Dark Dreaming, opening 750 words

[Philosopher]

Ok, so I've been writing a novel for some years now, or more so some fragments of a novel which must compile to around 150k+ words. This is one of my proposed openers. As you can imagine, the title changes in my head as the book changes, and right now 'dark dreaming' is my preferred title, but that will change so take little notice of it.

Please just comment more on style, readability, interestingness, grip and so on rather than grammar or nit picky things. Although if there are major read flaws in the spelling / grammar im very happy to hear them

----------------------------------------------------------------------------

It was dark, almost pitch black. ‘My love, it is time’ A young woman said, her tone so bitter yet voice so sweet. Her love lay curled up on the icy rock floor. You could see tiny glimpses of her slim sun kissed body sitting by him, but the sea-cave was almost lightless. Only a mildly glowing species of seaweed lent light to the deep cavern which trapped them.

‘It’s not true, he’s...’ his lungs struggled to sap oxygen from the cold, leaving him desperately gathering the air he didn’t deserve to breathe, breathless, panting... ‘He’s, nothing...’ weak coughing cut his words… Writhing, gasping ‘Nobody...’ The anger in the final punch of his wounded voice shook the walls of the huge cave. His body defeated now, he said no more. His breath, so icy, pressed down heavily on your body.

‘It is best to end their hopes anyway’ Her red lips were irresistible, they kissed his mangled forehead. He didn’t smile though. They were so plump and juicy that you’d smile, anyone would be overwhelmed by them, but he wasn’t, he couldn’t feel happiness anymore. The rest of his battered head hid in the hood of his shredded, blood soaked robe. She was so beautiful, why did she dwell with this rancid creature?

He gave a deep breath of approval. It was all he could manage. Oily blood spluttered from his throat, the sounds were muffled by his state of weakness. His eyes were dark and glazed, human in essence but deformed in reality. Scattered on the floor next to him were glistening pieces of a shattered crown, its remnants meshed around his battered head. She caressed a small golden chunk of it from the floor, reminiscing its former days of glory, and then hurled it at the wall as she felt the current reality of her fallen life. The man whimpered in the shame of his defeat.

‘I have already taken care of it. Watch with me’ she looked into his eyes, harnessing an untold power which put the outside world into their minds. There was an eclipse in the skies, the moon dark and oval shaped, covering all but a fiery outer ring of the sun, it looked like a threatening eye piercing through the clouds. And from it a faint beam of setting-red sunlight highlighted a fluttering turquoise butterfly. It wisped calmly above the long grass, its path deliberate, showing the girl and the beast all in its way. It reached some woodland and trough these trees it landed on the wall inside a rickety wooden cabin.

Here a young mother lay, the father was holding her hand. She was exhausted and yet euphoric, having just given birth to a baby boy. She held the tiny crying infant who was wrapped in a soft brown cloth. This was her second son, the elder lay next to her.

A banging on the door shook the entire cabin aggressively like the kicking of a panicking horse. Terror struck the parents and the babies both shrieked, something was wrong, you could feel it under your skin. The butterfly took off from the wall and fluttered through a tight gap in the window shutters, and out into the darkening evening it went. The crying of the two baby boys pierced the air outside the cabin.

James woke disorientated. The evening was as late as it was in his dream, but right now he was in his comfortable bed and he was warm, unlike in the cave. It had felt so real, yet he had to admit that he’d never seen the cave, the cabin or the woodlands ever before. There was no butterfly with him either, but the babies’ crying still pounded his head. He was dehydrated, that probably accounted for the headache. But the horrific image of the crooked man in the cave, it slashed at his eyes every time he blinked, and all the while they were open, the undeniable perfection of the blonde woman and her smoking jade eyes stared at him. It was only a dream, and yet the images stuck with him, the sounds too. But it was only a dream. A cold sweat enveloped him, and his body struggled to encage his anxiously beating heart. This vision had been recurring too often, it frustrated him every time he woke, because it felt so real every time he slept, and yet it was only a dream. He longed for the story to go further too, regardless its horror. He needed to know what danger came for the family, and who or what gargantuan creature knocked on the door of the cabin.

 

[terryweide]

You have a nice, dark mood and atmosphere with this piece. You also have some good descriptive writing, and I do wonder what the relationship between the dreaming man, James, and the people in the cave is. I also wonder how the man in the cave, with a mangled forehead and oily blood splurting from his throat, is managing to stay alive. If it's a dream, this doesn't matter, but if it's an alternate reality, he's going to be dead in short order.

I won't nit pick the grammar since you asked readers not to do that, but be aware you have some things that need fixing in that regard. I'd be a little careful, though, about overdoing adverbs and adjectives, and I wouldn't use "almost" twice in your opening paragraph. It tends to make things weaker rather than stronger.

One line you might consider rewriting is

...his lungs struggled to sap oxygen from the cold...

I know what you mean, but I usually associate sap with trees. I think I'd rather hear "suck" or "leech" instead.

It holds my interest enough that I would read at least a little more, but I also think you need a stronger hook in your opening lines to draw the reader in. Maybe start with "My love, it is time.", instead of the darkness of the cave. That way you would plant an immediate question in the minds of your readers--time for what? I'd play with that a bit.

That's about all I have for now. Good luck with this.

 

[The Judge]

I know you're not asking for nit pick critiques, and I don't have time now for a proper one, anyway, but you have to work on your punctuation, particularly regarding dialogue. Read through The Toolbox in Writing Resources to get the full version, but basically

‘My love, it is time’ A young woman said

should be

‘My love, it is time,’ a young woman said

ie with a comma and lower case, as this is dialogue attribution, whereas

‘Watch with me’ she looked into his eyes

should be

‘Watch with me.’ She looked into his eyes

ie full stop (period) and capital letter as this is a separate sentence.


For my taste the passage is rather over-written, which for me detracted from any atmosphere you were trying to conjure up, and I had some problems with your word choice which I think is connected with this -- it's as if you feel you must write in a super-literary way and seeking words which don't quite fit as a result. I imagine the use of "you" is a deliberate stylistic device, but here it pulled me completely out of the narrative while I puzzled over what you were trying to do.

I'm afraid it didn't hold my interest -- it's too wordy and too slow as for an opening for me, though again that's a question of personal taste, perhaps. And while I appreciate you're trying to capture the strange disjointed effect of a nightmare, it just left me confused as to what was happening. It didn't help that your style continued to be exactly the same after he had woken up, so there was no change of gear. In the middle of an "ordinary" chapter this might work, but here, as the opening scene, I think it's a hostage to fortune.

Sorry this is so negative. You clearly have a vivid imagination, and your energy and enthusiasm show though, but for me it isn't quite working as written, particularly not as an opening scene.

Good luck with it.

 

[Hex]

Hiya. I agree it's very dark and poetic - which was great. However, although I got the atmosphere clearly I had some difficulty at the beginning working out what was happening.

I hope this isn't being nitpicky:

----------------------------------------------------------------------------

It was dark, almost pitch black. [I would find a paragraph break helpful here] ‘My love, it is time,’ a young woman said, her tone so bitter yet voice so sweet. Her love lay curled up [do you need 'up'?]on the icy rock floor. [this is where I got lost - I'm not sure why, but I struggled with the next sentence. I think maybe I was expecting more about her love - or her to say something else but then there's "You" and a description of her, and it lost me]You could see tiny glimpses of her slim sun kissed body sitting by him, but the sea-cave was almost lightless [and I wasn't sure how you could see glimpses of her - and know that she is sun-kissed and slim - in a lightless cave]. Only a mildly glowing species of seaweed lent light to the deep cavern which trapped them.

‘It’s not true, he’s...’ his lungs struggled to sap oxygen from the cold, leaving him desperately gathering the air he didn’t deserve to breathe, breathless, panting... ‘He’s, nothing...’ weak coughing cut his words… Writhing, gasping ‘Nobody...’ The anger in the final punch of his wounded voice shook the walls of the huge cave. His body defeated now, he said no more. His breath, so icy, pressed down heavily on your body.

[I don't know what's happening - and I don't know what the man is saying or how it relates to what she said and I don't know why 'you'/ 'your', and I don't know why he doesn't deserve to breathe... And all of it at the same time confuses me. I think, like someone said, if this came in the middle of something, where I already knew what was going on and what the 'feel' of your writing was, then this disorientation wouldn't bother me too much (indeed, it's very well done) but here at the beginning I find it overwhelming and off-putting]

‘It is best to end their hopes anyway’ Her red lips were irresistible, they kissed his mangled forehead. He didn’t smile though. They were so plump and juicy that you’d smile, anyone would be overwhelmed by them, but he wasn’t, he couldn’t feel happiness anymore. The rest of his battered head hid in the hood of his shredded, blood soaked robe. She was so beautiful, why did she dwell with this rancid creature?

[more of the same - it's a powerful image but I don't know what's happening and that's making me unhappy - and I don't know who's thinking this stuff either. He's mangled, struggling to breath - why should he smile?]

He gave a deep breath of approval. It was all he could manage. Oily blood spluttered from his throat, the sounds were muffled by his state of weakness ["state of weakness" felt a bit like an anticlimax to me]. His eyes were dark and glazed, human in essence but deformed in reality. Scattered on the floor next to him were glistening pieces of a shattered crown, its remnants meshed around his battered head. She caressed a small golden chunk of it from the floor, reminiscing its former days of glory, and then hurled it at the wall as she felt the current reality of her fallen life. The man whimpered in the shame of his defeat. [too much happening here for me! sorry - I got really engaged at the mention of the crown, and the image of bits of it still wrapped around his head is very effective.]

‘I have already taken care of it. Watch with me’ she looked into his eyes, harnessing an untold power which put the outside world into their minds. There was an eclipse in the skies, the moon dark and oval shaped, covering all but a fiery outer ring of the sun, it looked like a threatening eye piercing through the clouds. And from it a faint beam of setting-red sunlight highlighted a fluttering turquoise butterfly. It wisped calmly above the long grass, its path deliberate, showing the girl and the beast all in its way. It reached some woodland and trough these trees it landed on the wall inside a rickety wooden cabin.

Here a young mother lay, the father was holding her hand. She was exhausted and yet euphoric, having just given birth to a baby boy. She held the tiny crying infant who was wrapped in a soft brown cloth. This was her second son, the elder lay next to her.

A banging on the door shook the entire cabin aggressively like the kicking of a panicking horse. Terror struck the parents and the babies both shrieked, something was wrong, you could feel it under your skin. The butterfly took off from the wall and fluttered through a tight gap in the window shutters, and out into the darkening evening it went. The crying of the two baby boys pierced the air outside the cabin.

James woke disorientated. The evening was as late as it was in his dream, but right now he was in his comfortable bed and he was warm, unlike in the cave. It had felt so real, yet he had to admit that he’d never seen the cave, the cabin or the woodlands ever before. There was no butterfly with him either, but the babies’ crying still pounded his head. He was dehydrated, that probably accounted for the headache. But the horrific image of the crooked man in the cave, it slashed at his eyes every time he blinked, and all the while they were open, the undeniable perfection of the blonde woman and her smoking jade eyes stared at him. It was only a dream, and yet the images stuck with him, the sounds too. But it was only a dream. A cold sweat enveloped him, and his body struggled to encage his anxiously beating heart. This vision had been recurring too often, it frustrated him every time he woke, because it felt so real every time he slept, and yet it was only a dream. He longed for the story to go further too, regardless its horror. He needed to know what danger came for the family, and who or what gargantuan creature knocked on the door of the cabin.

I really liked the repeat of "it was only a dream". I like the end - it leads nicely into wherever you're going.

I have a number of nitpicks for the last paragraph, but I'll spare you

Right, overall:

For me, this wouldn't work as an opener because I spend too long being confused about what's going on. Your writing is quite dense in some places which, combined with the confusion, makes this passage fairly challenging. Probably not one for the beginning of a book, therefore, better when the reader is hooked already and anxious to read on to see what happens in the story.

There were a couple of places I felt - sorry if this is unfair - that descriptions were slightly 'placeholder'y - one was the 'slim, sun-kissed' body of the girl in the cave (it didn't have the power of your other descriptions), the other was the young mother who's just given birth to a son - "exhausted" and "euphoric" also felt a little automatic, a little like the sort of stock phrases used to describe someone who has had a baby. Because most of your description is so original and interesting, these two places where it wasn't so strong really leapt out at me.

I would maybe trim a little off the adjectives - sometimes I thought they weakened the power of the images a bit - though your images are still very powerful.

Content-wise there's a lot of interest. I like the idea/ image of the ruined king in his cave. I like the cabin shaking and the butterfly vanishing. I want to know what happens next, I want to know why James is having these dreams, but if I'd picked this up in a book shop and read the first couple of paragraphs I would probably have put it down again before I got to the bit where things start to make sense.

You certainly write well and although this probably comes across as discouraging, I hope it isn't - I think you've got something powerful, and you maybe could hone it further and bring it out.

 

[Philosopher]

Thanks for your advice everyone, I'm going to work on a new opener and see how I can work an edited version of this piece later in the novel when it would make more sense

 

[RJM Corbet]

Thanks for your advice everyone, I'm going to work on a new opener and see how I can work an edited version of this piece later in the novel when it would make more sense

Words are a means of passing an idea or an image from one mind to another, like a letter in an envelope; the other person opens it, absorbs the idea and then can pass on the same idea in different words.

It's a strong, evocative idea with good imagery, but it's an undeveloped piece, so the recipient may interpret: send reinforcements, we're going to advance -- as: send three-and-fourpence, we're going to a dance. Unless that's done on purpose (as I sense it may be), like Bob Dylan, or Hermann Hesse, whose words deliberately create images open to wide interpretation?

Grammar, punctuation and phrasing, to me, are tools as essential as are a surgeon's tools to him.

Sorry. You might really be Bob Dylan, for all I know. But I still think this piece needs more attention.

Must your novel compile to 150k words? Is it contracted? And why are you bothering with the title already? Do you know the ending? If not, it's likely to cost you years of writing time.

The title, and the intro will grow naturally, if the story is confident and the well written.

As yours is sure to be ...

 

[Hex]

Now you mention it, I was reading tips for writers here: http://www.onthepremises.com/index.html

And one of the suggestions he made was that one should write the start last, when you know what you're writing about and how to write something that leads satisfyingly on to the body of your work. I thought it was a good idea.

 

[RJM Corbet]

Now you mention it, I was reading tips for writers here: http://www.onthepremises.com/index.html

And one of the suggestions he made was that one should write the start last, when you know what you're writing about and how to write something that leads satisfyingly on to the body of your work. I thought it was a good idea.

Thanks for the website

From that website. Short story by Ernest Hemmingway in six words:

Baby shoes for sale. Never used.

 

[Philosopher]

Corbet I hear you. Hex thanks for the link and the advice too!


Also, I think I wrote my intro a little confusingly, I meant if I added all of the words / parts / fragments of the novel I have so far, it would sum up to be around 150k words or so. I think the actual novel will be alot shorter once I've sieved through it and refined it etc. A lot of work to go! lucky its enjoyable so not exactly 'work' , but heck sometimes it can be frustrating. If only Rome was built in a day.

 

[RJM Corbet]

Corbet I hear you. Hex thanks for the link and the advice too!


Also, I think I wrote my intro a little confusingly, I meant if I added all of the words / parts / fragments of the novel I have so far, it would sum up to be around 150k words or so. I think the actual novel will be alot shorter once I've sieved through it and refined it etc. A lot of work to go! lucky its enjoyable so not exactly 'work' , but heck sometimes it can be frustrating. If only Rome was built in a day.

Well, if you've already got that much material, most of my comments are completely off the mark in your case, and I should learn to keep my big mouth shut until I've got my little brain in first gear. I do apologise. Sorry ...

 

[Gary Compton]

I should learn to keep my big mouth shut until I've got my little brain in first gear. I do apologise. Sorry ...

Me and you should open a club, go on holiday together and live happily ever after

 

[Philosopher]

No No, dont worry the advice was perfectly relevant! I liked the reminder that words are so open to interpretation. I can also confirm that I am not Bob Dylan