Excerpt: Would you read on? I'd like opinions

Klingon Hamlet

She leaned in and as I felt her lips brush mine, Captain Tyde’s voice burst into the room. “Alright kids we’re a minute away. C’mon up!”

I opened my eyes and she was already at the stairwell, gesturing me to follow her. I smiled and clambered upto the main deck. The men were all at their stations, heads up, eyes wide, smiles wider. Elynora too: she was starstruck. I looked up, and I gasped, for I witnessed the most beautiful vista in all the galaxy.


An ocean of stars flowed across the skies like a tapestry made of angels, glistening from their homes millions of miles and years away, all winking merrily, all golden and silver and bright and beautiful. Huge thick streaks of amber and crimson and violet rushed across the night, dancing in a breeze unfelt, like banners. And among them moved the other ships, like ours, metallic and heavy-looking yet floating like feathers or memories, their men too just as awed, their faces to the heavens.


“Okey-smokey,” came the captain’s voice distantly, “we’re at the gates. Hold onto your buns.”


I looked forward where a giant cloud floated mere inces from the bow, a whale of mist and water vapour. It peeled open, rippling to each side of us, and the night became day, the most glorious day ever. Golden fiery skies washed across the darkness. The floating banners bloomed into full-blown nebulas, seemingly miles away yet almost touchable. The ships followed us in, laughter trickling from their passengers and crews. Triumphant music filled the cool air. Clouds everywhere, glowing and brilliant, swooped slowly in to nestle under the prow and stern, to ease us along to the huge island ahead, the island unearthed and mid-sky, awaiting our arrival.


“Welcome,” said our captain, “to the Astral Plane!”

pickarooney

Personally I probably wouldn't. I have a strong aversion to spaceships and all that jazz and there was nothing dramatic enough in the piece to make me change my mind. It was more detailed description than anything else.

Grievous

The piece was overly descriptive. I have read some of your other pieces you have posted here as well and I think you are pretty good at setting the scene and playing with words.

The problem? You need to move the plot the forward a bit more briskly.

Established writers get away with it more. Take a personal favourite of mine: Dolores Claiborne. You know the big secret Selena is about to tell her mother (Dolores) But stephen king beats around the bush for a few pages more before getting to the point. By then you are really engaged enough in the story to keep reading on.

Personally. I love Sci-fi/Space operas. So I would keep reading and thought the piece was decent.

EileenG

Yep, I like SF, but I like it to have interesting characters, a good plot and plenty of action. An occasional descriptive phrase is enough for me. Give an outline and my own imagination will fill in the rest. Too much detail makes me want to start picking holes. Like can you hear music and laughter in space?

Klingon Hamlet

OK thanks:D

The characters were deliberately vague because they're only forming in my little brain, but the Astral Plane is meant to be an awesome vista, where ships (actual ships) cruise in through portals.

I have a cool idea that came to me last night:

Tyde: The Astral Plane is not a place. Not really.
Finn: But...we're headed there.
Tyde: Yes.
Finn: But it's nowhere.
Tyde: Indeed.
Finn: I'm confused.
Tyde: The Astral Plane is an echo of the real world, except the echo is more powerful, more vibrant, more real.
Finn: (frowns) Uh huh.
Tyde: (smiles) Actually...what's the difference between thinking something, and saying it?
Finn: Well, one's in my mind, the other is outside, in the real world.
Tyde: But they're both real.
Finn: (nodding slowly) Yeah...
Tyde: In fact...the thought is more real, because it's closer to who you are, it's straight from your core...
Finn: Yeah.
Tyde: (smiles wider and whispers conspiratorily) The universe is the voice, out there, out loud, but a little...diluted. The Astral Plane...that's the thought. Both linked, both powerful and tangible in their own special way, but really...(winks)...it's the thought that counts.

Valmont

That reminds me of the sort of dialogue between Arthur Dent and Fort Prefect!

Klingon Hamlet

Valmont wrote: »

That reminds me of the sort of dialogue between Arthur Dent and Fort Prefect!

Hmmm...not really what I was aiming for but I see your point...sh1t...:o

Valmont

Klingon Hamlet wrote: »

Hmmm...not really what I was aiming for but I see your point...sh1t...:o

I wouldn't consider it a bad thing. Maybe it would be bad if someone said "oh that reminds me of the dialogue in the new hip vampire series that's doing the rounds" haha.

Klingon Hamlet

The pale man in the long black coat appeared as if from nowhere, eyes gleaming in strange excitement as he gazed upon Elynora and I. The girl frowned and stepped back. I hissed, “Captain!”

Captain Tyde stepped up from belowdecks and approached the visitor. One hand hovered by his sword, the other by his gun. “You are not welcome here, stranger. Get off my ship.”

The stranger smiled, his gums whiter than his pointed teeth. He gestured towards Elynora, who looked to the deck in shame, her face flushed. “She...invited me.” His lips stretched unnaturally wide. “And I took that invitation.”

“It was not her right to give,” Tyde replied, throwing Elynora an irritated glance. “I am the captain of this ship, and you, boy, should leave while your heart still beats.” Tyde’s fingers brushed the hilt of his sword.

“As you know, Captain,” said the stranger, taking one step closer, and another, “I am an Immortal. Bullets and broadswords are like sticks and stones.” Another step. Inches now lay between the aged captain and the ageless predator. “You will never hurt me.”

Tyde swung his gun up and shoved the nozzle against the vampire’s throat. “Never say never.”

He pulled the trigger. The gun coughed a puff of smoke. There was a sharp crack. The vampyre’s head snapped back. His neck was near torn off. Black blood, thick and gooey like poisoned tree sap, oozed from the tear. Yet even still the vampyre laughed, his head slowly coming back into its normal position, his eyes wide and yellow. The huge tear began to seal.

“Satisfied, my dear Captain?”

“Not yet.” Tyde unsheathed his sword and shoved it straight into the closing throat wound, punching through the back of his neck.

The laugh died and the smiled faded and the yellow eyes glazed over. “Oh.”

“Indeed.”

The sword, blessed by priests, shamans, monks and countless other religious figures, gleamed as the creature it stabbed shrieked loudly and burned in the midnight air. Tyde twisted the sword and the blackened corpse crackled into a tower of ash and tumbled to the deck.

“Elynora,” called Tyde, kicking the ashes into the sea, “a word, if you please.”

Elynora silently slinked to the lower decks.

Tyde stepped up to me; I was still shaking. “You alright, lad?”

"Will be,” I said with a decent attempt at a grin, “when the shaking stops.”


“Vampyre pheromones make women’s knees quiver and men’s spines shiver. It’ll pass.” Tyde patted me on the shoulder and disappeared belowdecks.


I nodded to himself, then leaned overboard and threw up.

Klingon Hamlet

That's weird I got this notification:

lamdmsaode has just replied to a thread you have subscribed to entitled - Excerpt: Would you read on? I'd like opinions - in the Creative Writing forum of boards.ie.

This thread is located at:
http://www.boards.ie/vbulletin/showthread.php?t=2055756425&goto=newpost

Here is the message that has just been posted:
***************
I opened my eyes and she was already at the stairwell, gesturing me to follow her. I smiled and clambered upto the main deck. The men were all at their stations, heads up, eyes wide, smiles wider. Elynora too: she was starstruck. I looked up, and I gasped, for I witnessed the most beautiful vista in all the galaxy.
***************
Weeeeeeeeeeeeeird:eek:

pickarooney

It was filthy, dirty robot-spam and has been purged.

I liked this bit a lot more. Less space, more pirates, I can take or leave vamypres... are these two parts of the same story or is it a rewrite with recycled characters?

Klingon Hamlet

Same story-ish. I'm working on the astral plane stuff. Basically it's the opposite of space. Tangible light, tiny splinters where the original source leaks through, clouds the size of worlds, and chunks of earth of dynamically different environments, world-isalnds or somesuch.

It'll have rules but nothing specific. Tyde might be too on the nose: sick of the same mentor-type characters, though he's a real bastard at times. Will avoid the usual archetypes: vanilla young blokes with amazing destinies but who fall halfway through, only to learn their true destinies and places in the world. Want to do something different, fun, slightly believable but mostly surprising. Worst case scenario: it'll be an unpublished, unliked but undeniably OK-ish book for my son:)

Klingon Hamlet

The Hall of Shadows was lined with the pictures of kings long dead. Hundreds of these pictures hung in the darkness, their faces lost from time and light. The floor was perfect unscathed marble, the walls and roof smooth silver, to protect against hexes and Astral viewing. At the end stood a throne, forever empty, its iron frame twisted out of shape.

Steeped in the ocean of black silence, Vicid Kane stared intently at the throne, unblinking, unbreathing, his heart beating slow, his mind adrift. For he Saw things. Things that lay beneath, above and behind the walls of this reality. He heard the cries of the fallen lords and kings, felt the gush of fate as weavers stepped into the fray, felt the pulse of the universe quicken and stumble as the weavers took hold of the reins, steered history and destiny in a new, untraveled direction.

The world had died and been reborn countless times, Kane knew, but things had Changed. The weavers were in charge. And Kane, the mightiest of them all, was going to bring order to chaos, make the world anew, and ensure its future was everlasting.

Something stirred behind him. He closed his inner eyes and opened his physical ones, exhaled loudly and spoke low. “What do you want?”

A lower-caste creature, once a man, now long mutated, shuffled nervously. “It’s the Immortal, sir. He’s dead.”

Kane turned and for a moment, dropped his human camouflage. What lay beneath terrified the once-man. Kane said, “Explain.”

“His soul-fire died, sir. The weaver confirmed this. He sent me to you, sir, to relay the message.” The once-man was quaking.

“Did he.” Kane nodded. “The weaver was a coward, afraid I would kill you in his stead. Go, before his hopes are made true.”

The minion complied, practically running away. Kane watched him go, amazed such a vile thing could procreate, had so many kin, and had slain so many noble warriors. These things were necessary, but when he won this battle, won his place atop the world’s highest throne, he would quickly do away with their race once and for all.

Kane returned his attention to the throne, closed his eyes, and planned his next move.

Klingon Hamlet

“Tommy, you are by far the loopiest man I’ve ever met.” Tyde clapped him on the shoulder. “Never change.”

Tommy grinned like a kid with a new bike. “Yes sir, thank you, sir.” Off he went with a new spring to his step.

Tyde watched him go, shaking his head. “What a darling.” He turned to his engineer. “How’s the old lady holding up, Frank?”

Frank gave him a frown and a shrug. “Still moving, Cap, but she’s bleeding heavily. Ionisers are at a serious low. Any chance we could-?“

“No,” Tyde interrupted firmly. “No stop-offs. No delays.”

“Means we gotta rob someone else’s then.”

Tyde nodded.

“I’ll get the guns.” Frank sauntered off, shoulders hunched in dread.

Tyde’s eyes were on me. “What is it?”

I must’ve worn my worry like a mask. “I thought this place was for good...”

“It is, young lad. Lots of good things happen here. But look at what we’ve seen, what we’ve faced. One side we have big bad buggers trying to worm their way in and gobble us all up. Fearless, ferocious, feral, and effing lots more. On the other, a bunch of stuck-up bureaucrats and tired old generals who couldn’t tell a trigger from a toenail. We’re all that stands between the darklings and the light. That means we have to enter some very grey areas...”

“Like...robbing?”

“At the very least, yes.” Tyde was very tall, and seemed even more so at that moment, for he rested on one knee and still seemed to tower over me. “I’m not getting a thrill out of-“

“Could’ve fooled me.” I felt like shouting, or crying, or hitting something. Hitting Tyde. My face flushed red and my eyes welled up. This wasn’t what this war was supposed to be about. I turned and saw Frank rallying the men, handing them each guns, all looking decidedly excited. “And it looks like the darkness is worming its way in,” I said, giving Tyde my most spiteful scowl, “in more ways than one.”

For once, the captain was speechless, and merely watched me as I went to the bow of the ship, where I could no longer hear the click of fresh rounds being loaded into old guns, or the cheery babble of good men turning bad.

Klingon Hamlet

The ship bowed low and for a moment there was heavy silence; then the giant cresting wave crashed down with thunderous rage, and all was chaos. Men spilled from the deck like drowned ants, their screams swallowed by the far louder roar of the hungry ocean. The ship’s captain clung valiantly to the rear navigation wheel, gritting his teeth as he pushed the wheel port with all his might; but the waves hammered his ship to starboard, would not relent; his grip betrayed him and he joined his drowned shipmates into the darkness of the water.

Only one man now remained on the sodden deck, and soon that would be immaterial; for another wave rose, far mightier than its brother, and as it approached it increased speed and swelled to swallow the ship; to spin her until she lay with her spine to the sky, and again the ship rolled but alas, the wave was unsuccessful; the solitary man prevailed, his grip ever tight upon the rail of the broken vessel, his roars of triumph audible, as now the storm passed, and the seas eased; and there were trickles and gentle laps, and nothing else bar the glow of the waking sun.

The man looked through the fading haze towards the rising godly fire, and he smiled through bloodied teeth, and blinked through bruised eyes, and waved his broken fingers to the heavens. He was alive.

Many were not so fortunate; and like the wave to the ship, this thought swayed and sunk his heart. Captain and crew, all dead. No!

A cry, from the port. Another, starboard. Faces emerged, pale and desperate. But the ocean surface was steady and sound, and they swam quite unharried back to the haggard ship. The man reached down and clasped their wrists and retrieved them from the water, which even now had become warm in the sunlight. They all embraced in camaraderie, in unending joy, for surviving a beast of weather’s bane.

“This storm was hell-bent,” stammered the youngest and bloodiest, “on sucking us down to the murk. But yes! Here we are. Alive, alive...!” His voice fell, as did his eyelids; and he slumbered, while the dozen men chuckled. Still, some were missing, lost forever.

“The captain...?” said the man, the one who had remained on-ship despite the might of the world’s blood.

Heads shook. No...

The man nodded, gazing at his tattered boots. “He died as he lived: lord of the ocean. May his soul carry that legacy on forever. May he not rest in peace, but rise beyond us, to the heavens, and glory.”

“To the heavens and glory,” recanted his shipmates, and there was humour in their eyes; for some were religious, others less so; but all knew, that even had God himself refused the captain, the captain would have fought Him for an astral ship, and quite possibly won.

The man looked his fellow shipmen in the eyes, each one sharing a knowing glance. He said, “I now am captain of this ship, and her heroic crew, if we are to follow traditional protocol. But as you know, I am far from traditional, and absolutely loathe protocol, so...”

The glances recurred, this time in bemusement. One piped up, “Captain Tyde, shall we dispense with the bullcrud, and make our way home?”

Tyde frowned; his head was spinning ever so slightly; blood trickled between his fingers; aches blossomed around his body. He leaned back against the guard-rail and said with a faint smile, “Very well, Gordo. Get us out of this storm-trap before another wave kills us all.”

Gordo saluted. “Aye aye.”

Tyde felt his knees buckle and the deck rushed up to hammer his face; but someone grabbed his shoulder and steadied him, and through the darkness he heard worried voices, mutterings like, “Oh dear God,” and footfalls clambering around him. “No need...” he drawled, “....to fuss, I’m fiiine...”

Darkness, deeper and blacker than the sea beneath the ship, ate him up, but rather than the icy bite of deathly water, it was warm, and soothing, and he let go of everything.