Husband

[chrispenycate]

So small.

She'd never been a big human being, but the energy she had emitted had filled any space round her – she had vibrated herself to the walls, pushed against the other occupants, pushed me against the when there was no other alternative.

Now, with all that motion stilled for ever, she was tiny, particularly in this huge room she had insisted on sharing with me to the last.

When had her hair turned pure white, had the wrinkles invaded her skin? To me she had always been Menuel, my wife, she who commanded, unchanging, the solid core of a fluid existence. I could almost envy humans their ability to weep.

Outside, there was none of the usual noise and bustle. A rescue centre is perhaps not the noisiest possible place, but it is never quiet. Now, I could sense two hundred beings holding their breath and wishing for news to come in about an avalanche, a forest fire, anything to get the boss's mind back on work, and away from his grief.

I felt a change in the air, and knew it was Berrima. Nothing magic, no mind contact, we'd just known each other long enough that the tiniest clue was certainty.

"It was her time."

I turned to look at her; she was greying fast, and the small one peering round her and pulling faces was her grandchild, my great grandchild. One of her grand children, in fact.

"I know it was; but what am I going to do without her?"

"Keep the centre running, efficient and economic; it was always your baby, anyway. She was in it because of you. Keep the royal family happy. But first you're going to put on your harness and take Googella here…"

"Garjella" came the correction, high pitched but full of authority.

"You're going to take your great grandchild out for a long flight, and let the artisans get on with their work, the trainees with their education and the rescuers with their bragging without having to do so on tip-toe.

She was ready, and had far more than she'd expected to in life; don't try and turn her into something she never was, and would never have wanted to be."

She was right, of course. Why are the females in my life always right? Even this youngster who was going to order me about mercilessly in the air, I just knew.

I got up, and rooted in my chest for an old, worn and much mended harness. I could have got a better one from the tack room in instants, but this was the first one I had made to carry multiple children, back when we only had one of our own, and it carried its own nostalgia. I shrugged into it, my wings finding the holes as if it had only been yesterday, and let the humans do up the buckles. I could do it in a pinch, but their hands were much cleverer in things like this, not having to double as feet.

Behind me I heard: "And check every strap before you mount. I know you saw me do it, but pony, horse or dragon you always check for yourself." At least I wasn't alone in being lambasted, though the child must have been very good until then to be chosen to drag me out of my introspection.

"And you, you great lump, " oops, my turn again, "when did you last eat? I don't mean a sausage, or the tail end of somebody's sandwich, but eat, properly?"

I tried to think back over the preceding days, but got pictures of processions of over-serious humans, and no memories of food. "I thought so." Are all females telepathic, or is it just family members? "When you get down from flying little miss exam results here round the region there will be food prepared. Just because you can go three months without feeding doesn't mean it's good for you, and without mother…" – even her voice broke on the word, and she'd seen ten summers before we'd adopted her – "the service needs you in your best form. We'll take care of the body; all you need to do is make a send-off speech in two days time. Remember, it's summer, and we're a long way down from the mountains; you need to eat more."

The little hand on my reins was confident as it led me out of the front door "How close to the school playground do you think you could swoop, grugramps?"

"Me? I could pick your friends off the floor while passing. I'm a very practiced flyer, if not as spectacular as some of the younger ones."

She snorted, not quite a giggle. "You couldn't really? Let's"

"You mean they let you out to ride me on a school day? I will have to look into this, not good at all." By now my head was facing completely over my shoulder, so I could continue the conversation as she clambered up between my wings, and watch as she clipped each of the straps in place, and yanked on it to check its firmness.

"Silly, look how low the sun is. We'd already finished lessons, there'd only be the pupils who don't go straight home, and wait for their parents to finish work."

As I leaped into the supporting air a small party of humans was going into my lair to take the remains. The grief was still there (for a reason that should have been incomprehensible to any of my kind, let alone a male), but life was going on, anyway.


Those few of you who have been following my stories knew he was a dragon from the start (he has about forty thousand words dedicated to him already.) But I was trying to ease into the story in a way that wouldn't treat the knowledgeable like morons, but wouldn't leave newcomers completely befuddled – sort of training for sequels, if I ever get a story together enough to have something to write a sequel to.

 

[Dale_M]

she had vibrated herself to the walls

Crikey... Did she put the wrong type of batteries in?

I jest. I liked the story; by the end I felt the untouchable emptiness of a family with one less in it...

 

[vector7]

Hey chris, great story. Loved it. In the first part you have used 'pushed me against the'and suddenly you have used 'when'. What was he pushed against? The wall or something else?
Must be a typo but still something to say. cheers, viki.

 

[Aoratos]

Thank you for sharing, Chris, I liked it as well. Other than what vector7 pointed out, I didn't find anything disrupting. I have only read one other piece by you, but I think I'll have to look at the others now.

 

[chrispenycate]

Thanks, vector. That was not a "the", but a "them" (and still is in the original; I cut the piece a little so as not to abuse the critiques space, in which I tend to overrun somewhat (= a lot). Finally I think the cut version probably works better than the more descriptive one.)

The interesting thing (for me) is that you could read it as a standalone, without knowing all the back story of Hrasif (the dragon who's telling the tale) and his family; I've realised that the stuff I've written so far can't be forced into conventional novel form, but is a kaleidoscope of mosaic tiles; perhaps I could fractionate it, and make it a series of interrelated shorts.

Rationally, of course, I should dump the whole thing, and try and find a theme that lends itself both to the preferred format and my style (or do short stories for a while to improve my limited characterisation skills, or even accept the fact I'm a better copy editor than author), but I've come to like my little universe, and quite a few of its inhabitants.

 

[Moonbat]

and the small one peering round her and pulling faces was her grandchild, my great grandchild. One of her grand children, in fact.

Does this need the last repeat of the child being one of her grand children? Is there a difference between grandchild and Grand children (except the obvious plural, but here it seems it is only referencing one)

 

[chopper]

but I've come to like my little universe, and quite a few of its inhabitants.

..and that shows, chris. don't abandon it. the writing is excellent, and the theme is pitch-perfect. comparing this to a couple of really early pieces i remember reading (the Ship?), this really works and doesn't struggle. even if the finished collection of pieces aren't actually publishable (in your opinion), i wouldn't ditch them.

 

[Jayaprakash Satyamurthy]

>>"Silly, look how low the sun is. We'd already finished lessons, there'd only be the pupils who don't go straight home, and wait for their parents to finish work."

Surely not the most natural tense for speech? Perhaps it should be something more like '...We've already finished lessons, there will only be the pupils who don't go straight home...'.

>>By now my head was facing completely over my shoulder, so I could continue the conversation as she clambered up between my wings...

I am not sure why, but the phrasing 'head facing...over my shoulder...' seems awkward. I grasp what you are describing, but depending on the dragon's neck length, you could word it differently, perhaps like this:

'By now, I had lifted my head over my shoulder, so I could continue the conversation...'

A thought on characterisation: I am not sure you want to push the acerbic, bossy yet fond female theme too far: it can grate a bit if overdone and you do seem to be suggesting that most females whom the narrator is close to are like this (which always seems odd to me, because surely one's female acquaintances are bound to be as diverse as one's male acquaintances).

Lastly and most importantly, regarding this:

>>I've realised that the stuff I've written so far can't be forced into conventional novel form, but is a kaleidoscope of mosaic tiles; perhaps I could fractionate it, and make it a series of interrelated shorts.

Rationally, of course, I should dump the whole thing, and try and find a theme that lends itself both to the preferred format and my style<<

I'd say ignore rationality. Your story is suggesting its own form to you. Follow it where it leads you, for it is leading you, and that only happens when a story really means business. Good luck!

 

[Boneman]

Hi Chris,

can't resist the chance to nitpick a pedant, and I've been receiving some good training recently in that, so thought I'd add my bit. I liked this piece a lot, it has a gentle quality to it that comes over really well, and put me firmly in the pov of the dragon. Great writing. But there are one or two points that IMHO could improve it even more... I've written most of it in RED but occasionally I've cut your words out. See what you think, it's only my opinion.

So small.

She'd never been a big human being, but the energy she had emitted had filled any space round her – she had vibrated herself to the walls, pushed against the other occupants, pushed me against the when there was no other alternative. Really a little uncertain about this: are you saying that she physically did this in life? Or her death? Or just that she had that kind of presence that filled a room - one of those souls whose aura made others so aware?

Now, with all that motion stilled for ever, she was tiny, particularly in this huge room she had insisted on sharing with me to the last. I think a full stop after 'tiny' would be better. If there's grief, then shorter sentences bring over the tension better. I did think of suggesting one after 'me', not sure if that's a full stop too far. But p'raps: Now, with all that motion stilled for ever, she was tiny. Particularly in this huge room she had insisted on sharing with me. To the very last.

And to continue in that vein:

When had her hair turned pure white? When had the wrinkles invaded her skin? She had always been Menuel, my wife. She who commanded, unchanging, the solid core of a fluid existence. I could almost envy humans their ability to weep. (No need for the 'to me'...)

Outside, there was none of the usual noise and bustle. A rescue centre is never the noisiest place, but it is never quiet. (gets rid of 'perhaps' and 'possible' from the same sentence.) Now, I could sense two hundred beings holding their breath and wishing for news to come. News about an avalanche. A forest fire Anything to get the boss's mind back on work, and away from his grief.

I felt a change in the air. I knew it was Berrima. Nothing magic, no mind contact. We'd known each other long enough that the tiniest clue was certainty.

"It was her time."

I turned to look at her; she was greying fast, and the small one peering round her and pulling faces, was her grandchild, my great grandchild. (dealt with by others, you don't need the repetition)

"I know it was;I think a full stop here. Gives a better sense of grief, and a pause between that and the pragmatic next statement but what am I going to do without her?"

"Keep the centre running. She was in it because of you. It was always your baby, anyway. Keep the royal family happy. But first you're going to put on your harness and take Googella here…" (Chris, I just felt that Berrima should be matter-of-fact, trying to keep the dragon focused, and this way cuts out some of the distracting bits. Is Berrima grieving?)

"Garjella" came the correction, high-pitched but full of authority.

"You're going to take your great grandchild out for a long flight. You're going to let the artisans get on with their work, the trainees with their education and the rescuers with their bragging without having to do so on tip-toe.

She was ready, and had far more than she'd expected to in life; don't try and turn her into something she never was, something she'd never have wanted to be." I admit I found this switch away from the 'business' stuff back to the dead woman a bit harsh. Does Berrima have no feelings? Certainly comes over that way. I'd maybe put in 'her voice softened' kind of thing after 'tip-toe'

She was right, of course. Why are the females in my life always right? Even this youngster who was going to order me about mercilessly in the air, I just knew. But it didn't make it easier... (? That focuses the dragon on the loss, after what could be viewed as a comedic sentence.)

I got up, and rooted in my chest for an old, worn and much mended harness. I could have got a better one from the tack room in instants, but this was the first one I had made to carry multiple children, back when we only had one of our own, and it carried its own nostalgia. Erm... not sure about this: maybe 'I got up and rooted in my chest for the old harness. The one I'd made all those years ago. The one that had carried my own child.' ? this way, you don't need to mention the nostalgia, it's there in the last sentence. I shrugged into it, my wings finding the holes as if it had only been yesterday, and let the humans do up the buckles. I could do it in a pinch, but their hands were much cleverer in things like this. Don't need the deleted sentence...
Behind me I heard: "And check every strap before you mount. I know you saw me do it, but you always check for yourself.Always." (The pony, horse bit was too much info...)At least I wasn't alone in being lambasted, though the child must have been very good until then to be chosen to drag me out of my introspection.

"And you, you great lump, " oops, my turn again,humour again, I think you'd be better off without it. "when did you last eat? I don't mean a sausage, or the tail end of somebody's sandwich, but eat, properly?"

I thought back over the preceding days, but got pictures of processions of over-serious humans, and no memories of food.
"I thought so." (You need a break or it looks like the dragon is speaking.)
Are all females telepathic, or is it just family members?
"When you get down?back? from flying little miss exam results here round the region there will be food prepared. Just because you can go three months without feeding doesn't mean it's good for you, and without mother…" – even her voice broke on the word, and she'd seen ten summers before we'd adopted her – "blimey, it's her mother who's just died? I think this info needs to be elsewhere, it's distracting from the emotion of the scene. praps: 'and without mother..." Her voice broke on the word and she swallowed hard [or however you feel it best to show controlled emotion], gathering herself. " The service etc' the service needs you in your best form. We'll take care of the body; all you need to do is make a send-off speech in two days time. Again, somewhat unfeeling... I'd cut that last sentence altogether.Remember, it's summer, and we're a long way down from the mountains; you need to eat more."

The little hand on my reins was confident as it led me out of the front door "How close to the school playground do you think you could swoop, grugramps?"

"Me? I could pick your friends off the floor while passing. I'm a very practiced flyer, if not as spectacular as some of the younger ones."

She snorted, not quite a giggle. "You couldn't really? Let's"

"You mean they let you out to ride me on a school day? I will have to look into this, not good at all." By now my head was facing completely over my shoulder, so I could continue the conversation as she clambered up between my wings, and watch as she clipped each of the straps in place, and yanked on it to check its firmness.

"Silly, we've already finished lessons. There's only the ones who don't go straight home. They have to wait for their parents to finish work." Not sure a 10 year-old would say 'pupils', does this sound more like a 10 year old? She wouldn't say, look the sun's already down, would she?

As I leaped into the supporting air a small party of humans was going into my lair to take the remains. The grief was still there (for a reason that should have been incomprehensible to any of my kind, let alone a male), but life was going on, anyway.


Those few of you who have been following my stories knew he was a dragon from the start (he has about forty thousand words dedicated to him already.) But I was trying to ease into the story in a way that wouldn't treat the knowledgeable like morons, but wouldn't leave newcomers completely befuddled – sort of training for sequels, if I ever get a story together enough to have something to write a sequel to.

And that's my bit.

 

[2ndchance]

Chris,

I can't critique this, I have neither the ability or desire. It is wonderful, although it upset me. I struggled to read past the first few lines because I knew where it was going, right from the get-go. It's touchable and I feel the emotion and can attribute it, hmmm, to my life, having lost both my parents within two months of each, this year past. I know it is a dragon, but.... Ask Rebecca, she knows, open your eyes, you will see, and feel, and, I think, you have done just that. Bravo.

Steve with a firm hand shake.

 

[Oxman]

As somebody dealing with their own mortality on a day to day basis, with rollercoaster results (currently on a high since last Friday), I have read this piece two or three times. At first it felt strained and inexplicably even a little cold in places, but a couple of thoughts occurred to me afterwards. Death is a straining experience to the ones left behind; people don't react in a uniform manner and often the shock factor delays the true grieving process. Secondly, this is a dragon. Why wouldn't his reactions be slightly colder than a human. You've already specified that he can't cry and this somehow makes it all the more poignant.

Only things I would comment on are:

She'd never been a big human being, but the energy she had emitted had filled any space round her – she had vibrated herself to the walls, pushed against the other occupants, pushed me against the when there was no other alternative.

I would stop after the dash. Nothing wrong with what follows, but the effect is so much more powerful with the short sharp sentence. Especially with what happens next.

When had her hair turned pure white, had the wrinkles invaded her skin? To me she had always been Menuel, my wife, she who commanded, unchanging, the solid core of a fluid existence. I could almost envy humans their ability to weep.

Beautiful. Sounds to me like true love, right there.

I turned to look at her; she was greying fast, and the small one peering round her and pulling faces was her grandchild, my great grandchild. One of her grand children, in fact.

Has this child been drilled to not ask about her great grandmother? Is she too young for grief of her own? Or is it simply that the dragon is so embroiled in his own thoughts and sorrow, that he pays no attention to the child? Understandable.

She was right, of course. Why are the females in my life always right? Even this youngster who was going to order me about mercilessly in the air, I just knew.

Women are always right. Even when they are wrong. It can be infuriating and perhaps enraging at times, but we menfolk wouldn't have it any other way and would probably be lost without them. Though admitting it on a public forum may be a regrettable act of folly.

"And you, you great lump, " oops, my turn again, "when did you last eat? I don't mean a sausage, or the tail end of somebody's sandwich, but eat, properly?"

A tad frivolous, given the subject matter. There's no problem with interjecting humour - the mispronunciation of the child's name is a case in point, but the combination of lump, oops and foodstuffs might be a little too much at once - even if the speaker is attempting to keep the tone light.

Also, I don't know how big your dragons are. They're used as mounts so as big as a horse I'd assume, but any bigger, perhaps "traditional" dragon size and a sausage or sandwich crust seems to be be like using "crumb" to a human in the same context. This is a very minor niggle though.

The grief was still there (for a reason that should have been incomprehensible to any of my kind, let alone a male), but life was going on, anyway.

The "anyway" in this detracts from the sentence for me, a little matter of fact. He sounds surprised to be stranded in his grief. I just think "all around me" could be a better fitting hat here.

All in all, it does what it is meant to do - and as a standalone piece it does it well.

 

[Brian G Turner]

This is a really strong piece and kept me interested most of the time, due to the short, sharp sentences and the desire to know more about the situation.

Something left me very confused though - at first I thought the main character was a humanoid - the reference to his wife's white hair and wrinkles and envying didn't suggest a dragon being grieved for at all.

I'm also left confused by the relationship between the humans and dragons, as the following sentence seemed proceeded by a description of a human, and yet the dragon claims the child as one of his grand children:

"I turned to look at her; she was greying fast, and the small one peering round her and pulling faces was her grandchild, my great grandchild. One of her grand children, in fact."

Aside from confusion on the relationships being described, a very strong piece.

 

[chopper]

there is mention in the piece that the physically mismatched couple adopted their children; as a part of a continuing piece, it makes sense not to emphasise that too much though.

 

[chrispenycate]

Shorter sentences, check (always a problem of mine). Remove weak humour, check. Shakespeare could mix bad jokes into dramatic scenes and only intensify the tension; which goes to show I'm not Shakespeare, doesn't it?

Remove the confusion about Hrasif's family arrangements? Not without considerably increasing the length of the piece, and making it more difficult to integrate into the rest of the story.

The couple had four children, the two human boys being produced by Menuil in conventional fashion, merely not using her husband as genetic source material, the egg for their dragon daughter being obtained from a female dragon who had no desire to raise further offspring, and their human daughter being adopted (or adopting them, like a cat) after his Hrasif's first, unplanned, rescue mission.

They're all grown up now, but there was never any distinction made in the family between different origins.

Menuil's space filling was all virtual; she was never unnoticed because of
a) a rather spectacular choice of husbands
b) the fact she was spectacularly ugly; not just plain, but with a deformed face and
c) Because she radiated determination and decision.


Berrima is totally shocked, and numb, at the loss of her mother, but is 'channelling' her, sensibly and directly, bullying her father out of his introspection. She's seen death before, and other survivors, and she's ready to use totally unfair tactics – like her granddaughter – to obtain what she considers the best solution. She can cry later, probably with her husband.

Hrasif is seeing things through rather odd coloured spectacles. Not rose; I don't think a dragon is biologically capable of love, not requiring it in his reproductive strategy, but a mixture of confusion, fear and loss, with guilt and fear thrown in. Many decades ago this woman had decided that marrying him was the best solution to her problem. They had agreed that, as soon as they were out of the country that could not give her, as a female, custody of property or money she had inherited, they would get an annulment for non-consummation.

Unfortunately for this scheme she succeeded in getting pregnant, and it was he that pointed out she would be in need of a husband and, since she already had one, it was easier to go on as such.

Hence the hybrid family, with everyone maintaining the fiction (or maybe even believing it) that they were a traditional couple.

And he's been grumbling about being dragged halfway across the continent on her quest for a sexually equitable society since then, at her putting him in danger and never considering anything but her own desires…

But never about the family.

And now he finds himself free of constraints, and his life has a Menuil-shaped hole in it. No-one can tell him what to do, or where to do it, short of the king, and his daughter recognises this, and bullies him – partly, I suppose, to reawaken the resentment that has fuelled him through the last forty years.

I can't put all this in and keep some 'show'. I can't even assume that this, as a standalone, can accept explanations which exist elsewhere in the larger theme. If there is anything which is essential for the comprehension I will do my utmost to include it without it seeming a repetition of earlier information (either glancing off, or including extra details so it seems to be a deliberate addition) but obviously, knowing all the story already, I will miss some.

This is a problem which has never been attacked in aspiring writers; when you're writing your fantasy tetrology, and the first book a potential reader meets is the third, how can you give them enough background that they're not totally at sea, without annoying your faithful few who have been with you since volume one? A problem a fair number of published writers don't seem to have entirely solved nor I suspect in some cases, even recognised.

Tries to work out a workshop exercise for 'The beginning of a sequel', without a 'What's gone before' chapter(paragraph, which is defeatist.

 

[The Judge]

Chris, I love that story! I had no idea this was at the core of your dragon tales.

The only thing that upset me was you pinching the name Berrima - a place in NSW (and, with only one 'r', a name I'd already purloined for a mineral).

Re background for your pieces, I don't think you need worry about it. After all, it doesn't matter if we fully understand everything or not. We can only critique snippets and you can simply ignore those critiques which miss the point for whatever reason.

As to the beginning of a sequel, I've been wrestling with that, and after being accused (rightly) of a great deal of wince-making info-dumping in chapter 1 of novel 2, I have decided I shall have the equivalent of 'Previously on Twin Peaks...' at the beginning and newcomers will just have to pick the rest of it up as they go along.

 

[HareBrain]

This is a problem which has never been attacked in aspiring writers; when you're writing your fantasy tetrology, and the first book a potential reader meets is the third, how can you give them enough background that they're not totally at sea, without annoying your faithful few who have been with you since volume one?

The rather uncompromising solution I'm increasingly drawn to, is, you don't. By all means include a separate "what has gone before" synopsis and a few gentle reminders, on the assumption that your faithful few might have read your last volume a few months back, but leave the newcomers at sea -- then make sure they have such a good ride on the waves** that they go and buy your earlier works in that series to fill in the gaps. It defeats artistic integrity to have to pander to Johnny-come-latelies (what an awkward plural).

**Edit: I suppose the trick would be to make the story still enjoyable with the gaps unfilled.

 

[chopper]

hopefully not a problem i'll have to tackle just yet, but it looms for when i've finished Book One of Two. my solution at present is to have a Prologue to Book 2, as seen through the POV of a character last seen way back in Book One, that recaps a few of the earlier events and then presents the fall-out from the climax of book one. then, just bang on with the story.

for much longer series, i may have to think about working small info-dumps into the individual volumes. the space flannel stuff is only intended to be 50k per volume, so i don't want a "Previously...." section that's longer than the story that follows it....

and back on topic, that's one hell of a story arc, chrispy. hope to read it in full one day!

 

[Nesacat]

Am not going to say anything about sentences or grammar. Others have it far better than I could.

So thank you Chris. It's beautiful and it rings true.

 

[Oxman]

This is a problem which has never been attacked in aspiring writers; when you're writing your fantasy tetrology, and the first book a potential reader meets is the third, how can you give them enough background that they're not totally at sea, without annoying your faithful few who have been with you since volume one? A problem a fair number of published writers don't seem to have entirely solved nor I suspect in some cases, even recognised.

Tries to work out a workshop exercise for 'The beginning of a sequel', without a 'What's gone before' chapter(paragraph, which is defeatist.

Chrispenycate, did you get any further with this thread/workshop idea? I think it's an important one and would like to see a discussion on how people deal with this issue, especially with regard to standalone stories with characters from earlier books...Don't want to tread on your toes if you've drafted up some magnificent thread and are just waiting to post it!

 

[chrispenycate]

No, I never got any further with it (and wear steel-toed boots). I had been considering getting each contributor to write the end paragraph or two (if they were short paragraphs) of book one; after having written the first paragraph explaining what had happened at the end of the previous characters cliffhanger/lived in mitigated misery ever after ending. It's obviously impossible to cram an entire overview of book one into book two, so just explaining how the heroine came to be hanging, stark naked, off a tree jutting out of the freezing, windblown side of a crevasse, without using info dump seemed a richer challenge than finding a rhyme for "orange".

But if you have a better idea (one could claim it would be difficult to have a worse) be my guest.