Nathan Bransford - The Forums

sbs_mjc1 wrote:Clifton
Thursday, December 19, 1745
Light from the full moon had turned the landscape into sharply detailed white highlights and dark blue shadows. this sentence feels longer than necessary, wordy, and turned into is a weak verb
Robert Maxwell stood knee-deep in the roadside weeds, hands clamped around his gun. gun doesn't feel like the right word, musket? rifle? gun put my mind to a handgun and i had to remind myself of the setting Even though he had fired it many times, it still felt foreign in his hands; besides, this besides doesn't really make sense he did not know if any of his bullets had ever reached their marks.
“They’re no’ comin’ this way,” Hugh MacBain whispered from beside him.
Robert nodded. He sincerely hoped they were not. The last time he had fought someone at close range was at Gladmuir, and most of that had been him flailing madly with a pitchfork, more in self-defense than in any serious attempt to kill one of the English soldiers. extra words: "The last time he had fought at close range was Gladmuir, and that had been flailing madly with a pitchfork, more self-defense than any serious attempt to kill an English soldier."
The crack of gunfire broke the silence, followed by yelling and the crunch of breaking branches. The yelling grew louder, followed by screams and more sounds of breaking shrubbery, shrubbery always makes me think of Monty Python then faded away.
A few minutes later, there was another round of gunfire, this time more distant.
Robert allowed himself to relax. It sounded as though the English had fled south, into the open moors.
A moment later, he heard racing footsteps on the road, followed by more yelling. more yelling? I feel like the language could be more evocative here, it's feels more like a listing Before he could fully register the figures sprinting towards them, he heard another crack and saw Hugh collapse forward.
His first thought was to try to help his friend. Then he saw the dark patch spreading across Hugh’s chest, and realized it was too late. Robert felt nothing as he raised his gun to his shoulder and took aim at the man who had just begun running again, a musket still smoking in his hand, dodging between his comrades. this sentence has too many clauses
With a sense of calm detachment, calm feels unnecessary to describe detachment he heard the report of his own shot and felt the recoil of the explosion through his body. The gritty smoke made him cough.
He had missed, he realized, with a surge of anger. what happened to his detachment?
A second later, he saw a different man fall and begin to scream, clutching his indefinite pronoun shoulder. He indefinite pronoun struggled on the road, a patch of shiny darkness spreading out under him, and then relaxed and lay still.
“Look out!”
The yell snapped Robert to alertness "snapped to alertness" feels a bit stilted just in time to see a bayonet blade aiming for his neck. Instinctively, drop this comma i think he turned away, pulling up his left arm to shield himself.
With the same calm detachment as before, he was detached, then angry, then detached in what? a minute and a half? he saw the blade slice through his sleeve and sink into his arm, so that the point buried itself in the outside of his shoulder. He was barely aware that he screamed as he ripped his body free of the metal.
Blood sprayed into the air, sparkling in the moonlight.
Someone grabbed him by the shirt collar, and pulled him off the road. i thought he was on the side of the road? Even with the pain in his shoulder, he could feel the sticky warmth of blood running down his arm. why would pain prohibit him feeling the blood? not sure I get this
“Get down.” Another hand pushed him into the roadside weeds. you are repeating phrases, "calm detachment" "roadside weeds" and as a result we aren't getting a more specific picture, just the same words, the same general description Robert dropped his gun and gripped his shoulder as hard as he could, but blood still welled up between his fingers.

sbs_mjc1 wrote:Clifton
Thursday, December 19, 1745
Light from the full moon had turned Turned is a weak verb and not quite the right one either. Transformed, maybe? the landscape, into giving itsharply detailed white highlights and dark blue shadows.
Robert Maxwell stood knee-deep in the roadside weeds, hands clamped around his gun I agree the word choice is not right here. Throws us out of the historical setting.. Even though he had fired it many times, it still felt foreign in his hands;Can you show me why? Is it the weight of the metal? His inexperience? Maybe his reluctance to use it to kill? besides, he did not know if any of his bullets had ever reached their marks.

“They’re no’ comin’ this way,” Hugh MacBain whispered from beside him.

Robert nodded. He sincerely hoped they were not. The last time he had fought someone at close range was at Gladmuir, and most of that had been him flailing madly with a pitchfork, more in self-defense than in any serious attempt to kill one of the English soldiers.

The crack of gunfire broke the silence, followed by yelling and the crunch of breaking branches. The yelling grew louder, followed by screams and more sounds of breaking shrubbery, then faded away. Be careful of using the same words in close proximity to each other.

A few minutes later, there was another round of gunfire, this time more distant.
Robert allowed himself to relax. It sounded as though the English had fled south, into the open moors.
A moment later, he heard racing footsteps on the road, followed by more yelling. Before he could fully register the figures sprinting towards them, he heard another crack and saw Hugh collapse forward. Who is this Hugh fellow? You're killing him and I don't even know who he is. If you care enough to give him a name then he ought to have some characteristic that's important. Otherwise he should remain nameless and just refer to him as the other soldier. You can only introduce so many characters in your opening without confusing the reader.

His first thought was to try to help his friend. Then he saw the dark patch spreading across Hugh’s chest, and realized it was too late. Robert felt nothing Really? as he raised his gun weapon to his shoulder and took aim at the man who hadjust begun running again, a musket still smoking in his hand, dodging between his comrades.

With a sense of calm detachment, he heard the report of his own shot and felt the recoil of the explosion through his body. The gritty smoke made him cough.
He had missed, he realized, with a surge of anger. I'm not buying the leap from feeling nothing, to calm detachment, to surge of anger.

A second later, he saw a different man fall and begin to scream, clutching his shoulder. I'm confused. Did Robert shoot this guy by mistake?He struggled on the road, a patch of shiny darkness spreading out under him, and then relaxed and lay still.

“Look out!”

The yell snapped Robert to alertness just in time to see a bayonet blade aiming for his neck. Instinctively, he turned away, pulling up his left arm to shield himself.

With the same calm detachmentNo. You have to find some other way of describing it. as before, he saw the blade slice through his sleeve and sink into his arm. sothat The point buried itself in the outside of his shoulder. He was barely aware Just make him scream that he screamed as he ripped his body free of the metal.

Blood sprayed into the air, sparkling in the moonlight. Does blood really sparkle?
Someone grabbed him by the shirt collar, and pulled him off the road. Even with the pain in his shoulder, he could feel the sticky warmth of blood running down his arm.

“Get down.” Another hand pushed him into the roadside weeds. Robert dropped his gun Nitpicky, but how could he still be holding his gun if he just pulled a piece of metal out of his shoulder? and gripped his shoulder as hard as he could, but blood still welled up between his fingers.