| Furious Dawn - Senseless Literary Dabblings; A few snippets for review. | |
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| Tweet Topic Started: Jun 15 2009, 11:17 PM (223 Views) | |
| Celestial-Fox | Jun 15 2009, 11:17 PM Post #1 |
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WEEEEEEST. . .
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Recently, I've been working on a little something of mine called "Furious Dawn" and I thought I might share a snippet of it with you guys to see what you think. I'm only posting the first paragraph and an additional sentence, because opinions formed on the first page of a book are very important. First impressions, I suppose you may say. C h a p t e r . 1 — F r e i : : Morning twilight, which is the among the only hours of light cycle that one cannot see well, is but a ticking clock waiting to chime in its seconds before the hour—a moment always overlooked, but remains the most still trice before the chaotic stroke of metal. My spine arched like a bow as I keeled over the tiny, florid text which my eyes quickly scanned across. Yellow light bent and contorted as I swiftly turned the page, causing the wick-fed energy at my side to waver like a flag in a springtime zephyr. My hand shot over to shield the dwindling flame; it was the last one we had, and the sun was not due for about hour. I rested my elbows on the compressed straw mattress that rested on the earthen floor of our hovel just as a breeze gushed through the hole in the wall that served as a window and stole the candle light away with it. Darkness. |
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| +Linden | Jun 16 2009, 12:03 AM Post #2 |
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awesomesauce
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So far so good, I guess. The only real problem I see is that it's hard to read. Example: There's so much going on in this sentence, I hardly know what you want to say. When reading for leisure, I find people generally gravitate to books that are written closer to how they speak. And personally, I don't speak like that. Therefore, because you asked about first impressions, I wouldn't be too inclined to keep reading. Perhaps separate the thoughts better. With that said, if you ever need someone to read whatever, I'm up for it. :) |
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| Celestial-Fox | Jun 16 2009, 12:19 AM Post #3 |
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WEEEEEEST. . .
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Thanks. Looking back, that is a lot to swallow. I'll try breaking it up. The story is told by two people. One is a stiff, eloquent type, and the other speaks more casually. I'd like to keep most of the original wording because it contains quite a bit or foreshadowing, but I'll try to punctuate and conjoin it differently. How's this: Morning twilight, which is the among the only hours of light cycle that one cannot see well, is but a ticking clock waiting to chime in its seconds before the hour. This, a moment always overlooked, remains the most still trice before the chaotic stroke of metal. Edited by Celestial-Fox, Jun 16 2009, 12:31 AM.
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| +Linden | Jun 16 2009, 01:35 AM Post #4 |
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awesomesauce
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Sooooo much better. My brain doesn't hurt when I read it now. ^_^ By the way, you don't happen to speak German do you? The word "Frei" caught my attention. |
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| Celestial-Fox | Jun 16 2009, 01:52 AM Post #5 |
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WEEEEEEST. . .
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Haha, yeah, I found out that it was German about three years after I made the character in concern. But nope, I don't speak a lick of German, though I do frequently chat online to a very nice person in Germany. We had a chit-chat over the name, and we summed it up to this: The pronunciation of the character name "Frei" is solely based on your geographical location. Between he, Jessie, and I we all say it differently. I found that quite intriguing. It says "Chapter 1 -- Frei" because of the fact that it's told in first-person perspective by two people. Without the indicator, even I get a little lost. I tried to make their vernaculars very polar, but sometimes they are slightly similar. Thanks for the help, though. It's surprising how much of a difference just a few edits can make. Anyway, with that all over, I'll continue with the next bit: C h a p t e r . 1 — F r e i : : My body rolled out onto the hard-packed soil and I laid on the moonlit surface, breathing quiescently. I closed my eyes and felt my chest ebb and flow, gently displacing my wavy blonde hair with each intake of air. I sat up and pulled off my shirt—shivered a bit, as well. Throwing on my Service clothes, which were bundled in a small heap in the corner of my bare room, I stood. Donned in a burlap tunic, a blue shawl-like neck warmer, leather gaiters, and snug brown pants, I crept over to the adjacent room. I touched Ma’s arm. She grunted loudly and rolled over in her coverings. I looked around my surroundings and gave her arm another good quake. Ma’s eyes slipped open and she sleepily let a blended series of words spill from her full, barely parted lips. “I must be leaving,” I stated, kneeling at her side, only realizing the stiffness of my speech when they had already been spoken. The words drifted through the dusty space between us and into her ears. I allotted time for the sound of my voice to resonate in her mind. “I love you,” she whispered in her sleep. I bit my lip. “As I, also,” my lips uttered as I squeezed her hand. Her svelte appearance and chocolate brown skin were quite contrary to my slightly stocky athletic figure and light complexion. Her hair was cropped significantly short; only a soft black velvet remained on her scalp, but it was beautiful. We did not resemble each other at all, and any keen person could distinguish this even in the darkness. Some part of me tends to cogitate that I’m adopted, but I know that was an incredibly frivolous thought and was not true, despite, well, everything. For at least such frivolities have been innately spoken to me as false. I’d been here all of my life; there was no other explanation. I do know that I had another sibling, but I can’t recollect much about her. “You’s gon’ be late,” she murmured as I left her to sleep. I groaned, then briefly brushed my teeth with a paste made from miscellaneously crushed plants, splashed my face with cold water, then perched myself upon a stool at the tiny main room table. The house (if it could even be defined as such) had but three rooms—our bedrooms as well as a main room which contained our table, a bench, and a sink that lacked the royal conveniences of running water. Atop the table was a primitively crafted wooden bowl with contents that resembled oatmeal. I hastily and vigorously consumed all of the burgoo, plaited my hair in two sections, put on my Service hat, then jogged out the door, nearly swinging the hoary thing off of its hinges. “Thank you, Ma!” I yelled from outside while bounding down the darkened path. “You be good now, Frei, and don’t go off running with no white boy.” My head veered back to see Ma washing my bowl in our stoup-like sink. Her clavicles caught a dim light and rotated with each scrubbing motion. I smiled and waved goodbye. Offering a returning grin, she gracefully sat down on a chair and watched me move out towards Ess. Though it took a while to rouse her, once Ma was woken, she was up. We had talked that weekend. We always talk, I mean, but not about anything personal. She and I don’t put bonding time to waste with individual grievances. I don’t fully comprehend how the “white boy” part comes into play, however. I assume it was in jest. The earlier verbal exchanges concerning my bit of attraction for the prince of the area were quite blithe. I prefer not to discuss such subjects with others. |
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| +Linden | Jun 16 2009, 02:45 AM Post #6 |
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awesomesauce
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You know, this could be really good. Sorta reminds me of this episode of Cold Case where this light-skinned baby was born to Black, Cajun parents. It was a really awesome episode. Anyway, I look forward to the next bit. |
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| Celestial-Fox | Jun 16 2009, 02:54 AM Post #7 |
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WEEEEEEST. . .
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Thank you! That little blip in the story really gives a lot of flexibility for the storyline and who's-related-to who. The main device for it, though, is most probably internal conflict. Is she black? Or is she white? Hmmm... |
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