The City, a little something I am working on.

[anthorn]

Here is something I am working on. It is a supernatural fantasy set in a city. Torn between continuing it and leaving it.

It's about 1'200 words long.

THE MIDDLE STREET

JOURNAL​

9th of Umberi 590​

A special notice​

THE VOALANCE DOWNED OVER​

THE MIJACK ISLES​

No survivors​

The Voalance, that ship of ships and the first Airship to successfully fly over the marionette sea is no more; mystery surrounds its ruin. No one knows what caused the ship to burst into flame that fateful night and while some suspect foul play, others suspect a simple malfunction of technologies. Shipmaster Anubis and overseer Charles have refuted this latter theory, claiming that when the ship left it was in immaculate condition.



This brings us to the second theory, that some fiend dared attack the Presidents own Airship and succeeded in doing what 12 years of warfare could not. If one believes this theory then it is not so much who destroyed the ship than which of a hundred possible groups could have dared.
#

WE ARE A NATION IN MOURNING​

#​

For amongst these 800 downed souls were some of the greatest minds of our generation. This is a tragedy that this editor believes we may not recover from for a number of years. It is with special permission that I am allowed to print the names of the deceased. I shall start, as is appropriate, from importance downwards.
#

The president’s son Silias Saradone​

World famed singer Noranti Noels​

The pioneering doctor Ellusia Oggosk​

Airship pilot Devon Moronth​

His first commander Aeron Moronth​

THE CITY​

RIDEON TOLBY
Since I can remember, this is the first time I recall not waking up having pissed the bed or screaming. Today my senses are remarkably clear though I still feel the weight of my years, and I suppose I should give thanks for this small mercy yet all I really want to do is punch a wall. I am not however, a violent man, I think I am not at least.


I tear the blankets from my body and place my feet upon a cold stone floor. The cold brings me fully from the land of my dreams and to the reality of my life; a deep breath is all I need to take before I make myself stand. “Another day in the city,” I say to nobody and open the shutters to my left. Light filters through bright and invasive and I groan. Is this really the most appropriate thing to see on a morning, a light that blinds? I will have to ask God should he ever make an appearance.



Eventually my eyes adjust to the morning light and I see the city below my window. I remember hearing that first thing in the morning this place is the very picture of divine beauty, but I cannot see it myself. What is so beautiful about stone and crystal buildings? I guess this is another thing I should ask God. Well, no point in delaying the inevitable then I suppose. Shutting the shutters, I go about dressing in simple clothes, as I don’t believe in grandeur (it’s pointless) and wash my face in a bowl of tepid water. A small mirror above it seeks to remind me of my appearance, to remind me that my blond hair is in need of a cut and my beard a trim, one more thing to add to my list.



With my morning routine complete, I force a smile onto my face, make my way down the old stone steps, and open the old wood door to the outside world. I stop and take in the sites. A new building greets me, a marble villa replacing what had been there before and I try to recall what that was but my memory fails me. Why can’t I recall? Memory is strange that way I suppose. Still, I should really find those builders that handle these things; it is not every day that a building appears in a day. I smile to the woman in the garden, she nods, and returns to tending to her garden and I continue down the street. Despite it being early morning there are already plenty of people on the streets, from bakers to merchants they’re all going about their daily routines. They wave in greeting and I wave back, well it is only polite that I do so; as my daddy liked to say ‘manners are everything.’



In all honesty, I am not looking forward to today at all. I am you see a very important man, an heir to a vast wealth that lends time for relaxation as I can afford to hire lackeys to do my work for me. My time is up though and I must face the fact that I can no longer hide from my fate. It is time to find a wife.
#
SELPHIE TABERNACLE
Apparently, I am beautiful, at least that is what I am told and who am I to argue? Of course I’m not going to agree with them am I, no, that would be conceited no matter how true their statement is. Mind you, I am not stupid either; I know full well that these proclamations of my beauty are just attempts to get me into bed. Let them try. That man standing at the other side of the room is the worst of them. His name is Drake Fargo and he struts like some prized peacock, dressing in immaculate silk shirt and trousers. I would laugh at his pomp if it weren’t so ridiculous.



I close my eyes and listen to the orchestra play the overture to softly soft. It is a nice song but I sincerely doubt that the dozens gathered here in the Opera Hall can appreciate its beauty, as they’re too busy talking about the latest gossip. It is up to me as always to understand greatness. Perhaps I should explain a little of who I am then. My name is Selphie Tabernacle and I am somewhat renowned in this city as Prima Donna of the operatic arts. So far, I have sung in 30 plays and all before my thirtieth birthday, impressive no? I am a constant in an ever-changing world.



With a deep in take of breath, I move to the window and look out upon the city, my home. A beautiful city and it does not take me long to come across the different types of architecture. Everywhere I look I see plain three story tenements next to gothic spires and each time I cannot help but gasp in wonder at such sites. Only in this city do we have a complete mixing of styles.

 

[ctg]

THE MIDDLE STREET

JOURNAL​

9th of Umberi 590​

A special notice​

THE VOALANCE DOWNED OVER​

THE MIJACK ISLES​

No survivors

​

The Voalance, that ship of ships and the first Airship to successfully fly over the marionette sea is no more; mystery surrounds its ruin. No one knows what caused the ship to burst into flame that fateful night and while some suspect foul play, others suspect a simple malfunction of technologies. Shipmaster Anubis and overseer Charles have refuted this latter theory, claiming that when the ship left it was in immaculate condition.

This brings us to the second theory, that some fiend dared attack the Presidents own Airship and succeeded in doing what 12 years of warfare could not. If one believes this theory then it is not so much who destroyed the ship than which of a hundred possible groups could have dared.

WE ARE A NATION IN MOURNING​

For amongst these 800 downed souls were some of the greatest minds of our generation. This is a tragedy that this editor believes we may not recover from for a number of years. It is with a special permission that I am allowed to print the names of the deceased. I shall start, as is appropriate, from importance downwards.

The president’s son Silias Saradone​

World famed singer Noranti Noels​

The pioneering doctor Ellusia Oggosk​

Airship pilot Devon Moronth​

His first commander Aeron Moronth​

This reads like an article. You say it's in a journal, but to me it reads like a strangely written newspaper article. Lose the highlighted bits and make sure it flows well from the start to the end.

THE CITY​

RIDEON TOLBY

I would lose the highlighted bit and just introduce the name through a dialogue.

Since I can remember, this is the first time I recall not waking up having pissed the bed or screaming. Today my senses are remarkably clear though I still feel the weight of my years, and I suppose I should give thanks for this small mercy yet all I really want to do is punch a wall. I am not however, a violent man, I think I am not at least.

I would have placed him in a park bench putting down the newspaper or a journal that holds the newspaper clip. In that way, you create a bridge between the article and the narrator.

In the regards of this, don't tell the readers that today his/her senses a razor sharp, but show them through his actions.

I tear the blankets from my body and place my feet upon a cold stone floor. The cold brings me fully from the land of my dreams and to the reality of my life; a deep breath is all I need to take before I make myself stand.

“Another day in the city,” I say to nobody and open the shutters to my left.{!} Light filters through bright and invasive and I groan. Is this really the most appropriate thing to see on a morning, a light that blinds? I will have to ask God should he ever make an appearance.

Eventually my eyes adjust to the morning light and I see the city below my window. I remember hearing that first thing in the morning this place is the very picture of divine beauty, but I cannot see it myself.

Remove the highlighted and start filling in description of morning light falling upon the city as he gazes through the window. Tell us what it looks, what kind of people travels on its streets, and if there are any airships use this as an opportunity to fill in the details that you left out from the article.

Use memories and feelings sparingly. And when you have finished, start from where you left.

What is so beautiful about stone and crystal buildings? I guess this is another thing I should ask God. Well, no point in delaying the inevitable then I suppose. Shutting the shutters, I go about dressing in simple clothes, as I don’t believe in grandeur (it’s pointless) and wash my face in a bowl of tepid water. A small mirror above it seeks to remind me of my appearance, to remind me that my blond hair is in need of a cut and my beard a trim, one more thing to add to my list.

Beautifully elegant.

With my morning routine complete, I force a smile onto my face, make my way down the old stone steps, and open the old wood door to the outside world. I stop and take in the sites. A new building greets me, a marble villa replacing what had been there before and I try to recall what that was but my memory fails me. Why can’t I recall? Memory is strange that way I suppose. Still, I should really find those builders that handle these things; it is not every day that a building appears in a day. I smile to the woman in the garden, she nods, and returns to tending to her garden and I continue down the street. Despite it being early morning there are already plenty of people on the streets, from bakers to merchants they’re all going about their daily routines. They wave in greeting and I wave back, well it is only polite that I do so; as my daddy liked to say ‘manners are everything.’

Okay, this is good. Remove the people description from the earlier and just give there description of what the city look like from a bird perspective, because at here, you are getting into the nitty gritty of the street life.

In all honesty, I am not looking forward to today at all. I am you see a very important man, an heir to a vast wealth that lends time for relaxation as I can afford to hire lackeys to do my work for me. My time is up though and I must face the fact that I can no longer hide from my fate. It is time to find a wife.

Why to tell readers this? Do they need it? Does the character need it?

#
SELPHIE TABERNACLE
Apparently, I am beautiful, at least that is what I am told and who am I to argue? Of course I’m not going to agree with them am I, no, that would be conceited no matter how true their statement is. Mind you, I am not stupid either; I know full well that these proclamations of my beauty are just attempts to get me into bed. Let them try. That man standing at the other side of the room is the worst of them. His name is Drake Fargo and he struts like some prized peacock, dressing in immaculate silk shirt and trousers. I would laugh at his pomp if it weren’t so ridiculous.

I close my eyes and listen to the orchestra play the overture to softly soft. It is a nice song but I sincerely doubt that the dozens gathered here in the Opera Hall can appreciate its beauty, as they’re too busy talking about the latest gossip. It is up to me as always to understand greatness. Perhaps I should explain a little of who I am then. My name is Selphie Tabernacle and I am somewhat renowned in this city as Prima Donna of the operatic arts. So far, I have sung in 30 plays and all before my thirtieth birthday, impressive no? I am a constant in an ever-changing world.

With a deep in take of breath, I move to the window and look out upon the city, my home. A beautiful city and it does not take me long to come across the different types of architecture. Everywhere I look I see plain three story tenements next to gothic spires and each time I cannot help but gasp in wonder at such sites. Only in this city do we have a complete mixing of styles.

Nice.

 

[anthorn]

Hi thanks for the critique.

I am deciding on keeping the Rideon Tolby and the city titling. I had in mind that one chapter will deal with events in the city and another chapter would deal with the world outside.

The Middlestreet journal is the name of the newspaper and although it has relevance to the City, it does not impact until the end.

Apart from these two I have shown I have two other points of view. One is an investigator who is asked to investigate the vanishings of random people in the City.
This will mirror the story of the world where an investigator searches for the truth of the Airship crash.

I have the idea of the city being purgatory, a place people who did not realise, or acheive something in life go before moving on. Hence the mish mash of styles as people die at different times and different centuries.

 

[Jake Reynolds]

Heya, first off, I really like it. I think the setting and name is an effective stylistic device that works in this case, so I’d keep it. Otherwise have highlighted a few things that caught my eye on the way through.

I assume the first bits are a sort of prologue, so in that case I’d keep them. They’re short enough to not really be a problem. It might be worth reading some actual articles from tragedies though (New York Times’ for 9/11 springs to mind), in order to really nail journalistic nuance when reporting such events. Often the rule in journalism is to avoid opinion such as “This is a tragedy that this editor believes we may not recover from for a number of years”, so it might be worth looking into.

THE CITY​

RIDEON TOLBY
Since I can remember, this is the first time I recall not waking up having pissed the bed or screaming. Today my senses are remarkably clear though I still feel the weight of my years, and I suppose I should give thanks for this small mercy yet all I really want to do is punch a wall. I am not however, a violent man, I think I am not at least.


This isn’t necessary given what immediately follows. With the second highlight, I think a full stop/ new sentence would work better, with a possible shift to “…a violent man. At least, I think I’m not.”

I tear the blankets from my body and place my feet upon a cold stone floor. The cold brings me fully from the land of my dreams and to the reality of my life; a deep breath is all I need to take before I make myself stand. “Another day in the city,” I say to nobody and open the shutters to my left. Light filters through bright and invasive and I groan. Is this really the most appropriate thing to see on a morning, a light that blinds? I will have to ask God should he ever make an appearance.

As mentioned already, I think this can go.

Eventually my eyes adjust to the morning light and I see the city below my window. I remember hearing that first thing in the morning this place is the very picture of divine beauty, but I cannot see it myself. What is so beautiful about stone and crystal buildings? I guess this is another thing I should ask God. Well, no point in delaying the inevitable then I suppose. Shutting the shutters, I go about dressing in simple clothes, as I don’t believe in grandeur (it’s pointless) and wash my face in a bowl of tepid water. A small mirror above it seeks to remind me of my appearance, to remind me that my blond hair is in need of a cut and my beard a trim, one more thing to add to my list.


I think all the highlights can go. Also, watch the ‘mirror to describe’ cliché. You can get away with simply saying “I need a haircut and a shave. More for my list.” Nobody ever considers what colour their hair is, especially in first person.

With my morning routine complete, I force a smile onto my face, make my way down the old stone steps, and open the old wood door to the outside world. I stop and take in the sites (sights?). A new building greets me, a marble villa replacing what had been there before and I try to recall what that was but my memory fails me. Why can’t I recall? Memory is strange that way I suppose. Still, I should really find those builders that handle these things; it is not every day that a building appears in a day. I smile to the woman in the garden, she nods, and returns to tending to her garden and I continue down the street. Despite it being early morning there are already plenty of people on the streets, from bakers to merchants they’re all going about their daily routines. They wave in greeting and I wave back, well it is only polite that I do so; as my daddy liked to say ‘manners are everything.’


Okay, have marked up where there is a bit too much word repetition. Just a bit of sentence restructuring will sort it, and some of the commas could be full stops.

In all honesty, I am not looking forward to today at all. I am you see a very important man, an heir to a vast wealth that lends time for relaxation as I can afford to hire lackeys to do my work for me. My time is up though and I must face the fact that I can no longer hide from my fate. It is time to find a wife.


Not sure if this works. From what he has done so far with his day, it doesn’t seem he is living a life of luxury. I would end the scene in a punchier way, with a single paragraph along the lines of. “I set off up the street, my steps slow as if my feet are chained to the day’s duty. Time to find a wife.”

#
SELPHIE TABERNACLE
Apparently, I am beautiful, at least that is what I am told and who am I to argue? Of course I’m not going to agree with them am I, no, that would be conceited no matter how true their statement is. Mind you, I am not stupid either; I know full well that these proclamations of my beauty are just attempts to get me into bed. Let them try. That man standing at the other side of the room is the worst of them. His name is Drake Fargo and he struts like some prized peacock, dressing (dressed) in (an) immaculate silk shirt and trousers. I would laugh at his pomp if it weren’t so ridiculous.

Couple of the little things there. Also, people tend to laugh at the ridiculous, so that last sentence doesn’t work. Maybe “I would laugh if he weren’t so dangerous”.

I close my eyes and listen to the orchestra play the overture to softly soft. It is a nice song(piece or melody?) but I sincerely doubt that the dozens gathered here in the Opera Hall can appreciate its beauty, as they’re too busy talking about the latest gossip. It is up to me as always to understand greatness. Perhaps I should explain a little of who I am then. My name is Selphie Tabernacle and I am somewhat renowned in this city as (a) Prima Donna of the operatic arts. So far, I have sung in 30 plays (shows?) and all before my thirtieth birthday, impressive no? I am a constant in an ever-changing world.


Couple of word choices there, and people either gossip or talk, they don’t talk about gossip. Maybe just use “…too busy gossiping”. Also just brought attention to whether you're using prima donna classically (in which case you're correct) or the more contemporary usage, which needs the 'a' and lower case.

With a deep in take of breath, I move to the window and look out upon the city, my home. A beautiful city and it does not take me long to come across the different types of architecture. Everywhere I look I see plain three story tenements next to gothic spires and each time I cannot help but gasp in wonder at such sites (sights). Only in this city do we have a complete mixing of styles.

The highlighted bits can go (we know she thinks it’s beautiful because she is gasping and in awe, and we know of the differing architecture from the following sentence).

Ok, I don’t like Selphie as much. Even by her considering she is beautiful is lending her to conceit, however you dress it. I’d leave the beautiful thing out. She does seem a little cynical though, so she could sarcastically refer to herself as “Selphie Tabernacle, renowned Prima Donna, Beauty of the Boards.” or some such, and leave it at that.

Anyways, like I said above, I do like where it’s going and look forward to reading more. Hope this helps.

 

[chrispenycate]

[/quote]

Here is something I am working on. It is a supernatural fantasy set in a city. Torn between continuing it and leaving it.

It's about 1'200 words long.

THE MIDDLE STREET

JOURNAL​

9th of Umberi 590​

A special notice​

THE VOALANCE DOWNED OVER​

THE MIJACK ISLES​

No survivors​

The Voalance, that ship of ships and the first Airship to successfully fly over the marionette sea

comma

is no more; mystery surrounds its ruin. No one knows what caused the ship to burst into flame that fateful night and

comma

while some suspect foul play, others suspect a simple malfunction of technologies.

Try to avoid the repetition of "suspect".

Shipmaster Anubis and overseer Charles have refuted this latter theory, claiming that when the ship left it was in immaculate condition.



This brings us to the second theory, that some fiend dared attack the Presidents own Airship and succeeded in doing what 12 years of warfare could not. If one believes this theory then it is not so much who destroyed the ship than which of a hundred possible groups could have dared.

#
WE ARE A NATION IN MOURNING
#​

For amongst these 800 downed souls were some of the greatest minds of our generation. This is a tragedy that this editor believes we may not recover from for a number of years. It is with special permission that I am allowed to print the names of the deceased. I shall start, as is appropriate, from importance downwards.

"in order of importance"?

#
The president’s son Silias Saradone
World famed singer Noranti Noels
The pioneering doctor Ellusia Oggosk
Airship pilot Devon Moronth
His first commander Aeron Moronth​

THE CITY​

RIDEON TOLBY
Since I can remember, this is the first time I recall not waking up

Possibly (so as to avoid remembering not waking up) "I recall waking up without screaming, or having…“?

having pissed the bed or screaming. Today my senses are remarkably clear though I still feel the weight of my years, and I suppose I should give thanks for this small mercy

comma

yet all I really want to do is punch a wall. I am not

comma

I think I am not at least.

Perhaps: "I am not, however, a violent man; at least, I think I am not."? /color]

I tear the blankets from my body and place my feet upon a cold stone floor. The cold brings

possibly something stronger than "brings"?

me fully from the land of my dreams and to the reality of my life; a deep breath is all I need to take

Do you need that "to take"?

before I make myself stand.
“Another day in the city,” I say to nobody and open the shutters to my left. Light filters through

comma

bright and invasive and I groan. Is this really the most appropriate thing to see on a morning, a light that blinds? I will have to ask God

comma

should he ever make an appearance.



Eventually my eyes adjust to the morning light and I see the city below my window. I remember hearing that

comma

first thing in the morning

comma

this place is the very picture of divine beauty, but I cannot see it myself. What is so beautiful about stone and crystal buildings? I guess this is another thing I should ask God. Well, no point in delaying the inevitable then

comma

I suppose. Shutting

Possibly "closing" to avoid the shutter stutter?

the shutters, I go about dressing in simple clothes, as I don’t believe in grandeur (it’s pointless)

comma

and wash my face in a bowl of tepid water. A small mirror above it seeks to remind me of my appearance, to remind me that my blond hair is in need of a cut and my beard a trim, one more thing to add to my list.

Two more, actually.

With my morning routine complete, I force a smile onto my face, make my way down the old stone steps, and open the old wood door to the outside world. I stop and take in the sites

Um, probably "sights"?

. A new building greets me, a marble villa replacing what had been there before and I try to recall what that was but my memory fails me. Why can’t I recall? Memory is strange that way I suppose. Still, I should really find those builders that handle these things; it is not every day that a building appears in a day. I smile to the woman in the garden, she nods,

Probably without this comma; and try to avoid the repetiton of "garden".

and returns to tending to her garden and I continue down the street. Despite it being early morning there are already plenty of people on the streets,

Comma splice – semicolon?

from bakers to merchants they’re all going about their daily routines. They wave in greeting and I wave back,

Comma splice and already a semicolon later in the sentence - perhaps a bit of restructuring?

well

Comma

it is only polite that I do so; as my daddy liked to say ‘manners are everything.’



In all honesty, I am not looking forward to today at all. I am

comma

you see

comma

a very important man, an heir to a vast wealth that lends

"Lends" suggests he will have to pay it back. Plus, most 'important' people consider that they work hard.

time for relaxation as I can afford to hire lackeys to do my work for me. My time is up though and I must face the fact that I can no longer hide from my fate. It is time to find a wife.
#
SELPHIE TABERNACLE
Apparently, I am beautiful,

Comma splice – semicolon?

at least that is what I am told and who am I to argue? Of course I’m not going to agree with them

comma

am I,

Question mark

no, that would be conceited no matter how true their statement is. Mind you, I am not stupid either; I know full well that these proclamations of my beauty are just attempts to get me into bed. Let them try. That man standing at the other side of the room is the worst of them. His name is Drake Fargo and he struts like some prized peacock, dressing in immaculate silk shirt and trousers. I would laugh at his pomp if it weren’t so ridiculous.

Why does she not consider the ridiculousness risible?

I close my eyes and listen to the orchestra play the overture to softly soft. It is a nice song but I sincerely doubt that the dozens gathered here in the Opera Hall can appreciate its beauty, as they’re too busy talking about the latest gossip. It is up to me as always to understand greatness. Perhaps I should explain a little of who I am then. My name is Selphie Tabernacle and I am somewhat renowned in this city as Prima Donna of the operatic arts. So far, I have sung in 30 plays and all before my thirtieth birthday, impressive no? I am a constant in an ever-changing world.



With a deep in take

intake

of breath, I move to the window and look out upon the city, my home. A beautiful city and it does not take me long to come across

come across?

the different types of architecture. Everywhere I look I see plain three story tenements next to gothic spires and each time I cannot help but gasp in wonder at such sites.

sights?

Only in this city do we have a complete mixing of styles.

 

[ctg]

My apologies for not understanding. Please forgive me. Well done. It's a very beautiful piece.

 

[RJM Corbet]

It's excellent Ant. There's some real talent around these forums, hey?
End it here though ...

With a deep intake of breath, I move to the window and look out upon the city, my home. (Stop)

 

[anthorn]

Wow, thanks people. Never been called talented before

 

[anthorn]

I am having trouble with this one. I would much rather work on my old W.I.P even though I'll likely need a different novel to get published. I don't think you can send in the same MS twice, even if it has been revised, changed again, can you?

I want to continue with this but can't be arsed. So I am thinking of changing it and maybe having it set modern day. My own spin on Life on Mars UK?

Also, wondering if a pugutory sort of story would be science fiction, fantasy, or paranormal?

 

[RJM Corbet]

I am having trouble with this one. I would much rather work on my old W.I.P even though I'll likely need a different novel to get published. I don't think you can send in the same MS twice, even if it has been revised, changed again, can you?

I want to continue with this but can't be arsed. So I am thinking of changing it and maybe having it set modern day. My own spin on Life on Mars UK?

Also, wondering if a pugutory sort of story would be science fiction, fantasy, or paranormal?

Well, lets put it this way, Ant, if you can take your hard work out of the pure SFF genre it will give you about 90% more agents to try, because so many of them won't even look at SFF. Don't give up. You must stay confident of your own vision; it's what you want to do and how you want to do it ...

 

[anhalo]

Here are my suggestions for the first part (might get more done later), which are to be taken with a pinch of salt XD (and I know it's a bit of a delayed crit XD)

Modified parts of the text are in purple highlight

Other suggestions are in red preceded by "NOTE:"

I hope you find my suggestions useful =D

MIDDLE STREET JOURNAL - Umberi 9th 590

SPECIAL NOTICE

VOALANCE DOWNED OVER MIJACK ISLES

NO SURVIVORS​

The Voalance, that ship of ships and the first Airship to successfully fly over the marionette sea is no more; mystery surrounding its ruin. No one knows what caused the ship to burst into flames that fateful night. Some suspect foul play, others suspect a simple technical malfunction. Shipmaster Anubis and overseer Charles have refuted the latter theory, claiming the ship left in immaculate condition.

NOTE: I doubt that an article discussing a downed ship containing the president would start with the ship and it's history... Also I remember once hearing a well respected author say that it's best to try and use the least words possible. There are places where you've used unnecessary amounts of words to say things.

The second theory, that some fiend dared attack the Presidents own Airship... If one believes this theory, then it is not so much who destroyed the ship than which of a hundred possible groups could have dared do what 12 years of warfare could not.

WE ARE A NATION IN MOURNING​

Amongst these 800 downed souls were some of the greatest minds of our generation. This is a tragedy this editor believes we may not recover from for a number of years. It is with special permission that I am allowed to print the names of the deceased. I shall start, as is appropriate, from importance downwards.

NOTE: The tone of a newspaper is generally informational, stating things (including opinion) as fact (look up normative statements to see what I mean http://www.investopedia.com/terms/n/normativeeconomics.asp) and backed up with statistics and interviews. I am not sure an editor would write "this editor", which in a sense breaches the third wall. I would also suggest adding a few interviews if possible and statistics to give a more authentic feel, while also giving you extra chance for info-dumping

Silias Saradone - Son of the President

Noranti Noels - World famed singer

Ellusia Oggosk - The pioneering doctor

Devon Moronth - Airship pilot

Aeron Moronth - Ships first commander

The story seems interesting. Good luck with it! And remember that writing is something to be enjoyed by both the writer and the reader. If a writer hasn't enjoyed writing something, I imagine it wouldn't be as interesting for the reader, so write what you enjoy to write =)