Joyce
It had been a rather successful day. I had just sold three relics to my buyer, Ombra, and was walking with the satisfying clink of coins still ringing in my ears. I knew where my meals for the next few weeks were going to come from, and I was ready to settle down for an easy evening.
I had been rummaging around in the trash heap outside the Crooked Wineglass, a habit left over from harder days before I became a relic hunter. Admiring a shard of purple-tinted glass I had found, something nearly hit me on the head. I turned at a flash of something just barely in my periphery, and saw an apple core bobbling on the ground, acid green and very fresh-looking.
Who would throw away a good apple core? I wondered. They didn't even eat it down to the seeds! I sniffed the fruit, and the scent brought back memories of a short time I had spent in a forest filled with apples. I hadn't gotten to eat any, of course, but at the time I had thought (foolishly) that the smell alone could fill me. My mouth was a hairsbreadth away from biting in to the most perfect apple core I had ever seen when I came to my senses.
What kind of relic hunter am I? Biting into strangely wonderful, perfect fruit? I'm not even hungry! I told myself all these things, but the allure of the fruit wore at me. I quickly stuffed it in my satchel. When the smell of if had somewhat faded from my mind, I thought it over carefully. It was obviously not a normal apple core. Perhaps it was a relic? I shivered. Something with the apple didn't feel right. Who would throw it away if there wasn't something terrible with it?
I decided to dispose of the apple-- but later. I had people to see. I smiled faintly and headed back into the main streets of the city, pocketing the lilac glass shard.
I wove through the streets, crowded with marketplace goers. The sky was blushing into a deep red-orange. I passed under a stone bridge, darted around a corner, and scampered into a dark archway that opened into a spacious room-- an ancient cathedral. The reddish light diffused into the dim room through dusty skylights set into the lofty ceiling. There was a rustling from between the pews, and a head popped up, its eyes blinking away the drowse.
"Is that you, Joyce?" a sleepy voice asked.
"It is," I responded. "Is that Solomon with the sleep hair-flare all up the side of his head?" I chuckled as he tried to pat down the hair that stuck up like a wave where he had slept on it.
"I didn't know you were coming today," the boy said. "I would've worn my nice rags." He gave me a rakish grin, his dark hair still not fully settled right.
I grinned back, but it was a little strained. It hurt me to see my friends dressed in rags. I did all I could to help them out, but it was never enough. I knew all they really wanted was for me to spend time with them, but I knew I couldn't live out of the gutters anymore, accepting my fate like a river bed that submits to the river. Nevertheless, I always felt self-conscious when I came to visit them: my line of work, relic hunting, required better clothes than rags, if not for protection, then at least for appearance. My cathedral rats-- my fond nickname for those of my rag-tag crew-- wore little more than rags, and none of them owned a single shoe. Neither had I, as I had lived with them for almost all of my remembered life. All our feet were thick-soled from dashing over ragged cobblestones and clay-tiled roofs.
"Wake the other cathedral rats, Solli!" I said, taking off my satchel and settling into a back-row pew. "I have presents and stories!"
As Solli scampered off to the organ-pipe room, where most of my friends slept, I felt myself relax. This disused cathedral felt more like home than any crammed quarters Ombra provided. Sadly, he had insisted I spend most of I nights there. How could I refuse, when he was sharpening that short sword of his in a none-too-subtle message?
Soon, Solli reappeared, the other cathedral rats in tow, all rubbing at their eyes and dragging their feet. In the cathedral, we slept in shifts: the pick-pockets and beggars went out during the day, as well as anyone who had legitimate business, while the scavengers, thieves, and those who ran unscrupulous errands in the cover of dark went out at night. As it was still light outside, the day rats were still out, but I knew they would be back. Evening and dawn were the only time to see everyone together.
In all, there were around 30 orphans, strays, and run-aways living in the cathedral at any given time. Sometimes there were more, and sometimes less. Death and disease were constant realities, and lucky few had made it out into the world alive. I was one of those few. Most of the cathedral rats were somewhere between the ages of 8 and 15, but at times there had been babies (they didn't last very long), toddlers, and even adults who were children in the head. I looked out at the crowd of 12-or-so gaunt faces with hungry eyes gouged into them like burning coals. I recognized most of them, but every time I came to visit, it seemed, one of my friends had moved on, and a new face had taken their place.
I smiled at them, and pulled some food out of my satchel. I laid the rations before them, bread, cheese, a hard sausage, a perfect apple core... I snatched the green apple core out of the small hand that had grabbed it. The tiny child looked up at me with wet blue eyes. She looked so small, her stained white dress hanging limply from her shoulders, an ill-fitting garment chosen so she could grow into it. I looked at her small frame, the hunger in her eyes, and almost gave in, almost handing her the apple core. But I shook my head, resolutely packing the core back into my satchel.
"No cores for you, sweet," I said to the girl, whose name I did not know. "You shall have a whole apple!" I procured another apple, red, from my pack. It was going to be my dinner, but the girl's eyes had sent a pang through me. I wasn't very hungry anymore.
The girl clutched at the apple, and murmured "Thank you," as the other cathedral rats looked on in jealousy. I sighed.
Solli nudged me, a rind of bread in his hands. "You mentioned stories?" he said hopefully.
I smiled and nodded. Stories were one of the few forms of entertainment the group could afford. I remembered listening to them in wonder when I was but a young one in the cathedral. "Gather-round, cathedral rats, for I have a story of adventure and intrigue, of magic and rumor, of love and loss." They settled down at the sound of the familiar story beginning. I launched into the story I had heard in a taproom the night before, the story that enabled them forget their need, at least until the familiar words, "and that is where the story ends."
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125,007 Literary Works • 672,817 Reviews
Hi there, back for chapter 2, and excited to see the alternate-but-intersecting POV. When the apple core bounced into the picture, I was like, "OH MAN!" I briefly got carried away with imagining that Joyce would become the innocent bystander that gets caught up in all the dragon stuff and Creed would have to save her because he saw it as his responsibility in a way and and and... but I guess all that's to come, since she hasn't actually taken a bite of it. Now I'm wondering what will happen with it--does she accidentally let it out of her sight, so someone she loves gets into trouble with it, does she get desperate one day and eat it later on, does someone steal it from her?? So many possibilities. So that makes for a good hook to keep pulling me forward.
It wasn't that bad here, of course, but when you have this beautiful setting, why not milk it for what it's worth? Maybe between dialogue you could use some action beats to toss in some more description, like someone sitting on a cushion (is it old and dusty too? newly stolen from a fancy house?), or getting a belonging out of the nest of blankets they made under a pew, etc etc. Not to say you should describe everything in the room, but a few key details are enough for me to picture the atmosphere while still making it personal, and if they keep cropping up every few paragraphs, I won't forget to picture all this taking place there.
I made the mistake of reading the other reviews before writing mine, and Pompadour pretty much nailed what I was thinking and expressed everything far more articulately than I would have. I'll see what else I can add...
Overall I enjoyed the chapter and didn't see anything particularly wrong with it. So there wasn't anything to really put my finger on when I found myself wondering why I didn't care about Joyce as much as I should have. I will be honest and say that the cathedral rats, while cute, felt a little cliche, like I automatically just pictured the Lost Boys. But I think that would be fine if you found some ways to set it apart. Others have mentioned wanting to know more about Joyce, and I'll add my voice to that chorus, but in a different sense.
I don't need to know details about Joyce's backstory; I trust those are coming. You've given us lots here, too. What I could use more of is what kind of person she is. In a MC, I'm looking for someone I can empathise or sympathise with, someone I can worry for and root for and just generally get emotionally invested in. In the last chapter, I was distracted by the excitement of the scene and the mention of a dragon coming to hunt people down. This chapter is more sedate and character-focused, so the characterisation takes the forefront.
Yes, she cares deeply about her friends and wants to help them, but mostly what's shown is very general and non-specific. I find to really care about something, it needs to become... personal? It's like if your friend says her cousin lost her job. I might feel bad for that person, but I won't feel deeply affected. I think for me to care about characters, I need *specific* memories. For example, it's not just a familiar room, it's the bookshelf where all her old books have been replaced by the newcomers' stuff, it's the post where she marked her height growing up that's been painted over, it's the crack where the first quarter she'd brought home dropped and rolled into and was lost (and is probably still down there). Same thing with people. She wrestled with so-and-so and always lost, he's the little brother of a guy she had a crush on (who left and has never been heard from), that person lied for her when she was so hungry she stole a roll and didn't have the courage to admit to it. I'm just brainstorming random ideas here so you can see what I mean.
The other thing that I liked but would enjoy seeing more of is the setting. Dusty light streaming in from a lofty ceiling is a great picture. After that, though, it fades to the background and isn't mentioned again. I like to intersperse description throughout a scene, like little anchors to pull the reader back into the physical setting. Sometimes if setting is neglected too long, I feel like we're floating off into some sort of limbo where the characters talk to each other but are surrounded by whiteness
I don't know if I've really said anything the others haven't alluded to, and both of those points are nebulous and subjective ideas. Like I said, pretty solid overall! See you in chapter 3.
Yo, Fort! Finally here to review~
As per usual, I'll scroll through the technical stuff first and leave a couple of comments here and there. Then, we'll talk general. Also, before I begin, WHY HAVE YOU NOT UPDATED THIS RECENTLY, HM? You must update soon. >.>
So, I've noticed that you have an issue with dangling modifiers. This can get confusing sometimes, because they're not very blatant errors, but they can change the meaning of your sentence completely ( and sometimes in funny ways). Examples:
Was the something that nearly hit you on the head admiring a shard of purple-tinted glass? XD This is an easy fix: add an 'As I was' before admiring, or separate this one sentence into two. Totes depends on you~
Another:
This isn't very obvious, but it seems as though the narrator was crowded with marketplace goers--rather than the streets, which is what you intended to convey. Another easy fix: add the letters in bold. (In hindsight, I'd also suggest you play with this sentence a little, because adding 'which were' makes it seem a little choppy, and I bet you can fix this instance of dangling modifier better than I can.)
~ Quick comment on word-choice: try 'sate' instead of 'fill'.
~ This is a run-on sentence. You could make it stronger if you were to divide it into two sentences, or more, if you wish.
~ 'in to' should be 'into'. Take a look at this.
~ That space after the en-dash ought not to exist, fort; if you're writing on a word document and use a double-dash, it will automatically change to a dash (—), but not if you leave a space after it.
~ Quite a downpour of adjectives you've got here. I'd suggest cutting one of them out, preferably 'dim', seeing as you've described the room as being dark otherwise.
~ I think you mean 'drowsiness' here.
~ Minor case of redundancy. Cut out 'I knew'.
~ Mm, things feel kind of sparse with the characterisation; although you've told us a great deal regarding Joyce's past, I still feel like there was something ...missing. Something thick and juicy to munch on. I was also left wanting more of an image of Ombra--obviously Joyce must be quite intimidated by him to obey, but by the time I reached the second mention of Ombra, the first was already wavering in my mind. I'd suggest maybe expanding on this Ombra character--in this one segment--through Joyce's thoughts; I know we'll be seeing a lot of character development as we move on, but I felt something wanting here.
I'll be blunt here, Fort. This was very cliché--not something I'd expect from you. That is, the idea wasn't cliché, but the way you executed the idea definitely was. Play with this a little! Give it a twist! Bring out the metaphor-book~ Something like, I dunno, about how Death and disease were constant visitors, never coming alone, always in pairs, and always taking someone away. Or whatever suits your drift, 'cause I'm sure you know what to do! ^^
~ You're falling into tedium here, what with the same syntax being re-used; create variation, shuffle the words up, play with flow. The way you've stated things here, it gets rather tiresome to read through--and because there's no rich imagery to divert our senses, my eyes slid past this entire chunk. You don't want your readers to fall victim to the Sliding Eyes Syndrome, do youu? That being said, I'd suggest you pull this chunk out and practice with it. See how many different ways you can use to convey the same idea! For example, instead of making bland statements, show us things as they happen. Avoid the word 'I' as much as possible.
Besides this, there's also a great lack of sensory description, Fort. I've noticed that you do use sensory description--mostly sight--but the trick isn't to having clumps of scene or clumps of narrative, or description in particular places; it's to putting them all together, mixing it up. Dialogue, introspection, scene and narrative: you tell and show, you weave everything together. Your strong point lies in you knowing what you want to say, in clarity, but you need to harness those poetic skills of yours and bring them into play!
Okay, let me talk about this differently.
Take a boring scene: the main character is laying the table. You can talk about this in two ways:
1] I picked up the forks, placing them neatly on either side of the china plates. I unrolled the table-runner and made sure the salt and pepper pots were filled. I then moved towards the kitchen and called out to mum.
2] Picking up the forks, I made sure that they were aligned to precision, almost-touching-but-not-touching the the plates. When the silverware was laid to my satisfaction, I busied myself with the salt and pepper pots, ensuring they were filled before I unrolled the table-runner.
'Mum!' I called out. I walked into the kitchen.
That was a terrible example, but take a look at what sets the two paragraphs apart. Both of them say the same things, but the second one feels more alive. You don't simply tell a story linearly; you nurture it. You cut it and prune it and cause it to grow. Your style is your own, of course, but develop it. Long story short: variation is important.
Let's move on.
~ Insert comma before the dialogue; this is because 'murmured' is a dialogue-tag. Also take a look at example three.
Your dialogue flows effortlessly here, Fort, quite different from the first chapter! I also appreciated the fact that we have a greater amount of characterisation for Joyce, and I'm waiting eagerly to see where you take this--so far, you've definitely snared my interest, and I'm not one to say my interest is snared when it isn't. XD I also really like the atmosphere you've built up, and if you paced this a little slower, perhaps with greater development as to the scene, this chapter would be amazing. As it is, right now this feels like a part of a greater part, and I'm hoping to see this greater part in the next chapter!
And the Crooked Wineglass sounds so rustic and charming a name. <3 (I'm sorry, that was random.)
I do hope you didn't find this review harsh, because I've been enjoying reading this so far--more than I enjoyed reading the first chapters of Wool of the Prince, and I'm keen to see more~ So keep me updated, okay?
That wasn't a request you'd better keep me updated, miss.Anyway, hope this helped~ This review has been long overdue.
Cheers,
~Pomp c:
Wow, I almost missed this review. I decided today that I had time to work on another chapter of this, and I reread it to remember what happened, and then I see your review, and it's only a day old! I swear I didn't get the notif for it. I'm glad I saw it now, though.
Thanks for all your grammar help. And I actually agree with everything (except for I'm keeping "drowse") which is rare for this extensive of a grammar check.
There'll be a new chapter soon (I hope)!
Heya pretzelsing here for a review,
I actually found your chapter in the green room, with already one review. I specifically requested that you PMed me the link when the next chapter came out.<,<
Let's begin, shall we?
How you phrased this makes it sound like: she was walking with clinking. What if you just wrote:The clink of coins was still ringing in my ears while I was walking.
You should write out the word thirty and every other number out in weird form in your story!
Wider,I personally think that being called a rat is an insult, not a find nickname. If someone called you a rat, how would you react? Unless all of these purple are okay with this, and if they are you should let us know!
I am one of those reviewers that hate parenthesis in strutting, and I honestly don't think that it's necessary here.
You have four commas here, and I would take out the ones on the outside of "it seemed" because the sentence would flow perfectly without them. Also, do the people and facts rally change so quickly? I mean you made it seem very frequent in that sentence ^^ how frequently did she visit?
You kind of skipped over the last paragraph quickly, too quickly Widder.I am wondering, what sort of story did Joyce tell them? What was the story about? The main theme/idea? The reaction of the cathedral rats?
What kind of person is Joyce? She seems like she used to be home less, bit that's all I know about her. Expand her, give some flesh to her. Like why did she become a relic hunter? When did she get her job? What exact type of relics does she look for?
Also this was out of pure curiosity but how does the old cathedral look like?I am fascinated by how cathedrals looked like.What made this one so different from any other one?Describe it to me using colorful details,I really want to know
That is it from me,if you have any questions you could always PM me.I hope that this review helps you improve this chapter. Keep on writing!
most of these questions, especially about joyce's character, will be answered in time. I've made certain stylistic choices (like the numbers and parenthesis) consciously, and I'm sticking with them.
)
She doesn't visit very often. (like once every three months or so.)
And an insulting nickname can definitely be fond. Just listen to people's pet names for each other (Iggy calles Birk "Brat."
This novel was spectacular and like the views before me awfully outstanding. I thought it was very creative and well detailed. Absolutely no errors and kept me intrigued. Keep up the good work!
Hi Widds,
I'm going to make an attempt at reviewing this, it was so wonderful!
Really, all of your grammar seems great to me, no corrections there. I would like to know a little bit more about Joyce. How old is she? How was she able to get a job when others could not? You did do a good job of describing her character personality-wise, though.
Also, if Joyce visits the cathedral rats so often, how are there so many she doesn't know? Is it just that new ones come im very fast or does she rarely get the chance to visit?
I honestly have nothing else to say. It was a great chapter, and I hope to read more soon!
-Falc-