Punctuation and Grammar Nazis unite (under 300 words)

[AnyaKimlin]

I'm having a headache with this all comments welcome:

On the edge of the Henderskelfe woods, Wilf lived in a chocolate box gamekeeper’s cottage. The brown wooden door clung desperately to its hinges but couldn’t survive Ian’s push. He looked back at Dr Innes and she nodded encouragingly. Closing his eyes he breathed deeply and tried to convince himself that this was a crime scene like any other.

The neat, old fashioned kitchen resembled a World War II bomb site. All of the orange units stood open: their contents spilled out over the worktops and floor. The sturdy kitchen table was in several pieces, some no bigger than splinters. Matching worn leather chairs stood either side of the fireplace; they had deep gashes that revealed the stuffing beneath. A large mirror above the mantel lay shattered on the floor. Ian set a small side table back in its place next to Wilf’s chair. He knelt in the space it had vacated, avoiding shards of mirror, and picked up a photograph from the remains of its frame. It had been taken on their holiday to Copenhagen last year where for the first time they had held hands in public. “Where’s my man?” He stood, focused on the picture and addressed the quivering ball on the worn sofa, the only piece of furniture in the room to have escaped the carnage.

Dark curls flowing over the top of brightly coloured crochet blankets identified the quivering ball as Timothy Fischer. The only response was an increase in the quiver Richter scale. Ian raised his eyes further and looked at the handsome DCI Joseph Purdie. “Perhaps you can explain?”

 

[Jo Zebedee]

Go on, then, I'm in editing mode anyway.


On the edge of the Henderskelfe woods, Wilf lived in a chocolate-box gamekeeper’s cottage. The brown wooden door clung desperately to its hinges but couldn’t survive Ian’s push. He looked back at Dr Innes and she nodded encouragingly. Closing his eyes he breathed deeply and tried to convince himself that I think you could lose the that this was a crime scene like any other.

The neat, old fashioned kitchen resembled a World War II bomb siteThen how is it neat? Maybe previously neat?. All of the orange units stood open:a comma would be enough, I think their contents spilled out over the worktops and floor. The sturdy kitchen table was in several pieces, some no bigger than splintersThis for me doesn't match up with several, which is maybe three or four, but if it's splintered it must be utterly trashed. . Matching made me think they matched the table -- a pair of matching?worn leather chairs stood either side of the fireplace; they had deep gashes that revealed the stuffing beneath. A large mirror above the mantel lay shattered on the floor. Personally I'd take a new paragraph hereIan set a small side table back in its place next to Wilf’s chair. He knelt in the space it had vacated, avoiding shards of mirror, and picked up a photograph from the remains of its frame. It had been taken on their holiday to Copenhagen last year where for the first time they had held hands in public. Again a new paragraph, I think. Also, it's a tiny bit confusing if he says that, or someone else?“Where’s my man?” He stood, focused on the picture and addressed the quivering ball on the worn sofa, the only piece of furnituremade me think the quivering ball was a piece of furniture. in the room to have escaped the carnage.

Dark curls flowing over the top of brightly coloured crochet blankets identified the quivering ball as Timothy Fischer. The only response was an increase in the quiver Richter scalenice. Ian raised his eyes further and looked at the handsome DCI Joseph Purdiewhere did he come from?. “Perhaps you can explain?”[/QUOTE]

A few nits, see if they help. If it's any consolation, I'm have a similar sort of editing day where nothing feels quite right.

 

[AnyaKimlin]

Thanks Springs - no this scene is a disaster. I've rewritten it three times this morning but your observations are great. I need to add this in some place: As he stepped over the wreckage of the door he was greeted by a strong smell of badly burned marshmallows, it bordered on acrid sweet.

Joe was mentioned end of the last chapter - he was the one that phoned Ian and told him what had happened.

 

[AnyaKimlin]

I'm going to hate this forever more. Is this any better? - I tweaked it again after posting

On the edge of the Henderskelfe woods, Wilf lived in a chocolate-box gamekeeper’s cottage. The brown wooden door clung desperately to its hinges but couldn’t survive Ian’s push. He looked back at Dr Innes and she nodded encouragingly. Closing his eyes he breathed deeply and tried to convince himself this was a crime scene like any other. As he stepped over the wreckage of the door an acrid sweet stench almost like badly burned marshmallows greeted him.

The usually neat, old fashioned kitchen resembled a World War II bomb site. All of the orange units stood open, their contents spilled out over the worktops and floor. The sturdy kitchen table was in many pieces, some no bigger than splinters. Two matching worn leather chairs stood either side of the fireplace; they had deep gashes that revealed the stuffing beneath. A large mirror above the mantel lay shattered on the floor.

Ian set a small side table back in its place next to Wilf’s chair. He knelt in the space it had vacated, avoiding shards of mirror, and picked up a photograph from the remains of its frame. It had been taken on their holiday to Copenhagen last year where for the first time they had held hands in public.

“Where’s my man?” Ian stood, still focused on the picture and addressed the quivering ball on the tatty old sofa. The sofa had escaped the carnage unscathed; thirty years of boys and dogs had done more damage to the upholstery.

Dark curls flowing over the top of brightly coloured crochet blankets identified the quivering ball as Timothy Fischer. The only response was an increase in the quiver Richter scale. Ian raised his eyes to look at Joe who sat on the arm of the sofa rubbing Tim's head. "Perhaps you can explain?" Ian asked.

 

[J Riff]

On the edge of the Henderskelfe woods, Wilf lived in a chocolate-box gamekeeper’s cottage. The (brown) wooden door clung desperately to its hinges but (couldn’t survive Ian’s push.) gave way to Ian's boot. He looked back at Dr Innes and she nodded encouragingly. Closing his eyes he breathed deeply and tried to convince himself that this was a crime scene like any other. As he stepped over the wreckage of the door an acrid (sweet) stench (almost) like burnt marshmallows greeted him.

The (usually neat,) old fashioned kitchen resembled a World War II bomb site. All of the orange units (?) stood open, their contents spilled out over the worktops (?) and floor. The sturdy kitchen table was in many pieces, some no bigger than splinters. Two matching worn leather chairs stood on either side of the fireplace; they had deep gashes that revealed the stuffing beneath (inside?). A large mirror above the mantel lay shattered on the floor. Ian set a small side table back in its place next to Wilf’s chair. He knelt in the space it had vacated, avoiding shards of mirror, and picked up a photograph from the remains of its frame. It had been taken on their holiday to Copenhagen last year where (when) for the first time they had held hands in public.

“Where’s my man?” Ian stood, still focused on the picture, and addressed the quivering ball on the worn sofa. The sofa had escaped the carnage unscathed; thirty years of boys and dogs had done more damage to the upholstery.

Dark curls flowing over the top of brightly coloured crochet blankets identified the quivering ball as Timothy Fischer. The only response was an increase in the quiver. (Richter scale?) Ian raised his eyes to look at Joe who sat on the arm of the sofa rubbing Tim's head. "Perhaps you can explain?" Ian said.

What happened to Wilf? )

 

[The Judge]

On the edge of the Henderskelfe woods, Wilf lived in a chocolate-box gamekeeper’s cottage. [I'd suggest inverting the sentence so "Wilf lived... on the edge of..." unless the previous para was about or mentioned the woods -- he's more important than the woods are, and the rhythm is better that way] The brown [if it's brown-painted, I'd make that clear, otherwise there's a "What other colour is wood?" risk (I know it comes in different shades, but still). Better yet, delete the colour unless it's important as the two adjectives together feel dumpy] wooden door clung desperately to its hinges but couldn’t survive Ian’s push. He looked back at Dr Innes and she nodded encouragingly. [I'd suggest "in/with/by way of encouragement" or something -- as an adverb it's a bit clunky and you've another adverb coming beforehand and yet another straight after it, so it's a bit ungainly] Closing his eyes, he breathed deeply and tried to convince himself [that] this was a crime scene like any other.

The once-neat, old-fashioned kitchen resembled a [World War II] [don't think WW2 ones are any different from any other are they? Would this Ian be of an age to think WW2 anyway?] bomb site. All [of] the orange units stood open, their contents spilled out over the worktops and floor. The sturdy kitchen table was in several [I'd suggest "hundreds of" if some are only splinters -- several only sounds like half-a dozen or so] pieces, some no bigger than splinters. Matching worn leather chairs stood either side of the fireplace [again I'd invert this to "Either side of... stood matching..." though is the "matching" important? I'd rather stress the shabbiness/age]; [they had] deep gashes [that] revealed the stuffing beneath. [?beneath? Shouldn't that be "inside"?] A large mirror above the mantel lay shattered on the floor. [um... if it's above the mantel, how is it on the floor... You could add "which had hung above..." if he knows that, otherwise just leave it as on the floor, unless you want to show the stain/different coloured paper on the wall where it had been hanging or something]

[suggest new para] Ian set a small side table back in its place next to Wilf’s chair. [I'd suggest a better link between these two sentences -- the rhythm is hurt by that full stop] He knelt in the space it had vacated, avoiding shards of mirror, and picked up a photograph from the remains of its frame. It had been taken on their holiday to Copenhagen last [I'd suggest "the previous" since this is in past tense] year where, for the first time, they'd held hands in public. “Where’s my man?” [confusing -- if he's actually saying this, I'd suggest a new para -- and you need to make it clear he is speaking and to whom as it's not evident what's happening here] He stood, focused on the picture and addressed the quivering ball [very confusing -- I thought this was a real ball at first] on the worn [repetition of worn] sofa, the only piece of furniture [bit ambiguous as to whether the ball is the furniture or the sofa is] in the room to have escaped the carnage.
[I'd suggest for that last bit:
The only piece of furniture to have escaped the carnage was a worn sofa. Ian stood, focused on the picture and addressed the quivering ball (?of flesh?) that sat there.

"Where's my man?"]

Dark curls flowing over the top of brightly-coloured crochet blankets identified the [quivering] ball as Timothy Fischer. [I'd suggest moving that sentence up to immediately after you mention the ball -- otherwise the link between the question and the non-response is lost] The only response was an increase in the quiver Richter scale. [suggest new para]Ian raised his eyes further and looked at the [handsome] [needed? If we've seen him before we'd know this. If we haven't, we'd need more, but not now] DCI Joseph Purdie. [perhaps make it clear he's followed Ian inside?] “Perhaps you can explain?”

I see I've just repeated everything springs has said. Must type faster...

NB If this is a crime scene then Ian shouldn't be touching anything, of course.

EDIT: sorry, I see you've now revamped the original anyway.

 

[AnyaKimlin]

I think worktop = countertop if my American serves me correctly.

Wilf's been captured by the fairies and taken back to their torture chambers. His son Tim is currently in fairy form and is hiding his wings - he's spent from a duel with his grandfather, Fairy-King Alberich (he prefers it to Auberon).

Wilf is a renegade fairy.

It's not a normal police crime scene He's 68 born in 1945 so I would guess like my Dad his first thought would be the bomb sites still around as a child - heck some were being cleaned up in Liverpool when I was a small child. I remember watching the rubble from a house in my Great Aunt's terrace being removed.

 

[Ursa major]

I'm not having too much trouble with spelling and grammar. (While the sentences don't feel varied enough, that may be me rather than your writing.)

(EDIT: I didn't notice you'd updated the text; my comments are based on the version in post#1. Oops!)

However, I am stumbling over the imagery, either because it's meant to be humerous (I'm guessing not) and I'm not really getting it, or (this is my guess), there are mismatches in the descriptions and between the reality and some of the similes/whatever.

So:

On the edge of the Henderskelfe woods, Wilf lived in a chocolate box gamekeeper’s cottage. The brown wooden door clung desperately to its hinges but couldn’t survive Ian’s push.
​

To me, "chocolate box" indicates more than simply the shape and appearance of something but also its condition. And yet a mere push is able to separate the door from its hinges. Given the words 'clung desperately', I feel that something more powerful than even a heave is involved. Or is the door actually in a poor condition?

The neat, old fashioned kitchen resembled a World War II bomb site. All of the orange units stood open: their contents spilled out over the worktops and floor.
​

I'm having trouble imagining a WWII bombsite replete with orange-doored kitchen units, particularly inside a gamekeeper's cottage. (And the word, neat, rather jars in context: the room is anything but neat.) I know what you're trying to get across - utter chaos and destruction - but it isn't working here.

The sturdy kitchen table was in several pieces, some no bigger than splinters.
​

Either there are a lot more pieces than 'several', or there are several, plus splinters.

Matching worn leather chairs stood either side of the fireplace; they had deep gashes that revealed the stuffing beneath.
​

This might be better condensed into:

Matching worn leather chairs stood either side of the fireplace; deep gashes revealed the stuffing beneath.

A large mirror above the mantel lay shattered on the floor.
​

No: the mirror cannot be in two places at the same time. Try something like:

The large mirror that should be hanging above the mantle now lay shattered on the floor.

In addition, I assume, from the following paragraph, that Ian and Wilf are/were an item; if so, one shouldn't say "a large mirror", which sounds like something a stranger would say. Given this, the sentence could be reduced to:

The large mirror from above the mantle lay shattered on the floor.

Ian set a small side table back in its place next to Wilf’s chair. He knelt in the space it had vacated, avoiding shards of mirror, and picked up a photograph from the remains of its frame. It had been taken on their holiday to Copenhagen last year where for the first time they had held hands in public.
​

I've added a paragraph break after the above; there's a definite change when Ian starts to speak: we've moved from description into drama.

“Where’s my man?” He stood, focused on the picture and addressed the quivering ball on the worn sofa, the only piece of furniture in the room to have escaped the carnage.
​

This is a bit confusing, and there are two things described between the uttering of the words and the mention of whom they're aimed at. He's also describing the couch while deliberately not looking at it.

I'd prefer it to be more like:

He stood up. “Where’s my man?” His words were aimed at the quivering ball on the worn, but otherwise undamaged, sofa, though his gaze never left the picture.

Dark curls flowing over the top of brightly coloured crochet blankets identified the quivering ball as Timothy Fischer. The only response was an increase in the quiver Richter scale.
​

Two "quivering balls" this close together, plus a "quiver", is jarring. I tried to reorganise it, but you're packing too much in here: a (vague) description of Timothy, description of a crochet blanket, an increase in quivering (which must already be quite visible, so this is bizarre enough without mentioning the Richter scale). And still Ian hasn't stopped focusing on the picture (though he seemingly can identify Timothy Fischer solely from his dark curls).

I'd suggest leaving the descriptions until later, and continue with:

Receiving no response, Ian raised his eyes to look at the handsome DCI Joseph Purdie. “Perhaps you can explain?”

 

[Abernovo]

Hi Anya
I agree with springs' comment about the first sentence. I think I haven't overlapped otherwise.

I'm having a headache with this all comments welcome:

The neat, old fashioned kitchen resembled a World War II bomb site. All of the orange units stood open:(could you use a comma here?) their contents spilled out over the worktops and floor. The sturdy kitchen table was in several pieces, some no bigger than splinters. Matching worn leather chairs stood either side of the fireplace; they had deep gashes that revealed the stuffing beneath. A large mirror above the mantel lay shattered on the floor. Ian set a small side table back in its place next to Wilf’s chair. He knelt in the space it had vacated, avoiding shards of mirror, and picked up a photograph from the remains of its frame. It had been taken on their holiday to Copenhagen last year(comma) where for the first time they had held hands in public. “Where’s my man?” He stood, focused on the picture and addressed the quivering ball on the worn sofa, the only piece of furniture in the room to have escaped the carnage.

Sorry if I'm being a bit over-picky.

Is there any reason the room resembles a World War Two bomb site, or would simply having it resembling 'a bomb site' work?

You have the kitchen table as sturdy, but it's broken into matchsticks. Either it's not as sturdy as he thinks, or it's significant enough that it's sturdiness might be emphasised, perhaps with a sentence afterwards specifying its strength. Possibly that's my style creeping into the crit, though.


EDIT: Everybody got in before me. That'll teach me to open a reply, then eat my dinner.

 

[AnyaKimlin]

Thanks - I'll take it all on board and after I've watched Bake Off with my daughter I'll rewrite it. It's taken me all day to write it this badly.

 

[Cosmic Geoff]

I'm going to hate this forever more. Is this any better? - I tweaked it again after posting

On the edge of the Henderskelfe We already know where these woods are? woods, Wilf lived in a chocolate-box gamekeeper’s cottage. The brown wooden door clung desperately Lose the adverb to its hinges but couldn’t survive Ian’s push. He looked back at Dr Innes and she nodded encouragingly Lose the adverb. Closing his eyes he breathed deeply and tried to convince himself this was a crime scene like any other. As he stepped over the wreckage of the door an acrid sweet stench almost like badly burned marshmallows greeted him.

The usually neat, old fashioned kitchen resembled a World War II bomb siteWhat you are saying here is that the kitchen resembles a smoking heap of rubble.. All of the orange units stood open, their contents spilled out over the worktops and floor. The sturdy kitchen table was in many pieces, some no bigger than splinters. A more specific description might add something here. Has the table been chopped up or broken by blunt impact? Two matching worn leather chairs stood either side of the fireplace; they had deep gashes that revealed the stuffing beneath. A large mirror above the mantel lay shattered on the floor.

Ian set a small side table back in its place next to Wilf’s chair. He knelt in the space it had vacated, avoiding shards of mirror, and picked up a photograph from the remains of its frame. It had been taken on their holiday to Copenhagen last year where for the first time they had held hands in public.

“Where’s my man?” Ian stood, still focused on the picture and addressed the quivering ball on the tatty old sofa. The sofa had escaped the carnage unscathed; thirty years of boys and dogs had done more damage to the upholstery. i.e. more damage than unscathed. Sounds clumsy.

Dark curls flowing over the top of brightly coloured crochet blankets identified the quivering ball as Timothy Fischer. The only response was an increase in the quiver Richter scale. Ian raised his eyes to look at Joe who sat on the arm of the sofa rubbing Tim's head. "Perhaps you can explain?" Ian asked.

Various nitpicks above.
I'd like to know who's present earlier on in the scene. Wouldn't Ian notice the two men before picking up the photograph?

 

[BookerBrin]

Hi,

You've asked for punctuation and grammar critique, so I've only commented on those below in the text.

I'm having a headache with this all comments welcome:

On the edge of the Henderskelfe woods, Wilf lived in a chocolate box gamekeeper’s cottage. The brown wooden door clung desperately to its hinges but couldn’t survive Ian’s push. He looked back at Dr Innes and she nodded encouragingly. Closing his eyes he breathed deeply and tried to convince himself that this was a crime scene like any other. I'm not necessarily an adverb hater, and most writing can withstand the odd one or two through several pages, however it does tend to become noticeable (for all the wrong reasons) when using them so close together. My own instincts would be to get rid of all those that modify actions or dialogue, so I would lose encouragingly/deeply.

The neat, old fashioned kitchen resembled a World War II bomb site. All of the orange units stood open: their contents spilled out over the worktops and floor. This isn't the right place/context to put a colon. A comma or a full stop would suffice. Alternatively, if you wanted to keep the colon, you could miss out their from that line, having: All the orange units stood open: contents spilling out... The sturdy kitchen table was in several pieces, some no bigger than splinters. Matching worn leather chairs stood either side of the fireplace; they had deep gashes that revealed the stuffing beneath. A large mirror above the mantel lay shattered on the floor. Ian set a small side table back in its place next to Wilf’s chair. He knelt in the space it had vacated, avoiding shards of mirror, and picked up a photograph from the remains of its frame. It had been taken on their holiday to Copenhagen last year where for the first time they had held hands in public. “Where’s my man?” He stood, focused on the picture and addressed the quivering ball on the worn sofa, the only piece of furniture in the room to have escaped the carnage.

Dark curls flowing over the top of brightly coloured crochet blankets identified the quivering ball as Timothy Fischer. The only response was an increase in the quiver Richter scale. Ian raised his eyes further and looked at the handsome DCI Joseph Purdie. “Perhaps you can explain?”

 

[Bowler1]

I'm going to hate this forever more. Is this any better? - I tweaked it again after posting

On the edge of the Henderskelfe woods, Wilf lived in a chocolate-box gamekeeper’s cottage. The brown wooden door clung desperately to its hinges but couldn’t survive Ian’s push. He looked back at Dr Innes and she nodded encouragingly. Closing his eyes he breathed deeply and tried to convince himself this was a crime scene like any other. As he stepped over the wreckage of the door an acrid sweet stench almost like badly burned marshmallows greeted him.
Too many adverbs for me too and it did feel like you were trying too hard.
I wasn’t sure about Ian pushing on the door, was it a door action (the door clinging) or a character action?
The marshmallows was a very unusual choice of description here but for the right reasons, it struck a chord for me.

The usually neat, old fashioned kitchen resembled a World War II bomb site. All of the orange units stood open, their contents spilled out over the worktops and floor. The sturdy kitchen table was in many pieces, some no bigger than splinters. Two matching worn leather chairs stood either side of the fireplace; they had deep gashes that revealed the stuffing beneath. A large mirror above the mantel lay shattered on the floor.
Sorry, WWII didn’t work for me either!
Many/splinters needed more separation for me too, for clarity. I suspect less could be more here, letting the reader fill in blanks for themselves.

Ian set a small side table back in its place next to Wilf’s chair. He knelt in the space it had vacated, avoiding shards of mirror, and picked up a photograph from the remains of its frame. It had been taken on their holiday to Copenhagen last year where for the first time they had held hands in public.
It had vacated, but the table can’t move so it can’t vacate – or so my brain said to me when I read the line.

“Where’s my man?” Ian stood, still focused on the picture and addressed the quivering ball on the tatty old sofa. The sofa had escaped the carnage unscathed; thirty years of boys and dogs had done more damage to the upholstery.

Dark curls flowing over the top of brightly coloured crochet blankets identified the quivering ball as Timothy Fischer. The only response was an increase in the quiver Richter scale. Ian raised his eyes to look at Joe who sat on the arm of the sofa rubbing Tim's head. "Perhaps you can explain?" Ian asked.
If Tim was in the room, for me, I’d have liked his placement earlier as the room felt empty of people till this point. Or has Tim entered and then sat, I’m not sure. Then again, this could just be because of the section posted and could have been described before. But as it’s Ian’s POV, it should have been Ian’s thoughts as he took in the scene before his eyes, and Ian placing Tim in the room. I don’t know how clear I’m being here, but my main issue was the late appearance of Tim. I think you’d see people first and then the room, more so if they were in an emotional state. I did like the Richter scale however.

I did need my critting fix, it’s been days and days with no Chrons! Clearly a key section this, and sounds very interesting. Not quite grammer from me, but then again, I'm not very good with instructions.

 

[AnyaKimlin]

Wow what a fab response I've read everything and have put it into practice I hope. Although I'm still struggling with the lack of WWII bombsite. Because of age of the character it feels more natural than just bombsite. They would be his frame of reference like they were for my parents/grandparents etc -- unless....