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I am writing a story and would like some reviews

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posted on May, 8 2012 @ 06:24 PM
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The title says it all. I am writing a story and would like some reviews. The word count has not yet been decided, but I am aiming for a novella. This is only the first chapter of my fictional story but before continuing on would definitely like some reviews by the great people of ATS. If most say "wow, I would like to read more" then I will continue working on it because there may be hope for a success, perhaps even publication. All constructive criticism is also welcome, even encouraged, because I want this to be a great story.

By Fire and Light



Alone into the deep woods I went wandering. It was a beautiful night, illuminated by the moon so bright. How it sat quietly in the arms of darkness, is unforgettable. All that one may say is “what a sight”. The trees surrounding me with their lush green majesty, made thoughts of my home in the city feel like a travesty. Looking around to observe nature’s beauty, treading softly upon her earthly purity, I found myself in awe of this wonderful reality. From afar were hoots of an owl, perched upon a branch, surely, and observing the ground diligently for a meal.

Walking by majestic pines, towering above me gave the feeling, not of inferiority, but of security. Security in that I was, by the nature of man, properly fixed into the ordering of the world. My existence was not of mere insignificance because my size relative to the trees or for the infinity of the cosmos, but my worries seemed to ease. They, much like me, were finding a proper place. It was not of great significance, nor insignificance, but rather of quite simple ignorance on my part for allowing such things to consume, overwhelm, and engulf me.

Here - here among the countless trees, insects, and animals, I am truly free to be me. Free from the pollution of mind, body, and soul, that comes with urban frenzy, atomized individuality, and complacency inducing leisure. The city is a place where man trades his irreplaceable bond with divinity for soulless anonymity, built upon safety, money, and moral anarchy. In these forests one may find refuge, perhaps in silent contemplation or sincere jubilation of physical liberation from urban dilapidation. Abandon the smoke stacks, factories, automobiles, and technologies, in turn to see trees, bees, streams, and nature’s honesty.

Finally ahead lays a beautiful spot wherein I may work upon my poetry; a glorious combination of moonlight grandeur and encircling trees. Taking off my socks and shoes, my feet touch the plush grass. Each blade of grass, standing erect as though in salute of a great presence, could be felt upon my soles. Then I sat next to a log of a deceased tree retaken into that from which it sprung. Leaning against it with my note pad in one hand and pencil in the other, I begun to observe that which was around me, to harvest it’s bounty for my imagination’s journey.

When in deep consideration of my potential poetic masterpiece, something had startled me from the wood line. Leafs were crunching under the footsteps of what I suddenly imagined to be a ferocious beast, with fangs dripping from salivating over the thought of my deceased corpse. Panic ensued. Quickly I leaped to my feet, standing firm, enlarging my chest, and trying to hold back the almost crippling internal scream of “run, run now!” Eyes appeared before me, bright glowing eyes, burning with the passion of a thousand suns, and whose heart and stomach had set its sights upon my pale skin.

“Be gone beast from the deep wood!” I declared in a shaky voice. “Come towards me no more. Withhold your temptation to devour. Set thy back against me and pursue a path of return from whence you came.” Yet the beast did not move; neither towards me nor away from me. It stood, almost frozen with eyes fixed. There was no sound. All was still. All was quiet. All was dread. The eyes blinked, perhaps the slowest blink ever observed. As they had returned from behind that thin curtain of concealment my panic had begun to subside.

In an unexplainable way, fear’s cold grip had loosened. The beast stepped forward into the shadows, only so far as to reveal a silhouette. In all my years, never have I observed the shape of such a thing. The shroud of mystery both piqued my sense of curiosity and unchained my imagination. Believing it may be fearful of my towering stature, I kneeled down. Then, out came “would you come closer?” That such words had been uttered were striking. What was I doing, calling forth an unknown best from its cloak of darkness? To ask that its form be scribbled in by the light was nothing save insanity.

Piercing the silence came these words, “for in darkness I did make my life, thus in darkness must I remain.” Stunned, I nearly loss my balance. The beast, or better described as, being, could speak. With a voice, sounding as though it knows of suffering beyond any that I may comprehend, and commanding of attention in tone. “You can speak?” is all that could come to my mind. “I may, it has yet to be taken from me,” it said in response.

“What exactly are you, if I may ask?” After taking a deep breath then pausing in silence for a few seconds it responded. “I was what you are now, except of different character. As a man I spent my life in pursuit of that which has earned my rightful damnation. For what I had done was a perversion against nature.” This it said before breaking to clear its throat. “For in the shadows of life did I do my deeds, so in darkness I now live; a just punishment suited for this beast”, it declared. “What is your name – or was your name?” I inquired. “My name has been etched into the surrounding trees, but I have for long forgotten it.”

“Your name shall be Ater, for the time being, at least until sunrise when the light shining upon the trees shall reveal your name.” Ater spoke again, saying, “Not many have spoken to me before. We are awfully lonely in this deep, dark wood.” “Us,” I inquired, “who is ‘us’?” “It is not just I confined to these woods, many live amongst these hills and trees. All attached by chain to the house atop the hill. For series of unfortunate events brought us here, and here we are cursed to forever remain.”

“Who, or what, has bound you here?” I asked. “Long, long ago, an old man lived in the house atop the hill, deep in these dark woods. He was unlike most others. After years of causing pain to the townspeople they gathered together and sought to hang him in the square. I remember the event, for I was a young boy and my parents were part of the mob. He peaked out a window, only to see dozens of angry townspeople climbing over the fence into his yard. Rounding up the servants, he commanded one to guard the door with a shot gun.”

“Out the back door the rest ran, deep into the woods behind his old lonely house. Gun shots could be heard as the poor servant left to the savage mob killed two men before the others took his life. Fleeing into the woods, while attempting to not draw attention, a servant girl’s young child was screaming in her arms. The master did not want any to alert the mob to their whereabouts so he commanded her to cover its mouth. She protested, knowing it would deprive her infant child of air. But the babe would still not quiet.”

“So the master ordered another servant to kill the child, and kill the mother too if she cried aloud. Without hesitation the servant took a knife and finished the child in its mother’s arms. He then put the knife to her throat. The poor mother kept quiet, following master and the other servant as they hurried away. I know of this only because my parents refused to take me into the mob, keeping me back from the house but at a place where I could observe the master and his servants making their escape.”

At this point one could sense there is an emotion pull upon Ater’s heart. “Did you speak up?” asked I. “I did not. Although now it is the one event in my life I truly pray could be altered. If only I had declared, ‘there he runs now, into the wood!’, then perhaps confinement to the darkness would have not occurred. But that past is unalterable.” In response, from my lips flowed; “is that why you are chained to his house? Because you aided in his escape or because he felt you were a part of the mob and sought revenge?”

“Neither is the case. Foolishly, I returned to the woods many years later in my early 20s, thinking the old man had to have passed by now. This was not a mistake, for he had been deceased. When stumbling upon the old house I ventured inside, as it appeared abandoned. Ignorant of what was actually there, my curiosity dragged me inside. After walking some fifteen feet into the kitchen, the door through which I entered had closed. Panicking, I ran towards the door only to discover it was locked. Running through the first floor of the house, all the other doors were locked as well.”

“Then, in the corner of my eye, was a corpse. Nearly all the flesh had been cleaned from its bones. This corpse belonged to the old man, I could tell by the scant amount of flesh still upon it permitted features to be displayed. ‘Clearly,’ I thought, ‘the servants must still be alive. That was who locked the door.’ But a noise had come from behind the door to my right. It was an old wooden door with a gold colored door knob. Peaking inside the key hole, a most interest yet unsettling sight could be seen.”

Ater stopped speaking, which was proceeded by the faint sound of a piano being played. After looking toward the source of this noise, I readjusted my sight and Ater had disappeared. “Ater,” I called out, “where did you go?” There was no response. Seeking the source of this noise, I ventured into the woods. It was very dark beneath the covering of the towering trees. Then it seemed, the further into the woods I went, colder the air became. After walking around two-hundred feet the air became bitterly cold, sending a chill down my spine and causing me to shiver.

All the trees around began to dance… yet there was no wind. The cold air was still, not even a light breeze passed my skin. Even after walking for ten minutes the neither that old house spoken of by Ater appeared, nor Ater himself. At least the temperature ceased to descend any further. ‘Now I am lost for sure,’ I said to myself both upset for being lost in these deep, dark woods and also for not finding anything of interest. Yet there was no turning back, for that piano continued to play… luring me in with its sweet melody and my perilous inquisitiveness.

Out from the dark wood into an open field I stumbled. Finally, there was light again. A brilliant moon sat upon its inferior throne in the sky. Around was a beautiful landscape of rocks, surrounded by trees, and dotted with gentle hills. Yet the most magnificent tree in all the wood sat ahead of me in its lonesome. Finally, the piano stopped playing its tune. This did not distract from the beauty of the tree. It was a lovely weeping willow and behind it was the moon, with its shadow cast upon the ground before it.

I decided to sit down away from the tree. At just the right angle I could see the moon form a halo around the tree. There, sitting, admiring the splendor of this tree which captured my attention, I became lost in its mesmerizing magnificence. Out of the quiet came a noise – sobbing. It sounded like a young woman sobbing nearby. Leaping to my feet, I scanned the landscape in search of this distraught woman, yet no person could be seen. “Is there anyone here?” I called out, hoping for a reply. Unfortunately the only response was further sobbing.


edit on 5/8/2012 by Misoir because: (no reason given)




posted on May, 8 2012 @ 06:38 PM
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More please.



posted on May, 8 2012 @ 06:49 PM
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reply to post by Misoir
 


"wow, I would like to read more"

Please, Misoir, don't stop now. Beautifully, beautifully written. The story has a stately cadence that has great appeal.

J



posted on May, 8 2012 @ 08:16 PM
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Going to read this in the morning when I have more time.



posted on May, 8 2012 @ 08:58 PM
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I lied, I ended up reading it just now. WOW! More please!!



posted on May, 8 2012 @ 09:02 PM
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reply to post by Misoir
 





Alone into the deep woods I went wandering. It was a beautiful night, illuminated by the moon so bright. How it sat quietly in the arms of darkness, is unforgettable. All that one may say is “what a sight”. The trees surrounding me with their lush green majesty, made thoughts of my home in the city feel like a travesty. Looking around to observe nature’s beauty, treading softly upon her earthly purity, I found myself in awe of this wonderful reality. From afar were hoots of an owl, perched upon a branch, surely, and observing the ground diligently for a meal.


You have to watch your verb tense shifts. That was spotted in the very first paragraph.

I hope you like criticism. You put it out here, AYE?
------------------------------
You "went wandering", "it was", "illuminated" are all past tenses. Then you say, "is unforgettable", present tense. It's present tense then, "surrounding me", then past tense, "made thoughts." Then you are "looking around", "treading", and suddenly "have found" yourself. Then there "were" hoots, "perched", past tense.
------------------------------
Rewritten in past tense:
Alone into the deep woods I went wandering. It was a beautiful night, illuminated by the moon so bright. How it sat quietly in the arms of darkness was unforgettable. All that one could say was “what a sight”. The trees surrounded me with their lush green majesty, and made thoughts of my home in the city feel like a travesty. I looked around to observe nature’s beauty, and while I treaded softly upon her earthly purity, I found myself in awe of this wonderful reality. From afar were hoots of an owl perched upon a branch, surely, while observing the ground diligently for a meal.

Rewritten in the present tense:
Alone into the deep woods I am wandering, on a beautiful night, illumination provided by the moon so bright. How it sits quietly in the arms of darkness is unforgettable, and all that one may say is “what a sight”. The trees are surrounding me with their lush green majesty, making thoughts of my home in the city feel like a travesty. Looking around and observing nature’s beauty, treading softly upon her earthly purity, I find myself in awe of this wonderful reality. From afar are the hoots of an owl, perching surely upon a branch, and observing the ground diligently for a meal.

Which version is better? I don't know. I read the OP and the first paragraph, highlighted it, hit right click to copy, then hit reply, then the "quote" button, then right click and paste, and made this post.

Truth be told, I scanned the story before then. It lured me in, with a subtle plot I could almost taste. I scanned, to see the length, then went back to the beginning to give it a fair read.

There. I reviewed the first paragraph. I will read the rest later. You have something yummy cooking in there.

Of course, I'll be back to comment further. Time is short at the moment.



posted on May, 8 2012 @ 09:44 PM
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reply to post by Misoir
 


From the OP:

"Alone into the deep woods I went wandering. It was a beautiful night, illuminated by the moon so bright. How it sat quietly in the arms of darkness, is unforgettable. All that one may say is “what a sight”. The trees surrounding me with their lush green majesty, made thoughts of my home in the city feel like a travesty. Looking around to observe nature’s beauty, treading softly upon her earthly purity, I found myself in awe of this wonderful reality. From afar were hoots of an owl, perched upon a branch, surely, and observing the ground diligently for a meal. "
___________________________________________


One thing a lot of writers do is over emphasize. I knew a woman writer who did this and had so much trouble getting a book agent to take on her books that she ended up self publishing. I will not criticize your creative inspiration because all writing is unique to each person and cannot be judged to any degree for value. That is to each person to decide. But, as a writer myself, I find it easier to just say it as it comes. The stories I write seem to come to me like a movie being played out and I simply write what I hear. Any way, I wanted to see it I could tweak some part of what you wrote to support your effort in this endeavor. Please don't take it as being critical of your work as I am not. here goes....

From the author:

Alone into the deep woods I went wandering. It was a beautiful night, illuminated by the moon so bright. How it sat quietly in the arms of darkness, is unforgettable. All that one may say is “what a sight”.

The tweak:

I wandered deep into the woods, alone. The brightness of the moon above me illuminated the night into something beautiful. It sat there in the quiet, held in the arms of darkness. What could anyone say except that is was an unforgettable sight.

You can use more words and increase the book volume easily and allow the story to flow. Here's a sample of something right off the top of my head for fun. Writing is fun.

Sample: Title- Young Skinny Kid - First draft - non corrected.

In the late night hours of the summer one can never tell what if anything can happen to a young man fresh out of school. Sure, they often taunt a somewhat skinny guy like me, but looks can be a deception to say the least. I can still remember that night. Hot, steamy, not even a puff of wind. No, and it had a deadness to it like when you go into a steam room and the smell of sweat fills the air. They looked me in the eye, and for a moment we were locked in a death stare. Time seemed to slow and stop as we anticipated each others next move. " Come on , let's do this ! " I shouted. I couldn't hear anything. My lips were moving, I was sure of it, but that was all. It was like being in a slow motion nightmare. The world around me began to sparkle the way it would before you might pass out from dizziness, and then it all went black. Moments later I could hear the sound of a neighborhood dog barking and I came to myself. On the ground lay four lifeless bodies. Blood was everywhere. There was a sudden chill in the air. " What did I do !" I cried. I ran as fast as I could. Anywhere, it didn't matter. And I just kept running. Well, that was over forty years ago. I guess I can't run any longer. " I didn't mean to do it," I keep telling myself. Oh yes, I remember that night, so very long ago. I was just a young skinny kid then.






edit on 8-5-2012 by Fromabove because: (no reason given)



posted on May, 9 2012 @ 08:10 AM
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reply to post by Druid42
 


I find writing in the past tense to be much easier and personally, it gives the story more interest to me. So I shall edit it, this was of course my first draft and only the first chapter. I wanted to get ATS members opinions before continuing with the story and see what needs to be edited. Your post was definitely a helpful one, for I am grateful for all the constructive criticism you can give. If it will make me a better writer, then by all means let me hear it.

Also, I am glad you enjoyed the story.



posted on May, 9 2012 @ 10:28 AM
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Wow, that was really beautiful, and I would definitely like to read more!
I love how descriptive your writing style is, you can almost feel yourself in the woods while you're reading it.
Something about it, that I can't quite put my finger on, reminds me a lot of Poe, especially the part where the protagonist meets Ater.

I do hope you decide to continue writing it... There's nothing worse than reading a work in progress, really getting into it, and then the author decides they don't want to finish it.


Totally off-topic...Just curious, are you an INFP/INFJ?



posted on May, 9 2012 @ 10:47 AM
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reply to post by Astrithr
 


Edgar Allan Poe is the most influential poet for me and I also love his short stories. There are of course other influences besides him, such as T.S. Eliot, G.K. Chesterton, and Nathaniel Hawthorne, but Poe stands above the rest in my opinion. If you enjoyed this, and its Poe-like theme, you would also enjoy my poetry. I posted two poems to ATS, they are linked below. And also, yes, I am an INFJ.

The Hell I See
The Garden of the Dead



posted on May, 9 2012 @ 10:47 AM
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reply to post by Misoir
 


Formatting is incorrect and makes it hard to follow who is speaking.

Correct:

Piercing the silence came these words, “for in darkness I did make my life, thus in darkness must I remain.” Stunned, I nearly loss my balance. The beast, or better described as, being, could speak. With a voice, sounding as though it knows of suffering beyond any that I may comprehend, and commanding of attention in tone.
“You can speak?” is all that could come to my mind.
“I may, it has yet to be taken from me,” it said in response.
“What exactly are you, if I may ask?”
After taking a deep breath then pausing in silence for a few seconds it responded. “I was what you are now, except of different character. As a man I spent my life in pursuit of that which has earned my rightful damnation. For what I had done was a perversion against nature.” This it said before breaking to clear its throat. “For in the shadows of life did I do my deeds, so in darkness I now live; a just punishment suited for this beast”, it declared.
“What is your name – or was your name?” I inquired.
“My name has been etched into the surrounding trees, but I have for long forgotten it.”



posted on May, 9 2012 @ 01:49 PM
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Very good Misoir. Glad I checked it out. I also agree with some of the analysis that Fromabove gave.

Look forward to reading some more.



posted on May, 9 2012 @ 03:29 PM
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Here is the edited version.

By Fire and Light



Alone into the deep woods I went wandering. It was a beautiful night, illuminated by the moon so bright. How it sat quietly in the arms of darkness, was unforgettable. All that one may say was “what a sight”. The trees surrounded me with their lush green majesty, and made thoughts of my home in the city feel like a travesty. I looked around to observe nature’s beauty, and while I treaded softly upon her earthly purity, I found myself in awe of this wonderful reality. From afar were hoots of an owl, perched upon a branch, surely, while observing the ground diligently for a meal.

I had walked by majestic pines, towering above me, giving the feeling, not of inferiority, but of security. Security in that I was, by the nature of man, properly fixed into the ordering of the world. My existence was not of mere insignificance because my size relative to the trees or for the infinity of the cosmos, but my worries had seemed to ease. They, much like me, found a proper place. It was not of great significance, nor insignificance, but rather of quite simple ignorance on my part for allowing such things to consume, overwhelm, and engulf me.

There - there among the countless trees, insects, and animals, I was truly free to be me. Free from the pollution of mind, body, and soul, that comes with urban frenzy, atomized individuality, and complacency inducing leisure. The city is a place where man trades his irreplaceable bond with divinity for soulless anonymity, built upon safety, money, and moral anarchy. In these forests one may find refuge, perhaps in silent contemplation or sincere jubilation of physical liberation from urban dilapidation. Abandon the smoke stacks, factories, automobiles, and technologies, in turn to see trees, bees, streams, and nature’s honesty.

Finally ahead laid a beautiful spot wherein I could work upon my poetry; a glorious combination of moonlight grandeur and encircling trees. I removed my socks and shoes; my feet had touched the plush grass. Each blade of grass, standing erect as though in salute of a great presence, was felt upon my soles. Then I sat next to a log of a deceased tree retaken into that from which it sprung. Leaning against it with my note pad in one hand and pencil in the other, I begun to observe that which was around me, to harvest it’s bounty for my imagination’s journey.

When I was in deep consideration of my potential poetic masterpiece, something had startled me from the wood line. Leafs were crunching under the footsteps of what I had suddenly imagined to be a ferocious beast, with fangs dripping from salivating over the thought of my deceased corpse. Panic ensued. Quickly I did leap to my feet, standing firm, enlarging my chest, and trying to hold back the almost crippling internal scream of “run, run now!” Eyes then appeared before me, bright glowing eyes, burning with the passion of a thousand suns, and whose heart and stomach had set its sights upon my pale skin.

“Be gone beast from the deep wood!” I recall declaring in a shaky voice. “Come towards me no more. Withhold your temptation to devour. Set thy back against me and pursue a path of return from whence you came.” Yet the beast did not move; neither towards me nor away from me. It stood, almost frozen with eyes fixed. There was no sound. All was still. All was quiet. All was dread. The eyes had blinked, perhaps the slowest blink ever observed. As they returned from behind that thin curtain of concealment my panic had begun to subside.

In an unexplainable way, fear’s cold grip had loosened. The beast stepped forward into the shadows, only so far as to reveal a silhouette. In all my years, never did I observe the shape of such a thing. The shroud of mystery had both piqued my sense of curiosity and unchained my imagination. Having believed it may be fearful of my towering stature, I kneeled down. Then, out came “would you come closer?” That such words had been uttered were striking. What was I doing, calling forth an unknown best from its cloak of darkness? To have asked that its form be scribbled in by the light was nothing save insanity.

Piercing the silence came these words, “for in darkness I did make my life, thus in darkness must I remain.” Stunned, I had nearly loss my balance. The beast, or better described as, being, could speak. With a voice, sounding as though it knows of suffering beyond any that I may comprehend, and commanding of attention in tone.

“You can speak?” is all that my mind could conjure.

“I may, it has yet to be taken from me,” it said in response.

“What exactly are you, if I may ask?” I pressed.

After taking a deep breath, then pausing in silence for a few seconds it had proceeded to respond. “I was what you are now, except of different character. As a man I spent my life in pursuit of that which has earned my rightful damnation. For what I had done was a perversion against nature.” This it said before breaking to clear its throat. “For in the shadows of life did I do my deeds, so in darkness I now live; a just punishment suited for this beast”, it had declared.

“What is your name – or was your name?” I inquired.

“My name has been etched into the surrounding trees, but I have for long forgotten it.” It proclaimed.

“Your name shall be Ater, for the time being, at least until sunrise when the light shining upon the trees shall reveal your name.”

Ater then spoke again, saying, “Not many have spoken to me before. We are awfully lonely in this deep, dark wood.”

“Us,” I inquired, “who is ‘us’?”

“It is not just I confined to these woods, many live amongst these hills and trees. All attached by chain to the house atop the hill. For series of unfortunate events brought us here, and here we are cursed to forever remain.” Ater announced in a depressed tone.

“Who, or what, has bound you here?” I asked.

“Long, long ago, an old man lived in the house atop the hill, deep in these dark woods. He was unlike most others. After years of causing pain to the townspeople they gathered together and sought to hang him in the square. I remember the event, for I was a young boy and my parents were part of the mob. He peaked out a window, only to see dozens of angry townspeople climbing over the fence into his yard. Rounding up the servants, he commanded one to guard the door with a shot gun.”

“Out the back door the rest ran, deep into the woods behind his old lonely house. Gun shots could be heard as the poor servant left to the savage mob killed two men before the others took his life. Fleeing into the woods, while attempting to not draw attention, a servant girl’s young child was screaming in her arms. The master did not want any to alert the mob to their whereabouts so he commanded her to cover its mouth. She protested, knowing it would deprive her infant child of air. But the babe would still not quiet.”

“So the master ordered another servant to kill the child, and kill the mother too if she cried aloud. Without hesitation the servant took a knife and finished the child in its mother’s arms. He then put the knife to her throat. The poor mother kept quiet, following master and the other servant as they hurried away. I know of this only because my parents refused to take me into the mob, keeping me back from the house but at a place where I could observe the master and his servants making their escape.”

At that point one could have sensed there is an emotion pull upon Ater’s heart. “Did you speak up?” asked I.
“I did not. Although now it is the one event in my life I truly pray could be altered. If only I had declared, ‘there he runs now, into the wood!’, then perhaps confinement to the darkness would have not occurred. But that past is unalterable.” Ater said.

In response, from my lips had flowed; “is that why you are chained to his house? Because you aided in his escape or because he felt you were a part of the mob and sought revenge?”

“Neither is the case. Foolishly, I returned to the woods many years later in my early 20s, thinking the old man had to have passed by now. This was not a mistake, for he had been deceased. When stumbling upon the old house I ventured inside, as it appeared abandoned. Ignorant of what was actually there, my curiosity dragged me inside. After walking some fifteen feet into the kitchen, the door through which I entered had closed. Panicking, I ran towards the door only to discover it was locked. Running through the first floor of the house, all the other doors were locked as well.”

“Then, in the corner of my eye, was a corpse. Nearly all the flesh had been cleaned from its bones. This corpse belonged to the old man, I could tell by the scant amount of flesh still upon it permitted features to be displayed. ‘Clearly,’ I thought, ‘the servants must still be alive. That was who locked the door.’ But a noise had come from behind the door to my right. It was an old wooden door with a gold colored door knob. Peaking inside the key hole, a most interesting yet unsettling sight could be seen.”

Ater had stopped speaking, which was proceeded by the faint sound of a piano being played. After having looked toward the source of this noise, I readjusted my sight and Ater had disappeared. “Ater,” I had called out, “where did you go?” There was no response. Seeking the source of this noise, I proceeded to venture into the woods. It was very dark beneath the covering of the towering trees. Then it seemed, the further into the woods I went, colder the air became. After walking around for a while the air became bitterly cold, it sent a chill down my spine and caused me to shiver.

All the trees around began to dance… yet there was no wind. The cold air was still, not even a light breeze passed my skin. Even having walked for what was presumably ten minutes neither that old house spoken of by Ater appeared, nor Ater himself. At least the temperature ceased to descend any further. ‘Now I am lost for sure,’ I had said to myself both upset for being lost in these deep, dark woods and also for not finding anything of interest. Yet there was no turning back, for that piano continued to play… luring me in with its sweet melody and my perilous inquisitiveness.

Out from the dark wood into an open field I stumbled. Finally, there was light again. A brilliant moon sat upon its inferior throne in the sky. Around was a beautiful landscape of rocks, surrounded by trees, and dotted with gentle hills. Yet the most magnificent tree in all the wood sat ahead of me in its lonesome. Finally, the piano stopped playing its tune. This did not distract from the beauty of the tree. It was a lovely weeping willow and behind it was the moon, with its shadow cast upon the ground before it.

I decided to sit down away from the tree. At just the right angle I could see the moon form a halo around the tree. There, sitting, admiring the splendor of this tree which captured my attention, I became lost in its mesmerizing magnificence. Out of the quiet came a noise – sobbing. It sounded like a young woman sobbing nearby. Having leaped to my feet, I scanned the landscape in search of this distraught woman, yet no person could be seen. “Is there anyone here?” I called out, hoping for a reply. Unfortunately the only response was further sobbing.


edit on 5/9/2012 by Misoir because: (no reason given)



posted on May, 25 2012 @ 06:29 AM
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Your use of the English language is something which I really quite jealous of. But in many areas it almost seems as if you are almost trying too hard especially when describing certain things - ‘Log of a deceased tree’ is the first example that springs to mind. What other type of log would be present in a forest (don’t answer that
). Sometimes less is more for don’t forget that in a story the reader actually uses your words to trigger their own imagination. It is not necessary to describe every minute detail or get too carried away with the main characters every thought for this only makes things seem a little unrealistic. This is highlighted also in Fromabove’s comment about over emphasizing.

It also seems unclear what kind of time period you are writing in. I realize that being a work of fiction you are well within your rights to create any world or time of your choosing, But imho this should be established if only in a brief sentence or two somewhere in the beginning. A world of ‘smoke stacks, factories, automobiles, and technologies’ seems to clash somewhat with your old school way of writing. The fact that the main character uses the word ‘thy’ and there are angry mobs and servant girls (which is kinda reminiscent of some sort of 19th century world) - for me I found it a little confusing. Possibly this is some sort of steam punk world with ancient mixing with modern idk but it would not be hard to establish exactly the type of world that the characters exist in.

Your formatting still needs a bit of work. One example is notice how almost every paragraph contains either 6 or 7 lines in your original version, and this hasn’t changed too significantly in your edited version. It seems almost as if you tried to write a poem and turned it into a short story instead. This is highlighted in Ater’s long dialogue describing the old man on the hill and the angry mob. Here you have broken the dialogue into 3 paragraphs and then further broken it up further using quotation marks even though the same character is speaking. Remember that paragraphs separate…..um…..well you know what paragraphs are for. But it almost seems as if you’ve written the dialogue, in fact you’ve written the whole story in a way to actually fit in with your 6/7 line paragraph rule instead of actually letting it flow.

Finally the story leaves one with a few questions which could also be easily answered in a very brief sentence or two. Why did the main character name the beast Ater? What pain did Ater cause the towns people? What do you mean when you say in all his years did the main character ‘never observe the shape of such a thing?’ I realize this flies in the face of my prior comment about not having to over emphasize everything but I guess it is a very fine balance one must walk in order to allow the story to flow. Even though you are nearly there, you still have a little way to go. If this is indeed only the first chapter then you do have the space to answer these questions. Maybe a little more background and a little less over emphasis/trying too hard to be poetic in your decriptions would be the way to go.

There are a few other finicky things which also you also could improve upon and if you wish I could get into them too but the ones I mentioned above are (in my opinion) the main flaws.

Please don’t be offended by these remarks as overall the story is beautiful and leaves me wanting to know more. Having been on this forum for a few months now I realize you are only about 19 or 20 . I am a decade older than that and as I said in my first sentence your mastery of the English language honestly leaves me quite envious. I read your poems and they are brilliant and they suit your writing style perfectly. I would also suggest that your particular writing style would suit rhyming verse really well, which I know is a little more difficult but I’m sure a grammatical virtuoso such as yourself would have no trouble with it at all.

S & F





edit on 25/5/2012 by 1littlewolf because: (no reason given)



posted on May, 25 2012 @ 07:40 AM
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The mystery of the story,is what makes you want to read more..........

S&F




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