," the larger Pukwudgie said, tilting his glass back.

"Why'd you say you were here again?" the smaller one asked, glancing over from the bar.

The Kid took the last swig from his beer and set it down against the wood counter so it made a loud thud. "No reason in particular," he said. He hoisted himself up from the stool and brushed off his sleeves. "Thank you gents for your time."

"Is that all?" the waitress asked with a slight drawl, looking over at them from the far side of the counter. She finished drying a glass and set it down while walking over to his empty bottle.

"That's all, miss. I've got to be getting back to the madam now."

"Alright," she said slowly, smiling. She picked up his bottle and lifted it over her head. "Don't be a stranger."

He tipped his hat and grinned in the dark light. "Don't worry. Nothing too strange about me." He turned around and walked towards the swinging doors. His boots made a heavy sound against the floor, not quite a scrape and not quite a stomp. So what did it sound like?

As soon as they were sure he was out of earshot, the larger one looked to the smaller one and scoffed: "Nothing too strange about him? He was downright creepy. If I ain't never saw the whiskers of a feral 'wolf all glistenin'-like in that alley, I think he'd be the damned creepiest thing I ever saw."

The smaller one nodded emphatically. "And his eyes—you see those eyes? All yellow and swirly. Like some kind of twisted Cheshire Cat, I says."

"Mhm," the big one agreed, setting his empty glass down. "'Nother round, darling."

The waitress looked over at them with a hint of disdain. "Don't you think you boys had enough to drink for one night?" Is she really so caring as to discourage business? I guess they're regulars, but still...

"Not after getting the willies from that fella," the small one replied.

She rolled her eyes and picked up their glasses. "He seemed perfectly fine to me."

They both rolled their eyes That's the second rolling of eyes in two lines. Have her shrug. as she lifted the mugs to the spigot.

"Oh hush," she said onimonopia, finally walking back over to them with full glasses in hand. "You can't be running off the newcomers. He just doesn't know how things are done around here is all"

"Hmph," the big one said. He watched as she returned to the others before he leaned towards the smaller one. "If ya askin' me, I think she needs to get her nose checked."

The smaller one snickered before draining his glass. "Did you get a whiff of that too?"

"Mhm. Second "mhm", not so close, but it comes after a "hmph" so it felt repetitive again. But I'm all for creativity with onomatopoeia so find something else. , Ain't got no smell about him."

"It's suspicious!"

"A downright scandal!"

"Well, Bub, I got to be heading out." The smaller one pushed his glass to the edge of the counter and jumped down from the seat. "We're going to Damascus tomorrow." If they're going together then why does he say "I" and not "we" at the beginning of the paragraph?

"Damascus!?" Are they really in Syria? Bub squealed, following the smaller one's lead and jumping down. "Are you out of your gourd?"

"I ain't calling the shots," the small one shrugged, waddling to the door. "I got to feed the youngins somehow."

"I hear ya," Bub said, shaking his head as they exited the saloon. "I'll see ya next week then, Tute."

"Take care, Bub. Tell Mumsel I said 'ello."

"Will do."

***

It's strong, I'm certainly interested to know what happens next, and especially what kind of world I'm in where Pukwudgies wander freely... Description for the little guys would be nice though, otherwise, how else are we supposed to understand who they are?
[/spoiler]

It was cute, but reminded me eerily of 'Lord of the Rings'... not exactly sure why though.
Anyway, I found it was quite well written [even if I was a bit confused, but I'll get to that later] and everything was spaced out well.

The only real issue I had was that I had no idea what was going on until the very end when I finally pieced it all together.
But you were probably going for that, weren't you?