Short story opening (943 words)

[r_j_dando]

Hi, this is my first time posting for a crit - looking forward to reading people's comments! This is the start of a short story that I'm hoping to sub out in the next month or so, so really trying to hone it to the best it can be. Any and all comments welcome Thank in advance for your help!

RJ

PS: Apologies for the formatting issues - copy/pasting from Word seems to remove half my spaces between words, and what I can see when posting isn't what appears after I click the 'save' button... *headdesk*


* * * * *

He couldn’t see the manacles that held him in the darkness. He could feel them, though; cold, heavy iron cuffs that bit into the skin about his wrists. Blood trickled down to his elbows with antagonising slowness that tickled. It dripped down to the wet stone floor, where he heard its tiny splash as it landed in the puddle that he stood in. He tried not to think about that.

He’d given up shouting several days ago – it wasn’t getting him anywhere. The man in the cell next door had not given up yet, and his hoarse screams echoed through the dank corridors with piercing regularity.

Justin shuddered. The chains rattled against the stone with a dull metallic clank. Where the rest of the coven were, spirits only knew. Trapped in here, executed, killed at the time of capture – he could only guess. He had dim recollections of bodies lying on the floor that he’d run past in his frantic bid for escape. Bodies of his comrades or of the enemy, he didn’t know. Probably never would.

Anguished howls renewed nearby; inhuman wails of despair and pain.

“Shut the hell up!” Justin shouted back. He held out no hope that the stranger would pay any heed to his pleas, but it was grinding down his sanity faster than anything else in this place. He didn’t want to start screaming again too. If he did, he might never stop.

A low rumbling began in the rocks under his bare feet. It began as a deep vibration, which grew into a deeper roar which increased in intensity and volume until the entire cell shook. The train screeched past the tiny barred window in a cacophony of sparking wheels, protesting brakes and rattling trucks. It spewed black smoke, steam, and glowing cinders as it flew, dimming what little light came into the cell. In this direction the trains would be empty most of the time, so they sped past faster than the heavier freight coming into the city. The full trucks weighed more, so although the emptier trains were faster, the heavier ones made more noise.

The sound of the train faded away into the distance. Justin allowed his eyes to close and his head to lead back against the hard stone wall. He’d have between eight and twelve minutes before the next one came, time for a fractured sleep. The trains ran every day apart from Sundays, and all through the night, although the gaps between them stretched as far as maybe half an hour.

Fifteen days, or was it sixteen now? He couldn’t remember how long he’d been here. Time slipped away without him noticing.

The screaming stopped. The silence that followed seemed unnaturally quiet.

Scrabbling sounds came from outside the window. Bloody pigeons again. They couldn’t get in through the bars, the gaps weren’t quite wide enough for that, but they sat outside on the rocky ledge, cooing and chirping. At best, they were merely winged rats. At worst, spies.

“Pssssht!” Justin hissed, hoping to scare them away.

The scrabbling noises stopped. Then the whispering started; low enough that he couldn’t hear what was being said, but loud enough that he knew it wasn’t pigeons out there.

“Who’s there?” he called, as loudly as he dared without risking drawing attention.

The whispering stopped.

“I know there’s someone there,” Justin said, craning his head forward to listen for the faintest of sounds. “Please, show yourselves?”

There was another bout of frantic whispering, and then a small head surrounded by a shock of dark hair appeared at the window. With the light behind the figure, Justin could barely make out any of the child’s features. Boy or girl, he couldn’t tell. One of the shanty town kids, he guessed.

Further sounds of scuffling came from outside, and a second head appeared, forcing the first to one side. This one was a dirty blonde and probably a girl, judging by the length of her hair. Her eyes widened at the sight of him.

“Hi,” Justin ventured. “I’m Justin. Who’re you?”

“Rin,” said the girl. “An’ this’s Dake.” She put her head to one side. “Why’d they tie you up?”

“I got caught doing something they didn’t think I should do.”

“Duh,” came the sound of a boy’s voice, slightly to one side of the window. “You wouldn’t be in jail otherwise. Why’d they chain you?”

Justin bit his lip. “To stop me getting help from...friends.”

“An’ the locked doors ‘n’ bars on the windows won’t be stopping ‘em?” The boy sounded scornful.

“Not these friends, no.” Justin rattled the chains a little. “Iron, though, that’ll stop them.”

Dake shoved his way back to peer in through the bars. “You’re a mage?”

That startled Justin. “How do you know that?”

The boy gave an impish grin. “Me brother. He knows a lot o’ stuff.” He shuffled awkwardly on what must have been a narrow ledge on the other side of the wall. “Whatcha do to get in here?”

Justin grimaced. “Not what we should have done. You know the government buildings at Westminster?”

Dake nodded.

“We were going to destroy them. With the government in session. All the people who make the decisions, gone - in one fell swoop.”

The boy stared. “What happened?”

“Nothing.” Justin’s heart sank even further than he thought might have been possible as he remembered that day. “Someone ratted us out. I don’t know who. The police were waiting for us at the rendezvous – it turned bloody. I don’t know who got away. I don’t know who died.” He fell silent, his thoughts returning to the bodies lying slumped in the shadows.

[alchemist]

Originally Posted by r_j_dando

Hi, this is my first time posting for a crit - looking forward to reading people's comments! This is the start of a short story that I'm hoping to sub out in the next month or so, so really trying to hone it to the best it can be. Any and all comments welcome Thank in advance for your help!

RJ

PS: Apologies for the formatting issues - copy/pasting from Word seems to remove half my spaces between words, and what I can see when posting isn't what appears after I click the 'save' button... *headdesk*


* * * * *

He couldn’t see the manacles that held him in the darkness. He could feel them, though; cold, heavy iron cuffs that bit into the skin about his wrists. Blood trickled down to his elbows with antagonising slowness that tickled tickled and trickled too close together . It dripped down to the wet stone floor, where he heard its tiny splash as it landed in the puddle that he stood in. He tried not to think about that.

He’d given up shouting several days ago – it wasn’t getting him anywhere. The man in the cell next door had not given up yet, and his hoarse screams echoed through the dank corridors with piercing regularity.

Justin shuddered. The chains rattled against the stone with a dull metallic clank. Where the rest of the coven were, spirits only knew. Trapped in here, executed, killed at the time of capture – he could only guess. He had dim recollections of bodies lying on the floor that he’d run past in his frantic bid for escape. Maybe rephrase as "He had dim recollections of running past bodies lying on the floor, in his frantic bid for escape".Bodies of his comrades or of the enemy, he didn’t know. Probably never would.

Anguished howls renewed nearby; inhuman wails of despair and pain.

“Shut the hell up!” Justin shouted back. He held out no hope that the stranger would pay any heed to his pleas, but it was grinding down his sanity faster than anything else in this place. He didn’t want to start screaming again too. If he did, he might never stop.

A low rumbling began in the rocks under his bare feet. It began as a deep vibration, which grew into a deeper maybe drop the DEEPER and take out a WHICH roar which increased in intensity and volume until the entire cell shook. The train screeched past the tiny barred window in a cacophony of sparking wheels, protesting brakes and rattling trucks. It spewed black smoke, steam, and glowing cinders as it flew, dimming what little light came into the cell. In this direction the trains would be empty most of the time, so they sped past faster than the heavier freight coming into the city. The full trucks weighed more, so although the emptier trains were faster, the heavier ones made more noise.

This paragraph works well, but I think the previous one could be shortened; it's too much about trains, when taken altogether, and takes me away from his situation. I think the info about the train timings is enough to convey that he has nothing to do except count trains. The sound of the train faded away into the distance. Justin allowed his eyes to close and his head to lead back against the hard stone wall. He’d have between eight and twelve minutes before the next one came, time for a fractured sleep. The trains ran every day apart from Sundays, and all through the night, although the gaps between them stretched as far as maybe half an hour.
Fifteen days, or was it sixteen now? He couldn’t remember how long he’d been here. Time slipped away without him noticing.

The screaming stopped. The silence that followed seemed unnaturally quiet.

Scrabbling sounds came from outside the window. Bloody pigeons again. They couldn’t get in through the bars, the gaps weren’t quite wide enough for that, but they sat outside on the rocky ledge, cooing and chirping. At best, they were merely winged rats. At worst, spies.

“Pssssht!” Justin hissed, hoping to scare them away.

The scrabbling noises stopped. Then the whispering started; low enough that he couldn’t hear what was being said, but loud enough that he knew it wasn’t pigeons out there.

“Who’s there?” he called, as loudly as he dared without risking drawing attention.

The whispering stopped.

“I know there’s someone there,” Justin said, craning his head forward to listen for the faintest of sounds. “Please, show yourselves?”

There was another bout of frantic whispering, and then a small head surrounded by a shock of dark hair appeared at the window. With the light behind the figure, Justin could barely make out any of the child’s features. Boy or girl, he couldn’t tell. One of the shanty town kids, he guessed.

Further sounds of scuffling came from outside, and a second head appeared, forcing the first to one side. This one was a dirty blonde and probably a girl, judging by the length of her hair. Her eyes widened at the sight of him.

“Hi,” Justin ventured. “I’m Justin. Who’re you?”

“Rin,” said the girl. “An’ this’s Dake.” She put her head to one side. “Why’d they tie you up?”

“I got caught doing something they didn’t think I should do.”

“Duh,” came the sound of a boy’s voice, slightly to one side of the window. “You wouldn’t be in jail otherwise. Why’d they chain you?”

Justin bit his lip. “To stop me getting help from...friends.”

“An’ the locked doors ‘n’ bars on the windows won’t be stopping ‘em?” The boy sounded scornful.

“Not these friends, no.” Justin rattled the chains a little. “Iron, though, that’ll stop them.”

Dake shoved his way back to peer in through the bars. “You’re a mage?”

That startled Justin. “How do you know that?”

The boy gave an impish grin. “Me brother. He knows a lot o’ stuff.” He shuffled awkwardly on what must have been a narrow ledge on the other side of the wall. “Whatcha do to get in here?”

Justin grimaced. “Not what we should have done. You know the government buildings at Westminster?”

Dake nodded.

“We were going to destroy them. With the government in session. All the people who make the decisions, gone - in one fell swoop.”

The boy stared. “What happened?”

“Nothing.” Justin’s heart sank even further than he thought might have been possible as he remembered that day. “Someone ratted us out. I don’t know who. The police were waiting for us at the rendezvous – it turned bloody. I don’t know who got away. I don’t know who died" .this seems a bit much to tell a couple of strange kids He fell silent, his thoughts returning to the bodies lying slumped in the shadows.

Congrats on your first critique. It's very good. I know exactly what's going on and you've conveyed Justin's emotions well.

The jail doesn't seem too secure though, if kids can have a chat with the incarcerated.

[r_j_dando]

Originally Posted by alchemist

Congrats on your first critique. It's very good. I know exactly what's going on and you've conveyed Justin's emotions well.

The jail doesn't seem too secure though, if kids can have a chat with the incarcerated.

Thanks for taking the time to read and comment - glad you thought it was good

Good point about the kids! I think I need to put something in about how the kids are accessing it to clarify a bit. They're climbing down walls above the railway line cutting, but mostly for kicks and to see who's in the cells there - it's very dangerous and not something many would do. I suspect there should probably be guards above at ground level, so I'll see what I can put in about that. Thanks again

[Abernovo]

RJ, congratulations on posting your first piece for critique. I liked this, especially the strength of description. I also liked the historical feel, with perhaps an element of steampunk or gaslight fantasy(?). There's not much that I found to red pen. I've put any suggestions or comments in blue.

Please take any comments as simply opinion, though.

Originally Posted by r_j_dando

He couldn’t see the manacles that held him in the darkness. He could feel them, though; cold, heavy iron cuffs that bit into the skin about his wrists. Blood trickled down to his elbows with antagonising slowness that tickled. It dripped down to the wet stone floor, where he heard its tiny splash as it landed in the puddle that he stood in. He tried not to think about that. Sorry, I'm just not quite sure about 'that tickled'. A little similar to 'trickled' and I think the sentence is good enough without it. However, only my opinion.

He’d given up shouting several days ago – it wasn’t getting him anywhere. The man in the cell next door had not given up yet, and his hoarse screams echoed through the dank corridors with piercing regularity.

Justin shuddered. The chains rattled against the stone with a dull metallic clank. Where the rest of the coven were, spirits only knew. Trapped in here, executed, killed at the time of capture – he could only guess. He had dim recollections of bodies lying on the floor that he’d run past in his frantic bid for escape. Bodies of his comrades or of the enemy, he didn’t know. Probably never would. The highlighted sentence seems a bit distant, perhaps passive? ('He had dim recollections of running past bodies on the floor in his frantic bid for escape'?) Would that work better?

Anguished howls renewed nearby; inhuman wails of despair and pain.

“Shut the hell up!” Justin shouted back. He held out no hope that the stranger would pay any heed to his pleas, but it was grinding down his sanity faster than anything else in this place. He didn’t want to start screaming again too. If he did, he might never stop.

A low rumbling began in the rocks under his bare feet. It began as a deep vibration, which grew into a deeper roar which increased in intensity and volume until the entire cell shook. The train screeched past the tiny barred window in a cacophony of sparking wheels, protesting brakes and rattling trucks. It spewed black smoke, steam, and glowing cinders as it flew (by), dimming what little light came into the cell. In this direction the trains would be empty most of the time, so they sped past faster than the heavier freight coming into the city. The full trucks weighed more, so although the emptier trains were faster, the heavier ones made more noise. As it's a short story, do you need these last two sentences? I'm thinking about any word count constraint you may have.

The sound of the train faded away into the distance. Justin allowed his eyes to close and his head to lead back against the hard stone wall. He’d have between eight and twelve minutes before the next one came, time for a fractured sleep. The trains ran every day apart from Sundays, and all through the night, although the gaps between them stretched as far as maybe half an hour.

Fifteen days, or was it sixteen now? He couldn’t remember how long he’d been here. Time slipped away without him noticing. Fifteen and sixteen are still pretty close. If he's really losing time, or suspects it, would he know how much time he's losing? Perhaps ('or was it more?') would show his uncertainty more?

The screaming stopped. The silence that followed seemed unnaturally quiet.

Scrabbling sounds came from outside the window. Bloody pigeons again. They couldn’t get in through the bars, the gaps weren’t quite wide enough for that, but they sat outside on the rocky ledge, cooing and chirping. At best, they were merely winged rats. At worst, spies.

“Pssssht!” Justin hissed, hoping to scare them away.

The scrabbling noises stopped. Then the whispering started; low enough that he couldn’t hear what was being said, but loud enough that he knew it wasn’t pigeons out there.

“Who’s there?” he called, as loudly as he dared without risking drawing attention.

The whispering stopped.

“I know there’s someone there,” Justin said, craning his head forward to listen for the faintest of sounds. “Please, show yourselves?”

There was another bout of frantic whispering, and then a small head surrounded by a shock of dark hair appeared at the window. With the light behind the figure, Justin could barely make out any of the child’s features. Boy or girl, he couldn’t tell. One of the shanty town kids, he guessed.

Further sounds of scuffling came from outside, and a second head appeared, forcing the first to one side. This one was a dirty blonde and probably a girl, judging by the length of her hair. Her eyes widened at the sight of him.

“Hi,” Justin ventured. “I’m Justin. Who’re you?” A repeat of 'Justin'. Would he introduce himself immediately to a stranger in his situation? I don't know - he's your character.

“Rin,” said the girl. “An’ this’s Dake.” She put her head to one side. “Why’d they tie you up?”

“I got caught doing something they didn’t think I should do.”

“Duh,” came the sound of a boy’s voice, slightly to one side of the window. “You wouldn’t be in jail otherwise. Why’d they chain you?”

Justin bit his lip. “To stop me getting help from...friends.”

“An’ the locked doors ‘n’ bars on the windows won’t be stopping ‘em?” The boy sounded scornful.

“Not these friends, no.” Justin rattled the chains a little. “Iron, though, that’ll stop them.”

Dake shoved his way back to peer in through the bars. “You’re a mage?”

That startled Justin. “How do you know that?”

The boy gave an impish grin. “Me brother. He knows a lot o’ stuff.” He shuffled awkwardly on what must have been a narrow ledge on the other side of the wall. “Whatcha do to get in here?”

Justin grimaced. “Not what we should have done. You know the government buildings at Westminster?”

Dake nodded.

“We were going to destroy them. With the government in session. All the people who make the decisions, gone - in one fell swoop.”

The boy stared. “What happened?”

“Nothing.” Justin’s heart sank even further than he thought might have been possible as he remembered that day. “Someone ratted us out. I don’t know who. The police were waiting for us at the rendezvous – it turned bloody. I don’t know who got away. I don’t know who died.” He fell silent, his thoughts returning to the bodies lying slumped in the shadows.This speech seemed, to me, to be a little bit unwieldy. Again would he tell strangers that much so soon?

This is a very good prison cell scene, RJ. My only concern is one mentioned earlier: that of the short story length. If your target is 10,000 words for instance, you've got 10% right here. Sorry.

On the other hand, you could turn it into a novelette (7,500 - 17,499 words according to SFWA standards). Again, sorry if that seems a bit pedantic in terms of classification.

However, you should definitely keep on with this. I thought the steam-age Guy Fawkes, but with magic, idea a really good one. I'd be interested in reading what happens next. Best of luck.

EDIT: apologies if I'm repeating some of what Alchemist has already said. He got in whilst I was typing at slow speed.

[r_j_dando]

Originally Posted by Abernovo

RJ, congratulations on posting your first piece for critique. I liked this, especially the strength of description. I also liked the historical feel, with perhaps an element of steampunk or gaslight fantasy(?). There's not much that I found to red pen. I've put any suggestions or comments in blue.

Please take any comments as simply opinion, though.

This is a very good prison cell scene, RJ. My only concern is one mentioned earlier: that of the short story length. If your target is 10,000 words for instance, you've got 10% right here. Sorry.

On the other hand, you could turn it into a novelette (7,500 - 17,499 words according to SFWA standards). Again, sorry if that seems a bit pedantic in terms of classification.

However, you should definitely keep on with this. I thought the steam-age Guy Fawkes, but with magic, idea a really good one. I'd be interested in reading what happens next. Best of luck.

EDIT: apologies if I'm repeating some of what Alchemist has already said. He got in whilst I was typing at slow speed.

Thank you very much - very useful feedback. Glad the weird mix-up of eras (with magic thrown in) works...it came about from a sketch I drew of a shanty town built up around the railway lines heading north out of London, and from an original aim to submit to an anthology themed around wizards. I've long since missed the deadline for that, but would really like to finish the short as I've enjoyed writing it and think it's one of my best pieces.

I've now edited to cover the points both you and Alchemist raised (as you both picked up on very similar points, I agree they needed dealing with!). I don't currently have a word count goal in mind - I had originally been aiming for 5k, but suspect I will write until it is finished, and then see where I'm at and edit accordingly

Thanks again for the help!

[Warren_Paul]

Hey, RJ, welcome to critiques. This looks really good to me, you can clearly write. I've got a few comments, hope they help.

Originally Posted by r_j_dando

He couldn’t see the manacles that held him in the darkness. He could feel them, though; cold, heavy iron cuffs that bit into the skin about his wrists. Blood trickled down to his elbows with antagonising slowness that tickled. It dripped down to the wet stone floor, where he heard its tiny splash as it landed in the puddle that he stood in. He tried not to think about that.

-The above paragraph is written a bit passively, but that in itself's not necessarily a bad thing, as it could be considered setting the scene in regards to his mental state - if he is a bit distanced himself, then so should the writing be. I just bring it up because I've had such comments before in my own writing about passive voice. For instance, instead of saying "He could feel them, though" you could say "He felt them, though". It brings us a bit closer to the character-

He’d given up shouting several days ago – it wasn’t getting him anywhere. The man in the cell next door had not given up yet, and his hoarse screams echoed through the dank corridors with piercing regularity.

Justin shuddered. The chains rattled against the stone with a dull metallic clank. Where the rest of the coven were, spirits only knew. Trapped in here, executed, killed at the time of capture – he could only guess. He had dim recollections of bodies lying on the floor that he’d run past in his frantic bid for escape. Bodies of his comrades or of the enemy, he didn’t know. Probably never would.

-I felt the end of the above paragraph was a bit unemotional for what the topic was, how does it feel about that? Does it concern him that they might be the bodies of his comrades? By the way it's written I get the feeling that the answer is not so much, unless it's just because he's been there so long he can't bring himself to care - if so, put that in there-

Anguished howls renewed nearby; inhuman wails of despair and pain.

“Shut the hell up!” Justin shouted back. -Is his throat dry, croaky? Does it hurt to shout? Tell us this- He held out no hope that the stranger would pay any heed to his pleas, but it was grinding down his sanity faster than anything else in this place. He didn’t want to start screaming again too. If he did, he might never stop.

-The second half of the above paragraph is good, but the first half; about the stranger paying for his screams, could be written a bit more in the PoV character's voice, something like this: They'll punish him, if he doesn't. They always do. or you could do it as internal thoughts even. The comment about the stranger paying for it, and the comment about grinding down his sanity don't really go together either, I'd make them separate sentences somehow-

A low rumbling began in the rocks under his bare feet. It began as a deep vibration, which grew into a deeper roar which increased in intensity and volume until the entire cell shook. The train screeched past the tiny barred window in a cacophony of sparking wheels, protesting brakes and rattling trucks. It spewed black smoke, steam, and glowing cinders as it flew, dimming what little light came into the cell. In this direction the trains would be empty most of the time, so they sped past faster than the heavier freight coming into the city. The full trucks weighed more, so although the emptier trains were faster, the heavier ones made more noise.

-The marked in red sounds like we have slipped out of the character's mind and into the narrator's voice. Write it from how he see's it, add his voice to the description. We want to hear how Justin would say it right there an then, in that cell-

The sound of the train faded away into the distance. Justin allowed his eyes to close and his head to lead back against the hard stone wall. He’d have between eight and twelve minutes before the next one came, time for a fractured sleep. The trains ran every day apart from Sundays, and all through the night, although the gaps between them stretched as far as maybe half an hour.

-First bit of red is passive voice again, we don't want actions happening to the character, if we can help it, but for the character to do the actions himself. Justin closed his eyes, and leaned his head against the hard stone wall. Twelve minutes, that's how long I'll have until the next one comes. It was enough time for a fractured sleep. That's a suggestion I believe brings us a lot deeper into his head.

The second red is also narrator voice again, like the previous paragraph, same comments apply-

Fifteen days, or was it sixteen now? He couldn’t remember how long he’d been here. Time slipped away without him noticing.

-I don't you need the blue. The red is slipping slightly into the wrong tense I think, its written more present, and could be written a bit more personal as well, something like this: Time didn't matter here, nothing mattered.-

The screaming stopped. The silence that followed seemed unnaturally quiet.

-I'd recommend avoiding the use of "seemed" if possible, you can safely take it out of the sentence in this situation and it would actually make it stronger-

Scrabbling sounds came from outside the window. Bloody pigeons again. They couldn’t get in through the bars, the gaps weren’t quite wide enough for that, but they sat outside on the rocky ledge, cooing and chirping. At best, they were merely winged rats. At worst, spies.

“Pssssht!” Justin hissed, hoping to scare them away. -some movement involved in this action?-

The scrabbling noises stopped. Then the whispering started; low enough that he couldn’t hear what was being said, but loud enough that he knew it wasn’t pigeons out there.

“Who’s there?” he called, as loudly as he dared without risking drawing attention.

The whispering stopped.

“I know there’s someone there,” Justin said, craning his head forward to listen for the faintest of sounds. “Please, show yourselves?”

There was another bout of frantic whispering, and then a small head surrounded by a shock of dark hair appeared at the window. With the light behind the figure, Justin could barely make out any of the child’s features. Boy or girl, he couldn’t tell. One of the shanty town kids, he guessed.

Further sounds of scuffling came from outside, and a second head appeared, forcing the first to one side. This one was a dirty blonde and probably a girl, judging by the length of her hair. Her eyes widened at the sight of him.

-How can he see the girl's features, and not the boys?-

“Hi,” Justin ventured. “I’m Justin. Who’re you?”

-Make his dialogue sound a bit more desperate, or pained here. At the moment it sounds happy-like to me, because of the way it is written, I wan't to imagine him smiling as he says it, but I shouldn't-

“Rin,” said the girl. “An’ this’s Dake.” She put her head to one side. “Why’d they tie you up?” -They aren't nervous about talking to him?-

“I got caught doing something they didn’t think I should do.”

“Duh,” came the sound of a boy’s voice, slightly to one side of the window. “You wouldn’t be in jail otherwise. Why’d they chain you?”

Justin bit his lip. “To stop me getting help from...friends.”

“An’ the locked doors ‘n’ bars on the windows won’t be stopping ‘em?” The boy sounded scornful.

“Not these friends, no.” Justin rattled the chains a little. “Iron, though, that’ll stop them.”

Dake shoved his way back to peer in through the bars. “You’re a mage?”

That startled Justin. “How do you know that?”

The boy gave an impish grin. “Me brother. He knows a lot o’ stuff.” He shuffled awkwardly on what must have been a narrow ledge on the other side of the wall. “Whatcha do to get in here?”

Justin grimaced. “Not what we should have done. You know the government buildings at Westminster?”

Dake nodded.

“We were going to destroy them. With the government in session. All the people who make the decisions, gone - in one fell swoop.”

-I'm starting to wonder why he is speaking so openly with these kids? In this situation I'd either be asking them to help him get out, or telling them to scram - not talking about my life with them. Perhaps make the kids have to drag the information out of him, and I'd also make the kids a bit hesitant to ask about it, as reflected in their hushed whispers - I'd have thought they'd be nervous asking a "criminal" all these questions?-

The boy stared. “What happened?”

“Nothing.” Justin’s heart sank even further than he thought might have been possible as he remembered that day. “Someone ratted us out. I don’t know who. The police were waiting for us at the rendezvous – it turned bloody. I don’t know who got away. I don’t know who died.” He fell silent, his thoughts returning to the bodies lying slumped in the shadows.

Very good RJ.

A few suggestions to get us a bit more into Justin's head. Is he hungry, starved? Hunger pains, dehydration. Get a bit more deeper into explaining how tired he is. Make him a little less coherent during the conversation, because all these things would affect his ability to talk and concentrate.

Overall, I really enjoyed reading it. Thanks for sharing it with us.


- Warren.

[crystal haven]

Hello RJ

I really enjoyed this.

The things I would have mentioned have already been said, so not much to add really.

I would have read further, and felt it had enough emotion and painted the scene well. I really liked the children, but feel the last paragraph was a lot of explanation to strangers - perhaps make him desperate to share his thoughts with someone? Or it bring back a memory flashback? Just a thought.

Well done. Thank you for sharing. I hope to read more of your work.

[r_j_dando]

Thank you, Crystal and WP for taking the time to read and comment, much appreciated. I can see I need to do something with the last para certainly, and will try to do something about the passive areas. Glad it's being well received!

[Piousflea]

I really liked this story fragment. Sounds like the people posting in this thread have already summed up the same comments I'd have so I just wanted to say - Good job.

[tammy@]

I believe this story builds quite nicely giving us a feel not only for where justin is as but his circumstances.

There are element which I particularly find realistic in a description of the Jail or prison- having spoken to a few people who have had the luxury of such and experience. One of those was the constant screamer.

I like the introduction of the people outside- and how it's used to give us more insight into Justin's character.

Plus it tells us a bit about how Justin may be affected by the experience, that he trust whats outside the window or perhaps no longer cares.

This is all something I'm sure you will tell us in the next excerpt.

I am curious how it will be explained that these two are outside so close to his cell window.

That said I have a side note that perhaps some seasoned vets here can illuminate me with.
Obviously I am new and this set of threads interested me but I find myself with a problem understanding what you think a critique is.

My understanding is that it is a critique or review that expresses your reaction to the writing and perhaps and explanation of who else might like this piece and perhaps how it worked for you.

What I see most of the time -I read quite a few before trying this-is what I believe are a mix of substantive editing and some small amounts or review.

Now getting free substantive editing is great and I've no problem with that but substantive editing is a collaboration between the editor and the author and the rules here are rule that I feel apply to critiques only.

You have disallowed the collaboration by instructing the people who submit to treat this as a review/critique- so perhaps substantive editing should be disallowed.

I'd be happy to have someone explain this to me if they would like to personal message me- if that's possible- as I see that I have a way to go to qualify to do several other tasks here.

[The Judge]

Whatever a critique may be in the wider world, the Critiques forum here is a place to help members improve their work. Anything which tends to that end, and which is done by way of constructive criticism, is accepted, whether it is a simple "I liked this because..." or "This didn't work for me because..." to a detailed review of characterisation and pace or a comprehensive nit-picking critique dealing with issues of spelling, punctuation, word use or sentence structure and the like.

If a person doesn't want what you call "substantive editing" then she can request that less attention be paid to that aspect of her writing as and when she puts a piece up. However, not infrequently another member will choose to disregard the request and will critique on that basis regardless -- and since anyone who is truly interested in having her work be the best it can be, to my mind such help should be welcomed with open arms. If someone genuinely doesn't want that help, well, this might not be the best forum for her work, as I have had occasion to mention elsewhere recently.

[r_j_dando]

Piousflea and Tammy - thank you for the comments and feedback, glad you liked it!

[Bowler1]

He couldn’t see the manacles that held him in the darkness. He could feel them, though; cold, heavy iron cuffs that bit into the skin about his wrists. Blood trickled down to his elbows with antagonising slowness that tickled. It dripped down to the wet stone floor, where he heard its tiny splash as it landed in the puddle that he stood in. He tried not to think about that.
Good, a little over worked but I’ll not hold it against you – descriptions used trickled/tickled draw me away from blood and the serious spot our man finds himself in.
He’d given up shouting several days ago – it wasn’t getting him anywhere. The man in the cell next door had not given up yet, and his hoarse screams echoed through the dank corridors with piercing regularity.
I liked this.
Justin shuddered. The chains rattled against the stone with a dull metallic clank. Where the rest of the coven were, spirits only knew. Trapped in here, executed, killed at the time of capture – he could only guess. He had dim recollections of bodies lying on the floor that he’d run past in his frantic bid for escape. Bodies of his comrades or of the enemy, he didn’t know. Probably never would.
Gets repeated later in conversation.
Anguished howls renewed nearby; inhuman wails of despair and pain.
Renewed? – odd choice of word for me.
“Shut the hell up!” Justin shouted back. He held out no hope that the stranger would pay any heed to his pleas, but it was grinding down his sanity faster than anything else in this place. He didn’t want to start screaming again too. If he did, he might never stop.
This feels over worked to me, let the reader do some of the work – less is more!
A low rumbling began in the rocks under his bare feet. It began as a deep vibration, which grew into a deeper roar which increased in intensity and volume until the entire cell shook. The train screeched past the tiny barred window in a cacophony of sparking wheels, protesting brakes and rattling trucks. It spewed black smoke, steam, and glowing cinders as it flew, dimming what little light came into the cell. In this direction the trains would be empty most of the time, so they sped past faster than the heavier freight coming into the city. The full trucks weighed more, so although the emptier trains were faster, the heavier ones made more noise.
The last two lines are not needed at all and do nothing for me.
The sound of the train faded away into the distance. Justin allowed his eyes to close and his head to lead back against the hard stone wall. He’d have between eight and twelve minutes before the next one came, time for a fractured sleep. The trains ran every day apart from Sundays, and all through the night, although the gaps between them stretched as far as maybe half an hour.
Again, last line is not needed – too much information – fractured sleep said all I needed to know and had impact to that point.
Scrabbling sounds came from outside the window. Bloody pigeons again. They couldn’t get in through the bars, the gaps weren’t quite wide enough for that, but they sat outside on the rocky ledge, cooing and chirping. At best, they were merely winged rats. At worst, spies.
Yet again, last two lines – I’d question mentioning pigeons at all.
“I know there’s someone there,” Justin said, craning his head forward to listen for the faintest of sounds. “Please, show yourselves?”
I don’t like the dialogue, feels a little forced.
“Nothing.” Justin’s heart sank even further than he thought might have been possible as he remembered that day. “Someone ratted us out. I don’t know who. The police were waiting for us at the rendezvous – it turned bloody. I don’t know who got away. I don’t know who died.” He fell silent, his thoughts returning to the bodies lying slumped in the shadows.
This section feels a little forced to me as well, more so after the dialogue before this from the two kids which was good. A bit of a repeat from the 3rd para.

Feels a little distant, more emotion is needed as per WP. Resist the urge to over write and tighten up on what you do. I was expecting a rescue not kids mucking about, so the plot needs reviewing.

However, some nice writing in there and a good first post. Some of the conversation with the kids was very good – the use of ‘why’d’ I liked a lot, expressed the kids well. You should be happy with the comments you’re getting, it was a nice read.

[r_j_dando]

Originally Posted by Bowler1

Scrabbling sounds came from outside the window. Bloody pigeons again. They couldn’t get in through the bars, the gaps weren’t quite wide enough for that, but they sat outside on the rocky ledge, cooing and chirping. At best, they were merely winged rats. At worst, spies.
Yet again, last two lines – I’d question mentioning pigeons at all.

I rather liked the suggestion that pigeons can be something more than just birds...this is the first hint that there's magic in this world. Can I ask why you think it would be better removed?

Originally Posted by Bowler1

“I know there’s someone there,” Justin said, craning his head forward to listen for the faintest of sounds. “Please, show yourselves?”
I don’t like the dialogue, feels a little forced.

Okay...I was wondering a little about some of Justin's turns of phrase. I need to portray him as a much higher class than the kids, but I think I push it a little far in places.

Originally Posted by Bowler1

Feels a little distant, more emotion is needed as per WP. Resist the urge to over write and tighten up on what you do. I was expecting a rescue not kids mucking about, so the plot needs reviewing.

Well, a rescue is what you get, but it's not in this excerpt - the whole thing is too long to post here for crit! I don't think it's possible to question the plot without knowing where the story is going. I have removed some of the sentences as discussed with previous critters, and will keep an eye on the over-describing...

Originally Posted by Bowler1

However, some nice writing in there and a good first post. Some of the conversation with the kids was very good – the use of ‘why’d’ I liked a lot, expressed the kids well. You should be happy with the comments you’re getting, it was a nice read.

Thank you, and thanks for taking the time to read and critique.

[Bowler1]

Ok on pigeons, the 'rats with wings' is writer oponion - 'at worst spies' is plot. - Nothing wrong with both, very much a case of no matter what you do, you can't please everyone all the time!

As the guy was chained to a wall, you used trains to show time, blood dripping to show his poor treatment. The pigeons here, were another example of him being stuck where he was, so thats three plot lines showing the mage being chained up. Of the three, the weakest I thought was the birds. But I can see why they were mentioned, but you just need to keep the reader with you, pace is what I'm trying to explain, where is CTG when you need him?

Some of your dialogue is very good, the bit that I think was forced would not be quite what I'd say if I was chained to a wall, help comes to mind. So to me, it didn't feel natural here, more so, as the kids talking seemed very natural, so I know you can do better.

I don't want to over do my oponion, what you showed us was good.