Sir Horace Castel of Renport

[PhillB]

I've never really had much luck with trying to write in the short form, I have a habit of the stories I tell expanding rapidly into something large and long.

This, however, is an attempt at the short story format. The excerpt below is the opening to a small piece that will deal with what goes through the mind of Sir Horace Castel of Renport as he lies, dying, on the field of battle, coming to realise that his belief in himself as the pre-eminent knight of the realm was not really the case. Of course, the idea is that at the end of it he realises that he isn't really dying, he has simply fallen across a wine casket in battle and shattered it, soaking himself in its contents.

Sir Horace Castel of Renport found himself lying on his back on the floor, his eyes wide open, tracking the fine, almost melodic movements of the clouds in the sky overhead. For the briefest of moments he smiled, that same self-deprecating smile he had used throughout the whole of his life. His decidedly short life based on the amount of blood he was sure he was losing.

Strange, he thought, that it should be such a nice day at the end. I would have expected thunder and lightning, or at least a good rainfall to befit the mood.

As the sensation began to leave his outer limbs, his mind began to retreat into itself, and Sir Horace realised, all at once, that the trite phrase “Your life flashes before your eyes” was, incredibly, going to come true.

Now, one should try to understand that Sir Horace was not the most knightly of men. Born to Sir Winton Castel - a knight of the famous, large, blustering kind - he proved to be a disappointment from almost the moment of his birth. Lacking a small toe on his left foot, a birth defect that was far from propitious, he was a weak child, struggling with his health as he grew. The only thing strong about him was his lungs for he had a wail that could wake the town, in fact, on several occasions he did.

His formative years proved to be as much a disappointment as his birth. He was a gangly child, all arms and legs with little muscle or coordination. He showed no athletic ability, did not excel at his studies, in either the courtly graces or the knightly arts. This was not the son expected of the knight who had single-handedly fought twenty men to protect the King.

What I'd really like to know is how this piece feels so far. It's already 301 words in just that excerpt, and I wanted to restrict myself to 1500 for the full piece as an excersise. Does it flow well? Can you visualise what I'm saying? Am I being too quick with the fleshing out of the character? How's my grammar? etc, etc.

Thanks for taking a look.

Phill

 

[ysabara]

Hi. I'm liking this so far. Yes, it flows well and I have no trouble visualising what you've described. Your grammar seems fine ~ better than mine!
I guess your problem will be, if you are trying to restrict the number of words you use, not to have to stuff a huge amount of info at the end when you find your word count is about to expire!
At any rate, I sympathise...I know all about starting something and finding it growing longer and longer and longer . Just make sure that the information you wish to impart is relevant to what you are trying to say. Chop out anything extraneous to your story ~ i know that's hard. Sometimes you have that perfect paragraph but does it tell the reader anything that they need to know? Good luck with it

y

 

[Culhwch]

Well, I agree with ysabara to a degree. There is certainly not much wrong with your prose. It's well-constructed and flows reasonably well. The problem I have with it is that it fails to engage me. I'm not sure I'd have read much further even if it was on offer. There's just something about this, 'Well, let me tell you...' style that doesn't appeal to me. I understand that the tone you are striving for is a light one, but I still feel there is some merit in exploring other ways of telling the story. None come immeidately to mind, unfortunately. Perhaps coming at it from a serious angle before the final twist?

One thing that jumped out at me - the use of 'floor' if he's really lying on a field. If I hadn't known from the intro it was a field of battle, I'd have assume he'd fallen getting out of the tub, or some such.

 

[The Bloated One]

I really liked this, especially your tongue in cheek humour. My only suggestion is to tighten up the grammar, and drop some of the adjectives. My efforts below won't be to everyones tastes, but you see what I mean.

Red to drop, blue to include.

Only my views, so take 'em or leave 'em. Love the idea that he's lying in a pool of claret!

TBO



Sir Horace Castel of Renport found himself lying lay on his back on the floor, his eyes wide open, tracking the fine, almost melodic movements of the clouds in the sky overhead. For the briefest moment of moments he smiled, that same self-deprecating smile he had used throughout the whole of his life. His decidedly short life based on the amount of blood he was sure he was losing.

Strange, he thought, that it should be such a nice day at the end. I would have expected thunder and lightning, or at least a good rainfall to befit the mood.

As the sensation left began to leave his outer limbs, his mind began to retreat into itself, and Sir Horace realised, all at once, that the trite phrase “Your life flashes before your eyes” was, incredibly, going to come true.

Now, one should try to understand that Sir Horace was not the most knightly of men. Born to Sir Winton Castel - a famous knight of the famous, large, blustering kind - he proved to be a disappointment from almost the moment of his birth. He lacked Lacking a small toe on his left foot, a birth defect that was far from propitious. he He was a weak child, and struggled struggling with his health as he grew. The one only thing strong about him was his lungs for he had a wail that could wake the town, in fact, and on several occasions he did.

His formative years proved to be as much a disappointment as his birth. He was a gangly child, all arms and legs with little muscle or coordination. He showed no athletic ability, did not excel at his studies, in either the courtly graces or the knightly arts. This was not the son expected of the knight who had single-handedly fought twenty men to protect the King

 

[PhillB]

Thank you for the feedback

Y, yes, the short form is my personal horror, I hate being so hard on my own writing! lol

Culhwch, thanks for your notes. I will give what you said some consideration regarding perhaps trying a serious approach with a twist, and I'll definitely change "floor". Now I read that back I get it completely, should be "ground" or something like that. For now I'm going to stick with the light-hearted approach but I might do it both ways as an exercises.

The Bloated Shagnat, I really like some of the changes you've made, and will probably incorporate some of them going forward.

I'll post a further version later when I've finished.

Thanks again everyone.

 

[timelord4]

G'day PhillB,

I like short internal type conflict stories. You did this one well, but TBO did it better. Notice how he cut to the bone by fleshing out what was relevant. Ysabara says the same thing.

You'll probably find that even Cull will read it once you cut down on the embellishment. 1500< will work fine. TBO has already cut about 100 words out.

As far as the flow, it works fine. You have a very good style. I would say, experiment a bit. Try some different techniques, like write the whole thing basically, then add your adjectives and adverbs. Throw some analogies into the pot and fiddle around with the tenses. It's only 1500 words so there's no major rewrites. And you can only get better.

 

[Giovanna Clairval]

Hi PhillB,

I unashamedly used The Bloated Shaganat’s editing to work on your text, because I would have suggested the same.

I then tried to add other suggestions. Some of them must be taken as mere examples, because I don’t know the story. I also don't know how long the rest is. I added a sentence or two, which might not fit the word count you planned.


Here’s the thing.

Strange, the fallen knight thought, that it should be such a beautiful, sunny day at the end. I would have expected thunder and lightning, or at least rainfall to befit the mood.

Sir Horace Castel of Renport lay on his back, eyes wide open, tracking the fine, feathery movements of the clouds above. For the briefest moment he smiled, that same self-deprecating smile he had worn throughout his life. All sensation was leaving his outer limbs. He was dying with no panache, as he had come to this world.

His breath caught, and he tried to shake his head.

He had not been the most knightly of men. Born to Sir Winton Castel - a famous knight of the large, blustering kind - he had proved to be a disappointment from birth. He lacked a small toe on his left foot, a birth defect that was far from propitious. A weak child, he struggled with his health as he grew. His only strength was hidden in his lungs, for he had a wail that could wake the entire town and, on several occasions, it did.

Later he proved to be as much a disappointment as his birth had promised. He was a gangly child, with little muscle or coordination. He showed no athletic ability, did not excel at his studies, in either the courtly graces or the knightly arts.

Horace was not the son his father had expected. His father’s name had come to him by birthright, but never had he considered himself the rightful heir of a knight who had single-handedly fought twenty men to protect his King.