Scene emotion between males.

[yorelm]

An emotional scene where a female is involved is rarely a problem for me, but when it's all male (foster father and son here) I find it a slightly more difficult to get just right. So I'm wonder if I'm touching on the right balance of too much/not enough with this opening scene. Also, since I didn't use any explicit description, can you infer the time period?

Levy sat cross-legged on a padded mat beneath the awning I'd built for him, absorbed in his work. A warm wind ruffled the fabric of his ghutra and stirred strands of his grey hair, while his quill scribbled across weathered parchments. For a moment, I simply watched him, taking in his dedication, his intensity. I saw a reflection of the man I aspired to be.

He had to know now. Hesitating any longer wasn't an option. I turned from the roof railing to approach him. "Levy," I said it lightly so as not to disrupt his focus. "You need to know my mind is firm for what I'm about to tell you..." I edged a step closer. "And...I'm not sure you'll approve."

He continued writing for a moment before finally lifting his gaze, but said nothing. Instead, his lips thinned to an irritated frown. To him, interruptions were like dagger pokes.

Gathering my courage, I blurted, "I've taken measures to become your real blood son," then bared myself for the consequence.

His eyes darted, uncertain of my sincerity. "One of your trivial jokes, Jacob?" he countered. "I don't have time for this. You became my son when I took you in. That's good enough for me, and should be good enough for you."

"I wouldn't say that's the same," I pressed. "Your bloodline ends with you. Don't you want a son to insure your lineage? I want to to make that possible."

A spark of something unreadable crossed his face. "If I have no blood child, then that's how it was meant to be."

He didn't mean that. I knew from overhearing his regrets about being childless on more than one occasion. He placed his scroll carefully aside and stood to come closer, the breeze now catching his beard. His tunic had that cloying frankincense smell that never seemed to wash away.

"What do you mean you've taken measures?"

"I started to look away, but forced my gaze to remain fixed on his. Levy could spot weakness, and I couldn't afford to offer him that advantage. "I spoke with Alma—"

"The sorceress? You know how I feel about that, yet you did this?"

"After twenty years, I’d hoped you might trust my judgment," My tone was sharper than intended. “This wasn’t a decision I made lightly.” My defensiveness was unwarranted; this wasn’t the moment for it. I took a breath and softened my approach. “Levy, I understand your reservations about sorcery, but Alma can help me in a way no one else can.”

"Yet you disregard that I have forsworn sorcery," Levy said. "Trickery that's not of good. Because of it, Abi--"

"What happened to mother was an unfortunate error. Let it rest, Levy." His expression tightened at the mention of my foster mother; it still lingered in his mind. Now came the part I dreaded most. I hesitated, dropping my voice just slightly, “But I had to supply her with a few things...”

Levy stared without a blink, his lips taut. He was waiting for me to continue.

"Samples of your flesh--blood, spittle, nail clippings..." That manipulative lie felt heavy on my tongue, though obtaining the samples would have been easy since Levy slept so deeply. Alma did require those things, but to pilfer them would have been a betrayal, beyond disloyal.

But the lie was necessary. Knowing Levy, he'd demand his (imaginary) samples back and insist on their return directly from Alma—a guaranteed trip to her dwelling. It was my only way to get him there; once face-to-face, he might be swayed by her explanation and consider the procedure to make me his son. He was rigid in his ways, but not entirely unreasonable.

Sorcery wasn't as strictly procedural as Levy remembered. I hoped Alma could bridge that gap for him, explaining today's safer, less convoluted methods. My plan was to confess I hadn't taken any of his samples once we were both in Alma's presence. I figured relief at being spared such a violation would outweigh his anger, allowing him to forgive me.

"The samples were needed, but things aren't the same as you remember," I said, knowing the argument, though true, was weak.

Levy stiffened before stepping over to the railing, most likely to avoid an outburst. He always tempered himself by turning away when emotions threatened to overtake him. "How could you do this knowing my feelings, Jacob? It's shaming to say that your wishes have crossed the boundary of respect. How could you stoop to something so contemptuous?" His words were forced civility as he looked out over the village instead of at me.

I'd hurt him. I understood. If my lie were real, it would be unforgivable. I almost wanted to tell him the truth, but bit it back. I had to push forward, even with risk. Becoming his son was something I wanted more than any tangible thing could ever provide...even if my plan wasn't perfect. An inner part of me would never be settled if I didn't try.

"As I told you, I considered this decision for some time," and those words held truth--over a year. Stepping closer to Levy, I said, "You're a good man, and your bloodline should continue. Honestly, sometimes I feel like a parody, knowing I'm not truly your son by blood, despite how much you love me like one. It physically aches to not be fully connected that way. Alma could make this right, tie us together through true ancestry."

Levy kept his face stolid. "I am pleased only by the sentiment. But no amount of desperation should allow you to reach the point of personal violation. The Jacob I thought I knew had a conscience."

It was a direct accusation, aimed to wound and make me defensive. It stung, because it carried truth--the lie I'd spun was a violation in its own way. Yet, I had to press it. For a second time, I almost confessed. Almost.

He sidestepped to place more distance between us. "Alma, she will perform this act freely?" He was expecting a catch. Something he could use against having the procedure done.

"No, she wants a favor, but out of deference for you, she wouldn't tell me or go any further until she spoke with you and received your personal approval. That alone should speak for her character." That was true. Alma wouldn't have accepted Levy's samplings, even if I had offered them, not without his explicit permission.

"Then let us bargain." Levy said. "I will speak with her, but I want every detail of the procedure and what she asks as payment. If what she says seems reasonable, I will consider consenting, and I will take my own time. If I hear anything that I don't care for--one thing--I will refuse, and this subject will never come up again. Will you agree?"

Of course I agreed! But I knew his heart was set against the idea. My agreeing to his bargain was a necessary part of his plan. Still, it was the first step--getting him to Alma's doorstep and into a position where he had to hear her out. "Then let us go now?”

 

[Orcadian]

This does feel like an emotional scene to me. Levy is angry and son Jacob is intimidated but firm. That comes through well. But at the same time I see nothing that reveals the love we assume is between these two men. Clearly Levy feels violated - and who can blame him. Jacob wants to give what he sees as a gift but it's something Levy doesn't want or need. The 'gift' therefore comes from selfishness, not love. Does levy love his son? We do not know. He is not in the right space to show his son - or us. Caveat: these remarks probably stem from the fact that this is just a fragment, so I apologise for what may seem quite critical.

 

[yorelm]

This does feel like an emotional scene to me. Levy is angry and son Jacob is intimidated but firm. That comes through well. But at the same time I see nothing that reveals the love we assume is between these two men. Clearly Levy feels violated - and who can blame him. Jacob wants to give what he sees as a gift but it's something Levy doesn't want or need. The 'gift' therefore comes from selfishness, not love. Does levy love his son? We do not know. He is not in the right space to show his son - or us. Caveat: these remarks probably stem from the fact that this is just a fragment, so I apologise for what may seem quite critical.

Jacob does mention that he knows Levy loves him. As far as Levy, it's not so much that he doesn't love his foster son as he hates (well, mistrusts) sorcery. It's not here, but sorcery killed his wife (Abi). And he doesn't want to take that same risk with Jacob.
Jacob, at the moment, is indeed being very selfish, though with good intentions. But Levy later warms to the idea--after quite an ordeal.
Thanks Orcadian.

 

[Orcadian]

Jacob does mention that he knows Levy loves him. As far as Levy, it's not so much that he doesn't love his foster son as he hates (well, mistrusts) sorcery. It's not here, but sorcery killed his wife (Abi). And he doesn't want to take that same risk with Jacob.
Jacob, at the moment, is indeed being very selfish, though with good intentions. But Levy later warms to the idea--after quite an ordeal.
Thanks Orcadian.

It sounds intriguing! Glad to know that love is behind Levy's distrust and outrage. Actually I too would be very frightened of sorcery, which feels to me like the normal rules of physics, biology etc don't apply and anything is possible. Terrifying.

 

[yorelm]

It sounds intriguing! Glad to know that love is behind Levy's distrust and outrage. Actually I too would be very frightened of sorcery, which feels to me like the normal rules of physics, biology etc don't apply and anything is possible. Terrifying.

Well, that's sort of the definition of fantasy, though, if I were clever enough, I could translate it into futuristic SF. Don't give me any ideas!

 

[Danny McG]

Can't help you I'm afraid, us Cumbrian males don't ever do emotion.

 

[yorelm]

Can't help you I'm afraid, us Cumbrian males don't ever do emotion.

Not even in fiction? How would that work?

 

[Toby Frost]

There's a line somewhere in one of the Space Captain Smith books (by me, all good bookshops, etc) to the effect that "Smith could do both emotions expected of a British spaceship captain: angry and contented".

I think it's very hard to answer this. Men of different countries, ages and social groups do emotion very differently: a lot of "emoting" in American films looks cheesy from a British point of view - or rather a stereotypical point of view. And on top of that it's a fantasy novel, where people often look medieval* and talk like Victorians, where you'd expect an extra level of stiffness and "be a man, my son" stuff.

Does it work for me? It feels a little flat at two points that I'd expect to be very tender for Levy: the fact that Jacob doesn't see himself as Levy's son, despite being raised as such, and the use of magic to do it. While he might well not fly into a rage or do "big emoting", I'd expect him to wince a bit more there or feel more betrayed. The fact that Jacob doesn't see himself as Levy's son feels significant in itself, as a lot of normal people might say that he was, except for a technicality. To me, it feels like an odd attitude towards being adopted.

* The names sound Biblical, but for some reason I imagined them as two noblemen from a kung fu film.

 

[yorelm]

There's a line somewhere in one of the Space Captain Smith books (by me, all good bookshops, etc) to the effect that "Smith could do both emotions expected of a British spaceship captain: angry and contented".

I think it's very hard to answer this. Men of different countries, ages and social groups do emotion very differently: a lot of "emoting" in American films looks cheesy from a British point of view - or rather a stereotypical point of view. And on top of that it's a fantasy novel, where people often look medieval* and talk like Victorians, where you'd expect an extra level of stiffness and "be a man, my son" stuff.

Does it work for me? It feels a little flat at two points that I'd expect to be very tender for Levy: the fact that Jacob doesn't see himself as Levy's son, despite being raised as such, and the use of magic to do it. While he might well not fly into a rage or do "big emoting", I'd expect him to wince a bit more there or feel more betrayed. The fact that Jacob doesn't see himself as Levy's son feels significant in itself, as a lot of normal people might say that he was, except for a technicality. To me, it feels like an odd attitude towards being adopted.

* The names sound Biblical, but for some reason I imagined them as two noblemen from a kung fu film.

"Smith could do both emotions expected of a British spaceship captain: angry and contented". Great line.

"While he might well not fly into a rage or do "big emoting", I'd expect him to wince a bit more there or feel more betrayed."
Things like that are what I meant by, 'I'm not sure if I went too far or not far enough.' Thanks for noting that. I just don't want to cross over into melodrama, so I err on the 'not enough' side of caution, esp when it comes to men. I'll try to make that stronger.

I thought I stressed Jacob's reasoning: his high admiration, the desire to carry on Levy's lineage as it would be shame his bloodline ended with him...but I'm guessing that didn't come through strong enough?

This comes about two paragraphs away from what I posted to not get in the way of the flow of their dialog:

It was the years I’d spent watching him, seeing the quiet strength in his dedication to his work, the patient kindness he reserved for me even when frustrated, the way he aligned his sharp intellect with genuine empathy. Those were the things that made him Levy, not just some archetype of a father figure. To exist around him without being truly acknowledged as part of that--it felt hollow, incomplete.

Do you think that helps strengthen Jacob's case?

Though this story is in no way religious, it does take place in biblical times. Besides the names, I tried to throw hints like "rooftop railing," "ghutra," "village," "awning and padded mat," etc. "Tunics" and "clay homes" are also mention a few lines away.

I'm afraid the "Kung Fu nobleman" tone is on purpose, so no plans to change that. I want the slight formality in this particular tale. If you've seen any of my other writing, I'm usually a lot more casual. Didn't want that here.

Thanks for taking the time.

 

[Bill D]

An emotional scene where a female is involved is rarely a problem for me, but when it's all male (foster father and son here) I find it a slightly more difficult to get just right. So I'm wonder if I'm touching on the right balance of too much/not enough with this opening scene. Also, since I didn't use any explicit description, can you infer the time period?

Levy sat cross-legged on a padded mat beneath the awning I'd built for him, absorbed in his work. A warm wind ruffled the fabric of his ghutra and stirred strands of his grey hair, while his quill scribbled across weathered parchments. For a moment, I simply watched him, taking in his dedication, his intensity. I saw a reflection of the man I aspired to be.

He had to know now. Hesitating any longer wasn't an option. I turned from the roof railing to approach him. "Levy," I said it lightly so as not to disrupt his focus. "You need to know my mind is firm for what I'm about to tell you..." I edged a step closer. "And...I'm not sure you'll approve."

He continued writing for a moment before finally lifting his gaze, but said nothing. Instead, his lips thinned to an irritated frown. To him, interruptions were like dagger pokes.

Gathering my courage, I blurted, "I've taken measures to become your real blood son," then bared myself for the consequence.

His eyes darted, uncertain of my sincerity. "One of your trivial jokes, Jacob?" he countered. "I don't have time for this. You became my son when I took you in. That's good enough for me, and should be good enough for you."

"I wouldn't say that's the same," I pressed. "Your bloodline ends with you. Don't you want a son to insure your lineage? I want to to make that possible."

A spark of something unreadable crossed his face. "If I have no blood child, then that's how it was meant to be."

He didn't mean that. I knew from overhearing his regrets about being childless on more than one occasion. He placed his scroll carefully aside and stood to come closer, the breeze now catching his beard. His tunic had that cloying frankincense smell that never seemed to wash away.

"What do you mean you've taken measures?"

"I started to look away, but forced my gaze to remain fixed on his. Levy could spot weakness, and I couldn't afford to offer him that advantage. "I spoke with Alma—"

"The sorceress? You know how I feel about that, yet you did this?"

"After twenty years, I’d hoped you might trust my judgment," My tone was sharper than intended. “This wasn’t a decision I made lightly.” My defensiveness was unwarranted; this wasn’t the moment for it. I took a breath and softened my approach. “Levy, I understand your reservations about sorcery, but Alma can help me in a way no one else can.”

"Yet you disregard that I have forsworn sorcery," Levy said. "Trickery that's not of good. Because of it, Abi--"

"What happened to mother was an unfortunate error. Let it rest, Levy." His expression tightened at the mention of my foster mother; it still lingered in his mind. Now came the part I dreaded most. I hesitated, dropping my voice just slightly, “But I had to supply her with a few things...”

Levy stared without a blink, his lips taut. He was waiting for me to continue.

"Samples of your flesh--blood, spittle, nail clippings..." That manipulative lie felt heavy on my tongue, though obtaining the samples would have been easy since Levy slept so deeply. Alma did require those things, but to pilfer them would have been a betrayal, beyond disloyal.

But the lie was necessary. Knowing Levy, he'd demand his (imaginary) samples back and insist on their return directly from Alma—a guaranteed trip to her dwelling. It was my only way to get him there; once face-to-face, he might be swayed by her explanation and consider the procedure to make me his son. He was rigid in his ways, but not entirely unreasonable.

Sorcery wasn't as strictly procedural as Levy remembered. I hoped Alma could bridge that gap for him, explaining today's safer, less convoluted methods. My plan was to confess I hadn't taken any of his samples once we were both in Alma's presence. I figured relief at being spared such a violation would outweigh his anger, allowing him to forgive me.

"The samples were needed, but things aren't the same as you remember," I said, knowing the argument, though true, was weak.

Levy stiffened before stepping over to the railing, most likely to avoid an outburst. He always tempered himself by turning away when emotions threatened to overtake him. "How could you do this knowing my feelings, Jacob? It's shaming to say that your wishes have crossed the boundary of respect. How could you stoop to something so contemptuous?" His words were forced civility as he looked out over the village instead of at me.

I'd hurt him. I understood. If my lie were real, it would be unforgivable. I almost wanted to tell him the truth, but bit it back. I had to push forward, even with risk. Becoming his son was something I wanted more than any tangible thing could ever provide...even if my plan wasn't perfect. An inner part of me would never be settled if I didn't try.

"As I told you, I considered this decision for some time," and those words held truth--over a year. Stepping closer to Levy, I said, "You're a good man, and your bloodline should continue. Honestly, sometimes I feel like a parody, knowing I'm not truly your son by blood, despite how much you love me like one. It physically aches to not be fully connected that way. Alma could make this right, tie us together through true ancestry."

Levy kept his face stolid. "I am pleased only by the sentiment. But no amount of desperation should allow you to reach the point of personal violation. The Jacob I thought I knew had a conscience."

It was a direct accusation, aimed to wound and make me defensive. It stung, because it carried truth--the lie I'd spun was a violation in its own way. Yet, I had to press it. For a second time, I almost confessed. Almost.

He sidestepped to place more distance between us. "Alma, she will perform this act freely?" He was expecting a catch. Something he could use against having the procedure done.

"No, she wants a favor, but out of deference for you, she wouldn't tell me or go any further until she spoke with you and received your personal approval. That alone should speak for her character." That was true. Alma wouldn't have accepted Levy's samplings, even if I had offered them, not without his explicit permission.

"Then let us bargain." Levy said. "I will speak with her, but I want every detail of the procedure and what she asks as payment. If what she says seems reasonable, I will consider consenting, and I will take my own time. If I hear anything that I don't care for--one thing--I will refuse, and this subject will never come up again. Will you agree?"

Of course I agreed! But I knew his heart was set against the idea. My agreeing to his bargain was a necessary part of his plan. Still, it was the first step--getting him to Alma's doorstep and into a position where he had to hear her out. "Then let us go now?”

Yorelm, good writing. As the parent of adopted children, I would like more detail as to the lack of connection Jacob feels to Levy. Clearly he is drawn to him enough that he wants to take further steps. This is important in as much as it is the root of the conflict between the two characters. In my family, the biological parents of my children are a presence, dim and fading with the years, but constant. Honoring them has been important. What is Jacob's relationship to his parents of origin? What will Jacob gain by this adventure into sorcery? The proposal to, "become your real blood son," is unclear. How is that going to differ, if only in Jacob's mind, from their present relationship? Certainly, it is a novel idea and rich with possibility. Congratulations on conceiving it.

 

[yorelm]

Hey Bill, and thanks for dropping by.

Between this:
For a moment, I simply watched him, taking in his dedication, his intensity. I saw a reflection of the man I aspired to be.
These:
*"Your bloodline ends with you. Don't you want a son to insure your lineage? I want to to make that possible."
*Becoming his son was something I wanted more than any tangible thing could ever provide...even if my plan wasn't perfect. An inner part of me would never be settled if I didn't try.
And this:
It was the years I’d spent watching him, seeing the quiet strength in his dedication to his work, the patient kindness he reserved for me even when frustrated, the way he aligned his sharp intellect with genuine empathy. Those were the things that made him Levy, not just some archetype of a father figure. To exist around him without being truly acknowledged as part of that--it felt hollow, incomplete.

Those are still not strong or 'convincing' enough? (This is an honest question.)
Can you give me an example of what you feel would make Jacob's argument stronger? I'm genuinely at a loss of what more I could say wo going overboard or bogging down the intro.

Now, of course, there are several parts once the story goes on where Jacob's admiration is shown in action. Might that help, or would it come too late?
Also, please keep in mind that the genre is more weird fantasy, than a deep drama. I'm just trying to set everything up with the posted opening. There's some pretty unworldly things happening later on--starting about a page away, after meeting Alma.

 

[Bill D]

Hey Bill, and thanks for dropping by.

Between this:
For a moment, I simply watched him, taking in his dedication, his intensity. I saw a reflection of the man I aspired to be.
These:
*"Your bloodline ends with you. Don't you want a son to insure your lineage? I want to to make that possible."
*Becoming his son was something I wanted more than any tangible thing could ever provide...even if my plan wasn't perfect. An inner part of me would never be settled if I didn't try.
And this:
It was the years I’d spent watching him, seeing the quiet strength in his dedication to his work, the patient kindness he reserved for me even when frustrated, the way he aligned his sharp intellect with genuine empathy. Those were the things that made him Levy, not just some archetype of a father figure. To exist around him without being truly acknowledged as part of that--it felt hollow, incomplete.

Those are still not strong or 'convincing' enough? (This is an honest question.)
Can you give me an example of what you feel would make Jacob's argument stronger? I'm genuinely at a loss of what more I could say wo going overboard or bogging down the intro.

Now, of course, there are several parts once the story goes on where Jacob's admiration is shown in action. Might that help, or would it come too late?
Also, please keep in mind that the genre is more weird fantasy, than a deep drama. I'm just trying to set everything up with the posted opening. There's some pretty unworldly things happening later on--starting about a page away, after meeting Alma.

Yorelm,
Your excerpts seem to cover the ground you intend for them. You write smoothly, but, of course, everything you eventually intend could not be included in your brief posting. I have a bias of my own: as I said, my children are adopted, and the differences they exhibit from me I have learned to cherish, rather than regret. In fact, what child is not different from his parent? Given the option to wizard one of them into my biological image, I'd resist it. I have sometimes wished to see the blending of my own and my wife's features growing into maturity. That's not an unattractive fantasy. And I guess there is nothing wrong with you leaning on that point of view. *Becoming his son was something I wanted more than any tangible thing could ever provide...even if my plan wasn't perfect. An inner part of me would never be settled if I didn't try." I suppose I would like to learn somewhere down the line the manner in which that foster relationship has failed to fulfill Jacob. My personal view of life is that "some inner part of me" will never be settled, and that's the human condition. I think you can safely ignore me and my personal philosophy. I am simply offering reactions, as genuine as I can make them, that your writing has stimulated. I will go so far as to say your writing is stimulating.

 

[yorelm]

Now I understand better what you were saying. Though I try to write any genre as authentically as I can (by that I mean good char interactions and reactions), this story is rather light and full of nontraditional magic. From understanding what you just explained, I could delve deeper if it was a more serious tale, but I'm going for a more "fun" read for the imagination. Jacob's desire is the means to get it going.

To hear someone say "your writing is stimulating" is more meaningful than you could imagine. I think I worked pretty damn hard for it though, writing and rewriting until I felt somewhat satisfied. The hardest part was learning to discipline myself. If I could get over that hump (meaning, I'm NOT a naturally disciplined person), pretty much anybody can.
Thank you, Bill.

 

[Toby Frost]

On the subject of male characters showing emotion, I'm currently writing a story that involves a gruff criminal regretting his life. It's quite difficult to know how much outright regret to put into the story, and how much will be worked out by him just being generally glum. Knowing how much is enough or too much is really tricky.

 

[yorelm]

On the subject of male characters showing emotion, I'm currently writing a story that involves a gruff criminal regretting his life. It's quite difficult to know how much outright regret to put into the story, and how much will be worked out by him just being generally glum. Knowing how much is enough or too much is really tricky.

I think in your case, the opposite might work. That is, showing how his life has changed in a positive way to contrast the regret of his past (if that is indeed the outcome).
At any rate, I don't think either of us would go as far as Dickens' "Little Nell's death scene." Whew boy! with that one.

 

[Toby Frost]

'One must have a heart of stone to read the death of little Nell without laughing.' Oscar Wilde!