Travelling in the mountains -- 600 words

[Hex]

So I have struggled and struggled to write this, and struggled to get it to make sense and to be vaguely interesting. I'm not confident about writing mountain scenes and snow scenes (which kind of begs the question why I wanted to).

Anyway, it doesn't matter very much if this is physicaly/ geographically impossible -- but I'd like to know if it works as a story or if it's boring and I should snip it down to something like 'the path ran along the side of a crevasse -- it was scary but I managed to cross it'.

-----

When I woke, the sun was lower in the sky. The path was an alarmingly slender ribbon along the side of a crevasse, made narrower still by the curve of snow piled against the mountain. On the other side, an overhang arched above the emptiness. I tried not to imagine stepping onto it: my boot passing through snow, on into the air, my body fatally unbalanced, toppling after. Below, the crevasse shone, glass pale and very deep.

I stepped onto the path, shuddering all over, not looking down.

Everything shrank to the mountain path. To my boots. To the snow. To putting one foot in front of another, staying as far from the edge as I could. The snow pushed at me, inched me closer to the drop. Clouds of breath steamed around my face. I didn't look down. I put one foot in front of the other and tried to keep walking.

At the halfway point, the cliff curved. Here, the snow had built up over the path, all I could see was a white sweep from the rock face to the edge. I ached to go back. But behind me was only hunger and death. I had to continue to the Bastion, to the food and safety there.

I reached out and pushed at the snow. It pushed back. My feet slipped terrifyingly. My fingers scrabbled at the snow-covered wall.

Still again, I stood for an endless, heart-pounding time.

I hated heights. I hated them. I stamped into virgin snow, making sure my feet were stable. Then I reached out and tried to dig through the barrier. The snow had frozen, my hands were inadequate tools; smudges of blood started to appear against the white. I thought longingly of the knife I had lost, wrapped the cloak around my hand, dug again, reaching into the white wall.

There was a terrible, cracking sound. It shocked through my feet, up my legs, as if the shelf I stood on, the pathetically narrow shelf halfway up the mountain, would crumble into the crevasse. A whole great line of snow, the top of the sweep I had been digging through, began the slow and inevitable process of crashing down into the valley. I couldn't run, the path was too slippery. I cowered against the mountain wall, praying it would protect me.

Then nothing -- and a monstrous roar, going on and on forever -- ice fragments smacked against my face -- the rushing wind of the snow falling falling downwards. I couldn't tell if I had fallen too. My body ached as if I had been swept away. I didn't know where I was, or, when I opened my eyes, what I was looking at. I didn't dare move.

After an age staring at whiteness, I turned my head. The path was clear. Below, in the chasm, snow was still settling. Very, very slowly I sank to my knees. Terror seemed to rush up from my guts, burning my chest and throat and nose. I crouched forward and vomited the nothing from my stomach, retching miserably, my hands against the icy ground.

I inched the rest of the way on shaking legs and cried when I reached the other side. I couldn't help myself: I fell onto my knees in the snow and sobbed with relief.

As I knelt in the snow, the sun started to sink behind the mountains. I knew I had to get up and keep walking, but I couldn't stop trembling. Now it wasn't just my legs, it was my whole body. I sat in the snow watching the sun, my teeth chattering, thanking Gods and mermaids that I had survived.

 

[HareBrain]

I've struggled with this kind of linking passage myself. There's a saying "if it bores you to write, it'll bore the reader to read", but I don't think that's necessarily true, and I think this section is worthwhile and generally well-handled. You describe the situation well enough to pull me into the difficulty the character faces and be there with her. I wouldn't want it to be much longer, but it certainly justifies itself, I think.

Specific comments:

So I have struggled and struggled to write this, and struggled to get it to make sense and to be vaguely interesting. I'm not confident about writing mountain scenes and snow scenes (which kind of begs the question why I wanted to). [The pedant in me insists I point out that you mean "raises the question" -- begging the question is something different, though i forget exactly what, and probably the dictionary definition will change eventually anyway because almost no one uses it correctly any more. Glad to have been of help.]

Anyway, it doesn't matter very much if this is physicaly/ geographically impossible -- but I'd like to know if it works as a story or if it's boring and I should snip it down to something like 'the path ran along the side of a crevasse -- it was scary but I managed to cross it'.

-----

When I woke, the sun was lower in the sky. The path was an alarmingly slender ribbon along the side of a crevasse, made narrower still by the curve of snow piled against the mountain. On the other side, [wasn't originally sure what it was the other side of, maybe the mountain -- I'd have used edge rather than side] an overhang arched above the emptiness. I tried not to imagine stepping onto it: my boot passing through snow, on into the air, my body fatally unbalanced, toppling after. Below, the crevasse shone, glass pale and very deep.

I stepped onto the path, shuddering all over, not looking down.

Everything shrank to the mountain path. To my boots. To the snow. To putting one foot in front of another, staying as far from the edge as I could. The snow pushed at me, inched me closer to the drop. [Liked that.] Clouds of breath steamed around my face. I didn't look down. I put one foot in front of the other and tried to keep walking.

At the halfway point, the cliff curved. Here, the snow had built up over the path, [comma splice!] all I could see was a white sweep from the rock face to the edge. I ached to go back. But behind me was only hunger and death. I had to continue to the Bastion, to the food and safety there. [or just "to food and safety"?]

I reached out and pushed at the snow. It pushed back. My feet slipped terrifyingly. [does the adverb add anything?] My fingers scrabbled at the snow-covered wall.

Still again, I stood for an endless, [I can hardly let "endless" pass after picking on odangutan's "measureless" yesterday] heart-pounding time.

I hated heights. I hated them. I stamped into virgin snow, making sure my feet were stable. Then I reached out and tried to dig through the barrier. The snow had frozen, my hands were inadequate tools; smudges of blood started to appear [just "appeared" would be my preference] against the white. I thought longingly of the knife I had lost, wrapped the cloak around my hand, dug again, reaching into the white wall. [You don't mention hands going numb, etc. In fact generally I could do with more description of the effect of cold on the body.]

There was a terrible, cracking sound. It shocked through my feet, up my legs, as if the shelf I stood on, the pathetically narrow shelf halfway up the mountain, would crumble into the crevasse. A whole great line of snow, the top of the sweep I had been digging through, began the slow and inevitable process of crashing down into the valley. [Or, "began the slow crash into the valley"] I couldn't run, the path was too slippery. I cowered against the mountain wall, praying it would protect me.

Then nothing -- and a monstrous roar, [nothing and a monstrous roar?] going on and on forever -- ice fragments smacked against my face -- the rushing wind of the snow falling falling downwards. I couldn't tell if I had fallen too. [Uh, not sure about this -- I think she would because of gravity.] My body ached as if I had been swept away. I didn't know where I was, or, when I opened my eyes, what I was looking at. I didn't dare move.

After an age staring at whiteness, I turned my head. The path was clear. Below, in the chasm, snow was still settling. Very, very slowly I sank to my knees. Terror seemed to rush up from my guts, ["seemed to"? Why not just "rushed"?] burning my chest and throat and nose. I crouched forward and vomited the nothing from my stomach, retching miserably, [again, I don't think we need "miserably", we're already there] my hands against the icy ground.

I inched the rest of the way on shaking legs and cried when I reached the other side. I couldn't help myself: I fell onto my knees in the snow and sobbed with relief. [Don't think she needs to excuse herself: "I inched the rest of the way on shaking legs, to the other side. I fell onto my knees in the snow and sobbed with relief"]

As I knelt in the snow, the sun started to sink behind the mountains. I knew [Do we need "I knew"?] I had to get up and keep walking, but I couldn't stop trembling. Now it wasn't just my legs, it was my whole body. I sat in the snow watching the sun, my teeth chattering [thought they would have been chattering all the way through, unless she's got fantastic cold-weather clothing], thanking Gods and mermaids that I had survived.

 

[Boneman]

So I have struggled and struggled to write this, and struggled to get it to make sense and to be vaguely interesting. I'm not confident about writing mountain scenes and snow scenes (which kind of begs the question why I wanted to).

Anyway, it doesn't matter very much if this is physicaly/ geographically impossible -- but I'd like to know if it works as a story or if it's boring and I should snip it down to something like 'the path ran along the side of a crevasse -- it was scary but I managed to cross it'.

-----

Dammit, I wish I had this lack of confidence and produced writing like this.

HB has pointed out a few good things, and I thought this was great - I love the short sentences, the repetitions, and it comes over as a person on the edge both physically and mentally, and works incredibly well. Your struggles have produced an intense piece that add to the character and the storyline itself. Don't you dare reduce it to one sentence...

'twas said in my creative writing class by the tutor, that the work we struggle to produce is often better than the work we find easy to do. (Hah! she's doing a PhD focusing on female masochism, so I guess she knows what she's talking about!)

 

[Hex]

Oops. Sorry about begging to be raised etc.

Thank you for the comments. She has a convenient spell on her to stop her getting cold, hence the lack of description of shivering, icy fingers, hypothermia etc.

I should have stood up for 'measureless' when I saw you picking on it, but since I didn't I suppose 'endless' has to go into the chasm.

A comma splice! oops (actually, I have a nasty feeling they're a fairly common problem).

Thank you both for your encouragement. I will keep this section in and move on to the more interesting bits.

 

[Jo Zebedee]

So I have struggled and struggled to write this, and struggled to get it to make sense and to be vaguely interesting. I'm not confident about writing mountain scenes and snow scenes (which kind of begs the question why I wanted to).

Anyway, it doesn't matter very much if this is physicaly/ geographically impossible -- but I'd like to know if it works as a story or if it's boring and I should snip it down to something like 'the path ran along the side of a crevasse -- it was scary but I managed to cross it'.


Sounds like my dreaded building scene, and they are a nightmare to write. I think BM's lecturer has it spot on, it's the scenes I tear my hair out over that I end up liking most.

-----

When I woke, the sun was lower in the sky. The path was an alarmingly slender ribbon along the side of a crevasse, made narrower still by the curve of snow piled against the mountain. On the other side, an overhang arched above the emptiness. I tried not to imagine stepping onto it:; I think because you're not using ; between the later statements. my boot passing through snow, on into the air, my body fatally unbalanced, toppling after. Below, the crevasse shone, glass pale and very deep.

I stepped onto the path, shuddering all over, not looking down.

Everything shrank to the mountain path. To my boots. To the snow. To putting one foot in front of another, staying as far from the edge as I could. The snow pushed at me, inched me closer to the drop. Clouds of breath steamed around my face. I didn't look down. I put one foot in front of the other and tried to keep walking. I liked this passage; there's a sense of urgency of needing to get there.

At the halfway point, the cliff curved. Here, the snow had built up over the path, all I could see was a white sweep from the rock face to the edge. I ached to go back. But behind me was only hunger and death. I had to continue to the Bastion, to the food and safety there. The info seems a little clumsier; do we already know they're going to Bastion and why, and if so do we need this sentence?

I reached out and pushed at the snow. It pushed back. My feet slipped terrifyingly. My fingers scrabbled at the snow-covered wall. How does she stop herself falling? It sounds like she's away here, does she grasp something?

Still again, I stood for an endless, heart-pounding time.

I hated heights. I hated them. I stamped into virgin snow, making sure my feet were stable. Then I reached out and tried to dig through the barrier. The snow had frozen, my hands were inadequate tools; smudges of blood started to appear against the white. I thought longingly of the knife I had lost, wrapped the cloak around my hand, dug again, reaching into the white wall.

There was a terrible, cracking sound. It shocked through my feet, up my legs, as if the shelf I stood on, the pathetically narrow shelf halfway up the mountain, would crumble into the crevasse. A whole great line of snow, the top of the sweep I had been digging through, began the slow and inevitable process of crashing down into the valley. I couldn't run, the path was too slippery. I cowered against the mountain wall, praying it would protect me.

Then nothing -- and a monstrous roar, going on and on forever -- ice fragments smacked against my face -- the rushing wind of the snow falling falling downwards. I couldn't tell if I had fallen too. My body ached as if I had been swept away. I didn't know where I was, or, when I opened my eyes, what I was looking at. I didn't dare move.

After an age staring at whiteness, I turned my head. The path was clear. Below, in the chasm, snow was still settling. Very, very slowly I sank to my knees. Terror seemed to rush up from my guts, burning my chest and throat and nose. I crouched forward and vomited the nothing from my stomach, retching miserably, my hands against the icy ground.Being a real pedant here; if her hands were on icy ground would they stick?

I inched the rest of the way on shaking legs and cried when I reached the other side. I couldn't help myself: I fell onto my knees in the snow and sobbed with relief.

As I knelt in the snow, the sun started to sink behind the mountains. I knew I had to get up and keep walking, but I couldn't stop trembling. Now it wasn't just my legs, it was my whole body. I sat in the snow watching the sun, my teeth chattering, thanking Gods and mermaids that I had survived.

I really liked it Hex, the sentences were tight, the picture clear. I'm with HB, though, I would have thought she'd come off the mountain with the snow, maybe that's one to throw into general questions and see if we have any mountain climbers amongst us; I'm sure we do.

Good job!

 

[HareBrain]

A comma splice! oops (actually, I have a nasty feeling they're a fairly common problem).

Well, yes, there's at least one in my comments. But I never claimed not to be a hypocrite.

I'm with HB, though, I would have thought she'd come off the mountain with the snow

Just to clarify, that's not what I meant, Springs -- if you're referring to what I think you're referring to, I meant I thought she would know she hadn't fallen, because she wouldn't have the sensation of gravity that comes with a fall. (But my wording was a bit unclear.)

 

[Hex]

Not that every plot issue in my wip is resolved with a convenient spell, but she sort of has one of those to keep her on the path (and this isn't real life, so normal rules may not exactly apply).

I was going for confusion after the avalanche, but clearly it is confusing confusion.

 

[The Judge]

[The pedant in me insists I point out that you mean "raises the question" -- begging the question is something different, though i forget exactly what]

It's to do with attempting to prove something by argument when the initial premise impliedly or expressly accepts it already. Er... I can't think of a sensible example off the top of my head apart from some religious arguments, but I'm not even going to go there...

Anyhow, Hex, for me this went on a trifle too long, perhaps, and I'd like to see it tightened a bit. But I'm notoriously impatient so you can safely ignore me.

One thing I was wondering about, though. Are you serious in the snipping-it-down-to-one-sentence issue, or was that hyperbole for effect? The reason I ask is that the pace and the incidents in the rest of the chapter/journey all have to be assessed in working that one out. If you have drama after drama, then you might indeed be best to drop this. If the rest of it is incident-free, then go with it.

 

[Hex]

Anyhow, Hex, for me this went on a trifle too long, perhaps, and I'd like to see it tightened a bit. But I'm notoriously impatient so you can safely ignore me.

It's not the sort of thing I would read with any attention (and possibly at all) if it was in a book I'd bought, so it was a bit odd trying to write. I will consider further... which brings me neatly to:

One thing I was wondering about, though. Are you serious in the snipping-it-down-to-one-sentence issue, or was that hyperbole for effect? The reason I ask is that the pace and the incidents in the rest of the chapter/journey all have to be assessed in working that one out. If you have drama after drama, then you might indeed be best to drop this. If the rest of it is incident-free, then go with it.

I do love a bit of hyperbole. In this case, though, I would be prepared to chop the section. It's a getting-from-A-to-B bit, and while there needs to be some path/crevasse stuff going on, there doesn't need to be 600 words of it.

You're raising an issue that I've been trying to clarify for myself (several times I've come on to Chrons intending to ask about it and then been unable to decide what to say or how to explain what I mean).

Presumably drama after drama can get too much? I am aware in this wip of trying to make everything as strong as possible, and adding tension where I can. I think that sometimes that has the effect of the character going from crisis to crisis without time to recover, and I worry that it's going to lead to the reader feeling the same way.

There's a fair amount of slogging through the snow in this bit (well, 300 words or so before the crevasse, and afterwards another 1000 or so of resting/ slogging/ observing Tall Dark Stranger from afar before the next crisis), and I find slogging through the snow necessary but dull (so maybe I should cut the whole bit and just whisk her to her next crisis... that's how I'd probably read it. I'm trying hard to have some description/ in-betweeny bits because I know I ought)

 

[Jo Zebedee]

Hex, I just did the same thing; I had a big showboat trial in mine, and it came after some horrendous torture scenes, and when I looked at it, I just thought my poor reader needed a quiet moment or two to get over everything that's happened. So I cut it, and my wordcount is finally under 100000; that's one way to do it, I suppose. I'll let you know in a month if it's improved the blinking thing, though.

 

[HareBrain]

Tension and release, I believe it's called, the idea being to increase the level of tension each time as you build to the climax, and then a big release and begin again at a slightly higher level as you build to the second, greater climax, and so on, until after the final climax the release is so great that the reader is left a boneless blob of goo in their armchair.

 

[The Judge]

Passing over the blob of goo...

I like to think of it as one of those charts you get showing the stock market going up (when it is going up...) -- peaks and troughs, each peak higher than the last. On the other hand, I can't pretend that's how I write -- I don't plan for peaks, I just write by instinct.

But anyway, the troughs can't just be boring bits of filler. After something semi-exciting happens, I usually get some conversation to ease things down, or better still some light relief, neither of which is really open to you if she's on her own in such desolation, though!

For me, what helps is asking myself what I'm intending to show with a particular scene. What is important here? If you need to show how arduous the journey is to reinforce some point about her situation, or give further examples of her bravery, all well and good. If it's just you think you ought to have some description in, I'd question the need for it. But I'm much more of a tight writer, and I'm not fond of sprawling epics, so again it may well be a question of taste.

On which point, I think you should write the kind of book you'd want to read -- so if you wouldn't read this kind of stuff, and your heart isn't in writing it, then leave it out of the first draft at least. If when it's finished you realise/others say that you need more incidents, then think again. (And don't delete anything you excise, of course -- just in case!)

 

[Boneman]

Just to cause more confusion... I've read it again, and although I don't know how much action came before, I still like this as a piece of drama, with good tension - though it made me think of The Snow scene in Fellowship of the Ring - and I don't think it's too long. But in view of what you say about not reading this sort of scene, I'd agree with The Judge here. Ask yourself what this scene does, what does it add to the story or the character's arc? To me it seems to add a lot to the character, but I've no idea how much we already know of her, and whether this scene helps inform us, or move the story on. It's still good writing, whatever you do with it...

 

[Hex]

Thank you. I expect I'd like these sorts of scenes more if I found them easier. I got her fallen in love, married and into Terrible Danger with much less trouble than it took me to get her over a poxy crevasse. Anyway.

She's supposed to be learning to be more independent, so this bit fits rather nicely into the category of learning-to-do-things-alone.

Thank you. That makes it easier to fit into the whole story (and with a little tweaking, perhaps actually I could learn to find this bit really interesting. *** I'm thick. I can't believe I didn't think of that before. Blah).

Goo, you say? But surely I can reduce the reader to goo by bludgeoning them repeatedly? (metaphorically, not really -- that'd be naughty)

 

[odangutan]

I like the scene but have one problem with the setting. A crevasse is a crack in a plain of ice and I can't seeing it abutting a mountain path...

 

[alchemist]

I've only read this and had the same thought as odangutan. I looked it up and got crevasse:

a fissure, or deep cleft, in glacial ice, the earth's surface, etc.

So it does fit, but there may be better options, such as ravine.

As for the writing, it has the usual high-Hex standard. Like others, I hate long descriptions of travelling, but this one felt the right length. Some of the above suggestions would certainly tighten it up, and I'd also suggest cutting one of the "foot in front of the other" references in paragraph 3.

 

[odangutan]

'Precipice' gets the cliff-edge feeling I found in the writing. Both crevasse and ravine indicate that there's another side to the gap, albeit possibly quite far away, but should a mountain path should have only one side?

 

[alchemist]

I assumed from "the other side" that we were dealing a ravine situation. I'm sure Hex will be along any minute now to sort it out...

...any minute now...

 

[Hex]

Here I am... but I can't think of anything to say.

Aren't mountains just big lumps with high bits and low bits and steep bits? I had intended a sort of deep low-bit with only one way across it -- the side of a high (steep) bit. It's clear that I haven't thought about this enough... I may even have to draw something (which won't look like anything but may clarify it in my head).

 

[odangutan]

Ah, I read "the path was an alarmingly slender ribbon along the side of a crevasse, made narrower still by the curve of snow piled against the mountain. On the other side, an overhang arched above the emptiness" as meaning there was a crevasse/ravine on one side (of the narrator) and then an overhand on the other side (of the narrator, that being the mountain wall side).

Like:

Maybe my reading's wrong?