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Post by waldenwriter on Oct 13, 2009 1:38:56 GMT -5
I finally started writing my novel Darkly Bound today, and I got the first chapter written! Granted, it's not a very long chapter (820 words), but it's something. Here it is, pretty much as I wrote it (with a few corrections from the handwritten original). Please critique. Chapter 1“Stop right there!”
The girl turned around, her jet black hair draping over one mechanized shoulder.
“Sorry, officer, I’ve got some place to be.”
“We’ve hunted you for too long, Nightshade. This time you will not escape.”
Several officers appeared behind the first.
“Then prepare yourself for a fight.”
Nightshade drew her signature Eirian silver blaster.
The two scuffled for some time, until finally, Nightshade forced the officer to his knees.
“Those who resist me never live to say so.”Bang. A cry, and then—“No!” Avalon Jacobs gasped for air as she awoke. The holographic clock shone in her face. August 3, 2345. 3:10 a.m., it read. How many times had she woken up breathless like this? She’d lost count. She’d once calculated how many crescent moon cycles there were in a year, but she’d forgotten the answer by now. She lay in bed, trying to fall asleep again. But it was futile. She got up and trudged sleepily to the kitchen. She waved her hand over the fridge sensor, and it opened. Right there on the main shelf sat her consolation: a bottle of apple juice. Her father had always given her a sandwich, cookies, and apple juice when she was sad. Somehow, the cool freshness of the juice was soothing. She poured the juice in a glass and sat down at the breakfast bar. She set the juice down. The dim light from the city lights coming from the window fell on a newspaper on the counter. Mysterious Criminal Nightshade Strikes Again, the headline ran. Avalon sipped the juice. I can’t take any more of this, she thought. For Nightshade’s rampages were not a figment of her dreams – they were her life. In fact, that was why she couldn’t sleep most nights. On the nights of the crescent moon every month, she pillaged and murdered as Nightshade from sunset to moonset. Even when she wasn’t doing that, she lost sleep dreading those nights. She had no control over it – it happened no matter how she struggled. Every day she went to work with blood on her hands, and no one knew. It had been six years since the curse began. For she was sure it was some kind of curse; she would never have chosen such a life. So many nights of her life had been lost to it. She could’ve worked more nights stage managing at the Golden Stag Theatre. As it was, she’d had to tell them she was taking classes at Alu Luna, a famous theatre school run entirely by Lunarissé-made androids. It was said one could only find it on the nights of the crescent moon. Since attendance was haphazard there at best, no one ever bothered to check whether she was really going there. The old clock on the wall chimed a quarter to four. Was it that late? Avalon started. She had a production meeting the next day. She should get some sleep so she’d be at least functional. She finished the apple juice and put the bottle away. She walked slowly back toward her room. A letter lying open on the telephone console caught her eye. She picked it up and read. Dear Avalon,
I have received word that I shall be discharged very soon. After all this time fighting, I’m anxious to finally see you again after so many years. She laid it down. Here was another reason she had to stop the curse. Her father was coming home at last from the Lunarissé-Deimos war. He had been called up to replace a science advisor killed in action. Avalon hadn’t seen her father in over ten years, not since the day he left for a study trip to Mercury. In fact, she hadn’t known for sure he was still alive until six years ago, when she’d seen an article about him in a newspaper. Her mother had told her and her sister that he was dead. If Avalon was still Nightshade when he came home, her father could be in trouble. If her identity was found out, he could be implicated in her crimes at worst or have his teaching reputation tarnished at best. But, even worse, she might kill him in one of her rages as Nightshade. It wasn’t impossible. When she was Nightshade, she was une belle dame sans merci, as the old text said. She spared no one who could be a threat. Finally, she reached her bedroom and flopped down on the bed. She gripped the comforter nervously. “Papa, can you hear me?” she whispered. The rest of the familiar chorus rushed out into her head. Papa, can you see me? Papa, can you find me in the night? If only her father was here. He’d know what to do. For now, all Avalon could do was hope sleep would come so she wouldn’t be a zombie at the meeting the next day.
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Post by Andy on Oct 21, 2009 12:29:53 GMT -5
Well, here's my take after an initial readthrough...
Kudos on getting your first chapter done! I like the idea of a good girl haunted by a bad girl who are one and the same. It brings to mind the idea of the spiritual battle going on within all of us.
There's a couple of parts where you can show more than tell.
"The two scuffled for some time, until finally, Nightshade forced the officer to his knees."
In other words, tell me about how she jumped into the air and gave him a front kick to the solar plexus, crumpling him, while the others ran off squealing like possessed swine.
Smaller point- you mentioned apple juice 4 times in the span of a few sentences. I appreciate the need for beats between dialogue, but I thought it was too much.
"In fact, that was why she couldn’t sleep most nights. On the nights of the crescent moon every month, she pillaged and murdered as Nightshade from sunset to moonset. Even when she wasn’t doing that, she lost sleep dreading those nights. She had no control over it – it happened no matter how she struggled. Every day she went to work with blood on her hands, and no one knew."
You could easily turn this into a scene, which would be more engaging than a summary. Again, show don't tell.
So, Avalon is consciously present, while Nightshade is doing all these evil deeds? Would it work if she didn't know, but perhaps suspected she was Nightshade? Otherwise, I'm trying to picture myself being controlled by some outside force doing things I don't want to do. I don't have a natural experience for this, so if you need it to be that way, try to give us a sense of what it's like, perhaps by analogy.
These are just a few thoughts, and I like what I'm reading. Keep it up!
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Post by waldenwriter on Oct 23, 2009 1:59:01 GMT -5
Well, here's my take after an initial readthrough... Kudos on getting your first chapter done! I like the idea of a good girl haunted by a bad girl who are one and the same. It brings to mind the idea of the spiritual battle going on within all of us. Thanks! You could certainly read it that way. Mainly, she is haunted because as her normal self she would never do the sort of things Nightshade does. There's a couple of parts where you can show more than tell. "The two scuffled for some time, until finally, Nightshade forced the officer to his knees." In other words, tell me about how she jumped into the air and gave him a front kick to the solar plexus, crumpling him, while the others ran off squealing like possessed swine. Since it was supposed to be part of a nightmare that Avalon wakes up from, I didn't want to make that opening part too long. But I see what you mean. I could elaborate on that more. Smaller point- you mentioned apple juice 4 times in the span of a few sentences. I appreciate the need for beats between dialogue, but I thought it was too much. I felt Avalon needed some sort of consolation to help her deal with these nightmares. In the opening chapter of this story that I submitted to Anime Angels (a Christian e-mangazine I wrote for periodically from 2006-2007) a couple years ago, Avalon actually used alcohol to cope. But I didn't want to go to that, because it's not really appropriate for a Christian novel, plus it's a little cliché (the typical "drown your sorrows with alcohol" idea). So I changed it to apple juice, making it important because of the tie to her father. But I see how redundancy could be annoying. I'll see if there's a way to fix that. "In fact, that was why she couldn’t sleep most nights. On the nights of the crescent moon every month, she pillaged and murdered as Nightshade from sunset to moonset. Even when she wasn’t doing that, she lost sleep dreading those nights. She had no control over it – it happened no matter how she struggled. Every day she went to work with blood on her hands, and no one knew." You could easily turn this into a scene, which would be more engaging than a summary. Again, show don't tell. I do have a problem with telling a lot. There was a lot of exposition I wanted to get out in this chapter, but I wasn't sure how to tell it by showing, so the chapter instead became very introspective. So, Avalon is consciously present, while Nightshade is doing all these evil deeds? Would it work if she didn't know, but perhaps suspected she was Nightshade? Otherwise, I'm trying to picture myself being controlled by some outside force doing things I don't want to do. I don't have a natural experience for this, so if you need it to be that way, try to give us a sense of what it's like, perhaps by analogy. One of my faculty consultants at the San Diego Christian Writers Guild conference also asked me about this, so you're not the only one. The best answer I can give is that while in the form of Nightshade, her own consciousness is not present. Essentially, she mentally blacks out - but still does stuff while mentally blacked out (I read a study once about people who "black out" from too much alcohol but remain conscious and do things that they don't remember afterwards, so it does happen). But Avalon has become aware over time that she is Nightshade, mostly through the continual nightmares. I haven't worked out the logistics of how exactly she found out, though I more or less determined that she found out after Nightshade's first murder, which was part of why she left R Andromedae, where she was living with her mother, to come to Earth. An earlier version of this story perhaps dealt with this better. In that version, Avalon's transformations were brought on by a childlike winged spirit named Risa who had been captured by the evil power behind the curse and forced to be the agent for bringing on the curse on certain nights, which began with Risa asking Avalon telepathically to "play" with her. This storyline prompted a friend of mine to draw a picture of Risa in addition to the picture she was already doing of Nightshade ( sketch, final). I ended up editing out Risa, however. What Avalon doesn't know at this point is WHY she becomes Nightshade -- she only has a suspicion that it's caused by a curse. This information will be revealed later in the novel. These are just a few thoughts, and I like what I'm reading. Keep it up! Thanks! I actually finished Chapter 2 today, but I won't post it yet so that more people have time to comment on Chapter 1.
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Post by metalikhan on Oct 23, 2009 16:03:22 GMT -5
As usual, the caveat to remember is that 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.
***********
Chapter 1
“Stop right there!” The girl turned around, her jet black hair draping over one mechanized shoulder. “Sorry, officer, I’ve got some place to be.” "We’ve hunted you for too long, Nightshade. This time you will not escape.” Several officers appeared behind the first. “Then prepare yourself for a fight". Nightshade drew her signature Eirian silver blaster. The two scuffled for some time, until finally, Nightshade forced the officer to his knees. “Those who resist me never live to say so". Bang. A cry, and then—
My first thought when I read this part was that it was campy, with clichés that made me expect dark humor. The bad girl is playful as well as dangerous. My second thought was that it resembled the captions of action/adventure comics like Manga.
I don't know if that was your intent. I tend to think maybe not; but the dream sequence needs more description. It has some great potential for the kind of surrealism that makes nightmares so disturbing, especially when, later, it's revealed this is not simply a nightmare but the dark side of Avalon. Is it dream or is it memory?!
“No!” Avalon Jacobs gasped for air as she awoke. The holographic clock shone in her face. August 3, 2345. 3:10 a.m., it read.
How many times had she woken up breathless like this?
How about "awakened" rather than "woken up"?
She’d lost count. She’d once calculated how many crescent moon cycles there were in a year, but she’d forgotten the answer by now.
She lay in bed, trying to fall asleep again. But it was futile.
"But it was futile." If you delete "But", your sentence will have a crisper bluntness.
She got up and trudged sleepily to the kitchen.
You might want to reconsider "sleepily". Personally, when I come out of a nightmare, my heart's doing triple-time and I'm too jittery to do anything sleepily for quite a while.
She waved her hand over the fridge sensor, and it opened. Right there on the main shelf sat her consolation: a bottle of apple juice. Her father had always given her a sandwich, cookies, and apple juice when she was sad. Somehow, the cool freshness of the juice was soothing.
What appliance outlet sells that fridge? I want one!
She poured the juice in a glass and sat down at the breakfast bar. She set the juice down. The dim light from the city lights coming from the window fell on a newspaper on the counter. Mysterious Criminal Nightshade Strikes Again, the headline ran.
There is a lot of repetition of the apple juice in a very short space. There are easy fixes. For example: She poured a glassful and sat down at the breakfast bar. I would suggest deleting She set the juice down, partly because two sentences later she's sipping it, partly because it would be a good spot for some other action, possibly something reflecting lingering physical effects of the nightmare such as watching the liquid ripple because her hands are shaking.
Avalon sipped the juice. I can’t take any more of this, she thought. For Nightshade’s rampages were not a figment of her dreams – they were her life.
In fact, that was why she couldn’t sleep most nights. On the nights of the crescent moon every month, she pillaged and murdered as Nightshade from sunset to moonset. Even when she wasn’t doing that, she lost sleep dreading those nights. She had no control over it – it happened no matter how she struggled. Every day she went to work with blood on her hands, and no one knew.
Nightshade almost sounds like a were-robot (werebot?). Nice twist on the transformation occurring at crescent moon phase rather than the full moon. I assume that significance will be explored more in later chapters.
It had been six years since the curse began. For she was sure it was some kind of curse; she would never have chosen such a life. So many nights of her life had been lost to it. She could’ve worked more nights stage managing at the Golden Stag Theatre. As it was, she’d had to tell them she was taking classes at Alu Luna, a famous theatre school run entirely by Lunarissé-made androids. It was said one could only find it on the nights of the crescent moon. Since attendance was haphazard there at best, no one ever bothered to check whether she was really going there.
For Nightshade’s rampages were not a figment of her dreams... For she was sure it was some kind of curse... You have a couple of sentences beginning with "For". It's an archaic structure and there are kinds of stories that it works well with; but it doesn't feel like a good fit for what this one is shaping into. Removing "For" in each case will give your sentences more impact.
Some of the summarizing parts could be reworked into real-time thoughts and worry (a kind of mental "action") with more immediacy interspersed with real action and description. Here's an (admittedly rough) example of how you can move out of summary but still convey the information: She gazed at the over-sized calendar on the wall, a pale (light/dark) rectangle against the (lighter/darker) expanse. How many nights had she lost to insomnia? to nightmares? to Nightshade's escapades? "Too many," she murmured, contemplating the last six years of this curse.
The old clock on the wall chimed a quarter to four. Was it that late? Avalon started. She had a production meeting the next day. She should get some sleep so she’d be at least functional. She finished the apple juice and put the bottle away.
She walked slowly back toward her room. A letter lying open on the telephone console caught her eye. She picked it up and read.
Dear Avalon, I have received word that I shall be discharged very soon. After all this time fighting, I’m anxious to finally see you again after so many years.
She laid it down. Here was another reason she had to stop the curse. Her father was coming home at last from the Lunarissé-Deimos war. He had been called up to replace a science advisor killed in action. Avalon hadn’t seen her father in over ten years, not since the day he left for a study trip to Mercury. In fact, she hadn’t known for sure he was still alive until six years ago, when she’d seen an article about him in a newspaper. Her mother had told her and her sister that he was dead.
If Avalon was still Nightshade when he came home, her father could be in trouble. If her identity was found out, he could be implicated in her crimes at worst or have his teaching reputation tarnished at best. But, even worse, she might kill him in one of her rages as Nightshade. It wasn’t impossible. When she was Nightshade, she was une belle dame sans merci, as the old text said. She spared no one who could be a threat.
I have to admit I'm curious how Avalon's father could be implicated in her alter-self's crimes. Did he have something to do with the curse she suffers? You don't have to answer that; but it does sound like later revelations about her father will be unexpected.
Finally, she reached her bedroom and flopped down on the bed. She gripped the comforter nervously.
“Papa, can you hear me?” she whispered. The rest of the familiar chorus rushed out into her head. Papa, can you see me? Papa, can you find me in the night?
Is this an actual song she knows, maybe lines from an android play, or is it her thoughts?
If only her father was here. He’d know what to do. For now, all Avalon could do was hope sleep would come so she wouldn’t be a zombie at the meeting the next day.
You've created some fascinating juxtapositions of advanced technology existing alongside such antiquities as newspapers and telephones. It's a world where there is a theater of androids and a father writes a letter rather than, say, sending a hologram.
That Avalon has become aware over her last six years of this dark and bloody other she becomes is analogous to the condition of all humans who know they need something to free them from their darkness but haven't figured out what they need. The road to redemption is simple compared to the machinations we invent to try to redeem ourselves.
Good opening on your first draft, waldenwriter, and congrats on your first chapter! Write on!
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Post by juniperlee on Oct 23, 2009 18:49:49 GMT -5
Hey Waldenwriter!
Congrats on getting your first chapter down. I tend to hang out more in the land of fantasy as apposed to sci-fi, but I really enjoyed reading your work!
I agree with what the other guys suggested about adding a bit of juicy detail to the opening "dream" sequence and the repetition of the apple juice. I would just like to add one suggestion of my own:
"If Avalon was still Nightshade when he came home, her father could be in trouble. If her identity was found out, he could be implicated in her crimes at worst or have his teaching reputation tarnished at best. But, even worse, she might kill him in one of her rages as Nightshade"
You say that "...he could be implicated in her crimes at worst..." then a bit later you say, "...even worse, she might kill him..."
You might want to reword this slightly because obviously killing her father is the worst thing, not him being implicated in her crimes.
Other than that one little tid bit I really enjoyed it! Keep going I want to read more!!!
p.s. sorry for the strange way of quoting your post...I don't know how to do that cool quoting thing you guys do where it shows up all little and stuff...
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Post by waldenwriter on Oct 24, 2009 3:39:05 GMT -5
My first thought when I read this part was that it was campy, with clichés that made me expect dark humor. The bad girl is playful as well as dangerous. My second thought was that it resembled the captions of action/adventure comics like Manga.
I don't know if that was your intent. I tend to think maybe not; but the dream sequence needs more description. It has some great potential for the kind of surrealism that makes nightmares so disturbing, especially when, later, it's revealed this is not simply a nightmare but the dark side of Avalon. Is it dream or is it memory?! I'm not very familiar with what constitutes dark humor, so I don't think I intended that. As for the manga idea, I have read a lot of manga, so that might've had something to do with it. In response to your second question, that part is a dream. Like I told Andy, I didn't want to make it too long because it was a dream bit. How about "awakened" rather than "woken up"? I guess that would be more concise. Does anyone use the word "awakened" anymore, though? "But it was futile." If you delete "But", your sentence will have a crisper bluntness. You're right. I'm not sure why I felt the "But" should be there. You might want to reconsider "sleepily". Personally, when I come out of a nightmare, my heart's doing triple-time and I'm too jittery to do anything sleepily for quite a while. You're right again. I don't usually wake up in the middle of the night, unless disturbed by a bright light, a noticeably loud noise, or an unable-to-be-ignored physical urge, i.e., a full bladder, discomfort in my *cough* private regions, or nausea. I have slept through earthquakes, for goodness' sake. So I don't have experience to draw on for waking up from a nightmare. What appliance outlet sells that fridge? I want one! Ha ha. No one does yet. But this is the future, remember? However, I can see such fridges being a possibility in the not too distant future. They already have the technology in things like those "smart" paper towel dispensers in public restrooms. (Sometimes the sensors aren't very smart, though, and they don't respond even if you wave your hand repeatedly over them). There is a lot of repetition of the apple juice in a very short space. There are easy fixes. For example: She poured a glassful and sat down at the breakfast bar. I would suggest deleting She set the juice down, partly because two sentences later she's sipping it, partly because it would be a good spot for some other action, possibly something reflecting lingering physical effects of the nightmare such as watching the liquid ripple because her hands are shaking. That's a good point. Andy mentioned it too. I didn't know whether to imply some actions (like setting the juice down) or not. Nightshade almost sounds like a were-robot (werebot?). Nice twist on the transformation occurring at crescent moon phase rather than the full moon. I assume that significance will be explored more in later chapters. I hadn't thought about the were aspect, though having were-robots would be a cool idea for a SF novel! I'd always known Nightshade would act at night; it seemed fitting for her character (and not just because of the name, which I think is more from the Pokémon game attack Night Shade rather than "deadly nightshade" a.k.a. belladonna). I also knew the crescent moon would be the trigger for a while. The significance will definitely come out later on. I'm not sure if the crescent moon has any symbolism tied to it in literature the way the full moon does. I had not originally intended for Nightshade to be a cyborg. It was actually Julie, a friend of mine from YouTube, who came up with the idea. She and I had talked about Nightshade, and she offered to draw Nightshade based on a description of the character and the storyline that I gave her, the final result being this picture. I think it was the sci-fi nature of the story that gave her the idea. For Nightshade’s rampages were not a figment of her dreams... For she was sure it was some kind of curse... You have a couple of sentences beginning with "For". It's an archaic structure and there are kinds of stories that it works well with; but it doesn't feel like a good fit for what this one is shaping into. Removing "For" in each case will give your sentences more impact. The amount of classic novels I have read shows itself again, I guess. Either that, or I liked the sound of that construction. I'll note it though as something to revise. Some of the summarizing parts could be reworked into real-time thoughts and worry (a kind of mental "action") with more immediacy interspersed with real action and description. Here's an (admittedly rough) example of how you can move out of summary but still convey the information: She gazed at the over-sized calendar on the wall, a pale (light/dark) rectangle against the (lighter/darker) expanse. How many nights had she lost to insomnia? to nightmares? to Nightshade's escapades? "Too many," she murmured, contemplating the last six years of this curse. [/i][/quote] That is a good way to do it. I originally meant to have moonlight fall on the paper (which would've been a good use of the ongoing lunar imagery), but then I remembered that Nightshade didn't change back until moonset, so if this is after one of Nightshade's escapades, the moon wouldn't be out. I have to admit I'm curious how Avalon's father could be implicated in her alter-self's crimes. Did he have something to do with the curse she suffers? You don't have to answer that; but it does sound like later revelations about her father will be unexpected. No, he didn't have anything to do with the curse. I can say that right now. My thought process here was more a guilt-by-association thing - that he might be thought to be an accomplice or at the very least be accused of "harboring a criminal." As for the other extreme - his reputation being tarnished - this is because he is a well-known, respected science professor at a major university, so if it were known Nightshade was his daughter, he would lose some face. Is this an actual song she knows, maybe lines from an android play, or is it her thoughts? It's actually a song I know, and the lyrics seemed appropriate at the time I was writing this. They come from the song "Papa, Can You Hear Me?," recorded by Barbara Streisand for the movie Yentl. I first heard it via a cover version by classical vocalist Charlotte Church. You've created some fascinating juxtapositions of advanced technology existing alongside such antiquities as newspapers and telephones. It's a world where there is a theater of androids and a father writes a letter rather than, say, sending a hologram. Thanks. I think this came about because, having not read much sci-fi and being a less-than-uber-tech geek, I have difficulties thinking what technology would be out there 300+ years in the future. In another novel I wrote set in this world (which I got stuck on and never finished), the flying scooters that could fit in a "case" the size of a baseball were the most technological things in the story. Ah yes, the android school. That was a very last minute plot decision, because I had to give Avalon some excuse to give to her coworkers about where she's been during the nights she is Nightshade. The Lunarissé are the native people of the Moon in this universe and they are slightly smarter than we are -- considering that they kept the truth of their own existence and the existence of life on our solar system's other planets a secret from us for thousands of years. The idea of it only being able to be found on certain nights was somewhat inspired by a story in the Read or Dream manga about a library that only appears for one night every ten years. That Avalon has become aware over her last six years of this dark and bloody other she becomes is analogous to the condition of all humans who know they need something to free them from their darkness but haven't figured out what they need. The road to redemption is simple compared to the machinations we invent to try to redeem ourselves. It's like I was reading yesterday in Romans 1, how God has made it so anybody can know he exists through the revelation of creation, even if they never get a chance to read a Bible. Or as that one kids' song goes: "Life without Jesus is like a donut/There's a hole in the middle of your heart." When I took Bible in 12th grade, we learned that there are basic questions of life everyone asks themselves - why am I here?, where will I go after I die?, where do I come from?, etc. I think this is a sign that we all are searching for some sort of fulfillment. Good opening on your first draft, waldenwriter, and congrats on your first chapter! Write on! Thanks! I'll post Chapter 2 (which is already done) once people get enough of a chance to comment on Chapter 1. Hey Waldenwriter! Congrats on getting your first chapter down. I tend to hang out more in the land of fantasy as apposed to sci-fi, but I really enjoyed reading your work! I agree with what the other guys suggested about adding a bit of juicy detail to the opening "dream" sequence and the repetition of the apple juice. I would just like to add one suggestion of my own: "If Avalon was still Nightshade when he came home, her father could be in trouble. If her identity was found out, he could be implicated in her crimes at worst or have his teaching reputation tarnished at best. But, even worse, she might kill him in one of her rages as Nightshade"You say that "...he could be implicated in her crimes at worst..." then a bit later you say, "... even worse, she might kill him..." You might want to reword this slightly because obviously killing her father is the worst thing, not him being implicated in her crimes. Other than that one little tid bit I really enjoyed it! Keep going I want to read more!!! p.s. sorry for the strange way of quoting your post...I don't know how to do that cool quoting thing you guys do where it shows up all little and stuff... Thanks for your comments Juniper! About the worst/worse thing, nice catch. That's something I'll have to edit. It's things like these that I should consult a thesaurus for (in chapter 2, for instance, I used the word "blushed" twice). To quote someone's post, just click the "quote" button in the upper right-hand corner of the post box. Or if you want to quote more than one post (as I'm doing here), you can do the quote thing on one post for your reply then open the original thread in a new window or tab and "quote" the other post, then copy and paste it into your reply.
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Post by waldenwriter on Nov 5, 2009 13:14:13 GMT -5
I guess it's been long enough for me to post Chapter 2. Here it is.
***
Chapter 2
“Next stop. Leicester Square and West End. Repeat, next stop. Leicester Square and West End.”
The tram announcer’s voice woke Avalon from the power nap she had thought she’d take on the tram to work. Her mother’s friend Suiny had been a big believer in short naps. “I’m like that Mona Lisa guy, Avalie,” he’d say, using a local dialect diminutive of her name. “Sleeping only minutes a day – the gods want us to enjoy life, not sleep it into Rakshah. That Mona Lisa guy had it right; he must’ve been a servant of Peindros.”
Avalon had to laugh. Suiny was a big fan of da Vinci, but never could remember his name. Plus, he always believed da Vinci was a servant of Peindros, the god of art, rather than an Earthling painter from about eight hundred years ago.
The tram stopped, and Avalon grabbed her bag and stood to join the queue of people exiting onto the platform. As the gate to the theater district, the Leicester Square tram station was always a popular stop, even in the morning.
Avalon finally found a path through the crowd and began walking across the square toward Drury Lane, the legendary home of the muffin man, where her destination lay. Already, crowds were lining up at the Society of London Theatres ticket booth – and several more shady booths – in hopes of snagging seats at whatever show was the talk of the town today. As an employee at a known West End theatre, Avalon usually got tickets for any major show she cared to see, either from industry friends and connections or from praise-hungry directors and producers who figured a positive review from her would prevent them from having to paper the house.
“Hey, gahrlee,” said a voice with a thick accent. “I can make you into a stahr, gahrlee, why don’t ya let me, hey?”
Avalon turned. It was one of those “star hawkers,” as most of the West End theatre employees called them. Hailing from every known country in the United Interplanetary and Intersidereal Council, or UIIC – the governing body of most of the known universe – they haunted open areas like this, trying to recruit random people, especially girls, for strange alien or experimental theaters. More often than not, they were con artists representing nonexistent establishments. Some, like this one, probably just wanted to pick up girls.
“No thanks,” she responded in Andromedean – for she knew by his accent that he was Andromedean. “I’ve already got a good job, thank you.”
“Aw, but gahrlee,” the alien whined. “I can put your name up in lights, gahrlee.”
“I said, no thanks,” she repeated, reverting to her rougher R Andromedean dialect in her frustration.
Avalon finally left the hawker behind and made it into the West End proper. It was as crowded as Trafalgar Square on New Year's Eve, even at 8:00 in the morning.
Avalon sighed. It hadn't always been like this. She remembered how quiet it used to be here in the morning when she was a kid. Only in the last ten years or so, her coworkers had told her, had it become this bad. Over the last decade, a number of regional wars -- some over trade, like the one her father was fighting in, and some over more serious matters -- throughout the UIIC-governed universe had driven waves of refugees to Earth. Many had brought new kinds of theatre with them.
Finally, Avalon emerged from the throng onto Drury Lane. The familiar, crumbling, gilded mascot of the Golden Stag was a welcome sight.
"Hi, Avalon," said a voice behind her.
It was Marina, one of the ticket sellers.
“Hi, Marina. What are you doing here? It’s too early to be selling advance tickets.”
“House staff meeting. Someone’s probably going to get the sack again to save Danny Boy a pretty pence.”
Avalon grimaced at the use of a disrespectful nickname for Dan Anderson, the theater owner, that had become popular among some of the staff lately. She almost didn’t catch the rest of the sentence.
“I hope it’s not me,” Marina continued. “I’m paying for school with this gig. If I lose it, I might as well say sayonara to Sci-Spy.”
“Trust me, Misty won’t sack you,” Avalon said. “She values education.” Misty Wickham, the house manager, had once been a teacher at the UIIC Grand Academy and had helped Marina apply for Sci-Spy, a fast-track course for those wanting to be scientific investigators for MI6. But it wasn’t cheap, and Marina was on her own now after her mom died in the bombing of the Leeds Robot Factory.
“So you say. I mean, I trust you, Avalon, but you know how it is right now.”
“I know,” said Avalon. “But I don’t want you not to reach your dream. I’ll see what I can do.”
Marina smiled. “Thanks, Avalon. If Danny Boy ever sacks you, I’ll make him regret it.” She jabbed the air.
Avalon laughed. “I’m sure he wouldn’t like that. Well, I’ve got to get to the meeting.”
“You do that. You show Danny Boy that the Stag’s got some years left in it.”
“That will depend more on Sean’s play than on me.”
“If Barney can play that mystic guy as well as he did last time, we’ll be the best show on the West End. So, go to that meeting, and make Danny Boy eat his words about folding!”
Avalon opened the glass-paned door, its knob worn from age, and stepped into the lobby.
Avalon’s shoes sank slightly in the shaggy, outdated carpet. She had told Dan they needed new carpet ages ago. He’d promised to replace it, but, like so many other things, replacing the carpet had fallen by the wayside.
That was why this meeting was so important. If this newest play tanked, the theatre would have to fold. She’d never see that familiar, decrepit stag mascot again, and Marina’s dream would be in jeopardy.
I won’t let that happen, thought Avalon.
*****
“Everyone’s accounted for, so let’s begin.”
The production meeting had begun, and Avalon had just taken roll. To her left sat Dan Anderson, fingering the cigar he planned to smoke after the meeting as usual. To her right sat Barnaby Garnock, the theatre’s most veteran actor and the star of the current production. His deportment was much more dignified than his half-asleep boss. He did not deserve Marina’s “Barney” nickname, nor would anyone call him that to his face. In his presence, it was always Barnaby or Mr. Garnock. The fact that he, as an actor, was even at this meeting showed just how valuable he was to the Golden Stag.
“I looked over our records again,” said Monty Booth, the production manager. “If Mystic Rushalakhan Saves His Son does as well as Sean’s last play, we’ll be able to make it for maybe six months – a year, if ticket sales are really good. That’ll be enough time to do some fundraising. But if it tanks, we’ll all be out of work.”
“If it tanks,” said Brian McAllister, the sound designer’s assistant who’d come to represent the sound department, “we could always do Mac—“
“Don’t you dare!” Dan roared, suddenly springing to life. “We have enough bad stuff happening as it is.”
Brian blushed. Avalon felt for him. As it was, he was here covering for the sound designer, then he had been yelled at for a simple mistake.
“I hope we get enough money,” said Sara Montgomery, the costume designer. “My seamster team is spread thin as it is.”
“Same here,” said Peter Harper, the scenery designer. “I mean, we contract our our set building, but I’m not sure we’ll be able to do that much longer.”
“We need new lights too,” piped up Derek Johnson, the lighting designer.
“All right, all right!” Avalon cried, pent up with frustration. “We all know we need money. I know that, you know that, Dan knows that, and soon enough our competition will know it too. Let’s focus on getting this play off the ground so maybe we can make some money.”
“Well spoken, Avie,” said Dan.
“Thank you, Dan.” She turned to Barnaby. “Barnaby, as the actors’ advocate at this meeting, do you have anything to say?”
Barnaby cleared his throat. “I do, if I may.”
“Please do.”
“Then I shall,” said Barnaby. “As far as I can tell, the actors are still largely unaware of our financial situation. They will find out eventually, of course. It can’t be helped. But most of them have acted with us before or have acted for other theaters, so they’ll probably understand. Those with agents, maybe not.”
“We only have two agented actors,” Monty interrupted. “Then Sean has an agent, but I’ve already talked to him.”
Avalon suppressed a laugh. She’d met Hermes van Boerk, the half-Mercurian, half-Dutch representative of Sean Iverson, the writer of their current play. He was fast-talking, flamboyant, and rumored to be homosexual. She could imagine how Monty’s encounter with Hermes went.
“That’s good,” said Barnaby. “We’ll talk with them if we have to. As for me, I’ve been with this place too long to give up now. Some people say I’m too old to do this, but I’m sticking with it till God, nature, or the government tells me not to.”
“Bravo, Barnaby,” said Greg Buchanan, the technical director, who’d been around as long as Barnaby.
Barnaby stood up and gave a bow, crossing one arm over his chest and extending the other in the air over his head, after the Andromedean fashion. Avalon beamed. He’d been practicing. If Rushalakhan were real, he’d be proud.
“So, that is all I have to say for the actors,” Barnaby said, coming out of his bow. He sat down.
“The next thing to discuss,” said Avalon, “is scheduling – rehearsals and such.”
“I’ve got those right here,” said Monty. “So we have planned seven weeks of rehearsal. Does that sound right?”
“It is enough,” said Barnaby. “It’s not a long play.”
“Then we start tech rehearsals the week after that. Sara, dress parade will probably be that week too.”
“Oh heavens, that’s going to be here before we know it,” said Sara.
“Brian,” said Greg, “We’ll need Nick to have the pyro effects done by then too.”
“Got it. I’ll tell him.”
“If that’s all,” said Avalon, “then we’ll end this meeting. The show opens ten weeks from now, everyone. Let’s do this.”
“Sounds like we have quite a show!” said Dan.
****
“I’m telling you, I didn’t store any pyrotechnics near that board. What do you think I am, a daft idiot?”
“We all forget things sometimes, Nicholas.”
Nick Jameson sighed. Any time he tried to reason with his fellow sound designer Terrence Houghton, Terrence resorted to that annoying, patronizing tone. Based on years worked, Nick had seniority over Terrence – though Terrence was older in age – yet Terrence treated him like a baby, calling him “Nicholas” like that. No one else called him Nicholas, except his old grandma sometimes, the puritanical one who sent him cross-stiched things every year for Christmas.
“Is something wrong?”
Nick turned around. It was Erica Perkins, an intern in his department.
“Don’t worry, Erica. I’ll handle this. Thanks though.”
“We are definitely happy for your concern, young lady,” said Terrence. “A kind spirit in young ones is so rare these days.”
Erica blushed. “Thank you, Mr. Houghton.”
“Terrence, please. Now, run along, dear one. Nicholas and I here have something to work out between us. I will be along shortly.”
“Okay.”
That was the really revolting thing about Terrence, Nick thought. He was an arrogant prat to the males on staff, but once a lady appeared, he was charm incarnate.
“If we were not discussing this, we would be able to find some work for that young one,” said Terrence. “She did not become an intern to sit around in the green room or play with cosmetics at Carla’s table.”
Nick frowned. There had been rumors that some of the female interns played makeover backstage when Carla Leroux, the makeup designer, wasn’t around. He hadn’t given it much thought. Still, Terrence was trying to change the subject.
“Don’t give me that!” Nick yelled. “If this soundboard hadn’t gotten fried, I wouldn’t have had to send Brian to the production meeting in my place. This is the first meeting I’ve missed in eight years!”
“Well, we do know how you like to blow things up, Nicholas,” Terrence replied coolly. “One would think you would have learned your lesson in eight years.”
Nick winced, looking at his legs. He’d blown up a statue of Zeus as a fraternity initiation dare eight years ago, and aside from nearly getting expelled, he’d made the Jovian groups at the school very angry, especially a notorious gang called The Thunder Bringers. One revenge ambush later, Nick found his legs infected with a rather nasty strain of Jovian polio. Where the gang had gotten the virus, no one knew. But Nick had modern technology – and a friend of Barnaby – to thank that he could walk at all. His biomechanical limbs were just like real ones. But the matter was still a touchy subject for Nick nonetheless.
“How dare you try to blame this on me?” Nick cried. “You have just as much access to this board as me. Besides, no explosive I could afford could damage the board like this. You’d need Grade 11 explosives at least. You think I can buy those, with what I have to pay just so I can stand here right now?” Though he’d gotten new legs, Nick still had to have monthly checkups and take weekly shots at home to make sure his new legs functioned, since they took ten years to fully integrate with the rest of the body. These weren’t cheap.
“Now, now, Nicholas, we must not get too angry.”
Not that patronizing tone again, Nick thought.
“Hey, hey, what’s going on?” said a voice.
It was Barnaby. Nick beamed. At this moment, Barnaby was just the person he needed.
“This really is not your business, griskopf,” Terrence said.
“I’m making it my business,” said Barnaby, somewhat angrily. The “greyhead” bit must’ve made him mad, Nick thought, knowing Barnaby would recognize the Andromedean epithet.
“Someone fried the main soundboard, Barnaby,” Nick said after a moment.
“Fried it? How is that possible?”
The three men walked to the charred shell that had once been the soundboard.
“Oh my,” said Barnaby. “It’s as if someone took a torch to it.”
“Or explosives,” said Terrence.
Nick was boiling over. “I told you already! I didn’t blow this thing up. Can’t you get that into your head? Or did those Stratford-upon-Avon crews immerse your brain in the Renaissance pot?”
“You dare insult my intelligence and the work of the Bard?” Terrence growled.
Nick knew he had Terrence riled up now. Among the impressive credentials Terrence had brought Dan five and a half years ago was four years with the Royal Shakespeare Company at their base theatre in the Bard’s birthplace. It was said senior staff were initiated by being immersed in a pot of water with special properties said to change them into Elizabethan-era men and women in mind gradually, until full membership was obtained a year afterwards. Then their bodies and such would change as well. The president even called himself Shakespeare. It was crazy.
“I dare.”
“You uncultured child!” Terrence hissed. He jabbed at Nick.
“Please, please,” said Barnaby, rushing between them. “We mustn’t resort to violence.”
“Get away, old man,” said Terrence. He jabbed again, but Nick blocked it.
“Stop it, you two!” said a voice.
“Violence does not fit this place,” said another.
It was Erica, with Keiko, the propmistress.
The ladies’ presence reassured Nick. Arrogant as he was, Terrence was a man of honor. He would not fight in front of a woman.
Terrence lowered his arm. “The young girl of the East is correct,” he said. “We must not be like brutes before ladies.” He backed away. “However, do not think by any means that this over, Nicholas.” He turned away and started walking toward the backstage area.
“Do not go after him, Nick-san,” said Keiko, seemingly reading his mind. “He will only make it worse.”
“Miss Ayanami is right,” said Barnaby. “Vengeance is the Lord’s to take.”
“I swear he fried this thing,” said Nick. “He looks like the type to try and get me sacked.”
“It’s true that it’ll be hard to get a new one,” said Erica, “but we’ve got three soundboards, right? For nine weeks of rehearsal, three will do, right?”
“But this one was the master one,” Nick said. “It helped run all the others.”
“I’ll talk to Monty,” said Barnaby. “He’ll probably say there’s no money for a new one, but we can try at least.”
“Thanks, Barnaby,” said Nick.
“Well, I’ll, um, go test the mikes,” said Erica sheepishly.
“You do that,” said Nick.
Soon Keiko and Barnaby left too, leaving Nick alone in the booth. He’d scored a point against Terrence at least, but Nick couldn’t help but wonder how such a two-faced jerk managed to keep his job.
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Post by metalikhan on Nov 14, 2009 21:49:54 GMT -5
Hey, WW! Haven't forgotten about a critique, but things have been hectic both at my job and on the MLP forum. I've read this chapter through a few times, but I'm not sure how much I can comment on insofar as what I see in the plot. I have no personal frame of reference about the workings of a theater; so any comments on that aspect of your chapter -- well, consider it grain of salt time. Any other comments will likely be more of a mechanical nature, like tightening a sentence or adding description here & there. Not to worry. Things will settle before long. I'll try to get at least a partial crit done for you before Thanksgiving.
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Post by waldenwriter on Nov 15, 2009 2:01:06 GMT -5
Hey, WW! Haven't forgotten about a critique, but things have been hectic both at my job and on the MLP forum. I've read this chapter through a few times, but I'm not sure how much I can comment on insofar as what I see in the plot. I have no personal frame of reference about the workings of a theater; so any comments on that aspect of your chapter -- well, consider it grain of salt time. Any other comments will likely be more of a mechanical nature, like tightening a sentence or adding description here & there. Not to worry. Things will settle before long. I'll try to get at least a partial crit done for you before Thanksgiving. Thanks metalikhan. Yeah this is the "theater jargon" chapter, for sure. Actually, I've never worked behind-the-scenes in a theater myself. The closest I've been to that is ushering at a theater. So the theater stuff is actually based on research. I found a couple very excellent books on the subject, fortunately, one of which is specifically for stage managers! Though that one is dated (from 1992), it has a lot of good general info in it. The other is a more recent (2005) textbook on theater design and production, which goes into TONS of detail about the design and production of scenery, lighting, sound, costume, and makeup. The main issue in this chapter was naming. I had notes from the stage manager book on all the different people involved in the workings of a theater, i.e., all the different designers, support staff, cast, etc. So I made a list of all those roles and then made up names for the people filling those roles in my theatre. This was insanely difficult, since I didn't have my baby name book with me (which I usually consult for names, or else use an online equivalent). I didn't want two people with the same first name or too many people with names starting with the same letter. So it was hard. The character names for the play cast list were also difficult to come up with. Another difficulty cropped up after writing this, when I did some fact checking. It turns out MI6 doesn't actually have a scientific investigation department. I confirmed this by looking at the job section of their official website. So I'll have to change that. At least my fact-checking confirmed one thing: "Jovian," used in Nick's memory, is the correct genre term for an alien from Jupiter ("Jupiterian" didn't sound right to me anyway). All that stuff aside, this chapter was interesting to write because it introduces so many characters, including Terrence, Nick, and Barnaby. Keep your eye on Terrence...he's important. Barnaby too, actually, he's a fairly major character. I await your critique! At least I can post the whole chapter on here. I'm going to have to read it in pieces at my school workshop and the critique group (if I manage to get in it; there was a little difficulty last time) due to rules limiting the number of pages one can read. Thanks again for taking the time to critique this!
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Post by metalikhan on Dec 8, 2009 13:07:36 GMT -5
This is later than I thought I could do; holidays are crazy times. I'm sure mine isn't the only plate that could be weighed in metric tons! An author weighs critiques and suggestions against her own vision of the story and decides what's applicable. After all, it's your story, not mine. ************* “Next stop. Leicester Square and West End. Repeat, next stop. Leicester Square and West End.”The tram announcer’s voice woke Avalon from the power nap she had thought she’d take on the tram to work.You could streamline she had thought she’d take to she took since she was indeed taking the nap when the announcer woke her. Her mother’s friend Suiny had been a big believer in short naps. “I’m like that Mona Lisa guy, Avalie,” he’d sayAgain streamlining, had been = was, he’d say = said or often said. Had is a helping verb that can usually be removed, giving you the opportunity to use a stronger form of the verb it helps. Also, when you have some other modifier indicating a past time, you don’t need to double it up by using had with the main verb. From later in this chapter: She had told Dan they needed new carpet ages ago. He’d promised to replace it, but, like so many other things, replacing the carpet had fallen by the wayside. She told Dan... He promised... Because of the sentences' context, the reader understands that these are not things happening in the story's present time-frame. The production meeting had begun, and Avalon had just taken roll. The production meeting began and Avalon took roll. A search with the find feature will show you all the had's and 'd in your text. Try rewriting the sentences without them, using stronger verbs, and see which ones you can streamline. “No thanks,” she responded in Andromedean – for she knew by his accent that he was Andromedean.How about something like ...the native language his accent signified. That way you aren't repeating Andromedean twice in the same sentence. Finally and familiar are repeated more than once in this . I think you said on another thread that suddenly is another word you tend to overuse. When using too as a synonym for also, it needs a comma. ...week, too. ...then, too.When it's in the middle of a sentence, it is set off by a comma on both sides. Soon Keiko and Barnaby left, too, leaving Nick alone in the booth.Soon Keiko and Barnaby left too, leaving Nick alone in the booth. He’d scored a point against Terrence at least, but Nick couldn’t help but wonder how such a two-faced jerk managed to keep his job.Probably don't need Soon in the sentence unless you're indicating that K & B hung around a while longer after N's final spoken line. For that matter, if both left immediately, you probably could cut the too as well. Emotions seem to run high and swing drastically in the world of theater and actors, with much cries and frustration, drama and theatrics. (Sorry about that, but it was irresistible. ) It's not a world I'm familiar with but it sounds like you've captured it well, especially the behind the scenes in-fighting that goes on before the actual production. It'll be interesting to see how Avalon/Nightshade fares in such an emotionally charged setting as a theater. Hope you find some of this helpful.
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Post by waldenwriter on Dec 8, 2009 22:43:32 GMT -5
This is later than I thought I could do; holidays are crazy times. I'm sure mine isn't the only plate that could be weighed in metric tons! I understand. The school semester's coming to an end for me, so that has meant school work has been priority lately over my novel. An author weighs critiques and suggestions against her own vision of the story and decides what's applicable. After all, it's your story, not mine. Thanks for acknowledging that! ************* Most of your comments involved streamlining. I am aware that I am wordy. One of my Lit teachers told me this in no uncertain terms. The comment about the context of the carpet comment is a good one too. Soon Keiko and Barnaby left, too, leaving Nick alone in the booth.Soon Keiko and Barnaby left too, leaving Nick alone in the booth. He’d scored a point against Terrence at least, but Nick couldn’t help but wonder how such a two-faced jerk managed to keep his job.Probably don't need Soon in the sentence unless you're indicating that K & B hung around a while longer after N's final spoken line. For that matter, if both left immediately, you probably could cut the too as well. I put the "soon" because they left after Erica. I guess "soon after" might have been better in that case. Emotions seem to run high and swing drastically in the world of theater and actors, with much cries and frustration, drama and theatrics. (Sorry about that, but it was irresistible. ) It's not a world I'm familiar with but it sounds like you've captured it well, especially the behind the scenes in-fighting that goes on before the actual production. It'll be interesting to see how Avalon/Nightshade fares in such an emotionally charged setting as a theater. There are more theater-set scenes coming up, so you'll get to see that. Hope you find some of this helpful. I do, thanks. I'm going to make a collection of all the critiques I get (I'm getting some from several sources) to have on hand for revision.
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Post by waldenwriter on Mar 4, 2010 1:10:45 GMT -5
It's been a while since I last posted a bit of this novel, so I guess I can go ahead and post chapter 3. Here it is:
***
Chapter 3
“You have your strength now, Rushalakhan, the strength I promised you. You are stronger now than the strongest man, though not as strong as a god.”
“Thank you, Amiran.”
“You are welcome. Now go and save your son, quickly. I cannot guarantee that Shinos will give you another chance if you lose your life again.”
“I understand.”
“Then go. Strength is with you.”
Avalon was relieved. Barnaby and his fellow actor, Kertain Rulan, had gotten through the first act’s final scene at last.
They had now done rehearsal for two weeks. It had been full of problems. The actors were now painfully aware of the theatre’s lack of money, as old lights refused to work, costume fittings were delayed because the seamsters were swamped with work, and rumors spread that Mindy Cameron’s contract might have to be given up, which would mean no concessions at intermission.
The play itself was no better. Dan had taken it on because Sean’s last play, The Legend of Ryslan, had done so well in its run at the Golden Stag. But this one was difficult production-wise and not very well-written. For instance, it contained a scene where Rushalakhan gets his new body in a flash of lights and sparks while suspended from the air. It would require cooperation between Derek, Nick, and Joyce McIntire and Sharon Larkin, the anti-gravity fly operators. In other words, it would be a technical nightmare, and expensive too. Derek didn’t have the right lights for it, Joyce and Sharon’s anti-gravity machine was on its last legs, and even Nick was finding pyrotechnics materials harder to get a hold of with prices rising due to the UIIC’s involvement in the war. This effect aside, the play contained much more Andromedean than its predecessor, making things hard for Snofin Haleison, the projectionist who had to project the captions, and for Avalon, whose task it was to translate the lines into English. This was no easy task. Sean made many grammatical errors and often utilized phrases that had not been used in any of the old texts Avalon had studied when she learned classical Andromedean. Avalon wasn’t quite sure Sean even knew what they meant.
And the lines! Errors in Andromedean aside, the lines made what could’ve been a good play into a replica of every bad, campy Andromedean film. Avalon had seen some of those films. They were kharakalfi, as her Andromedean friends would say. Offensive to Khara, the goddess of images and illusion to whom all R Andromedean films were dedicated. Or, colloquially, “terrible.”
If things kept going like this, the doom of the theater was sure. Avalon could almost sense the cocked barrels, just waiting for a chance to rob the stag of his scarlet, beating heart.
**** “You’ve still ‘got it,’ as they say, my friend.”
“Thank you, Kertain. Do you want to have lunch with me?”
“I would, Barnaby, but I can’t. I have a fitting right now with Hannah. Then I have a meeting with my agent.”
“That’s all right, Kertain. Maybe some other time.”
“It would be my pleasure,” Kertain replied. “May Krintan, the one you worship, be with you.”
“May he be with you also, my friend.”
Barnaby watched as his long-time friend, a Phi Andromedean, walked lightly backstage.
He’d tried to witness to Kertain for years. Kertain knew of God – he’d used Krintan, or “crucified one,” an Andromedean word for Jesus – but had rejected his roots in the pious city of Eirian to pursue a secular life. It was a pity, really.
Avalon was on stage now, talking to Derek, the lighting designer. Barnaby smiled. Avalon really was a great stage manager, worthy of following in the steps of Joan Thompson, the one who had mentored her through her apprenticeship.
But, Barnaby noticed, he was not the only one watching Avalon. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Terrence, pretending to patch some microphone cords while his eyes glided over to the stage every few minutes.
He’s definitely a strange one, Barnaby thought.
Avalon was walking toward them now. Terrence looked down suddenly, absorbing himself in his work.
“How is that patching going, Terry boy?” asked Derek as he and Avalon passed by.
Terrence bristled at the nickname. “They seem to be beyond fixing.”
“I thought you’ve dealt with this before,” said Avalon. “That’s why I told you to do it.”
“The cords I dealt with in Stratford-upon-Avon were not as antiquated as these, Avie.”
Barnaby started. No one called Avalon “Avie” here except Dan Anderson and himself. Had Avalon and Terrence gotten closer without him noticing, or was Terrence faking it?
To Barnaby’s surprise, Avalon let the slip go, though she still looked perturbed. “You know Dan hasn’t been replacing things around here, Terrence,” she said. “He still hasn’t replaced the lobby carpet. He’s a bit hassanta.”
Barnaby smiled a bit, recognizing the Andromedean slang word for “scatterbrained” from the magazines he’d studied to brush up his Andromedean skills.
“Still, I am surprised an inspector has not noticed this, Avalon,” said Terrence.
“If you have a problem, Terrence,” said Avalon, “take it to Dan, or Nick.”
Barnaby knew Terrence would rather eat bugs than deal with Nick right now, so soon after the soundboard incident. Avalon had gotten Terrence there.
“That will not be necessary,” said Terrence. “I will simply have to try a different way of patching it. That is all.”
“I see,” said Avalon. “Keep working, then. I don’t want anyone dying a silent death this time.”
Terrence’s lip tensed. “No. That will not happen again.”
Derek and Avalon walked away. Barnaby hid a laugh. Avalon had been referring to the theater’s run of Hamlet, in which he had played Polonius. It had been Terrence’s first production with the company, and due to a bad patch he had made with the wireless mike system, Barnaby’s screams of mortal agony behind the arras weren’t heard beyond the first row.
Terrence’s eyes were still following Avalon, like some preternatural camera.
Barnaby couldn’t take it anymore. He turned toward Terrence.
Terrence looked annoyed. “Can I help you, old man?”
“Why are you looking at Avalon like that?” Barnaby asked. “You either have some interest in her, or you’re a pervert.”
“Oh, come off it, old man,” said Terrence. This was the first time Barnaby had heard him use slang. “Of course I am not a pervert. That is disgusting.”
“Then why are you watching her?”
“Must I explain everything?” Terrence replied frustratedly. “It really is none of your business. Now, if you will excuse me, I need to find a tool for this cord.”
Terrence got up and walked off.
He must be hiding something, thought Barnaby. He can’t just be watching Avalon for no reason. ****
The day was over at last. Avalon had had enough of Sean’s play for one day. She made a mental note to tell Dan not to do any of Sean’s plays anymore – if this one did well enough to keep the theatre open, that is.
Avalon suddenly remembered. She’d left her phone in the wings off stage left. She tiptoed around stray set pieces towards the wings.
But wait. Who was that heading toward the dressing rooms? The actors’ call had ended ages ago.
It was Terrence. What was he doing over there? He had no reason to be back there – the main crew had their own green room elsewhere.
Come to think of it, thought Avalon. He has been acting strange lately.
Avalon changed her mind about her phone, leaving her bag where it was. She edged her way to the end of the stage, meaning to slide off it like she used to do on the wall by her mother’s summer house. She sat down, about to slide, when—
“No!”
The pain was back. It was always in her head first. Then her limbs, then her chest. She didn’t remember the rest.
Moments later, it was over.
“Let’s have some fun,” said Nightshade.
*** Critique away.
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ryain
Junior Member
Fantasy.... Fashion....
Posts: 90
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Post by ryain on Mar 22, 2010 9:26:23 GMT -5
Very intresting. The writing is very vivid. I enjoyed this story.
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Post by waldenwriter on Mar 23, 2010 15:58:25 GMT -5
Very intresting. The writing is very vivid. I enjoyed this story. Thanks! I'm glad.
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