Please Critique - Thanks! - Writers Forum

Purple · 12-21-2005, 08:36 PM

Not sure what this is but just tell me what you think. Thanks!

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Dirt is what it was dirt is what it will become. Toil in the fields, for uncaring masters, to produce food for them, food for others. Dirt to food, food to dirt, crushed under foot. Watch them eat it, watch yourself eat less of it watch more of it be sold. All because you were their daughter’s bastard child. And you see your cousins laughing and eating, and receive a hard look if you’re caught staring.

David walked away from the fields as night fell, to the barn, and his loft, to the promise of a meager meal, of cheese bread and warm milk. He went to a cold itchy bed of straw and ticks. The barn of old brown wood, two stories, and cows, and pigs, smelt of animals and their waste. Through the side door he did go, past the five cows, three hogs, and twenty fat little piglets, ready to be butchered.

Rough Ian · 12-23-2005, 02:28 PM

Not much here to critique. So far spelling and grammar are okay. I'd say "watch your run-ons" but as I have noticed the modern trend in popular authors to use run-ons and fragments throughout their books for effect, I suppose you're doing that on purpose.

For a proper review of your work, I recommend you write a page or more before posting. So, let's see more.

Purple · 12-23-2005, 04:00 PM

All right here's the rest, grammar is pretty bad, a lot of comas is what my mother says, but oh well. Let me know what you think. Thanks!

Dirt is what it was dirt is what it will become. Toil in the fields, for uncaring masters, to produce food for them, food for others. Dirt to food, food to dirt, crushed under foot. Watch them eat it, watch yourself eat less of it; watch more of it be sold. All because you were their daughters bastard child. And you see your cousins laughing and eating, and receive a hard look if your caught staring.

David walked away from the fields as night fell, to the barn, and his loft, to the promise of a meager meal, of cheese, bread and warm milk. He went to a cold itchy bed of straw and ticks. The barn of old brown wood, two stories, and cows, and pigs, which smelt of animals and their waste. Through the side door he did go, past the five cows, three hogs, and twenty-five fat little piglets, ready to be butchered.

The pens in neat rows, beaten and dented, the floor hard and unforgiving to worn feet, and straw collected in corners. Passing the hog pen, all three laying against each other on the straw, sleeping, one snorted and pawed the air. It’s fat, dirtiness repulsive yet, mercilessly, they were ignorant to all that. David’s tattered clothes were faded to dull gray, with worn poor sandals, and dirt caked feet and hands. Tired and hungry he stalked over to his, ladder, and climbing up, saw his bread and cheese and warm milk.

Crawling over onto the straw he made a little seat for himself, and pulled the food over. The cheese he shoved into the centre of the slightly stale bread, he started to nibble at it. Enjoying the lack of movement, and strain, he stared at the roof brace. Writing was the one thing that his relatives had given him. When peddlers, came to Fiedal, the town up road, if it was permitted, he would accompany the family to get needles, and fabrics, and other manufactured goods. If he was lucky, whatever he had made for trade since the last peddler would bring him a book.

And from those excursions he had learned of the army, a great body of men used to guard the borders and who were, his salvation. On that roof brace was carved, Hauser VII, his birth day, tomorrow, he would be sixteen, and old enough to leave the farm, old enough to join the army. Finishing the bread and cheese he downed his milk, and whipping the milk stash from his face, set about arranging the last bed he would have in that loft. And promptly fell asleep.

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“Grandfather!” Brist, yelled running out the door to the house.

David walking behind and setting off down the lane away from Brist, his eldest cousin of fifteen, who running for Grandfather, to stop him. Stop him from leaving, and keep the free labour. A pack upon his back, held his books, a tattered map, some raw tubers, and a pot to boil them in. His pockets held a flint, and a Lanfics of his mothers, a religious emblem of an eight petal purple flower, the petals bursting out and thinning almost immediately after conception, spiraling in on themselves, always to the right.

“Boy!” was barked up the lane, David stopped and gritted his teeth. He spun around and saw Brist, Grandfather and Uncle Timft, all striding towards him. Brist had a triumphant grin on her face, Grandfather amused while Uncle Tift looked angry. David just stared at them defiantly, they had no power over him, in law he was an adult and not bound as a slave, he could make his own decisions.

“So, this be it, then boy?” His Grandfather barked, as he stopped with the other two, not five paces from him.

David said nothing, but stared, at them. The dirt beneath his feet shifted under his weight. He was tall, something just under six foot with too large feet and hands promising further growth. Even under the diet of bread, cheese, and milk, plus whatever he could steel from the crops between meals he grew tall, stretching out making him skinny.

“Answer, your Grandfather, boy!” his Uncle yelled at him, advancing a step.