Knowledge (working title) - opening 1,120 words

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Kalthandrix
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Knowledge (working title) - opening 1,120 words

Post by Kalthandrix » May 11th, 2010, 9:59 pm

I have not been about much, and for that I apologize. RL has been dragging me down and kicking me for fun.

Anyway, I was hoping to get some bit of feedback on the opening chapter of my novel. I welcome all comments and critiques of my work and I vow to also lend my own feedback to the community.

Thank you.

Oh, and as a note, I underline all my sections that would normally be italicize (i.e. world specific words and internal monologs) because it allows me to see them easier, so FYI.

-----

Chapter 1 - Phnor

The cry that split the cool morning air launched entire flocks of akalats and red-necked nightjars into the sky above the Tir Forest with an accompanying chorus of startled peeps and kyok-kyok-kyok

The sorrowful wail carried on and on as if a soul were screaming and had lost the capacity for anything but pain. When it subsided, a hush settled into the void leaving a heavy silence around the log-sided house sitting in the woods.

Weeds clustered among the wilted flowers that outlined the perimeter of the dwelling. A small garden, located behind the one story home and next to a thatch-roofed shed, was similarly cluttered with straggly growth. A portion of the garden’s low fence had fallen and allowed animals—such as the small hare crouched next to a row of tender shoots—free reign of its bounty.

The only indication that someone yet lived in the house, aside from the mournful cry, was a thin stream of smoke wafting from a fieldstone chimney.

Inside the dwelling a dirt trail marked a path across the hardwood floors and clumps of mud decorated the boot horn and mat by the front entrance. Sky-blue curtains hung from the windows in the kitchen and sitting room; the fabric’s once bright color dimmed by the coating of dust that clung to it. Shirts, rough-spun towels, and even a sock with a gaping hole in the toe were scattered along the length the dining table alongside dirty mugs, utensils, and glazed bowls.

Amidst all of the lived-in disorder the sound of helpless weeping could be heard issuing from a figure kneeling next to a low, cream-colored couch.
Racking sobs shook the burly man as he wept. Kneeling as he was it would have been impossible for anyone entering to see the cause of the man’s distress.
But it was all he could see—eyes open or shut.

A small form, dressed in a light pink sleeping gown, lay in his large hands as if asleep. The stillness of her small chest paid lie to that illusion.

Phnor held his daughter close and let his tear-streaked face brush her cheek. The light scent of night phlox blossoms caught his attention as he drew in a ragged breath, bringing with it the harsh reminder of all he had lost. Memories stabbed at him. His wife, Janna, all sunlight and laughter, had used the flower to freshen her clothes.

He had thought he had known pain before, but the swords and fires of war had not hurt as much as the day barely four months past when he had buried his love. With her he had known that the joy of life could be embodied in a single form.

The rain had been a fitting addition on the day he dug her grave accompanied only by their newborn daughter Aria and the weeping midwife that held her. If not for his tiny child he would have lain down beside Janna on that day. But the call of the Echi was not so powerful when he looked upon the slate-blue eyes of his daughter. As tiny as she had been, Aria had given him the desire to continue.

But now Aria was gone as well.

“I killed her,” he moaned.

The thought sent Phnor into another round of heart wrenching sobs as he held Aria’s body. Looking down at her with eyes blurry with new tears, Phnor struggled to make sense of it all.

She had been getting better; he could have sworn it! He had given her the medication as Tom the Apothecary had told him, but when it did not take he had upped the dosage out of fear. And it had been working. The old man’s elixir had been doing more than all the prayers and empty promises uttered by Iudex Pugn, High Priest of the oh-so-holy Unity, had ever done when he had gone to seek the church’s aid for Janna. Phnor ground his teeth, but the flicker of anger was drowned by a fresh wave of sorrow and guilt.

Phnor wallowed in the twin pains. He had thought that the battle had been over and had relaxed his guard. A veteran of the Wars should have known better...he should have known better. With great care, Phnor got up and stumbled on numb feet over to the white-washed basinet at the opposite end of the couch. Inside was a veritable nest of soft, brightly colored blankets. Knowing it made no difference, but refusing to do any less, Phnor nestled his daughter into the blankets and gently folded them over her. He left her face uncovered—unable and unwilling to cover her beatific visage.

“Daddy-,” he begun, voice cracking. “Daddy has some work to do little one. I will be back soon and we will be together again” The baritone of his voice softened as he bent over Aria and placed a tender kiss upon her cherubic cheeks. She was still warm. Pain and overwhelming guilt tighten his chest, squeezing his ribs and heart like a vise. Hot tears raced down his cheeks to mingle with the others that already wet his unkempt beard.

His rough hands smoothed the folds of cloth around Aria one last time and as he pulled them back a single blanket rumpled at foot of the basinet snagged upon them. Pale green cloth with hundreds of delicate, hand-stitched designs of stars, suns, moons, and small dancing animals greeted his eyes.

It would have been this one, he thought. With an unconscious movement he brought the soft fabric to his nose and inhaled. The scent of night phlox was a light, soothing undertone to the indefinable smell that accompanied new babies. He knew that if dreams had a scent they would smell like this. Bitterness crept in to the maelstrom of emotions within him.

This is more than any one man should have to live with.

Unable to let the blanket go he clenched to his chest and turned from the still form of his daughter before he broke down again. Five purposeful strides carried him the room and to the door.

The shovel should still be in the woods
, he thought as stopped just on the other side of the threshold. A quick glance back flooded him with memories of happier times; life, love, laughter, and dreams had once suffused the dwelling in the not so distant past. It seemed as though years had passed since that time.

All of that was ash now, he knew with a cruel longing. Head bowed—black hair fallen like a shroud over his face—he turned and pulled the door closed behind him.
#End#
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Ermo
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Re: Knowledge (working title) - opening 1,120 words

Post by Ermo » May 12th, 2010, 10:37 am

Kalthandrix wrote:I have not been about much, and for that I apologize. RL has been dragging me down and kicking me for fun.

Anyway, I was hoping to get some bit of feedback on the opening chapter of my novel. I welcome all comments and critiques of my work and I vow to also lend my own feedback to the community.

Thank you.

Oh, and as a note, I underline all my sections that would normally be italicize (i.e. world specific words and internal monologs) because it allows me to see them easier, so FYI.

-----

Chapter 1 - Phnor

The cry that split the cool morning air launched entire flocks of akalats and red-necked nightjars into the sky above the Tir Forest with an accompanying chorus of startled peeps and kyok-kyok-kyokI don't know what kind of birds those are but don't think it really matters. Nice opening.

The sorrowful wail carried on and on as if a soul were screaming and had lost the capacity for anything but pain. When it subsided, a hush settled into the void leaving a heavy silence around the log-sided house sitting in the woods.

Weeds clustered among the wilted flowers that outlined the perimeter of the dwelling. A small garden, located behind the one story home and next to a thatch-roofed shed, was similarly cluttered with straggly growth. A portion of the garden’s low fence had fallen and allowed animals—such as the small hare crouched next to a row of tender shoots—free reign of its bounty. Very good description. I like how you used these past couple of graphs to get in some info because I'm still hooked from the first line.

The only indication that someone yet lived in the house, aside from the mournful cry, was a thin stream of smoke wafting from a fieldstone chimney.Don't think you need this. It is cliche and we know someone lives there.

Inside the dwelling a dirt trail marked a path across the hardwood floors and clumps of mud decorated the boot horn and mat by the front entrance. Sky-blue curtains hung from the windows in the kitchen and sitting room; the fabric’s once bright color dimmed by the coating of dust that clung to it. Shirts, rough-spun towels, and even a sock with a gaping hole in the toe were scattered along the length the dining table alongside dirty mugs, utensils, and glazed bowls.

Amidst all of the lived-in disorder the sound of helpless weeping could be heard issuing from a figure kneeling next to a low, cream-colored couch. Passive. I get you're trying to hide the actor here, but I'd still rewrite using "a figure" as your subject.
Racking sobs shook the burly man as he wept. Kneeling as he was it would have been impossible for anyone entering to see the cause of the man’s distress.
But it was all he could see—eyes open or shut.These last two sentences threw me off. You switched your narrative voice - prior to that it felt as though the narrator was omniscient.

A small form, dressed in a light pink sleeping gown, lay in his large hands as if asleep. The stillness of her small chest paid lie to that illusion. Good couple of lines here.

Phnor held his daughter close and let his tear-streaked face brush her cheek. The light scent of night phlox blossoms caught his attention as he drew in a ragged breath, bringing with it the harsh reminder of all he had lost. Memories stabbed at him. His wife, Janna, all sunlight and laughter, had used the flower to freshen her clothes.

He had thought he had known pain before, but the swords and fires of war had not hurt as much as the day barely four months past when he had buried his love. With her he had known that the joy of life could be embodied in a single form.

The rain had been a fitting addition on the day he dug her grave accompanied only by their newborn daughter Aria and the weeping midwife that held her. If not for his tiny child he would have lain down beside Janna on that day. But the call of the Echi was not so powerful when he looked upon the slate-blue eyes of his daughter.I have no idea what this sentence means. As tiny as she had been, Aria had given him the desire to continue.

But now Aria was gone as well.

“I killed her,” he moaned.

The thought sent Phnor into another round of heart wrenching sobs as he held Aria’s body. Looking down at her with eyes blurry with new tears, Phnor struggled to make sense of it all.

She had been getting better; he could have sworn it! He had given her the medication as Tom the Apothecary had told him, but when it did not take he had upped the dosage out of fear. And it had been working. The old man’s elixir had been doing more than all the prayers and empty promises uttered by Iudex Pugn, High Priest of the oh-so-holy Unity, had ever done when he had gone to seek the church’s aid for Janna. Phnor ground his teeth, but the flicker of anger was drowned by a fresh wave of sorrow and guilt.

Phnor wallowed in the twin pains. He had thought that the battle had been over and had relaxed his guard. A veteran of the Wars should have known better...he should have known better. With great care, Phnor got up and stumbled on numb feet over to the white-washed basinet at the opposite end of the couch. Inside was a veritable nest of soft, brightly colored blankets. Knowing it made no difference, but refusing to do any less, Phnor nestled his daughter into the blankets and gently folded them over her. He left her face uncovered—unable and unwilling to cover her beatific visage.

“Daddy-,” he begun, voice cracking. “Daddy has some work to do little one. I will be back soon and we will be together again” The baritone of his voice softened as he bent over Aria and placed a tender kiss upon her cherubic cheeks. She was still warm. Pain and overwhelming guilt tighten his chest, squeezing his ribs and heart like a vise. Hot tears raced down his cheeks to mingle with the others that already wet his unkempt beard.

His rough hands smoothed the folds of cloth around Aria one last time and as he pulled them back a single blanket rumpled at foot of the basinet snagged upon them. Pale green cloth with hundreds of delicate, hand-stitched designs of stars, suns, moons, and small dancing animals greeted his eyes.

It would have been this one, he thought. With an unconscious movement he brought the soft fabric to his nose and inhaled. The scent of night phlox was a light, soothing undertone to the indefinable smell that accompanied new babies. He knew that if dreams had a scent they would smell like this. Bitterness crept in to the maelstrom of emotions within him.

This is more than any one man should have to live with.

Unable to let the blanket go he clenched to his chest and turned from the still form of his daughter before he broke down again. Five purposeful strides carried him the room and to the door.

The shovel should still be in the woods
, he thought as stopped just on the other side of the threshold. A quick glance back flooded him with memories of happier times; life, love, laughter, and dreams had once suffused the dwelling in the not so distant past. It seemed as though years had passed since that time.

All of that was ash now, he knew with a cruel longing. Head bowed—black hair fallen like a shroud over his face—he turned and pulled the door closed behind him. Good ending.
#End#
You certainly can write - this was entertianing. I kind of got lost there in the middle with all of the imagery. In fact, if I had to give one critique, it would be that you should probably be careful how much imagery and poetic prose you insert into the book. You clearly have a talent for writing that way but it can bog down a narrative and the story gets lost in the language. I think this is a great start to a story and it really makes me want to read on to find out what business he is attending to. Also, as a note, why is the baby so tiny? Did I read that right - he held her in the palm of his hand? Anyway, nice job.

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Re: Knowledge (working title) - opening 1,120 words

Post by Kalthandrix » May 12th, 2010, 12:45 pm

Ermo wrote:You certainly can write - this was entertianing. I kind of got lost there in the middle with all of the imagery. In fact, if I had to give one critique, it would be that you should probably be careful how much imagery and poetic prose you insert into the book. You clearly have a talent for writing that way but it can bog down a narrative and the story gets lost in the language. I think this is a great start to a story and it really makes me want to read on to find out what business he is attending to. Also, as a note, why is the baby so tiny? Did I read that right - he held her in the palm of his hand? Anyway, nice job.
Thank you for your time and critique. I believe this chapter has been through two revisions from draft, with the first cutting reducing the word count by half and the second removing unnecessary adjectives and such. I am very pleased with the progress it has made and happy that you found it entertaining.

For your last comment above, I did say that Phnor held her in his "hands", but I can see that this could lead someone to think that perhaps she Aria was abnormally small for being four months old--an age that I do not explicitly state, but I do say that Janna (the mother) died giving birth and that Phnor buried her four months ago. I will adjust it along with tightening up the middle.

Oh, and as for the birds in the opening. I used to actually just have the word birds and did not have the sounds of their cries, but I felt that just using "birds" was too general, so I did some looking for forest-dwelling birds and came up with those two types (which are real life animals), and added their calls.

I will make some revisions and repost this section here.

Thanks again! I really appreciate your comments :)
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Re: Knowledge (working title) - opening 1,120 words

Post by daringnovelist » May 12th, 2010, 3:05 pm

I don't read a lot of fantasy, so take my comments with a grain of salt.

This is a powerful scene. It's a little overwritten, at least for my tastes, but the only thing I would really want to cut is the amount of exposition. I'm not even sure I got the information I need out of it - he overdosed her? That's relevant. If the story of the treatment and the high priest are important, I don't want or need to learn it here. We can learn it as it becomes relevant to what is going on. I do want clues and teasers as to what he's going to do next, but it to me it needs to push toward action, rather than just be information.

I made a few marginal comments below.

Camille
Kalthandrix wrote:
Chapter 1 - Phnor

The cry that split the cool morning air launched entire flocks of akalats and red-necked nightjars into the sky above the Tir Forest with an accompanying chorus of startled peeps and kyok-kyok-kyok

The sorrowful wail carried on and on as if a soul were screaming and had lost the capacity for anything but pain. When it subsided, a hush settled into the void leaving a heavy silence around the log-sided house sitting in the woods.

Weeds clustered among the wilted flowers that outlined the perimeter of the dwelling. A small garden, located behind the one story home and next to a thatch-roofed shed, was similarly cluttered with straggly growth. A portion of the garden’s low fence had fallen and allowed animals—such as the small hare crouched next to a row of tender shoots—free reign of its bounty.

The only indication that someone yet lived in the house, aside from the mournful cry, was a thin stream of smoke wafting from a fieldstone chimney.

Inside the dwelling a dirt trail marked a path across the hardwood floors and clumps of mud decorated the boot horn and mat by the front entrance. Sky-blue curtains hung from the windows in the kitchen and sitting room; the fabric’s once bright color dimmed by the coating of dust that clung to it. Shirts, rough-spun towels, and even a sock with a gaping hole in the toe were scattered along the length the dining table alongside dirty mugs, utensils, and glazed bowls.

Amidst all of the lived-in disorder the sound of helpless weeping could be heard issuing from a figure kneeling next to a low, cream-colored couch.
Racking sobs shook the burly man as he wept. Kneeling as he was it would have been impossible for anyone entering to see the cause of the man’s distress.
But it was all he could see—eyes open or shut. (this paragraph kept losing me - it might help to remove the commentary and just keep on with the visual details. since we can see it all, it doesn't matter that no one else could see. )

A small form, dressed in a light pink sleeping gown, lay in his large hands as if asleep. The stillness of her small chest paid lie to that illusion.

Phnor held his daughter close and let his tear-streaked face brush her cheek. The light scent of night phlox blossoms caught his attention as he drew in a ragged breath, bringing with it the harsh reminder of all he had lost. Memories stabbed at him. His wife, Janna, all sunlight and laughter, had used the flower to freshen her clothes.

He had thought he had known pain before, but the swords and fires of war had not hurt as much as the day barely four months past when he had buried his love. With her he had known that the joy of life could be embodied in a single form.

The rain had been a fitting addition on the day he dug her grave accompanied only by their newborn daughter Aria and the weeping midwife that held her. If not for his tiny child he would have lain down beside Janna on that day. But the call of the Echi was not so powerful when he looked upon the slate-blue eyes of his daughter. As tiny as she had been, Aria had given him the desire to continue.

But now Aria was gone as well.

“I killed her,” he moaned.

The thought sent Phnor into another round of heart wrenching sobs as he held Aria’s body. Looking down at her with eyes blurry with new tears, Phnor struggled to make sense of it all.

She had been getting better; he could have sworn it! He had given her the medication as Tom the Apothecary had told him, but when it did not take he had upped the dosage out of fear. And it had been working. The old man’s elixir had been doing more than all the prayers and empty promises uttered by Iudex Pugn, High Priest of the oh-so-holy Unity, had ever done when he had gone to seek the church’s aid for Janna. Phnor ground his teeth, but the flicker of anger was drowned by a fresh wave of sorrow and guilt. (We really could learn all this later.)

Phnor wallowed in the twin pains. He had thought that the battle had been over and had relaxed his guard. A veteran of the Wars should have known better...he should have known better. With great care, Phnor got up and stumbled on numb feet over to the white-washed basinet at the opposite end of the couch. Inside was a veritable nest of soft, brightly colored blankets. Knowing it made no difference, but refusing to do any less, Phnor nestled his daughter into the blankets and gently folded them over her. He left her face uncovered—unable and unwilling to cover her beatific visage.

“Daddy-,” he begun, voice cracking. “Daddy has some work to do little one. I will be back soon and we will be together again” The baritone of his voice softened as he bent over Aria and placed a tender kiss upon her cherubic cheeks. She was still warm. Pain and overwhelming guilt tighten his chest, squeezing his ribs and heart like a vise. Hot tears raced down his cheeks to mingle with the others that already wet his unkempt beard.

His rough hands smoothed the folds of cloth around Aria one last time and as he pulled them back a single blanket rumpled at foot of the basinet snagged upon them. (I can't make out what just happened here. Break it up.) Pale green cloth with hundreds of delicate, hand-stitched designs of stars, suns, moons, and small dancing animals greeted his eyes.

It would have been this one, he thought. With an unconscious movement he brought the soft fabric to his nose and inhaled. The scent of night phlox was a light, soothing undertone to the indefinable smell that accompanied new babies. He knew that if dreams had a scent they would smell like this. Bitterness crept in to the maelstrom of emotions within him.

This is more than any one man should have to live with.

Unable to let the blanket go he clenched to his chest and turned from the still form of his daughter before he broke down again. Five purposeful strides carried him the room and to the door.

The shovel should still be in the woods
, he thought as stopped just on the other side of the threshold. A quick glance back flooded him with memories of happier times; life, love, laughter, and dreams had once suffused the dwelling in the not so distant past. It seemed as though years had passed since that time.

All of that was ash now, he knew with a cruel longing. Head bowed—black hair fallen like a shroud over his face—he turned and pulled the door closed behind him.
#End#

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Re: Knowledge (working title) - opening 1,120 words

Post by Kalthandrix » May 12th, 2010, 10:18 pm

Great comments! Thanks.

I fell that I do have to keep the reference to the apothecary and the priest though. The reason is that in the next chapter Phnor will have an encounter with troops from the Unity and I want it already established that he does not like them. I think it sets up the next chapter so his attitude will not have to be deeply explained until later, in chapter three, when Phnor gets into the nearby town and meets with his close friend. Chapter three will explain more of what happened with the priest, Phnor, and Janna, but it needs to be foreshadowed IMO.

I made some changes and will post it below so you can see the original and also the changes I have wrought. The overall section has lost about 50 words, so it is better and leaner :)
Last edited by Kalthandrix on May 12th, 2010, 10:25 pm, edited 1 time in total.
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Re: Knowledge (working title) - opening 1,120 words

Post by Kalthandrix » May 12th, 2010, 10:25 pm

Edited Chapter I -

----

Chapter 1- Phnor

The cry that split the cool morning air launched entire flocks of akalats and red-necked nightjars into the sky above the Tir Forest with an accompanying chorus of startled peeps and kyok-kyok-kyok.

The sorrowful wail carried on and on as if a soul were screaming and had lost the capacity for anything but pain. When it subsided, a hush settled into the void leaving a heavy silence around the log-sided house surrounded by a small clearing in the woods. A thin stream of smoke wafting from its fieldstone chimney.

Weeds clustered among the wilted flowers that outlined the perimeter of the dwelling. A small garden, located behind the one story home and next to a thatch-roofed shed, was similarly cluttered with straggly growth. A portion of the garden’s low fence had fallen and allowed animals—such as the small hare crouched next to a row of tender shoots—free reign of its bounty.

Inside, a dirt trail marked a path across the hardwood floors and clumps of mud decorated the boot horn and mat by the front entrance. Sky-blue curtains hung from the windows in the kitchen and sitting room; the fabric’s once bright color dimmed by the coating of dust that clung to it. Shirts, rough-spun towels, and even a sock with a gaping hole in the toe were scattered along the length the dining table alongside dirty mugs, utensils, and glazed bowls.

Amidst all of the lived-in disorder the sound of helpless weeping could be heard issuing from Phnor as he knelt next to a low, cream-colored couch. His sobs shook his burly frame as he hunched over and gazed at what he held.

A small form, dressed in a light pink sleeping gown, lay nestled in the crook of his arm as if asleep. The stillness of her small chest paid lie to that illusion.

Phnor held his daughter close and let his tear-streaked face brush her cheek. The light scent of night phlox blossoms caught his attention as he drew in a ragged breath, bringing with it the harsh reminder of all he had lost. Memories stabbed at him. His wife, Janna, all sunlight and laughter, had used the flower to freshen her clothes.

He had thought he had known pain before, but the swords and fires of war had not hurt as much as the day barely four months past when he had buried his love. With her he had known that the joy of life could be embodied in a single form.

The rain had been a fitting addition on the day he dug her grave accompanied only by their newborn daughter Aria and the weeping midwife that held the babe. If not for his tiny child he would have lain down beside Janna on that day. But the call of the Echi, where the spirits of the dead passed to, had not as powerful when he looked into the slate-blue eyes of his daughter. As tiny as she had been, Aria had given him a reason to continue on.

But now Aria was gone as well.

“I killed her,” he moaned.

The words sent Phnor into another round of heart wrenching sobs as he held Aria’s body and struggled to make sense of it all.

She had been getting better; he could have sworn it! He had started off given her the medication as Tom the Apothecary had told him, but when it did not take he had upped the dosage for fear of losing Aria. And it had been working. The old man’s elixir had been doing more than all the prayers and empty promises uttered by Iudex Pugn, High Priest of the oh-so-holy Unity, had ever done when he had gone to seek the church’s aid for Janna. He had thought that his battle against the coughing sickness that had plagued Aria over and had relaxed his guard. A veteran of the Wars should have known better...he should have known better.

With great care, Phnor got up and stumbled on numb feet over to the white-washed basinet at the opposite end of the couch. Inside was a veritable nest of soft, brightly colored blankets. Knowing it made no difference, but refusing to do any less, Phnor nestled his daughter into the blankets and gently folded them over her. He left her face uncovered—unable and unwilling to cover her beatific visage.

“Daddy-,” he begun, voice cracking. “Daddy has some work to do little one. I will be back soon and we will be together again” The baritone of his voice softened as he bent over Aria and placed a tender kiss upon her cherubic cheeks. She was still warm. Pain and overwhelming guilt tighten his chest, squeezing his ribs and heart like a vise. Hot tears raced down his cheeks to mingle with the others that already wet his unkempt beard.

His rough hands smoothed the folds of cloth around Aria one last time, but snagged upon one rumpled at the foot of the basinet. Clinging to his thick calluses was a blanket of pale green cloth with hundreds of delicate, hand-stitched designs of stars, suns, moons, and small dancing animals.

It would have been this one, he thought. With an unconscious movement he brought the soft fabric to his nose and inhaled. The scent of night phlox was a light, soothing undertone to the indefinable smell that accompanied new babies. He knew that if dreams had a scent they would smell like this. Bitterness crept in to the maelstrom of emotions within him.

This is more than any one man should have to live with.

Unable to let the blanket go he clenched it to his chest and turned from the still form of his daughter before he broke down again. Five purposeful strides carried him the room and to the door.

The shovel should still be in the woods
, he thought as stopped just on the other side of the threshold. A quick glance back flooded him with memories of happier times; life, love, laughter, and dreams had once suffused the dwelling in the not so distant past. It seemed as though years had passed since that time.

All of that was ash now, he knew with a cruel longing. Head bowed—black hair fallen like a shroud over his face—he turned and pulled the door closed behind him.

#End#
Last edited by Kalthandrix on May 15th, 2010, 10:35 pm, edited 1 time in total.
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Re: Knowledge (working title) - opening 1,120 words

Post by daringnovelist » May 13th, 2010, 10:43 pm

The unclear parts are all clear to me now. (But that could be partly because I have read it before.) The exposition didn't bother me as much this time - perhaps the polishing of other parts helped.

Camille

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Re: Knowledge (working title) - opening 1,120 words

Post by Kalthandrix » May 13th, 2010, 11:03 pm

Thanks. When I have whipped chapter two into shape, I will post it and provide a link back to this chapter so people will know what all is happening. It has been great to have your comments! (Sorry, I am sending this from my phone).
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Re: Knowledge (working title) - opening 1,120 words

Post by Petronella » May 17th, 2010, 6:51 pm

Things I like. The birds in the opening paragraph. Your description of the cottage/house. The scene within the house - yes, there is nothing I don't like.

I do have a question. How was he feeding the baby? There's a mention of a midwife who, I assume, was present at the baby's birth. But no mention is made of a wetnurse, which I would have expected given the fantasy type setting. Hope you don't mind my asking.

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Re: Knowledge (working title) - opening 1,120 words

Post by Kalthandrix » May 17th, 2010, 8:29 pm

Petronella wrote:Things I like. The birds in the opening paragraph. Your description of the cottage/house. The scene within the house - yes, there is nothing I don't like.

I do have a question. How was he feeding the baby? There's a mention of a midwife who, I assume, was present at the baby's birth. But no mention is made of a wetnurse, which I would have expected given the fantasy type setting. Hope you don't mind my asking.
Well...you'll have to buy the book to find out all the details, now won't you :P

But, in truth, it has actually never been an issue at this point because all of that is off screen. But, if you need to know, there is a goat in the shed which you would learn about in Chapter 3.

Thanks for your comments. If you liked this, read Chapter 2 that I have posted. It is quite a bit longer, but if is full of action and sets the stage for all that is coming down the road.
Last edited by Kalthandrix on May 19th, 2010, 3:13 pm, edited 1 time in total.
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Petronella
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Re: Knowledge (working title) - opening 1,120 words

Post by Petronella » May 19th, 2010, 3:07 pm

Is the book for sale or do I have to wait a while before buying? Anyway, thanks for letting me know. Now I'm off to read chapter 2...

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Kalthandrix
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Re: Knowledge (working title) - opening 1,120 words

Post by Kalthandrix » May 19th, 2010, 3:10 pm

Petronella wrote:Is the book for sale or do I have to wait a while before buying? Anyway, thanks for letting me know. Now I'm off to read chapter 2...
I think I love you :D

No it is not finsihed yet, but I am sure that when it is, this will be the first place I let people know that it is. I have already told Nathan that he will be the first agent that I query when I am at that stage of the process.
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Re: Knowledge (working title) - opening 1,120 words

Post by Steppe » May 19th, 2010, 5:40 pm

The imagery and lyrical pacing caught my attention and drew the setting hypnotically.
I understand who the protagonist is and his mindset and grief also his suspicions of others.
If in the same amount of words after this you lay out the skeleton of his quests and conflicts
whether he understands their true final outcomes or not I would continue reading.

The style used was continuous and had even flowing ups and downs with in the tight confines
of an establishing scene where everything has already been subtlety textured into the text
with the symbolism of the structures and creatures and backdrops.

I would have confidence in it as a revision and set to work on the next layer (1500W) of the
story onion being peeled away for the reader and then do another first section revision if the
second section needs some pacing marriages.

In short it's 98.5 % finished.
The last bits of revision are what has to be bridged to the next section
or the total length of the story. I would proceed forward after this revision.

By the end of the book you may actually reach six revisions of the opening
but only as a matter of changing with extreme delicasy as it relates to the
total finished script as you do proofreads.

I enjoyed it.

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