This sneaked up on me, partly due to running the 100 word anonymous challenge, which is here (shameless plugging of the thread!).
I have put up part of the new first chapter of my novel (just under 1500 words). This is a first draft, so there will no doubt be slips and typos, for which I apologise, but what I really want to know is have I managed to show rather than tell, and if not, where does it start to go wrong?
#
An elderly librarian watched me over her glasses, making sure I didn’t touch the precious page without cotton gloves. I’m sure she could see the excitement bubbling just under the surface as I read and reread the same section over again.
Hands shaking, I turned round to type a note on my laptop. I could hardly breathe. Surely I couldn’t be the first person to recognise the importance of that passage? But then perhaps everyone else had been thinking of a different area completely. After all, the poem was in Welsh, so naturally people would have been looking for the site in Wales.
Trying to work some moisture into my mouth, I saved the document and shut down.
I knew a place that fitted exactly. That distinctive rock formation, set on a hill sloping down to a river below. I’d seen it, or its twin. My site was in Yorkshire, a long way from Wales.
But there was a problem: it was inside a firing range belonging to the British Army.
I took a photo of the relevant passage with my phone, smiling at the librarian, closed the book reverently and left.
Back in my flat, I opened the laptop again. Google satellite only added to my excitement. It showed a large area of rough scrubland with woods and rocky outcrops, but the most important feature was a cliff on a hill. The shape of that cliff was impossible to see from the aerial view. To recognise it, you’d need local knowledge and I had spent eighteen years living a couple of miles from that range.
Every morning I’d stood waiting for a school bus with my friends looking at that particular outcrop of rock. Something about it drew me.
#
“You’re wasting your time, Niamhín,” Dylan said. He didn’t even look up from the textbook he was reading.
Pushing his feet off the desk, I sat down where they’d been. “It’s my time to waste. I’m overdue for a visit anyway and it’ll keep Mum off my back for a while.” He smiled into his book. Dylan is my supervisor, but he’s also a cousin. And a friend.
“Giving trouble again?”
I sighed. “Hmm. She still thinks I’m twelve years old. Expects me to phone every day.”
“You could always text her,” he said, absently.
I snorted. “She says it’s not the same as face-to-face.” I gave him a shove. “Move over so I can look up train times, would you?”
“You’re serious about this?” He put a finger on the page to mark his place and looked up.
“I told you, Dylan. I know I’m onto something here. This is really important.”
#
“Absolutely not,” the Range Officer said, shaking his head to hammer the point home. I’d tried to talk to him on the phone, but the army is a difficult organisation for an outsider to penetrate. I’d been politely fobbed off.
If Dylan had backed me it might have made a difference. A lowly student didn’t have much leverage, whereas a fully-fledged archaeologist might have been listened to. I bit my lip, swallowing down a smart retort which would have got me nowhere.
“All the other firing ranges have public access,” I said, keeping my voice reasonable. “Why not this one?”
Rain dripped down my neck, but the officer stood in the dry, smiling. He knew I was out on a limb – it showed in his smug look.
“This range is off-limits to the public,” he repeated. “Unless you have written permission from the Major. Which you don’t.”
For a long moment we stared at each other. He held all the cards and he knew it.
“Alright,” I said, letting my shoulders sag in dejection. “Thank you for your time.”
He rocked up onto his toes and down again, hands behind his back. His eyes burned into me, following me until I crossed the main road and turned the corner. Hunching my shoulders, I dragged my feet, walking slowly, head down. The defeated look was an act: I needed him to forget me.
Once out of sight I pulled my hood up, tucking my long hair inside. Rain was one of the things I didn’t miss about Yorkshire. The local library was only a few hundred yards away and it would be dry with free Wi-Fi, so I headed there to look again at the satellite view.
Just as I remembered, there were warehouses backing onto the firing range at the south-east corner. Behind one of them was a concrete yard, showing up as a glaring white rectangle. That looked like the most promising place to start and it was about as far away from the entrance as possible too.
#
I was in luck. Not only was the warehouse disused, with a rental board outside, but the autumn gales had brought a tree down. It leaned a little precariously, but the wide trunk would protect me from the razor-wire coiled along the top of the wall.
So much for their security.
I glanced at my wrist, only to discover I’d left my watch at home.
And my phone. Damn. How would I get photos to show Dylan?
Undecided, I bit my lip. Should I go home for it or just nip over the wall for a quick look now? Heavy clouds filled the sky, so that was no help, but it must be getting on towards late afternoon. If I went home it could be dark by the time I got back and I’d have missed my chance.
The hell with it.
Clambering up the trunk, I used the branches to keep my balance until I could look down into the off-limits area. It was hard to tell where would be the best place to land. Long grass could hide rocks or hollows, and being stuck with a broken ankle and no phone would be the pits.
I slithered down one of the wide branches until it began to dip under my weight, and then I jumped. When I landed, I took two steps and fell on my ass. sh*t.
Oh well, at least I was inside now. Looking up I could see the rock formation I remembered from my school days. It reared up over the surrounding woodland like a giant bear. That’s what I’d called it. The Bear.
Standing up, I brushed wet leaves off my jeans and made sure I could reach the branch to climb back over. I’m not sure what I’d have done if it’d been out of reach, but at least I felt a bit better knowing I could get back. The thought of tramping through the woods to the main entrance and handing myself over to that arrogant git was not one I wanted to dwell on.
Now I knew which direction I needed to travel, so I set off towards the woodland that covered most of the range. It was heavy going. Once I was under the trees I lost my bearings, but I didn’t think I had any choice except to go forwards.
The first scare came when I heard voices.
I froze instinctively, dropping to a crouch. Rain is unbelievably noisy in a woodland, droplets rattling off leaves and thudding into the earth and leaf-mould. Even straining to hear, it was impossible to tell which direction the sounds had come from. Casting my eyes around for movement, I could see nothing.
Much more wary, I went on until the trees thinned out into a clearing. This I recognised from the aerial view, which gave me a better idea of where I was. I strode on, a little more optimistic.
Half way across the clearing I glanced to my left. That’s when I spotted him. Standing under the trees in camouflage clothing, I wouldn’t have seen him at all if he hadn’t moved.
I dropped to the ground for the second time, grateful for the sparse cover of a gorse bush. Peering through the branches, I searched the edge of the clearing until I found him again. He had his back to me.
There must be another man, because this one raised his arm in some sort of signal, then moved off, deeper into the trees. I spun, eyes darting along the treeline. Had the second man seen me?
For the first time the enormity of what I had done sank in. Bile rose, bitter in the back of my throat, making me retch. My skin contracted, suddenly icy-cold. I could hear Dylan’s voice in my head.
You’re good student. You’d maybe even make a good archaeologist if you would stop to think once in a while, instead of rushing on in like a bull in a china shop. He’d looked at me over his reading glasses. This can be a dangerous business, Niamhín. Some of the places we go aren’t safe. You could get yourself injured, or worse.
I have put up part of the new first chapter of my novel (just under 1500 words). This is a first draft, so there will no doubt be slips and typos, for which I apologise, but what I really want to know is have I managed to show rather than tell, and if not, where does it start to go wrong?
#
An elderly librarian watched me over her glasses, making sure I didn’t touch the precious page without cotton gloves. I’m sure she could see the excitement bubbling just under the surface as I read and reread the same section over again.
Hands shaking, I turned round to type a note on my laptop. I could hardly breathe. Surely I couldn’t be the first person to recognise the importance of that passage? But then perhaps everyone else had been thinking of a different area completely. After all, the poem was in Welsh, so naturally people would have been looking for the site in Wales.
Trying to work some moisture into my mouth, I saved the document and shut down.
I knew a place that fitted exactly. That distinctive rock formation, set on a hill sloping down to a river below. I’d seen it, or its twin. My site was in Yorkshire, a long way from Wales.
But there was a problem: it was inside a firing range belonging to the British Army.
I took a photo of the relevant passage with my phone, smiling at the librarian, closed the book reverently and left.
Back in my flat, I opened the laptop again. Google satellite only added to my excitement. It showed a large area of rough scrubland with woods and rocky outcrops, but the most important feature was a cliff on a hill. The shape of that cliff was impossible to see from the aerial view. To recognise it, you’d need local knowledge and I had spent eighteen years living a couple of miles from that range.
Every morning I’d stood waiting for a school bus with my friends looking at that particular outcrop of rock. Something about it drew me.
#
“You’re wasting your time, Niamhín,” Dylan said. He didn’t even look up from the textbook he was reading.
Pushing his feet off the desk, I sat down where they’d been. “It’s my time to waste. I’m overdue for a visit anyway and it’ll keep Mum off my back for a while.” He smiled into his book. Dylan is my supervisor, but he’s also a cousin. And a friend.
“Giving trouble again?”
I sighed. “Hmm. She still thinks I’m twelve years old. Expects me to phone every day.”
“You could always text her,” he said, absently.
I snorted. “She says it’s not the same as face-to-face.” I gave him a shove. “Move over so I can look up train times, would you?”
“You’re serious about this?” He put a finger on the page to mark his place and looked up.
“I told you, Dylan. I know I’m onto something here. This is really important.”
#
“Absolutely not,” the Range Officer said, shaking his head to hammer the point home. I’d tried to talk to him on the phone, but the army is a difficult organisation for an outsider to penetrate. I’d been politely fobbed off.
If Dylan had backed me it might have made a difference. A lowly student didn’t have much leverage, whereas a fully-fledged archaeologist might have been listened to. I bit my lip, swallowing down a smart retort which would have got me nowhere.
“All the other firing ranges have public access,” I said, keeping my voice reasonable. “Why not this one?”
Rain dripped down my neck, but the officer stood in the dry, smiling. He knew I was out on a limb – it showed in his smug look.
“This range is off-limits to the public,” he repeated. “Unless you have written permission from the Major. Which you don’t.”
For a long moment we stared at each other. He held all the cards and he knew it.
“Alright,” I said, letting my shoulders sag in dejection. “Thank you for your time.”
He rocked up onto his toes and down again, hands behind his back. His eyes burned into me, following me until I crossed the main road and turned the corner. Hunching my shoulders, I dragged my feet, walking slowly, head down. The defeated look was an act: I needed him to forget me.
Once out of sight I pulled my hood up, tucking my long hair inside. Rain was one of the things I didn’t miss about Yorkshire. The local library was only a few hundred yards away and it would be dry with free Wi-Fi, so I headed there to look again at the satellite view.
Just as I remembered, there were warehouses backing onto the firing range at the south-east corner. Behind one of them was a concrete yard, showing up as a glaring white rectangle. That looked like the most promising place to start and it was about as far away from the entrance as possible too.
#
I was in luck. Not only was the warehouse disused, with a rental board outside, but the autumn gales had brought a tree down. It leaned a little precariously, but the wide trunk would protect me from the razor-wire coiled along the top of the wall.
So much for their security.
I glanced at my wrist, only to discover I’d left my watch at home.
And my phone. Damn. How would I get photos to show Dylan?
Undecided, I bit my lip. Should I go home for it or just nip over the wall for a quick look now? Heavy clouds filled the sky, so that was no help, but it must be getting on towards late afternoon. If I went home it could be dark by the time I got back and I’d have missed my chance.
The hell with it.
Clambering up the trunk, I used the branches to keep my balance until I could look down into the off-limits area. It was hard to tell where would be the best place to land. Long grass could hide rocks or hollows, and being stuck with a broken ankle and no phone would be the pits.
I slithered down one of the wide branches until it began to dip under my weight, and then I jumped. When I landed, I took two steps and fell on my ass. sh*t.
Oh well, at least I was inside now. Looking up I could see the rock formation I remembered from my school days. It reared up over the surrounding woodland like a giant bear. That’s what I’d called it. The Bear.
Standing up, I brushed wet leaves off my jeans and made sure I could reach the branch to climb back over. I’m not sure what I’d have done if it’d been out of reach, but at least I felt a bit better knowing I could get back. The thought of tramping through the woods to the main entrance and handing myself over to that arrogant git was not one I wanted to dwell on.
Now I knew which direction I needed to travel, so I set off towards the woodland that covered most of the range. It was heavy going. Once I was under the trees I lost my bearings, but I didn’t think I had any choice except to go forwards.
The first scare came when I heard voices.
I froze instinctively, dropping to a crouch. Rain is unbelievably noisy in a woodland, droplets rattling off leaves and thudding into the earth and leaf-mould. Even straining to hear, it was impossible to tell which direction the sounds had come from. Casting my eyes around for movement, I could see nothing.
Much more wary, I went on until the trees thinned out into a clearing. This I recognised from the aerial view, which gave me a better idea of where I was. I strode on, a little more optimistic.
Half way across the clearing I glanced to my left. That’s when I spotted him. Standing under the trees in camouflage clothing, I wouldn’t have seen him at all if he hadn’t moved.
I dropped to the ground for the second time, grateful for the sparse cover of a gorse bush. Peering through the branches, I searched the edge of the clearing until I found him again. He had his back to me.
There must be another man, because this one raised his arm in some sort of signal, then moved off, deeper into the trees. I spun, eyes darting along the treeline. Had the second man seen me?
For the first time the enormity of what I had done sank in. Bile rose, bitter in the back of my throat, making me retch. My skin contracted, suddenly icy-cold. I could hear Dylan’s voice in my head.
You’re good student. You’d maybe even make a good archaeologist if you would stop to think once in a while, instead of rushing on in like a bull in a china shop. He’d looked at me over his reading glasses. This can be a dangerous business, Niamhín. Some of the places we go aren’t safe. You could get yourself injured, or worse.
