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This is the thread for participants in the Mead Hall Writers Socity writing group to post the writing associated with Lesson 6: Portraying Character.
Once you've posted your writing, you're encouraged to head over to the General discussion thread and talk with others about the assignment!
I'm not too happy with this, it's suffered rewrites and overhauls and I've still not got her character right, but hopefully there are some nice touches in it. I'll post this characters backstory in the discussion thread.
Isobel half walked and half skipped as the priory faded behind her. It was a day full of the possibilities of life, a day to long remember; there would be no more disapproving looks or drunken lascivious priests. She had finally cast off the ghost of her mother and stood at the threshold of adulthood.
It had only been a half hour since she’d departed, but already her prayer from the night before seemed a distant memory. In a moment of fancy she repeated it to herself, so she would never forget it.
‘I have sinned father. But, in my heart, the sins were small; debts owed for my upbringing. I took without asking, but with great guilt. Those things, they were never destined to feed the poor, only to line the pockets of the fat, so I never hesitated. In payment, I offer my spirit father, to ever do your will. Do not doubt it; it is a strong and young heart, for it has already borne the weight of the priory’s loathing and has never flinched before the sister’s cane or the touch of the priest. And it is all the more strong because of it. It is now yours to guide as I seek forgiveness in a new life.’ Her whispered words were lost in the birdsong and the wind, but her smile beamed larger because of it.
The track started to narrow and she jumped playfully up onto the grass verge, kicking off her frayed shoes and placing them in the bag that contained her life. Her meagre possessions were mostly an assortment of simple clothes and combs, but there were some fabulous trinkets hidden amongst them, testament to her swift hands and keen eye for an opportunity. She flexed her toes in the green blades and laughed with the simple joy of it. After many nights of sticky-fingered mischief in the priory, wearing shoes would have betrayed her as fast as a howling dog in the courtyard, it was the reason she preferred to be barefoot; the feeling of safety and guile still resonated through her.
She walked on a little further, glancing briefly towards the great manor on the hill, but she couldn’t see anyone out today. A buzzing dragonfly dragged her eyes away and across its flight; beyond she could see the workshop.
The gate opened silently and she stealthily picked her way past all manner of stacked debris and ruined flowerpots, before knocking softly upon the door. There was no answer so she knocked again, this time though putting more effort into it. The swirling dust of the yard ruined her carefully pinned hair and blew dark ringlets into her eyes. Her patience was wearing as thin as the bag straps that cut into her shoulders. It was approaching ten o’clock; she was certain of that and certain also that the nuns would never have let her sleep in so long. She sighed to herself hoping that he was there, otherwise her sojourn from the priory would be short lived. The thought steeled her determination and she picked up a lump of stone from the threshold and thumped at the door with all her might, her long awaited freedom would not be denied so easily. With each strike she grew more desperate and with a final great crash the stone crumbled in her hands and reduced her to pitiful sobbing.
She sat resignedly with her back to the door and wept with all her heart. In the past she’d shed many crocodile tears and had quickly learnt that it was a swift and easy way to gain sympathy and attention. Later, when the nuns had tired of her capricious ways, she discovered how a feigned sob would still bring the priest running eager to do her bidding, even more so following her recent ascent into womanhood. However, the sorrow she felt now was as unaccustomed as it was unwelcome; she had never once seen the manor girls cry, they never had a care in the world.
It took several minutes for Isobel to gather her wits and straighten her hair as she sat like a pauper on the step; her brown rags trailed into the dirt and all she lacked was a cup that well-to-do gents could toss coins into. She leant her head back against the oak door and looked up to the morning sky, not wanting to begin her trudge back to her old life.
Suddenly a loud creak sounded by her ear and she was falling, the world gave way underneath her and there was nothing she could do but be swallowed by it. The cloudless sky was replaced by a low wooden ceiling and her nostrils were filled with the strong, intoxicating smell of liquor. With a tumble she collapsed into the workshop and her new life. Looking down at her with a face like thunder was the potter.
Part One, Character Summary Style:
Rockin' Ron Davison plays guitar in a band. They call themselves Smokestack Lightning, and they play classic rock covers in any club, bar or bandstand that Ron can find to pay them for the effort. He lives in Canoga Park, and will play anywhere he can reach with his van, from San Diego to Bakersfield. He can always be counted on to throw together enough players to perform, though they might not have the same lineup two gigs running. A lot of guys have come and gone in twenty years, and there's always someone who can step in and play.
Part Two, Repeated Action or Habit Style:
Smokestack Lightning was Ron Davison's band. He might not have told you that, but everyone else who plays with them would. When Smokestack Lightning played a gig there would be one of three bass players; whoever was available. Over the years since Ron joined the band there were at least fifteen. There would be one of two drummers, maybe a keyboard player, maybe another guitar. The lead singer lived with his girlfriend, had no other job, and could always make the gig, so he would be the same; had been for a while at least. For twenty years Ron was there to play lead guitar. Near as anyone can tell he always would be.
Part Three, Self Portrait Style:
I play guitar. When I was sixteen I joined a friend's band. He played bass. We called it Smokestack Lightning and practiced in his garage until he and his parents moved to Phoenix, which wasn't long. I found a new bass player. I've found a lot of bass players, and drummers, and singers. Sometimes we've had a second guitar player. But for twenty years there's been Smokestack Lightning and I've played guitar. It's what I do. There's never been much else.
Part Four, Physical Description Style:
Ron Davison was the perfect picture of a teen-ager approaching middle age. His pony tail, his laid back jeans and T-shirt style, his beard that was really not a beard, just three or four days between shaves, they all would have fit on the nearest high school campus. But he had the beginnings of lines around his eyes from squinting into stage lights and California sun, and around his mouth from flashing his grin whenever he stepped to the front to lay down a stream of guitar licks. He was thirty-six, and twenty years in the band was making its mark.
Dmuzi clung tensely to the gnarled branches of the olive tree he had been pruning. Clippers poised mid-air. His perch in the upper branches gave him a clear view to the end of the enclosed garden. Suddenly emerging through the usually locked gate, came a tall girl, bobbing like a giddy moth between the flowers.
Her odd gait reminded him of the dancers that preformed during the religious festivals. Shuffle, shuffle skip. She moved lightly through the ferns, in a white woolen gown, swaying side to side. The gown’s pleats extended from her shoulders to her heels, making the loose dress billow out behind her at every skip. Her black hair, gathered at the top of her head, spilled out of her golden circlet into three braids. These strands snapped like ox whips as she pranced along.
Shuffle, shuffle, skip. She proceeded toward Dmuzi’s olive tree, and his fear heightened. He knew this must be one of Sargon’s many daughters if she was allowed in this garden. He also knew that the penalty for unauthorized contact with a royal daughter was to be flayed alive on the temple steps. This would be an embarrassing way to end his training as a temple gardener. He decided to call down and warn her away.
“If you are as kind as your merciful father Sargon the Great, Ruler of Lands from the Mountains to the Sea, please turn away, or I will be punished for being in your presence!”
The girl’s shuffling dance halted suddenly and she looked up towards his tree. He could now see surprise in her large eyes above an aquiline nose. “I am the Ornament of the Heavens, come to gather figs for the ceremony,” the girl declared in am imperious tone. “ As your voice comes from the heavens, which is my domain, I declare you are worthy to be in my presence. Come here at once!”
Hi Tamur,
I had never actually taken the time to sit down and write a backstory with disconnects before the last lesson. Since I see you are continuing to build on previous lessons, I want to switch to a character I would actually like to build into a story someday. So, I wrote backstory for this new character, and the disconnects I could see. Assignment 6 was based off this. I'm going to post the backstory here as well because I am hoping to get your comments. Do you see areas that could be interesting as far as creating conflict goes? What part catches your interest? -And thanks in advance!
--------------------
Genre: Historical Fiction – aimed at girl audience ages 10-14
Backstory:
Enheduanna is a Sumerian princess. At the time of the story she is 13. (2227 BC)
Enheduanna, from the time she was little, was sprite like, had an airy quality to her. She stood out like a misplanted flower in the military stiffness that pervaded her fathers court. Daydreaming, humming, her feet moving without her noticing whenever musicians played at her father’s feast. She learns to stick up for herself though, as she begins her education.
She was very different from her two competing brothers: Man-Ishtushu(23) the oldest, eager to travel and see far lands. and Rimush (21) a self serving plotter with a good head for business. They both seek to make their names greater than their fathers. Ibarum (15) is another brother, overlooked in general, and who is her partner is mischief. Abaish-takal is a brother of hers who died. (He was a scholar that is missed in the family, and replaced by his younger sister.) Her brothers scoff at her religious beliefs, but are secretly envious of the power she will wield as head priestess eventually.
Her father is Sargon the Great. His primary wife is Tashlutum, her mother. (Sargon is an empire builder in Mesopotamia. He united the kingdoms of Sumer and Akkadia.)
Enheduanna lives in his capital city, Agade, which is dedicated to Innana (the moon goddess). She is promised to wed Nanna (the Sumerian god of the moon) when she comes of age (14). She is currently in training to conduct fertility ceremonies in the temple to bless the crops. She takes lyre lessons, and literature lessons, and loves writing. She is one of the first women to be allowed to compose her own priestly chants. Her tutors are not excited about his. They sense they are losing power.
She also has a gardener boy (Dmuzi – whose name is the same as the vegetation god, whom Gilgamesh is said to be descended from.) whom she is in love with, and sad to be unable to marry. He is 16. Her love will eventually bring about his death. (Maybe – I’m still not sure on this.)
There is also a governor (future-brother in law) who wishes to rise into the political circles, and wishes to do it by marrying Enheduanna himself. His name is Lugalanne. He is the bad guy in the story.
Disconnects:
Enheduanna is scheduled since birth to marry a God, she would rather marry Dmuzi.
Enheduanna is a girl who is drawn by nature’s freedom (open fields, gardens, clouds in the sky) but is kept under lock and key in the palace.
Enheduanna loves her father and is proud of his conquests, and doesn’t want to disappoint him, or weaken his rule, but is frustrated by the political side of being a princess.
Enheduanna is the most beloved of the people, and this causes a rift in the family she wishes to unite.
Enheduanna’s poetry makes others see themselves in ways they would rather avoid- causing divides.
hi MountainTroll, nice writing! I'll be getting the comments up in the next hour or so, and will definitely give you some feedback on the character.
Ironsword
Isobel half walked and half skipped as the priory faded behind her. It was a day full of the possibilities of life, a day to long remember; there would be no more disapproving looks or drunken lascivious priests Nice twist on the habit technique. She had finally cast off the ghost of her mother Digs into the past, intriguing and stood at the threshold of adulthood.
It had only been a half hour since she’d departed, but already her prayer from the night before seemed a distant memory. In a moment of fancy she repeated it to herself, so she would never forget it.
‘I have sinned father. But, in my heart, the sins were small; debts owed for my upbringing. I took without asking, but with great guilt. Those things, they were never destined to feed the poor, only to line the pockets of the fat, so I never hesitated. In payment, I offer my spirit father, to ever do your will. Do not doubt it; it is a strong and young heart, for it has already borne the weight of the priory’s loathing and has never flinched before the sister’s cane or the touch of the priest. And it is all the more strong because of it. It is now yours to guide as I seek forgiveness in a new life.’ Her whispered words were lost in the birdsong and the wind, but her smile beamed larger because of it. A prayer is a clever way to let the reader she what she thinks of herself.
The track started to narrow and she jumped playfully Ed. 1: Such a heavy prayer made me think she'd be more solemn. This is a surprise. Ed. 2: This didn't seem consistent... yes she is feeling massively relieved, but after the prayer's reference to forgiveness, playful is a difficult word to swallow. up onto the grass verge, kicking off her frayed shoes and placing them in the bag that contained her life. Her meagre possessions were mostly an assortment of simple clothes and combs, but there were some fabulous This word catches my eye. It makes me see her in a more materialistic way. It's not in keeping with her setting, so I'm intrigued. trinkets hidden amongst them, testament to her swift hands and keen eye for an opportunity Nice descriptive passage. She flexed her toes in the green blades and laughed with the simple joy of it. After many nights of sticky-fingered mischief Good phrase in the priory, wearing shoes would have betrayed her as fast as a howling dog in the courtyard, it was the reason she preferred to be barefoot; the feeling of safety and guile still resonated through her.
She walked on a little further, glancing briefly towards the great manor on the hill, but she couldn’t see anyone out today. A buzzing dragonfly dragged her eyes away and across its flight; beyond she could see the workshop.
The gate opened silently and she stealthily picked her way past all manner of stacked debris and ruined flowerpots, before knocking softly upon the door. There was no answer so she knocked again, this time though putting more effort into it. The swirling dust of the yard ruined her carefully pinned hair and blew dark ringlets into her eyes. Her patience was wearing as thin as the bag straps that cut into her shoulders. Ed. 2: These images are good, but disjointed here. It was approaching ten o’clock; she was certain of that and certain also that the nuns would never have let her sleep in so long. Ed. 1: Too man jumbled images. I'd just cut it out. She sighed to herself hoping that he was there, otherwise her sojourn from the priory would be short lived. The thought steeled her determination and she picked up a lump of stone from the threshold and thumped at the door Ed. 1: Good, shows determination Ed. 2: Great character-building action. This is a good moment for her. with all her might, Full stop? her long awaited freedom would not be denied so easily. With each strike she grew more desperate and with a final great crash the stone crumbled in her hands and reduced her to pitiful sobbing.
She sat resignedly with her back to the door and wept with all her heart. In the past she’d shed many crocodile tears This comes out of the blue, very modern and had quickly learnt that it was a swift and easy way to gain sympathy and attention. Later, when the nuns had tired of her capricious ways, she discovered how a feigned sob would still bring the priest running eager to do her bidding, even more so following her recent ascent into womanhood. However, the sorrow she felt now was as unaccustomed as it was unwelcome; she had never once seen the manor girls cry, Full stop? they never had a care in the world.
It took several minutes for Isobel to gather her wits and straighten her hair as she sat like a pauper on the step; her brown rags trailed into the dirt and all she lacked was a cup that well-to-do gents could toss coins into. She leant her head back against the oak door and looked up to the morning sky, not wanting to begin her trudge back to her old life. I asked myself here, why does she have to go back? Can't she wait, or find some other way to escape? I'm sure this would be answered later, just wanted to note it.
Suddenly a loud creak sounded by her ear and she was falling This is a great moment, after the disappointment of nothing happening, the world gave way underneath her and there was nothing she could do but be swallowed by it. The cloudless sky was replaced by a low wooden ceiling and her nostrils were filled with the strong, intoxicating smell of liquor. With a tumble she collapsed into the workshop and her new life. Looking down at her with a face like thunder was the potter. Great description
Ed. 1: You really do have a talent for snappy endings. Is this the potter from the other assignment?
Ed. 2: Nicely done. You do wonderful work using all the different techniques in the lesson, but it's especially good because I don't notice them distinctly on a casual read. Well blended.
Timsup2nothin
Part One, Character Summary Style:
Rockin' Ron Davison plays guitar in a band. They call themselves Smokestack Lightning, and they play classic rock covers in any club, bar or bandstand that Ron can find to pay them for the effort. He lives in Canoga Park, and will play anywhere he can reach with his van, from San Diego to Bakersfield. He can always be counted on to throw together enough players to perform, though they might not have the same lineup two gigs running. A lot of guys have come and gone in twenty years, and there's always someone who can step in and play.
Ed. 1: Smoothly written
Ed. 2: This is very clear, good clean lines (in visual art terms, I mean). I come away from it focused on the band rather than the character though.
Part Two, Repeated Action or Habit Style:
Smokestack Lightning was Ron Davison's band. He might not have told you that, but everyone else who plays with them would. When Smokestack Lightning played a gig there would be one of three bass players; whoever was available. Over the years since Ron joined the band there were at least fifteen. There would be one of two drummers, maybe a keyboard player, maybe another guitar. The lead singer lived with his girlfriend, had no other job, and could always make the gig, so he would be the same; had been for a while at least. For twenty years Ron was there to play lead guitar. Near as anyone can tell he always would be.
Ed. 1: This is disjointed
Ed. 2: The three clauses ("When Smokestack..." "whoever..." and "over the years") all speak of the same basic issue (bass players) but then three parts of the band are lumped into a single line, and the lead singer gets two of his own. The imbalance is very noticeable. And again, my attention ends up on the band rather than Ron himself.
Part Three, Self Portrait Style:
I play guitar. When I was sixteen I joined a friend's band. He played bass. We called it Smokestack Lightning and practiced in his garage until he and his parents moved to Phoenix, which wasn't long. I found a new bass player. I've found a lot of bass players, and drummers, and singers. Sometimes we've had a second guitar player. But for twenty years there's been Smokestack Lightning and I've played guitar. It's what I do. There's never been much else.
Ed. 1: I'd like to see deeper into him. Would he really think of himself in terms of numbers of ex-band members?
Ed. 2: Very self-effacing. It's very well done if this character only thinks of himself in terms of his band (which may in fact be the case with him).
Part Four, Physical Description Style:
Ron Davison was the perfect picture of a teen-ager approaching middle age. His pony tail, his laid back jeans and T-shirt style, his beard that was really not a beard, just three or four days between shaves, they all would have fit on the nearest high school campus. But he had the beginnings of lines around his eyes from squinting into stage lights and California sun Good!, and around his mouth from flashing his grin whenever he stepped to the front to lay down a stream of guitar licks Good image. He was thirty-six, and twenty years in the band was making its mark.
Ed. 1: I think this is the strongest style. You do well describing details that "stick"
Ed. 2: The physical description is great, I think because it focuses on very specific character-defining details where the other three lacked in that area. In self-portrait the character is perfectly free to obscure or downplay him- or herself but any character portrayal given from outside the character needs to bring the character into sharper focus.
MountainTroll
Dmuzi clung tensely to the gnarled branches of the olive tree he had been pruning. Clippers poised mid-air. His perch in the upper branches gave him a clear view to the end of the enclosed garden. Suddenly emerging through the usually locked gate, came a tall girl, bobbing like a giddy moth between the flowers. Might want to rephrase this "Suddenly a tall girl emerged from the usually locked gate, bobbing..." Currently it seems awkward
Her odd gait reminded him of the dancers that preformed sp during the religious festivals. Shuffle, shuffle skip. She moved lightly through the ferns, in a white woolen gown, swaying side to side. This is a beautiful image, nice movement details The gown’s pleats extended from her shoulders to her heels, making the loose dress billow out behind her at every skip. Her black hair, gathered at the top of her head, spilled out of her golden circlet into three braids. These strands snapped like ox whips as she pranced along. Ed. 1: I like the costume details Ed. 2: I really like the way you describe her motion. It gives a very strong picture of her.
Shuffle, shuffle, skip. She proceeded toward Dmuzi’s olive tree, and his fear heightened. He knew this must be one of Sargon’s many daughters if she was allowed in this garden. He also knew that the penalty for unauthorized contact with a royal daughter was to be flayed alive on the temple steps. This would be an embarrassing way ha! funny understatement to end his training as a temple gardener. He decided to call down and warn her away.
“If you are as kind as your merciful father Sargon the Great, Ruler of Lands from the Mountains to the Sea, please turn away, or I will be punished for being in your presence!” Ed. 1: This is an intriguing situation, great setup Ed. 2: Definitely gives some weight to the character of the girl, nice addition
The girl’s shuffling dance halted suddenly and she looked up towards his tree. He could now see surprise in her large eyes above an aquiline nose I'm not sure whose nose this is, because he might see the surprise above an aquiline nose...? Maybe I'm just reading wrong. Might want to break these details up though.. “I am the Ornament of the Heavens, come to gather figs for the ceremony,” the girl declared in an imperious Amusing in one who has been dancing, but this is a good character detail tone. “ As your voice comes from the heavens, which is my domain, I declare you are worthy to be in my presence. Come here at once!”
Ed. 1: I love the feel of the characters here. They are very real, I can easily picture them.
Ed. 2: You do a marvelous job with physical description and self-portrait here, and the scene itself is very intriguing. Since it's an exercise, I have to mention that there is only slight mention of habit ("come to gather figs for the ceremony") and summary is sparse as well. Despite that, I definitely want to read more. ~:)
To MountainTroll, after sitting out a couple of tornados things are starting to even out a bit here. I'll get some comments up on your character/backstory before the night's through!