The Theatre

[Moonbat]

This is a short story I am presently working on. Page 1 of 7. I find it (relatively) easy to write a 1st draft but repeated editing sucks the life out of me until I despise my own story. Maybe you guys can finish me off, or breath new life into the process.


The Theatre

On the north coast amongst the sandy beaches of Hoon bay, which stretches from Cloverstone in the east to Barrage Point in the west, is a small town by the name of Pootle. It lays a couple of miles east of Barrage point and easily the most accessible beach at the western edge of the bay. It was from here one bright and sunny Saturday morning that my friend and I set off in our sea kayaks searching for isolated beaches along the rugged and rarely explored coast. We were keen kayakers and in the summer months, when the weather was warm, we would drive out from the city to a coastal town so that we could paddle some stretch of the coast and camp out on an isolated beach. Our kayaks were loaded up with camping equipment and supplies for a day or two and we had every intention of returning on the Sunday, refreshed by nature and recharged by a short break away from the urbanity of our city lives. The peaceful serenity of sleeping beneath the stars to the sound of the lapping waves was a cherished luxury that we rarely had the chance to experience.

Barrage point is a headland that stretches out into the North Sea and, due to the shape and position of Hoon bay, creates a powerful race as the water is channelled over a shallow marine shelf and around the jutting headland. We set off in the sunshine, enthused with the curiosity of discovering new coastline, excited by the challenge of the paddle and motivated by the chance to escape the grey and grim nature of city living for some lively green and blue of the coast. We were intending to explore the coastline just beyond the bay but were unaware of the intensely strong current.

As soon as we neared Barrage Point we were caught in the race and dragged out far beyond the headland. We struggled for several hours to paddle against the current and back into Hoon Bay but the North Sea is notoriously rough and unforgiving. Unfortunately we could make no headway against the strong current, we paddled until our arms were sore, until our shoulders ached and our backs screamed out for respite. It was an exercise in futility for the powerful current would not let us return to the bay. We were swept far out to sea beyond the horizon. At times I struggled to keep close to my companion, the large waves easily obscured us from one another if were more than a few metres apart. I lost sight of him more than once and felt stranded and alone amongst the towering waves.

Feeling the strain of prolonged paddling in the hot summer weather we were both eager for a break. Our civility to one another was waning and we argued long over whose fault it was that we had come to be stranded in the North Sea. I was severely dehydrated and in desperate need of some water, but I had neither the time nor the stability to get to my water flask, if I stopped paddling for too long or lost concentration I risked being flipped by the large open ocean waves. My mouth was dry, the salty spray from the sea and the sweat dripping off my brow compounded this, and if I am honest my hope had also dried up. I could see no way for us to return to land with such strong currents still forcing us into the open ocean. Utterly defeated I had resigned myself to the fact that we would not be able to make it back to land. Any hope of rescue was slim. After several hours drifting and attempting to circumnavigate the current (we had long since given up fighting it directly) we spied land. Relief swept over us both, and realising that we were not doomed we gratefully headed into land for some much need rest. Our relief may have been premature.

 

[Boneman]

Hi Moonbat! Good to see some more of your writing again. Here's my sixpence...

It's interesting that rewrites/editing can be so hard, but this is the place for help. Hopefully we can invigorate you. Or inspire you, maybe. Or interest you... any verb begining with 'in'...

It has a different voice, this piece. For me, it feels as though the narrator (the canoeist) is actually writing this down, maybe in a letter to someone. There's not a gread deal of immediacy, and because it's written so strongly from the pov of the canoeist, I know he/she is going to survive - because they've written it!

There's a lot of scene setting, and no dialogue, although there is obviously dialogue going on between them. This makes it quite dispassionate, it has a passive voice that doesn't give much in the way of drama/danger /excitement in the piece. Is it necessary to set the geography of the scene in so much detail? Maybe it's for a short story set in Barrage Point? The detail is very convincing, but is it necessary?

For instance, you tell us that it's a bright and sunny saturday morning and then give us backstory about how often the friends did this, then bring us back to the present by telling us the kayaks were stacked with 2 days supplies, and then go into backstory again about feelings of sleeping under the stars and so on.

I'm assuming the Island they end up on is going to be central to the story? Correct me if I'm wrong, but the important things here are the two friends, the kayaking and being washed out to sea, then fetching up on he island. With that in mind, can I edit it savagely for you? With some suggestions in Red?

This is a short story I am presently working on. Page 1 of 7. I find it (relatively) easy to write a 1st draft but repeated editing sucks the life out of me until I despise my own story. Maybe you guys can finish me off, or breath new life into the process.


The Theatre

One bright and sunny Saturday morning, my friend and I set off in our sea kayaks searching for isolated beaches along the rugged and rarely explored coastline beyond the bay. Our kayaks were loaded up with camping equipment and supplies for a day or two, and it was great to get away from the city.



We made good time, but when we rounded the Point the sea quickened suddenly. [here I'd insert some dialogue between them, voicing their concern at this unexpected turn of events] we were caught in the race and dragged out far beyond the headland. We paddled until our arms were sore, until our shoulders ached and our backs screamed out for respite. It was an exercise in futility. We were swept out to sea.

I struggled to keep close to Fred? Bert? Bill? but I lost sight of him over and over in the gathering swell. I cursed him for choosing this area. My mouth was dry, but I couldn't reach for my water, I daren't lose the stability the paddle gave me. It was getting dark, and I was on the point of despair when a shout from Fred roused me.
"Land!"
I could just see it as I rose to the top of the swell, and it gave me the strength to go on. I heard Fred's exultant shout, and relief course through me.
Our relief may have been premature.

Oops, the edit pen went mad. But now at least there's a bit of urgency, a bit of excitement, and a lot of (IMHO) unnecessary detail gone. I think if you focused on the characterisation of the two a little, through what they say to each other, and their actions, we'd have a better picture of them. I honestly have no idea of the sex, age or race of the two characters, and if you're only going to describe them on the Island, it's too late. I've already made my own picture of them - the narrator is female, about 5'7", slim, with blonde hair tied back in a pony tail. She's well-muscled, and dressed in a decent wet-suit that's now chafing with the salt water. Her companion is male, 6'0", and there's no surplus flesh on him. He has dark, crinkly hair and dark eyes, and a smile that shows perfect teeth, although his designer stubble seems strangely out of place...

Okay, maybe not this level of detail, we do want to focus on the action, but give us something to hang a picture on?

And it occurs to me now, that you may be aiming at this kind of narrative, mimicing the type of work seen in 'The Island', where the pov is close, but the detail is all left to the reader... in which case ignore everything I've said!

ps: this only goes to prove you can't have your kayak and heat it, too...

 

[Daezarkian]

The writing style feels very....old. Archaic. And I don't necessarily mean that in a bad way: the style is vaguely reminiscent of old Gothic writers like Le Fanu or Hawthorne. Unfortunately, I kept waiting for the narrative to zoom in and for time to slow down a bit so that we can be there in the boat and find out what's happening to the characters alongside them.

[Ok, I just read Boneman's comments, so...'What he said'. ]

That being said, I like what we've seen so far of the plot and the tone.

My advice would be slow it down a bit, provide more detail, and let us experience what's going on with these characters rather than just having it related to us.

Keep up the good work!

 

[JCAllan]

Hello Moonbat

I found this piece very interesting. I agree with Boneman that dialogue is needed. This would help to show the reader what is happening rather than telling them which is what I felt was happening as I read it.

I am looking forward to the next installment of this though. It is quite intriguing.

 

[Moonbat]

Thank you all for the replies.
I am aware that the piece lacks any dialogue, I took out all that I had written as I wanted the piece to appear written. Although I haven't mentioned it yet, the story is to be found washed up on shore in a bottle.
Does the lack of dialogue make it unreadable, or too slow and boring? Will people make it through 8 pages to the end? Maybe I will have to change the POV.
If I mention the bottle early then you know the narrator could be dead, but the fact that you assumed he was alive may make the ending better.
The geography is all made up, and is only there to give credence to the story, I have left out the name of the friend as I hadn't decided on one, I may add one, but nothing as common as Bert or Fred
The style was a homage to (or rip off of) Lovecraft, and I wanted to add a line (possibly at the beginning) that aluded to this being written by a man long since dead.
thanks for taking the time to read and comment, I have taken your advice on board and am seriously considering making appropriate changes.

No one has commented on grammatical or sentence structure problems am I to assume that I have made none (very unlikely!)



MB

 

[Peter Graham]

For my money, Boneman is bang on. There is insufficiant immediacy and I do not feel close to the action. You tell me what is happening, but don't allow me to actually experience it personally. You are painting a frightening picture - being dragged out into the North Sea in a kayak- but it is a little devoid of colour.

The "telling rather than showing"problem is further compounded by your choice of narrative voice - a sort of detached, cold reportage style which makes it even harder for me - and you, I suspect - to drill down to the action.

You also have a tendency to info dump and, as has already been pointed out, you are zooming in and out of the action too much. If you are starting wide, zoom in and stay there.

In summary, I see everything, but feel nothing.

I suspect that you are keen to set up the scene and that the real action is just around the corner. But you are overloading us with information and giving us nothing of the character. You say that this is effectively a letter washed up in a bottle. I'm afraid it doesn't sound like one. Have a look at some diairists and see how they make every word count - it's a tight and concise way of writing and I think you need to get some of that "up close and personal" feeling into this piece (Pepys is a good example, especially when he gets caught furtling the servants).

But all is very far from bad news. You have a good command of pace and you write with a strong, confident and flowing hand. I think I like Our Hero and I want to know what happens next. And there are very few grammatical or structural issues - nothing a final line edit wouldn't pick up on.

So, if I were you I'd rethink the narrative voice, trust the reader to be able to follow without a lot of explanatory dialogue and keep it up close and personal. Make us feel that dampness of the paper after an age in the bottle.

Regards,

Peter

PS: Watrch your capitalistaion of proper nouns, Sir! You keep forgetting to do it - if Barrage Point is the name on the map, it must always be capitalised.

 

[The Judge]

I'll have a nit-pick as there are quite a few things that trouble me, but I'm super-sensitive to word use etc, and it's obvious no one else is worried, so take or leave my ideas as you think fit.

red = correction/suggestions
[blue] = suggested deletions
[mauve] = comments

On the north coast amongst the sandy beaches of Hoon Bay, which stretches from Cloverstone in the east to Barrage Point in the west, is a small town by the name of Pootle. [as an aside, I'm always wary of funny-sounding names. If this were to be a comic piece, Pootle is fine, otherwise it sets wholly the wrong tone] It lies [lays] a couple of miles east of Barrage Point and easily the most accessible beach [confusing. I can't immediately tell if you mean that the Pootle town beach is the most accessible beach (in which case you need a verb before "easily" eg "has", though that's a little weak), or that Pootle lies east of the most accessible beach which is unnamed for some reason, or that Barrage Point itself is the most accessible beach (in which case you need "which is" instead of "and") at the western edge of the bay. It was from here one bright and sunny Saturday morning that my friend and I set off in our sea kayaks searching for isolated beaches along the rugged and rarely explored coast. We were keen kayakers and in the summer months, when the weather was warm, we would drive out from the city to a coastal town, [comma helpful here, I think] so that we could paddle up [I appreciate "paddle the coast" may be a kayaking term but it reads oddly to non-kayakers] some stretch of the coast and camp out on an isolated beach. Our kayaks were loaded [up] with camping equipment and supplies for a day or two and we had every intention of returning on the Sunday, refreshed by nature and recharged by a short break away from the [urbanity] [this jarred as tautologous since it means of the city or city life -- I'm not quite sure what you're after but I'd suggest "refinement" or "sophistication" as this is the other definition of urbanity, or perhaps a grittier word if you're wanting to emphasise the city dirt/crowdedness] of our city lives. The [peaceful] [tautology -- unpeaceful serenity isn't possible] serenity of sleeping beneath the stars to the sound [I'd be careful of such alliteration unless it's done for deliberate effect to indicate a certain amteurishness in the narrator's writing] of the lapping waves was a cherished luxury that we rarely had the chance to experience. [the "in the summer months ... we would" indicates this is a frequent event, which is at odds with "rarely had the chance" - you need to decide which it is]

Barrage Point is a headland that reaches [stretches] [to avoid repetition as you had "stretch" in the last para] out into the North Sea and, due to the shape and position of Hoon Bay, it creates a powerful race as the water is channelled over a shallow marine shelf and around the jutting headland. [repetition of "headland" - I'd suggest you find a synonym or rework the sentence to avoid it if possible] Regrettably, when we [We] set off in the sunshine, enthused with the curiosity of discovering new coastline [I'm pretty sure you can't have "the curiosity of discovering"; one is enthused "with curiosity" (no definite article) but about something, not "of" it, and not of discovery; or one can be "curious to discover". I'd suggest you have another think about this], and excited by the challenge of the paddle, we were unaware of this immensely strong current. [and motivated by the chance to escape the grey and grim nature of city living for some lively green and blue of the coast.] [this is basically just repeating what you told us in the previous para and I don't think that in itself it is powerful enough to carry the weight of such needless repetition] [We were intending to explore the coastline just beyond the bay] [again you're just repeating what you told us in the previous sentence] [but were unaware of the intensely intense = strong, so this is something of a tautology] strong current.] [this comes far too late after the opening sentence if you keep the intervening lines in there -- you need to get it in immediately.]

As soon as we neared Barrage Point we were caught in the race and dragged out far beyond the headland. We struggled for several hours to paddle against the current and back into Hoon Bay but the North Sea is notoriously rough and unforgiving. Unfortunately, [comma needed] we could make no headway against the strong current [repetition of both words -- you need synonyms]. We paddled until our arms were sore, until our shoulders ached and our backs screamed out for respite. It was an exercise in futility, [comma needed] for the powerful current would not let us return to the bay,. and we were swept far out to sea. [beyond the horizon.] [er... can one be swept beyond the horizon from one's own viewpoint? Doesn't the horizon effectively recede?]At times I struggled to keep close to my companion, and since the large waves [easily] [irrelevant adverb and repetition anyway] obscured us one from [one] another [that sounds more archaic!] if we were even [more than] [to avoid repetition] a few metres apart, [comma needed] I lost sight of him more than once, [comma needed] and felt stranded and alone amidst [amongst] the towering waves. [The two halves of that first sentence reads as a non sequitur as it stands, which is why I suggest making it all one]

Feeling the strain of prolonged paddling [clumsy alliteration] in the heat, [comma needed][hot summer weather] [that phrase sounds seriously odd when he's describing what it was like there and then] we were both eager for a break. [Er... "eager" doesn't really do justice to backs screaming for respite...] Our civility to one another was waning [it sounds to me as if it has waned if they are arguing] and we argued long over whose fault it was that we had come to be lost [stranded] [but they're not stranded! That means being washed up on shore or unable to move to another place, neither of which is applicable. I've suggested lost, which really isn't powerful enough: "adrift" would be better if they were actually drifiting at this stage] in the North Sea. I was severely dehydrated and in desperate need of some water, but I had neither the time nor the stability to get to my water flask, since if I stopped paddling for too long or lost concentration I risked being flipped over by the large [repetition] [open ocean] [to avoid repetition] waves. My mouth was dry;, [semi-colon or "and" needed] the salty spray [from the sea] [I think that can be taken as read] and the sweat dripping off my brow compounded my thirst. [this] I was exhausted physically and mentally and, if I am honest, my hope [had] also was exhausted. [dried up.] [another non sequitur as it stands -- what has hope to do with his thirst?] I could see no way for us to return to land with such strong currents still forcing us into the open ocean. Utterly defeated, [comma needed] I had resigned myself to the fact that we would not be able to make it back to land. [another repetition of the previous sentence] any hope of rescue was slim.

[new para as it's a new thought] After several hours drifting and attempting to circumnavigate the current (we had long since given up fighting it directly) we spied land. Relief swept over us both, and believing ourselves no longer [realising that we were not] [if in fact they are doomed you can't have "realising" unless it's "doomed to drown"] doomed, [comma needed] we gratefully [very weak adverb for the situation] headed towards the new coastline [into land] [repetition] for [some] much need rest.

[new para for impact]Our relief was [may have been] premature.[it either was or it wasn't. He knows which, since he's writing this later, so you can't beat about the bush in this way. It's also more grabbling to say "was"]

Sorry about the sea of coloured ink. I tend to get carried away when I'm critiquing.

I have to say I found the tone odd, to say the least. I understand your comment about it being a deliberate homage, but I'm really not sure it works. For a start, you have put this narrator firmly in the more or less present day with the use of metres, and no one talks like this nowadays. If you want to keep this style, I think you have to set the story in the 1920s or earlier and make the necessary changes to reflect that: eg "severely dehydrated" comes across as very late 20th century, with our preoccupation with bottles of water when we exercise. There are also some phrases which jar if this is meant to be from someone with a naturally pompous turn of phrase eg "eager for a break".

I have an aversion to repetition and alliteration unless done for effect. Both have their place, but I don't think their place is here, which is why I've deleted the one and commented on the other. If you feel this narrator would write in this way, then of course you are right, but I would urge you to think carefully about it. There are also a number of commonplace phrases which verge on cliche - eg "bright and sunny" which I've left. If this were written by a narrator with a limited vocabulary, these would be fine. However, they sit uneasily with a man using "urbanity" and "cherished luxury". Overall, at present the whole thing reads to me as someone straining to achieve a high style, and failing. It may be this is how you wanted the narrator to appear, but it runs the obvious risk.

The lack of dialogue doesn't worry me, but I do share everyone else's concerns about the narrative voice and the lack of gripping POV which enables us to feel -- or even sympathise -- with the narrator. I do think you are doing your talent a disservice at present. If you are wedded to this style by all means persevere, but make sure you get fully into the mood and eliminate all jarring phrases. But if nothing else, it might be a worthwhile exercise to try writing it as the others have suggested and getting a lot more excitement and tension in there. If you had the two versions side by side you could then make an assessment of which you thought best.

Hope this helps a little.

NB Just thought. How does the narrator now know about how the tidal race is created - ie the bit about the shallow marine shelf and the effect of Hoon Bay? If he finds information to this effect on the Island, all well and good, but I think you ought to reconsider his current omniscience, if not. (Oh. Just seen the pun. Sorry!)

 

[Boneman]

Thank you all for the replies.
I am aware that the piece lacks any dialogue, I took out all that I had written as I wanted the piece to appear written. Although I haven't mentioned it yet, the story is to be found washed up on shore in a bottle.
Does the lack of dialogue make it unreadable, or too slow and boring? Will people make it through 8 pages to the end? Maybe I will have to change the POV.

No one has commented on grammatical or sentence structure problems am I to assume that I have made none (very unlikely!)



MB

Aah, I see. It is therefore written as a person might write a journal after an event. Perhaps the way round it, to hint that it is a journal is to have it headed DAY 1, then DAY 2, and so on. It's not that the lack of dialogue makes it unreadable at all, it might help if you said "fred shouted across to me that there was land ahead, and the relief was enormous" kind of thing.

Would it be a bad thing to open the story with: "If you're reading this, then I'm probably dead."? A bit cliched, but it would grab the attention wonderfully...

And I didn't see any problems with sentence structure...!

 

[Moonbat]

First of all thanks to everyone that took the time to comment. Your input is greatly appreciated. Thanks Judge for the detailed nit-pick (I don't think my scalp has been so clean since the last time my Mum used Lyclear on me as a child)

I have struggled to change the POV, I can't seem to rewrite it without the voice remaining very much the same. I have taken on board the advice given and made a few changes. I'm not sure if it works or if it still lacks emotional attachment. Hopefully the opening paragraph explains things a little better and eases the info-dump. The geographical info isn't actually required it is trying to give an authenticity to the piece.

The Theatre

Some stories survive by being spoken aloud, by being told over and over, they change with the time and are adapted to the current zeitgeist. My tale cannot be told for there is no one around to hear it, well no one that I know of, no one that I can find. I found this paper and a pen amongst my late friend’s possessions, rescued from his kayak before I turned it into his funeral pyre. But I’m getting ahead of myself; I’ll start at Hoon Bay, for that is where this story begins.

On the north coast amongst the sandy beaches of Hoon Bay, which stretches from Cloverstone in the east to Barrage Point in the west, is a small and endearing town by the name of Pootle. It lays a couple of miles east of Barrage Point and has the most accessible, yet surprisingly deserted, beach at the western edge of the bay. It was from here on that luminous Saturday morning that my friend and I set off in our sea kayaks searching for isolated beaches along the rugged and rarely explored coast. Our kayaks were loaded with camping equipment and basic supplies and we had every intention of returning on the Sunday, refreshed by nature and recharged by a short break away from the urbanity of our city lives. We were keen kayakers and in the summer months, when the weather was warm, we were always eager to escape from the city to a seaside town so that we could paddle along some stretch of the coast and camp out on an isolated beach. The serenity of sleeping beneath the stars to the sound of the lapping waves was a cherished luxury that we rarely had the chance to experience.

Barrage Point reaches out into the North Sea and, I realise now, due to the shape and position of Hoon bay, a powerful race is created as the water is channelled over the shallow marine shelf and around the jutting headland. Regrettably, when we set off in the sunshine, enthused with the thrill of discovering new coastline, excited by the challenge of the paddle and motivated by the chance to escape the grey and grim nature of city living for some lively green and blue of the coast, we were unaware of the intense current.

As soon as we neared Barrage Point we were caught in the race and dragged out far beyond the headland. We struggled against the current for hours trying to get back into the bay but the sea was rough and unforgiving. We paddled with all our might until our arms were sore, until our shoulders ached and our backs screamed out for respite. It was hopeless, an exercise in futility. We were swept far out to sea until Hoon Bay had receded beyond the horizon.

Feeling the strain of prolonged paddling in the heat we were both aching for a break. Our civility to one another was waning and we were bickering over whose fault it was that we had come to be astray in the North Sea. I was severely dehydrated and in desperate need of some water, but I had neither the time nor the stability to get to my water flask, since if I stopped paddling for too long I risked being flipped over by the large open ocean waves. My mouth was dry; the salty spray and the sweat dripping off my brow compounded my thirst. I was exhausted physically and mentally and, if I am honest, my hope had dried up. I could see no way for us to return to our cherished homeland with such strong currents still forcing us north, away from our home. Utterly defeated, I had resigned myself to the fact that we would not be able to make it back to land; any hope of rescue was slim.

After several hours of intermittent drifting and attempting to circumnavigate the current (we had long since given up fighting it directly) we spied land. Relief swept over us both, and believing ourselves no longer doomed, we thankfully headed towards the new coastline for some much need rest. Our relief was premature.

 

[ctg]

I hope you understand my edits.

Some stories survive by being spoken aloud, by being told over and over, they change with the time and are adapted to the current zeitgeist. My tale cannot be told for there is no one around to hear it, well no one that I know of, no one that I can find. I found this paper and a pen amongst my late friend’s possessions, rescued from his kayak before I turned it into his funeral pyre. But I’m getting ahead of myself; I’ll start at Hoon Bay, for that is where this story begins.

I cannot drop straight into your head, and the exposition comes out too deeply. So I would suggest you to start with the dialogue as if you would be talking to someone in first person.

"Look." The memories flooded in my mind as I started to tell my story. "The things about the stories is that they change over the time. And my tale cannot be told..." I switched my gaze to glance passer-by's running to safety. Some holding papers over their heads, other's their few possessions. It had been a few months since I had been walking/trodding/crawling in the sandy beaches of Hoon Bay.

It lies on that north coast of Cloverstone, just east to the Barrage Point. ... <switch to a narrative mode.>

On the north coast amongst the sandy beaches of Hoon Bay, which stretches from Cloverstone in the east to Barrage Point in the west, is a small and endearing town by the name of Pootle. It lays a couple of miles east of Barrage Point and has the most accessible, yet surprisingly deserted, beach at the western edge of the bay. It was from here on that luminous Saturday morning that my friend and I set off in our sea kayaks searching for isolated beaches along the rugged and rarely explored coast.

Break.

Our kayaks were loaded with camping equipment and basic supplies and we had every intention of returning on the Sunday, refreshed by nature and recharged by a short break away from the urbanity of our city lives.

Break.

We were keen kayakers and in the summer months, when the weather was warm, we were always eager to escape from the city to a seaside town so that we could paddle along some stretch of the coast and camp out on an isolated beach. The serenity of sleeping beneath the stars to the sound of the lapping waves was a cherished luxury that we rarely had the chance to experience.

Thighten the POV, fix into his head and start to describe the action.

Barrage Point reaches out into the North Sea and, I realise now, due to the shape and position of Hoon bay, a powerful race is created as the water is channelled over the shallow marine shelf and around the jutting headland. Regrettably, when we set off in the sunshine, enthused with the thrill of discovering new coastline, excited by the challenge of the paddle and motivated by the chance to escape the grey and grim nature of city living for some lively green and blue of the coast, we were unaware of the intense current.

Repetitious. You want to be as close to your POV at this point as you can. The reason is that at this point the way you narrate drives away readers because it's too much of exposition.

You know that you do marvellously in the 75-word challenge, so this amount of distant narrator is too much when average reader wants to see something happening.

As soon as we neared Barrage Point we were caught in the race and dragged out far beyond the headland. We struggled against the current for hours trying to get back into the bay but the sea was rough and unforgiving. We paddled with all our might until our arms were sore, until our shoulders ached and our backs screamed out for respite. It was hopeless, an exercise in futility. We were swept far out to sea until Hoon Bay had receded beyond the horizon.

"We struggled, we paddled, and at the end ... the sea." <Flashback memory> (description) "<Emotional line.>"

You can alter this para easily to a dialogue that includes description in it. Because if you're still with me, I have tried to break your beginning to a different format, where you mix memories to present action while you maintain the past tense.

It's a different style and I think it would be easier for you to use in the short first person pieces. It also gives you practice on switching the perspective from close to distant.

And if you need help on it, then check out how reiver's pieces flow so well.

 

[Boneman]

First of all thanks to everyone that took the time to comment. Your input is greatly appreciated. Thanks Judge for the detailed nit-pick (I don't think my scalp has been so clean since the last time my Mum used Lyclear on me as a child)

I have struggled to change the POV, I can't seem to rewrite it without the voice remaining very much the same. I have taken on board the advice given and made a few changes. I'm not sure if it works or if it still lacks emotional attachment. Hopefully the opening paragraph explains things a little better and eases the info-dump. The geographical info isn't actually required it is trying to give an authenticity to the piece.

Oooh, very much better, Moonbat. The opening is a really good hook, and it settles us immediately into the 'journal' way of thinking. I'm expecting 'Alone in the dark' music at any moment. So all that's left is some nitpicking...

The Theatre

Some stories survive by being spoken aloud, by being told over and over, they change with the time and are adapted to the current zeitgeist. My tale cannot be told for there is no one around to hear it, full stop well drop the 'well'no one that I know of, no one that I can find. I found this paper and a pen amongst my late friend’s possessions, rescued from his kayak before I turned it into his funeral pyre. But I’m getting ahead of myself; I’ll start at Hoon Bay, for that is where this story begins.

On the north coast amongst the sandy beaches of Hoon Bay, which stretches from Cloverstone in the east to Barrage Point in the west, is a small and endearing town by the name of Pootle. It lays a couple of miles east of Barrage Point and has the most accessible, yet surprisingly deserted, beach at the western edge of the bay. It was from here on that luminous Saturday morning that my friend and I set off in our sea kayaks searching for isolated beaches along the rugged and rarely explored coast. Our kayaks were loaded with camping equipment and basic supplies and we had every intention of returning on the Sunday, refreshed by nature and recharged by a short break away from the urbanity of our city lives. We were keen kayakers and in the summer months, when the weather was warm, we were always eager to escape from the city to a seaside town so that we could paddle along some stretch of the coast and camp out on an isolated beach. The serenity of sleeping beneath the stars to the sound of the lapping waves was a cherished luxury that we rarely had the chance to experience. And now the geography doesn't seem intrusive or info-dumpy, just becomes scene-setting.

Barrage Point reaches out into the North Sea and, I realise now, due to the shape and position of Hoon bay, a powerful race is created as the water is channelled over the shallow marine shelf and around the jutting headland. Regrettably, when we set off in the sunshine, enthused with the thrill of discovering new coastline, excited by the challenge of the paddle and motivated by the chance to escape the grey and grim nature of city living for some lively green and blue of the coast, we were unaware of the intense current.That's a very long sentence, but I'm not sure it needs breaking down... The Judge will know...

As soon as we neared Barrage Point we were caught in the race and dragged out far beyond the headland. We struggled against the current for hours trying to get back into the bay but the sea was rough and unforgiving. We paddled with all our might until our arms were sore, until our shoulders ached and our backs screamed out for respite. It was hopeless, an exercise in futility. We were swept far out to sea until Hoon Bay had receded beyond the horizon.


Feeling the strain of prolonged paddling in the heat we were both aching for a break. Our civility to one another was waning Erm, don't really think that last sentence fits, somehow... How about "Each of us blamed the other for our predicament"? and we were bickering over whose fault it was that we had come to be astray in the North Sea. I was severely dehydrated and in desperate need of some water, but I had neither the time nor the stability to get to my water flask, since if I stopped paddling for too long I risked being flipped over by the large open ocean It's the North Sea... waves. My mouth was dry; the salty spray and the sweat dripping off my brow erm, a little cliched, the brow bit. How about "My mouth was dry; I'd sweated so much, my thirst was overwhelming.compounded my thirst. Para?
I was exhausted physically and mentally and, if I am honest, my hope had dried up. I could see no way for us to return to our cherished homeland erm'.. cherished homeland? Very archaic, maybe just cut from "To return to".... as far as..."to be able to make it..." So the whole sentence would become "I could see no way for us to make it back to land; any hope of rescue was slim." I don't think you need to belabour the currents, we've got the idea... with such strong currents still forcing us north, away from our home. Utterly defeated, I had resigned myself to the fact that we would not be able to make it back to land; any hope of rescue was slim.

After several hours of intermittent drifting and attempting to circumnavigate the current (we had long since given up fighting it directly) we spied land. Relief swept over us both, and believing ourselves no longer doomed, we thankfully headed towards the new coastline for some much need rest. Our relief was premature.

But, good job with all the changes!! Well done, Moonbat!