1000th post

[SJAB]

It has taken me a few years to reach this, so here goes something from my ideas file for folks to rip to shreds.

It's a supernatural/steampunk/regency romance mashup, written in the slightly formal style adopted by most writers of regency romance.

It is about 1300 words so I will understand if folks don't want to spend time on this.

The thing I am interested in, mostly, is does it hook you?

Chapter One

The dog was dead. It lay on its back in the dew-soaked grass, split from the groin to just under its jowls. The pug had been his Aunt’s precious darling. Inspector, Lord Jonathan Collpole, had always thought it was just another example of his Aunt’s inoffensive foibles, but tonight he had come to realise that he had not really known his Aunt, and her eccentricity was anything but harmless. He pushed back the bridge of the gold-wire spectacles hard against the top of his nose. The thick lenses turned opaque, obscuring what little remained of his normal sight for the space of three heart beats before the lenses re-focused, giving him perfect vision. Three beats now. At first it had been barely one. Now it was three. How long before it was four, six or… Stop it. D***self-pity never got you anywhere.

The Constable holding the lantern, on seeing Jonathan’s movements, stepped closer to the small corpse. Jonathan did not need the extra light, night or day did not make any difference to the vision the lenses afforded him, but he acknowledged the Constable’s observation and tact with a small nod.

Jonathan prodded under the animal’s thick jowls with the tip of his walking cane, as he bent down to check if his suspicions were correct. The gold, seed-pearl encrusted collar was still attached to the mutt. So, the young footman assigned to walk the animal that evening had not half-hitched the collar and left the Dowager, Lady Dowport’s service without giving notice. It was not a matter of a mere theft and his Aunt suffering the ill consequences of her own making, someone had known about the un-natural nature of the Pug. Jonathan straightened up and stepped to the right, inspecting first the neatly trimmed grass around the dead dog and then the open cavity; utilising his cane tip again, this time to pry open the slit flesh. There was no blood. Dew, yes, the small droplets clung precariously to the short blades of grass, the fine hair of the dog and the slit sides of the wound. The animal had lain here a good few hours. It was if the creature had been placed, no abandoned, as if it was no longer of any importance, by the hand that had gutted it. The inside of the dog looked like that of a well-cooked goose and had the texture of leather.

Jonathan shook his head. “Of all the b***** cockeyed stupidity.” He reached into his pocket pulling out a small silver case and opened it. Inside, with no visible means of suspension was a very small silver bell. Jonathan had rung it when, a visit to his Aunt’s sickbed turned into a situation were he knew he was going to need a Peculiars’ opinion. It was better to call one in earlier, than have to deal with a red-faced, Lord Montangle, the Forum minister for Peculiar affairs, concerning an Accord infringement. The bell was still swinging to-and-fro; it seemed his Peculiar counterparts were being somewhat lacks in answering his request for assistance. He snapped the box closed and replaced it in his pocket.

“Inspector Collpole, Milord!”

Jonathan turned round at the sound of his name. His subordinate, Detective Constable, Ian Mason, was walking up the slope from the lower section of the small park. On his upper lip Mason had grown a valiant attempt at a gentleman’s curled moustache. Like the hair on his head it was fine, too much so to hold the wax and drooped on its left hand side. Its pale, near wheat yellow colour did not add to the strong, manly impression Mason wished for, it merely increased the pallor of his skin. This along with the young man’s thin frame led people to think he was inconsequential. Jonathan knew otherwise. Behind Mason’s wispy vain effort of moustache lay a mind akin to the jaws of a mantrap. Jonathan had witnessed Mason’s mind in action that morning, as Mason had glanced round his superior’s office. Jonathan had seen that the evidence presented there had noticed by his subordinate.

The tumble of blankets lying over the arm of the brown leather chaise longue, which sat under the row of frosted glass windows. The mass of white ash in the hearth, indicating the fire had been in all night. The wash basin and jug placed on Jonathan’s desk. His shaving brush and cutthroat razor placed neatly alongside a block of shaving soap. Jonathan, himself, dressed in trousers and shirt, minus its winged collar. His silk waistcoat,along with his well-tailored jacket folded carefully on the seat of one of the office chairs. The scene was not an unusual one when a difficult case was in the offing. However, this was not the current situation. Jonathan knew Mason had put the evidence together and he knew the young man had reached the correct deduction, but he would be d***** if he was going to confirm it. He had no fear that Mason would confide his assumption to others. Not that, others, would be so discreet in the coming days.

His hand tightened on the ivory top of his cane. The partly healed grazes across the knuckles of his right hand rubbed against the fine lining of his leather gloves. D********. If his behaviour was to be called into question, what of hers. He had no doubt that Helena would use his outburst at the Jordonstone’s ball to her advantage. Though the target of his frustration had been the stucco wall of the Jordonstone’s second drawing room while Helena had made a dramatic exit, she would have by now, no doubt, made it plain to any that would listen that the blow had been meant for her. Her whirl of social events would continue apace. Helena had the caveat of marriage she did not need the physical presence of the husband in question. He had been far too long an accessory after the fact in her eyes. Why had he, with his enhanced sight, been so blind?

“Yes, Mason.”

“Milord, I believe we might have found the footman.”

“Might have?”

“Yes, I have sent a Constable for a ladder.”

“A ladder ? I see, and where…”

Mason half turned and pointed. “The bandstand, Milord.”

Jonathan indicated for Mason to lead the way. As he walked down the gentle slope, Jonathan glanced back. A clear star-filled night framed the elegant facades of the fine sandstone houses edging the southern side of the small park. These in turn partly obscured by the lattice finger fan of bare branches. All was outwardly genteel and safe; a place where children played under the watchful gaze of their nannies. Ladies and gentlemen strolled while listening to the musicians playing in the bandstand and were a footman took his employer’s dog that was not a dog for its nightly ablutions.

Jonathan shrugged his shoulders against the increasing cold and returned his attention to his destination. The bandstand stood a dozen feet from where the grass of the park ended and the first of several terraces began, each one linked by a set of granite steps. In the summer the flowerbeds edging each terrace was a profusion of colour. Now the bare frames of pruned rose bushes interspersed with winter pansies struggled to uphold the park’s reputation for being a horticultural oasis in the heart of the city.

Two Constables were carrying a long wooden ladder towards the wrought iron confection of the bandstand. “Sir, where do you want the ladder?” The Constable at far end of the ladder asked.

“Just about here,” Mason answered,indicating a section right next to the opening that allowed the musicians access. The two constables positioned the ladder with its top resting against the curved edge of the roof

Jonathan frowned. “You are not saying that the footman is…”

“On the roof, yes Milord, I believe so. It was the blood you see,” Mason said, as he stepped towards the ladder.

[ctg]

Honestly, I want to keep reading, but I don't know how long I could go on, as I had to start three times from the beginning before I could hit the first dialogue line. And even after that, I had to read couple of times certain paras to catch the elusive red line, because it fastly getting lost among all that description.

If only you could lose some of it, but I'm too afraid to go there with my cleaver and hack off some of the frilly bits. So, I'll let the others to do that, and hope that you're not going to be too pissed off for me saying so. Sorry.

[The Judge]

Congratulations on the 1,000th!

I have to say I didn't pick up on a Regency style if that truly was your intention. It didn't matter to me, as it worked on its own terms without it, but if you were deliberately aiming for it, I think perhaps it needs a touch more control. In particular the italicised thoughts aren't very Regency, are they?

I loved the very opening, which had a real hook, but I have to say for me interest began to tail off pretty rapidly in the third para and I started skimming. I think part of the problem (apart from my impatience...) is that the paragraphs are a bit long this early in the story. Making them shorter and snappier might help. And no matter how much his thoughts are running on The Scarlet Woman at the moment, I think he should put them aside for a chapter or two, until we're interested in him.

I won't do a thorough nit pick as I'm running out of time, but you've a number of basic errors on show here, I'm afraid.

Quite a bit of the punctuation is awry eg "of her own making, someone had known" requires a semi-colon at least, if not a full stop in place of the comma, whereas "the open cavity; utilising his" is the opposite -- that semi-colon is wrong and a comma would be better. And "Inspector, Lord Jonathan Collpole," requires a comma after Jonathan but might be better with a long dash splitting it (though thinking about it, I'm pretty sure that's wrong in court terms -- shouldn't the higher rank come first?). I don't think "Aunt" and "Pug" should be capitalised, unless you intend to capitalise Lots of Important Words throughout, and "a Peculiars’ " has the apostrophe in the wrong place or it shouldn't be "a".

Re word use, I think you need to be more careful eg it's "half-inched" not "hitched" -- Cockney rhyming slang for pinched (and although he might know the expression, I don't think he'd use it himself, would he?). Lax not lacks. A caveat is a warning, and makes no sense in this context. Do you mean protection? If so, how about aegis? And accessory after the fact has a strict legal meaning which again makes little sense here, I'm afraid, unless you truly mean she thinks he's a person who has aided another after the commission of a crime.

NB “Inspector Collpole, Milord!” appears at first sight to be someone introducing the Inspector to him.

You're setting up an intriguing hero, half Peter Wimsey and half Percy Blakeney, I imagine, and I like the supernatural hints that are coming out. I think even if it is cod-Regency, though, you need to keep the speed up, particularly in these opening pages, and you definitely need to get a better grip on Regency word use and, I suspect, the peerage. But a good first draft. Well done.

[chrispenycate]

Originally Posted by SJAB

It has taken me a few years to reach this, so here goes something from my ideas file for folks to rip to shreds.

It's a supernatural/steampunk/regency romance mashup, written in the slightly formal style adopted by most writers of regency romance.

It is about 1300 words so I will understand if folks don't want to spend time on this.

The thing I am interested in, mostly, is does it hook you?

Chapter One

The dog was dead. It lay on its back in the dew-soaked grass, split from the groin to just under its jowls. The pug had been his Aunt’s precious darling. Inspector,

You're using the spaced comma before "Lord" fairly consistently in this piece, but unless it's the inspector, Jonathan, Lord Collpole, I don't see the precedent for it. Are you attempting to make it clear this is an alternate society with different naming and title conventions?

Lord Jonathan Collpole, had always thought it was just another example of his Aunt’s inoffensive foibles, but tonight he had come to realise that he had not really known his Aunt, and her eccentricity was anything but harmless. He pushed back the bridge of the gold-wire spectacles hard against the top of his nose. The thick lenses turned opaque, obscuring what little remained of his normal sight for the space of three heart beats before the lenses re-focused, giving him perfect vision. Three beats now. At first it had been barely one. Now it was three. How long before it was four, six or… Stop it. D***self-pity never got you anywhere.

The Constable holding the lantern, on seeing Jonathan’s movements, stepped closer to the small corpse. Jonathan did not need the extra light,

Comma splice; perhaps dashes setting off the subordinate clause?

night or day did not make any difference to the vision the lenses afforded him, but he acknowledged the Constable’s observation and tact with a small nod.

Jonathan prodded under the animal’s thick jowls with the tip of his walking cane,

Do you need this comma?

as he bent down to check if his suspicions were correct. The gold, seed-pearl encrusted collar was still attached to the mutt. So,

Do you need this comma?

the young footman assigned to walk the animal that evening had not half-hitched

I thought the term was "half inched", rhyming slang for "pinched".

the collar and left the Dowager, Lady Dowport’s service without giving notice. It was not a matter of a mere theft and his Aunt suffering the ill consequences of her own making,

Comma splice

someone had known about the un-natural nature of the Pug. Jonathan straightened up and stepped to the right, inspecting first the neatly trimmed grass around the dead dog and then the open cavity; utilising his cane tip again, this time to pry open the slit flesh. There was no blood. Dew, yes,

Not exactly a comma splice, but I'd still use something a bit stronger than a comma here.

the small droplets clung precariously to the short blades of grass, the fine hair of the dog and the slit sides of the wound. The animal had lain here a good few hours. It was if the creature had been placed, no

I'd move the comma after "abandoned" here

abandoned, as if it was no longer of any importance, by the hand that had gutted it. The inside of the dog looked like that of a well-cooked goose and had the texture of leather.

Jonathan shook his head. “Of all the b***** cockeyed stupidity.” He reached into his pocket

probably a comma.

pulling out a small silver case and opened

It would be better if the verbs "to pull" and "to open" were in the same tense; either "pulled", and "opened", or "pulling" and "opening".

it. Inside, with no visible means of suspension

Comma

was a very small silver bell. Jonathan had rung it when,

No comma

a visit to his Aunt’s sickbed turned into a situation were

where

he knew he was going to need a Peculiars’ opinion. It was better to call one in earlier,

Do you need this comma?

than have to deal with a red-faced, Lord Montangle, the Forum minister for Peculiar affairs, concerning an Accord infringement. The bell was still swinging to-and-fro; it seemed his Peculiar counterparts were being somewhat lacks

lax?

in answering his request for assistance. He snapped the box closed and replaced it in his pocket.

“Inspector Collpole, Milord!”

Jonathan turned round at the sound of his name. His subordinate, Detective Constable,

Do you need this comma?

Ian Mason, was walking up the slope from the lower section of the small park. On his upper lip Mason had grown a valiant attempt at a gentleman’s curled moustache. Like the hair on his head it was fine, too much so to hold the wax

comma

and drooped on its left hand side. Its pale, near wheat-yellow colour did not add to the strong, manly impression Mason wished for, it merely increased the pallor of his skin. This

Comma

along with the young man’s thin frame

Comma

led people to think he was inconsequential. Jonathan knew otherwise. Behind Mason’s wispy vain effort of moustache lay a mind akin to the jaws of a mantrap. Jonathan had witnessed Mason’s mind in action that morning, as Mason had glanced round his superior’s office. Jonathan had seen that the evidence presented there had

been?

noticed by his subordinate.

The tumble of blankets lying over the arm of the brown leather chaise longue, which sat under the row of frosted glass windows. The mass of white ash in the hearth, indicating the fire had been in all night. The wash basin and jug placed on Jonathan’s desk. His shaving brush and cutthroat razor placed neatly alongside a block of shaving soap. Jonathan,

No comma

himself, dressed in trousers and shirt, minus its winged collar. His silk waistcoat,along with his well-tailored jacket folded carefully on the seat of one of the office chairs. The scene was not an unusual one when a difficult case was in the offing. However, this was not the current situation. Jonathan knew Mason had put the evidence together and he knew the young man had reached the correct deduction, but he would be d***** if he was going to confirm it. He had no fear that Mason would confide his assumption to others. Not that, others,

Why the commas round "others"? Instead of quotation marks, to make it clear this is accented?

would be so discreet in the coming days.

His hand tightened on the ivory top of his cane. The partly healed grazes across the knuckles of his right hand rubbed against the fine lining of his leather gloves. D********. If his behaviour was to be called into question, what of hers. He had no doubt that Helena would use his outburst at the Jordonstone’s ball to her advantage. Though the target of his frustration had been the stucco wall of the Jordonstone’s second drawing room while Helena had made a dramatic exit, she would have

I feel that this "have" has got too divorced from the "made" it is the auxilliary of. With just the "by now" it was survivable, but the additional "no doubt…" Could you not reunify them in a "she would by now, no doubt, have made it plain…?

by now, no doubt, made it plain to any that would listen that the blow had been meant for her. Her whirl of social events would continue apace. Helena had the caveat of marriage

Punctuate (possibly semicolon).

she did not need the physical presence of the husband in question. He had been far too long an accessory after the fact in her eyes. Why had he, with his enhanced sight, been so blind?

“Yes, Mason.”

“Milord, I believe we might have found the footman.”

“Might have?”

“Yes, I have sent a Constable for a ladder.”

“A ladder ? I see, and where…”

Mason half turned and pointed. “The bandstand, Milord.”

Jonathan indicated for Mason to lead the way. As he walked down the gentle slope, Jonathan glanced back. A clear

comma

star-filled night framed the elegant facades of the fine sandstone houses edging the southern side of the small park. These in turn partly obscured by the lattice finger fan of bare branches. All was outwardly genteel and safe; a place where children played under the watchful gaze of their nannies. Ladies and gentlemen strolled while listening to the musicians playing in the bandstand and were a footman took his employer’s dog that was not a dog for its nightly ablutions.

Jonathan shrugged his shoulders against the increasing cold and returned his attention to his destination. The bandstand stood a dozen feet from where the grass of the park ended and the first of several terraces began, each one linked by a set of granite steps. In the summer the flowerbeds edging each terrace was

flowerbeds plural= were.

a profusion of colour. Now the bare frames of pruned rose bushes interspersed with winter pansies struggled to uphold the park’s reputation for being a horticultural oasis in the heart of the city.

Two Constables were carrying a long wooden ladder towards the wrought iron confection of the bandstand. “Sir, where do you want the ladder?” The Constable at far end of the ladder asked.

“Just about here,” Mason answered, indicating a section right next to the opening that allowed the musicians access. The two constables positioned the ladder with its top resting against the curved edge of the roof

Jonathan frowned. “You are not saying that the footman is…”

“On the roof, yes Milord, I believe so. It was the blood

Comma

you see,” Mason said, as he stepped towards the ladder.

[TheDustyZebra]

Congratulations on 1000!

I'm afraid I started skimming pretty quickly and then lost interest entirely, even though the story is probably right up my alley. I would suggest turning a lot of the thick paragraphs into some snappier dialogue that would convey the same points; I've had to do that with my own WIP in places.

If you get it reworked, it's a story I'd be interested in reading!

[chrispenycate]

Well, I don't think anyone could accuse me of skimming (even if my attention was possibly not concentrated where you would have preferred). I like this stately, weighty style; I have not yet succumbed to the "start with a climax and build up from there" mentality. Certainly, it's not spoon feeding, but I am certain there are others who are willing to put a little effort into their reading, even if the majority of us predate television.

And yes, congratulations on achieving membership in the thousand post club; nice to see there was somebody took longer at it than me.

[Hex]

Congratulations on 1000 posts!

First, I really enjoyed this -- I like the character, I like the mystery of the aunt and I want to read on (so yes -- effective hook).

I agree that some of the paragraphs could probably be shorter.

Chapter One

The dog was dead. It lay on its back in the dew-soaked grass, split from the groin to just under its jowls. The pug had been his Aunt’s precious darling. Inspector, [is this comma a weird thing to do with him being a Lord?] Lord Jonathan Collpole, had always thought it was just another example of his Aunt’s inoffensive foibles, but tonight he had come to realise that he had not really known his Aunt, and her eccentricity was anything but harmless.[could this be a new paragraph?] He pushed back [I had a little difficulty at first imagining what he was doing with the glasses -- I don't think 'back' necessarily adds] the bridge of the gold-wire spectacles hard against the top of his nose. The thick lenses turned opaque, obscuring what little remained of his normal sight for the space of three heart beats before the lenses [I wondered about 'they' instead of 'the lenses'] re-focused, giving him perfect vision. Three beats now. At first it had been barely one. Now it was three. How long before it was four, six or… Stop it. [D***self-pity never got you anywhere. -- super-personal but this last little bit made me like him less, for some reason]

The Constable holding the lantern, on seeing Jonathan’s movements, stepped closer to the small corpse. Jonathan did not need the extra light, night or day did not make any difference to the vision the lenses afforded him, but he acknowledged the Constable’s observation and tact with a small nod.

Jonathan prodded under the animal’s thick jowls with the tip of his walking cane, as he bent down to check if his suspicions were correct. The gold, seed-pearl encrusted collar was still attached to the mutt. So, the young footman assigned to walk the animal that evening had not half-hitched [I don't know 'half-hitched' as a term for stealing -- which is probably my ignorance of all things Regency. I thought it was a type of knot... because this is so similar to 'half-inched' it made me pause, but I did get what it meant from the context] the collar and left the Dowager, [yes okay -- these commas are to do with titles] Lady Dowport’s service without giving notice. It was not a matter of a mere theft and his Aunt suffering the ill consequences of her own making, someone had known about the un-natural nature of the Pug [this sentence is the first one I had to read twice to understand what it meant. I wonder if a semicolon or something would make it clearer?]. Jonathan straightened up and stepped to the right, inspecting first the neatly trimmed grass around the dead dog and then the open cavity; utilising his cane tip again, this time to pry open the slit flesh.[bleurgh] There was no blood. Dew, yes,[the comma here sounds a little breathless -- I wondered about something stronger] the small droplets clung precariously to the short blades of grass, the fine hair of the dog and the slit sides of the wound. The animal had lain here a good few hours. It was if the creature had been placed, no abandoned, as if it was no longer of any importance, by the hand that had gutted it. The inside of the dog looked like that of a well-cooked goose and had the texture of leather. [bleurgh again]

Jonathan shook his head. “Of all the b***** cockeyed stupidity.” He reached into his pocket pulling out a small silver case and opened it. [I'm not sure about this but I wondered if 'pulling out...' implied that it happened at the same time as him reaching in to his pocket] Inside, with no visible means of suspension [I would like a comma here] was a very small silver bell. Jonathan had rung it when, [and no comma here?] a visit to his Aunt’s sickbed turned into a situation w[h]ere he knew he was going to need a Peculiars’ opinion. It was better to call one in earlier, [not sure about this comma] than have to deal with a red-faced, [don't like this comma at all] Lord Montangle, the Forum minister for Peculiar affairs, concerning an Accord infringement. The bell was still swinging to-and-fro; it seemed his Peculiar counterparts were being somewhat lacks [lax] in answering his request for assistance. He snapped the box closed and replaced it in his pocket.

“Inspector Collpole, Milord!”

Jonathan turned [round] at the sound of his name. His subordinate, Detective Constable, [does this comma have to be here?] Ian Mason, was walking up the slope from the lower section of the small park. On his upper lip Mason had grown a valiant attempt at a gentleman’s curled moustache. Like the hair on his head it was fine, too much so to hold the wax [a comma here?] and drooped on its left hand side. Its pale, near wheat yellow colour did not add to the strong, manly impression Mason wished for, it merely increased the pallor of his skin. This along with the young man’s thin frame led people to think he was inconsequential. Jonathan knew otherwise. Behind Mason’s wispy vain effort of moustache lay a mind akin to the jaws of a mantrap. Jonathan had witnessed Mason’s mind in action that morning, as Mason had glanced round his superior’s office. Jonathan had seen that the evidence presented there had [been] noticed by his subordinate.

The tumble of blankets lying over the arm of the brown leather chaise longue, which sat under the row of frosted glass windows. The mass of white ash in the hearth, indicating the fire had been in all night. The wash basin and jug placed on Jonathan’s desk. His shaving brush and cutthroat razor placed neatly alongside a block of shaving soap. Jonathan, himself, dressed in trousers and shirt, minus its winged collar. His silk waistcoat,along with his well-tailored jacket [comma] folded carefully on the seat of one of the office chairs. The scene was not an unusual one when a difficult case was in the offing. However, this was not the current situation. Jonathan knew Mason had put the evidence together and he knew the young man had reached the correct deduction, but he would be d***** if he was going to confirm it. He had no fear that Mason would confide his assumption to others. Not that, [no comma] others, [no comma here either, I don't think] would be so discreet in the coming days.

His hand tightened on the ivory top of his cane. The partly healed grazes across the knuckles of his right hand rubbed against the fine lining of his leather gloves. D********. If his behaviour was to be called into question, what of hers.[question mark] He had no doubt that Helena would use his outburst at the Jordonstone’s ball to her advantage. Though the target of his frustration had been the stucco wall of the Jordonstone’s second drawing room while Helena had made a dramatic exit, she would have by now, no doubt, made it plain to any that would listen that the blow had been meant for her. Her whirl of social events would continue apace. Helena had the caveat of marriage she did not need the physical presence of the husband in question. He had been far too long an accessory after the fact in her eyes. Why had he, with his enhanced sight, been so blind?

“Yes, Mason.”

“Milord, I believe we might have found the footman.”

“Might have?”

“Yes, I have sent a Constable for a ladder.”

“A ladder ? I see, and where…”

Mason half turned and pointed. “The bandstand, Milord.”

Jonathan indicated for Mason to lead the way. As he walked down the gentle slope, Jonathan glanced back. A clear star-filled night framed the elegant facades of the fine sandstone houses edging the southern side of the small park [there's a lot going on in that sentence!]. These in turn [were?] partly obscured by the lattice finger fan of bare branches. All was outwardly genteel and safe; a place where children played under the watchful gaze of their nannies. Ladies and gentlemen strolled while listening to the musicians playing in the bandstand and w[h]ere a footman took his employer’s dog that was not a dog [I'd like to hyphenate that, but I probably shouldn't]for its nightly ablutions. [I think of 'ablutions' as concerning washing rather than, er, what a dog would do in a park in the evening]

Jonathan shrugged his shoulders against the increasing cold and returned his attention to his destination. The bandstand stood a dozen feet from where the grass of the park ended and the first of several terraces began, each one linked by a set of granite steps. In the summer the flowerbeds edging each terrace was [were] a profusion of colour. Now the bare frames of pruned rose bushes interspersed with winter pansies struggled to uphold the park’s reputation for being a horticultural oasis in the heart of the city.

Two Constables were carrying a long wooden ladder towards the wrought iron confection of the bandstand. “Sir, where do you want the ladder?” [not a capital 't' I think] The Constable at far end of the ladder asked.

“Just about here,” Mason answered,indicating a section right next to the opening that allowed the musicians access. The two constables positioned the ladder with its top resting against the curved edge of the roof

Jonathan frowned. “You are not saying that the footman is…”

“On the roof, yes Milord, I believe so. It was the blood you see,” Mason said, as he stepped towards the ladder.

Ooooh the intrigue! I like this very much. I like the relationship with Helena and the mention of the Peculiars. It's a great draft.

(do say if you need betas for it at any stage!)

[Grimbear]

Congrats mate on 1000!

Here's my opinion on it - for what that's worth. Hope it will help.

Chapter One

The dog was dead. It lay on its back in the dew-soaked grass, split from the groin to just under its jowls. The pug had been his Aunt’s precious darling. Inspector, I don't like this comma here - seems to serve no purpose Lord Jonathan Collpole, had always thought it was just another example of his Aunt’s inoffensive foibles, but tonight he had come to realise that he had not really known his Aunt, and her eccentricity was anything but harmless. He pushed back the bridge of the gold-wire spectacles hard against the top of his nose. The thick lenses turned opaque, obscuring what little remained of his normal sight for the space of three heart beats before the lenses re-focused, giving him perfect vision. Three beats now. At first it had been barely one. Now it was three. How long before it was four, six or… Stop it. D***self-pity never got you anywhere.

The Constable holding the lantern, on seeing Jonathan’s movements, stepped closer to the small corpse. Jonathan did not need the extra light, night or day did not make any difference to the vision the lenses afforded him, but he acknowledged the Constable’s observation I can't see how this is an 'observation' - I would call this a 'gesture'.and tact with a small nod.

Jonathan prodded under the animal’s thick jowls with the tip of his walking cane, as he bent down to check if his suspicions were correct. This strikes me as something that would be difficult to accomplish. He'd be liable to spear the dog with the cane if he wasn't careful The gold, seed-pearl encrusted collar was still attached to the mutt. So, the young footman assigned to walk the animal that evening had not half-hitched the collar and left the Dowager, unnecessary comma Lady Dowport’s service without giving notice. It was not a matter of a mere theft and his Aunt suffering the remove 'the' ill-consequences of her own making, someone had known about the un-natural nature ?unnatural nature? sounds weird imo, and also unnatural has no hyphen of the Pug. Jonathan straightened up and stepped to the right, inspecting first the neatly trimmed grass around the dead dog and then the open cavity; utilising his cane tip again, this time to pry open the slit flesh. There was no blood. Dew, yes, the small droplets clung precariously to the short blades of grass, the fine hair of the dog and the slit sides of the wound. The animal had lain here a good few hours. It was if the creature had been placed, not abandoned, as if it was no longer of any importance, by the hand that had gutted it. The inside of the dog looked like that of a well-cooked goose and had the texture of leather.

Jonathan shook his head. “Of all the b***** why are you dashing this? cockeyed stupidity.” He reached into his pocket comma here pulling out a small silver case and opening it. Inside, with no visible means of suspension was a very small silver bell.

You need to tell us then that the bell is hovering or whatever - as you just say the bell is 'inside' and has no 'means of suspension'.

Jonathan had last? rung it when a visit to his Aunt’s sickbed turned into a situation were he knew he was going to need a Peculiars’ opinion. It was better to call one in earlier, than have to deal with a red-faced, Lord Montangle, the Forum minister for Peculiar affairs, concerning an Accord infringement. The bell was still swinging to-and-fro; it seemed his Peculiar counterparts were being somewhat lax in answering his request for assistance. He snapped the box closed and replaced it in his pocket.

“Inspector Collpole, Milord!”

Jonathan turned round at the sound of his name. His subordinate, Detective Constable, no comma needed here Ian Mason, was walking up the slope from the lower section of the small park. Mason had made a valiant attempt at growing a gentleman’s curled moustache. Like the hair on his head it was fine, too much so to hold the wax and drooped on its left hand side. Its pale, near wheat-yellow colour did not add to the strong, manly impression Mason wished for, it merely increased the pallor of his skin.

POV? How does Jonathan know what effect Mason wished for?
And I would put here 'wished to give' not 'wished for'.


This along with the young man’s thin frame led people to think he was inconsequential. Jonathan knew otherwise. Behind Mason’s wispy vain effort of moustache lay a mind akin to the jaws of a mantrap. Jonathan had witnessed Mason’s mind in action that morning, as Mason had glanced round his superior’s office. Jonathan had seen that the evidence presented there had been?noticed by his subordinate.

The tumble of blankets lying over the arm of the brown leather chaise longue, which sat under the row of frosted glass windows. The mass of white ash in the hearth, indicating the fire had been in all night.

Fires can't be 'in' all night imo. Maybe 'burning all night?' But even of it was burning all day and had been out for hours, if the fireplace hadn't been swept it would look the same. The only way you could tell it had been 'burning all night' would be if you'd noticed how much fuel was available the previous evening and it had for example all gone, or, if early in the morning, the ash was still giving off a fair amount of heat?

The wash basin and jug placed on Jonathan’s desk. His shaving brush and cutthroat razor placed neatly alongside a block of shaving soap. Jonathan, himself, dressed in trousers and shirt, minus its winged collar. His silk waistcoat,along with his well-tailored jacket folded carefully on the seat of one of the office chairs. The scene was not an unusual one when a difficult case was in the offing. However, this was not the current situation. Jonathan knew Mason had put the evidence together and he knew the young man had reached the correct deduction, but he would be d***** ? why dash this? if he was going to confirm it. He had no fear that Mason would confide his assumption to others. Not that, others, would be so discreet in the coming days. Two unnecessary commas round 'others' imo

His hand tightened on the ivory top of his cane. The partly healed grazes across the knuckles of his right hand rubbed against the fine lining of his leather gloves. D********. If his behaviour was to be called into question, what of hers. He had no doubt that Helena would use his outburst at the Jordonstone’s ball to her advantage. Though the target of his frustration had been the stucco wall of the Jordonstone’s second drawing room while Helena had made a dramatic exit, she would have by now, no doubt, made it plain to any that would listen that the blow had been meant for her. Her whirl of social events would continue apace. Helena had the caveat of marriage and she did not need the physical presence of the husband in question. He had been far too long an accessory after the fact in her eyes. Why had he, with his enhanced sight, been so blind?

“Yes, Mason.”

“Milord, I believe we might have found the footman.”

“Might have?”

“Yes, I have sent a Constable for a ladder.”

“A ladder ? I see, and where…”

Mason half turned and pointed. “The bandstand, Milord.”

Jonathan indicated for Mason to lead the way. As he walked down the gentle slope, Jonathan glanced back. A clear star-filled night framed the elegant facades of the fine sandstone houses edging the southern side of the small park. These in turn partly obscured by the lattice finger fan of bare branches. All was outwardly genteel and safe; a place where children played under the watchful gaze of their nannies. Ladies and gentlemen strolled while listening to the musicians playing in the bandstand and where a footman took his employer’s dog that was not a dog for its nightly ablutions.

Jonathan shrugged his shoulders against the increasing cold and returned his attention to his destination. The bandstand stood a dozen feet from where the grass of the park ended and the first of several terraces began, each one linked by a set of granite steps. In the summer the flowerbeds edging each terrace was 'were' here not 'was' imo a profusion of colour. Now the bare frames of pruned rose bushes interspersed with winter pansies struggled to uphold the park’s reputation for being a horticultural oasis in the heart of the city.

Two Constables were carrying a long wooden ladder towards the wrought iron confection of the bandstand. “Sir, where do you want the ladder?” The Constable at far end of the ladder asked.

“Just about here,” Mason answered,indicating a section right next to the opening that allowed the musicians access. The two constables positioned the ladder with its top resting against the curved edge of the roof

Jonathan frowned. “You are not saying that the footman is…”

“On the roof, yes Milord, I believe so. It was the blood you see,” Mason said, as he stepped towards the ladder.[/QUOTE]




It is really good and I want to know what's going on. There's just a few places where the writing is not as polished as it might be and that lets it down a bit as the plot etc is totally engaging. You have chosen a very unforgiving formal, classic kind of style of narrative and sorry, but you are going to have to get it exactly right. To pull this off your grammar is going to have to be above reproach. Tough job - but I think you're up to it.


Grimbear

[springs]

well done on the 1000th. It's fair to say this is above the level I write at, but I'll go ahead and give you my thoughts, feel free to ignore.

Chapter One

The dog was dead. It lay on its back in the dew-soaked grass, split from the groin to just under its jowls. The pug had been his Aunt’s precious darling. Inspector,this comma really threw me, is he the inspector? I wasn't sure Lord Jonathan Collpole, had always thought it was just another example of his Aunt’s inoffensive foibles, but tonight he had come to realise that he had not really known his Aunt, and her eccentricity was anything but harmless. He pushed back the bridge of the gold-wire spectacles hardso did he push them back hard or were they hard? It was difficult to tell for sure. against the top of his nose. The thick lenses turned opaque, obscuring what little remained of his normal sight for the space of three heart beats before the lenses re-focused, giving him perfect vision.okay, this confused me, and it may be how glasses have changed over the years. I wear really strong glasses, and when I put them on there is no time lag to perfect vision. If this is an era thing, please ignore. Three beats now. At first it had been barely one. Now it was three. How long before it was four, six or… Stop it. D***self-pity never got you anywhere.

The Constable holding the lantern, on seeing Jonathan’s movements, stepped closer to the small corpse. Jonathan did not need the extra light, night or day did not make any difference to the vision the lenses afforded him, but he acknowledged the Constable’s observation and tact with a small nod.

Jonathan prodded under the animal’s thick jowls with the tip of his walking cane, as he bent down to check if his suspicions were correct. The gold, seed-pearl encrusted collar was still attached to the mutt. So, the young footman assigned to walk the animal that evening had not half-hitchedI read this as the half-hitch knot, not trying to nick the dog. How well known the knot is, I'm not sure. the collar and left the Dowager, Lady Dowport’s service without giving notice. It was not a matter of a mere theftand now I think everyone else is right, in which case I think it's half-inched. and his Aunt suffering the ill consequences of her own making, someone had known about the un-natural nature of the Pug. Jonathan straightened up and stepped to the right, inspecting first the neatly trimmed grass around the dead dog and then the open cavity; utilising his cane tip again, this time to pry open the slit flesh. There was no blood. Dew, yes, the small droplets clung precariously to the short blades of grass, the fine hair of the dog and the slit sides of the wound. The animal had lain here a good few hours. It was if the creature had been placed, no abandoned, as if it was no longer of any importance, by the hand that had gutted it. The inside of the dog looked like that of a well-cooked goose and had the texture of leather.

Jonathan shook his head. “Of all the b***** cockeyed stupidity.” He reached into his pocket pulling out a small silver case and opened it. Inside, with no visible means of suspension was a very small silver bell. Jonathan had rung it when, a visit to his Aunt’s sickbed turned into a situation were he knew he was going to need a Peculiars’ opinion. It was better to call one in earlier, than have to deal with a red-faced, Lord Montangle, the Forum minister for Peculiar affairs, concerning an Accord infringement. The bell was still swinging to-and-fro; it seemed his Peculiar counterparts were being somewhat lacks in answering his request for assistance. He snapped the box closed and replaced it in his pocket.

“Inspector Collpole, Milord!”

Jonathan turned round at the sound of his name. His subordinate, Detective Constable,this comma seemed odd Ian Mason, was walking up the slope from the lower section of the small park. On his upper lip Mason had grown a valiant attempt at a gentleman’s curled moustache. Like the hair on his head it was fine, too much so to hold the wax and drooped on its left hand side. Its pale, near wheat yellow colour did not add to the strong, manly impression Mason wished for, it merely increased the pallor of his skin. This along with the young man’s thin frame led people to think he was inconsequential. Jonathan knew otherwise. Behind Mason’s wispy vain effort of moustache lay a mind akin to the jaws of a mantrap. Jonathan had witnessed Mason’s mind in action that morning, as Mason had glanced round his superior’s office. Jonathan had seen that the evidence presented there had noticed by his subordinate.

The tumble of blankets lying over the arm of the brown leather chaise longue, which sat under the row of frosted glass windows. The mass of white ash in the hearth, indicating the fire had been inwe use this term, and we usually achieve it by applying what's called slack here to the fire, it's like a very fine coal that lets the fire stay in all night. It woudln't so much leave ash in the morning, though, as like a black crust, unless it had burned out, which defeats the purpose of doing it ie not having to relight in the morning. all night. The wash basin and jug placed on Jonathan’s desk. His shaving brush and cutthroat razor placed neatly alongside a block of shaving soap. Jonathan, himself, dressed in trousers and shirt, minus its winged collar. His silk waistcoat,along with his well-tailored jacket folded carefully on the seat of one of the office chairs. The scene was not an unusual one when a difficult case was in the offing. However, this was not the current situation. Jonathan knew Mason had put the evidence together and he knew the young man had reached the correct deduction, but he would be d***** if he was going to confirm it. He had no fear that Mason would confide his assumption to others. Not that,again the commas threw me. others, would be so discreet in the coming days.

His hand tightened on the ivory top of his cane. The partly healed grazes across the knuckles of his right hand rubbed against the fine lining of his leather gloves. D********. If his behaviour was to be called into question, what of hers. He had no doubt that Helena would use his outburst at the Jordonstone’s ball to her advantage.so now I'm getting a bit lost, whose behaviour, what's the link? I quite like the ambling thoughts, but here I'm a little lost. Though the target of his frustration had been the stucco wall of the Jordonstone’s second drawing room while Helena had made a dramatic exit, she would have by now, no doubt, made it plain to any that would listen that the blow had been meant for her. Her whirl of social events would continue apace. Helena had the caveat of marriage she did not need the physical presence of the husband in question. He had been far too long an accessory after the fact in her eyes. Why had he, with his enhanced sight,ok, so the lenses are something special, and I'm feeling quite smart at realising they were odd at the very beginning. This is not like me, so you've made me feel well chuffed and interested in keeping going. been so blind?

“Yes, Mason.”

“Milord, I believe we might have found the footman.”

“Might have?”

“Yes, I have sent a Constable for a ladder.”

“A ladder ? I see, and where…”

Mason half turned and pointed. “The bandstand, Milord.”

Jonathan indicated for Mason to lead the way. As he walked down the gentle slope, Jonathan glanced back. A clear star-filled night framed the elegant facades of the fine sandstone houses edging the southern side of the small park. These in turn partly obscured by the lattice finger fan of bare branches. All was outwardly genteel and safe; a place where children played under the watchful gaze of their nannies. Ladies and gentlemen strolled while listening to the musicians playing in the bandstand and were a footman took his employer’s dog that was not a dog for its nightly ablutions.

Jonathan shrugged his shoulders against the increasing cold and returned his attention to his destination. The bandstand stood a dozen feet from where the grass of the park ended and the first of several terraces began, each one linked by a set of granite steps. In the summer the flowerbeds edging each terrace was a profusion of colour. Now the bare frames of pruned rose bushes interspersed with winter pansies struggled to uphold the park’s reputation for being a horticultural oasis in the heart of the city.

Two Constables were carrying a long wooden ladder towards the wrought iron confection of the bandstand. “Sir, where do you want the ladder?” The Constable at far end of the ladder asked.

“Just about here,” Mason answered,indicating a section right next to the opening that allowed the musicians access. The two constables positioned the ladder with its top resting against the curved edge of the roof

Jonathan frowned. “You are not saying that the footman is…”

“On the roof, yes Milord, I believe so. It was the blood you see,” Mason said, as he stepped towards the ladder.[/QUOTE]
It's really not my sort of thing, but even so, I enjoyed it. I found the old style quirky enough to entertain, and would have read on. Could I read a whole book in this style. I could, but I probably wouldn't. excellent stuff, though.

[Bowler1]

First off I have to admit that I can be a lazy reader.

The opening to the section was heavy and packed full of information before I got to know the character involved, which made engaging the character difficult for me. I’m not too sure about the married woman in this section and I thought it a little distracting. Once the plot had been presented it was very interesting and I’d like to know more. If however, the style of writing stayed as dense and as heavy as the opening, then I don’t think I’d stay with it. I appreciate you have made a style choice here and a brave choice as well, but I found it difficult to engage with. That said, I liked it, despite the fact I had to work at it.

[Boneman]

Even more congrats on the 1,000th! I always like to respond to these kind of landmarks, so here's my sixpennyworth. I'll not bother with the grammatical bits as that's been covered amply by others.

You ask if it hooks. Well, yes and no... lemme explain:'poor doggy' I thought, as I started reading, and then the idea that the Aunt was more than she seemed, and then the glasses interested me even more. So a good opening paragraph, with enough intrigue to make me read on.

Now the second paragraph is an add-on to the mystery of the glasses, which tells us the Constable doesn't know about them, and should reinforce our interest in them. But it's a very small piece of telling, and the glasses are now fully explained, which, for me, was a shame. I'd accepted there was something magical about them, and that was enough. At this point I'm willing to accept any further magical/mysterious tropes you want to send my way, without question. So I'm not sure you need to tell us at all. Keeping us interested, waiting to find out more, is better than letting us know everything, because it's a tiny let-down, in a way.

And strangely it's a very small pov change, because you tell us that the constable 'on seeing Jonathan's movements' stepped closer. Either Collpole is telling us that, or the narator or the constable. I'd remove that comment, or the whole paragraph, I'd say, because it works better without (IMHO!!) because it's drawn us out of the action that you want to hook the reader with. It would be better brought in elsewhere, and for you to concentrate on keeping us hooked. And then it moves on okay until this:

It was not a matter of a mere theft and his Aunt suffering the ill consequences of her own making[:] someone had known about the un-natural nature of the Pug.

I found that quite a difficult sentence, and I agree with Hex: a colon is needed, where I put it. Possibly a dash, if you'd rather... And now Collpole introduces 'the unnatural nature of the Pug'. Erm... what unnatural nature of the Pug? There's been nothing before this to say it had an unnatural nature, or are you using regency-speak to say it's dead? That jolted me quite a bit, and combined with the awkward sentence, meant I was trying to understand what you meant, rather than the words being easy to assimilate and therefore hook me further. (Later you tell us

a footman took his employer’s dog that was not a dog for its nightly ablutions.

which I found a bit confusing. There wasn't enough to hook me about the weird dog, to make me think 'ooh, what is about the dog?' - for all I know he'd been eviscerated and cooked, so I think a little work to show us this is the dog's natural state. Or have I got that wrong?)

And this, I fear is the problem: you've captured the formal style you were after pretty well, but by adding a lot of that type of detail, you're diluting the hook. The essence of this opening section is (correct me if I'm wrong) to introduce the Inspector, let us see that he's much more than meets the eye, and introduce the mystery. But there's so much extra stuff here, that I couldn't decide what was pertinent and what wasn't.

But I sat up again when he took out the silver case with the spinning bell. Telling me he'd used it before at a visit to his Aunt's sickbed and the situation etc etc has again diluted the mystery. And I've no way of knowing (although I might ask) if the Aunt's sickbed episode was relevant or not. But the Peculiar has been lost in too much detail, and it should be the most important part of that paragraph. The bit about Lord Montangle moved it on so quickly I was going "Wait! wait! There's a Peculiar hanging around somewhere? Show me! Show me!" And I fully accepted the laconic aside about them being busy... BTW is it okay for the constable to see this? He's still standing there with the lantern; moving closer, for all we know. The glasses were a mystery so presumably summoning a Peculiar is also... But you diluted it by telling us he'd last used it at the sickbed and I'm sure he's used it loads it before (hence the comment about them being busy) - it's part of his character, but the way it's written makes it look like he's only used it once before.

If you want to hook me and keep me hooked, I'd seriously consider dropping all the backstory (which can be brought in once I'm fully hooked and you're skilfully reeling me in with exciting and intriguing prose), because it's a distraction - of course Mason is going to be important to the story, but he's not important here, and the three paragraphs after he calls the Inspector are superflous here. Not only superflous, they're pretty irrelevant telling...

But I love the dialogue with the ladder bit in it. And just by Mason's efficiency here, we understand he's good at his job. BTW, it looks as though there are people walking around the bandstand and musicians are playing in this scene, though I'm sure you intended it to be a descriptive piece of the bandstand in general.

The last sentence is a great kicker.

So I hope you can see that there were elements that did hook me, and elements that didn't. It would be a much more powerful (and hooking) piece if the backstory bits were kept out, for now. Get us hooked and we'll follow you through the explanations later. As it stands, it's lost in too much detail here, but a bit of tweaking could have it reeling the readers in much more easily.

Good luck with it.

[JoanDrake]

Wow, a thousand posts, congratulations. You must be very hard working and assiduous.

Wonderful story, great hook. I can't add anything to the critiques except one small question. Are we supposed to like or dislike the eccentric aunt, that is, is she a victim of supernatural forces here who have gruesomely killed her beloved dog, or some sort of witch/sorceress who has callously killed him herself? The first few sentences suggest this is an obvious conclusing one way or the other but I am at a loss.

But it is interesting and clear. As far as achieving a "Regency Style" I've always found the best Regency Stories (or any kind for that matter) were just clearly written tales that put you into the setting well; and this does that.

[SJAB]

Thank you one and all for your comments.

I will reply later in more detail, but a lot of what has been said has confirmed my own thoughts about this.

Like all first drafts it sucks a lot...

[ctg]

It doesn't suck a lot. Please, don't think in that way. And it certainly doesn't read like a first draft, and if it is, more for you. What most of has said is that there are certain elements in the way of your magic and if you trim down them a bit, you'll get what you need for the good beginning. And like I said, I want to keep reading. This story has something in it, and most importantly it's hooking us. Otherwise they wouldn't say that they WANT TO READ MORE.

[Bowler1]

If that is a first draft then you have a lot to be very happy with, SJAB. I'd like first drafts of a similiar standard. The rest as per CTG, I suspect a good edit will produce something wonderful. Now enough self pity, dust yourself off and get back to the keyboard.