The Seventh House - Chapter 1 - Writers Forum

NightOwl · 03-22-2008, 04:34 PM

2nd draft. I have cut it down and added bits, especially to the beginning and end of the chapter. Have been working (at the 'day' job) pretty much constantly for the past 3 days and am knackered, so there could be a few mistakes in there. I'll find some time in the next few days to edit, but what I'd like to know is:

a) as before, the narrative voice, which I'm still a bit iffy about. What impression do you get of Cassie's character from the description/interaction with her mother?
b) does it grab you/make you want to read on?
c) do the characters' actions seem natural? (in particular, Cassie's decision at the end to stop talking. It was a bit tricky to get her there...)

Anyway, all comments/criticisms/suggestions gratefully received

Chapter One

The moth seemed to be trying to head butt its way through the double glazing and into Cassie’s bedroom.

You don’t want to come in here, matey, she thought. It might look homely from the outside, but no one in this house understands each other. Not one little bit.

She slouched in her office chair, unruly shock of auburn curls flaming in the lamplight. Her elbow rested on her recently slammed laptop; her petulant chin planted in turn upon a white-knuckled fist.

She had been contemplating the question of grown-ups before the creature interrupted her by flying headlong into the pane.

They really don’t understand anything, do they? She had thought. I’m not even sure they try. Which is funny, because they always ask so many questions. Not because they are interested in hearing real answers, though. They usually think they know everything anyway, so why would they pay any attention to a child? It’s not like we could possibly have anything new, or truthful or right to say, now is it? No; their questions are just a trick to get children to do what they want. Even when they ask what we think about something, it is usually only because they want to tell us what they think we should be thinking. They just ruin everything. Well, most of them, anyway…

Of course, she wasn’t really a child anymore. She would be fifteen next month, but arguments with her mother always reminded her that she wasn’t really a grown-up yet either.

*

Maggie Moon had come blustering into the hall the moment Cassie stepped through the front door. Words tumbled out of her like a tidal wave about to sweep Cassie back out into the night.

“Cassie, thank God! There you are! Honestly, what time do you call this? I was worried sick! I’ve been trying to call, but your phone was switched off.”

Cassie rolled her eyes, “I told you last week, Mum. The audition - remember? You said it was OK...”

Her mother faltered for a second. She had forgotten. Cassie felt a familiar gulf opening up between them. How could her mother forget this thing that had been sitting so monstrous in Cassie’s consciousness? It had been consuming her every waking moment, taunting her with its closeness for the past six days. In Cassie’s mind, it had taken on a life of its own. She imagined it smiling scornfully at her excitement, her lack of preparation. It had spurred her on to know as much as she could, to do everything in her power to get this part that could have been written for her. Mind you, she hadn’t spoken much to her mother about it, she supposed. It was too delicate a dream to allow it to be brought down to earth and trampled beneath Maggie’s sensible shoes.

“Ah, yes, the audition. I’d forgotten that was tonight. But Cassie, it’s past nine o’clock. I thought it started at five? Surely it hasn’t been going on all this time? It’s not like it’s the West End for crying out loud, it’s only bloody Am Dram at the local village hall…”

Cassie felt her stomach clench into a ball. Heavy. Metallic. Like quicksilver, the tightness spread through all her muscles, immobilizing her body and prickling hotly behind her eyes. She. Would. Not. Cry. Not today. Forcibly recovering control of her rigid limbs, she slammed down her bag, stalked past her mother into the kitchen and started noisily preparing herself a sandwich.

Maggie trailed after her slowly, “I’m sorry, sweetheart, I didn’t mean that. I know you were looking forward to it.” Maggie’s tone had softened. “There’s shepherd’s pie in the fridge…” she said, and for a few lingering moments left the promise of a reheated dinner hanging in the air.

Cassie glared at her, spreading butter with such vehemence that the bread gave way beneath it. Her mother’s eyes darted towards the tattered slice and then quickly back to meet her gaze. Cassie turned away and began to slice too-large chunks of cheese from the block in front of her, feeling her mother’s silent criticism, deliberately trying to inflame it. Mum, who always has things ‘just so’, whose home-cooked meals are always so perfectly planned, must be cringing inside at her dishevelled bread and unruly cheese, thought Cassie, as she noted with stubborn satisfaction that she hadn’t even taken off her shoes.

“I know you think I’m a bit overprotective at times, love…” Maggie extended her hand and placed it tentatively on Cassie’s arm. The arm tensed slightly, but allowed the hand to lay there. “I just don’t want you to become one of those children you see on the news…”

“I’m not a child, Mum, I’m nearly fifteen.” Cassie snatched her arm back, allowing the resting hand to drop heavily onto the chopping board. She spun around and dropped into the nearest chair, clutching her sandwich defiantly.

“Oh, well, fine. One of those ‘youths’ then…” Frustration began to creep into Maggie’s voice. “You know… those ‘hoodies’ or whatever you call them. Hanging around outside shops. Spitting. Drinking. Getting involved with drugs. Terrorising people… Getting abducted…”

Cassie was barely able to suppress a giggle at the image of herself doing all those things at once. She took a big bite of her sandwich and tried to concentrate on chewing to hide her amusement. As the dry mass rolled around in her mouth, she started to wish she had opted for the shepherd’s pie. And once it had been broken down enough for her to swallow, she realised that the cannon-ball of anger in her stomach had melted. She turned to look at her mother and saw the tension in her face start to dissolve as their eyes made contact.

“Sorry Mum,” Cassie relented, “I lost track of time. But I wasn’t messing about on the streets or anything - I stayed behind to talk to Mr Mosley about the part. Which I got, by the way…”

Before any irritation at her mother’s indifference towards the play had a chance to creep back, Cassie found herself swept up in her mother’s embrace. Everything became fine-knit dove grey arms and bosoms.

“Oh, well done! That’s my girl! Oh! I’m so proud of you! Although I knew you’d get it as soon as you told me about it, of course…” Maggie trailed off and loosened her grip, seeming slightly surprised at her own enthusiasm, and unsure of what to do next.

Cassie laughed. She knew her mother’s reaction was more down to relief at the revived bond between them than any real interest in the play, or even in Cassie’s achievements. But the lure of recapturing the elation of that exquisite moment just a few hours earlier when Mr Mosley had read out her name was irresistible. Still giggling happily, she untangled herself from her mother’s awkward grip. Tossing her sorry excuse for a sandwich onto the chopping board, Cassie went to the fridge in search of the shepherd’s pie.

And that could have been the end of it. Cassie wished they had just left it there, with her mother proud, her jubilant and nothing messy or confusing or spoiled. But she kept talking and, for some reason, that seemed to ruin everything. She still did not understand it. Usually, even when she did not agree with her mother, she could at least appreciate her motivations. ‘A natural sense of empathy’ Mr Mosley had called it – a description that had left her glowing with pride. But it had definitely deserted her on this occasion. She just hadn’t recognized anything familiar in her mother’s reaction.

Cassie had pottered around, helping herself to a plate, spooning onto it large dollops of shepherd’s pie and contentedly bleeping away at the microwave. And all the time she had been gushing unreservedly about the play. The modern rendering of a classic text and the bravery of Mr Mosley for staging it in a village like Lowenbridge. The part of Cassandra and how perfect it was for her. How at first she had just wanted to play her because they shared a name and because Mr Mosley had suggested that she audition. But how, as she found out more about the role, she had started fall for the striking combination of strength and vulnerability in the character of the doomed prophetess. How moved she had been on discovering the story of the tragic heroine who was imprisoned, enslaved, raped, ignored and abused because of her ability to tell the future. How unfair that this remarkable gift was wrongly interpreted as madness. Her bravery in facing a gruesome death because she knew that it was her destiny. And what a heartbreaking fate it was to always tell the truth, but to never be believed.

“Don’t you think that’s sad, Mum?” She had asked, glancing round at her mother. But Maggie no longer seemed to be listening. Her face looked drawn and tired, and she sat stonily still. Her grey flecked eyes, which were fixed in the middle distance, seemed to sparkle with an emotion that Cassie could not place. Fear? Anger? Sadness?

“Mum…?” Cassie had prompted, half concerned, half irritated.

“Yes, yes, dear, very sad…” But the words had sounded vacant and strange. Maggie’sgranite gaze swung round to meet hers, but Cassie could not find her mother in it. If the eyes were the windows to the soul, Maggie had closed the shutters. “Don’t you think it’s a bit adult for you?” The hollowness remained, but her tone had become hard, almost challenging. Cassie was dumbstruck by the flatness in her mother’s usually lively, sing-song voice. She had never seen her so intense and yet so distant. “Rape, murder, slavery… I might have to have a word with this ‘Mr Mosley’.” She spat his name out as though it tasted funny.

“But you loved me as Juliet last year,” Cassie said quietly. “That had loads of murder and stuff.”

“Well, you do as you wish, I suppose,” Maggie continued, turning away quickly, but not so quickly that Cassie missed the peculiar frown darkening her delicate features. “Be sure to clean up this mess before your father gets home.” And with that she shuffled quickly out of the room and upstairs.

Cassie couldn’t tell whether or not she was crying.

She hadn’t tasted the rest of her shepherd’s pie. After she had finished it, she cleaned up mechanically and trailed upstairs to her room, pausing briefly outside her parents’ closed door, but thinking better of it. This had all happened through saying too much, and the last thing Cassie wanted to do was make it worse.

*

Cassie stared at the persistent little moth, still pounding fruitlessly on her window.

I know how you feel, buddy, she thought. It’s like talking to my mum. Nothing gets through. And don’t even get me started on my dad. Even when he’s here – which is not very often these days - he hardly seems to notice I exist. I don’t know why I bother talking to them at all.

The moth buzzed against the window for a second and then fluttered off into the night. Good on ya, mate. And at that moment, Cassie realised that she was going to follow suit. She let out a deep sigh; a mixture of relief and resolution. She didn’t know what she had said to send her mother so far away, but it wasn’t as though she had ever been that close to begin with. If even the people who gave me life don’t understand me, perhaps I’m better off on my own.

So, that evening, Cassie Moon decided to stop talking.

JohnnyBones · 03-22-2008, 05:04 PM

I didn't read the whole thing, but if I were to offer any advice, I'd share with you this, "Words are like money, so spend wisely."

If I were you, I'd do some serious cutting back of words in almost every sentence. It's difficult to read the text fluidly and get lost in the story if you're constantly distracted by wordiness.

sumthingnice · 03-22-2008, 05:32 PM

Quote:

Originally Posted by JohnnyBones

I didn't read the whole thing, but if I were to offer any advice, I'd share with you this, "Words are like money, so spend wisely."

If I were you, I'd do some serious cutting back of words in almost every sentence. It's difficult to read the text fluidly and get lost in the story if you're constantly distracted by wordiness.

I disagree. The number of words seems to be fine.

However, there are a few words that you need to omit, NightOwl. For example, I think you should take out the "plate-less" in "clutching her plate-less sandwich". It just detracts from the flow of that sentence. One piece of advice I can give you is to read the sentences out loud and see how they sound. Sometimes, sentences sound a lot different when read out loud.

brevia · 03-22-2008, 05:39 PM

good writing style; moves along and takes the reader

NightOwl · 03-22-2008, 06:49 PM

Thanks very much for your comments guys - your comments are very much appreciated.

I've made some changes and replaced the original post with an edited version. It was pointed out to me that a lot of the sentences are very long, which I think was one of the reasons it came across as being too wordy. I've tried to cut a lot of them down or split them up, so hopefully it should be a bit easier to read.

I'm still not that happy with it though, so I'd be grateful for any suggestions/criticisms. Don't hold back - I can take it, hehe. Gonna put this aside and spend a couple of hours checking out other peoples writing.

Thanks again.

wordlboy90 · 03-22-2008, 08:46 PM

Ahh, not to be rude, but I don't get it. What'd she say that made her mother so sad? Otherwise its a good story, I just have no idea where your planning to take this. Well written too. I wanna help you more but you seem to have gotten it down pretty well... but I'm still confused on why her mom got angry.

NightOwl · 03-22-2008, 10:11 PM

Quote:

Originally Posted by wordlboy90

Ahh, not to be rude, but I don't get it. What'd she say that made her mother so sad? Otherwise its a good story, I just have no idea where your planning to take this. Well written too. I wanna help you more but you seem to have gotten it down pretty well... but I'm still confused on why her mom got angry.

Thank you very much.

Cassie is confused too! I don't want to give away too much, but the story of the character in the play hits a nerve for reasons that become clear as the story develops.

I have written a bit further, but I think this opening chapter needs more work to try and make it interesting enough for the reader to persevere. It isn't the most action-packed scene in the world, but it is important as Cassie's decision to stop talking prompts the action that follows. Would be interested to hear whether people think it's a strong enough opening, though. If not I may decide to mess about with the chronology a little. The story has two protagonists, although Cassie is the main one, so I could start with the other one. I'll have another look tomorrow, I think.

Thanks again

Ilasir Maroa · 03-22-2008, 10:52 PM

This caught my interest, so I thought I'd give a more in-depth critique.

Quote:

Originally Posted by NightOwl

OK, this is my first draft of Chapter 1 of a novel I have been working on, probably called 'The Seventh House'.

All comments/criticisms/suggestions gratefully received - particularly concerning the language/narrative voice, which I'm still a bit iffy about. What impression do you get of Cassie's character from the description/interaction with her mother?

Chapter One

Cassie Moon’s eyebrows knotted as she stared unblinkinglythis adverb is unecessary, because "stared" already implies "unblinking" into the darkness outside her bedroom window and ponderedI'm not sure I believe that your chatracter would use such a word. the question of grown-ups and whether she would ever understand them it's claer from the "pondered" that she doesn't understand, as well as from "the question" It would probably save the reader some work if you simply cut the sentence after "grown-ups". It seemed unlikely.the next sentence goes a fari way towards saying this in a more firendly and subtle manner. She slumped in her high-backed office chairis it really necessary to mention the back of the chair? Is it all that different from a generic office chair, and if so, does it really have to be?, unruly shock of auburn curls flaming in the lamplightit's okay that you want to give the reader an image of your character, but the previous clause may be taking it a bit far. Few people actually think in words like that, and the less the reader has to adjust their thinking, the easier it will be to get into the story., chin firmly planted on a white-knuckled fistIs "white-knuckled" really necessary? or even firmly? I think "planted" handles the "firmly" and if you leave in "white-knuckled" than the adverb is really over-doing it.. Her elbow rested in turn again, few people think "in turn", especially in such a simple situation. upon a recently slammed laptopI'm not sure how the "slammed" is relevant to the current situation. Be careful not to try padding the characterization with clumsy phrasings. You're doing fine without them. "Her elbow rested on her laptop..." would be fine., an island in the sea of notes that had engulfed her desk. She wound her skinnyI'm not sure "skinny" is relevant either, and it throws the reader out of Carrie's head. legs tight together, like a pair of marble snakesa bit flowery here, but if you leave it in, then "skinny" is even more superfluous., and sighed. Of course, she wasn’t really a child anymore. She would be fifteen next month, but arguments with her mother always reminded her that she wasn’t reallyI think you could drop "really" with no loss to the meaning of the sentence. a grown-up yet either.

*

Maggie Moon came blustering into the hall the moment Cassie stepped through the front door. Words tumbled out of her like a tidal wave about to sweep Cassie back out into the night. This was a bit flowery. "blustering" ought to get the point across.

“Cassie, thank God! There you are! Honestly, what time do you call this? I was worried sick! I’ve been trying to call, but your phone was switched off.”

Cassie rolled her eyes, “I told you last week, Mum. The audition - remember? You said it was OK...”

Her mother faltered for a second. She had forgotten. Cassie felt a familiar gulf opening up between them. How could her mother forget this thing that had been sitting so monstrous"monstruously"? in Cassie’s consciousness? It had been consuming her every waking moment, taunting her with its closeness for the past six days. In Cassie’s mind, it had taken on a life of its own. She imagined it smiling scornfully at her excitement, her unpreparednessthis word is simply clumsy. Is there another way to phrase that?. It had spurred her on to know as much as she could, to do everything in her power to get this part that could have been written for her. Mind you, she hadn’t spoken much to her mother about it, she supposed. It was too delicate a dream to allow it to be brought down to earth and trampled beneath Maggie’s sensible shoesI like what you're doing here, but maybe you could drop "sensible"... or not..

“Ah, yes, the audition. I’d forgotten that was today "tonight"?. But Cassie, it’s gone "on 'til"?nine o’clock. I thought it started at five? Surely it hasn’t been goingwatch out for the same word used too closely together with itself. "it's gone/it hasn't been going" on all this time? It’s not like it’s the West End for crying out loud, it’s only bloody Am Dram at the local village hall…” Cassie felt her stomach clench into a ball. Hard. Metallic. Like quicksilver"quicksilver" may be metaillic, but it is certainly not hard., the tightnessnot is it normally considered "tight" spread through all her muscles, immobilizing her body and prickling hotly"metallic" isn't usually associated with heat" behind her eyes. She. Would. Not. Cry. Not today. Forcibly recovering control of her rigid limbs, she slammed down her bag, stalked past her mother into the kitchen and started noisily preparing herself a sandwich.That's much smoother on the characterization.

Maggie trailed after her slowly, “I’m sorry, Sweetheartnot normally capitalized., I didn’t mean that. I know you were looking forward to it,” Maggie’s tone had softenedYou need a period insead of a comma if you plan to use this, because there is no verb to substitute for "said". “There’s shepherd’s pie in the fridge…” she venturednot sure you need this dialogue tag, and it's better not to use uncommon ones anyway. the ellipsis handles the situation nicely., and for a few lingering moments left the promise of a reheated dinner hanging in the air like a proverbial olive branchnow that's just plain purple. Try cutting that, and I bet you it doesn't really detract all that much from the power of the sentence.. Cassie glared at her, spreading butter with such vehemence that the bread gave way beneath it. Her mother’s eyes darted towards the tattered slice and then quickly back to meet her gaze. Cassie turned away and began to slice too-large chunks of cheese"cheese" and "butter"? from the block in front of her, feeling her mother’s silent criticism, deliberately trying to inflame it. Mum, who always has things ‘just so’, whose home-cooked meals are always planned with such rigorous precisioneither there's some major anger going on here, above and beyond that already hinted at, or this girl has an enourmous vocabulary... and uses it., must be cringing inside at her dishevelled bread and unruly cheese, thought Cassie, as she noted with stubborn satisfaction that she hadn’t even taken off her shoes.

“I know you think I’m a bit overprotective at times, Lovenot normally capitailzed…” Sheyou should probably remind the reader here that this is the mother. extended her hand and placed it tentatively on Cassie’s arm. The arm tensed slightly, but allowed the hand to lay therenow the arm has a mind of its own? Perhaps "Cassie's" and "her mother's". “I just don’t want you to become one of those children you see on the news…”

“I’m not a child, Mum, I’m nearly fifteen.” Cassie snatched back her arm"her arm back" would flow better for me, but that's really a subjective decision., allowing the resting hand to drop heavily onto the chopping board. She spun around and slumpedshe "slumps" a lot, doesn't she? into the nearest chair, clutching her sandwich defiantly.

“Oh, well, fine. One of those ‘youths’ then…” Frustration began to creep into Maggie’s voice. She sighed and ran a manicured hand through her neatly bobbed chestnut hairagain, this style of description doesn't seem to fit with the tone or perspective of the story., “You know… those ‘hoodies’ or whatever you call them. Hanging around outside shops. Spitting. Drinking. Getting involved with drugs. Terrorising people… Getting abducted…”

Cassie was barely able to suppress a giggle at the image of herself doing all those things at once. She concentrated on chewing to avoid betraying"to hide" would cut down on those annoying "-ing" verbs, and perhaps let the sentence flow better. her amusement. As the dry mass rolled around in her mouth, she started to wish she had opted for the shepherd’s pie.You never actually mentioned she had sarted eating, did you? And once it had been broken down enough for her to swallow, she realised that the cannon-ball of anger in her stomach had melted. She turned to look at her mother and saw the tension in her face dissolve as their eyes made contact.

“Sorry Mum,” Cassie relented, “I lost track of time. But I wasn’t hanging around on the streets or anything - I stayed behind to talk to Mr. Mosley about the part. Which I got, by the way…”

Before any irritation at her mother’s indifference towards the play had a chance to creep back Cassie found herself smothered by Maggie’s exuberant embracenice assonance, but "smothered" and "exuberant" have just up the cheese-factor of this story by 13 degrees.. Everything became fine-knit dove grey"dove grey arms"? arms and bosoms.

“Oh, well done! That’s my girl! Oh! I’m so proud of you! Although I knew you’d get it as soon as you told me about it, of course…” Maggie trailed off and loosened her grip, seeming slightly surprised at her own enthusiasm, and unsure of what to do next.

Cassie laughed. She knew her mother’s reaction was more down to relief at the revived bond between them than any real interest in the play, or even in Cassie’s achievements, but the lure of recapturing the elation of that exquisite moment just a few hours earlier when Mr Mosley had read out her name was irresistibleThat is a really long sentence. Could you break it up some?. Still giggling happily, she untangled herself from her mother’s awkward grip. Discarding"dropping" or "tossing" would better fit the destination of the sandwich that "discarding". her sorry excuse for a sandwich onto the chopping board, Cassie went to the fridge in search of "the" would make this tie in more with previous parts of the story, as the pie has already been introduced. shepherd’s pie.

And that could have been the end of it. Cassie wished they had just left it there, with her mother proud, her jubilant and nothing messy or confusing or spoiled. But she kept talking and, for some reason, that seemed to ruin everything. Cassie frowned as the darkness outside her window became almost complete. She still did not understand it. Usually, even when she did not agree with her mother, she could at least appreciate her motivations. ‘A natural sense of empathy’ Mr Mosley called it – a description that had left her glowing with pride. But it had definitely deserted her on thisthe switch of events here is somewhat awkward... occasion. She just hadn’t recognized anything familiar in her mother’s reaction.

Cassie had pottered around, helping herself to a plate, spooning onto it large dollops of shepherd’s pie and contentedly bleeping lol away at the microwave. And all the time she had been gushing unreservedly about the play. The modern rendering of a classic text and the bravery of Mr Mosley for staging it in a village like Lowebridge. The part of Cassandra and how perfect it was for her. How at first she had just wanted to play her because they shared a name and because Mr Mosley had suggested that she audition. But how, as she found out more about the role, she had started fall for the striking combination of strength and vulnerability in the character of the doomed prophetess. How moved she had been on uncovering"discovering"? the story of the tragic heroine who was imprisoned, ignored and abused because of her remarkable gift. How unfair that this remarkable gift was wrongly interpreted as madness. And what a heartbreaking fate it was to always tell the truth, but to never be believed.

“Don’t you think that’s sad, Mum?” She had asked, glancing round at her mother. But Maggie no longer seemed to be listening. Her face looked drawn and tired, and she sat stonily still. Her grey flecked eyes, which were fixed in the middle distance, seemed to sparkle with an emotion that Cassie could not place. Fear? Anger? Sadness?

“Mum…?” Cassie had prompted, half concerned, half irritated.

“Yes, yes, Dear, very sad…” But the words had sounded vacant and strange. Maggie’s granite* this seems unecessary... gaze swung round to meet hers, but Cassie could not find her mother in it. If the eyes are"were"? the windows to the soul, Maggie had closed the shutters. “Don’t you think it’s a bit adult for you?” The hollowness remained, but her tone had become hard, almost challenging. Cassie was dumbstruck by the flatness in her mother’s usually lively, sing-song voice. She had never seen her so intense and yet so distant. “Well, you do as you wish, I suppose,” Maggie continued, turning away quickly, but not so quickly that Cassie missed the peculiar frown darkening her delicate features. “Be sure to clean up this mess before your father gets home.” And with that she shuffled quickly out of the room and upstairs.

Cassie couldn’t tell whether or not she was crying.

She hadn’t tasted the rest of her shepherd’s pie. After she had finished it, she cleaned up mechanically and trailed upstairs to her room, pausing briefly outside her parents’ closed door, but thinking better of it. This had all happened through saying too much, and the last thing Cassie wanted to do was make it worse. She didn’t know what she had said to send her mother so far away but, that evening, Cassie Moon decided to stop talking. This reaction seems a bit strong. Perhaps some more on her mother's relationship with her would make this seem more powerful,and compelling. I like what you have, but I'm not sure it's strong enough to support that last sentence.

I really enjoyed the story, but I see what others mean when they talk about your use of extra words. Metaphors are a wonderful way to present colorful imagery and interpretations of a moment, but it's important that they fit the tone and mood, and that they are inegrated into the rest of the story. I also noticed you left out part of the myth of Cassandra, which would better explain Maggie's sudden change of heart, and her comment about the role being a bit too grown up for Cassie.

NightOwl · 03-23-2008, 08:49 AM

Thank you very much, Ilasir!

A lot of useful comments that I will certainly take on board. The impression I wanted to create was of a girl with a rich inner world and to contrast that with her ordinary surroundings. But I think you're right that it is a bit overdone in parts and it comes accross as a bit 'flowery'. Less is more, as they say.

I think I did rush a little towards that final sentence, leaving it a bit unconvincing. Some of the story that follows hinges on her decision to stop talking, so I'll definitely have another look at that to try and make it seem more natural.

Thanks again

NightOwl · 03-26-2008, 06:29 PM

2nd draft posted.

Better? Worse? (Nooooo.....! But if it is, please do say.)

I'd love any feedback on anything you think needs more work.

NightOwl · 03-28-2008, 10:19 AM

Shameless bump!

I've made some quite significant changes, so would appreciate any comments - even if it's to tell me that it sucks!

Cheers

omginternetlord · 03-28-2008, 11:15 AM

Well I don't really get it. Not a lot really happens. Perhaps I'm missing something.

Also, drop the "seemed to". It's usually redundant.

"The moth seemed to be trying" "seeming slightly surprised at her enthusiasm" "But Maggie no longer seemed to be listening" "seemed to sparkle with the emotion that".

All not needed. Drop 'em.

Also if you're in the UK use single quotes for dialogues ie. 'blablabla.'

Similarly, spell "immobilising" with an "s".

To be honest I really had to force myself to keep reading.

NightOwl · 03-29-2008, 02:42 AM

Thank you for your comments omg.

I'm not sure the single quotations is a hard-and-fast rule in the UK, is it? But you are definitely right about immobilising - don't know how that z crept in - tut tut!

Sorry it has taken me a while to reply, but your post did make me think. To be honest, I think I should probably rip this up and start again (metaphorically, of course - I never actually throw anything away!)

The thing is, I think the story idea that I have is good, and it merits a better opening. After all, you can have the best story in the world, but it's no good if no one reads beyond the first page. I do sincerely thank you for your honesty - you voiced what I suspected and what I think I needed to hear.

jdm1967 · 04-01-2008, 03:52 PM

Hi there, Night Owl.

I think you have a good and natural writing style that needs to be nurtured. You seem to have a good grasp of how to let dialogue reveal your characters and move the story forward, without lapsing into that annoying "tell tell tell" mode that a lot of beginning writers fall into. I like the names of your characters. Cassie Moon has a nice ring to it.

Can I be brutal? I think you can take it:

I would cut the first section entirely. Nothing happens there. A story is more powerful if you cut right to the action, say, right to the interaction with the mother.

I said that I think you intuitively know how to use dialogue, but I think you need to work on how to make it sound more natural. These characters say things to each other that are clearly for the benefit of the reader, not for each other. Take for example the first line of dialogue. Doesn't it sound more true to life like this?

BEFORE: “Ah, yes, the audition. I’d forgotten that was tonight. But Cassie, it’s past nine o’clock. I thought it started at five? Surely it hasn’t been going on all this time? It’s not like it’s the West End for crying out loud, it’s only bloody Am Dram at the local village hall…”

AFTER: “Ah, yes, the audition. I’d forgotten about that... But surely it hasn’t been going on all this time? It’s not like we're talking about the West End for crying out loud.”

NightOwl · 04-01-2008, 09:26 PM

Thank you for taking the time to read this jdm1967! It is much appreciated.

I am actually considering re-writing this opening in a different format, possibly as Cassie's diary. That may not work, though, I'll have to try it out. (If nothing else, the exercise might help me to develop her 'voice', which I don't think is there yet.) However, the novel will have two protagonists, and for the other one, I'm going to stick to a standard 3rd person narration.

I think your comments are very helpful and I know exactly what you mean. I'm reading a Dan Brown book at the moment and he does that a lot. It's like he's trying too hard to be showing and not telling sometimes, and it comes over as patronising and annoying, so thank you for alerting me to that tendency! It's funny how you can see these things so easily in other people's writing, but miss them in your own, isn't it?

Thanks again