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Post by Feral Female on Nov 13, 2011 15:12:10 GMT -5
 Our thread for gentle critiques, helpful advice and writing tips and hints. |
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Post by Feral Female on Nov 18, 2011 18:10:48 GMT -5
Howdy gang! In celebration of hitting the 50,000 word mark for this years NANaWriMo, I`m sharing an excerpt from the second novel in my series, 'Of Heroes & Haybales' just for my buddies! Now bear in mind that this is rough. Really, REALLY rough. For NaNo I turn off my spellcheck and just write. Editing comes after the I finish the novel. So just try not to look at the mistakes. Hope it pleases!
*~*~*
“Someone needs to call Fox Mulder,” I whispered as we flew low to the water.
“What is a fox molder?” my driving instructor asked. I looked back at him and smiled.
“Some guy in a TV show that used to chase space ships,” I informed him as I looked down at the water below us. The horse’s hooves and the spoke wheels of the war chariot skimmed over the white caps. It was actually pretty serene, if not for the possibility of being abducted and probed. He grunted questioningly. “Space ships are interstellar flying ships that hold aliens from other planets.”
“There are no space ships here. This area is merely protected by a mystical mist of my father`s creation.”
I lifted my sight from the dark water. “So, all those weird things that have happened down here are because a god wanted to ensure no mortal stumbled on what he had hidden here. Clever,” I admitted and Ares agreed.
“Aye, most humans would not be able to comprehend what they would see.”
“And what will they see?”
“That I do not know, but rest assured it is a creature most foul and dangerous.”
“Go us!” I said with false enthusiasm. We pushed through the fog finally and my jaw fell to my chest. There was no space ship hidden in the mists, or even an alien in a life boat looking for a phone to call home with. There sat only an island. It had one steep rock formation that jutted into the night sky. What I could make out in the moonlight was a rather thickly vegetated isle, with white shores and swaying palms dotting the beachhead. “Okay, this is a definite improvement over the last place.”
“We shall see,” Ares mumbled as his team dropped down a mere foot to the sands. He stepped down from the chariot, his scarlet cape dragging along the lapping edge of the tide. The man was a formidable sight in his battle gear, but still I worried. Although the richness of his copper skin was returning he was far from one hundred percent. If we ran into something as bad, or worse, than the Chimera we would have our hands full. He turned to me after giving the beachhead an appraisal, then handed me down from the chariot.
He took his war lance, I gathered up the bronze short sword and we set off, leaving the horses in their golden bridles, just in case a speedy retreat was called for. The warm water slapped over my ankle as we walked up from the sea. There was a soft breeze, barely enough to rustle my curls, but enough to carry a very familiar odor. I paused and touched Ares on his bicep.
“I smell goats,” I whispered. His face was obscured within his plumed helmet, but I could see his jaw twitch nervously.
“You are sure `tis goats you smell?” he asked and I nodded firmly. If there`s one smell I know, it`s goats. I scoffed at his reserve and ran through the tide with eager steps. What did he think we would encounter? A four-headed carnivorous goat? A zombie shepherd from hell? Everyone knows we shepherds go to the land of rolling green hills, rivers of clear water and charges that don`t poop. It`s in the contract. I could hear the herd now that we were away from the ocean slightly. Soft, contented blats and the delightful sound of small bells ringing caressed my ears. I hurried along, my face covered with a smile. Ares was behind me, pushing his big body through the lush underbrush and around closely packed trees with fronds and tropical fruits.
I came across a small fence, perhaps four feet high, constructed of flat rocks. The moon was brilliant and I could see the goats meandering around inside their pasture. Sheep also were in the flock, their white coats making them look like low hanging clouds. I climbed over the rock wall and moved among the goats. They were a mixed bag of breeds, but well-tended to say the least. A sheep raised its head from a make-shift manger of spilt logs, said hello then returned to its meal of dry grass. The heap of hay smelled wonderful. It was freshly cut and dried. I heard Ares slinging his big old self over the wall. His armor clattered as he moved. The flock disliked his noise, and perhaps his aura of violence, for they began to skitter away from me. Ares hissed my name. I ignored him and took another few steps, my soggy sneakers squishing with every footfall. Ares called to me once more. I stopped and frowned as the herd streaked off, screaming like a wolf had slithered into their midst.
I looked up the side of the rock embankment, the same I saw from the sea as we approached, and noted a large round opening at the base of the natural pinnacle. Yellow light, like that a fire would cause, shone down on the well-worn path lined with torches leading to the cave. I decided to head up to the cave and perhaps speak with the shepherd of this fine flock but Ares hand slapping down on my shoulder so soundly I almost buckled put the brakes to that idea. I spun around to give him a firm scolding then froze before the tongue lashing could begin.
A call came from within the cave. A voice so deep and so robust it made small pebbles break free from the jutting mountain and roll down over the glowing doorway. The goats and sheep ran towards the odd, baritone summons. I swallowed loudly. The hem of Ares cape brushed against the cuff of my jeans. Then the shepherd filled the rounded door. Filled as in he had to duck to leave his fire. Now, I`m no great judge of height and weight, you can ask anyone at the fairgrounds. Every year, when the 4-H and FFA kids have their livestock sale, I go up and sit with my neighbors and friends and we try to guess what each pig, steer or meat goat weighs before their weights are announced. The things we rural folk do for fun, right? Anyway, I always guess way off the mark, so this guess was probably wrong too but my guess was that the doorway was probably fifteen feet high. So the shepherd that was now calling to his frightened flock had to be that height or over. However tall the sucker was, it was enough to make my brain go ‘Holy nanny berries! That is one huge goatherder!’
I stepped backwards into Ares. The ribbons attached to his lance blew over my forearm.
“Polyphemus,” Ares gasped.
“Gesundheit,” I squeaked.
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Post by Feral Female on Nov 19, 2011 9:29:32 GMT -5
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Post by ravenswald on Nov 19, 2011 22:06:21 GMT -5
One wonders how the heroine knows so much about goats 9(planting tongue firmly in cheek). Very nice. I noticed there was a subtle difference from your other writing which just fits for an approach intened to be part of a book rather than an episodic comic.
Well done. I can't wait to see it in print (fingers crossed).
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Post by Feral Female on Nov 20, 2011 12:18:04 GMT -5
One wonders how the heroine knows so much about goats 9(planting tongue firmly in cheek). Very nice. I noticed there was a subtle difference from your other writing which just fits for an approach intened to be part of a book rather than an episodic comic. Well done. I can't wait to see it in print (fingers crossed). It is a burning question, her goat knowledge, isn`t it?  Thank you kindly. There is a difference in my writing for the books and for my episodic work. With the books I can take my time, give more detail, move at my own pace. With the episodic issues I`m more constrained to keep things within 4 - 6 Word pages, and some of the finer details are omitted. Next spring the first book will be ready! |
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Post by Feral Female on Nov 21, 2011 8:06:53 GMT -5
"No tears in the writer, no tears in the reader. No surprise in the writer, no surprise in the reader." - Robert Frost
A great quote and a very true one!
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Post by Mister_Oz on Nov 29, 2011 8:10:49 GMT -5
Agreed, Feral. Many writers, be they songwriters, authors, poets...have said they are just a conduit through which whatever is being told travels to the public. One of the joys I get from writing is when a character surprises me (XPN #26 when Juliette says "What if I lost you?" was one of those moments, said faster than I could finish the previous line!)
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Post by darktruth on Nov 29, 2011 8:22:07 GMT -5
I've certainly had those moments when writing. Allison has certainly surprised me a few times.
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kaiyves
New Member
Weirdo from another planet!
Posts: 47
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Post by kaiyves on Nov 29, 2011 9:49:12 GMT -5
A lot of times, I think I have an ending planned out, but my characters come up with something better.
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Post by Feral Female on Nov 29, 2011 17:59:01 GMT -5
Characters have a way of leading us where they want to do, don`t they?
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Post by darktruth on Nov 29, 2011 19:48:17 GMT -5
Got a bit of a challenge for the writers here.
I recently learnt that evidence suggests that at least 40% of domestic abuse victims are male, but often will not speak out about it due to societal pressures and in most cases the wife or girlfriend that abused them will escape charges (in most of those cases due to the police neglecting to investigate).
This got me thinking about a story in which a man is the abused, however I quickly stumbled upon a problem. How do you do so while making it dramatic and not comedic (including unintentional humour)? This is a case where I can see how society has affected my view on things, as I cannot see a way to do it as it would be needed to be done.
It's easier to show it the other way, for most people have the appropriate reaction to the sight of a woman being struck by a man. But when it's the man who is struck in most cases he is shown to have 'deserved it' and it is most often comical.
The only way I could figure to do this properly would be to do it from the woman's perspective and have her feel guilt over the incident, however evidence shows that most times the woman doesn't feel guilt for her action and when it is usually show with the man striking the woman h is generally shown with a lack of regret.
The only areas I'm certain on is that both the man and woman would have to be about the same size and age, if the man is smaller or larger it runs the risk of falling into unintentional humour.
It seems to me to be a difficult area to work with.
So can anyone come up with a way in which to make the scenario as dramatic as it would be if a man struck a woman?
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Post by Mister_Oz on Nov 30, 2011 1:35:40 GMT -5
That's quite a challenge, Dark, and certainly a daunting subject to tackle.
Your male lead would need pathos from the reader, being able to relate so well to him that anything so bad happening to him makes the reader sympathize/empathize and feel anger against who/what ever did such to him. That anger would be enhanced by your female abuser NOT feeling remorse, but believing with such strong conviction that she was doing right and acting appropriately, for example:
From personal experience during the last days of my marriage, my now ex-wife held little back. Granted, her actions may have been provoked by her frustration with things I was lacking in, but her rage resulted in empty plastic gallon jugs being bounced off of my head, whatever wasn't permanently fixed in the kitchen being thrown at me, and she was verbally abusive to me and about me to our friends and family; all the while anything that went differently than her way of seeing things was wrong. While it hurt physically and mentally I didn't file charges because I didn't want a long involved and messy court battle.
With regards to size, I stand a full foot taller than my ex and 60 lbs lighter, yet she packed a whallup when she hit me over a wisecrack.
I know other male victims have stated they were scared or embarrassed to speak out because the man is supposed to be the stronger person of the couple. It also could be because the one wishes not to get the other into trouble because he or she loves the abuser despite the harm.
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Post by Feral Female on Nov 30, 2011 4:22:46 GMT -5
Wow, that is a tough angle, Dark. And I`m sorry for what you went through MO. Certainly I can see the stimga attached to a man being the victim, especially when the abuser is a woman. Personally, I think MO gave you a wonderful reply. You`d have to have the reader very bonded to your protagonist before the abuse begins and show that the woman has no remorse. Also, tossing in society`s view on it would reinforce the man`s feelings - how he doesn`t want to tell his friends or co-workers because of what they would think or say - things like that.
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Post by darktruth on Nov 30, 2011 5:41:17 GMT -5
Sorry to hear about what you went through Oz, those things can be difficult and that's part of the reason I really got thinking about it.
I definitely thought there would have to be time spent connecting the reader to the character, unlike with a female victim where the act alone creates a connection with the character. It's certainly a difficult and complicated topic to deal with, with a lot of pitfalls.
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Post by Mister_Oz on Nov 30, 2011 22:53:22 GMT -5
Thank you for the sentiments. Granted, I'm not out to pluck any heartstrings by discussing my experiences during my marriage, as I'm no innocent victim either, but the well wishes are appreciated. It's a point of my life I'd really love to put behind me, or at least see through rose colored glasses, unfortunately (and with a bit more frequency lately) sicussions about that era keep cropping up and I get soured.
To go along with what Feral noted about society. My ex and I shared a best friend, so whatever I confided in him went straight to my ex. Once I discovered that, there was one less non-biased person whom I could speak to.
Ironically, but very fortunately, my ex and I parted on friendly terms, but if I have time to dwell on my memories, the bad feelings rise to the surface.
On the other hand, if I could offer any insights I'd be happy to.
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Thank you kindly. There is a difference in my writing for the books and for my episodic work. With the books I can take my time, give more detail, move at my own pace. With the episodic issues I`m more constrained to keep things within 4 - 6 Word pages, and some of the finer details are omitted. 
