Euellula makes an entrance - rewrite

[ventanamist]

I posted this a while ago, and with your help have revised and extended it. I'm afraid it is quite long, but I am not expecting a too detailed crit. Although I will be grateful for all I get. I have polished it and sweated over the grammar etc. so there shouldn't be too much to do there.

It is the start of my novel. It wasn't going to be but these two characters appeared about 40,000 words in and I had to find out where they came from. So they became the first chapter, and seem to be part of a love story that could stretch to several chapters.


I would like to hear how people think the introduction flows into the action and the action flows into the dialogue, how believable the characters are, how convincing is the development of their relationship. Also I'm still a bit hesitant about using the authorial voice at the beginning. Most of the books on writing that I read, say this is poison. Avoid at all cost! But I think they are referring to the inadvertent insertion of personal opinion into the text. The author here is, I suppose, another character. Although he is very much like me in my more paranoid moments.

Any comments on historical accuracy appreciated too. Many Thanks.


EUELLULA


I have been reliably informed that a tale well-told should have a beginning, a middle and an end. I am sure you have noticed that, apart from the birth/death thing, life in this reality is not like that. It is a continually unfolding chain of events, a cavalcade of beginnings, middles and ends and, of course, all of the ends are, in fact, beginnings.


A story world is like that too. We are about to enter a universe, where the inconceivably distant extremities of time can only be imagined and theorised about. In between, things happen, a great many things. You, I am told, expect me to deliver a minute part of this, in a neat organised window of happenstance, so you can file it away in a box marked 'STORY'. They tell me that if I do this, you might just possibly read it.


Very well, but please be aware that this tale exists as a tiny slice of a greater reality; one I have become so intimate with, that I comprehend it more than the mundane world in which I am writing and you are reading. It is a place I frequently visit, where I have travelled far. As you require, I must reluctantly sever the sacred stream of time in my story universe and present you with a 'beginning'.


But where, or rather, when do I cut?


How about here? It seems as good a place as any, but be aware that the history of the woman fleeing through Duke Howath's Chase would fill many books. We will accompany her.


We find her dressed in an outrageous confection: part Southern belle, part gypsy queen, part Marie-Antoinette. Impractical clothing for careering through acres of mature oak, chestnut and beech. Flight is still feasible though. The Chase is well managed; most of the undergrowth and fallen branches have been cleared to make hunting swifter and safer, hence Euellula's flight is difficult but doable.


Think of Cinderella running from the ball, but with no pumpkin coach waiting, only the starlit forest and the hope of escape, fleeing a Prince Charming who has turned into the Beast. Our heroine would be elated if her elaborate gown had changed into rags at midnight, but it hasn't. It billows around her, it catches on thorns, it trips her up, and she cannot fill her corseted lungs with much-needed air. With one hand she must hold up layers of petticoats and with the other grasp a carved wooden case containing her maps and keys. She thanks the Weave that she has managed to recover them. They have slowed her down but that is a small sacrifice.


As we join her she is cursing the world and herself.


'Damn this stupid backwater thread, damn my crazy urge to jump, jump, jump. If I get out of this, I will settle, I will find a good person, I will keep house, I will plant trees and bake cakes. I swear by the Weave. Damn these skirts!'


If possible she would have torn the gaudy costume off but the dressers have strapped and laced and stitched her into it. Just a very expensive gift-wrapped package to be opened by the customer. But she will not be bought and sold. She is Euellula, she is legendary, songs have been written about her. She will not become the property of that ancient lizard of a man, no matter how much he paid. 'Damn!' Why didn't she see through the Duke? He had said he detested slavery, and she had thought, what a splendid creature in such a sordid world, so enlightened. What he really believed was that you should look after your own property, treat it well and not steal that of other people. How could she, Euellula, Euellula who dances the threads, 'Damn. Damn.' Euellula who can stroll into other worlds as others walk in and out of rooms, how could she be taken in by such a charlatan? With all her years, all her experience, she still manages to fall for completely mealy-mouthed, false-faced, double-crossing, execrable, irredeemable, foul, depraved maggots. 'Damn!'


This is her last chance. They have dogs now; their muffled baying harries through the woods from two points of the compass. Two locked doors have not yielded to her skills. She is sure the next will open. It has to. As a last resort she could initiate a rent but, even if she got through alive, she could end up anywhere; an acceptable risk though, far preferable to being a captured fugitive in this world. Here, women are not meant to rebel. If they do, they are regarded as faulty goods to be repaired or dismantled.

Out of the trees, up the mountainside; they can see her easily now, golds and pinks and blues, sharp against the limestone scarp, and the noise, those stupid bells! She still hasn't managed to pull them off.


There it is. Heart hammering to get out of the tight bodice, throat burning, legs aquiver, tripping over the torn petticoats. It smells right, it looks right. Yes, it unlocks. A membrane, a tough one. Push.


Cold. Still cold after the ice has left her bones. Hard ground, more bruises. Entombed on three sides by brick walls, the night has followed her, a few sad stars brave the darkness far above, there is a cold light ahead and...


Who is this?


What a noble-looking soul, what lovely eyes.


What is he doing in such a vile place?


That smell!


New world. Come on Euellula, you know the procedure. Observe. Deduce.


He is human. He is young. He is surprised, but not shocked. Elated maybe? He has the look, an edge-dweller whether he knows it or not. This place is familiar. Stale alcohol-laced human urine, dog excrement, damp tobacco, coal smoke and petroleum. Internal combustion. She looks past him to the street. Yes, there is a vehicle, Arabic lettering on the side. CLAR BUT. She moves her head, looking across the road through the mouth of the alley. CLARKSONS BUTCHERS. It's been a while since she has spoken it. In her mind the door of a cupboard marked 'English' is flung open. Many words pour out; versions of English have spread over quite a few threads. Is it one she knows? 'Vu splack Anklich? Babl you Inglis?'


'Anklich? Oh, English. Yes I speak English,' he says.


Oh no, not again. She had vowed never to return.


While she absorbs her skin pigment, fills out the bridge of her nose and softens her cheekbones she starts resurrecting words and memories, she plays with old familiar phrases, and also begins to play with the young man. 'England! - Good - old - Blighty. Jolly - old - England. What - ho, old - chap. By - Jove. God save - the King! Would you - care - to - help me - kind sir?'


'Er, yes miss, certainly.'


He helps her up. He has strong educated hands, craftsman's hands. Such a joy after a world full of men who don't do or make or fix. With his help she picks up her maps which have now become a well-travelled suitcase, and hobbles out to the cold, dismal street. Her face now has the pallor and structure that this England should find socially acceptable.


'Where are we?'


'Market Street in Bidley.'


The words are still slow to emerge but the old fluency is returning. 'I've never heard of it. Is it anywhere near Brighton?'


'About a hundred miles. Are you a princess?'


'Oh.' She looks down at her dress. 'I was the property of a duke. I suppose here it might make me a sort of duchess.' The words were flowing easier now.


'Where did you come from?'


'It's quite a story. Can we talk about it later. I really need to get away from here. Have you got a knife?' she asks.


'Yes, I always carry one.'


'Would you please cut that lacing round the back. And all that trailing fabric and those bells. But keep them; they're solid gold.' She remembers how important the soft yellow metal is in this world.


'But miss, someone might be looking.' She looks down the street; there is a man in an overcoat walking away on the other side of the road, and a black and white cat going about its own private business.


'You haven't changed.'


'What, me, but you don't...'


'No, I mean English men in general; you're still as prudish as you ever were.'


'Sorry miss.'


She is sure he is blushing, as he labours behind her to free her from the worst of her restrictions, but it does not hinder his work. His hands are deft and his knife is sharp. As soon as he cuts the last lace on the bodice she tears it off and flings it back down the alley. Her lungs fill themselves with the questionable air. Still the dog ****, coal smoke and petrol but, apart from that which has clung to her dress, she has left behind the vile smells of the alley. She almost remarks on this but decides it might offend this young gallant, after all this is his home.


The language is flowing easily now; familiar phrases start to come back. She remembers to be polite. 'I know it's an awful lot to ask, but could you please take me somewhere I can get out of these clothes and into something more comfortable, more normal?' She adds 'Whatever is normal these days, please tell me that it doesn't include corsets.'


Er, yes, but only for fat ladies, and there's something called a liberty bodice. It's supposed to be quite comfortable but I think only schoolgirls wear them. I'm afraid it's not a thing I know much about.


Or hobble skirts? I hated hobble skirts.


'No, no-one wears them any more.'


She hugs her shoulders and grits her teeth. 'It's awfully cold. I really would be very grateful if...'


'I'm sorry, I can't take you home. My mum wouldn't understand.' he purses his lips and knots his brow. 'I could take you to Aunt Joan.'


'Is it far?'


'About half a mile.'


'I'll manage but you'll have to help. I can hardly walk. My ankle.' He is eager to assist. They begin to make their slow progress along the quiet street. She starts to shiver, as much from the shock as the cold. 'It's Winter?' she asks.


'Yes, January.'


'When?'


'Thursday the twenty-third.'


'No, I mean, what year?'


'Nineteen-forty-eight.'


'Twenty-nine years,' she says slowly and quietly to herself.


'Did you travel through time?'


'No nothing as simple as that. It would take a bit of explaining and I'm exhuasted.' She tries to change the subject. 'It's bloody cold! Oops. Am I allowed to say that?'


'What, “bloody”?'


'Yes.'


'Well, not in polite company, but you won't get arrested for saying it.'


'I remember how sensitive you people were about certain words. How about “damn”?'


'Most people use that.'


'That used to be very unladylike. What about sh... What's happened? There are houses missing everywhere.'


'It was the Blitz, the bombing in the War, the World War.'


'Not another war! Don't you people ever give up? Who were you fighting this time?'


'Mainly the Germans, but the Italians and the Japanese too.'


'The Germans!' Not again. 'You've only just finished fighting them. The Great War. The War to End all Wars. That's why I left this thread. You're all mad! Is it over? Did you lose this time?'


'No, we won.'


'It looks like you lost. The place is a mess.'


'Yes, but we made a much bigger mess of Germany. It was a hard time but I enjoyed it.'


She was more shocked by the pride in his voice than by what he was saying. She could almost see his chest swell. 'You enjoyed it!'


'It was good. We were fighting fascism, the Nazis; they wanted to rule the world. We were almost invaded.


She says 'Pathetic.' in such a dismissive way that it puts a total stop to the conversation. They limp to the end of the street in silence.


As they round the corner he whispers, 'A copper! What do we do?'


She sees the policeman walking towards them but is still too annoyed to offer any suggestions. 'I'm sure you'll think of something. After all you've just won a war.'


The constable stops in front of them. 'Evening. Something wrong?'


'It's fine, officer. She had a fall and sprained her ankle at a fancy dress party. I'm taking her home.'


'Yes, I tripped over my dress. I'm such a silly thing,' she giggles.


'Pardon me young lady, but you look like you've been pulled through the proverbial hedge backwards. Do you need any help?


'No thank you officer, I'm almost home.'


'Well. Go safely now.'


When they are out of the hearing, she says, 'Oh, I do like your policemen. They haven't changed. They're so helpful and polite.' Then she adds in a more cynical tone, 'Unless you're a suffragette, or Irish, or a Gypsy, then they can be right bastards.' He is stunned into silence again.


'Oh. ******* is still a bad word? Not to be used by ladies?' He nods 'And especially not by princesses or duchesses?' He grins.


They turn another corner. He says, 'We're almost there. I ought to warn you about Auntie Joan. She's a bit – em - unconventional. The family don't really talk to her any more. They talk about her a lot, though.'


She searched for the appropriate term. 'Is she the black sheep of the family?'


'You could say that. But I think she's very nice, though I'm not sure what to tell her about you.'


'Why don't you tell her the truth?'


'Because I'm not sure what the truth is.'


She laughs. 'I trust you. I thought you handled that policeman very well.' She clings on to him more than is necessary. He looks at her; the expression on his face is quizzical, submissive and protective. Euellula has seen that look many times before. If she wanted to she could play him like a hooked fish. But she won't; there is something special about this person. She wants to meet him on equal terms.


They arrive at a small terraced house. He makes sure she is supported on the low wall at the front of the forecourt, her dress bounces up in front of her and her back rests against winter-withered hydrangeas, then he turns the little key on the manual doorbell.


A squeaky voice comes from deep inside the building. 'Hello who's that. Is it you Jimmy?'


He turns to Euellula and says quietly. 'Not me. One of her gentleman friends.' Then loudly through the letterbox which he lifts with his hand, 'It's only me, Auntie Joan. I could do with some help.'


'Oh Denzil, what a lovely surprise. See yourself in.' He reaches further through the letterbox and pulls out a string. There is a key on the end that he uses to open the door. He goes back to Euellula, helps her up and they enter the house; her dress has to ooze through the narrow doorway into the hall.


They are assailed by a warm gust of powder, cheap perfume, cigarette smoke and burnt baked beans. He whispers, 'My mum says that this place is like a Turkish brothel.'


They enter the living room, a monument to mock-Oriental bad taste. You would find similar décor in the Indian restaurants that are currently starting to spread throughout the country.


Euellula returns his whisper with conviction and certainty, 'No, I assure you; it's nothing like a Turkish brothel.' Oh no. She has shocked him again. She really must be more tactful.


They make their way through to the scullery. Euellula is careful not to dislodge the many ornaments with her skirts. There they find his Auntie Joan 'putting on her face'. On seeing the two of them she gives a surprised and curious 'Hello.' She has her hair tied back with a flowered headscarf. Her left eyebrow is well delineated with brown pencil; the right does not yet exist. After looking them both up and down she gives them the smile that has charmed the soldiers, sailors and airmen of several nations.


He says, 'Hello Auntie. This is...' He hesitates.


Euellula holds out a demure hand. 'Ellie. Pleased to meet you.' Her English is now crisp and perfect, if a bit old-fashioned. She makes a slight curtsey.


The woman takes Euellula's hand and smiles. 'What a polite young lady.'


He says, 'Ellie is in a bit of a fix. She's only got the clothes she's standing up in and has nowhere to stay. Could you help her?'


His aunt starts to bubble with enthusiasm. 'Ooh. How exciting. Are you escaping the law? Or a jealous man? Are you a refugee? Or...' She looks at Euellula's dress. 'Are you escaping from the circus?


Euellula can only answer, 'Yes, all of those. Sort of.'


'Don't worry love. Say no more. I'll keep mum. I've been helped out of a few scrapes myself; I know what it's like. Your secret's safe with me.' She taps the side of her nose with her finger, sending up a tiny cloud of powder.


'Still, lets not worry about that now. You look exhausted. I'll make up the camp bed. You'll need some plasters on those cuts. Make yourselves a cup of tea.' She leaves to go upstairs.


As he fills the kettle, Denzil asks, 'What is your name?'


'Euellula,' she pronounces slowly.


'Eylyula,' attempts Denzil.


'No, silly. Ay oo el you la.'


'Euellula,' he repeats in a reasonable approximation.


'Well done. Perhaps English men aren't as inept at pronouncing foreign names as they used to be.'


'You haven't got a very high opinion of English men, have you?'


'That's another reason I left.' Oh no. where are your manners Euellula. He has just picked you, a perfect stranger or rather a quasi-human freak, up off the street and you are now slandering his countrymen. 'I'm sure you're an exception Denzil. I was very fond of some of the young men that I knew even though they exasperated me. So many of them mown down in some muddy field in Belgium, or thrown back into civil society physically and mentally broken. Such a waste, such a tragedy; that's the real reason why I left.'


Then she adds thoughtfully, trying to lighten the mood before his aunt returned, 'I hope I won't have to pluck my eyebrows and then paint them on. I'd get it wrong.'

 

[ventanamist]

Is there anybody there?

 

[TheEndIsNigh]

Sorry ventanamist, your post somehow slip past me which is surprising as it a monster.

I can't read it at the mo as I'm just about to collapse onto the old keyboard to wake with indentation all over my forehead but I'll try and give it a bash tomorrow.

It'll be in my subscribed list now so I'll get a reminder.

TEiN

 

[Nik]

Had me fooled at first.

I thought, 'Yawn, Another Ditzy Bard On The Run'.

Then she locates a weak-spot in space/time continuum (or strums the Fifth Force or whatever) and is else-where/ else-when, landing on her feet and making nice with the locals...

Bit like Sliders, no ??

Good romp.

I'll leave dialogue punctuation critique to the experts, but I think parts got a bit ragged...

Um, I don't know how a screen=play should read, but this feels like one...

 

[dustinzgirl]

The style you've chosen is one not often used anymore, and one I really enjoy.

 

[ventanamist]

I know of Sliders but have never watched an episode. I'm one of that strange breed that doesn't have a telly. I have probably read lots of books that inspired some of the episodes.

I'm not sure I chose the style. It might be the only one I know.

Hey! Is there anyone out there who wants to mercilessly deconstruct my little offering? I'm up for it. Do your worst.

 

[TheEndIsNigh]

Sorry Vent but with all the troubles of late I haven't had a chance to give it a bash as it were.

 

[The Judge]

Hi. Er... I know you don't particularly want a nit pick critique (the only type I can do, I'm afraid) which why I hadn't ventured in before now. But I think I'm hearing a bit of strain in your voice in that last post, so I thought you might be grateful for some feedback, no matter how nit-pickity. And if I have a go, someone else might venture in after me to do the proper stuff for you.

I have been reliably informed - I've always seen/written this as 'I am...' - do you think the past tense and the implication the narrator has only been told once is distancing? (As you can see, I'm scraping the barrel here!!)

that a tale well-told - I'd de-hyphen this.

I am sure you have noticed - for some reason I wanted 'you will have noticed'. The rhythm is better perhaps?

the birth/death thing - wasn't sure about 'thing' - it seemed a bit slangy for this narrator.

and, of course, all of the ends are, in fact, beginnings - this will sound crazy coming from a member of the Obscure Grammarians Group, but I wonder if this is over-punctuated. It's absolutely correct, but the effect in reading is to make the whole thing a little too choppy.

and theorised about - I think I'd delete these words. They don't add a great deal to the better 'imagined' and deletion means you avoid ending with the preposition which is ungainly.

things happen, a great many things - I don't think the comma is strong enough for the pause. Minimum of a semi-colon, but I'd be tempted to a full stop. Ditto Very well, but please be aware - except a semi-colon there would mean two in the same sentence which Chris p deprecates. (Good grief, you will be thinking at this point. Has the blasted woman got nothing better to do than worry about commas?!)

one I have become so intimate with - 'with which I have become so intimate'.

It is a place I frequently visit - 'I visit frequently' balances better with the latter half of the sentence.

where I have travelled far - 'in which I have...' perhaps?

As you require - didn't like this for some reason. 'As is required' perhaps?

sever the sacred stream of time - I'm always a little edgy about alliteration unless it is a deliberate technique/trick of speech.

a 'beginning' - 'Beginning' with a capital perhaps, to emphasise its importance?

But where, or rather, when do I cut? - comma in wrong place. Either (hypercorrect) 'where, or, rather, when, do I' which is very choppy and disruptive; or 'where, or rather when, do I'. Italicising 'when' to give extra emphasis as well might help. I actually tend to use long dashes in this situation 'where -- or rather when -- do I'. Have to say I'd have preferred a stronger verb than 'cut' but you're absolutely right in ensuring it's only one syllable to give the sharpness of it.

We will accompany her - didn't like this stuck out on its own. I feel it needs something to link it better to the previous sentence eg 'accompany her on one small chapter of one of the smaller books'.

part Marie-Antoinette - no hyphen in the Queen's name.

Flight is still feasible though - why 'still'? Again I dislike the alliteration, but that's just me.

The Chase is well managed; - colon might be better.

most of the undergrowth and fallen branches have been cleared - 'most... has', it takes the singular.

flight is difficult but doable - close repetition of 'flight'. Didn't like 'doable' at all and there are plenty of better synonyms available.

no pumpkin coach waiting - 'awaiting her' helps with the rhythm I think.

who has turned into the Beast - er... mixing metaphors is bad. Mixing fairy stories... I think it might be better to find a story where good, bad and ugly co-exist.

Our heroine would be elated - but Cinderella - the last named heroine - wouldn't be. Perhaps if you use 'Euellula' again and save 'heroine' for another time.

She thanks the Weave that she has managed to recover them - I think I'd make this a new para to distance it from the billowing skirts (particularly as you refer to 'them' and you don't want anyone to think of the petticoats which is part of the same sentence as the keys and maps). I'd end the previous para at 'case' and the 'them' at the end of this one I'd change to 'the case which contained...' and the next line to 'It has...'

Just a very expensive - initially a little confusing. Perhaps 'She was just'.

to be opened by the customer - wasn't so keen on this, though I can see why you have it there. I think the line is strong enough without it.

She is Euellula, she is legendary, songs have been written about her - I'd like stronger punctuation here. Full stops for preference.

no matter how much he paid - 'he has paid' might be better?

'Damn!' - is this (and the others) a thought or is it spoken aloud? If a thought, I'd lose the inverted commas and italicise. If spoken, I think I'd put it as a separate paragraph. (Not obligatory I know as it's her POV, it's just it feels odd there.)

Why didn't she see through - 'hadn't she seen' surely?

What he really believed was that you should look after your own property, treat it well and not steal that of other people - this confused me a little. I thought this was his take on being anti-slavery, but the two don't seem to have any correlation at all.

How could she, Euellula, Euellula who dances the threads, 'Damn. Damn.' Euellula who can stroll - I think it might read better if you used ellipses between the two 'Euellulas', after 'threads' and before the next 'Euellula', with the spoken 'Damns' as a separate intervening para.

into other worlds as others - too close repetition of 'other' for comfort.

how could she be taken in - 'have been taken'

by such a charlatan - is he a charlatan? ie deliberately duplicitous?

she still manages - not so sure of the present tense here.

to fall for completely mealy-mouthed, false-faced, double-crossing, execrable, irredeemable, foul, depraved maggots - I'd delete the 'completely' and make him 'irredeemably foul and wholly depraved'. Not so sure about 'execrable' - got no better epithets up her sleeve? And something worse than 'maggots'?

their muffled baying harries through the woods - I know you've used 'harries' deliberately, but to my mind it doesn't work extending its meaning in this way.

from two points of the compass - felt wrong for her, 'from either side' perhaps?

As a last resort - we've already had a 'last chance'.

end up anywhere; an acceptable risk though - full stop needed rather than semi-colon to my mind. And perhaps 'A risk she would accept, however.'

OK. I'm sure you've had more than enough of me now. I have to say that this is not the kind of thing I would usually read, but I was enjoying it all the way until she got through into the new thread, strange narrator speak and all. The first moments in Bidley as she looks around and acclimatises were fine also, but during the dialogue my attention started to wander and I ended up only skim-reading through to the end. The dialogue didn't seem natural to my taste. OK, for her it wouldn't be I suppose, but even then - his conversation has to seem normal and real and it didn't, not to my mind. (By the way, have you lost some quotation marks around some of the dialogue, or is the stuff re liberty bodices etc in her thoughts?)

Slightly unfair in such a short piece, but the character of the man doesn't ring true for me - in fact there's virtually nothing about him that seems real. And the mad auntie appears to be heading straight for caricature. I wonder if perhaps you've invested so much emotional energy in your narrator (who ought to make another appearance soon I think) and in Euellula herself (who is brilliantly realised), that you have rather skimped on these two. As to the development of their relationship, again to me it wasn't genuine, or feasible. Sorry. (But as I say, I was skim reading and it may be that this has affected how I picked things up.)

I hope this is of some help. With luck someone else will wade in now and let you have their thoughts. No doubt I shall soon be in a minority as to my feelings ref character and dialogue.

J

 

[MistingWolf]

I started and it's good so far. Right now I gotta go help my mom make apple jelly and apple sauce, but when I get back, I'll pick it apart, though maybe in a different way than The Judge. I saw the post there, but I didn't read it, and won't till after I'm done. I don't wanna read ahead. :}

 

[TheEndIsNigh]

OK at last.

you stand waiting for a critique and nothing. Then three picky come along all at once.

I like judge can be picky in the extreme. I haven't read it yet so here goes and we'll sell how far we get.

Red - remove IMO
Blue - comments, observations
Green - suggestions

First off as I mentioned - just a bit too long.

EUELLULA


I have been reliably informed that a tale well-told should have a beginning, a middle and an end. I am sure you have noticed that, apart from the birth/death thing, life in this reality is not like that. (Rather - maybe)It is a continually unfolding chain of events, a cavalcade of beginnings, middles and ends and, of course, all of the ends are, in fact, beginnings. (well It's good but a chain doesn't quite fit. Really there are multiple threads like the bottom of the sowing box different colours and often entangled through and knotted together if you could work the multiplicity aspect in somehoe I think it might read like what you're trying to get in)


A story world is like that too. (I dont think this last sentence helps. It drags the reader back to the fact that this is just a story. Yu almost had the reader suspending his grasp on reality but now he's back and aware he;s reading a book - I'd drop it) We are about to enter a universe, where the inconceivably distant extremities of time can only be imagined and theorised about. (Just like this one then - unless this is a place where those imaginings are in fact, reality, or suspended, in which case you should say so) In between, things happen, a great many things. You, I am told, expect me to deliver a minute part of this, in a neat organised window of happenstance, so you can file it away in a box marked 'STORY'. They tell me that if I do this, you might just possibly read it. (This is argumentative (and all I wanted was a good read) and you've dragged me back to reality again with the story word - it would be better if you asked me to join you on a journey into this world if only for a minute part or something of the kind)


Very well, but please be aware that this tale exists as a tiny slice of a greater reality; one I have become so intimate with, that I comprehend it more than the mundane world in which I am writing and you are reading. It is a place I frequently visit, where I have travelled far. As you require, I must reluctantly sever the sacred stream of time in my story universe and present you with a 'beginning'. (Well if you're going to start with a beginning it seems all too familiar which is not what you are trying to say - To save time, let's pick up one end of those threads and since you are more familiar with events following other events, let us be traditional and start at the end where things begin)

But where, or rather, when do I cut?


How about here? It seems as good a place as any, but be aware that the history of the woman fleeing through Duke Howath's Chase would fill many books. We will accompany her.


We find her dressed in an outrageous confection: part Southern belle, part gypsy queen, part Marie-Antoinette. Impractical clothing for careering through acres of mature oak, chestnut and beech. Flight is still feasible though. The Chase is well managed; most of the undergrowth and fallen branches have been cleared to make hunting swifter and safer, hence Euellula's flight is difficult but doable. (I think you could do with some kind of introduction to this flight. If you could insert the careering into the first sentence then it gives the reader a change IMO)

Think of Cinderella running from the ball, but with no pumpkin coach waiting, only the starlit forest and the hope of escape, fleeing a Prince Charming who has turned into the (a ravening) Beast. (If only) Our heroines would be elated if her elaborate gown had changed into rags at midnight, (she would have been elated,) but it hasn't. It billows around her, it catches on thorns, (no they've been cleared above) it (that trip) trips her up, and she cannot fill her corseted lungs with much-needed air. With one hand she must hold up layers of petticoats and with the other grasp a carved wooden case containing her maps and keys. She thanks the Weave that she has managed to recover them. They have slowed her down but that is a small sacrifice.


As we join her she is cursing the world and herself.


'Damn this stupid backwater thread, damn my crazy urge to jump, jump, jump. If I get out of this, I will settle, I will find a good person, I will keep house, I will plant trees and bake cakes. I swear by the Weave. Damn these skirts!'


If possible she would have torn the gaudy costume off but the dressers have strapped and laced and stitched her into it. Just a very expensive gift-wrapped package to be opened by the customer. But she will not be bought and sold. She is Euellula, she is legendary, songs have been written about her. She will not become the property of that ancient lizard of a man, no matter how much he paid. 'Damn!' Why didn't she see through the Duke? He had said he detested slavery, and she had thought, what a splendid creature in such a sordid world, so enlightened. What he really believed was that you should look after your own property, treat it well and not steal that of other people. How could she, Euellula, Euellula who dances the threads, 'Damn. Damn.' Euellula who can stroll into other worlds as others walk in and out of rooms, how could she be taken in by such a charlatan? With all her years, all her experience, she still manages to fall for completely mealy-mouthed, false-faced, double-crossing, execrable, irredeemable, foul, depraved maggots. 'Damn!' (nice bit of rant there)


This is her last chance. They have dogs now; their muffled baying harries through the woods from two points of the compass. Two locked doors (gates - but then a minute ago we were in open forest) have not yielded to her skills. She is sure the next will open. It has to. As a last resort she could initiate a rent but, even if she got through alive, she could end up anywhere; an acceptable risk though, far preferable to being a captured fugitive in this world. Here, women are not meant to rebel. If they do, they are regarded as faulty goods to be repaired or dismantled.(repaired corrected?)

Out of the trees, (what happened to the door/gate) up the mountainside; they can see her easily now, golds and pinks and blues, sharp against the limestone scarp, and the noise, those stupid bells! She still hasn't managed to pull them off.


There it is. Heart hammering (and desperate) to get out of the tight bodice, throat burning, legs aquiver (trembling aquiver to me is associated with standing still - could be wrong), tripping over the torn petticoats. It smells right, it looks right. Yes, it unlocks. A membrane, a tough one. Push.


Cold. Still cold after the ice has left her bones. Hard ground, more bruises. Entombed on three sides by brick walls, the night has followed her, a few sad stars brave the darkness far above, there is a cold light ahead and...

'

Sorry had to stop here too late for more and in any case it gives you a flavour my critiquing style which if you wish, I can continue anon.

I made the remarks about the chain/thread thing before reading the bit about The Weave so ignore if you prefer your way although I think the threads are better than the chain idea as it get the reader used to what 's coming - interesting and different by the way.

 

[ventanamist]

Thanks folks. Detailed or what!? Loads to go on here. All good stuff. Just what I wanted. Yes, Denzil is a bit dull and the dialogue is a bit wooden. I think the idea was that he started just like an ordinary bloke and then revealed hidden depths. But no, that's no excuse to make him two dimensional.

I hadn't really thought of the aunt as a caricature. She is based on my real aunties although, unlike her, they had both gone to the dark side. In fact I had to tone down some of their er qualities. I guess there are some things that are too fantastic to be made into fiction. Both passed on now and didn't leave me any dosh so I feel justified in using them ruthlessly in my tales.

The doors are in fact between different 'realities'. In fact I think I have a title for the whole story now: A TREATISE ON THE WIDENING, SECURING, SUSTAINING AND MAINTENANCE AND ADJUSTMENT OF ADVENTITOUS AND ENTICED TRANS-REALITY CONDUITS. Or is that a bit too wordy. Thanks again.

 

[The Judge]

I didn't think Denzil was dull, just lacking something. A strange (very!) woman has just appeared out of nowhere and he seems relatively unfazed - so actually, he didn't even seem 'normal' or ordinary to me at that point. Think about it - a woman who is apparently learning to speak English even as she is talking to you asks what year it is and has no idea that the War has only just finished and you not only hang around, you help her out and then take her to your aunt?

Just had a thought - were you trying too hard to play the scene for laughs, perhaps?

As for your aunts - I'm afraid to say that some people are just too unreal to seem believable when you encounter them in fiction! And if they didn't leave you any money, make sure the auntie comes to a bad end by way of revenge.

Er... the prospective title... just a little wordy perhaps...? I like 'A Treatise on the Adventitious' though, even if it has no real meaning - with perhaps the rest of it as a sub-title, like you get in learned journals.

If you don't get any more takers for a critique, I wonder if it might be an idea to separate out the scenes after you've revamped it and only post the Bidley bit with a very brief introductory para. The length of the piece might be putting people off, and to my mind that's the part you need more help with as the beginning was fine. (My nitpicks were simply an attempt at the final polish on a good piece of writing!)

J