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| [M] - The Last Library; Second Draft of NaNo 2010 | |
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| Tweet Topic Started: Jan 2 2011, 11:16 PM (157 Views) | |
| gecko | Jan 2 2011, 11:16 PM Post #1 |
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rescuing stray apostrophes since the 1990s.
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This is the revised draft of my 2010 NaNovel. Posting as I edit/rewrite. Constructive criticism welcome. Prelude It is a truth seldom acknowledged that the height of an average wooden coffee table is exactly equivalent to the average distance three quarters of the way from a person's foot to their knee. This height is low enough to evade detection by most reasonably distracted people and yet high enough for the average coffee table to be a challenging obstacle. At nine o'clock that fine spring morning Sophie was reasonably distracted. "Bollocks!" she bellowed as she grabbed her injured shin, lost her balance, and fell to the floor. She glared at the coffee table and wondered if she would ever make it through a day without bumping into it. She had a slight suspicion that the coffee table was out to get her. Surely, having lived with that coffee table for five years, she should know its exact location in the small space of her cottage: about a foot away from the couch, and two feet from the door to the kitchen. Unless the coffee table was shifting its position every so often, just to catch her out, she should have been behaviourally conditioned not to bump into it. It was a rational theory except for the apparent fact that despite having four legs the coffee table could not walk, as it was actually a coffee table. Another equally valid theory was that Sophie was a very clumsy and moderately distracted young woman. Sophie decided to stay on the floor as it was as good a place to think as any, and it seemed safer than pacing the length of the room. She rolled onto her back and examined the spreading mark of damp that was creeping across her ceiling. Her cat, a scrawny, mottled thing of dubious domesticity, watched her from its place on top of the fridge. Sophie was not sure why the cat seemed to have declared the top of the fridge its bed. Perhaps it was warm up there. It was that particular trait that had led her to name the cat Calorie - every time Sophie reached for some food it seemed to judge her. The Cat of Dietary Guilt. Calorie, having decided that watching Sophie was a waste of perfectly good snoozing time (although the slapstick comedy had been fun), closed its eye and went back to sleep, leaving Sophie to her thoughts. They whirled around in Sophie's head like a tropical storm forming out to sea, building up strength as it raced toward land. They spun too quickly for Sophie to grasp them but at the very centre, the eye of the storm, there was nothing but a blank stillness. The blankness of a page that begged filling. And Sophie had nothing to give. A gust of wind ruffled the papers on her desk, sending some sailing towards Sophie. A small piece of card landed on her chest and Sophie examined it. "Granny Cleghorn's Homeopathic Cures for All Ailments" Having tried several writing exercises and spent endless hours in the library trying to soak up some inspiration Sophie was willing to try anything to cure her of her writer's block. However, she had always been somewhat cynical of so-called Homeopathy, lumping it into that box of New Age crystal healing, balance-improving bangles and communion with angels, and she believed that any results were probably psychosomatic. Still, results were results and Sophie was getting more desperate by the minute. The card included an address and a map - not too far from her own cottage. A little bit further into the woods and down a dirt track, but definitely within walking distance. Her phone rang and Sophie stood up quickly. Maybe she had misheard it. No, there it was, ringing again. Sophie hid behind the couch. The phone switched over to the answering machine. "Sophie, it's Nafisa again. Remember me? I'm the person who pays you. What am I paying you for? To write. Not to hide behind the couch, or whichever item of furniture it is this time." (Sophie stuck her tongue out at the phone) "If you're not going to answer your phone... Look, I hope for your sake that it's because you're 'in the zone', busy finishing that bloody book. I'll give you the weekend, but that's it, I swear, because if I don't get that next segment by Monday then you're -" The machine beeped, cutting the message short, but Sophie had heard enough like it in the last week to get the key points. "Oh, what the hell," Sophie said. She put on a light coat and left her cottage. "Quartz and snake-oil, here I come," she muttered. As she closed the door behind her the coffee table shifted two and a half millimeters to the right. Calorie hissed at it. Edited by gecko, Jan 2 2011, 11:25 PM.
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| Halfling | Jan 3 2011, 07:12 PM Post #2 |
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The Grand Overlady
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I really like this piece, it was a really fun read and I would really like to hear more about Sophie and the house in the forest. I think hearing more about what happens with the quarts and the Snake oil ought to be interesting. The opening is fantastic. I love the allusion to Jane Austin's first line but done with a very unique flair. It also give an interesting spin on how I read Sophie. The rest of it pulls you along gently because of the slightly unexpected turns that reveal things about the character by showing and not telling (how I hate that saying ... but it still applies). The setting is interesting, a story about a writer with writer's block. I like it. My only comment is that aside from Calorie and the Coffee table, there is no description of the place but that is an entirely 'me' thing. The characterisation is where it shines though. Everything mentioned is beautifully characterised. I LOVE Calorie, it is the most amazing description of a fridge cat ever. I also love the coffee table, for all that it was characterised. The boss is amazing because I'm sure just about everyone has had a day like that and wanted to give that response. On the overall, my comments are that a little more depth into the cottage area itself would have been nice but I love the story as it stands and really, really want more. Also picking up a small hint of magic realism; if it was meant then good job; if not, loving it! |
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| gecko | Jan 3 2011, 08:59 PM Post #3 |
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rescuing stray apostrophes since the 1990s.
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Thanks for the feedback. Yep, there is a bit of magical realism, which slips more fully into fantasy later on. I didn't really dwell on the description of the cottage here because it comes back in a couple of scenes' time. But you're right, I should describe it a little bit better here. I'm trying to work on showing and not telling, and getting feedback is a good way to do this because it helps to realise that although I can see the cottage in my head, the reader might not have a vivid enough picture of it. Maybe I should add a few hints about smallness, degree of clutter and so on in this section. The cat is based on my own cat - as far as lessons-on-writing cliche's go, I guess writing what you know does make a difference after all! I'm glad you picked up on the Jane Austen reference - one of the major points of the book is that it is metatextual. Especially since spoiler spoiler spoiler... You'll see. Edited by gecko, Jan 3 2011, 09:04 PM.
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