rosscruz

Hi all

i'm new to the forum- well to forums in general and i want to start writing seriously but i lack the disipline (in almost anything) to finish or to persist beyond the moment of inspriation and since writing of this sort is solely reliant on self-motivation, sufficed to say i rarely finish a story but i hope to get advice from older writer as to how to stay focused and of course on my story writing skill- one of the main problems is of course due to my nature a problem with continuity and with foresight when it comes to plot, themes ect. so any helpful advice or critism of my work and method will be greatly appreciated the start of the story i'm attaching is something i did about a month ago and obviously didnt finish- thanks




It was nearing eleven o’clock when young K awoke, though only to be welcomed by an arid stench, carried by the stiff evening breeze that often frequented upon the larger commercialised train stations, K dubbed these stations thus not because of the fantastically over priced shops or the rows and rows of plastic platforms and ticket outlets, framed by giant black and yellow timetables and guerrilla stickers but the people who passed through these stations, wooden and artificial, senseless cells driven on hormones of manufactured necessity, the lifeblood of western decadence as K understood it. K had not been here long but he was an intuitive young man and he quickly found his bearings around this world-like no else could, he was but a simple beggar to the eyes of the fleeting public, passing over him one by one in their ignorance, perhaps not specific ignorance but as K thought a generalised one subsequent to their seamless compliance to a machine few among them understood. K was formulating a plan, albeit plan that exposed his relative naivety concerning modern society, but a plan nevertheless “I must find a family of good stature, compassion and intelligence” K thought, “or should it be stupidity given my ridiculous circumstances, no you must have faith, faith in them, it no longer matters I can’t bear their eyes any longer” the thought of laughing over this with decent people over a cup of tea and servings of his favourite iced fairy cake seemed to lend him a new strength. K gathered up his belongings, glanced at himself in the dark glass of a shop window, and in no time at all he was outside the station and already regretting this new approach to the problem “I should have patience” he told himself night after night but for a gentleman like K the prospect of polite society, the flower in a pot of dirt , the bright, warning colours of exclusive social graces and the brisk, frank banter concerning every nuance of worldly matters- as if the world itself sat there on the coffee table for host and guest alike to touch and feel and hold, K had envisaged such a scene but knew he would have to fight to get to that room, to kill, to incite to manipulate to invoke every ounce of strength in his body and ignore every mitigating misgiving, anything necessary to accomplish his goal in time . The night was cold and bright the city streets were ablaze with colour and intent, a hopeless exercise no doubt as there were only the dregs walking the streets, K among them. He hung his head as he always did nowadays, thinking of who did this to him, and imagining their brutal humiliation and demise at his hands-but no sooner had his unconscious mutterings reached an audible hiss and his face contorted into an evil satisfied grin K spotted a girl.
She muttering to herself as well, and even though she was a good distance away from K, he could tell she was beautiful, not in the conventional sense but she was pressingly, exasperating beautiful, though pensive she oozed danger, why and how was she here? “is she a white rabbit” K though “or is it fate or luck or any number of foolish constructions, shortcuts as they are, chance-causality can they intermingle, perhaps only when one is aware of it and only when that individual is not equipped to comprehend complex path of actions and re-actions that bring hidden and hitherto unconsidered force into providence, a fool calls it chance, she hasn’t spotted me but who would, I’ve become a shadow of the night, something I feared once, and still fear” , he muttered the last few words, he smiled to himself, the kind of grin that could persuade another of his madness from thirty paces and the glint in his eye could strike fear into a noble heart. A great variety of pertinent thoughts and counter-thoughts entered K’s mind ranging from the obscene to the foolishly subtle, he did not know how to approach her, he only knew he must, she was he only chance, but he was a wreck of his former self, neither especially handsome or charismatic; K’s reputation had always preceded him and announced him as if with the aid of an unseen servant into the minds of his acquaintances-to-be, and now here he was, looking like a side street tramp, wearing the same clothes he borrowed off a street urchin the day of his arrival, nothing but his stench announced him now. He had no means whatsoever of demonstrating what he considered to be his virtue but what he later discovered to be his talent, doubts and convictions crept into his mind as if rolling with the tide but K knew that he had been presented with chance he must not squander lest he live in ignominy forever. Despite his ambivalence he had followed the girl into a park but was still a considerable distance away, K was thinking furiously, his mind was a ablaze and he was shaking from head to toe “if she turns around I’m done for, she’ll think you’re a scoundrel”, but she was still deeply involved with herself and seemed not to have picked up on her stalker, she seemed to be using her hands excessively as if she was trying to decide on something but a part of her did not agree. Suddenly there was movement in front of K; two men of medium build and bedraggled appearance emerged from a small path between the girl and K, instinctively K skilfully sidestepped into the dense foliage to his right as the men seemed to check the channels, K assumed, even hoped for the worst-“this is my chance”, thought K “I’ll pull those rag-tag bandits off just in time and play the valiant hero” K smiled widely but this time checked himself, he suddenly became aware of his baseness and shuddered, he had done this before though at the behest of more honourable circumstances, he knew that the last thing these cowards expect is a fight, though he wanted one and subconsciously had began to fantasise about his triumphant victory over these scumbags, he had begun to make audible sounds and a fiery look came into his eyes and as he imagined the final blow and the thud as his enemy hit the ground, he found in passing over a fortuitously placed puddle-deeper than it seemed that grin that had so often now lent its dimensions to K’s once fresh and even handsome face had spread so surely over his face that every line, wrinkle and pustule of burning itching flesh had contorted into such that he had never seen in his life save in his mind, after a haunting Victorian tale, now here he was before him, his Mr Hyde to Thrace’s Dr. Jekyll, he fell to his knees and taking the water in his cupped hand he started rubbing furiously, trying desperately to clear his mind and his face of all traces of this as of yet inseparable beast. Suddenly his mind turned to girl-he rose immediately and ceased his selfish endeavour, though his mind wandered as he ran desperately to catch up to the men and their hapless victim, his mind weakened by lack of oxygen pertained only to the girl, what she looked like, her face, her hair… how she might see him.
K was resolute as he drew closer, he knew how and what he was going to do, he surreptitiously peered down the path, he still had time, they were barely closing in on her, K dashed through the dark grass making hardly a sound, the path crackled beneath his feet, conjuring up distant images of Egypt and how he wanted to be an archaeologist as a boy, “the fools should get off the damned path as soon as they get within earshot shot of her”, thought K ,the pebbles were filling his holey shoes and dared not venture out too far from acceptable cover for fear of being seen. The park was dark green and thick and not much else, the moon slipped in and out of the clouds revealing seemingly ancient stonework in the distance, there and gone in a flash, an ephemeral glimpse for our hero, of a life he won’t live again, a park he hoped he wouldn’t see again, K was strangely aware of this even in his pursuit of his “last hope” he still could not resist turning his head and looking into the past, into something more familiar, if only for a second-failing to conceal his nature, a true sensualist, appreciating nothing and everything and even so only in its last few moments of meaning or passion leaving a gaping hole in the reality of others who he considered meaningless if they did not aid his consumption of everything beautiful, such an attitude to life, striping things of their continuity, depriving them of his attention K was a vastly selfish and self obsessed creature. He made a second dash across the dark dewy grass; it would remind him upon later reflection of his days at the academy sneaking past the base defences to continue his nightly debauchery in the town across the river, how K laughed as he remembered this. The girl now had stopped whispering to her self and now she was looking to the heavens, though it was a smoggy night, the moon was full and danced playfully among the dark brown seemingly combustible clouds, her admirers had stopped short of sprinting distance when the girl totally without warning stopped dead- all around her emulated immediately, she looked to her right, a rustling of leaves had caught her attention but she had lost interest and continued down the path almost catching her company by surprise-her two followers closed as much distance as silently as possible and broke into a run not more than fifty feet from her, K almost yelped and then thundered after them. The girl of course hearing this rush towards her whipped around and had barely time to take in the situation before they were upon her, the two men got there first and menacingly shaped to pounce but K, noted for his physical prowess in particular his speed was their momentarily, he launched himself at the nearest offender and had not the time to check himself from the lunge, as he was in full flight when he caught sight of the childish grins on both the faces of the girl and the second man who from close up appeared to be a young woman with short hair (of the sort that was very unbecoming to her), a rotten befouled haystack of hair as our hero later described it, but to present matters- K having collided with the man violently had risen quickly so as to assess this very confusing situation but no soon had he rose he was sent scuttling to the ground once more this time by the fist of the very girl he sought to protect, he rose once again only to find that the girl was looking in her handbag, hardly scurrying but K felt sure she was fishing of a lethal weapon of some sort, her calm disposition was frightening, hurriedly he said “good, good lady I only wished to protect you from those I thought might harm you” these “criminals” cast poisonous looks at K as if to say “and what does that make you”. The girl stood there serene and thoughtful, she had already taken out a large but inappropriately ornamental butterfly knife but it had slowly dropped to her side unsheathed, she wore black dress that had a reflective quality although being of a seemingly matte texture it rode the contours of her body perfectly, tailored and had a slit from the middle of her right thigh to a little beneath her knee and from it protruded a perfectly pale leg as she started to fearlessly walk around our hero it was clear she had come back from some sort of formal event or if not then a chronic over-dresser- K opened his mouth to speak but she cut him off “you need not explain yourself” she drawled “I recognise your good intentions, but tell me this what would you have done if my foolish friends had not interfered in out private rendezvous [she smiled darkly], oblivious as they are, did they save my life?… or my honour?-tell me honestly… I will know if you don’t”. K straightened up, his eyes lingered on the blade but not for long, he ventured a glance at her face, it was beautiful in every sense of the word, she had also seen suffering-he knew how to see this-her eyes were blazing and strangely close together her head was slightly lowered, she somehow she possessed the ability to appear at ease but also to be shaped to act- K would look back on this night and remember that she seemed almost inhuman, and how much her flawless olive hued skin seemed so pale and drained of blood that night. “I only wished to meet you, to talk to you, in order to… to gain access to a world that I must gain the trust of in order to save it” K spoke slowly but there was something of the regal kind in his posture and voice, a confidence unbefitting a common tramp but a prince. “What is your name?” the girl asked, her friends until now silent, save the bloody coughs of the man clobbered by K, glanced at each other, shuddered and shuffled their feet as if unable to believe her change of tact they nevertheless remained silent and acceptant. “You can call me Karl Thrace” K exclaimed after pause she looked at him with a wry smile, the sun was peeking over the horizon, its first rays had a metamorphosing affect on this most interesting of encounters, they seemed to lend colour to the girl, her eyes became mellow and now a distinguishable green, her friend the pseudo-transvestite revealed herself to be a quite pretty young woman of around 18 her oval face was marked by wonder at this new development of her childish prank, the man, who K knocked to the ground and rather ungraciously forgot to offer his hand as means of apology, seemed to be of stocky build and a flat face although cheerful enough he was still crouched a little, apparently still winded by K’s attack, something K would not apologise for until their third and last meeting. With the added light of the morning sun K as if in an instance came into sharp relief with altogether rather less positive results-his sweatshirt and jeans were old and dirty quite beyond the fashionable homeless look, but his face, now noticeably framed in a black beard held an uncommon dignity which was reflected in his stance; almost military to the point one could believe he would stand to attention if asked sternly enough. The girl walked calmly towards K and resolute in her approach and address asked K to stay with her and her family at least for a while until he gets on his feet, “for such a man is rarely knocked down and then only momentarily” she thought, and to those who help him he is eternally grateful; for she truly believed he, despite seemingly having an as of yet unknown ulterior motive, seemed sincere in his wish to meet her and was fearless in his defence of her albeit a pointless one, nevertheless it’s the conviction to act and to act immediately that is important and truly it is sheer will that separates the great from the good and convictions that make or break their participation in history. One last thing the name of the man is Fredrick Hammond, the short haired woman: Claire Cousins and the girl whom we have been talking so energetically about is Sasha Brown as K found out in the cab taking him to Roundabout place-the Brown Manor.

Fixed

everybody has the problem of staying motivated when he starts writing.

Just remember that if you don't continue writing something you started it will never be finnished and noone will be there to enjoy it with you. Sometimes it's best to just put your butt in the seat and write until you get into your groove again.
Also setting goals apparently helps, like, 2000 words a week or 5000 words a month, there are rather short term, long term goals are like, finnish this novel by the end of the year etc


about the story you posted
remember to proof read, there's quite a lot of silly spelling and grammatical mistakes.
Also remember to use paragraphs... yes you did use them but especially for the last paragraph which was more than half the exerpt, I found that quite tedious to read and some extra paragraphs would have definitely prevented me from quitting finnishing your exerpt since what your story is based on actually seems quite interesting.

Ah, forgot to say that your use of dialogue is quite confusing... separate them with skipping lines (paragraphs)

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Fantasy of You

Okay, I don't have time to do the whole thing. You would have more feedback if you put lines between each paragraph, make it more readable.

Anyway, like I said, I don't have time to critique the hwole thing, and when I read the intro, I honestly didn't want to. I've seen too many stories start with the character waking up... Think of another way. Also, watch your run-on sentences, there are quiet a few here.

Sorry for the briefness.

-Fantasy

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TruthSeeker

Fixed exercises scheme is sure something you would want to work on, and i totally agree with FOY on using paragraphs more often, it was quite hard reading all the way till the end.

Try showing the reader more than just telling the story, it will definitely add a different feel to your writing, and boost your style.

I would highly recommend you to read the articles in the “Writing Tips & Advice” section of this forum.

Cheers

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-ts

rosscruz

yeah i do have a problem with stucturing my writing and i always seem to get scolded for long winded senences and am trying to improve in that department (i will read the tips section) but i was also looking for, if anyone can help, tips on maintaining the plot maybe on planning out the story before writing ect- any advice on that would be great- though i am not being lazy i will read through the forum as i'm sure similar things have been metioned over and over again- cheers
(i might re edit the story and add a more rigid structure later on and see if there is a significant improvement, which i'm sure there will be)

Fixed

to maintain the plot it depends on the type of writer you are, some are like me who just make things up whilst they write and somehow everything just seems to flow,
others might jot down several notes which plan each chapter or perhaps even paragraph out describing several of the major events, these writers tend to brainstorm a whole bunch and actually write it down, they also forget a lot of stuff if they don't write it down
some are a combination of the two
you should find out which type of writer you are...
and yeah definitely edit the story if you plan on continuing it, since if you don't, a lot of ppl, myself included won't bother to read through that confusing paragraph and sentence structure, I always edit my writing several times over before I'm satisfied

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rosscruz

hi

i have finished writing the second part of the story (i am continuing with this story both for the sake of finishing it (i dont have an idea about the length though which may not be a great idea). anyway i have attempted to structure it properly but as the first bit (of the second bit) containes little dialouge it is still a bit dense but please bare with it and give me feedback (i have been reading the forum but have no given feedback on anything myself- i think i'll wait a while) anyway thanks:



They arrived at the Manor in the early hours of the morning and there was a hushed excitement as if they were borders making their way, childishly giggling (though not K of course-though he was pleasantly surprised by the openness and innocence of his benefactors none of them particularly old or young) to their dormitories, K did not see much of the house, it was darkly lit with only a few scattered lights here and there glowing meekly in the distance- it was a massive house certainly, from outside when he had ran across the circular pebble laden driveway hand in hand with his beautiful host, the magnificent scale of Brown manner was apparent. K was rushed upstairs and led though endless corridors Sasha had been holding K’s hand ever since they got into the cab back at Fontana Park and had looked back at K many times as if to gage his wonder at her fantastic home, though not in a pretentious fashion, but to her surprise K looked perfectly at home, not ungrateful but not unaccustomed to this luxury he even, to Sasha’s amazement lingered at one of the Rubens that hung on the wall near his room and commented on its beauty. With a few gracious word from his host and even her friends (who had warmed up to him in the cab) they departed excitedly seemingly desperate to talk amongst themselves about the night’s events and their unexpected guest.

K then was left to his own devices in one of the doubtlessly numerous guestrooms, spacious if not a little plain K examined the room after a few minutes he sat on the couch and browsed the room with a more appreciative smile, though his true mood unmasked itself when K for a moment had thought he had no running water-his indignation was akin to that of a pedantic and yes, a paying tenant though he soon figured out how to use the taps, more ornate than they are practical K thought to his himself “a Rubens in a sideways corridor and now this, a right lot of Karamazov’s we have here, sensualists every last one of them-moonlight walks in the dead of night, half-cocked ambushes-these people are bored of London, bored of life like the stupid old man said to me, starved of attention but not of change” K gave an becoming laugh and looked darkly at himself in the glass opposite him, he had an en suite, he always found it easier to think in a bathroom, as he always held the reflective quality of their materials to be as effective with thought as it was with sound. K stroked his beard and played with the idea of shaving it but he though better of if-“better they see me as she did; God knows what made her take me home with her but I must hold it, keep it and use it, I haven’t much time”. Just then K felt a pang of hunger and realised he hadn’t eaten for days but he had a fridge in his room, something K was not used to but knew how to handle- he got some cold pasta out of the top compartment-“do they stock all of their guest rooms with fresh food? That must cost a fortune” K wondered aloud.

K glanced at the clock on the wall, it was getting on for six o’clock and dawn’s rosy fingers crept into the room, K was a little tired but tardiness was not the best way to initiate his first impression- he planned to make an appearance at the family breakfast late enough for his host to announce and explain his presence but not late enough for them to indulge in potentially harmful conjecture as to his intentions or orgins, he would have to swoop in and catch their pre-suppositions in their infant forms. By a quarter past eight he was downstairs and had entered the small annexe in the massive Brown garden, he had been ushered in by several servants alerting him to the fact that they had briefed as to how to treat their new guest. The annex was quite a brisk walk away from the house and this was where Sasha had told him the family liked to eat breakfast on warm autumn mornings. The path was fenced with wilting oaks all a beautiful burgundy brown, the leaves rustling beneath his feet made his eyes swell ever so slightly, though he dare not falter because heads had begun to turn in the breakfast house.

As he entered he felt the heat of many eyes upon him, though one could not tell from looking at him, he open the door silently and smoothly and replaced it just as effortlessly and raised his head to look at his hosts while a confident but ambiguous smile- (the norms of facial expression when with different company is something K manipulated wonderfully) lending him instantly auras that are sought or scorned for lifetimes. He could appear wise beyond reproach or as innocent as a newborn child with the face of an angel but despite the scope of his ability K knew, despite his extraordinary talents, consistency is everything they must see what Sasha saw that night, albeit a more refined form of it- K hoped that his excited though tortured appearance would work wonders with this crowd- though did not expect company outside the family but to his dismay the annex was a veritable banquet hall of the honoured upper class a hundred eyes followed his movements as he walked calmly towards the table- “a spy in disguise welcomes the indifferent crowd but dreads the judges that walk aghast among us” K thought knowing these dogs were here almost by design to scrutinise him.

He scanned the room and found that the only free chair was that to the left of Sasha and to the right of who appeared to be her father- he was naturally at the head of the table and it was becoming apparent (through the many now expectant stares he was receiving if anything) that he was the guest of honour and that they had been waiting for him. K reached these conclusions quickly and had already started out for other end of the table- behind which, he noticed, was a indescribably beautiful growth of natural plant life spiralling, it seemed from behind the table in the distance, dotted with all the colours k knew and some he had hadn’t it was, for a moment, insurmountably inexplicable. The torrent of colours and shapes seemed to engulf K’s vision, his focus which never strayed from people was drawn inexorably to the centre- but his eyes course was thwarted but the last chair, Sasha’s father’s, whose being seemed to rear its head as if as sheer cliff face took on will and in an instant quashed K illusion:
“young man, I say young man… are you feeling yourself”. The voice rang in K’s ears and the annex rushed towards him- now only a spacious hall with a greenhouse at the end- the encroaching vines, the exotic wild flowers, the source all now trace in his mind. For a moment K thought he had stopped for a questionable amount of time to take in, no summit to this vision but to his delight and surprise his all but instinctual social sense had ensured that he was as sure of foot as a gazelle sprinting for safety from predators unknown. As K continued to walk the guest began to talk amongst themselves, he still could not believe nobody noticed his lapse- as he came to the end K lifted his hand to his mouth as if to check if it was open- skilfully he stroked his beard and began with feigned hesitance to speak to his enquirer:
“I… I’m fine just a little over-whelmed by my host’s warmth”
“not at all men of such metal are hard to come by in these times- I wonder if would have engaged them even in my youth [numerous refutations and enforcements of the host’s courage rang out across the table], you are too kind [he raised an imperceptible eyebrow to K] but none of us know ourselves better that those who have held lives in their hands” all the while an unfaltering fatherly smile imprinted itself on the speaker’s face- K was both assured and unsettled by this, by this all.
“- wouldn’t you sit down Karl”
“thank you, I am most grateful- such a multitude of distinguished people [indicating the guests and talking frankly as if at ease with his host] all talking with the candour and fraternity of a time, that I thought nothing was preserved but remnants in literature and stone- of course this is a state of men and cannot be lost but the cold - reality of these last three years have impressed on me such misanthropic, ludicrous convictions that I am embarrassed to utter them, but one must have such convictions- if only for a time; the hate, or the love , or the greed sustains you- I have always thought that the faculty of men to envelop themselves in a feeling and know nothing but that feeling is as innate and as essential for survival as any of out most overt instincts- but it is an acquired instinct borne out of necessity and only through the exclusive ability of emotion- it warms my heart to say you have banished these convictions by inviting me into you home by feeding, bathing and clothing me- and by showing my what I saw in shallow glass but could not believe.” K said all this in the convincing guise of revelation; he stared out across the table as if it were a sublime landscape, scarcely glancing at the host K had delivered his impression. Sasha now drew K attention he notice she bore a inspired grin on her face ever since his lapse and it grew more mischievous as K’s speech wore on, however more worrying for K she was decidedly taciturn, something most uncharacteristic but it seemed as if she had taken on a new stance with K and had yet to show her hand. As for her father whose physiognomy seemed elusive to K, he had adopted a grave and worried face and started to speak in voice that reached the end of the table, naturally:
“my boy, your troubles sound grave now tell me son, for I am most interested who are you, where do you come from- and how is it that a man of such obvious distinction found himself found himself tackling ruffians [scatterings of laughter- not towards K] and indulging [more laughter] in the most adolescent of fantasies and in so doing save my daughter from her would-be attackers [last echoes of laughter and choked coughs]” his face was alight with amusement but his eyes remained serious and fixed on K, who was aware that the latter parts of his address were not for his benefit.
“[with an amused exhale] yes indeed, when one is faced with cold side of the public something I, and doubtless all have you have shown, [a forced sigh] perhaps we do revert to childish constructions of the world for they, in their simplicity, and with the added fervour and experience of adulthood, are all but indestructible- one can see such wills as these in history but few can distinguish it from the will of a misguided ignorant man- perhaps only those that have been there. As for my origins none desire that knowledge more than I – these past three years I have been left adrift without my name, without memory of the faces of mother or my father – now nothing but second hand words, latent skills and guideless motives define me, I am a child of these here three years; what formed my character is a mystery to me. If I say I am lost that is insensitive and ignorant for we are all lost, in fact I believe that there are people who would envy my total loss of self and call it fortuitous, [K laughed darkly] i crawled in my shell of indifference and hate like a child, but i’ll trash the memories of such people from their narrow minds and laugh as they fall and scour the ground like scared children as if their lens fell from their eyes!”
“forgive me – for that, I… err, [forcing a laugh] as you can imagine I have talked, properly for a while….” K saw how some from the reeled in their seats from his word and was inwardly pleased- although he did, to an extent lose control of himself.
“Karl, dear boy it wrong of me to expect you to have come down here so early, I had no idea of the scope of the matter – be assured [motioning to his guests to rise] I have taken your plight to heart, and I feel compelled to help you, a man such as you needs only a nudge in the right direction and he will plot his own course- as for this old man I am grateful for your readiness to defend my daughter and pleased to make your acquaintance- I see you are tired, my guests are leaving and I must attend to some business in Westchester I insist that you rest and I will have some breakfast sent up to your room- for now goodbye”. He made as if to turn away but K called him back:
“Forgive me but I do not know your name, I must know it so if by some unforeseen chance I do not remain in a position to find out and so be unable to return the favour- if such a thing is possible.”
“My name is Lars, Peter Lars- I must go, goodbye”
The guests whisked past K with nods and smiles- he whipped round to see if Sasha, who had been so talkative before, was still there but she was nowhere to be found- K felt uneasy as he was ushered back to his room by the one of the numerous butlers- he felt as if there were loose ends to tie up. No sooner had the butler left his side and K had opened his bedroom door, Sasha appeared, opposite his door, leaning on the wall with her legs crossed and that same persistent smile she wore through all K’s charades.

p.s if people want to be able to read the first part tell me and i'll hurry up the editing of that- which i will get round to anyway, thanks again