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Date Posted: 12:16:50 03/23/10 Tue
Author: 
susiej
Subject: in here->>>
In reply to:
susiej
's message, "In light of my POV problems and the excellent points I got from all of you," on 12:02:13 03/23/10 Tue
From the Seeker's Charm/Beneath the Trees
By Susan James
for critique only
Chapter One
Dark Roots
Rose watched the shutters rattle, the latch straining as surely as though someone was trying to get in. And how she longed to throw the shutters wide and let the howling wind carry away the specter of her mother. It had hovered all day beside Aunt Mary, growing stronger with each of Mary’s labored breaths, filling the air so that no one in the little farmhouse could breathe easily.
Uncle John and Grandmother blamed it on the storm, but Rose knew better. She loved storms. Whether they blew in from the sea or down from the mountains rumored to rise beyond the forest, the result was the same: even the mightiest oaks bowed down. Not that Rose disliked the trees. She loved them too, but a power that bent the ancient trees, that could rip the dark into glorious flashes of silver, who wouldn’t admire that?
Everyone, but you, Rose reminded herself.
She pressed her palm to the trembling shutters feeling the power of the wind. Even over its loud begging to be let in, Rose heard her aunt’s stifled gasp. Mary was no longer able to hold back her cries. Rose turned from the window, ran into the hallway intending to yank open her aunt’s door, grab her thin hand and, somehow, pour all her own strength into Mary.
But before Rose could get in, the midwife came out wiping her bloody hands across her already bloody apron while muttering, “A fitting night for the birth of this two-headed monster.”
Seeing Rose, her beady, black eyes narrowed. “What’re you doing here? Shouldn’t one such as you be out enjoying such a night? Or is it even more fun to lurk by a childbed, smelling the blood of the mess you’ve made?”
The prominent smell in the hallway came from the midwife’s rotten teeth, yet Rose’s nostrils flared as she spoke. “My mother was mortal.”
“Well, that I know ‘cause I saw her, dead. After giving birth to you. Sure didn’t see any sign of a father though. And now, it’s your poor auntie in there, gasping with every breath.”
“Perhaps she’ll do better now, without the stench of yours in her face.” But even as Rose spoke, a gasp sounded behind the door followed by Grandmother’s anxious murmur.
The midwife's thin lips curled. “Ah, no, it’s not me making your auntie suffer. I told ‘em! Yes, I told ‘em the minute you opened those uncanny green eyes and stared at me as you are now. I said, ‘Throw that thing in the Snowborne. Let the faeries save her, if they want her.”
Her gray brow arched. “They sure didn’t seem to want your mother, anymore. Ah, but her folks weren’t listening to me. Just bawling their eyes out over her busted body. No, it was little Mary Wheatly--who I brought into this world myself, mind you. She glared at me! And held you to her breast, bony as it’s always been, and told me I ‘was no longer needed.’ Wasn’t that the truth? That was thirteen years ago, but this, her first time in childbed. And it’s a misery for her. While you stand here looking as fresh and rosy as the day you were born--”
The midwife finally closed her rotten mouth and took a step back.
Rose was tall for her age and though there was very little light in the hallway, Rose’s eyes gleamed. There was no breeze; yet Rose’s dark curls stirred upon her shoulders.
“Now,” said the midwife “do some good for a change. Go fast, like I know you can, and fetch your uncle. Mary needs him.”
Rose blinked, turned and fled out the front door. The wind howled with glee. The midwife sighed with relief. “Good riddance.”
Everyone in Willowvale knew the tight rein the Woodman’s kept on Rose, but no family in their right mind would let a son or daughter out on a night such as this, a faerie night, or so the old folk called them. They claimed storms this big tore at the enchantments which kept the two races apart. Those that were wise didn’t disagree with the old folk. They simply stayed on the right side of the door and locked it too.
Rose didn't have to go far to find her uncle. He was pacing back and forth beneath the rowan tree. Gradie stood a few steps beyond staring into the night. The old dog was tense as a readied arrow, but the stab in Rose’s chest came from the sight of her uncle.
His head hung and his broad back slumped. Rose touched him gently on the arm. He took one look at her face and barreled inside. Gradie darted after him.
Rose didn’t follow.
If Mary died…No. Panic welled up at the thought. Woodman farm without Mary? It couldn’t be. And yet, this must be how Grandmother and Uncle John had felt when Rose’s mother died. Darling Lillie, whom everyone had loved. Except for the man who’d enchanted, impregnated and abandoned her to die giving birth to his odd child.
Would Rose now, somehow, kill sweet Mary too?
No, she would not.
Rose reached out a steady hand and shut the front door. The sound of its closing made Gradie remember. Rose heard his claws rasp against the wooden planks.
“Sorry.” she whispered. How many times had she lain awake listening to him whine in his sleep and wondering whether he dreamed of chasing the wolves or running with them? But, her family would need him.
She prayed that tonight, they’d be too distracted to notice him barking at the door and her gone. She prayed that soon, they’d have someone to love in her place, someone to brighten the sad shadows of Lillie and her daughter.
Rose turned to wind already licking her face, tugging at her clothes. She let it pull her toward the shivering trees, toward the deeper dark beneath them. She felt the fleshy stems of lily of the valley beneath her feet and smelt their sweet, earthy scent. But as her foot brushed the stone bearing her mother’s name, something, something big and dark, flew down from the tree into Rose’s face.
She threw up her hands and felt…feathers, though it seemed large for a bird. Something sharp hit her head driving her back toward the door. Rose beat at the wide wings. Talons flew at her face but she didn’t flinch, didn’t pretend she couldn’t understand.
“Go ahead,” she said. “Blood will draw them faster. My family’s better off with out me. Without you.” She looked into the woods. “Without them.”
The bird swerved, but its wing knocked her forehead forcing her to step back or stumble. The howling was louder than ever. The bird fought the wind, fought Rose until the front door burst open revealing the familiar shape of her uncle cradling a bundle in his arms.
“Rosie!” John yelled.
She stood still, knowing he couldn’t see her among the tree's shadows.
“Rose!”
She’d never heard such panic, not even the time she’d snuck away from a nap and Grandmother had found her sitting at the forest’s edge listening to the trees. The anguish in John’s voice ripped at Rose’s heart, but she stood firm and still, until he stepped into the night.
Rose ran as fast as the bird had flown.
Driving her uncle into the farmhouse, she slammed the door behind her. The wind howled and beat against it. Gradie stood across the mat growling low in this chest.
Her uncle dropped to one knee. “What in the world were you—never mind. Look.” He held out the bundle.
She looked down into a tiny, pink, and peaceful face. The lids lifted and blue eyes, fresh from the otherworld, looked straight into hers.
Uncle John grinned. “Your cousin, Rosie. And there’s another, a sweet girl.”
“Twins! The midwife said it was a-“
“I told you not to listen to that old bat, Rosie.”
“And Mary?”
“She’ll be all right. Just worn out, that’s all. She’ll be fine. But your grandmother will be very busy, what with caring for her and two--”
“Oh, but I’ll help.”
John smiled. “Then we’ll all do just fine.”
Rose caught a movement behind him. The midwife stood in the hall shaking her head. But Rose didn’t care for a tiny hand closed round her finger reaching somehow straight to her heart which throbbed wildly birthing a fierce and tender love.
*******
The bird stayed low though it was forced to dodge the tossing tree limbs. When it was several furloughs from Woodman farm, it soared above the roiling sea of leaves and shrieked into the night.
The wind caught the cry and hurtled it over the vast forest. When the woods finally gave out, the wind raced across a rising, stony meadow, picking up speed but no single night of wind could blast down the mountains that lined the island’s far shore.
Nestled on the knees of the tallest mountain, built from its white granite bones, an ancient castle stood reflecting the silver streaks that lit up the sky. A young man stood on its walls. The wind pawed at his clothes, nipped at his skin and tousled his dark hair yet he stood still and straight with only his head slightly cocked to one side.
Finally, the wind brought the cry to his ear. He smiled and sent his own words into the wind. “Creator mind your flight. Guide you to a sheltered roost and keep you safe this night.”
Though rain pelted his pale skin and lightening raged above his head, Edan didn’t turn toward the gardens below and the brightly lit hall in their midst. He stood a while longer, in awe of a power so much greater than his own, greater than any person he had known.
He looked to the stars that he knew were still there bright behind the clouds and he gave thanks, believing the storm to be the only power to eclipse his tonight, for even though Edan had seen the effects, seen how Rose had mended the Woodman’s broken hearts, he still didn’t understand how powerful a baby’s grip could be.
Last edited by author: Tue March 23, 2010 12:52:03
Edited 3 times.
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don't be scared off length-it's not a 20 pg chapter or anything. -- susiej, 15:41:07 03/23/10 Tue
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Crit inside. >>>> -- Page, 16:32:31 03/23/10 Tue
>From the Seeker's Charm/Beneath the Trees
>By Susan James
>for critique only
>
>Chapter One
>Dark Roots
>
>
>Rose watched the shutters rattle, the latch straining
>as surely I don't think you need "surely" here. The message comes through just fine without it as though someone was trying to get in. And I would also suggest taking out this "And." To me, the sentence is much stronger without it
>how she longed to throw the shutters wide and let the
>howling wind carry away the specter of her mother. It
>had hovered all day beside Aunt Mary, growing stronger
>with each of Mary’s labored breaths, filling the air
>so that no one in the little farmhouse could breathe
>easily.
>
>Uncle John and Grandmother blamed it on the storm, but
>Rose knew better. How did she know better? I like the following passage about how Rose loves storms and the things she admires about them, but it doesn't tell me how she knew the storm wasn't the reason for how they all felt. Yes, she knew it was the specter of her mother, but how did she know? She loved storms. Whether they blew
>in from the sea or down from the mountains rumored to
>rise beyond the forest, the result was the same: even
>the mightiest oaks bowed down. Not that Rose disliked
>the trees. She loved them too, but a power that bent
>the ancient trees, that could rip the dark into
>glorious flashes of silver, who wouldn’t admire that?
>
>Everyone,You don't need the comma here but you, Rose reminded herself.
>
>She pressed her palm to the trembling shutters feeling
>the power of the wind. Even over its loud begging to
>be let in, Rose heard her aunt’s stifled gasp. Mary
>was no longer able to hold back her cries. Rose turned
>from the window, ran into the hallway intending to
>yank open her aunt’s door, grab her thin hand and,
>somehow, pour all her own strength into Mary. I'd suggest breaking that last sentence into two. First we'd see her running from the window and down the hall, and the second sentence would give us her intentions.
>
>But before Rose could get in, the midwife came out
>wiping her bloody hands across her already bloody
>apron while muttering, “A fitting night for the birth
>of this two-headed monster.” Oooh, it's that midwife again! *G* I like her line. However, you have the word "bloody" twice in quick succession. Perhaps it could be changed to something like, "...wiping her bloody hands across her apron, already covered with smears of red..."
>
>I think this should be part of the preceding paragraph since it's still the midwife talking. Seeing Rose, her beady, black eyes narrowed. “What’re
>you doing here? Shouldn’t one such as you be out
>enjoying such a night? Or is it even more fun to lurk
>by a childbed, smelling the blood of the mess you’ve
>made?”
Deck her, Rose! I'll pay you money!
>The prominent smell in the hallway came from the
>midwife’s rotten teeth, yet Why "yet" and not "and?" Rose’s nostrils flared as
>she spoke. “My mother was mortal.”
>
>“Well, that I know ‘cause I saw her, dead. After
>giving birth to you. Sure didn’t see any sign of a
>father though. And now, it’s your poor auntie in
>there, gasping with every breath.”
>
>“Perhaps she’ll do better now, without the stench of
>yours in her face.” But even as Rose spoke, a gasp
>sounded behind the door followed by Grandmother’s
>anxious murmur.
>
>The midwife's thin lips curled. “Ah, no, it’s not me
>making your auntie suffer. I told ‘em! Yes, I told ‘em
>the minute you opened those uncanny green eyes and
>stared at me as you are now. I said, ‘Throw that thing
>in the Snowborne. Let the faeries save her, if they
>want her.” For some reason the word "uncanny" seems out of place. From what I get from the midwife, it doesn't seem to be a word she'd use. I'd expect her to say "evil" or something like that.
>
>And again, I think this paragraph needs to be part of the one above.Her gray brow arched. “They sure didn’t seem to want
>your mother, anymore. Ah, but her folks weren’t
>listening to me. Just bawling their eyes out over her
>busted body. No, it was little Mary Wheatly--who I
>brought into this world myself, mind you. She glared
>at me! And held you to her breast, bony as it’s always
>been, and told me I ‘was no longer needed.’ Wasn’t
>that the truth? That was thirteen years ago, but this,
>her first time in childbed. And it’s a misery for her.
>While you stand here looking as fresh and rosy as the
>day you were born--”
>
>The midwife finally closed her rotten mouth and took a
>step back.
>
>Rose was tall for her age and though there was very
>little light in the hallway, Rose’s eyes gleamed.
>There was no breeze; yet Rose’s dark curls stirred
>upon her shoulders. The name Rose is used three times in two sentences. Why is it important to know that Rose is tall for her age? Does she draw herself up, towering over the midwife? I know now that the gleam in her eyes and her snapping hair made the midwife close her mouth, but until I got to this paragraph, I had no clue why she'd done it. I would suggest removing the paragraph about the midwife going quiet, show how Rose stood up straight and her eyes gleamed in the dim light, and then show how the midwife shut up. But written from Rose's POV: "At least it shut the old crone up." or something.
>
> “Now,” said the midwife “do some good for a change.
>Go fast, like I know you can, and fetch your uncle.
>Mary needs him.”
Okay, I'm being nit-picky today. *G* If Rose's demeanor made the woman stop her "I knew you were no good from the first" spiel, wouldn't her voice here be a little hesitant, or diffident? From what you wrote before, it's clear Rose scared her a little, and I wouldn't expect the woman to immediately start issuing commands without some trepidation.
>Rose blinked, turned and fled out the front door. The
>wind howled with glee. The midwife sighed with relief.
>“Good riddance.” POV switch. The midwife's comment could only be here if Rose heard it, and also heard the relief in her voice.
>
>Everyone in Willowvale knew the tight rein the
>Woodman’s kept on Rose, but no family in their right
>mind would let a son or daughter out on a night such
>as this, a faerie night, or so the old folk called
>them. They claimed storms this big tore at the
>enchantments which kept the two races apart. Those
>that were wise didn’t disagree with the old folk. They
>simply stayed on the right side of the door and locked
>it too.
>
>Rose didn't have to go far to find her uncle. He was
>pacing back and forth beneath the rowan tree. Gradie
>stood a few steps beyond staring into the night. The
>old dog was tense as a readied arrow, but the stab in
>Rose’s chest came from the sight of her uncle.
>
>His head hung and his broad back slumped. Rose touched
>him gently on the arm. He took one look at her face
>and barreled inside. Gradie darted after him.
>
>Rose didn’t follow.
>
>If Mary died…No. Panic welled up at the thought.
>Woodman farm without Mary? It couldn’t be. And yet,
>this must be how Grandmother and Uncle John had felt
>when Rose’s mother died. Darling Lillie, whom everyone
>had loved. Except for the man who’d enchanted,
>impregnated and abandoned her to die giving birth to
>his odd child.
>
>Would Rose now, somehow, kill sweet Mary too?
>
>No, she would not.
>
>Rose reached out a steady hand and shut the front
>door. If Rose didn't follow John, then how was she close enough to reach the door? The sound of its closing made Gradie remember. Made him remember what? At this point, we only know Gradie's a dog, so this is confusing. Maybe "The second it closed, Rose heard Gradie's claws rasp...."
>Rose heard his claws rasp against the wooden planks.
>
>“Sorry.” she whispered. How many times had she lain
>awake listening to him whine in his sleep and
>wondering whether he dreamed of chasing the wolves or
>running with them? But, her family would need him. Don't need a paragraph break here.
>
>She prayed that tonight, they’d be too distracted to
>notice him barking at the door and her gone. She
>prayed that soon, they’d have someone to love in her
>place, someone to brighten the sad shadows of Lillie
>and her daughter.
>
>Rose turned to the wind already licking her face, tugging
>at her clothes. She let it pull her toward the
>shivering trees, toward the deeper dark beneath them.
>She felt the fleshy stems of lily of the valley
>beneath her feet and smelt their sweet, earthy scent.
>But as her foot brushed the stone bearing her mother’s
>name, something I'd suggest removing this first "something." You don't need it., something big and dark, flew down
>from the tree into Rose’s face.
>
>She threw up her hands and felt…feathers, though it
>seemed large for a bird. Something sharp hit her head
>driving her back toward the door. Rose beat at the
>wide wings. Talons flew at her face but she didn’t
>flinch, didn’t pretend she couldn’t understand.
>
>“Go ahead,” she said. “Blood will draw them faster. My
>family’s better off with out one word, without. me. Without you.” She
>looked into the woods. “Without them.”
>
>The bird swerved, but its wing knocked her forehead
>forcing her to step back or stumble. The howling was
>louder than ever. Is it the wind howling, or is it the dog? Show us. The bird fought the wind, fought
>Rose until the front door burst open revealing the
>familiar shape of her uncle cradling a bundle in his
>arms.
>
>“Rosie!” John yelled.
>
>She stood still, knowing he couldn’t see her among the
>tree's shadows.
>
>“Rose!”
>
>She’d never heard such panic, not even the time she’d
>snuck away from a nap and Grandmother had found her
>sitting at the forest’s edge listening to the trees.
>The anguish in John’s voice ripped at Rose’s heart,
>but she stood firm and still, until he stepped into
>the night.
>
>Rose ran as fast as the bird had flown.
>
>Driving her uncle into the farmhouse, she slammed the
>door behind her. The wind howled and beat against it.
>Gradie stood across the mat growling low in this
>chest.
>
>Her uncle dropped to one knee. “What in the world were
>you—never mind. Look.” He held out the bundle.
>
>She looked down into a tiny, pink, and peaceful face.
>The lids lifted and blue eyes, fresh from the
>otherworld, looked straight into hers.
>
>Uncle John grinned. “Your cousin, Rosie. And there’s
>another, a sweet girl.”
>
>“Twins! The midwife said it was a-“
>
>“I told you not to listen to that old bat, Rosie.”
>
> “And Mary?”
>
>“She’ll be all right. Just worn out, that’s all.
>She’ll be fine. But your grandmother will be very
>busy, what with caring for her and two--”
>
>“Oh, but I’ll help.”
>
>John smiled. “Then we’ll all do just fine.”
>
>Rose caught a movement behind him. The midwife stood
>in the hall shaking her head. But Rose didn’t care for
>a tiny hand closed round her finger reaching somehow
>straight to her heart which throbbed wildly birthing a
>fierce and tender love.
> *******
>
>The bird stayed low though it was forced to dodge the
>tossing tree limbs. When it was several furloughs from
>Woodman farm, it soared above the roiling sea of
>leaves and shrieked into the night.
>
>The wind caught the cry and hurtled it over the vast
>forest. When the woods finally gave out, the wind
>raced across a rising, stony meadow, picking up speed
>but no single night of wind could blast down the
>mountains that lined the island’s far shore.
>
>Nestled on the knees of the tallest mountain, built
>from its white granite bones, an ancient castle stood
>reflecting the silver streaks that lit up the sky. A
>young man stood on its walls. The wind pawed at his
>clothes, nipped at his skin and tousled his dark hair
>yet he stood still and straight with only his head
>slightly cocked to one side.
>
>Finally, the wind brought the cry to his ear. He
>smiled and sent his own words into the wind. “Creator
>mind your flight. Guide you to a sheltered roost and
>keep you safe this night.”
>
>Though rain pelted his pale skin and lightening raged
>above his head, Edan didn’t turn toward the gardens
>below and the brightly lit hall in their midst. He
>stood a while longer, in awe of a power so much
>greater than his own, greater than any person he had
>known.
>
>He looked to the stars that he knew were still there
>bright behind the clouds and he gave thanks, believing
>the storm to be the only power to eclipse his tonight,
>for even though Edan had seen the effects, seen how
>Rose had mended the Woodman’s broken hearts, he still
>didn’t understand how powerful a baby’s grip could be.
Susie, I liked the other one, but I love this one. For me, it really sets the tone, makes me want to know more about Rose and where she came from. The POV switch from her to Edan was very well done. That last part had to be there, or it would have left the chapter hanging at a very odd spot. The bit about Edan just adds to the depth of the scene and piques the interest more. With a little tweaking here and there, I'd say this one's a keeper!
Hugs,
Page
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Thanks again, Page>>>> -- susiej, 17:46:53 03/23/10 Tue
Poor you- how many times have you had to read this? But thanks-I knew some of the spots that were iffy and you hit them all. I think one of my problem is that Rose isn't really aware exactly how scary she is to those who don't know her. She really is odd to them. She's Fae-she doesn't really notice that she creates wind, or her own eyes gleaming like a cat, stuff like that.
And that yea, she actually does hear everything that everyone around her says.
I once tried an opening where the villagers were all talking about her before you met her, but most people didn't like that- start with the MC they said. Especially in YA. Thanks,again, it always helps to see it from your eyes. (I had out the part that said the rowan grew by the door!)
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I think Page said everything I was going to. Foiled again ;-) -- debikm, 19:55:35 03/23/10 Tue
The only thing I found that she didn't comment on was this
>Rose caught a movement behind him. The midwife stood
>in the hall shaking her head. But Rose didn’t care for
>a tiny hand closed round her finger reaching somehow
>straight to her heart which throbbed wildly birthing a
>fierce and tender love.
I love the sentiment expressed. The last senstance was just a bit long. I suggest breaking it up some. I'm not sure whatv Rose didn't care for, I'm assuming the midwife's attitude. A couple of well placed commas could help. "Rose didn't care, for a tiny hand closed round her finger, reaching straight to her heart. It throbbed, birthing a fierce and tender love." Really nice, susiej! Sets the tone right off the bat. I can't wait to see what's next!
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thanks, Debi! -- susiej, 10:16:20 03/24/10 Wed
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Re: in here->>> -- Alex, 09:22:28 03/24/10 Wed
What a nice surprise to find this to read first thing in the morning! *s* I remember the first version and this is much clearer in my head. But there's something about it still that I can't quite put my finger on. It's the tone. The immediacy. I don't feel the tension, worry, virulence that's going on in the beginning. I'm watching it unfold. You indicated you don't want to go with a first person POV, but this is halfway in between O and 1st. I agree with Page's crit, but that will strengthen the 1st POV. (Which just happens to be what I like to read. *s*) It makes the character's jump off the page. The situation vivid. Smelling the midwife's halitosis and coppery reek of blood coming off her clothes. Unpleasant, but she becomes three dimensional. Her words have more bite. My own personal anxiety rises, imagining if I was stuck in such a situation, cornered in a hallway and made to feel like a pariah. That's missing here. It's muted. The action with the attack under the tree was distant too. I don't have issues with omnicient POV. It's great for moving a story along. Cataloging how stuff is happening to the character, without having to be bogged down with every single detail. But I like being rewarded with a scene looking out one of the character's eyes too, bringing me from the bird's eye view back into the midst of what they're dealing with. Engaging my feelings. A secret pleasure when it's a favorite character. (I loved getting a peek inside Jamie's head.) But most importantly, it makes me care about the story. Want to turn the page. So for me, and what I like to read, I'd suggest pacing R's story. Be in 1st with some characters, and O elsewhere. Avoid passive sentence structure and tells. Like that last line about Edan. That's the Tolkien line that annoyed me so much - if they only looked back they'd see... That one sentence about E took away all the suspense of R & E's interactions and made them predictable. :0| Bummer! I like not knowing all the details. Makes the story more intriguing. ;0)
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Thanks, Alex>>> -- susiej, 10:14:24 03/24/10 Wed
I'm going to go back and reread the Jamie parts of V- (what a chore! *grin*)so I can see how DG does it because I don't remember ever having Jamie in first person, only Claire; yet I do know we get a good look into Jamie's thoughts and yes, I love it and its done very well.
Strangely, I've always felt Claire was harder to know even though we are in her head.
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Sorry to be such a pest. I'm slow, but ,I think, I may have finally got it. Is this better?>>>>> -- susiej, 11:23:06 03/24/10 Wed
Chapter One
Dark Roots
The shutters rattled, the latch strained exactly as though someone was trying to get in. Rose longed to throw the shutters wide and let the howling wind carry away the memory of her mother. It had hovered all day beside Aunt Mary, growing stronger with each of Mary’s labored breaths, filling the air until no one in the little farmhouse could breathe easily.
Uncle John and Grandmother blamed their rattled nerves on the storms, but Rose knew different. She loved storms. Whether they blew in from the sea or down from the mountains rumored to rise beyond the forest, the result was the same: even the mightiest oaks bowed down. Not that Rose disliked the trees. She loved them too, but a power that bent the ancient trees, that could rip the dark into glorious flashes of silver, who wouldn’t admire that?
Everyone but you, Rose reminded herself.
She pressed her palm to the trembling shutters feeling the power of the wind. Despite its howling, Rose heard the stifled gasp. Mary wasn’t able to hold back her cries any longer. Rose turned and ran into the hallway intending to yank open her aunt’s door, grab her thin hand and somehow pour all her own strength into Mary.
But before she could get in, the midwife came out wiping her bloody hands across her gory apron while muttering, “A fitting night for the birth of this two-headed monster.”
Seeing Rose, her beady, black eyes narrowed. “What’re you doing here? Shouldn’t one such as you be out enjoying this night? Or is it even more fun to lurk by a childbed, smelling the blood of the mess you’ve made?”
What Rose smelt most was the midwife’s rotten teeth, but that didn’t stop her nostrils from flaring wide as she spoke, “My mother was mortal.”
“Well, that I know ‘cause I saw her, dead. After giving birth to you. Sure didn’t see any sign of a father though. And now, it’s your poor auntie in there, gasping with every breath.”
“Perhaps she’ll do better now, without the stench of yours in her face.” But even as Rose spoke, a gasp came from behind the door followed by Grandmother’s anxious murmur. The gasp had been loud enough for the midwife to hear.
She smiled showing rows of brown teeth. “Ah, no, it aint me making your auntie suffer. I told ‘em! Yes, I told ‘em the minute you opened those, those green eyes and stared at me as you are now. I said, ‘Throw that thing in the Snowborne. Let the faeries save her, if they want her.” Her gray brow lifted. “They sure didn’t seem to want your mother, anymore. Ah, but her folks weren’t listening to me. Just bawling their eyes out over her busted body. No, it was little Mary Wheatly--who I brought into this world myself, mind you. She glared at me! And held you to her breast, bony as it’s always been, and told me I ‘was no longer needed.’ Wasn’t that the truth? That was thirteen years ago, but this, her first time in childbed. And it’s a misery for her. While you stand here looking as fresh and rosy as the day you were bor--”
The midwife finally closed her rotten mouth and took a step back. Rose was tall for her age, and though there was very little light in the hallway, she saw the gleam of her own, narrowed eyes reflected in the midwife's. There was no breeze, yet Rose’s dark curls stirred upon her shoulders.
“Why…don’t you…do some good, now,” sputtered the midwife. “Mary needs your uncle. Go fast, like I know you can, and fetch him.”
Rose blinked, turned and fled out the front door. The wind howled with glee, but Rose heard the midwife’s sigh of relief, “Good riddance.”
Everyone in Willowvale knew the tight rein the Woodman’s kept on Rose, but no family in their right mind would let a son or daughter out on a night such as this, a faerie night, or so the old folk called them. They claimed storms this big tore at the enchantments which kept the two races apart. Those that were wise didn’t disagree with the old folk. They simply stayed on the right side of the door and locked it too.
Rose was barely off the doorstep when she found her uncle pacing back and forth beneath the rowan tree. Gradie stood a few steps beyond staring into the night. The old dog was tense as a readied arrow, but the stab in Rose’s chest came from the sight of her uncle.
His head hung. His broad back slumped. Rose touched him gently on the arm. He spun round, took one look at her face and barreled inside. Gradie darted after him.
Rose didn’t follow.
If Mary died…No. Panic welled up at the thought. Woodman farm without Mary? It couldn’t be. And yet, this must be how Grandmother and Uncle John had felt when Rose’s mother died. Darling Lillie, whom everyone had loved. Except for the man who’d enchanted, impregnated and abandoned her to die giving birth to his odd child.
Would Rose now, somehow, kill sweet Mary too?
No, she would not.
Her hand was steady hand as she shut the front door. The sound of must have alerted Gradie. Rose heard his claws rasp as he jumped against the strong oak planks.
“Sorry.” she whispered. How many times had she lain awake listening to him whine in his sleep and wondering whether he dreamt of chasing the wolves or running with them? But, her family needed him. Perhaps, tonight, they’d be too distracted to notice him barking at the door and her gone. She prayed that soon, they’d have someone to love in her place, someone to brighten the sad shadows of Lillie and her daughter.
Rose turned toward the wind already licking her face, tugging at her clothes. She let it pull her toward the shivering trees, toward the deeper dark beneath them. She didn’t even try to avoid smashing the lily-of-the-valley that grew across her mother’s grave. She felt the fleshy stems beneath her feet and smelt their delicate, earthy scent, but when her foot brushed the stone bearing her mother’s name, something, something big and dark, flew down from the tree and into her face.
She threw up her hands and felt…feathers, though it seemed large for a bird. Something sharp hit her scalp driving her back toward the door. Rose beat at the wide wings. Talons flew at her face but she didn’t flinch, didn’t pretend she couldn’t understand.
“Go ahead,” she said. “Blood will draw them faster. My family’s better off with out me. Without you.” She looked into the woods. “Without them.”
The bird swerved, but its wing knocked her forehead, hard, forcing her to step back or stumble. The howling grew louder. The trees writhed. The bird fought the wind, fought Rose until the front door burst open revealing the familiar shape of her uncle cradling a bundle in his arms.
“Rosie!” John yelled.
She stood still, knowing he couldn’t see her among the shadows. The bird had flown back into the oak.
“Rose!”
She’d never heard such panic, not even the time she’d snuck away from a nap and Grandmother had found her sitting at the forest’s edge listening to the trees. The anguish in her uncle’s voice ripped her heart, but she stood firm and still, until he stepped into the night.
Rose ran as fast as the bird had flown.
Driving her uncle into the farmhouse, she slammed the door behind her. The wind howled and beat against it. Gradie stood across the mat growling low in this chest. Her uncle dropped to one knee. “What in the world were you—never mind. Look.” He held out the bundle.
She looked down into a tiny, pink, and peaceful face. The lids lifted and clear blue eyes, fresh from the otherworld, looked straight into hers.
“Your cousin,” said Uncle John. “And you’ve got another, a sweet girl.”
“Twins! The midwife said it was a-“
“I told you not to listen to that old bat.”
“And Mary?”
“She’ll be all right. Just worn out, that’s all. She’ll be fine. But your grandmother will be very busy, what with caring for her and two--”
“Oh, but I’ll help.”
John smiled. “Then we’ll all do just fine.”
Rose caught a movement behind him. The midwife stood in the hall shaking her head. Rose didn’t care about that, for a tiny hand closed round her finger. It’s reach went straight to her heart which throbbed wildly birthing a fierce and tender love.
*******
The bird stayed low though it was forced to dodge the tossing tree limbs. When it was several furloughs from Woodman farm, it soared above the roiling sea of leaves and shrieked into the night.
The wind caught the cry and hurtled it over the vast forest. When the woods finally gave out, the wind raced across a rising, stony meadow, picking up speed but no single night of wind could blast down the mountains that lined the island’s far shore.
Nestled on the knees of the tallest mountain, built from its white granite bones, an ancient castle stood reflecting the silver streaks that lit up the sky. A young man stood on its walls. The wind pawed at his clothes, nipped at his skin and tousled his dark hair; yet he stood still and straight with only his head slightly cocked to one side.
Finally, the wind brought the cry to his ear. He smiled and sent his own words into the wind. “Creator mind your flight. Guide you to a sheltered roost and keep you safe this night.”
Though rain pelted his pale skin and lightening burst above his head, Edan didn’t turn toward the gardens below and the brightly lit hall in their midst. He stood a while longer, in awe of a power so much greater than his own, greater than any person he had known.
Edan didn’t see one break in the roiling clouds, but he knew the stars were shining bright behind them. “Thank you,” he whispered, believing the storm to be the only power to eclipse his tonight. Edan had seen the effects with his own eyes, seen how Rose had mended the Woodman’s broken hearts, but he’d never felt how powerful a baby’s grip could be.
OK- I just couldn't cut the last sentence entirely. Though I saw your point, Alex.
My excuse is this- I've been told The Seeker's Charm is more of a YA crossover than an adult. Probably true- I hold back on sex scenes since my daughter reads this! And some YA readers need a bit more help than adults especially when talking about something like babies- though many of them have little bros and sisses that they love, they may not remember the baby days.
And honestly, back to Tolkien's telling- most of us who love LOTR first read it young- kids are a little more used to being "told" and as long as it isn't preachy, they'll accept it.
Last edited by author: Wed March 24, 2010 11:33:31
Edited 2 times.
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Re: Sorry to be such a pest. I'm slow, but ,I think, I may have finally got it. Is this better?>>>>> -- Alex, 15:34:40 03/24/10 Wed
Yes! Better.
You could tweak it in places and go after passive sentences, but I'm afraid. Would a full blown crit be too much to handle right now?
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Never too much- full crits are what I love>>> -- susiej, 17:38:22 03/24/10 Wed
but I actually have already gone through it again and tightened some places.
If you want,I can email it to you-it might be be easier to crit and I don't want to hog the boards. I'm at susan.b.james(atsignhere)sbcglobal.net
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Re: Never too much- full crits are what I love>>> -- Alex, 10:56:32 03/25/10 Thu
E-mail sent!
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Hey Susie! Seems like I’m late to the party, but I have a crit for you anyway >>> -- Esther, 15:25:55 03/25/10 Thu
I haven’t read any of the other comments so some of what I mention might be redundant. Now, what I attempted to do, since this is the first chapter, was pretend that this is the first I’ve seen of your story, and tried to block out what I knew. It was hard to do, and I don’t know if I was successful, but I wanted to give you some impressions that might be there on first glance. I’m not sure what you wanted, but as always, use what you can and toss the rest.
From the Seeker's Charm/Beneath the Trees
By Susan James
for critique only
Chapter One
Dark Roots
Rose watched the shutters rattle, the latch straining as surely as though someone was trying to get in. And how she longed to throw the shutters wide and let the howling wind carry away the specter of her mother. It had hovered all day beside Aunt Mary, growing stronger with each of Mary’s labored breaths, filling the air so that no one in the little farmhouse could breathe easily.
As a first sentence in your story, I don’t think this one is strong enough. I guess her watching sounds passive to me. I really like the specter of her mother, and think that’s the way to go.
Two ly words you could switch to stronger verbs or cut
Uncle John and Grandmother blamed it on the storm, but Rose knew better. She loved storms. Whether they blew in from the sea or down from the mountains rumored to rise beyond the forest, the result was the same: even the mightiest oaks bowed down. Not that Rose disliked the trees. She loved them too, but a power that bent the ancient trees, that could rip the dark into glorious flashes of silver, who wouldn’t admire that?
And then again, if you want to use the weather as a tool here to express the mood, you could start with the trees bowing down and the lightning’s flashes of silver awakening the sky, and then lead into Rose, the specter and Aunt Mary’s labour.
Everyone, but you, Rose reminded herself.
Cut this as it is not necessary and its telling. You’ve described the storm and the fact Rose wanted to be part of it while the others in the farmhouse couldn’t breath.
She pressed her palm to the trembling shutters feeling the power of the wind. Even over its loud begging to be let in, Rose heard her aunt’s stifled gasp. Mary was no longer able to hold back her cries. Rose turned from the window, ran into the hallway intending to yank open her aunt’s door, grab her thin hand and, somehow, pour all her own strength into Mary.
See, here’s where I’d put that first sentence in the story, because it is a very vivid and apt description, combining it with her feeling the shutter to gauge the power of the wind
I’d cut the intending to yank open the door part because we should see that in Rose’s actions down below. Right now all I think you need is to show her emotions are as wild as the wind she wants to be out in
But before Rose could get in, the midwife came out wiping her bloody hands across her already bloody apron while muttering, “A fitting night for the birth of this two-headed monster.”
Well isn’t that a pleasant woman
Cut the but and use stronger verbs. Before Rose could get in could be before Rose could wrench the door open or something. She’s feeling anxious and we need to see that in her actions
Seeing Rose, her beady, black eyes narrowed. “What’re you doing here? Shouldn’t one such as you be out enjoying such a night? Or is it even more fun to lurk by a childbed, smelling the blood of the mess you’ve made?”
This is a POV break, as Rose wouldn’t know that her narrowed eyes were a result of seeing her.
Okay, this doesn’t sit right with me. Rose was running in the hallway. Before she could get in indicates she’s close to the door, or hurdling down the hallway because she is running. Midwife comes out, says something totally inappropriate. But doesn’t see Rose. Why? Because she’s wiping her hands? Can Rose run or stop that quick without making a sound? After I read this a couple times, I get the impression that she’s a fair distance away from the midwife, and the woman muttered, and Rose could hear her. Is that right?
And I’m confused. Why does the midwife accuse Rose of the mess if the blood is from childbirth?
The prominent smell in the hallway came from the midwife’s rotten teeth, yet Rose’s nostrils flared as she spoke. “My mother was mortal.”
And okay, I’m sensing Rose’s sense of smell is greater than normal. So does her flaring her nostrils here indicate her anger? I’d separate the two thoughts into two sentences to avoid confusion.
I like that she says her mother was mortal. It’s the first indication Rose is something other.
“Well, that I know ‘cause I saw her, dead. After giving birth to you. Sure didn’t see any sign of a father though. And now, it’s your poor auntie in there, gasping with every breath.”
Again. Why is that Rose’s fault?
“Perhaps she’ll do better now, without the stench of yours in her face.” But even as Rose spoke, a gasp sounded behind the door followed by Grandmother’s anxious murmur.
Stench of what? Ok, I get the bad breath, but I think Rose needs to mention what it really is. And I have to wonder if Rose would be rude to the midwife.
The midwife's thin lips curled. “Ah, no, it’s not me making your auntie suffer. I told ‘em! Yes, I told ‘em the minute you opened those uncanny green eyes and stared at me as you are now. I said, ‘Throw that thing in the Snowborne. Let the faeries save her, if they want her.”
Missing a closing ’
And so her father is faerie. I like how you are incorporating the past history into the story without directly telling us
Her gray brow arched. “They sure didn’t seem to want your mother, anymore. Ah, but her folks weren’t listening to me. Just bawling their eyes out over her busted body. No, it was little Mary Wheatly--who I brought into this world myself, mind you. She glared at me! And held you to her breast, bony as it’s always been, and told me I ‘was no longer needed.’ Wasn’t that the truth? That was thirteen years ago, but this, her first time in childbed. And it’s a misery for her. While you stand here looking as fresh and rosy as the day you were born--”
Geez that midwife is unpleasant. Her character comes right off the page
So Rose is thirteen here. Shouldn’t she be fresh and rosy? Granted the farmhouse indicates she works hard, but still, thirteen is kinda young for her to resemble an old hag, isn’t it?
And I’m just trying to figure out these dynamics but was Mary married to John when Rose was born?
The midwife final closed her rotten mouth and took a step back.
Why?
Rose was tall for her age and though there was very little light in the hallway, Rose’s eyes gleamed. There was no breeze; yet Rose’s dark curls stirred upon her shoulders.
POV issue. Rose couldn’t see or be aware her eyes gleamed and her hair moved on her shoulders.
I’d suggest moving the part where the midwife closes her mouth down past this, and then I’d have the midwife comment on it, remind Rose in her blunt way that she’s not like them, that her having faerie blood makes her an abomination and brings evil into the farmhouse. Show Rose’s reaction, and then when the midwife makes the following comment, Rose has a reason to listen to her. Does that make any sense?
“Now,” said the midwife “do some good for a change. Go fast, like I know you can, and fetch your uncle. Mary needs him.”
Rose blinked, turned and fled out the front door. The wind howled with glee. The midwife sighed with relief. “Good riddance.”
POV issue. Rose wouldn’t be able to hear her say that or her sigh. And if you want the reader to be aware she can because she’s faerie, you will need to bring that to the readers attention. Have Rose run faster when she hears it because it does indicate to her she shouldn’t be able to and she does. Highlight her insecurities about not fitting in. Make her emotions as turbulent as the storm. She’s worried about her aunt and she’s just had her feelings hurt. The wind is calling to her right?
Everyone in Willowvale knew the tight rein the Woodman’s kept on Rose, but no family in their right mind would let a son or daughter out on a night such as this, a faerie night, or so the old folk called them. They claimed storms this big tore at the enchantments which kept the two races apart. Those that were wise didn’t disagree with the old folk. They simply stayed on the right side of the door and locked it too.
I’m wondering how this fits in with the scene. I like the information, and love what it represents, but it seems to come out of nowhere. And makes me question. If the wise didn’t disagree and stayed on the inside, what does that imply about the uncle who is out in it? And then I wonder if Rose goes out in weather like this all the time. And if that would isolate her more from those around her than just the tight rein the Woodman’s kept on her. Which might not be bad, but at the beginning of the story, the hook shouldn’t be the questions about what the words are meant to mean. And I know that makes no sense, so feel free to ignore me. *G*
Rose didn't have to go far to find her uncle. He was pacing back and forth beneath the rowan tree. Gradie stood a few steps beyond staring into the night. The old dog was tense as a readied arrow, but the stab in Rose’s chest came from the sight of her uncle.
See, if Rose fled from the house, this seems too calm. Why didn’t the uncle hear her approach? Why wasn’t he keeping watch on the door to see if anyone came out to fetch him just in case his presence was needed in a hurry? And what’s the significance of the rowan tree? Is there any?
I like how you told us who Gradie was. And how you indicated that something was lurking in the shadows.
His head hung and his broad back slumped. Rose touched him gently on the arm. He took one look at her face and barreled inside. Gradie darted after him.
Okay, there’s another ly word. You can cut it without changing the meaning of the sentence, so it is unnecessary.
Was he startled at her touch? Was there any emotion on his face you’d like to share with us?
And why, if Gradie was so intent on the surroundings and what lay beyond, did he not even hesitate to follow his master? That indicates to me, and remember I know nothing, that whatever it was, wasn’t much. And if that’s the case, why is it being pointed out to me that it was?
Rose didn’t follow.
Unnecessary as we can see she didn’t follow.
If Mary died…No. Panic welled up at the thought. Woodman farm without Mary? It couldn’t be. And yet, this must be how Grandmother and Uncle John had felt when Rose’s mother died. Darling Lillie, whom everyone had loved. Except for the man who’d enchanted, impregnated and abandoned her to die giving birth to his odd child.
How does her panic affect her? She just standing there? Is she watching the beyond as the dog had done, cursing what wasn’t her fault? Is she looking toward the house, hearing her Aunt Mary struggle to give birth? Before she wanted to be outside and be part of the wind, right? So I guess what I want to know is what she’s doing while her emotions are so jumbled up. Does being out in the storm settle her somehow? Help her to think? Or does it tempt her to leave her home and the security she has behind the farmhouse walls?
Would Rose now, somehow, kill sweet Mary too?
Who has this kid been talking to? *G*
No, she would not.
Some sort of gesture would reinforce her thought
Rose reached out a steady hand and shut the front door. The sound of its closing made Gradie remember. Rose heard his claws rasp against the wooden planks.
Hey. She didn’t follow. How can she shut the front door from the distance she was at?
POV as she wouldn’t know what was in the dogs head and that the sound of a closing door made him remember that he should have been watching
“Sorry.” she whispered. How many times had she lain awake listening to him whine in his sleep and wondering whether he dreamed of chasing the wolves or running with them? But, her family would need him.
Okay, this makes me think that what he was sensing when he was outside was the wolves, and not that other world impression I had above. Or is an otherworldly wolf?
She prayed that tonight, they’d be too distracted to notice him barking at the door and her gone. She prayed that soon, they’d have someone to love in her place, someone to brighten the sad shadows of Lillie and her daughter.
So she’s thinking about running away
Rose turned to wind already licking her face, tugging at her clothes. She let it pull her toward the shivering trees, toward the deeper dark beneath them. She felt the fleshy stems of lily of the valley beneath her feet and smelt their sweet, earthy scent. But as her foot brushed the stone bearing her mother’s name, something, something big and dark, flew down from the tree into Rose’s face.
Oh, she’s outside. When you mentioned the dogs claws on the wooden planks I assumed she was inside, with the dog maybe farther in the house, perhaps down the hall where his master had gone.
She threw up her hands and felt…feathers, though it seemed large for a bird. Something sharp hit her head driving her back toward the door. Rose beat at the wide wings. Talons flew at her face but she didn’t flinch, didn’t pretend she couldn’t understand.
My first impression is that if it flew into her face it was likely a bird, so I don’t get the reference to the feathers. If it’s more than a bird, could you describe it in more detail than just saying it seemed large for a bird?
Couldn’t understand what? That this bird wasn’t a bird and that whatever it was didn’t want her to run.
“Go ahead,” she said. “Blood will draw them faster. My family’s better off with out me. Without you.” She looked into the woods. “Without them.”
Ah. So perhaps it was werewolves. *G*
The bird swerved, but its wing knocked her forehead forcing her to step back or stumble. The howling was louder than ever. The bird fought the wind, fought Rose until the front door burst open revealing the familiar shape of her uncle cradling a bundle in his arms.
“Rosie!” John yelled.
She stood still, knowing he couldn’t see her among the tree's shadows.
How come she can stand still with the ‘bird’ attacking her? Wouldn’t the assault against her increase if the ‘bird’ saw the advantage of giving away her position in the shadows by forcing her out and into the open where Uncle John could see her?
“Rose!”
She’d never heard such panic, not even the time she’d snuck away from a nap and Grandmother had found her sitting at the forest’s edge listening to the trees. The anguish in John’s voice ripped at Rose’s heart, but she stood firm and still, until he stepped into the night.
Love that first line. It reveals so much about Rose and the people who raised her.
Rose ran as fast as the bird had flown.
Okay. I’ll ask. Where’s the bird???
Driving her uncle into the farmhouse, she slammed the door behind her. The wind howled and beat against it. Gradie stood across the mat growling low in this chest.
K, I think you need a comma after mat, otherwise it reads as if the mat was growling low in his chest. Oh typo. This should be his chest.
Her uncle dropped to one knee. “What in the world were you—never mind. Look.” He held out the bundle.
She looked down into a tiny, pink, and peaceful face. The lids lifted and blue eyes, fresh from the otherworld, looked straight into hers.
Awwww
Uncle John grinned. “Your cousin, Rosie. And there’s another, a sweet girl.”
“Twins! The midwife said it was a-“
Isn’t it irritating that the quotations don’t close right after a -?
“I told you not to listen to that old bat, Rosie.”
I like Uncle John from what I’ve seen of him so far.
“And Mary?”
“She’ll be all right. Just worn out, that’s all. She’ll be fine. But your grandmother will be very busy, what with caring for her and two--”
“Oh, but I’ll help.”
John smiled. “Then we’ll all do just fine.”
And just like that she’ll stay
Rose caught a movement behind him. The midwife stood in the hall shaking her head. But Rose didn’t care for a tiny hand closed round her finger reaching somehow straight to her heart which throbbed wildly birthing a fierce and tender love.
*******
The bird stayed low though it was forced to dodge the tossing tree limbs. When it was several furloughs from Woodman farm, it soared above the roiling sea of leaves and shrieked into the night.
I found the bird! *G*
The wind caught the cry and hurtled it over the vast forest. When the woods finally gave out, the wind raced across a rising, stony meadow, picking up speed but no single night of wind could blast down the mountains that lined the island’s far shore.
Cut finally
Ah! The rumors aren’t just rumors then. There are mountains past the forest.
Nestled on the knees of the tallest mountain, built from its white granite bones, an ancient castle stood reflecting the silver streaks that lit up the sky. A young man stood on its walls. The wind pawed at his clothes, nipped at his skin and tousled his dark hair yet he stood still and straight with only his head slightly cocked to one side.
Awesome descriptions! Would this young man with dark hair be Edan?
Finally, the wind brought the cry to his ear. He smiled and sent his own words into the wind. “Creator mind your flight. Guide you to a sheltered roost and keep you safe this night.”
Finally repeated and this one too, can be cut
Though rain pelted his pale skin and lightening raged above his head, Edan didn’t turn toward the gardens below and the brightly lit hall in their midst. He stood a while longer, in awe of a power so much greater than his own, greater than any person he had known.
It is Edan! Woo hoo!
When did it start raining? You see, I ask because his hair was tousled by the wind, but if rain was pelting down, how could it? Wouldn’t it be plastered to his head?
He looked to the stars that he knew were still there bright behind the clouds and he gave thanks, believing the storm to be the only power to eclipse his tonight, for even though Edan had seen the effects, seen how Rose had mended the Woodman’s broken hearts, he still didn’t understand how powerful a baby’s grip could be.
Ah ha! So Edan controlled the bird. Hmmmm So what importance was it that it seemed large for a bird?
And that's that. Hope I didn't ramble too much. *G*
You're off to a brilliant start, and I can see the foundation being laid for your story. You must know I love anything even remotely paranormal with fantasy woven through it, so please feel free to share at any time.
Hugs
Esther
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Thanks! You've got such an eye for those adverbs. -- susiej, 16:02:36 03/25/10 Thu
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