Drowning sorrows.

[Fitzchiv]

Hi, this is my first ever piece of writing and thus my first ever piece submitted for critique. Please feel free to be as candid as you wish, as I am here to learn.

The piece is simply half a scene I have written to try and explore who I hope will be my main character in the project I'm planning, and how best to drop developing themes into my work. You'll see I've had specific trouble in how to structure the tense - I would like to write in a first person remembering back tense, but slip often into first person writing what they see.

Thanks,

****

It’s incredible how easy it is to gain clarity whilst staring at the sour dregs of ale in the bottom of a tankard. White wisps of a once frothing, enticing and fresh proposition now mingling with flat, amber perspective. Fitting.


The way the metaphor tapped my hunched consciousness on the shoulder and announced itself with a smug grin immediately reminded me that, in fact, not many of my greatest insights had come from this method of problem solving.


The worst part of course was I had lost my train of thought. I had been making progress, surely. No one could sit staring at the anticlimax of their fourth ale for this long without making progress, the evidence was in the fact I hadn’t been sat staring at the yet to be ruined form of a fifth one.


Did it actually count when you couldn’t remember the headway you’d made though?


Probably not.


I let my eyes re-focus into the depths of the grubby pewter vessel, trying to ignore the bits of who-knows-what floating in the dregs.


There was something calming about the warm yellow light from the big fireplace across the room gently distilled through the warped glass tankard base and musky remaining ale. The straw-coloured perspective of the knots and scuff marks on the heavy oak table illuminated by fire-light like a distant evening sun, oddly distorted by the imperfect lens and floating nebula of fermented hops, gave me the feeling of looking down on the ruined remains of a scorched kingdom through sulphurous clouds. Another fitting metaphor for my last few months.


How easy life would be if you could simply lay waste to entire swathes of land and culture, erasing mistakes and problems alike.


The fact my mind had taken me to that particular musing was a warning sign that the idea of re-focusing my thoughts via that fifth ale would have tangible consequences for my chamber floor later.


So be it.


I raised my hand and caught the eye of the wary looking serving boy leaning against the bar with the awkward gait of the victim of a growth-spurt, his lanky limbs showing his clothing to be six months too old. The boy nodded and turned, muttering to another lad of similar age who quickly produced what passed as a fresh serving of the bitter local brew.


I noted Lanky didn’t bother with a tray as he made his way over to my table. I suppose there comes a point when you recognise the customer no longer cares if the delivery of their drink holds the usual airs and graces.


I could have been concerned I appeared to be at this point of dishevelled inebriation already, wondering just pitiful and self-absorbed I must look. Shoulders hunched, eyes cast down and glazed over in thought, drink cradled in both hands. Just another sorry drunk in a run-down tavern.
It was those very facts however, that I was sorry and that I was drunk, that meant I didn’t really care how I looked.


The tankard made a dull thud as it was placed in front of me, some of the contents slopping over the side. I felt a twinge of annoyance that at least a copper’s worth had slopped onto my kingdom and was thus not in the glass. I glanced up sharply in annoyance at the boy, ready to tear him apart in heavily slurred phrases for assuming this particular down-and-out wouldn’t mind paying for the table to be watered. The boy, though, wasn’t even looking at me or my drink.


I tracked his gaze across the room to whatever had caught his attention. A small group of people ushered in from the cold night outside, drawing back hoods and exclaiming quietly at the heat from the hearth. My annoyance grew. He would have plenty of time to take the coin of fresh customers once he had finished dealing with this increasingly irritated one.


The words were half formed in my mouth, my fist gripping ever tighter round my coin pouch when the room was slashed in half by the laughter of one of the newcomers. The change in tone from the murmured hush of career drinkers to the songbird sigh of a young woman’s amusement was like the jarring of an elbow caught on a table edge.


I squinted to get clarity from the new distance, taking in the group of travellers one by one. Three men and one woman, all dressed in long dark green cloaks with lush royal blue clothing underneath. As the cloaks were unhooked what had first looked like humped deformities on their backs were revealed to be instruments. Musicians, then. That explained the matching clothing. They must have been answering the Overseer’s call for each corner of Chelen to provide representative entertainment for the upcoming Ten Day Dragon celebration.


I felt the rooms’ eyes fix on the source of the sound. Lanky’s attention was now wholly on the group, or rather on the girl, to the point where it looked as if he may forget payment was required for what was left of my ale. The tableau held for what felt like minutes, yet in reality was seconds.


Lanky’s demeanour had changed with an almost imperceptible relaxing of his shoulders, a slackening of his muscles and widening of his eyes. Admittedly she was a beautiful girl and he was definitely in the ripe period every young man enters when such subject matter must be studied fanatically. I wondered at how I had drawn my own eyes away from the enticing centre of the collective male attention, dull of soul as I was I could still recognise an attractive mate. It was probably a combination of drink and failing eyesight from too much scroll-work, a thought that sent my head sagging towards the rim of my tankard. She was likely a far better proposition from up close.


Sadly, up close she would smell the spilled ale and three day old clothing on my back. I wryly reflected the fifth ale may change my perception a little on this.


As I reached for the fresh drink the movement of my arm was like a pebble dropped in a pond, awareness rippling outwards and awakening the room as if from a trance. A few mutterings and shaking of heads marked the end of the daydream as glasses chinked and benches creaked once again.


A log heaved and spat in the hearth, embers crashing down to settle in a more uniform slump. The angry red coals and rustle of new flame awoke me from my own personal daze.


How foolish could I be in ale? It wasn’t the girl’s looks or charm that had enraptured the room, she was a Pull.


The realization was a dash of ice water to my thoughts; the presence of such magic’s was rare in the city and often denied even to exist, yet I had often been warned by my grandmother as a child about the discrete magics used to collapse our once great society, but that I would always be safe ‘as long as you have your blood’ as her old saying used to go .


It wasn’t the failing eyesight or drink after all, but indeed the dullness of soul that had shielded me from the majority of the effects of her manipulations.


At best the patrons of The Boar would lose far more coin than they’d planned when cheering the inevitable performance the group would lay on for their meal and keep, feeling compelled to tip heavily and win favour from the girl.


At the very worst, and this I feared, the effect of a Pull in a room that until moments ago had been maudlin and tense, scattered with inebriated men low on coin and luck, would lead to violence. When the Pull was evidently a very attractive young girl it only multiplied the chances of stumbling Stags butting their egos as they vied for her attention.


Was she even attractive? Or was that part of the pull?


I squinted again.


No, she was definitely very, very attractive. Wonderful.

 

[Sleepless]

Hmm really interesting.

What I liked: The Pull idea is good and would draw me in to find out what happened next. I like the overarching theme of magic as a negative (trying to do something along these lines myself) and interested how the protaganist knows theres magic in the room, and what the blood is, whether its linked to the drinking etc.

What I didnt like: The formatting. Reading it felt like a car journey with someone jamming on the brakes every 5 seconds. Id amalgmate into a small number of paragraphs, the musings on the tankard, the serving boy/introduction of the musicians, the presence of magic as the main themes. The front half is overloaded with imagery, the tankard froth, contents, their colour, an intrusive metaphor, back to the tankard now grubby, the fireplace through the tankard, the table through the contents of the tankard. The ideas are sound, the imagery taken individually quite effective, but together its overload in so short a (paragraph?). Distant evening suns, nebulae, kingdoms through sulphurous clouds etc. Any one would probably suffice.

Anyway, after that confusion the story started which was paced well. I would like to see this as a *simpler* expanded introduction to the character. I cant say I noticed tense issues but once a complete version developed they might be more obvious. It could be a really interesting start. Two thumbs up.

 

[The Judge]

If this is indeed your first attempt at writing fiction, well done. You've got an intriguing idea in the Pull, and a potentially interesting main character with a distinctive voice.

I think, though, that you've fallen into the classic first-timer's trap of trying too hard. Instead of just writing the scene you're trying to load everything with clever ideas, coruscating imagery and erudite language -- and the scene simply cannot take the weight of it.

My advice would be to cut back dramatically. Leave perhaps one or two pieces of imagery -- though watch for cliche (songbird) on the one hand and anachronism (nebula) on the other -- but remove the rest. Even if this man happens to be a poet, and he often uses imagery himself, you have to rein it in a little, particularly here.

I was also thrown a little by his word choice -- I get the impression he isn't your average peasant, but nonetheless there are a great many words being used which stand out as being not typically encountered in a medieval pub eg manipulations, discrete, inebriated, vied. If he really does speak like this because of his education, fine -- but don't forget that he's sloshed and so whatever his normal vocabulary would be, much of it would be lost in the dregs of the glass. And on that point, actually there was nothing at all about the scene and the way it is related by him which made me think he was in reality drunk -- no matter how much you repeatedly told us he was. It's all far too cerebral and unemotional. I know he is clearly recollecting this at a later time with your opening "It's incredible" but there ought to be some feel of drunkenness.

I also think it's a bit too slow to get going. I would always advocate getting on with things in an opening scene, but here it's worse as the first 300 words are all reflection/musing -- and not particularly gripping or involving musing at that, I'm afraid. We don't know him, we don't know what he's suffered, so we can't be sympathetic at this stage. Then we get some action with the boy, but it's still another 250 words before anything really happens. I'd suggest no more than a paragraph or two before we have the door opening and the girl blowing in.

Stylistically, some of your sentences as written are too long for comfort -- and I say this as a person who can easily write 50 word sentences, and some go much higher. If you want to write long -- and there's nothing wrong with that per se -- you do have to maintain strict control with proper punctuation.

On a nit-picky level, there's quite a few issues I'd have with word use and punctuation -- I think these are probably oversights rather than failure of understanding, but you do need to be careful. I'll pull out a few by way of example (sorry, not in order of appearance):

and musky remaining ale -- although I quite liked this as a coining between murky and dusky, musk is actually a scent/taste, not a colour, so it's wrong in context
the delivery of their drink holds the usual -- delivery can't hold, it comprises or is composed of
the rooms’ eyes -- room's as there's only one of it
such magic’s -- I see in the next line you refer to magics, plural, not magic on its own, so presumably this is deliberate, but in any event adding an apostrophe is wrong
I hadn’t been sat staring -- the "hadn't been" should surely be "wasn't", and the "sat" should definitely be "sitting" unless this is meant to be a dialectical aberration despite his intelligence
you’d made though -- comma after "made"
who-knows-what -- tense wrong "who-knew-what"
They must have been answering -- tense wrong "had to have been" or eg "were obviously"

As I say, I think you need to simplify it and get it moving a little quicker, but it's a good base from which to start. Well done.

 

[slack]

Tries way too hard. 'grubby pewter vessel?' Seriously?

Judge covered most of what stuck out to me. Some of the word choice seemed so bizarre, like in the first paragraph when you describe beer or whatever as a 'fresh and enticing proposition.' Holy crap is that overwritten.

I think the reason this doesn't work as first person is because you do not yet understand what is necessary to craft good FP. Word choice becomes an element of characterisation. For example, third paragraph, when you wrote about 'making progress', and 'evidence of the fact that', I started to think maybe the character was a detective sort.

But it is not consistent, not in the least.

Paragraphs 2 and 7 are too much of a good thing. Too close to one another, first of all, and way overwrought.

Last thing I'll mention is pace. I read until 'so be it' and stopped because the story did not feel like it had moved much. Actually, looking over it now, I feel not much was actually said -- if asked, I would have difficulty summarizing what the writing was about (beyond navel-gazing).

Some prose has me firmly by the end of the first paragraph, yours never really had me at all. I think the reason why is because there is no clear sense of time or place, and no problem is presented. By the time I stopped reading I did not know why he was where he was. I think I gave the story ample time to set up these necessities.

You need to provide a clear indication of the type of character we're reading about early on. You need to provide a sense of time and place, and you also need to hint at a reason for why the story begins when it does, and all of this needs to happen fairly early, so the reader will be with you.

I actually think First Person is more difficult to write well than Third Person. You have to have a solid grasp on words and their implied meanings, as well as voice. The voice has to be consistent.

Good luck revising.

 

[Fitzchiv]

Hi folks.

It's going to take some getting used to, this critique business. I've clicked off the page three times, walked our the room twice and have been physically sweating whilst reading through the three comments.

Thanks for taking the time to respond, it's all really valuable stuff and points out some glaring things that had passed me by. I think perhaps I rushed too soon into trying too much. My motivation was just to write, and went into the scene without any real idea of what was going to happen in it.

Just to add a little depth, the scene itself was in my mind something that would come part way into a wider story - so the reader would be well acquainted with the character. For this purpose I tried to manipulate it into something vaguely stand-alone and it's suffered as a result. There is an entire second part to the scene already written, however I will revise from the bottom up.

On another point, I'm almost certain it is stop-start because I didn't write it in one, two, or even three goes - it's interesting to read that the parts less obvious for correction are those I wrote in one session.

Finally, on the symbolism and musing - I agree, unfortunately I have overdone it on the melancholy of a drunk.

Much to do. Thanks again.

 

[The Judge]

Yes, the first time putting something up is nerve-wracking. Actually, I found the third time just as bad! It is necessary to put ego completely to one side for the duration, and listen hard. Well done for doing so -- not every first timer manages it.

Knowing this isn't the opening scene changes thngs slightly for me, since there isn't then the same need to hook the reader in, so you've a little more latitude in the musing and getting to the point. Having said that, the changes I've suggested would be helpful anywhere in the book.

And there's absolutely nothing wrong with just writing and having no idea where the scene is meant to be going -- sometimes that is the best way to learn about your characters since they then do what they want to do, not what you have pre-ordained for them.

But as I said, this is a good start, especially for someone who is just beginning. There's work to be done, but you've got the right attitude and the basics, so you just need to build on that. It will come.

Good luck with it!

 

[The Bloated One]

Fitchiv,

You're in the best place you could possibly be. Sift the comments; not everyone has a finger on the pulse, but the vast majority do. Judge is one. the pedant (you know who you are!) will be along I am sure, watch what he writes and learn. Painful intro to grammar but necessary.

It's not a absolute truth, but those who have been around for a couple of years on Chron are worth taking note of.

It worked for me, it'll work for you.

TBO

 

[Fitzchiv]

Fitchiv,

You're in the best place you could possibly be. Sift the comments; not everyone has a finger on the pulse, but the vast majority do. Judge is one. the pedant (you know who you are!) will be along I am sure, watch what he writes and learn. Painful intro to grammar but necessary.

It's not a absolute truth, but those who have been around for a couple of years on Chron are worth taking note of.

It worked for me, it'll work for you.

TBO

Not at all foreboding! Gulp!

 

[The Bloated One]

He's a pussy cat, though he would love to be called a dragon...

 

[chrispenycate]

Mee-ruddy-iou. I imagine you are unaware my punctuatory reflexes are being well exercised near the Tower of London and Whitehall palace.

words being used which stand out as being not typically encountered in a medieval pub eg manipulations, discrete, inebriated, vied.

What makes you think the setting is mediaeval? I've sat behind tables like that (lovingly retained as Lenin and Trotsky had engraved their names in them some time previously. And being served a new glass-bottomed pewter tankard, rather that it being his personal property and refilled each time, is early modern at the very earliest; and we know Shakespearian characters could produce grammatical banter while deeply into their cups (or a vat of Malmsey, as may be) because the Bard himself took dictation (and if he was a little imprecise, perchance he had quaffed a beaker or two, too)

White wisps of a once frothing, enticing and fresh proposition now mingling with flat, amber perspective.

This, despite its length, is actually a fragment. If this upsets you, changing "mingling" to "mingled" renders it sentenceworthy.

No one could sit staring at the anticlimax of their fourth ale for this long without making progress, the evidence was in the fact I hadn’t been sat staring at the yet to be ruined form of a fifth one.

Comma splice. There are actually two complete sentences there, and they should be separated by a semicolon at least.

serving boy leaning against the bar with the awkward gait of the victim of a growth-spurt,

You can only move with a gait, not lean.

A small group of people ushered in from the cold night outside,

To usher is to show someone in, to direct them. If you wish to indicate they were being ushered you need a comma after "people".

The words were half formed in my mouth, my fist gripping ever tighter round my coin pouch when the room was slashed in half by the laughter of one of the newcomers.

comma after "pouch".

As the cloaks were unhooked what had first looked like humped deformities on their backs were revealed to be instruments.

Comma after "unhooked".

it looked as if he may forget payment was required for what was left of my ale.

Admittedly she was a beautiful girl and he was definitely in the ripe period every young man enters when such subject matter must be studied fanatically.

I'm not sure I would consider the hormone-soaked mesmerability of the adolescent male as "ripeness" (except perchance in odour). "Ripeness" implies a certain maturity, a readiness to be harvested noticeably lacking in the subspecies.

I wondered at how I had drawn my own eyes away from the enticing centre of the collective male attention, dull of soul as I was I could still recognise an attractive mate.

Comma splice.

I wryly reflected the fifth ale may change my perception a little on this.

 

[chopper]

not too much for me to add from this distance, now: good work on the first-person, anyway. definitely harder for some than for others.

if this is a method of exploring your character and world, nice exercise. a good exploration of the way people might react to magic/telekinesis. but yes, your narrative needs boiling down further so that the pace matches the tone and feel of the piece.

personally i don't think the short paragraphs are a problem: people do tend to think in staccato bursts, and you are reciting a character's thoughts. looking at this from over his shoulder (third person) would probably require a different style.

 

[Phoenixthewriter]

Hi Fitz, I'm just going to take the first few paragraphs and run with that.

It’s incredible how easy it is to gain clarity whilst staring at the sour dregs of ale in the bottom of a tankard. White wisps of a once frothing, enticing and fresh proposition now mingling with flat, amber perspective. Fitting.


The way the metaphor tapped my hunched consciousness on the shoulder and announced itself with a smug grin immediately reminded me that, in fact, not many of my greatest insights had come from this method of problem solving.


The worst part of course was I had lost my train of thought. I had been making progress, surely. No one could sit staring at the anticlimax of their fourth ale for this long without making progress, the evidence was in the fact I hadn’t been sat staring at the yet to be ruined form of a fifth one.

I actually truly enjoyed the visual stimulation of what was playing through this guys head for all this drinking. I had a strong picture of where he was, how confused he was, his sorrow perhaps. Yet, I felt it jarring to read.

As someone above me said, there is a sense of sudden starts and stops. I can't call myself an expert on smoothing those issues out for myself as a writer, but as a reader it's something I notice here.

"No one could sit staring at the anticlimax of their fourth ale for this long without making progress, the evidence was in the fact I hadn’t been sat staring at the yet to be ruined form of a fifth one"

This particular sentence here is long, and while full of emotion, I feel needs to be reworked to flow better. In addition, the second paragraph I feel should be toned down a bit. It's wonderful imagery, but its also a single sentence, and its got a ton of big words and perhaps too many similes to make it flow.

I like flow. The reason I didn't read much farther is one part because a lot of people have already responded, and another part that it wasn't flowing well enough for me to really want to continue.

 

[Fitzchiv]

chrispenycate, chopper, pheonixthewriter - thank you all for your feedback, I appreciate you taking the time to read and write it.

chrispenycate - that was actually less painful than I thought it would be when my smartphone web browser showed the length of your response without yet having zoomed on the text! What worries me here is there are some technical issues I wouldn't have found were I to comb through it with the specific purpose of correcting grammar. The use of 'gait' to be honest was oversight and lazy writing, so I'm comfortable in not making that kind of mistake when taking more time over my work - but the commas and structure are a concern. I think I asked about this early on in my time on this forum, the learning of the technical side of writing, and I believe you may have replied to that query. I will refer back to it. Good spot on the early modern, the glass bottom tankard is later used to add weight to conscription issues for the local militia (or rather, there's a note in my pad that I'd like to use this). I must admit though I am undecided on quite what period my world most closely resembles.

chopper - yes, it was purely an exercise to try and get to know my character a little, and to explore how to actually write in this style (or as it turns out, at all). It's nice to see the positives you found in the first person perspective and having reviewed all the comments thus far narrative is certainly an area for strong focus. One area I was having issues with was the opposition to the shorter bursts of thought. Whilst some of this was almost certainly due to poor word-craft, it had been my intention to replicate the daze, focus, daze pattern my own thoughts follow when I'm a bit worse for wear!

Pheonix - It pleases me greatly that you enjoyed the imagery in that part of the piece, and yes I recognise the flow issues and over burdening of sentences and paragraphs with longer words etc. Unfortunately in my work life I'm a bit of an email hero, such is my rambling style. It was a problem with my dissertations too; concise is definitely a word I need to write on the back of my hand!

 

[The Bloated One]

Fitzchiv,

Good to see you're still standing. Take heart and plough on!

TBO