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AshenhartKrie
February 9th, 2013, 11:11 PM
Becuase I really couldn't think of a better title than that. It's probably going to be temporary anyway.
I felt that I would like to post some of my own work, although after reading some amazing things on this site I feel a little inferior. :highly_amused: BUT I don't mind becuase the more I write the better I get. So here's part of what of written (ok, the ONLY part of what I've written) in this particular story. I seem to have a disability that makes it hard for me to keep the plot going, but I with this one I know what's going to happen next. Enough of the blurb, here it is.


The sun shone brightly, reflecting prettily off the sparkling blue water. It was a blissfully serene morn, with no sound to be heard but the cry of the gulls and the slosh of the waves lapping against the shore. The gentle half silence was broken by the screaming laughter of children as they tore across the sand. From five to nine their ages were, half naked with matted blonde hair and salt stained, tan skin, with a smattering of freckles spanning their faces. They were the fisherman’s children, raised in the waves, and taught to swim before they could walk.
They lived in a small cottage just above the tideline, lined with broken fishing nets and spare oars. Bits of sea glass glinted on homemade shelves, collected by the children as they explored the beach. Other fishermen lived nearby with their families, and everyone often got together to celebrate a big catch with a huge bonfire down on the sand, the smoke spiralling upwards to meet with the clouds that occasionally hid the heavens.
Sometimes storms would rage, and the sea would turn grey and the waves would swish and jump angrily, and fishing was made nearly impossible. On these days the family of six would sit together inside around the stove, telling tales and jokes and laughing with each other. Sometimes the eldest, Val, would jump up, and regale her younger brothers and sister with wild tales of being lost at sea, or thrown overboard. None true, according to her father Michael. He would sit back and laugh, and say that the closest his daughter had ever come to drowning was when she had tried to breathe water.
But Val swore one story was true. She said it had happened when she was fourteen. They had been at sea for a week, and weren’t due home for another month when the storm hit. It was a big one, the waves reaching higher than their modest boat. A gust of wind had blown the girl overboard. She was a strong swimmer, but the currents were against her, and her strength was failing. Val swore, no matter how many times people told her she was crazy, she swore on her honour and her life that arms had reached out from the water and wrapped around her torso, dragging her upwards and depositing the gasping girl on the wet deck. She had seen the face of a boy, scales shimmering in his hairline with strange murky green eyes and pale grey skin, before he had slipped back into the ocean and was lost from sight.
Mike said she had hallucinated, that there was no way the Mer existed, but Val was adamant. She knew what she had seen, no matter what anyone had said otherwise. Today however, was a clear day. She had taken her own boat out for a short trip around the headland to the neighbouring coastal village, and had just arrived home, greeted happily by her gang of siblings.
They rushed into the water, the youngest paddling out to her and hugged her, giggling and splashing her. Discreetly she pulled the tarp over the gifts so that they wouldn’t get wet. Laughing, she splashed them back, picking Tully, the youngest, up and hoisting her high in the air. The five year old screamed happily and kicked, making it harder for Val to hold her.
“You keep kicking and it’s into the water with you, you wretch!” she said laughing, swatting away the hands of Dom that had been sneaking into the tarp, his keen nose picking up the scent of glazed bread. “No you don’t, little brother. That’s for tonight.” She sat Tully on her shoulder and grabbed the bow of the boat, dragging it with her out of the water. Her cotton trousers were drenched, and she was barefoot, as most village people went these days. “Come on you guys. You have to help me unload. Then we can go play drift.”
“I wanna explore the caves!” crowed little Tully, yanking at Val’s sun-streaked hair. “You ALWAYS get to go with Papa.” The little girl drew out the word ‘always’ in a whining tone of voice.
“That’s because I’m older,” Val pointed out. “Besides, they’re dangerous.”
“That’s what makes it fun, dummy!” Dom piped up, sending an empty shell skittering along in front of him. Val frowned and tapped him sharply on his head.
“Don’t call me that Dom. You won’t get any glazed bun if you do.” She warned. The boat had carved deep ruts in the sand, like a turtle dragging herself up the beach to lay her eggs. Val had taken her siblings to see that one time. They had stared in amazement as the large green sea animal had dug a nest and deposited her unborn hatchlings within before beginning the arduous climb back down to the seaside before swimming away.
“Ah, what a day.” Val grabbed her stuff, the presents and the food, all wrapped up in the tarp so as to stay hidden, and put her little boat in the shed. Her father’s big fishing boat was anchored in the water so that it wouldn’t get beached when the tide dropped. Val’s Mama was inside, no doubt cooking up a storm for when Mike returned from the neighbour’s house. He had gone over to help patch up the weatherboarding that had been damaged in the last big storm. It had torn a hole in the wood, and the wind was whistling through the crack making the house’s occupants shiver. Val would have gone with him, but she had some extra coin, and the weather was good, and the sea was calling her with its siren’s song. Val had heard that there was a market on in the seaside town on the other side of the headland, but it would have taken too long to walk, so she chose instead to take her boat out, cruising languidly amongst the calm waters.
She threw the tarp inside the small shed – not before removing her goods – and pushed aside the sea-shells that dangled on lengths of string that served as a door during the warmer weather. “I’m home, Ma,” Val called out softly, her eyes adjusting to the dimness within the hut. Depositing the presents on the table, she gave her mother a hug and a kiss on the cheek, and gave her the glazed buns and the other fancy food that she had brought home.



(So much longer than I had expected D:)

Save.Face.
February 10th, 2013, 12:20 AM
I've done a bit of editing, but I'm more useful in the idea department than the grammar.
Becuase I really couldn't think of a better title than that. It's probably going to be temporary anyway.
I felt that I would like to post some of my own work, although after reading some amazing things on this site I feel a little inferior. BUT I don't mind becuase the more I write the better I get. So here's part of what of written (ok, the ONLY part of what I've written) in this particular story. I seem to have a disability that makes it hard for me to keep the plot going, SO DO I! but I with this one I know what's going to happen next. Enough of the blurb, here it is.


The sun shone brightly, reflecting prettily off the sparkling blue water. It was a blissfully serene morn, with no sound to be heard but the cry of the gulls and the slosh of the waves lapping against the shore. The gentle half silence was broken by the screaming laughter of children as they tore across the sand. From five to nine their ages were, half naked with matted blonde hair and salt stained, tan skin, with a smattering of freckles spanning their faces. They were the fisherman’s children, raised in the waves, and taught to swim before they could walk.
They lived in a small cottage just above the tideline, lined with broken fishing nets and spare oars. Bits of sea glass glinted on homemade shelves, collected by the children as they explored the beach. Other fishermen lived nearby with their families, and everyone often got together to celebrate a big catch with a huge bonfire down on the sand, the smoke spiralling *SPIRALING upwards to meet with the clouds that occasionally hid the heavens.
Sometimes storms would rage, and the sea would turn grey and the waves would swish and jump angrily, and fishing was made nearly impossible. On these days the family of six would sit together inside around the stove, telling tales and jokes and laughing with each other. Sometimes the eldest, Val, would jump up, and regale her younger brothers and sister with wild tales of being lost at sea, or thrown overboard. None true, according to her father Michael. He would sit back and laugh, and say that the closest his daughter had ever come to drowning was when she had tried to breathe water.
But Val swore one story was true. She said it had happened when she was fourteen. They had been at sea for a week, and weren’t due home for another month when the storm hit. It was a big one, the waves reaching higher than their modest boat. A gust of wind had blown the girl overboard. She was a strong swimmer, but the currents were against her, and her strength was failing. Val swore, no matter how many times people told her she was crazy, she swore on her honour and her life that arms had reached out from the water and wrapped around her torso, dragging her upwards and depositing the gasping girl on the wet deck. She had seen the face of a boy, scales shimmering in his hairline with strange murky green eyes and pale grey skin, before he had slipped back into the ocean and was lost from sight.
Mike said she had hallucinated, that there was no way the Mer existed, but Val was adamant. She knew what she had seen, no matter what anyone had said otherwise. Today however, was a clear day. (TRY A PARAGRAPH BREAK HERE) She had taken her own boat out for a short trip around the headland to the neighbouring coastal village, and had just arrived home, greeted happily by her gang of siblings.
They rushed into the water, the youngest paddling out to her and hugged her, giggling and splashing her. Discreetly she pulled the tarp over the gifts so that they wouldn’t get wet. Laughing, she splashed them back, picking Tully, the youngest, up and hoisting her high in the air. The five year old screamed happily and kicked, making it harder for Val to hold her.
“You keep kicking and it’s into the water with you, you wretch!” she said laughing, swatting away the hands of Dom that had been sneaking into the tarp, his keen nose picking up the scent of glazed bread. “No you don’t, little brother. That’s for tonight.” She sat Tully on her shoulder and grabbed the bow of the boat, dragging it with her out of the water. Her cotton trousers were drenched, and she was barefoot, as most village people went these days.(NO SHOES? ARE THEY POOR, IS IT NICE OUT?) “Come on you guys. You have to help me unload. Then we can go play drift.”
“I wanna explore the caves!” crowed little Tully, yanking at Val’s sun-streaked hair. “You ALWAYS get to go with Papa.” The little girl drew out the word ‘always’ in a whining tone(CONSIDER USING EITHER TONE, OR VOICE, BOTH IMPLY THE SAME THING) of voice.
“That’s because I’m older,” Val pointed out. “Besides, they’re dangerous.”
“That’s what makes it fun, dummy!” Dom piped up, sending an empty shell skittering along in front of him. Val frowned and tapped him sharply on his head.
“Don’t call me that Dom. You won’t get any glazed bun if you do.” She warned. The boat had carved deep ruts in the sand, like a turtle dragging herself up the beach to lay her eggs. Val had taken her siblings to see that one time. They had stared in amazement as the large green sea animal had dug a nest and deposited her unborn hatchlings within before beginning the arduous climb back down to the seaside before swimming away.
“Ah, what a day.” Val grabbed her stuff, the presents and the food, all wrapped up in the tarp so as to stay hidden, and put her little boat in the shed. Her father’s big fishing boat was anchored in the water so that it wouldn’t get beached when the tide dropped. Val’s Mama was inside, no doubt cooking up a storm for when Mike returned from the neighbour’s house. He had gone over to help patch up the weatherboarding that had been damaged in the last big storm. It had torn a hole in the wood, and the wind was whistling through the crack making the house’s occupants shiver. Val would have gone with him, but she had some extra coin, and the weather was good, and the sea was calling her with its siren’s song. (<<--SO MANY USES OF THE WORD AND!) Val had heard that there was a market on in the seaside town on the other side of the headland, but it would have taken too long to walk, so she chose instead to take her boat out, cruising languidly amongst the calm waters.
She threw the tarp inside the small shed – not before removing her goods – and pushed aside the sea-shells that dangled on lengths of string that served as a door during the warmer weather. “I’m home, Ma,” Val called out softly, her eyes adjusting to the dimness within the hut. Depositing the presents on the table, she gave her mother a hug and a kiss on the cheek, and gave her the glazed buns and the other fancy food that she had brought home.


Now, you have a setting, and a bit of relationship exposition, but what will this excerpt be about? I can dig the descriptors, and there is a flightiness in parts (the sea turtle line) that I think is a good portayal of the human thought train. What, though, is your story about? That is one thing that this beginning did not tell me. Is this a snapshot of a life, a fairy tale, an adventure, a murder mystery with a bright beginning? You've got to pull me in with the problem, the hook, the inciting event, or the tale will read like a blog.

AshenhartKrie
February 10th, 2013, 12:53 AM
Ack, stupid me didn't pick up on that typo (is normally extremely thorough when editing).
I used that many ands on purpose - although it does sound kind of strange, doesn't it?
Oh, and since they live on the beach, there isn't really an need for shoes.
At the moment, the problem hasn't arrived yet. What is going to happen next is a mother of a storm, and someone important (not government official important, but important to the story) washes up on the shore.
I really appreciate your reply~

Save.Face.
February 10th, 2013, 01:08 AM
Your wording is solid, which, paired with proper grammar makes everything that much easier when I click a link to read an excerpt. I think that a hint of the trouble to come would have given this post just what it needed. I'll keep and eye out for the next installment.

Jagunco
February 10th, 2013, 10:38 AM
its good mate but very wordy. I can't comment on the grammar cos basically I have none.... lol but it is well written.

I felt it could be written more economically as a lot of the descriptions, though well written, were of stuff I would probbly not bother describing but I think that's a personal thing rather than flaw.

Yup it was good

Jagunco
February 10th, 2013, 10:39 AM
BTW Steve.... do you wear shoes when you play on the beach? I sure as hell never did lol

AshenhartKrie
February 10th, 2013, 11:14 PM
Yes, I enjoy describing things, sometimes a bit too much.... '_';