This thread is for the posting of finished writing for Lesson 2: The Seed of a Story in the Mead Hall Writers' Society writing group.
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This thread is for the posting of finished writing for Lesson 2: The Seed of a Story in the Mead Hall Writers' Society writing group.
Just a reminder to anyone who wants to participate: Please post your finished assignment by 00:01 GMT on Wednesday, 14 May. Thank you!
Offline Participant:
Strange events transpire at the full moon. Some are simply frightening, like the stories of men changing to wolves as the full moon rises, or vampires rising out of caskets for a night’s hideous feast. But there are other more subtle events that happen when the moon rises, heavy and full of light.
We descend, as an example, from just such a bright sky into a small town north of Detroit, on the shores of a large lake. The light of the full moon shimmers from the waters, bounces from tree-limbs bare of their fall foliage, and paints strong shadows on every piece of ground. It is late. The streets, parks, shops, even the gas stations are quiet. The moonlight falls without competition onto streets and lawns, bounces onto walls of buildings and houses, and into the window of a small bedroom where two boys lie sleeping.
This moonlight is patient. It has traveled over thousands of miles to come to rest in this room and paint a large oddly-shaped rectangle across the wall, just above a dresser. There on the dresser sits a teddy bear, atop a small pile of clothes.
This teddy bear is not the tiny, round, cute type of teddy bear. Rather, it is as tall as a toddler, with arms nearly flat from constant use, a nose of simple thread stitched dark and thick, a mouth of the same time, and two round button eyes. It sits with its face forward, arms outstretched, as if it is waiting for something.
That something, tonight at least, is the moonlight. As the light crawls down the wall, it hits the bear. The bear’s eyes begin to shine, bright pinpoints on the darkness of its face and arms. It is perhaps this change which wakes one of the sleeping boys.
These boys are brothers. The younger, a toddler still in diapers, is sleeping quietly in the lower of two small bunk beds. The older boy, perhaps four years old if that, lies on the upper bed. It is this boy who starts awake, aware that something has changed.
He rolls over, sits up, and first notices the bright patch of moonlight on the wall. He looks outside, expecting to see a flashlight or searchlight or something, but there is nothing. He follows a line from the window to the wall, and on his way between them he notices that the bear is staring at him.
For a moment he freezes: hair stands up on the back of his neck and prickles on his scalp. He has always suspected that the bear was alive and woke up at night to do secret bear things. But now he has proof. Being right, however, does not make the hair go back down.
The bear continues to examine the boy, from the top of his white-haired head down to his little boy toes buried under blankets. The boy, for his part, does not like this examination at all. In fact, he worries about it rather a lot. The bear continues to stare at him: he continues to stare at the bear. This goes on for what seems an eternity, during which time every possible reason for the bear being awake has crossed the boy’s mind. The bear is hungry and is looking for something edible. The bear is planning to take over the house during the night, and wants the boy to go back to sleep so he can continue with his diabolical plan. The bear is trying to go to sleep but just can’t quite get to sleep. The bear has decided to go out the window and join the other bears who are, no doubt, congregating just beneath the bedroom window. He decides it is the last one and, though he is frightened, he feels he has to investigate.
The air outside the covers is cold. He tries to hurry along: out of the covers, down the bunk bed ladder, tiptoe across the floor to the dresser. First he must make sure that his own teddy bear up there on the dresser is not planning anything bad. He stands looking slighly upward at it, constantly aware of those bright pinpoints of light in its eyes. The bear does not blink, or lunge at him. He hesitantly puts out a finger and slowly moves it toward the bear’s arm. The sudden shock of actually touching it makes the boy immediately give up, thinking that no house is worth saving with terrors like this to face!
But nothing happens, so he once again feels free to reach out. He begins to grab the bear’s paw. It is then that bear begins to move.
Shocked, the boy runs around the room, eyes wide and mouth open but soundless. All that comes out is a sort of whimpering breathing through his nostrils as he dances about, sure the bear will get him.
But then he slows down. He notices that the bear is still on top of the dresser. It has just tipped over, and that is all that happened.
The boy walked into the store next to his sister. They exchanged a few words and went their separate ways. She was mean, he was bratty; another day for a teen-aged girl stuck with the task of watching her little brother. He stalked away to look at toys, but as soon as he was out of sight a wistful look came to his face. She wasn't much, but in many ways she was all the family he had. Their parents were at work, and their daughter was their designated alternate. Two thousand miles away there was an entire clan of aunts, uncles, cousins. His mother was the only one of five children to move far from home.
Next door lived a family with four kids, all older than his sister. Some of them had moved out, but not far, and had kids of their own. The neighbors watched their grandkids frequently, and fondly. Sometimes his sister babysat for the grandkids. Her care for them was different than it was for him, with a sweetness; perhaps because they were younger, perhaps because they were girls, perhaps because they didn't go out of their way to torment her. Most likely it was because the adults involved treated her with appreciation and an open wallet, while her own parents expected her to answer the most egregious orders with a 'yes, sir' and unswerving compliance.
The boy clutched five dollars in his fist. The desert heat and the walk conspired to make his hand sweaty, and the sweat soaked paper took a set of creases. He carefully smoothed the bill and tucked it into his pocket. He did not walk far before taking it out again. He looked at the wrinkles and blinked back tears, and remembered the bill when it was flat, crisp, and new. The crease through Lincoln's face split the bill precisely in half. He had made that crease the first time he put the bill in his pocket. He had agonized over it for what seemed like hours while his sister waited. He had ignored her impatience. She was the one who insisted he bring the money with him to the store. That had been months before, right after Christmas. There had been many trips since.
It had come in a card; red, with Santa in his reindeer drawn sleigh flying across the length of it. The front lifted up to reveal a pocket in the back of the card, with an oval showing the green tinted face, and 'Merry Christmas, Grandma and Grandpa' in black ink, inscribed on the right side of the cutout. The boy wasn't very good at reading flowing script, being more conversant in his own blocky printing, but he could make out those five words. The card waited in a place of honor on the small table next to his bed.
His sister found him in the toy section. He put up token resistance, but really he was ready to leave. After carefully considering all the things he could buy nothing had challenged his attachment to the gift from his distant grandparents. He slid the bill back into his pocket and followed her to the register. Racks of tempting candy and chips guarded the check out line, but he passed them with barely a glance. No momentary thrill of flavor would claim his prize.
He carried a bag of groceries in both hands; across the vacant parcel, where the desert slipped in between the store and their neighborhood; four or five blocks to their street; five houses to pass, then up their driveway. He broiled in the sun. There was no relief, as his sister carried two sacks. He distracted himself with anticipation; smoothing out his precious gift and placing it back in the card. Abandoning the bag to a dining room chair he raced to his room.
The remorseless wind of the desert gives no meaning to the scraps that it tumbles along.
The boy frantically turned out his pockets, then burst into tears.
Closing thread for exercise posting. The thread will be reopened with comments posted by Friday morning GMT -- hopefully before then but after last week I can't promise it.
Ironsword
Margaret Thatcher had come to power, Elvis had been dead for two years and in New York City, Sid Vicious had killed Nancy Spungen in their hotel room, but all I remember was that it was a hot and sticky day.
I see it through a telescope now; circled black around the edges. The picture is grainy and flecked with the dark blotches and spots of an old cinema reel. The Hues of the memory are in bright 70’s uber-colour. Vivid blues, greens and reds dominate the scene, and perhaps there was a radio playing, perhaps it was a Jackson five song.
I sat as a young child in a red plastic car, my feet barely touching the ground; my legs had just enough strength to push it along the concrete path. I loved that car, the large stickers of eyes where the headlamps should be gave it a personality, and the light blue squeaky horn gave it a voice. Across the yellow dashboard there were a whole selection of dials, all printed onto paper and no matter how hard I pushed the speedometer would forever be stuck at twenty five miles per hour.
Bright plants lined the garden and to my eyes they were like alpine firs. Beyond lay the borders of my world, a dark brown creosoted fence and above, the hazy blue sky crossed with the vapour trails of tens of jets.
A squeal of laughter filled my ears as my younger brother careened into my car from behind. I laughed at the jolt and we shared a mutual look of happiness. His mop of blond hair sat atop the crown of his head and his big blue eyes shone with innocence that matched his own little car. I couldn’t remember if words had been said, but I couldn’t remember how many words either my brother or I knew. It is a treasured thing that both of us were lost in the moment, grinning with the simple pleasure of enjoying ourselves in the sun. We were just playmates then, but there has been a long span of years since, and we have lost something, something of our brotherhood and friendship. The world took it up and swept it aside amidst all the news stories.
Just posting to say to the three participants this week that, despite my best plans, typing time has been non-existant tonight and I need a few hours sleep before doing it all over again tomorrow. I've got the comments on paper, it's just a matter of getting them transferred to the forum.
Humbly begging your forgiveness, and off to sleep a bit.
Tamur
Timsup2nothin
The boy walked into the store next to his sister. They exchanged a few words and went their separate ways. She was mean, he was bratty; another day for a teen-aged girl stuck with the task of watching her little brother. He stalked I don't know if little boys stalk, maybe stomp? away to look at toys, but as soon as he was out of sight whose sight? a wistful look came to his face. She wasn't much, but in many ways she was all the family he had. Their parents were at work, and their daughter was their designated alternate. Two thousand miles away there was an entire clan of aunts, uncles, cousins. His mother was the only one of five children to move far from home.
Next door lived a family with four kids Nice contrast between this and the end of the last paragraph, all older than his sister. Some of them had moved out, but not far, and had kids of their own. The neighbors watched their grandkids frequently, and fondly. Sometimes his sister babysat for the grandkids. Her care for them was different than it was for him, with a sweetness Great word here; perhaps because they were younger, perhaps because they were girls, perhaps because they didn't go out of their way to torment her. Most likely it was because the adults involved treated her with appreciation and an open wallet, while her own parents expected her to answer the most egregious orders with a 'yes, sir' and unswerving compliance.
The boy clutched five dollars in his fist. The desert heat and the walk conspired to make his hand sweaty, and the sweat soaked paper took a set of creases. He carefully smoothed the bill and tucked it into his pocket. He did not walk far before taking it out again. He looked at the wrinkles and blinked back tears, and remembered the bill when it was flat, crisp, and new. The crease through Lincoln's face split the bill precisely in half. He had made that crease the first time he put the bill in his pocket I was confused about when this first time happened - consider moving the time clause ("this had been... ...Christmas") to end this sentence. The other editor disagrees ~:) so as you will. He had agonized over it for what seemed like hours while his sister waited. He had ignored her impatience. She was the one who insisted he bring the money with him to the store. That had been months before, right after Christmas. There had been many trips since.
These three paragraphs have been smoothly transitioned and are intriguing, nice work
It had come in a card; red, with Santa in his reindeer drawn sleigh flying across the length of it. The front lifted up to reveal a pocket in the back of the card, with an oval showing the green tinted face, and 'Merry Christmas, Grandma and Grandpa' in black ink, inscribed on the right side of the cutout. The boy wasn't very good at reading flowing script, being more conversant in his own blocky printing lightens it up, good, but he could make out those five words. The card waited in a place of honor on the small table next to his bed.
Wonderful details here, it's a window into a different world
His sister found him in the toy section. He put up token resistance Good character consistency, but really he was ready to leave. After carefully considering all the things he could buy nothing had challenged his attachment to the gift from his distant grandparents. He slid the bill back into his pocket and followed her to the register. Racks of tempting candy and chips guarded the check out line, but he passed them with barely a glance. No momentary thrill of flavor would claim his prize.
He carried a bag of groceries in both hands; across the vacant parcel, where the desert slipped in between the store and their neighborhood; The double-semicolons are awkward. Also, "parcel" has the double-meaning of a package, and that was the first meaning that came to mind. four or five blocks to their street; five houses to pass, then up their driveway. He broiled in the sun. There was no relief, as his sister carried two sacks. Not sure what the connection is between these two, perhaps split them into their own sentences? He distracted himself with anticipation; Maybe "the anticipation of"? smoothing out his precious gift and placing it back in the card. Abandoning the bag to a dining room chair he raced This seems too energetic after so recently being broiled. Possible but we need some notice of his renewed vigour after the heat. to his room.
The remorseless wind of the desert gives no meaning to the scraps that it tumbles along.
The boy frantically turned out his pockets, then burst into tears.
"the remorseless wind..." is a good sentence, but coming as it does in between the final scene and the final action, it seems awkward. I would suggest a new paragraph with "Abandoning the bag..." and "The boy frantically..." together, then the final sentence being "The remorseless wind..." ??
The ending needs a bit of tightening up, but overall a very enjoyable read, vivid pictures.
Ironsword
Margaret Thatcher had come to power, Elvis had been dead for two years and in New York City, Sid Vicious had killed Nancy Spungen in their hotel room, but all I remember was that it was a hot and sticky day.
Interesting historical details and good era-setting, but the two deaths mentioned colour this memory black from the start. The rest of it is vivid, innocent, colourful. It seems like an incongruous beginning.
I see it through a telescope now; circled black around the edges. The picture is grainy and flecked with the dark blotches and spots of an old cinema reel. The Hues of the memory are in bright 70’s uber-colour. Vivid blues, greens and reds dominate the scene, and perhaps there was a radio playing, perhaps it was a Jackson five song.
At this point I don't yet have an image to work with, just vague colours and sounds. Might want to pull the reader in with a visual earlier..
I sat as a young child in a red plastic car Something I can grab onto, my feet barely touching the ground Nice tactile details here too; my legs had just enough strength to push it along the concrete path. I loved that car, the large stickers of eyes where the headlamps should be gave it a personality, and the light blue squeaky horn gave it a voice I like the way you've pulled in visual, tactile, auditory detail all in a short space. Across the yellow dashboard there were a whole selection of dials, all printed onto paper and no matter how hard I pushed the speedometer would forever be stuck at twenty five miles per hour.
Good paragraph, lots of rich colours and textures
Bright plants I wonder what a bright plant could be? Shiny leaves? Bright flowers? lined the garden and to my eyes they were like alpine firs Good comparison, character-building for the narrator. Beyond lay the borders of my world I like this, sets the time into early childhood, a dark brown creosoted fence and above, the hazy blue sky crossed with the vapour trails of tens of jets. Intriguing detail
A squeal of laughter filled my ears as my younger brother careened into my car from behind. I laughed at the jolt and we shared a mutual look of happiness. His mop of blond hair sat atop the crown of his head and his big blue eyes shone with innocence that matched his own little car The car is implanted in my mind from earlier, so comparing it to innocence works well. I couldn’t remember if words had been said, but I couldn’t remember Time shift, sticks out how many words either my brother or I knew. It is a treasured thing that both of us were lost in the moment, grinning with the simple pleasure of enjoying ourselves in the sun. We were just playmates then, but there has been a long span of years since, and we have lost something A very universal feeling, something of our brotherhood and friendship. The world took it up and swept it aside amidst all the news stories. Good tie-around to the start
Too much padding at the beginning, but that car is stuck in my head now, I remember the feel! Well done to the writer for creating that image so completely.
The bond of brothers (and loss of) was very striking, nicely described and then dissolved at the end
Offline Participant
Strange events transpire at the full moon. Some are simply frightening, like the stories of men changing to wolves as the full moon rises, or vampires rising out of caskets for a night’s hideous feast Scary! a bit funny with the story that follows.. But there are other more subtle events that happen when the moon rises, heavy and full of light Good image.
We descend, as an example, from just such a bright sky into a small town north of Detroit, on the shores of a large lake. The light of the full moon shimmers from the waters, bounces from tree-limbs bare of their fall foliage, and paints strong shadows on every piece of ground Very picturesque, good details. It is late. The streets, parks, shops, even the gas stations are quiet. The moonlight falls without competition This helps continue the quiet image well, nice phrase onto streets and lawns, bounces onto walls of buildings and houses, and into the window of a small bedroom where two boys lie sleeping.
I like the way the writer has moved from big and abstract to a single room at a single moment. Good visuals to dive into as well.
This moonlight is patient. It has traveled over thousands of miles to come to rest in this room and paint a large oddly-shaped rectangle across the wall, just above a dresser. There on the dresser sits a teddy bear, atop a small pile of clothes. Intriguing... what comes next? With the vampire reference earlier I expected something gruesome.
This teddy bear is not the tiny, round, cute type of teddy bear. Rather, it is as tall as a toddler, with arms nearly flat from constant use, a nose of simple thread stitched dark and thick, a mouth of the same time ??? typo. Doesn't make sense here., and two round button eyes. It sits with its face forward, arms outstretched, as if it is waiting for something Narrator breaks in here - you may want that imposition or not, but it stuck out to me.
That something, tonight at least, is the moonlight. As the light crawls down the wall, it hits the bear. The bear’s eyes begin to shine, bright pinpoints Creepy! on the darkness of its face and arms. It is perhaps this change which wakes one of the sleeping boys.
These boys are brothers. The younger, a toddler still in diapers, is sleeping quietly in the lower of two small bunk beds. The older boy, perhaps four years old if that, lies on the upper bed. It is this boy who starts awake, aware that something has changed.
He rolls over, sits up, and first notices the bright patch of moonlight on the wall. He looks outside, expecting to see a flashlight or searchlight or something, but there is nothing. He follows a line from the window to the wall, and on his way between them he notices that the bear is staring at him.
For a moment he freezes: hair stands up on the back of his neck and prickles on his scalp. He has always suspected that the bear was alive and woke up at night to do secret bear things. But now he has proof. Being right, however, does not make the hair go back down.
I like the action, however slow, and the moment of realisation is well done, good tactile detail
The bear continues to examine the boy, from the top of his white-haired head down to his little boy toes buried under blankets. The boy, for his part, does not like this examination at all. In fact, he worries about it rather a lot. The bear continues to stare at him: he continues to stare at the bear. This goes on for what seems an eternity, during which time every possible reason for the bear being awake has crossed the boy’s mind. The bear is hungry From here onward is a fun peek into the boy's mind, but it presented as is, with no formatting changes, it was a bit confusing. Maybe italicise or break into its own paragraph? and is looking for something edible. The bear is planning to take over the house during the night, and wants the boy to go back to sleep so he can continue with his diabolical plan. The bear is trying to go to sleep but just can’t quite get to sleep. The bear has decided to go out the window and join the other bears who are, no doubt, congregating just beneath the bedroom window. He decides it is the last one and, though he is frightened, he feels he has to investigate This is never followed up on, seems awkward.
The air outside the covers is cold. He tries to hurry along: out of the covers, down the bunk bed ladder, tiptoe across the floor to the dresser. First he must make sure that his own teddy bear up there on the dresser is not planning anything bad. He stands looking slighly upward at it, constantly aware of those bright pinpoints of light in its eyes. The bear does not blink, or lunge at him. He hesitantly puts out a finger and slowly moves it toward the bear’s arm. The sudden shock of actually touching it makes the boy immediately give up, thinking that no house is worth saving with terrors like this to face!
But nothing happens, so he once again feels free to reach out. He begins to grab the bear’s paw. It is then that bear begins to move.
Shocked, the boy runs around the room, eyes wide and mouth open but soundless. All that comes out is a sort of whimpering breathing through his nostrils as he dances about, sure the bear will get him.
Good character building details here, funny "climax" to the action
But then he slows down. He notices that the bear is still on top of the dresser. It has just tipped over, and that is all that happened.
Again, a bit of an anticlimax to the ending with the "investigation" mentioned above, but this has a lot of nice details that gave me a feeling of space to move around in
A rewrite:
The boy walked into the store next to his sister. They exchanged a few words and went their separate ways. She was mean, he was bratty; another day for a teen-aged girl stuck with the task of watching her little brother. He stomped away to look at toys, but as soon as he was out of her sight a wistful look came to his face. She wasn't much, but in many ways she was all the family he had. Their parents were at work, and their daughter was their designated alternate. Two thousand miles away there was an entire clan of aunts, uncles, cousins. His mother was the only one of five children to move far from home.
Next door lived a family with four kids, all older than his sister. Some of them had moved out, but not far, and had kids of their own. The neighbors watched their grandkids frequently, and fondly. Sometimes his sister babysat for the grandkids. Her care for them was different than it was for him, with a sweetness; perhaps because they were younger, perhaps because they were girls, perhaps because they didn't go out of their way to torment her. Most likely it was because the adults involved treated her with appreciation and an open wallet, while her own parents expected her to answer the most egregious orders with a 'yes, sir' and unswerving compliance.
The boy clutched five dollars in his fist. The desert heat and the walk conspired to make his hand sweaty, and the sweat soaked paper took a set of creases. He carefully smoothed the bill and tucked it into his pocket. He did not walk far before taking it out again. He looked at the wrinkles and blinked back tears, and remembered the bill when it was flat, crisp, and new. The crease through Lincoln's face split the bill precisely in half. He had made that crease the first time he had put the bill in his pocket. He had agonized over it for what seemed like hours while his sister waited. He had ignored her impatience. She was the one who insisted he bring the money with him to the store. That had been months before, right after Christmas. There had been many trips since.
It had come in a card; red, with Santa in his reindeer drawn sleigh flying across the length of it. The front lifted up to reveal a pocket in the back of the card, with an oval showing the green tinted face, and 'Merry Christmas, Grandma and Grandpa' in black ink, inscribed on the right side of the cutout. The boy wasn't very good at reading flowing script, being more conversant in his own blocky printing, but he could make out those five words. The card waited in a place of honor on the small table next to his bed.
His sister found him in the toy section. He put up token resistance, but really he was ready to leave. After carefully considering all the things he could buy nothing had challenged his attachment to the gift from his distant grandparents. He slid the bill back into his pocket and followed her to the register. Racks of tempting candy and chips guarded the check out line, but he passed them with barely a glance. No momentary thrill of flavor would claim his prize.
He carried a bag of groceries in both hands. They crossed the vacant parcel, where the desert slipped in between the store and their neighborhood. They walked four or five blocks to their street, then past five houses, then up their driveway. He broiled in the sun. There was no relief from his burden, as his sister carried two sacks. He distracted himself with the anticipation of smoothing out his precious gift and placing it back in the card.
Abandoning the bag to a dining room chair he retreated to his room. The boy frantically turned out his pockets, then burst into tears.
The remorseless wind of the desert gives no meaning to the scraps that it tumbles along.
~finis~
I'm not sure I like this ending better, even though it is much smoother. I want to include the philosophy of the wind sentence, but I have it in my head to 'end with action'...might be some abstract journalism convention that doesn't necessarily apply.
I cleaned up the 'trip home' paragraph.
Still not sure about parcels and lots. In the first draft it was 'vacant lot', but that rang to me as something like the little space where one house was torn down or never built. In the reality of memory there is actually a pretty large gap there, in little boy distance bigger than the Gobi, but less than the Sahara. It has been filled with a small office complex and parking lot since, to put a real measure on it.
The plural 'vacant lots' gives a better feeling of the distance, but seems to me to put seams in the unbroken space of it. There must be some other alternative word...my thesaurus lists 'plot' and 'tract', but 'plot' I think is even worse for having another meaning, and in my twisted mind 'tract' conflicts with 'vacant'. I have to ask...might this be an 'English English' vs 'American English' thing? I don't recall ever using or hearing 'parcel' for 'package', though I know it is accurate. I can't imagine that meaning coming to mind first.
Agreed. Seeing it in print makes me think that change didn't help.Quote:
I'm not sure I like this ending better, even though it is much smoother.
I think the issue is, there is the narrative, and there is this curious but very nicely worded philosophy on the desert wind. I think you may need to try something non-standard to fit it in well, like titling the piece with a part of that line and ending it with the line, or adding the line in italics at the beginning of the piece and not putting it at the end, or something else.
Tricky. It's a great line, and I want to see it there. I'm just not sure of a good way to make it fit.
Regarding 'parcel'... I'm a Canadian which doesn't help too much with the English/American issue ~:) I think you're right, though, that it will be audience-specific.
Single line?Quote:
Originally Posted by Tamur
Abandoning the bag to a dining room chair he retreated to his room. The boy frantically turned out his pockets when he found them empty. He burst into tears, but the remorseless wind of the desert gives no meaning to the scraps that it tumbles along.
Nice! contrasting the tears with the wind, I like it a lot.Quote:
...He burst into tears, but the remorseless wind...
Do you mind if I run the revised version past my helper?
Please do. I'm looking to improve, and will take all the input I can get.Quote:
Originally Posted by Tamur