I know it’s Main Character Monday, but I’m finding it quite difficult to film and edit readings and then edit/critique your pieces when sent the day of or before Critique Friday . So if you would like a recorded reaction to your first 1500 words and a written critique, I ask kindly that you please send me your work by Wednesday, 5pm est. Thanks!
Here’s this week’s critique for a cool fantasy piece by Nichole. All of my edits are in bold. You can find an overview of my critique and suggestions at the bottom of this post.
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Chapter 1
Black Portent (What does this mean?)
The bells of Cythla Mael had not pealed their dirge in decades, yet now their voices rang over the streets of Marratow in dark and mournful song. (Nice hook!)
Bong, bong, booonnnggg! Bong, bong, booonnngg!
(Whatever you do, DON’T write onomatopoeia’s like this. It gives a bit of a comedic feel. Try a simple: Bong. Bong. Bong. I think the majority of readers are going to hear the typical bong created by such large bells.)
Morven raced through the palace’s corridors, bare feet slapping the marble floor as his night robes fluttered wild behind him. Please, no, he prayed into the dark. Not tonight. Not now. Please… let it not be true…
Bong, bong, booonnnggg!
“Morven, slow down!” The voice cut through his chanting thoughts, causing him to stumble. He caught himself and continued on, ducking his head as if to shield it from the voice’s owner. (Instead of saying “the voice” twice, just put “the voice of Nephraim, the younger of his guards, cut through etc.”) It belonged to Nephriam, the younger of his guards – a tall man in his mid-thirties with a serious outlook on life. (This was a mini info-dump. It sounded contrived. Don’t describe Nephraim unless your POV character which I assume is Morven, is looking at him.) No doubt Torran followed close behind, trying to keep up on much older legs. Neither one was a match for his (since Torran was mentioned last, this “his” is confusing and incorrect grammar. Change to Morven’s) speed… especially tonight. Especially with the song of those bells resonating through his bones.
“Please, my prince… wait! We only wish to help.” Nephriam’s pleads fell on deaf ears, though that didn’t stop him (from) trying. “We have lanterns!”
“No use yellin’ after him,” said a second voice, and Morven knew he’d been right about Torran (again, just say “Torran sounded out of breath.” Cut to the chase.) The older guard sounded out of breath. “Boy’s got a flighty head on his shoulders, and he’s fast. Besides, he knows well what those bells mean. So do you.”
“We’ll never catch him at this rate,” Nephriam panted. “What if something happens to him? Tonight of all nights? It’s our necks, not his.”
“We’ll catch him. He has to stop at some point, and until then he can handle his own. Besides, we know where he’s going… poor lad.”
Nephriam tried once more. “Moven, just slow down a moment! Try to listen to reason!”
But Morven sped up, leaving the echoes of their voices behind. He liked his guards well enough, but he didn’t want their company. Not tonight. He didn’t need their lanterns to light his way, or their words to ease his worry. They would only slow him down, and he must not slow down…(See, the POV is confusing. Is it omniscient? If so, reporting what the guards are saying is fine. But if it’s third-person-intimate then Morven wouldn’t hear this conversation unless they’re yelling it.)
Booonnnggg!!! Booonnnggg!!!
(Never use more than one exclamation. And again, this one is especially comedic because of the excessive letters and exclamations)
Heaving breath, Morven skirted around a corner so fast he caught his shoulder on the stone wall. Sharp pain lanced through his arm. He ignored it, allowing it only to quicken his stride (to get rid of the double “it” try: “He ignored it and quickened his stride.”) When last he’d heard the Dark Twins sing he’d been but a lad of three, and then their song had (you can get rid of this “had”) made him cry. Now, at twenty-eight, he found he still wanted to.
Please let it not be… He pleaded with the shadows. Aern’s Teeth, please!
BOOONNNGGG!!!
(This one really looks funny)
Morven threw himself around the last corner and skidded to a halt in front of the great black door, just as the bells’ final notes shivered in the air and faded to silence. The two guards beside the door posts glanced at him, wary. (Same sentence structure as previous sentence. Change it up.) He could have sworn he saw pity in their eyes, but they said nothing and he was grateful for it. Drawing in a deep, shuddering breath, he tried to collect himself.
(I think you can do without “tried to collect himself.” It’s telling and unnecessary because his actions are showing it. It’ll be more dramatic as well if it were: “He drew in a deep, shuddering breath. Please.”)
Please. His mind whispered the mantra over and over again. It cannot be… Let them be wrong, if only this once. Let this not be… (I think you can do without “let this not be.” It isn’t as strong as the previous line. It’s what I call a “throw-away” line. And ending at “if only this once” sounds more dramatic.) And placing one hand on the door, the other on the gilded nob, he pushed it open (the “And” is unnecessary.)
The room beyond the door was darker than he ever remembered it. Thick, heavy drapes hung over the windows like funeral veils, blocking Eirna’s waning light. (hmm…if it was still dusk out, why did his guards offer him a lantern?) Morven had never seen the windows covered before. It made the large chamber feel stuffy and cluttered. Dark candles burned along the walls in sconces, yet instead of offering light and comfort they seemed to drain it from all around them leaving only sorrow and pain, and a thick, cloying scent as greasy as it was sickly sweet (nice descriptions, however, you used thick a few sentences before, and cloying is a rare word. I like fancy words, but too fancy can throw off some readers.) He stepped forward (forward isn’t necessary) into the room, drawing the door shut behind him and pulling up a section of his robe to protect his nose and mouth from the wretched smell. An inexplicable urge came over him to snuff the candles out, plunging the room into darkness. Somehow that felt more comforting than having the nasty things lit.
In the center of the room sat a large square bed, as gnarled, majestic, and immovable as an oak. Morven approached it with wary trepidation, dreading what awaited him there, (yet) longing to confirm his own suspicions. His memories of the bed had always been kindly but now, in the light of the baleful (this word threw me off) candles, it seemed to have transformed. Gone were the red and gold brocade (this word also threw me off, but probably because I don’t know much about fancy curtains) curtains he knew so well. Replacing them, heavy black ones spilled to the floor in oppressive folds. Gone, too, was the large blue and silver comforter that reminded him of a night painted in stars. Now thick black (so as not to repeat words maybe you can do “ebony” in place of one of these “blacks”) blankets lay over the bed, trimmed in the barest hint of gold and piled high near the center. They made him think of a beast hoarding jewels, and did not look the slightest bit inviting. They looked like death shrouds.
Morven inched nearer, watching the pile with growing dread. It never moved, nor made a sound. There was no hiss or rattle of breath, no sudden shudder of the blankets to betray life beneath them. As he came closer to the head of the bed, he saw something pale lying on the pillows… a face. His breath caught in his throat. The face, framed in a mane of salt-and-pepper hair was both familiar and strange in all the wrong ways. He knew it like he knew life, like he drew breath…
But never so still. Never so pale. Never so…
Dead.
Morven reached out, caressing one sallow cheek with his fingertips. He didn’t dare hope… refused to believe…
It can’t be true. The Dark Twins lie… it can’t be true!
“Father?”
No reply. No movement. No breath.
The Dark Twins never lied.
Something rustled on the other side of the bed, a sound like snake skin sliding over stone. Morven’s eyes flicked towards the source of the noise, searching. For an instant he saw a hand, pale as ghost shades and gnarled (you used a gnarled tree reference before to describe the bed) like tree roots, brush the top of the bedclothes. Then it slipped over the side of the bed and out of sight. An inhaled breath (breath isn’t necessary) hissed through the air, followed by a familiar rusty voice. Morven knew that voice all too well. He hated it.
“So. You have decided to grace us with your presence at last. Too bad it is a moment too late, but I suppose that’s hardly unexpected from you.”
Morven jerked his hand away from his father’s face as if stung. Straightening, he squared his shoulders and glared at the shadows on the other side of the bed. “Aldriand.” He growled the name through gritted teeth, and did not regret the hate his voice implied.
“The same.” The shadows shifted and a face came into the wan light, long, pale, and swept in a snow white (to avoid your readers thinking of the cute Disney princess, maybe you can simply say ivory or snowy) beard. A hooked and crooked nose perched like a vulture’s beak over thin lips turned down in a perpetual look of disapproval, while black beady eyes glared out from beneath thick white eyebrows (Although I love the vulture beak, I think you’re going a little overboard with describing this man. Your audience doesn’t need this much description. You can do without the thick white eyebrows and even the beady black eyes. Besides, if his beard is white your audience knows his eyebrows will be, too.) The Lord High Erath scanned Morven’s haggard appearance – tousled hair, untied robe, and yesterday’s wrinkled tunic and breeches – with barely veiled contempt before his gaze settled on Morven’s face. Aldriand’s frown deepened, but he dipped his head. “Prince Morven,” he said (he said is unnecessary. You can use Aldriand’s actions as a speaker tag. Just do a sentence break.) The words were civil, but only just. Morven sensed the loathing behind them. “Or, I suppose it should be King, now, shouldn’t it? Though I can’t help but wonder if you’re ready for such responsibility. Especially at so young and…” – he raised an eyebrow at Morven’s attire – “impressionable an age. The burden of such a title usually falls on the backs of older, more mature men. Those who can shoulder the responsibilities with strength, endurance, and dignity. Your father was just such a man, but I suppose in his – well – unfortunate absence, you will have to do.”
Morven’s jaw clenched so tight, he was sure Aldriand could hear his teeth grinding. “What are you doing in my father’s chambers?” he asked. (He asked is unnecessary. Again, his action where you state his name, followed by an action, and then the line is a speaker tag.)
“What you should have been doing all along,” Aldriand reprimanded. (You can take out “Aldriand reprimanded. It’s telling rather than showing so it isn’t necessary. We know by what he is saying that he’s reprimanding Morven.) “I stood with my king in his last hour when even his own son had forsaken him. I wonder how he felt about that in the end. Knowing that his only son and heir to his throne could not be bothered to see him into the courts of Anwynn.”
Morven winced as the words struck home. (as the words struck home also is telling and unnecessary. The wincing shows us it hit home.) His eyes stung, but he refused to cry. He would not give Aldriand the satisfaction. Besides, the tears were selfish and that realization angered him. He didn’t want their comfort or deserve the self-pity that would come with them. Instead, he drew himself up, squared his shoulders, (used this already. Try a different action) and glared into the calculating eyes of the Lord High Erath. It took all his mustered will to keep his voice from shaking as he spoke. The words that came out felt mindless and stale.
“Thank you for your services,” he said with measured respect. (Because of all that you say before this line, “he said with measured respect” isn’t necessary and the prose flows better without it.) “I’m sure my father was most comforted by your presence in my absence. Yet, now I must ask that you leave. I would like to spend a few moments alone with the body and my private thoughts.”
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Overview
Prose
This was really well written, Nichole; very rich and dramatic. Just look out for repeat descriptions, words and actions which you didn’t have much of, and unnecessary words. Utilize actions along with the character’s name as a speaker tag to get rid of unnecessary “he saids.”
You used some fancy words. I like using bigger words as well, but I hesitantly simplified them a tad for the sake of keeping my audience in the story. This piece sounds like it’s for adults, but there will still be those (like myself) who get tripped up.
I know this is fantasy, but I personally don’t like omniscient POV. I favor third-person-intimate because you can get, well, intimate. Omniscient can be distant and reporter-like. I do think it works well in children’s books. Ultimately, it’s what you know will work best in telling the story, just really consider this IF you haven’t yet.
Plot
This was definitely a good, dramatic start. I like the introduction of the characters and especially of the creepy Lord High Erath. I also like that you leave your audience wondering why Morven wasn’t there for his father. What caused the distance between them? It makes us want to read on and find out why. And keep the tension going. Morven’s guilt, the friction between him and other characters. Tension is the best!
Characters
I like that there’s a younger and an older guard; it makes for a more dynamic cast. Contrast in characters is good. Hopefully we see very different personalities and desires that can create good tension.
Dialogue
Not much to say here. Every word is calculated like Lord Erath’s eyes. And the tension in the dialogue was agrivating in a good way. Made ya wanna yank Erath’s beard off. There was only one place during Morven’s thoughts that was redundant. Lots of times, less is more, especially in dialogue. You can show a lot with actions. Only say what really needs to be said with words.
I look forward to seeing your career hit the ground. You’re a gifted and passionate writer. Well done!
Do you want your first 1500 words critiqued? Send it to NatashaSapienza[at]gmail[dot]com by Wednesday, 5pm est.
Happy helping!
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