The True Price Of Love - Writers Forum

Xx Kane xX · 03-29-2007, 03:06 PM

This is a second draft. Maybe you guys can help me in my quest to a final draft! Thanks.

The True Price Of Love

I can remember succinctly the first time I felt the soft tendrils of love. It was as clear as dawn to me. One must understand this wasn't the typical love that could be discerned in an instant. No - It was far greater than something as trivial as infatuation. It was a love that bore itself into the very confines of my soul, thus fusing into a symbiotic being of relentlessness. I find irony in the fact that love never ceases to alter a mortal's pre-destined path. No matter what conquests or duties a man must fulfill.. it always claims itself superior. Forgive me for rambling, I'm speaking in mere riddles and anecdotes. Perhaps I should tell my story from the beginning. Though I warn you to pay careful attention to my story, for it may indeed be the very savior... from your own insanity.

Her name was Rose. One could utter her name and it would simply melt off the tip of his tongue, as fragile as a blade of grass. Her beauty surpassed anything I'd ever come to know in the world. Not only in the organic sense, but the very sight of her beauty marveled even God's greatest of creations. She was my Helen of Troy. What I found most surprising of all, was the sheer and utter dedication she showed towards me. I was known around town as a "Hell Raiser" so to speak. I admit I wasn't the most holy of Saints. However, that did not stop Rose from conveying a smile as I brushed against her shoulder. It was a misty night, every bit as dank and dry as a bog in a children's horror story. I found it strange that she'd wander alone in such a desolate place. While my only excuse was a secluded cache for stolen goods, she only sought to escape the razor sharp barbs life dug into her. I found her to have too much grace for a runaway. Nevertheless, that will forever be the night I basked in the presence of a Goddess.

From that moment on, Rosa was the Angel that invaded my dreams. Never could a minute pass without her autumn smelling fragrance tickling the insides of my nose. She smelt of nature; She smelt of purity. There was never a greater time of happiness throughout each of our lives. Unfortunately, all great things must come to an end.

It was the beginning of Fall. The first night of the season brought a violent storm. I remember the air was wet and windy, which appeared to me the foreshadowing of a colossal hurricane. It was amidst the great thunder I heard an unspeakably shrill shriek, emanating from the door of my loft. The scream proliferated as the roaring skies raged in their ongoing war among the heavens. I crept to the door, apprehensiveness gripping me like a vice. Sweat formed upon my brow as my hand slowly reached the doorknob. Following the jolting crash of thunder, a pierced howl of terror echoed behind the door, and immediately I retreated. The nightmare was relentless. Torment and distress were awaiting me beyond that door, and like a fool I hesitated as the cackling skies increased my utter terror.

Finally, I mustered up the brass to open the door, and to my surprise... there was Rose. Like a fallen Goddess, she plummeted to my feet, weeping from broken and bloodied black eyes. Her hair was in knots and tangles, and patches of missing locks were visible on the top of her head. As my heart dropped to the floor, I followed it to my knees. It was then I took the angel into my arms, comforting and assuaging her pain. She whispered only two words... "The...Bore..." Then, as a withering Rose, she fell limp in my arms.
I could picture the scene in my head. The Bore took it upon his own drunken self to corner Rose in the most vulnerable of her states. I envisioned her former lover luring Rose to her secluded "Hide Away." He was probably searching for reconciliation. My poor foolish lover, bedazzled by The Bore's cunning and manipulative charms. But my love - I know you denied his ultimatum. Such rejection drove the violent brute into a rage of frenzy, I imagine. Unable to defend yourself against his strength, you were simply helpless while The Bore bashed you across your face, pillaging and robbing you of that which you held sacred until wedlock. Now, your womanhood is diminished. "Bastard!" I screamed aloud as the scene grew in my head, driving me to the brink of madness. She warned me before of his threats. She told me of his violent history, but never in my wildest of nightmares would I imagine him to destroy such beauty! It was sacrilege! Heresy! In my arms lay the blood soaked Goddess of Beauty... Delivered to her fate by nothing more than a savage and blood thirsty barbarian!

Rage had never made itself more apparent as it did on that violent night. I felt my eye sockets constrict, as every bit of life in them died out, fueled by the flames of loathing and abhoration. Calmly, I lay the Goddess amidst the red floor. There she bathed in a pool of her own blood. It was then I sent a clenched fist into the floor, splinters emerging from its confines. I lifted my hand, soaked in gore. I was unsure it was mine or hers. However, I rested assure the image would never escape my mind. I felt it was high time for an explanation at that point. Why did I deserve such torture? Why did I need to suffer at the hands of an ogre? I had repented my sins, and my unconditional love for Rose proved that very point! I realize now that my mind lost all sense of rationality at that point.

Time passed at a snail's pace as I rode my steed to the sanctuary of The Bore. The appearance of the place was just as I had expected. It rotted with the very taint of derelict care, just as it's owner had. Thunder cracked loudly in the midst as I walked through puddles towards the front door. The rain poured out of my hair, stinging my eyes. I rubbed them clear as I continued to the lodging. With the sound of thunder, my heart pounded, ready to burst from my chest. Upon reaching the door, I knocked twice. Calmly. My rage was ever present at this point, but I took a moment to subside it. The door opened, and there I saw The Bore. He appeared scruffy and tired, intoxicated from mead. He gave off a sneer, and I knew that my presence was most unwelcome. The very sight of him brought my blood to a boil. The skin beneath my clothes felt hot and bothered. Every second felt like an eon, and the very sight of him unleashed thoughts in my head I never thought I had. But I repressed my emotions into my deepest subconscious. I allowed my tightened fist to loosen its grip, and out of sheer force and great will, I managed to crack a faint smile. "Forgive the intrusion, however I lost my way from hunting, and I'm caught in this dreadful storm. I hate to ask it of you, but you're the only one in town that I personally know. And it is in that regard I request your grace and shelter until the storm subsides."

It was then that my ploy and act paid off. The Bore, ignorant to my knowledge of Rose's demise, agreed to let me inside. I thanked him and stepped into the very pits of Hell. The room was a ram shackled repugnant heap of disgust. It was clear The Bore took no pride in his environment, nor himself. Then, I spoke. "Thank you for your hospitality. I'll be sure to tell Rose how kind you were to me." A glare shot from my eyes as I looked towards The Bore's reaction. It was nonexistent, however. the Bore staggered wearily over to the basin, ready to dip his face into the cool water. I relished in the opportunity I was given. His drunkenness was to my advantage, and as he attempted to wash away the intoxication, I followed. At this point the contempt had grown to an unavoidable point. I felt the need to help The Bore, and with my very hand I held his face in the water. He squirmed and struggled at my grip. My eyes widened and my mouth grimaced in hate. I enjoyed The Bore's struggle, his attempt to put fresh air in his lungs. I imagined the anguish he was feeling. The sharp pain in his lungs felt like daggers. He tried desperately to catch his breath, but I wouldn't let him. I had hoped his lungs were on fire, ready to burn to cinders from their suffocation. However, this wasn't what fate had in store for The Bore. I then released my grip, allowing him to save his lungs. Like a weak child, he fell to his knees, coughing and gasping for his life. I watched him writhe like a worm for a moment. It was a satisfying sight. However, I needed to end it. Reaching into my coat, I removed an old rag and a small vile. Little to The Bore's knowledge, the vile had contained a severely toxic chemical. I had stolen it from one of the finest alchemists in the area. It wasn't deadly, however. It was just enough to put even the most violent of beasts, into a nice peaceful slumber.

Pouring the chemical into the rag, I brought myself behind The Brute. He tried to stave off my hand, but he was too drunk to even see straight. I cackled as I pressed the rag to his nose. He struggled momentarily, but was soon subdued by the chemical's impact. He then fell limp, peacefully. Unfortunately, The Brute wouldn't face anything as simple as peace. Due to his severe intoxication and the chemical's potent affects, I was sure he was remain in slumber for a long while... Now came the point of getting him onto my steed, unnoticed. The howling winds and violent skies provided all the subterfuge I'd need. No guard or soul for that matter was in plain sight. I felt sure that I wasn't seen draping his limp body over my horse. There was enough room from me, despite his rather large frame. And it was then that into that night, I rode, compelled by nothing but the desire of revenge.

As I approached the clearing, I was astonished the storm hadn't yet diminished. In fact, it merely increased. As the winds lashed freezing rains across my face, I couldn't help but smile. The loathing and abhoration had escalated to an even greater degree than the storm itself. Nothing would stop me from my conquest. Nothing. I stepped off my horse and reached underneath The Bore, the strong rain stinging my eyes. I removed a spade from the saddlebags, and began my journey for soil. You might find it strange that I needed to search for soil, after all, It was all around. However, this soil needed to be of the utmost quality. Eventually, I found it. I placed my spade into the soft patch of earth and began to dig, paying no mind to the freezing rains that inherently impeded my progress.

After many heavy breaths, and near exhaustion, I had finished one step of my task. Step two began with The Brute. I approached The Bore, and gave little care to his health as I rolled him forcefully off the horse's back. He didn't squirm or wake. He slept calmly.. just the way I wanted him. Using my feet to kick at his ribs, I eventually rolled the drunken brute into the freshly dug hole. He fell into a pit of mud, every bit as dirty as his own conscience. A great sense of satisfaction overwhelmed my ever-present rage as I began to cover The Bore in mud. Before The Bore was completely covered, I took particular notice to his eyes. They were eyes that were struggling with recovery, but they were aware. The Bore was helpless to the chemical's after effects. It would be an hour before he was able to muster enough strength to even stand, and thanks to the intoxication... Maybe longer. I watched as he laid in the hole, helpless, staring at me with fear torn eyes. He was nothing more than helpless prey. It was a brilliant sight, and I'll never forget his last conveyance of terror as I finally covered the hole completely. In the morning, it would dry, and underneath the tainted ground would be the Slayer of Goddesses... carrying out the sentence of his unholy crime. As I rode away I could feel the faint screams of horror from the tomb of the scourge. It was my imagination of course, as I was certain the mud would prevent any of his sounds. I shrugged off the screams, and believed I'd forget them forever...

Many years have passed, and the Doctor warns me I've not much time left to write in this journal. The ignorant fool. Time isn't a factor. Time wasn't a factor for me. Time did little to suppress the nightmares, night after night. Nightmares filled with the relentless screams of the undead. And he speaks of time? What does he know of time? For countless hours I would hear the echoes of a soft pitched wail! A moaning. For endless nights the sounds tormented me. The anguish filled and kept my very soul a prisoner to its misery. Even now, this padded cell does little to prevent the screams from reaching my ears. Time isn't a factor at all, because they grow stronger each day, un-abolished by time. Even still, time will not fade the memories of my precious Rose, the Goddess. The beautiful angel, who showed me a love that had been previously unknown. A love that inadvertently drove me to madness. I know now that my vengeance can never be forgiven, and I am forever haunted by the screams I heard that night. I pray that after this journal is complete, you will understand the reasons behind my pre-mature death. Maybe as soon as I join The Bore in Hades, I will at last find solace. But until my last breath escapes, I will never forget my precious Rose. Most of all, I will never forget the love... that drove me to insanity.

Jolly McJollyson · 06-14-2007, 11:11 PM

I'm going to make one suggestion:

Put down the Charles Dickens, or whatever it is you think you're "supposed" to write like, and find your own voice. I'm hearing WAY too much dated, stilted diction and not enough actual person. Tell me this story, but have a person tell it, not an echo of a nineteenth century style.

L00kbackinanger · 06-15-2007, 04:50 AM

The use of the word "steed" instead of "horse" and cliched phrases like "ignorant fool" and words like "Hades" draw out the syntax to a point that turns out blunt. Like spots covering your chin the story is lost beneath a deluge of words that aren't joined up together properly: the style is overwrought.

Unless you want to write stuff no one will read you need to write in a similar style to the way you speak, develop your voice. You don't go to a shop and say:

"By Hades and by Jingo, what a fine day it is today my good man! I am considering sampling some of your alcoholic beverages. Forsooth can you recommend a fine Brandy Wine?"

Do you?

Mike C · 06-15-2007, 04:52 AM

Quote:

Originally Posted by Jolly McJollyson

Put down the Charles Dickens, or whatever it is you think you're "supposed" to write like, and find your own voice.

That's the best advice you're likely to get. Throw away the thesaurus and tell it like it is.

Second best bit of advice - throw away the first paragraph completely, it doesn't do anything.

It's too painful to read much, but this caught my eye:

I was astonished the storm hadn't yet diminished. In fact, it merely increased.

It's a good example of how you're overwriting, using too many words to make yourself look writerly. MERELY increased? Totally wrong choice of word. No word would have been better.

Rewrite it, cut the fluff and nonsense, tell it in your own words, tell the truth, see what you come up with.

Jolly McJollyson · 06-15-2007, 08:59 AM

Oh, also, watch for mixed metaphors, especially when the metaphors aren't that strong in the first place:

"One could utter her name and it would simply melt off the tip of his tongue, as fragile as a blade of grass."

blackthorn · 06-15-2007, 09:25 AM

It sounds like a really great story, but it just seems like you're trying to sound like somebody else. Do you normally write this way? If you're trying to capture the essence of some old mystery novel or something like that, I would suggest not to. Find your own writing style, don't try to mimic or produce something from someone else's style.

Loulou · 06-15-2007, 10:53 AM

Kane, I perservered with it but to be honest it's just a lot of words (some badly chosen) and not a lot of depth. I'll try and be helpful.....

Her name was Rose. One could utter her name and it would simply melt off the tip of his tongue, as fragile as a blade of grass. Her beauty surpassed anything I'd ever come to know in the world. Not only in the organic sense, but the very sight of her beauty marveled even God's greatest of creations. She was my Helen of Troy. What I found most surprising of all, was the sheer and utter dedication she showed towards me.

You've compared Rose to a blade of grass, Helen of Troy, God's creations.... and yet I know nothing about her and feel nothing for her. So if I feel nothing I'm bored.

Like others have said don't try so hard. Have a go with some dialogue, some action......

L00kbackinanger · 06-22-2007, 04:19 PM

Start again, ditch it. Treat it as a rough draft and move on to modern styles that are not Dickensian, are readable and not overblown.

LydiaJ · 06-22-2007, 04:24 PM

I think most of the people here have got it right:
You really need to find your own voice. The sentences are very heavy I find.

But this is my personal opinion, I dont know much about writing, but I do read quite a bit, and I didnt want to read the whole text. So maybe that should give you an idea?

Keep up the good work though.

J.

Xx Kane xX · 07-01-2007, 05:27 PM

This was actually just an assignment for my creative writing class. We were supposed to pick an author we liked and mimic his style. I chose Poe, and while I'm nowhere near his league, I at least tried to imitate his style.

I really don't care for the piece, just wanted to see what others outside the class thought. I don't normally write this kind of stuff.

Funwriter · 07-01-2007, 05:47 PM

Thank god you told us why you wrote this. I was going to smack the hell out of you for this painful work. Man, that hurt!

Azmakna · 07-01-2007, 05:51 PM

Quote:

I can remember succinctly the first time I felt the soft tendrils of love. It was as clear as dawn to me. One must understand this wasn't the typical love that could be discerned in an instant. No - It was far greater than something as trivial as infatuation. It was a love that bore itself into the very confines of my soul, thus fusing into a symbiotic being of relentlessness. I find irony in the fact that love never ceases to alter a mortal's pre-destined path. No matter what conquests or duties a man must fulfill.. it always claims itself superior. Forgive me for rambling, I'm speaking in mere riddles and anecdotes. Perhaps I should tell my story from the beginning. Though I warn you to pay careful attention to my story, for it may indeed be the very savior... from your own insanity.

i get the impression that the voice you have chosen rises out from your head. see this image, i mean really see it. forget the sound for the minute. it does sound contrived and i'm affraid a little silly... sorry. simplify. i don't think dawn is as clear as it gets, and that's what you should be trying to achieve with this simile... or do you even need it. what are you trying to accomplish? sound isn't enough reason to include narrative. too archaic. yes i know it puts you in the right frame of mind for that voice you feel is yours, but i would lose it once it's done its job. there is no such thing as 'typical love' love is unique to each person and to suggest that there is a higher love is indulgent and arrogant. (i'm talking about the narrative here) it also sets you up for a huge fall, because the reader now knows you are confused about love, and yet you are about to wax lyrical, and uncover it in a way we have never seen. be believable. see what i mean! are you telling me that the love i felt for my wife was only infatuation!!!! lets see how you get yourself out of this trap. you see, you had no real idea of how you were about to inform of this higher love, you just thought you could wing it. this has lead you to throw words like 'soul' in, in fact it's taken you in all directions. simplify and save face. how can a pre-destined path be altered? sorry, but because of what i've just pointed out, this actually made me laugh out loud. what anecdotes? i hope that's the character and not you!

there are many other things i could break up in this one paragraph, which is why i haven't gone through the rest of it. i'm going to be really frank with you here and i wouldn't deliberately want to upset anyone: you need to scrap this style and voice completely. it will never allow you to express yourself in any dredible way. it will lead you by the nose and any good narrative will be destroyed by its self-consciousness. it will make you give up and smoke too many cigarettes. Kill it now, while you still have the strength. tough, i know, but it needs doing

RIGHT!!!!!! I JUST READ WHY YOU WROTE THIS!!!!! i'm not a happy bunny............................................. .................................all that effort

Xx Kane xX · 07-01-2007, 06:07 PM

Quote:

Originally Posted by Azmakna

i get the impression that the voice you have chosen rises out from your head. see this image, i mean really see it. forget the sound for the minute. it does sound contrived and i'm affraid a little silly... sorry. simplify. i don't think dawn is as clear as it gets, and that's what you should be trying to achieve with this simile... or do you even need it. what are you trying to accomplish? sound isn't enough reason to include narrative. too archaic. yes i know it puts you in the right frame of mind for that voice you feel is yours, but i would lose it once it's done its job. there is no such thing as 'typical love' love is unique to each person and to suggest that there is a higher love is indulgent and arrogant. (i'm talking about the narrative here) it also sets you up for a huge fall, because the reader now knows you are confused about love, and yet you are about to wax lyrical, and uncover it in a way we have never seen. be believable. see what i mean! are you telling me that the love i felt for my wife was only infatuation!!!! lets see how you get yourself out of this trap. you see, you had no real idea of how you were about to inform of this higher love, you just thought you could wing it. this has lead you to throw words like 'soul' in, in fact it's taken you in all directions. simplify and save face. how can a pre-destined path be altered? sorry, but because of what i've just pointed out, this actually made me laugh out loud. what anecdotes? i hope that's the character and not you!

there are many other things i could break up in this one paragraph, which is why i haven't gone through the rest of it. i'm going to be really frank with you here and i wouldn't deliberately want to upset anyone: you need to scrap this style and voice completely. it will never allow you to express yourself in any dredible way. it will lead you by the nose and any good narrative will be destroyed by its self-consciousness. it will make you give up and smoke too many cigarettes. Kill it now, while you still have the strength. tough, i know, but it needs doing

RIGHT!!!!!! I JUST READ WHY YOU WROTE THIS!!!!! i'm not a happy bunny............................................. .................................all that effort

Haha, sorry.

The good news is I am scraping it since I managed to get a B on it anyhow.