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jamie's
March 2nd, 2012, 09:15 AM
Hi everyone! It's been a while, so I would like to be back with this excerpt/another point of view of a story/novel.
It is something like a parallel world stuff, but not necessarily. It could be someone's R.E.M. dream, or something like that. And it sort of precedes the Time Matters story that I've already posted before.
It is a pretty dense plot as well, I don't know if it is an advantage or a set back?
Any criticisms (as to my grammar and lexics in particular, please) are more then welcome:redface2:
Many thanks,
jamie's](*,):)




Times'matter


The previous day, Em's father Michael had returned from Iaoan, for good. He carried another key within himself, he said.
Having finished his studies at Law School, Mike, the dad, had decided to live the zen buddhism life, for as long the monks, and himself would let him stay in the monastery. There he learned how to cope with the promptness of the Western culture, something that he had needed to know after he would receive his diploma, the key.

Em's grandad had been a farmer who never had a fear of his culture of work, a fear of being transcendentally dedicated to something. Although undereducated, or precisely because of that. His son, Em's dad, still remembered his father's everyday's fresh drops of sweat falling at that mom's freshly baked bread there on the kitchen table. The bread was always a bit sprinkled by sweat. ''It's the way I eat my bread.'', his father, an unorthodox worshipper, used to say come evenings. Mom always nodded to that, holding the Holy Book, reading it.

So day after day, the bread loaves received their liquid. Michael had seen the bread dough rise. He knew that water was needed to make a dough. He dreamed of dough one night. Water and sweat, the liquids of the bread.

As he grew up, and enrolled in college, it became clear to Michael that there really had to be something more to the world than the farms' plains' water. More than sweat and rain. He began reading about the zen. On his own he discovered that, strangely enough the sweat and the rain should have many things in common. By the time he got his diploma, he had already had his one way ticket to the Eastern world. ''It's all the same…everywhere!'', strongly whispered dad into Michael's ear, before the boarding the plain, as he hugged him goodbye his way, inexperiencedly ruggedly. He was leaving his son to the Eastern world. ''One of them saved my life, you know...during the war…'', dad said and saw sparkles in his Em's eyes. The eyes got fixated at the barn's dusty floor, then shut, after dad had added: ''…unwillingly. A matter of...'', Em was all ears, ''…chance was it.''

After Michael's landing to Iaoan, the East opened its gates to him. He was able to chose the part of the country he wanted to visit, and selected a secluded monastery in the heart of that country. There he began studying Iaonese. There he began studying Buddha's teachings. There was a lot of water in and around the monastery he had settled in. The sweat would find its way out Michael's pores as he worked out alongside with the monks. He was able to see himself in their eyes. The monks had accepted him for what he was: a dough rising.
''Sweat…Sweat…Mighty...Water...'', that was one of Michael's mantras. Saying mantras, mantras only, and crucifying hardened à las.

The period of those several years spent in the buddhistic monastery gave Michael the certainty of being beyond the colloquialisms of his home country. ''I am returning back...home?'', asked he himself the day he was looking at a bird which sang freely, clutched firmly at its branch. Had he decided? Yes, he had.The next month he payed visit to the old, sweaty, sanctified in its own way farm. His child and teen years still lingered as dad and mom showed up with open arms. They felt as no good ghosts about themselves. Michael felt just the contrary to that about them. Yes, nothing was hard enough.

And afterwards, on the farm, nothing was hard enough. Not becoming a lawyer withstanding. The ploughing, the seeding, his first born son Emerson... all had been expected with a mighty peace. Michael kissed his loved one, whom he'd met at dance, and the very next month they were having their wedding. All wasn't hard enough. All was good in a bad way. The way Michael had purposely learned to like.

Emerson was growing up in an environment of strange ways. He didn't aprove the way of life that was being led on the farm, he didn't like the spontaneous boundaries that should advice him from within himself. And he didn't like the Eastern people. Each time that he would see or hear, turn on the TV or the radio, and look at ''the gooks'', or see them speaking English... it never seemed to stop adding to his finally deciding to become a lawyer, just like his dad attempted to, whom he never understood. He never understood his grandad's and his dad's loose discussions on his dad's intermediate life back in Iaoan.

Emerson finished law school in two years. Then, in a twist of events became a hardened partner in a major law firm. He was explosive, touchy, brilliant. Positive enough for his firm to fight the positive state's immigration policies.
A political gathering was taking place one rainy evening. The air was noisy, stail, foreseeing a fruitless end of it for some.

''Positive, you say, ladies and gentlemen. But we at our firm say positive is negative here and in all the cases similar! And we are being backed up not only, not only! by our World War veterans, who are with us as we speak, standing tall although their life has been overproductive in many ways! We are being backed up by those...by those whom you wanted so much not to stand tall – the Yestrean veterans!'', Emerson was trying to remain calm in front of the people around him and the cameras being placed everywhere.
''What? –Jockiwans in our country, in our Erituca? We don't need them, they need God, let them talk to God...we talk to Him as well!'' That was enough, he was in his late twenties, and he joined the xenophobics' organization the day after.

Afterwards, everything wasn't easy enough. Promoting the organization's cause, showing at meetings as well at gatherings, fundraising, etc. such as actively i.e. latently supporting the militias in the ''areas struck by the Jockiwans''. The militias developped; they were the Eritucas extra guards of the Jockiwans' border.

What the Jockiwans were doing to prevent the radicalism of the Eritucans, was to create their own organization, enhance the establishment of their pendants to the Eritucan militias. The skies those days were dry, reflecting as it were on the ground of the ''areas struck''. The only liquid in demand was the priceless one, covering the ground here and there,wherever the two militias decided to cross their Iaonese sabres. Em was all excitement: ''I seem to resemble you, father...after all...the gooks' sabres are all what our little wars here need...'', thought he as the weaponry had finally been decided upon by the two enemies at a war conference, accross some of the ever-changing border lines.

The Jockiwans had their own leader, sure thing. His name was Johck. Known as Owen among the Eritucans. ''This is a long war of Iaonese sabres that we are to fight. No skirmishes are needed.'', decided he one night, surrounded by his wives of the 'blond nation', the region of their being momentarily under his control.

And year after year, and day after day, and no one was winning in that finders-keepers game. The areas were gained only to be lost. There were training centres dedicated to the militias' priceless costs of lives. Both parties had hard times locating the centres of the enemious; the both led the same kind of life, they ate the same, they slept the same.

(To Be Continued...Maybe:-k:))

WriterJohnB
March 2nd, 2012, 05:38 PM
Jamie's,

I had trouble getting through this and, now that I've finished, I'm not even sure what I read. Right from the start, "The previous day?", confused me since we never got back to the present day. It jumps back between Em's dad and grandad and even Em' birth is mentioned before his parents have met. Later, I'm not sure who's fighting who or why. There's precious little "show" here, it's almost all "tell."

This shows promise but could you try to rewrite it without jumping in time several times a paragraph. And maybe you could relate the story through one character's point of view, so it would be easier to follow. Hope this crit helps.

JohnB

jamie's
March 2nd, 2012, 09:21 PM
Jamie's,

I had trouble getting through this and, now that I've finished, I'm not even sure what I read. Right from the start, "The previous day?", confused me since we never got back to the present day. It jumps back between Em's dad and grandad and even Em' birth is mentioned before his parents have met. Later, I'm not sure who's fighting who or why. There's precious little "show" here, it's almost all "tell."

This shows promise but could you try to rewrite it without jumping in time several times a paragraph. And maybe you could relate the story through one character's point of view, so it would be easier to follow. Hope this crit helps.

JohnB

Hi, JohnB,
I guess what you say is what I meant when I said that this story's plot is a ''dense'' one. It sure needs some rewriting and adjustments.
Many Thanks,
Bye,
jamie's

lowprofile300
April 13th, 2012, 01:43 AM
Hi Jamie, you may be onto something here, but this story is screaming out for revisions. So, here is my take on the first few paragraphs. I hope this puts you in the right direction. Blue= Suggestion. Red= Suspect.





Times'matter


The previous day, Em's father, Michael had returned from Iaoan for good. He carried another key within himself. (Elaborate on this Key)
After finishing Law School, Michael decided to live the zen buddhism life, as long the monks allowed him to stay in the monastery. He learned how to cope with the promptness of the Western culture, something that he had needed to know after he would received his diploma, the key.

Em's grandad had been a farmer who was never afraid of work. After all, work was just a part of his culture.never had a fear of his culture of work, a fear of being transcendentally dedicated to something. Although undereducated, or precisely because of that, his son, Em's dad, still remembered his father's everyday's fresh drops of sweat falling on at that mom's freshly baked bread there on the kitchen table. The bread was always a bit sprinkled by sweat.

''It's the way I eat my bread.'', his father, an unorthodox worshipper, used to say come evenings.

Mom always nodded at to that, holding the Holy Book, as she read reading it. So Day after day, the bread loaves received their liquid. Michael had seen the bread dough rise. He knew that water was needed to make the a dough. He dreamed of dough one night. Water and sweat, the liquids of the bread.


Ok, so you get the idea, I hope. I suspect, that English is your second language, so you will have to work even harder to get your story across to your audience. Work on your grammer and tenses, and you will have a good start. Post an excerpt after your revision, I will love to take a crack at it.