Insanity, and other pleasant hobbies

[jinn]

This is not for a book.

I tell myself that to keep from getting uptight. No one feel obliged to comment on this either (though comments are certainly most welcome). I say this partly because I myself am a terrible critiquer (I can't even spell it), and partly because...some reason I have yet to determine.
Anyway.
A thread for writing exercises, or to post whatever drivel I want to congratulate myself on today ("878 words...give or take! Hah!"). Who knows, some of it may work its way into the actual books.

[jinn]

[Urban fantasy, voice exercise.
Let me know if this is too morbid; I'm sure someone will. This character has a horrible life and this is just a glimpse of it, long before her redemption.]

I had no intention of staying.
This was made point-blank clear from the start. I was not an honest military-minded cadet from an upstanding or fervent Salaise heritage. Forget what the admission papers claimed. Valerie Copping was a lie, in every sense of the word. I was not there to be his friend. I was not going to spend any time in his room, and I was not going to kiss him, ever.
I was a liar.
The problem with lies is not that they catch up to you. It's that some lies don't. I never told him why I was at the academy. I never told him who sent me. At the time I believed he would die if I did.
I really should have told him. So what if he died? He was already going insane.
Nathaniel got into a lot of fights. I watched one of them when I thought he couldn't see me, hunkered behind a tangled blue-green fringe of forget-me-nots. Sunset was a warm orange haze that barely lit the south yard, and no one was standing in it anymore except for him. The yard was littered with enough shrubbery to qualify as a garden. There were thin silvery trees around a pond in the center, but the academy called it a yard anyway. Humans don't need to make sense. They make babies to feed their wars and cause dramatic violence; they don't have time for sense. Granted, Nathaniel's brand of violence did make sense, if you knew what kind of pain he was in at all times. I wouldn't know it until later.
Our first meeting went thus:
Nathaniel, toeing an inert body on the bloody gravel walk, smelled me watching him. It was uncanny. I had already rubbed the cigarette out, crushing the lit end deep into damp grassroots, but eventually exhaling became mandatory. I breathed a thread of cigarette smoke into the atmosphere, and not a second later he raised his head and looked right at me. I was sitting about twenty feet away, and the air was still.
"Smoke." He coughed to prove his point.
People keep telling me that smoking will kill me one day. It never does, but on that day I'm sure it came close.
I sighed and relit the cigarette before acquiescing to stand leaning against the brick wall edging the 'yard.' "I got an extra. Unless you had death in mind for me. Then you get them all I guess."
"What are you?" He was asking about my species, since I clearly wasn't human. Or else I was a human who could change their shape, but even the gifted humans whose mysterious abilities constantly stretched the imagination weren't that gifted. Not that they knew it.
"Screwed, I guess." It was no use camouflaging with the bricks when he could obviously see my outline. I changed shape into a convincing military-type male with mud-brown hair and equally dull, bulldogish eyes. Appearing male is almost always safer than appearing female.
"You saw, didn't you?"
"I've seen worse, I think. Yeah. Seen worse." The cigarette idled at my side between thumb and forefinger, bleeding tantalizing relief upward. I lifted it to my lips, unable to resist any longer.
"Are you going to tell?"
I shrugged. "Are you going to leave the bodies there? Because I wouldn't have to if you did."
"I was just defending myself..." Black hair feathered over his forehead when he looked down at the aftermath of his altercation: Three dead cadets, worse for wear, leaking the red remains of their lives into the gravel walk. From what I'd seen, he was telling the truth. Salaise teaches her children to be Stronger, Smarter, Dominators. They take every opportunity to exhibit. This particular trio had unfortunately chosen to pick on Stronger, Angrier, Deadlier, and were dead themselves within a few minutes. Maybe I should've helped someone, but it was over before I could pick a side.
"Everyone should be so lucky." I breathed deep of the spicy smoke again before jerking my head toward the pond. "Wash off before someone comes."

[end for now]

[metalikhan]

A writer weighs comments and judges the value of them against his or her own vision of the story. After all, it's your story, not mine.

What I do is leave your writing intact but space out the locations for comments. I also italicize my comments so it's easier to differentiate between what each of us writes.

*******

[Urban fantasy, voice exercise.
Let me know if this is too morbid; I'm sure someone will. This character has a horrible life and this is just a glimpse of it, long before her redemption.]

I doubt anyone would think this is too morbid. If you read some of the anomalous readings, you'll find several do not shy away from showing the evil or violent depths of their heroes or villains. If we can't show some of where characters came from, their redemption seems less dramatic. A character redeemed from a life of bubblegum theft has less impact than one redeemed from a life of hate or murder (although the first might make a fun comedy). God sees the thief and the murderer as equally sinful; but in many peoples' minds, there are degrees of "badness" that biases their perception of how high the stakes are in a story.

I had no intention of staying.

I like this opening line. Very clean.

This was made point-blank clear from the start. I was not an honest military-minded cadet from an upstanding or fervent Salaise heritage.

Comma after honest.

Forget what the admission papers claimed. Valerie Copping was a lie, in every sense of the word.

Actually, you don't need the comma after "lie" here since the following clause modifies "lie" (more than "was"). It's one of those usage points that have fallen into the optional category, but modern usage tends to leave it out because it's considered archaic.

I was not there to be his friend. I was not going to spend any time in his room, and I was not going to kiss him, ever.
I was a liar.
The problem with lies is not that they catch up to you. It's that some lies don't. I never told him why I was at the academy. I never told him who sent me. At the time I believed he would die if I did.

"At the time I believed he would die if I did."
You need a comma after "At the time" — this is an adverb phase modifying "believed" rather than "I".

I really should have told him. So what if he died? He was already going insane.
Nathaniel got into a lot of fights. I watched one of them when I thought he couldn't
see me, hunkered behind a tangled blue-green fringe of forget-me-nots.

The forget-me-nots gave me pause. I know herbs better than flowers, but I think of forget-me-nots as a clumping plant no taller than my mid-calf. It made me think that "Valerie" was very tiny if she was able to hunker behind the flowers.

Some suggestions: If your story is set on Earth, you might consider a different plant, maybe something vining (like clematis or trumpet vine) on a trellis or maybe a flowering shrub (like mock orange). If the "when" of your story allows, you could also retain the forget-me-nots but maybe add a modifier such as "...behind a tangled blue-green fringe of genetically altered (or enlarged) forget-me-nots." This would also give the reader an additional clue about the kind of Earth setting the story is in.

If your story is on another planet, you can make up a plant name (otherworld botany can be fun). If you want to retain the image of the tiny blue myosotis flowers in this yard, you can use the forget-me-nots but include that it’s a species native to Planet123: "...behind a tangled blue-green fringe of forget-me-nots native to ___." This would also help locate your setting as somewhere other than Earth or, conversely, lead to further information about an Earth in a time when interplanetary commerce and travel is common enough to import plants from other worlds.

Sunset was a warm orange haze that barely lit the south yard, and no one was standing in it anymore except for him. The yard was littered with enough shrubbery to qualify as a garden.

The yard was littered with enough shrubbery to qualify as a garden.

If your writing program has this option, you might set it to alert you for passive sentences. You don't necessarily need to change each one that it flags; but very often, your sentence structure will have greater impact if you can change it from passive to active.

An example with this sentence: Enough shrubbery littered the yard to qualify it as a garden.

There were thin silvery trees around a pond in the center, but the academy called it a yard anyway. Humans don't need to make sense. They make babies to feed their wars and cause dramatic violence; they don't have time for sense. Granted, Nathaniel's brand of violence did make sense, if you knew what kind of pain he was in at all times. I wouldn't know it until later.
Our first meeting went thus:

I wouldn't know it until later.
Our first meeting went thus:

I think most first person writing has the feel of a journal; and I personally don't have a problem with the flashbacks and tense changes that often happen in them as long as there is consistency with how they're handled. A couple of novels I read recently (Brother Odd and Odd Hours by Dean Koontz) not only had flashbacks and tense changes; they also occasionally addressed the reader directly, almost conversationally.

The two lines here send up the flags that we are reading flashback. (Your opening paragraphs do, too, BTW; but in this particular part, it is much more blatant.) Although I think at this point you don't need to change that, you might keep in mind to be watchful about how you use it, especially when you get to that second (or third) draft phase when you're working to get your story ready for submission to a publisher.

Nathaniel, toeing an inert body on the bloody gravel walk, smelled me watching him. It was uncanny. I had already rubbed the cigarette out, crushing the lit end deep into damp grassroots, but eventually exhaling became mandatory. I breathed a thread of cigarette smoke into the atmosphere, and not a second later he raised his head and looked right at me. I was sitting about twenty feet away, and the air was still.
"Smoke." He coughed to prove his point.
People keep telling me that smoking will kill me one day. It never does, but on that day I'm sure it came close.
I sighed and relit the cigarette before acquiescing to stand leaning against the brick wall edging the 'yard.'

the 'yard.'

I would recommend dropping the ' ' since you didn't set it off in the earlier paragraph about the setting.

"I got an extra. Unless you had death in mind for me. Then you get them all I guess."

Unless you had death in mind for me.

You might change "had" (past tense) to "have" (present tense). Just my opinion, but "have" makes the uncertainty and immediacy in this conversational statement stronger.

"What are you?" He was asking about my species, since I clearly wasn't human.
Or else I was a human who could change their shape, but even the gifted humans whose mysterious abilities constantly stretched the imagination weren't that gifted. Not that they knew it.

Or else I was a human who could change their shape, but even the gifted humans whose mysterious abilities constantly stretched the imagination weren't that gifted

You've got a disagreement of numbers in the first part of the sentence — an easy fix. Just drop "their" so it reads " ...I was a human who could change shape..."

"Screwed, I guess."

You might weigh this one in with the other Anomaly folks. It's one of those words in common enough usage that we don't always remember it's a vulgarity. I personally think it's in character for "Valerie". However, should you seek publication for your story later, it might be a good idea to have some alternates in mind if vulgarity is a sticking point with an editor.

It was no use camouflaging with the bricks when he could obviously see my outline. I changed shape into a convincing military-type male with mud-brown hair and equally dull, bulldogish eyes. Appearing male is almost always safer than appearing female.

Two g's in "bulldoggish".

Not a problem, just a comment. Ever since I was a kid, I've thought the idea of shapeshifting was fascinating; but I also have a practical streak that made me wonder what happens to shapeshifters' clothes. Laugh if you wish, but that used to worry me. Did the clothes fit differently when shapeshifters went from one gender to another? Did they have to carry around extra clothes to go with the appearances they change into? Or how about the shapeshifters who can bounce between human and critter forms? Do the clothes just fall off or shred (like in the best werewolf movies)? Do they have to hunt something to wear when they return to human form? Can they make their skins take on the appearance of clothing?

Makes my t-shirt of the day decision pretty trivial!

"You saw, didn't you?"
"I've seen worse, I think. Yeah. Seen worse." The cigarette idled at my side between thumb and forefinger, bleeding tantalizing relief upward. I lifted it to my lips, unable to resist any longer.
"Are you going to tell?"
I shrugged. "Are you going to leave the bodies there? Because I wouldn't have to if you did."
"I was just defending myself..." Black hair feathered over his forehead when he looked down at the aftermath of his altercation: Three dead cadets, worse for wear, leaking the red remains of their lives into the gravel walk.

Again, not a problem, just a comment. A long time ago, I used to watch westerns. (Dad had control of the TV so westerns were what we watched.) I remember one — Laramie, I think — that had a shootout; and as one of the guest characters lay dying, he said, "I feel the life leakin' out of my body." That one line cracked me up, even back then. It still does. It turned a dramatic moment into a parody. I always think of that when I read about a leaky character or corpse.

I guess this is an example of something discussed on one of the Anomaly threads — you can't know or control what experiences, knowledge, and quirks a reader brings into the equation.

From what I'd seen, he was telling the truth. Salaise teaches her children to be Stronger, Smarter, Dominators. They take every opportunity to exhibit. This particular trio had unfortunately chosen to pick on Stronger, Angrier, Deadlier, and were dead themselves within a few minutes. Maybe I should've helped someone, but it was over before I could pick a side.
"Everyone should be so lucky." I breathed deep of the spicy smoke again before jerking my head toward the pond. "Wash off before someone comes."

That's all for now other than to say I like what you've done so far. Your characters are intense, intriguing. Write on!

[jinn]

The setting is earth, in an alternate future. I'm not sure exactly how alternate yet. Some history is the same, some turned out different due to events, etc. If they've gotten into space travel, the story probably won't go there. However, it goes just about everywhere else.

Most of what you pointed out, the flowers and clothes in particular, are things I'm mulling over myself. I need to change the flowers; forget-me-nots came first to mind in the heat of writing because of the story's theme, but I think the placement is wrong. Some sort of tangled flowers are necessary but I need to do some research to find a fitting type with fitting height and density.

How Val changes shape is an interesting question. Still working on it, but I'm fairly certain her clothes are her own skin unless she has to for some reason put clothes on. She changes shape a lot, especially later on. For a while she's stuck in the shape of a cat, which is amusing.

This character (and others in the story) live intense, gritty lives. Their language would reflect that. They weren't brought up well. I'm exploring ways of expressing foul language without peppering it across the pages, perhaps by inventing ones that reflect the different cultures or something. Finding the balance between honest showing and more modest insinuation is going to be tricky, but the story is what it is. I spend a lot of time praying that God will lead me to the right publisher/editor when it comes to that.

The layered flashbacks were intentional. Still playing around with how to tell this story, and there is a LOT of back-story for every character. My main problem is how to get all the information in without gumming up the scenes. I'd be interested in your take on the finished scene, which I'll get up sometime soon. This little exercise was to take a break from my primary WIP, which is giving me fits. Breaks from the WIP are short though, until it's finished.

I am so glad you like it. This was a real stretch of voice for me and I froze inside after I posted it, thinking no one would like it (blah blah blah, writer anxiety). If you're at all intrigued, I think I've done something right.

Thank you for the critique! It's one of the best I've ever received.

[metalikhan]

Sometimes when there is a LOT of back-story, you have to ask if the place where you began your story is the right one or if your story would work better if it begins at an earlier point in time. If this is true for more than one character, you might also consider using some less traditional structure for your story, for example linked novellas leading up to and/or weaving around your main story. Another possibility could be an anthology of short stories that covers those background stories, like a companion volume to your novel or an appendix following the main story. That way, the information is presented but separate from the main story so that it doesn't get bogged down with the histories of the characters. Separating these back-stories also may help you discern what information about your character(s) is truly necessary for the main story.

I read one novel divided into several novella-length parts in which every other part was set 25 or so years before the present day part. The novel began and ended in the present. In essence, the back-story was not only a sub-story (capable of standing on its own) but also served as a pacing mechanism, each part usually picking up right at a real nail-biter of a cliffhanger.

As for foul language, Jeff's Tips (#55 & 56) deal with managing profanity very well. In fact, all of his Tips (compiled in his new book The Art & Craft of Writing Christian Fiction) are well worth studying. What he wrote is not only applicable to Christian fiction; much can be applied to any fiction writing, short stories as well as novels. Nuts and bolts stuff you can really put to use.

If you are a writer called to edify fellow followers of Christ, your writing may be somewhat different than if you are writing to reach out to the lost; but regardless of which audience you write for, your primary audience is God. Remember to pray for His guidance in how He wants you to handle the stories He gives you. If it is in His will to bring those stories before a wider audience, He will provide you with the publisher/editor able to fulfill what He wants your stories to accomplish. Until that time, write to the best of your ability and seek to improve and polish your craftsmanship. Trust Him to do the rest.

[jinn]

[random character journal entry, story unrelated to the above.]

Aenti, of the House EirNin
Makyla city, Echoma

I'm beginning to understand. Everyone is bound to some agreement, and every agreement leads to one of two opposing laws. The laws do not make themselves. They are made.
There is one outside of all laws. The Mind. A Presence.
We, none of us, have enough time. We are all dying. My desperation for something I do not see--a cure, salvation--drives me forward.
I would not Dream if dreaming meant nothing. After all, not everyone Dreams.
I would not care about sickness if I were not meant to be cured.
I would not see him if he is not there.
In my Dream he is far away, across distant waters that mirror blue-pink smears beneath a bowl of stars. The Presence stands across an uncrossable chasm. Self-Sustained, Self-Existent: Elaa.
We are all given life. Life is continued by our choice, but we cannot create ourselves. I want to ask The Presence what it is like to need nothing. Then I wonder, if he needs nothing, why create at all?
Does The Mind need a reason?
If we are hopeless, cursed and incurable as the Dnae say, why do we dream of a cure?
Why do I see the Dreamers, those standing in the Dreams, those who (I am sure) also dream of the cure? One of the Dreamers is Korah. I see him in the waking world every night, walking the streets and skulking in the underground. Korah, the great skopi leader, who came closer to realizing his Dream than any of us. There is Jhinne, the thief. Gwyn, the murderer. Anithe...I hardly see him anymore. The traitor is a body framed in darkness.
And then, me. I am there, in the Dream. I am speaking to myself.
I have passed them all as I work among them. I smile as I serve them their food, so close to speaking.
"Esobir. Dream Bearers. We are the same."
The words lie dormant on my tongue.
I have seen the ones before us, who have spoken. I have seen how they died. To be eaten alive by the Yokara, the Unknown Body, is a rampant fear among us all. The Presence did not save those who Dreamed before us. He speaks across the Mirror Waters, but we do not hear, and he does not save.
Even still, what obligation has one above laws to those under them? Perhaps we are alone. Perhaps only silence will save us now.