The Lad I Knew (Critique please) - Writers Forum

cacafire · 04-24-2007, 12:40 PM

:disclaimer: I was uncertain as to whether to post this, as it is inspired by a beautiful book written by Natusme Soseki, Kokoro. Because it might be seen as a work of fanfiction, I pondered back and forth as to whether I should post, but in the end I did, for these reasons: 1. It is not mainstream, and can stand as a work on it's own in it's own right. 2. It is a serious work. So there. :disclaimer:

The Lad I Knew.
By: Jose Luis Nunez

I knew I couldn't keep him, the lad I knew. Still, I thought he would be with me a bit longer in the prefecture, as we had always been in the country, resting by the fields of wheat. Often, the faint smell of musk would waft in our noses while I would rest at the foot of an old twisted oak that twisted menacingly, and that had grown over 18 metres in all it's years, while kawusan would sleep drowsily at the base of the hill, blowing his fine brown hair in the air, and would bathe his body in the golden light of the sun. He would shift on the dirt, which would cling to his skin in little wet clumps; he had to brush them off each time.

I remember these days of him the most, and indeed it was on such a day as this that kawusan told me of his travels.

He had crawled up the grassy hill where he usually slept, and crept over to me as I lay back with my eyes closed. "Fukui?" I was awake, but I don't think he realised it, as his voice trembled just slightly, as if to retreat back into his mouth lest he wake me up. Me being my playful self, I turned on my side and groaned.

"Fukui..." He laughed, and sat down on the side of the tree and rolled up his trousers and gazed out to the white grains that blew out throughout the length of the field. Gone with the wind. "I will be leaving soon, fukui." I heard his voice, and somehow knew he was to be gone one day, just as he said now. But I did not believe it in my mind. Yes, I knew that Kawusan was seven years older than me, and he was to leave for Tokyo to be a university student. He would be leaving me behind. But I did not believe it. I guess I was still a child, and as I sat up I asked him:

"Write to me. When you get to Tokyo, you will write, yes?" It is interesting how my voice seemed so solid and brusque, as if I was not worried at all, but at the time I was not worried, nor was I really listening to his reply. I am sure that he said in some manner of reply how he would write to me seven days a week or something of the sort, but in my brain I could not help thinking that next sunday we would be out here again, placing stones upon the goban in the fields and listening to the buzz of the cicadas and scratching where it itched.

So, imagine my suprise then, when standing in front of the station, I finally realized he would be gone from my life forever. People moved about like tiny ants with their luggage, and being men of the country, it certainly was a treat to gaze upon the metal stone beast that would carry oniichan through the mountains and up to tokyo. But that things would never be the same I realized just as he was about to leave, with his bags and clothes all packed tightly on the train. It was hot, and I pulled at my cotton suit, which I was wearing just for this occasion. Strange how these customs are adopted; I thought it absurd to wear these clothes when a silk kimono would do just fine. I laughed when I found my brother to abhor silk, as well, and slapped my knee in laughter while he grew red in the face. But that is another story.

Kawusan was standing in front of me and my parents, who had their hands clasped on his and were exchanging their farewells and until-next-times. Father's eyes misted over, and I wondered if he would still be here when kawusan returned. I felt a chill run down my spine.

"Onichan." My voice must have come out all choked up, because mother remarked how sad I was to see kawusan go. Father said nothing, but I held on to Kawusan's shirt, the shirt I had picked out for the trip. "Onichan, come down to me."

Kawusan looked nervous, I remember. At the time I didn't care if he was annoyed by my clingyness, though I would rebuke myself many times afterward for being so forward, for showing my emotions so clearly. But he bent over, and I whispered into his ear: "Onichan, please write to me. please." That time around, my ears ached to hear his words.

"I will write every seven days, Fukui, just for you." He smiled and I smiled back, but the embrace ended too soon for me, who wanted not to let go, and him, who wanted desperately to learn new things and visit new places. The train men called boarding time, and we all bowed to each other. Then Kawusan left us and boarded the train with all the others. Minutes later the loud hiss of the railroad engines roared to life, and the whole place seemed to shake with activity. Relatives left, but only we remained.

I recieved letters from Kawusan each week, filled with interesting things about the city. Often I would sit out under the great tree that overlooked the fields when I read them. There was nothing else to do anymore. But then one week letters didn't come. I remember waiting outside for the mailman to come. I sat on the hard dirt, and traced patterns in the thin layer of sand while I waited. I even hummed many songs I was learning in the new school year. But before I knew it the sun had gone down, and his letters had not arrived.

My friends tell me that I became withdrawn from family and them, and that I did not eat much for the weeks that followed. I couldn't blame them, but I was focused solely on Kawusan, and wondered why he would not write. Oh, the plots that ran through my head, I could have written a book in itself about, but It would hardly be a pleasant experience to write about such things. I grew scared. Every day I became more and more despondent. And then: I learned of Sensei.

:end Chapter 1:

Comments?

damien_frosst · 04-24-2007, 03:41 PM

Only time for quick thoughts here at work.

First, the story feels... forced. Like you're parroting. You did say you've been inspired by other works, so I think I can see the inspiration a little too heavily in your words. In a way, it doesn't feel real.

You haven't got enough of the little details to make the story feel real to me, but you've got enough to make it sound the way stories sound when they're told by someone who heard them from someone else. The interesting parts are there, but the details, the little ones, are lost and forgotten.

The whole piece is short. Very short. Especially for a first chapter. I could see this as a quick intro, or a prologue, or maybe as the opener to the rest of the first chapter. But, as it is, it just doesn't seem long enough. Still, that's not necessarily a bad thing. Different styles lend themselves to different chapter lengths.

Personally, I'd like to see more about the family life. Introduce the characters - their lives, their relationships. Make me understand why I should care about whether or not the older brother leaves for Tokyo. By the way, it took me a while to figure out that the speaker was the younger brother and not some old pervert with a little boy he'd found.

You also need to give me some sense of time. Is it present day? Ancient past (though the train suggests it's at least post-industrial)? Early 20th century? There's no real indication of timeline. Nothing to say for certain when this is.

Still, it's a good framework. You just need to fill in the details.

cacafire · 04-24-2007, 05:37 PM

I suppose I might be relying too much on the book to fill in the details, and an absence of reading the book might be the basis for much of your confusion. Also, yes, I did apropriate similiar styles to the book for this, but I am a little confused myself at what you said. Forced? Perhaps the offending part is the paragraph(s) where the long stretch of time passed, with the boy receiving his letters and such. I felt vaguely uncomfortable when writing that, because there was so much I wanted to say, but I guess I was impatient to go on with the main narrative. Does that make sense?

If it's length you want, I can certainly make this longer; there are plenty of places to expound upon, but I must say it is my writing style to leave only the bare minimum of details. Set the scene, have the action, repeat. That's how I write, with some exceptions.

Though, I'll certainly add a few details for you, frost. :*

Thank you for the critique, and expect something coming your way soon.

-Cacafire

lordofflies · 04-25-2007, 06:59 AM

Quote:

Originally Posted by cacafire

:disclaimer: I was uncertain as to whether to post this, as it is inspired by a beautiful book written by Natusme Soseki, Kokoro. Because it might be seen as a work of fanfiction, I pondered back and forth as to whether I should post, but in the end I did, for these reasons: 1. It is not mainstream, and can stand as a work on it's own in it's own right. 2. It is a serious work. So there. :disclaimer:

The Lad I Knew.
By: Jose Luis Nunez

I knew (lose this, otherwise you have a sentence starting and ending with "I knew," which to me looks very strange) I couldn't keep him, the lad I knew. Still, I thought he would be with me a bit longer in the prefecture, as we had always been in the country, resting by the fields of wheat. Often (lose it), The faint smell of musk would waft in our noses while I would rest (get rid of the repeated use of would and use the straightforward past tense) at the foot of an old twisted oak that twisted (urgh) menacingly, and that had grown over 18 metres in all it's (its) years, while kawusan would sleep drowsily at the base of the hill, blowing his fine brown hair in the air (interesting, how was he doing that?), and would bathe his body in the golden light of the sun. He would shift on the dirt, which would cling to his skin in little wet clumps; he had to brush them off each time.

I remember these days of him the most, and indeed it was on such a day as this that kawusan told me of his travels.

He had crawled up the grassy hill where he usually slept, and crept over to me as I lay back with my eyes closed. "Fukui?" I was awake, but I don't think he realised it, as his voice trembled just slightly, as if to retreat back into his mouth lest he wake me up (break this up). Me being my playful self, I turned on my side and groaned.

"Fukui..." He laughed, and sat down on the side of the tree and rolled up his trousers and gazed out to the white grains that blew out throughout the length of the field. Gone with the wind. "I will be leaving soon, fukui." I heard his voice, and somehow knew he was to be gone one day, just as he said now (I think you're trying to express a premonition the narrator has right before it is confirmed, but this is a clumsy way of doing it). But I did not believe it in my mind. Yes, I knew that Kawusan was seven years older than me, and he was to leave for Tokyo to be a university student. He would be leaving me behind. But I did not believe it. I guess I was still a child, and as I sat up I asked him:

"Write to me. When you get to Tokyo, you will write, yes?" It is interesting how my voice seemed so solid and brusque, as if I was not worried at all, but at the time I was not worried, nor was I really listening to his reply (doesn't scan). I am sure that he said in some manner of reply how he would write to me seven days a week or something of the sort (repetitious), but in my brain I could not help thinking that next sunday we would be out here again, placing stones upon the goban in the fields and listening to the buzz of the cicadas and scratching where it itched.

So, imagine my suprise then, when standing in front of the station, I finally realized he would be gone from my life forever. People moved about like tiny ants with their luggage, and being men of the country, it certainly was a treat to gaze upon the metal stone beast that would carry oniichan through the mountains and up to tokyo. But that things would never be the same I realized just as he was about to leave, with his bags and clothes all packed tightly on the train. It was hot, and I pulled at my cotton suit, which I was wearing just for this occasion. Strange how these customs are adopted; I thought it absurd to wear these clothes when a silk kimono would do just fine. I laughed when I found my brother to abhor silk, as well, and slapped my knee in laughter while he grew red in the face. But that is another story.

Kawusan was standing in front of me and my parents, who had their hands clasped on his and were exchanging their farewells and until-next-times. Father's eyes misted over, and I wondered if he would still be here when kawusan returned. I felt a chill run down my spine.

"Onichan." My voice must have come out all choked up, because mother remarked how sad I was to see kawusan go. Father said nothing, but I held on to Kawusan's shirt, the shirt I had picked out for the trip. "Onichan, come down to me."

Kawusan looked nervous, I remember. At the time I didn't care if he was annoyed by my clingyness, though I would rebuke myself many times afterward for being so forward, for showing my emotions so clearly. But he bent over, and I whispered into his ear: "Onichan, please write to me. please." That time around, my ears ached to hear his words (this might be just me, but this comes off as unintentionally amusing).

"I will write every seven days, Fukui, just for you." He smiled and I smiled back, but the embrace ended too soon for me, who wanted (me, wanting) not to let go, and him, who wanted (him, wanting) desperately to learn new things (for a writer who obviously has an interest in lyrical prose, this seems very bland) and visit new places. The train men called boarding time, and we all bowed to each other. Then Kawusan left us and boarded the train with all the others. Minutes later the loud hiss of the railroad engines roared to life,(the engines could hiss or roar, or both, but here you have a hiss that roars??) and the whole place seemed to shake with activity. Relatives left, but only we remained.

I recieved letters from Kawusan each week, filled with interesting things (again, is there no more "interesting" or descriptive word you could use?) about the city. Often I would sit out under the great tree that overlooked the fields when I read them. There was nothing else to do anymore. But then one week letters didn't come. I remember waiting outside for the mailman to come. I sat on the hard dirt, and traced patterns in the thin layer of sand while I waited. I even hummed many songs I was learning in the new school year. But before I knew it (he has hummed many songs and endured a a long day waiting to hear from his brother, but the day ends "before he knows it?" This doesn't work. "I even hummed many songs" doesn't work gramatically either) the sun had gone down, and his letters had not arrived.

My friends tell me that I became withdrawn from family and them, and that I did not eat much for the weeks that followed. I couldn't blame them, but I was focused solely on Kawusan, and wondered why he would not write. Oh, the plots that ran through my head, I could have written a book in itself about, but It would hardly be a pleasant experience to write about such things. I grew scared. Every day I became more and more despondent. And then: I learned of Sensei.

:end Chapter 1:

Comments?

Hi Cacafire, just to make my notes clear...sentences I have highlighted in red without a comment in blue are those which I think just do not scan properly and need re-working.

I accept this is an early draft and would be given more attention if you were to take it further. I get the impression you are someone who enjoys very poetic and lyrical prose. The problem with trying to emulate this in your own writing is that it requires a lot of discipline which isn't in great abundance here. What was intended as lyrical beauty becomes cryptic and confusing, the story gets lost and the reader gives up pretty quickly.

I also agree with damien frost in that it needs more depth for what you are trying do with it..

Having said that, I would like to read an improved draft of something like this..

cacafire · 04-25-2007, 11:44 AM

Hey, thanks guys, for the effort you put into reviewing this. I've revised it and am re-posting it. If you want me to review a story, let me know which one.

The Lad I knew
Jose Luis Nunez (2nd draft.)

I couldn't keep him, the lad I knew. Still, I thought he would be with me a bit longer in the prefecture, as we had always done in the country, resting by the fields of wheat, musk wafting in our noses, while I rested at the foot of an old twisted oak, bent with age. Kawusan would sleep drowsily at the base of the hill, blowing his fine brown hair out of his eyes, and would bathe his body in the golden light of the sun. As he shifted position on the dirt, it would cling to his skin in little wet clumps; he had to brush them off each time.

I remember him the most from these days, and indeed it was on such a day as this that Kawusan told me of his travels.

He crawled up the grassy hill, past where he usually slept, and crept over to me as I lay back with my eyes closed. "Fukui?" I was awake, but he must not have realized it. His voice trembled just slightly, as if to retreat into his mouth. He did not want to wake me up. Being playful, I turned on my side and groaned.

"Fukui..." He laughed, and sat down on the side of the tree and rolled up his trousers and gazed out to the white grains that blew through the length of the field. "I will be leaving soon, Fukui". I did not believe it in my mind. Yes, I knew that Kawusan was seven years older than me, and he was to leave for Tokyo to be a university student. He would be leaving me behind, but I did not believe it. I guess I was still a child, and as I sat up I asked him:

"Write to me. When you get to Tokyo, you will write, yes?" The wind blew in my ear as I said those words, brusquely and confidently. I suspected he made a reply, but I hardly lilstened, for in my brain I could not help thinking that next Sunday we would be here again, placing stones upon the goban in the fields and lilstening to the buzz of the cicadas.

Imagine my suprise when the day finally came, and we stood in front of the station platform, with men frantically loading the train. I finally realized he would be gone from my life forever. With his bags and clothes all packed tightly on the train, the steam in the air made my suit cling to my skin, and I tugged at it ferociously. It is strange how these customs are adopted; I thought it absurd to wear these clothes when a silk kimono would do just fine, and had laughed when I found that my brother abhorred silk, slapping my knee while he grew red in the face.

I was not feeling so jolly now, though. Kawusan stood in front of me and my parents, who had their hands clasped on his and were exchanging their belated farewells and sincere until-next-times. Father's eyes misted over, and I wondered if he would defeat his disease. Would he still be here when Kawusan returned? I felt a chill run down my spine.

"Onichan." My voice came out all choked up, and my mother remarked how sad I was to see Kawusan go. Father said nothing, but I held on to my brother's shirt, the one I had picked out for his trip. "Onichan, come down to me."

Kawusan glanced from side to side, and shifted his weight, but at the time I didn't care if he was annoyed by my clinginess, though I would rebuke myself many times afterward for showing my emotions so clearly. But he bent over, and I whispered into his ear: "Onichan, please write to me. Please." That time around, my ears ached to hear his words.

"I will write every seven days, Fukui, just for you." He smiled. I smiled back, and hugged him too, but the embrace ended too soon for me, who wanted to hold him desperately. The train men called boarding time, and we all bowed to each other. Then, he left us and boarded the train with all the others. Minutes later the loud hiss of the railroad engines roared, and the whole station seemed to shake with activity. Slowly, the great iron beast chugged ahead, until it was miles away, and only we remained.

My parents house was a rather prominent one in the countryside, and I remember clearly being proud of living in it, but when we returned home I hardly noticed. My suit was drenched and my hair was sticky, and I rushed inside to change, pausing only slightly to remove my shoes before entering.

Finally, I walked outside, clothed in a freshly washed yukata and sighed with relief. The horror of the suit was over, but it was not long before I found I had nothing to do! I'm sure if I had really tried, I could have come up with something to occupy my time, but the sky seemed so empty and vacuous, and it was then that I first noticed the lonely echo of the house. I found myself retiring to my room much earlier than usual, and I just laid there in the pristine and clean environment, listening to the tree leaves rustle in the wind.

A week passed. I was resting on my futon one morning when I felt a shadow pass over the paper-screen door. Startled, I shot to my feet, instinctively reaching for Kawusan. He was not there, and I was all to myself. The shadow by the door danced across the paper, wriggling in the dim light, and I noticed the darkened sky was about to rain. "Who is there?" I called out, hoping the shadow might identify itself, but instead it turned about and launched into a dizzying burst of movement. It waved it's limbs in tangled positions, and I heard thousands of rings, bells, and jewelry clash and clink. It stomped against the floor with a loud thump, and made frivolous noise and merriment, and I backed away to the corner of my room, clutching my chest and praying the shadow would go away. And then... It was gone.

:end first chapter:

Thanks,
-Cacafire

Rahvin · 04-25-2007, 03:36 PM

"Old twisted Oak, bent with age"
You already mentioned the oak was old once. Maybe "bent and gnarled" or something?

"As he shifted position on the dirt, it would cling to his skin in little wet clumps; he had to brush them off each time."
This seems a little clumsy and unclear. Maybe something like "As he shifted position, the dirt would cling to him in little wet clumps, which he brushed off each time." or something (Just trying to actually change the story / words as little as possible)

I guess I wasa still a child, and as I sata up"
Too many a's.

Couldn't find anything else. Good writing, Cacafire. It flows well, and the emotions are expressed well. The climax at the end is a little unexpected, and very unclear. What was the shadow? Why was it there? Why did it go? etc.etc.

SoulBeaver · 04-26-2007, 09:23 AM

Hey man! Upon your request I deliver my presence into said thread, and it is thus that I place upon you my knowledge....what the hell, here is what I think

------------------------------------------

Right, so lets see...in the second draft you stuck with first person, good. You have a few spelling issues but those are so mediocre you can have some stupid editor do those for you.

The real part I think is the relationship between Fukui and Kawusan. First off, I'm a real beginner in Japanese, but isnt san, chan, and so supposed to be distuinguished with a -? Like Onii-chan?

Secondly, the story itself is eeeeh...I think it actually 'lost' meaning on your second draft. I liked the strong connection Fukui had with Kawusan and you did a great job on illustrating that even though the story was short. In this one, you left out some emotion I think you had in the first one and it seems that the breakaway from Kawusan wasn't as hard and doesn't make me want to go 'aawwww'.

Also, if Kawusa goes to Japan and you're already using Japanese expressions as well as kimonos and yukata, were is the setting of this? I'm not keen on oriental dress and style at really any age, but I did think those were mostly Japanese thingies? And they can't be positioned in Japan because Kawusan explicitly said he was moving there.

I would personally try to eradicate passive language. It can help elongate a story naturally and the flow feels smoother as well as clean. I got bored of reading he was and it is, it was, there are, blah blah blah.

I just noticed that there was no mention of letters in this draft, that ultimately killed the relationship the two had. Hmm...bring some emotion for the two back, please? It seemed the focal point of your story and you erased it. Making things longer and giving them detail doesn't mean take out the heart and give it a box because it can fill with more blood. It is no heart and cannot produce any blood to begin with, and the body dies. Take that for metaphors! HAHAHAHAHA.

Anyway, I think that's all I have to say for now, otherwise its not bad, but no longer really personal and well...hooking.

~SoulBeaver

damien_frosst · 04-26-2007, 09:49 AM

Improvement over the first draft for sure. As SoulBeaver mentioned, you've changed the tone of the piece considerably. I don't think the heartwarming sentiments have gone, they've simply moved to later in the story somewhere.

The ending has me wondering what's going on. The narrator and the brother have been introduced, but I'm not getting much sense of what's supposed to be happening. That's fine at this point, you've barely managed to crack the beginning of the chapter.

Without knowing where the story's heading, I can say that I'd like to see a little more of the moping done by the narrator after his brother leaves. That would keep the heart in the story like SoulBeaver wants. Of course, if the brother's trip isn't much more than a way to start the story off, then it's not going to be necessary to dwell on him at all.

You've done a much better job of setting the time and place in this draft. Those without any knowledge of Japanese history might be a little lost.

I was somewhat concerned about the boy's use of yukata. I thought it was out of place, but a quick bit of research showed me that it's probably appropriate, especially given the not-modern-times timeframe.

Keep working on it. I'm liking it more the more I see it.

cacafire · 04-26-2007, 10:07 AM

Hey, thanks guys. Just to answer your questions:

Soulbeaver: The separation of "chan" and "san" from names is a western import, and you don't really have to have it, especially if you're drawing inspiration from an actual Japanese language work, which doesn't separate the chan's and san's and what not. Also, the setting is Japan. Yes. Kawusan and Fukui are living in a prefecture in the countryside of japan. Seeing how this was before the bullet-trains of the modern japan, it would be a considerable deal for a family member to leave for tokyo. I'm not Super keen on japanese history, but I know a little, and this is around the near-end of the meiji-restoration. Given that, there might be a bit of the innacurate. But I'll work on it.

Also, I understand how you might think that Fukui isn't sulking over his brother anymore, and I guess I lightened up on that a bit, but that's because I've decided to stretch out the moping a bit. You'll see what I mean. I'm going to try to write the next chapter, but I'll definitely put your suggestions to work.

Damien: Yeah, the ending might be a bit iffy. It's hard to explain, but it has something to do with Kawusan, don't worry. He's not out of the story yet, though he is for now. and the letters aren't gone, he just hasn't recieved his first letter yet! lol.

Thanks for the critique, guys,
-Cacafire

cacafire · 04-26-2007, 12:31 PM

Here's a snippet of chapter two:

The Lad I knew
Jose Luis Nunez

The heat of summer slowly faded from the skies, and as time moved on the sun smiled less and less. My parents remarked how sullen I had become now that Kawusan had left. I guess they were right, for I would mope around in my own little bubble, gazing wistfully at the fields that I and Kawusan had once frequented. In that time, I hadn't gone back once.

And then Kawusan's letters would come, bounding up the fields and straight to our door, carried in the hand of a mailman; my face glowed as I turned the lengthy letters over in my hand. His letters were always the longest when addressed to me, and even as I handed them to father, I could feel my fingers burning with anticipation.

ONe day, after I had read and reread Kawusan's latest letter, I slumped down on the straw mats of my room, my hair twisting in a cascade over my forehead. My tongue flicked over my lower lip, over and over again for want of a letter to read, and I finally bit my lip, tasting the gooey red blood the oozed out. Allow me to explain. The week before, I had stood at the head of the house, gazing down the long winding dirt road where the mailman would come. Music resonated from my vocal cords, working its way up my throat and out my mouth as I hummed Kokashu no Isukennen, a song that my brother had taught me. I hummed the music till my throat was sore and my teeth ached, throughout the long day, brushing my sticky hair out of my eyes. I hummed it till the sun grew tired and weary, and lowered itself beyond my eyes' reach, casting the mountain's shadow across the land, and the moon rose anew. I hummed desperately, with tears stinging my eyes, and strained my eyes down the long lonely road, waiting and waiting and hoping and hoping. But the wind slapped my face, and the letters never came.

So there I was, reading the last letter Kawusan had sent me, trying to force some hint to reveal itself. But finally, I had slumped down onto the straw mats, exhausted and sick. I smashed my fist againts them, hating them for their indiffernce to my loneliness, then stopped. I was frozen in fear. Quickly, I surveyed my surroundings, and realized it was time once again for the shadow to come across the paper-screen door.

I held my breath, looking at the door, anticipating what was sure to come. Indeed, the low clinking and clanging and tinking slowly made itself known. It started quietly, but slowly increased in volume, until I saw the shadow burst across the paper, waving and dancing and twisting its limbs. The sheer ferocity of its moevements, which scared me beyond belief, increased in speed and wildness while the jingling of the thousands of jewelry and bells and rings grew incessantly louder until I held my ears and shut my eyes and did everything I could to block it out CRACK!

Crack? My eyes clenched tight, so I could not see, but suddenly the racket had stopped. I opened one eye. My mouth unhinged as I found the shadow kneeling down at the base of the door, gripping its leg and bent over in what looked to be... pain? Inching forward, I whispered to it, "Who are you?" It was deaf. It did nothing but rub its leg, trying to massage it back into function. I realized that the shadow had broken it's leg, much to my shock, and without thinking the idea popped into my head to light my brazier.

I took a poki stick and snapped it; The brazier lit up, casting a warm glow upon the room as well as my own shadow upon the paper door. I walked so that my shadow seemed to approach his back, and stood there, filled with dread. Whispered. "Who are you?" I could hear a voice inside my head, a slight muffled whimper:

"It hurts it hurts, oh sama it hurts..." My fists clenched tight, and in one burst of fiery emotion I screeched: "Who are you?! Tell me your name!" I did not realize the absurdity of the notion. All I knew was this thing had terrorized me; it had kept me awake at night, when all the house was quiet and my parents were asleep and moon sat high in the sky. And the shadow turned it's head.

The shadow turned its head, twisted around to face me. His jewelry rang faintly as he moved, and he spoke to me. The shock of it completely knocked myself out. It was a strange feeling, for I was in the room, watching my shadow converse with this shadow, and the words that were spoken rang faintly in my mind. "There is not a moment goes by child, when I do not wish to recall my name." I tried to think of something to say:

"Why do you do that?"

"Do what?" it replied. The shadow stood up, its leg trembling on the screen door, and it ceased frighten me. I became lost in it's world, gazing at the rice paper, and whipped my arms in a mimicking of his wildness. The shadow laughed, a coarse, scathing laugh that was not frivolous, and bordered on hate for some ill-fated person or thing. "Never mind that. I am doing it."

"But why must you do it!?" I shouted, furious, and then mumbled: "It frightens me." I guess I was busy looking elsewhere, because in an instant the shadow moved with the agility of a cat, and pushed my shadow down. I felt his hands throw me off my feet, and I fell in slow motion, felt my body slam against the tatami mats, and the darkness closed in.

I woke with a start. My hands clutched my chest as I gasped for air and found the room bright with sunlight. The shadow had gone, but I did not want to stay in that room any longer. Sliding the door open, I wandered throughout the house, feeling my breath gradually return, and found my father playing a game of chess with himself; he was under the kotatsu.

"Fukui, you are awake." Father smiled happily, as if he were just a little boy about my age. "Come, come, play a game with me." Was it all a dream? I am not referring to the shadow, for that I know was real, beyond all doubt. But when I sat down under the kotatsu with my father, and felt the warmth flood through me, I played in a daze. We conversed, my father and I, or trivial things. Indeed, I do not remember what we said, or even who won. All I could think of was that I had escaped alive, escaped from the encounter with the shadow, and that was all.

Then I thought of Kawusan.

:end snippet of chapter 2:

Chapter two is slightly longer than chapter one. But anyways, here we can see the mystery is starting to unfold and take shape. The shadow is a very special someone, but unless you've read the book, it won't matter much to you. On the other hand, if you have read the book, you will go OMFG! It's him! Well, comments, critique? And yes, I'll be getting to return the favor soon, I just have to critique FictionFreak first, who just happens to be a good friend of mine.

Thanks for your time!

Fictionfreak · 05-02-2007, 10:48 PM

Hey bud,

It's Fictionfreak.

Hmm. Well, by the time I got half way through the first chapter, I found myself already caring about Fukui. You did a great job with your characters, not so much on visual details, but man, Fukui's feelings were realistic and made the reader care. It's always the worst, when you've waited too long for reality to settle. Before you know it, your friends are gone.

You did really good describing the first scene:

"as we had always done in the country, resting by the fields of wheat, musk wafting in our noses, while I rested at the foot of an old twisted oak, bent with age. Kawusan would sleep drowsily at the base of the hill, blowing his fine brown hair out of his eyes, and would bathe his body in the golden light of the sun. As he shifted position on the dirt, it would cling to his skin in little wet clumps; he had to brush them off each time."

I could feel the dirt, I could see that old tree, and I could smell the wheat. Great.

I was going to comment on some other things, but your second draft already cleared it up. I really don't know what else to say, I liked it, it's not necessarily my style of writing, but it was well written.

If there's anything specicially you wanted to ask my opinion of in the first chapter go ahead.

I'll get to your second later. I'm looking forward to reading it!! Good job.