GaynorT

Hi all,
This my first post. I have been trying to write the first chapter of my first nove (you know how that goes!) Any I have edited more times than I care to think about. I think I'm sort of ready for this draft to 'go public'. I have already re-written som of 'The scenes' in Mr. R's study, but will be interested to hear what you think about this draft. THis has notes from me, and some visible editing. Please give me some honest feedback, i promise I will retrun the favour.
Thanks,
<H1 style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt; TEXT-ALIGN: center" align=center>Lost in Freedom


Chapter 1

I was aware that Salli had returned. She handed me the ice-lolly and joined me in sitting on a concrete bench adjacent to the garage shop where we’d been dropped off. The sun was bright, the light was pleasant, not harsh or blinding and not directly above me yet. The heat was strangely pleasant too. From where I sat the heat-haze warped the cars in the distance.
I could have been sitting here deeply contented that there was no intent or purpose to our journey. I hoped that’s how it looked to Sal. She had to believe we had freedom. We knew we would finish our lollies, but that was the only certainty (as far as Salli was concerned.).

Salli Rhamani. Tall dark with ‘exotic looks’, which by the way was a description she loathed, almost as much as being called an Iraqui, when she was in fact an Iranian, and it was for this reason that she said she was ‘Persian’ when pressed to reveal her ethic origins. It was instantly clear to the enquirer that she had no ties what-so-ever with Sadam Hussain, and usually quashed any jokes or jibes that might arise from the confusion. Salli Rhamani, my childhood friend and now fellow post- graduate escapee; let loose on the unsuspecting world.

As the morning moved on, we watched intently, as the rest of the world rushed by, filling up their cars with fuel then quenching their thirst and satisfying their hunger. They all moved with purpose, busy in their own little worlds. We felt disconnected from them somehow. Even though they were only metres away, they didn't seem to see us. We watched them as one watches ants, and they, like ants they ignored us.
I knew we had to go north. I looked at Salli and followed her gaze. It was focused on a white van, or rather it’s driver.

“What are you thinking?” I asked her (as if I couldn’t have guessed).

“I‘m thinking that I wouldn’t mind a lift in his white van.”

“I did guess that, actually.” I laughed. “You’re not serious though?”
“And why not? We’re free aren’t we? No immediate plans, other than to finish these lollies.” She held her melting strawberry split towards me. “Well? That’s the truth of it, isn’t it Annie?”
“Well…yes.” I replied. “But isn’t it also our plan to remain safe?” As soon as I’d said this I regretted it, but I hadn’t been able to plan for this, and it was the best I could do at such short notice.
“Safe is boring Annie.” She looked straight at me with a snide, mocking look and mud brown eyes (just visible as she peeped over her sun-glasses). To me they inferred’ I dare you. Take a risk. Don’t be chicken.’ Her voice sounded goading, she used her cutting tone of voice, the one she knew would agitate me. How she knew this I never did work out, because I always acted quite indifferently to these chidings. I usually just smiled at her, and didn’t give her an answer. Even when I did, it would be in a calm manner with no indication that she had fazed me. Sometimes I would just walk away and her taunting would stop. But it would make me very resentful. How dare she challenge my principles? I thought they were as valid as hers. Why couldn’t we just discuss any issue in a civilised manner, instead of resorting to childish coercing? It was an infuriating habit of hers. I would never admit to her that anything she said had this effect on me. So, these unwarranted episodes continued periodically throughout our relationship; she had not grown out of them as I’d wished at every birthday party we’d had since we were five, although my mother and father had assured me she would.
“There were some blokes just here.” I said, refusing to take the bait. “They offered us a lift.”
“To?”
“Wherever. They’re going north. I was just thinking about mentioning it actually.” I tried to sound casual. “They’re inside. Shall we pop in and have a word? They look like less of a risk than that white van bloke. Ian, the bloke inside was talking to his wife on his mobile, he said I could speak to her.” I lied.
Salli was silent. She put her hand out for my lolly stick and wrapper then walked away to put our rubbish into the forecourt bin. I was worried. I needed her to agree.

The day before I’d been in complete control. We’d been at Exeter Central two hours too early for the 2.30pm to Salisbury. We were on our way to her Auntie Havva, in the Wiltshire countryside, where we’d spent most of our childhood summer holidays. We hadn’t been there since we were eighteen, before we went off to University, three years ago; so I really didn’t expect dissuading Salli would be as easy as it turned out to be. I think talking about freedom on the coach from university weakened her sense of duty. I’d had time to formulate subtle sentences and present credible arguments about why it would be a waste of the freedom that was now ours, freedom that we may not have again for a while. I had definitely been in complete control. I’d manipulated her every thought, and induced the rebel in her to defy her father; whose idea staying with his sister had been. Then, at the station I knew it wouldn’t be long before she gave in. I thought about Havva’s house, as we waited.

It was a large rambling Victorian construction, although I doubt a Victorian ghost would have recognised the interior. Havva had definitely created a customised living space, which she’d started in the late 1980’s, and which was still a work in progress, now, six months into the 21st century. The hallway appeared endless with room after room leading from it, each one more surprising than the last one. The one I remembered loving the best was the one she called the ‘Yoga room.’ The high ceiling had brightly coloured festoons of Persian silk hung across it, criss-crossed in alternate red, gold and tangerine ribbons. The wall that faced the garden narrowly framed the french window. A very pale yellow, sheer shimmering gauze like fabric hung from the top to the bottom. As a child the gauze reminded me of a dragonfly’s wings. I loved watching the old willow tree sway, with my nose pressed up against the fabric, which smelled like the incense that she sometimes burned. The whole room looked like a Persian palace I’d once seen a picture of.

Thinking of the house made me wish we were able to catch the 3pm train to Havva’s, but I knew we couldn’t. (and I made sure we left the station at 2pm, well before the train was due.) or (I just had to wait for the pre-planned phone call from Haava, feigning a sick sister coming to stay)

We’d gone back home a month before that; for a weekend. The Friday evening, hours after our arrival, I received the phone call from Salli’s father.
“ Hi Mr. Rahmani, do you want to speak to Mum, she’s been called away to her sister unexpectedly, she’ll be back tomorrow though.”
“No Anya, I actually wanted to have a word with you.” His voice sounded serious, but soft and vulnerable.”
“Oh?”
“I know it must seem strange, but I need to see you. I have told your Mother that’d I’d ask you to pop up here, but asked her not to mention it to you. I really don’t want Salli to know I’ve asked you either.” He pronounced it ‘Sahlee’.

“Mmm. I can come Mr. Rahmani, but you’re right it all sounds very mysterious.”
“I know, but I also know I can count on you to keep this phone call from Salli. I don’t want to worry you, but this visit concerns a very serious situation and I need to confide in you, and ask you to trust me.”

“ Mr. Rahmani, you are definitely scaring me now. What’s it all about? Are we still going to visit Auntie Havva?

“I can’t say anymore now Anya, I will confide in you tomorrow. When can you be here?”

I knew Salli had gone to visit her brother in Staines, and that she would probably be back in the evening so I agreed to be there by noon.

The next day, I drew the curtains in my small but cosy bedroom. The sky was grey and not what one would have hoped for, (but probably not be surprised by) on an August morning in England.

(Write a paragraph or 2 that gets her to the bus stop and down the street, to the house into the door and up the stairs into the study- the house could heavily guarded)

When I entered the room, he reached for a brown envelope that was crushed under a clear spherical paperweight on a table to his right. His eyes were focused on the centre of the thick multicoloured rug that sprawled across his study floor. He motioned for me to sit down in a brown leather chair opposite him, still focusing on the centre of the rug and still clutching the envelope; but now removing what looked like a letter from it. I sat down. He read it to me. Nothing would have prepared me for what I heard.
I really don’t remember much about getting downstairs, the meeting had had such a profound effect on me. I remember though, as I closed the large red door of their house behind me, I felt sure it was heavier today than it had been before. I looked up at the study window. Mr. Rahmani held up his hand, he still had the letter in it, he nodded goodbye, without a smile, as I moved towards the gate. The sky was dull and there were small grey clouds like dozens of dirty doves spread across it. The gentle summer breeze caused the leaves on the trees to rustle as I walked the length of the avenue towards the bus stop. I remember thinking how innocent that brown envelope had looked in contrast to the pernicious letter it contained.
Salli and I had shared most things throughout our lives, but this meeting would not be one of them, for some time to come.

“Well?” I asked, as she returned from the forecourt. “Shall we go and ask them about a lift? Or at least go and see them.”
She sat back down on the bench, and there was silence for a moment. Then she looked at me over her sunglasses again, smiled and said.
“O.K. Annie, why not?”
I tried to conceal my relief and followed her into the shop. Ian and his friend were sitting on stools in front of a bar with their backs to us.
“Hi there.” I tapped Ian’s shoulder lightly. I was scared and excited at the same time.
</H1>*********************
I would also be interested in hearing if think you might want to read on. (or not really!).
I would also be

trifthen

My eyes!

Please, for the love of all that's holy, remove the giant fonts and color transitions. This is unreadable in its current form.

__________________
The Tale of Rabbit Rue: Serial fiction, one book at a time.

GaynorT

Thank you trifthen. That was very remiss of me. I posted in haste and should not have. I hope you give me another chance and read it. Thanks.
GT.

Slartibartfast

It's still all wonky. What are you doing with the copy/paste? Where is that funky formatting coming from?

GaynorT

Sorry all here I have tried to rectifiy some of it. More soon if you want.

Slartibartfast

Oh my goodness...a center alignment will not save you! You need to left align, and get rid of the italics. Then I'll read.

trifthen

Very nice. Formatting aside, this is pretty strong in its own right. The Salli character seems to speak a tad too formally for her typecast, however. For that matter, each of your characters speaks as if quoting textbook grammatical examples. You describe life into them, but it isn't adequately reflected in the dialog.

Aside from what WordWeaver mentioned, "... picture of" needs to be rephrased. You've also ended a couple sentences with "it," which may be inadvisable.

To be honest, the initial formatting mistakes (all bold, random font size changes, etc) gave me the impression this would be terrible, but now that I've read it, your writing is actually very strong. I'm glad I took the time, and glad you posted it here. Thank you!

You've set the hook (what's the letter about?) so the rest of the story should come naturally. Not the kind of story I'd normally read, but you've made it interesting.

__________________
The Tale of Rabbit Rue: Serial fiction, one book at a time.

GaynorT

Thank you both for taking the time to read it. It is a very very rough first draft; so obviously I would make sure I check it for grammatical accuracy before I sent it anywhere. I agree with most of your sugestions word weaver, and when I checked the corrections I have made myself since I posted it, they have been in line with yours (the puncution corrections). I am still editing it and modifying it.
Trithen, Thanks for reading it and your positive comments. I have never written anything as constructed as a novel and know that this will be a learning curve for me. This gives me incentive to carry on. I have more, but am trying to 'shapen' it before I post it. Have you posted anything I could read?
G

GaynorT

I am trying again to see if it posts as it looks on my word programme.



Lost in freedom
Chapter 1

The sun was bright, the light was pleasant, not harsh or blinding and not directly above me yet. The heat was strangely pleasant too. From where I sat the heat-haze warped the cars in the distance.

I was aware that Salli had returned. She handed me the ice-lolly and joined me in sitting on a concrete bench adjacent to the garage shop where we’d been dropped off. I should have been sitting there deeply contented that there was no intent or purpose to our journey (but, because of the letter, that, could not now be true). I hoped that’s how it looked to Sal. She had to believe we had freedom. We knew we would finish our lollies, but that was the only certainty (as far as Salli was concerned.).

Salli Rhamani. Tall dark with ‘exotic looks’, which by the way was a description she loathed; almost as much as being called an Iraqui; when, in fact she was an Iranian, and it was for this reason that he said she always said she was ‘Persian’ when pressed to reveal her ethic origins. This meant it was instantly clear to the inquirer that she had no ties with Iran (that would have been fine, had she actually come from there) and usually quashed any jokes or jibes about Saddam Hussain that might have arisen from any confusion. Salli Rhamani, my childhood friend and now fellow post- graduate escapee; let loose on an unsuspecting world.

As the morning moved on, we watched intently, as the rest of the world rushed by, filling up their cars with fuel then quenching their thirst and satisfying their hunger. They all moved with purpose, busy in their own little worlds. We felt disconnected from them somehow. Even though they were only metres away, they didn't seem to see us. We watched them as one watches ants, and they, like ants they ignored us.

I looked at Salli and followed her gaze. It was focused on a white van, or rather it’s driver.

“What are you thinking?” I asked her (as if I couldn’t have guessed).


“I‘m thinking that I wouldn’t mind a lift in his white van.”


“I did guess that, actually.” I laughed. “You’re not serious though?”

“And why not? We’re free aren’t we? No immediate plans, other than to finish these lollies.” She held her melting strawberry split towards me. “Well? That’s the truth of it, isn’t it Annie?”

“Well…yes.” I replied. “But isn’t it also our plan to remain safe?”

As soon as I’d said this I regretted it, but I hadn’t been able to plan for this, and it was the best I could do at such short notice.

“Safe is boring Annie.” She looked straight at me with a snide, mocking look and mud brown eyes ( which were just visible as she peeped over her sun-glasses). To me they inferred’ I dare you. Take a risk. Don’t be chicken.’ Her voice sounded goading, she used her cutting tone of voice, the one she knew would agitate me. How she knew this I never did work out, because I always acted quite indifferently to these chidings. I usually just smiled at her, and didn’t give her an answer. Even when I did, it would be in a calm manner with no indication that she had fazed me. Sometimes I would just walk away and her taunting would stop. But it would make me very resentful. How dare she challenge my principles? I thought they were as valid as hers. Why couldn’t we just discuss any issue in a civilised manner, instead of resorting to childish coercing? It was an infuriating habit of hers. I would never admit to her that anything she said had this effect on me. So, these unwarranted episodes continued periodically throughout our relationship; she had not grown out of them as I’d wished at every birthday party we’d had since we were five, although my mother and father had assured me she would.
“There were some blokes just here.” I said, refusing to take the bait. “They offered us a lift.”

“To?”

“Wherever. They’re going north. I was just thinking about mentioning it actually.” I tried to sound casual. “They’re inside. Shall we pop in and have a word? They look like less of a risk than that white van guy. Ian, the guy inside was talking to his wife on his mobile, he said I could speak to her.” I lied.

Salli was silent. She put her hand out for my lolly stick and wrapper then walked away to put our rubbish into the forecourt bin. I was worried. I needed her to agree. I really wished we were going to visit her Auntie Havva as we’d first planned. I loved our summers’ there when we were children.

It was a large rambling Victorian construction, although I doubt a Victorian ghost would have recognised the interior. Havva had definitely created a customised living space, which she’d started in the late 1980’s, and which was still a work in progress, now, six months into the 21st century. The hallway appeared endless with room after room leading from it, each one more surprising than the last one. The one I remembered loving the best was the one she called the ‘Yoga room.’ The high ceiling had brightly coloured festoons of Persian silk hung across it, criss-crossed in alternate red, gold and tangerine ribbons. The wall that faced the garden narrowly framed the french window. A very pale yellow, sheer shimmering gauze like fabric hung from the top to the bottom. As a child the gauze reminded me of a dragonfly’s wings. I loved watching the old willow tree sway, with my nose pressed up against the fabric, which smelled like the incense that she sometimes burned. The whole room looked like a Persian palace I’d once seen a picture of.

GaynorT

Yay! at last! Formatting O.K.
Will you read it now Slartibartfast? Pretty please?

GaynorT

Ooops. I've re-posted below.

GaynorT

I'm glad you mention this Thanks. I was a little worried about this myself. Could it be remedied by changing the voice and using thrid person instead of first; but still from the same P.O.V. character? Or (to avoid too much rewriting) change the format to a re-telling (years later as an older adult) in letter/prose form and/or make the narrator an English Lit. Major to justify the formal grammatic style?
All suggestions gratefully received. If this is not the correct thread where such help should be asked for then feel free to move it to the appropriate thread.
I will by the way have it professionally edited beforer I submit it to an Agent or Publisher. I think it's safer that way
Thanks again.

trifthen

These changes, I would say, seem a tad drastic, and unfortunately won't solve your problem. The problem is her friend, the wild one. It doesn't matter if you tell her part from the third person, or from the POV of an English Lit major. That character, regardless of who or what describes her, needs to have her own voice. I have this issue myself, and it's a hard one to address. How do you use dialect and implied enunciation subtle enough that it would only be used by a specific character?

And who knows, maybe you have little cause for concern. For all I know, everyone in Europe speaks proper grammatical English, or at least to a larger degree than in the US.

Either way, you've got something with potential on your hands.

__________________
The Tale of Rabbit Rue: Serial fiction, one book at a time.