Date Posted:16:21:59 04/01/10 Thu Author: susiej Subject: Re: Jumping in with my contribution>>> In reply to:
Fi
's message, "Jumping in with my contribution>>>" on 14:59:43 03/30/10 Tue
Fi, I really like this: the subject the perfect flow of the writing, the spot on dialogue- all great.
One thing, though- I was a bit confused in the beginning on whose POV we were in. You start with that line that I loved- about the sun and silver hair- loved it. I knew we were observing this man, and then he asks a question and you answer it with "the boy said," so I thought someone else was in the room, watching. That's how distant "the boy" felt. If it's Richard answering and he's our MC, I think you need to say "said Richard. You establish his age next anyway, so we'll see right away he's a boy.
And the hankerchief threw me a bit too. Maybe because i was still confused on POV, but it didn't click that "the boy" had given it. Even though you said his name was Richard. I don't know maybe that personal info came after that great inbetween line- about wondering why Ma, etc. I think I was still pondering all that interesting info, and didn't absorb his name well. So when "Richard" popped in, I went...who? If you'd called him Richard first, it would have cleared things up for dimwits like me.
But, I had it all worked out by the end and definitely wanted to read more! Keep posting.
>Taking a big gulp and jumping with an extract from my
>historical novel. A thorough critique would be
>welcome, but also I'd like to get overall impressions:
>does the dialogue/action mix work? Does the dialogue
>sound natural? Most importantly, would you want to
>read more?
>
>-------
>
>From Claddagh [working title]
>by F.H. Hurley
>Copyright March 2010
>For critique only
>
>Galway, Ireland. 1663.
>
>Sunlight streamed thinly through the window,
>illuminating silver threads in the man's dark curls. Nice image, but "Thin sunlight" sounds more direct, stronger, if you will, to me.
>
>“You're Kate Flaherty's son?” Mr. Joyce asked, placing
>his quill tip-down into a jar on the desk. He wore an
>indoor gown of rich brocade, and there were ink dots
>on his white cravat. Nice imagery. I can 'see' Mr. Joyce very easily!
>
>“I am,” said the boy, breathing in the oak-and-paper
>dust. His knees felt knocky, his empty stomach
>gurgled, and he wondered again why his Ma had sent him
>to this rich man's place. “Richard Mahon is my name.
>Son of Kate Flaherty and Joseph Mahon.”
>
>“How old are you, boy?”
>
>“I'm ten, sir.”
>
>Mr. Joyce fingered the embroidered fringe of the
>handkerchief that Richard had given him. The man's
>nails were trim trimmed? and his hands smooth; he'd obviously
>never worked on a fishing boat. But there was
>something oddly familiar about the shape of his face
>and the quizzical look in his blue eyes. A little intrigue, nice!
>
>“And when will you be eleven?”
>
>“Next March, sir.”
>
>“By Jesus, of course you will.”
>
>Richard was puzzled. “Mr. Joyce?”
>
>“Did your mother have any other message for me?”
>
>“Just that you'd know her and do right by her.” He
>frowned. He wasn't sure what that meant either. It
>sounded like begging, which his Ma would normally
>forbid him to do on pain of sore ears or arse. Yet
>when he'd queried her on the message, she'd sighed and
>said he'd understand later. And there was another part
>of the message that made even less sense. “She said
>also that you'd remember the bluebells.”
>
>“The bluebells. Of course.”
>
>The man looked again at the handkerchief, and Richard
>wondered what was so special about it. It might have
>been white once, but plenty of snot had been washed
>out of it over the years and it was now a faded
>buttermilk colour.
>
>“Your father?” Mr. Joyce asked. “John, did you say?”
>
>“Joe.”
>
>“He's a fisherman?”
>
>“He was. He's.... his boat went down.”
>
>You were supposed to say “God rest him” when someone
>mentioned a dead person, but this man just kept
>staring from Richard's face to the handkerchief and
>back again. It was just a bit unclear on my first reading that Mr. Joyce hadn't said this, then when I gave it a second look, it was clear. Might just be me and my too-quick reading.
>
>“God rest him,” Richard added.
>
>“Of course, God rest him. And your mother, she's well?”
>
>“She is. Misses Da, of course.”
>
>“Surely she does.”
>
>“Mr. Joyce,” Richard cleared his throat. “How do you
>know my Ma?”
>
>The man sighed, a frown mark creasing the bridge of
>his nose.
>
>“From before you were born, during the time of
>Cromwell.”
>
>Richard spit reflexively on the floor at hearing the
>hated name, and Mr. Joyce smiled. Very nice. I don't know enough about that aspect of Cromwell's 'reign'. I didn't know the Irish were so adversely affected by him. You're making me learn, good job!
>
>“Those were hard times, I'm sure you've heard, and
>made strange allies.”
>
>“My Ma says Cromwell is roaring in Hell now.”
>
>“I'm sure he is. Are you keeping well, boy?”
>
>Richard shrugged. “I am.” Apart from the scratch of
>hunger in his stomach.
>
>“It can't be easy, with your father gone, God rest
>him.”
>
>“We're not the worst off. My uncle Jack is good to
>us.” After he's fed all his own children.
>
>“You have brothers? Sisters?”
>
>“Two younger sisters, Nora and Eily.”
>
> The man kept nodding and staring. Richard, in an
>attempt to escape from the gaze, looked at the
>leather-bound books lining the shelf on the wall.
>
>“Can you read?” Mr. Joyce asked.
>
>What a silly question! “I can't, sir. My Da was a
>fisherman.”
>
>“Of course, of course.”
You've painted a very clear and intriguing picture of these two people. Generating curiosity in your readers is a gift and you have it in spades! I'm anxious to find out more about these two. Well done!
Debi
debikm, 21:14:05 04/01/10 Thu