Looking for any feedback on a new idea.

belly19

Hi. I am just looking for some feedback on this draft of the first chapter of an idea I am working on that is set around the famine times. Any help/criticism would be great.

1.
The frail glow of the candle barely illuminated the cottage before exhaling the last of its light then flickering out letting the darkness fill the space like an unwelcomed visitor. The howling winds outside rattled the old door while the rain pelted mercilessly against the cracked window panes. Cold drafts swirled in these and anywhere else they could, frosting the air within the tiny structure. It would be winter soon and he would have to leave this place, thought Samuel as he rose from his chair and gazed out into the moonless night.


Retrieving the last blanket he made his way to the bed where his mother lay and placed it gently on her sleeping frame. She moved painfully as he tried to wrap her as well as he could, her starving body now resembling that of a young girl not able to resist the illness that ravaged it. She coughed violently, her throat rattling as black bile flowed from her mouth. Samuel knew she had not much time left, dying the same way his father had two seasons before. Slowly she raised her hand to his and gripped him softly with her icy, skeletal fingers. “Try to sleep mother, maybe the doctor will come tomorrow”, he lied to her knowing that no soul had been in these parts for some time. As her fading eyes shut another violent cough rattled her being before she drifted back out of consciousness.


It was late afternoon as he finished digging the grave, the last of the autumnal suns heat dwindling on his back and neck. Samuel effortlessly lifted the remains of his mother wrapped in the blankets she had died in. He remembered her as a strong, defiant woman and was saddened as he laid the pitiful remnants of what starvation and illness had reduced her to into the freshly made hole in the ground. Saying a small prayer, he began to heap the damp, fresh soil over the makeshift coffin before hammering a stake to mark the plot which lay adjacent to his fathers and paused for a moment to say his goodbyes to both.


As the daylight succumbed to the shade of dusk, he returned to the cottage to gather what he could. The air of death still haunted the tiny dwelling and with haste he scavenged for what could be useful on his journey ahead. Since the crops had failed the family had lived on the measly scraps of what he could hunt, all of which his ailing mother had given to Samuel, this however now long since gone.


Moving through the cottage he pulled his mother’s trunk from beneath the bed, the only thing of any value left in the family, and opened the latch. Strewn with dust and webs Samuel found laid within his father’s moth bitten old jacket. Searching the pockets he found a small piece of parchment folded neatly inside. He opened it revealing a notice of eviction from the land owner dated back to just before his father had passed. With only very basic literacy he deciphered from it that the family was to be off the land within a month of the letters stamp.


Samuel remembered the agent for the land owner, a shrew of a man named Lynch, arriving on horseback to deliver the notice to his father and that heated words had been exchanged between the two. This being over six months previously it struck the young man how unusual it was that the bailiffs had not been to enforce the eviction as Roberts, the land owner, lived not more than fifteen miles away.


Hidden under the jacket and wrapped in a white handkerchief was a small dagger he remembered his father would put in his belt anytime they made the journey to Bunconnell the nearest village. The last time they had been there he could see the desperation in the people as the crop failures and famine had begun to take hold. These thoughts reaffirmed to him that he would avoid travelling through the village, instead sticking to the woodland and the smaller back roads. He placed the small knife inside his coat, closed the door and waited for the night to pass.


Dreams of falling woken Samuel from his restless sleep, his tall slender frame stiffened from a night on the floor being too respectful to spend the night in the bed where his mother died. Stretching, he noticed a slight rain now began to sway in the early morning breeze and knew it was soon time for him to leave. Having spent his entire life on this small stretch of land in the north west of Ireland, he felt a deep sense of sadness that he now had to leave but he also knew that to stay would mean for him the same fate that had bestowed both his parents. Tinged with this sadness Samuel Hill also felt fear, a fear of what would greet him in this country he knew so little about as he made the journey that he hoped would find a ship to take him away from it.

EileenG

belly19 wrote: »

Hi. I am just looking for some feedback on this draft of the first chapter of an idea I am working on that is set around the famine times. Any help/criticism would be great.

1.
The frail glow of the candle barely illuminated the cottage before exhaling the last of its light then flickering out letting the darkness fill the space like an unwelcomed visitor.Sentence too long. Can they afford candles? The howling winds outside rattled the old door while the rain pelted mercilessly against the cracked window panes. Cold drafts swirled in these these what?and anywhere else they could, frosting the air within the tiny structure. It would be winter soon and he would have to leave this place, thought Samuel as he rose from his chair and gazed out into the moonless night.


Retrieving the last blanket he made his way to the bed where his mother lay and placed it gently on her sleeping frame.Why is she not already wrapped in it? Where was it? She moved painfully as he tried to wrap her as well as he could, her starving body now resembling that of a young girl surely not! not able to resist the illness that ravaged it. She coughed violently, her throat rattling as black bile what is wrong that she is coughing bile? flowed I'd choose a different verb from her mouth. Samuel knew she had not much time left, dying is she dying or Samual? the sentence structure is not clear.the same way his father had two seasons do you mean six months? before. Slowly she raised her hand to his and gripped him softly softly? with her icy, skeletal fingers. “Try to sleep mother, maybe the doctor will come tomorrow”, he lied to her knowing that no soul had been in these parts for some time. As her fading eyes shut another violent cough rattled her being before she drifted back out of consciousness. I'd put cough first, then eyes closed and unconscious.


It was late afternoon as he finished digging the grave, the last of the autumnal suns how many suns? heat dwindling on his back and neck. Samuel effortlessly really? He's in the full of his health? lifted the remains of his mother who waswrapped in the blankets she had died in. He remembered her as a strong, defiant woman and was saddened as he laid the pitiful remnants of what starvation and illness had reduced her to into the freshly made hole in the ground.Punctuate! Shorten sentences and use punctuation. Saying a small prayer, he began to heap the damp, fresh soil over the makeshift coffin what makeshift coffin? before hammering a stake to mark the plot which lay adjacent to his fathers and paused for a moment to say his goodbyes to both.


As the daylight succumbed to the shade of dusk, he returned to the cottage to gather what he could. The air of death still haunted the tiny dwelling and with haste he scavenged implies stealing for what could be useful on his journey ahead. Since the crops had failed the family had lived on the measly scraps of what he could hunt, all of which his ailing mother had given to Samuel, and he let her? this however now long since gone.


Moving through the cottage he pulled his mother’s trunk from beneath the bed, the only thing of any valuethe bed or the trunk? left in the family, and opened the latch. Strewn with dust and webs Samuel found laid within his father’s moth bitten old jacket. Searching the pockets he found a small piece of parchment folded neatly inside. He opened it revealing a notice of eviction from the land owner dated back to just before his father had passed. died.With only very basic literacy he deciphered from it that the family was to be off the land within a month of the letters stamp. his father died six months ago.


Samuel remembered the agent for the land owner, a shrewsounds feminine of a man named Lynch, arriving on horseback to deliver the notice to his father and that heated words had been exchanged between the two. This being over six months previously it struck the young man how unusual it was that the bailiffs had not been to enforce the eviction as Roberts, the land owner, lived not more than fifteen miles away. feels like an infodump.


Hidden under the jacket and wrapped in a white handkerchief was a small daggerwhy? he remembered his father would put in his belt anytime they made the journey to Bunconnell the nearest village. The last time they had been there he could see the desperation in the people as the crop failures and famine had begun to take hold. These thoughts reaffirmed to him that he would avoid travelling through the village, instead sticking to the woodland and the smaller back roads. He placed the small knife inside his coat, closed the door and waited for the night to pass. why did he not go to bed?


Dreams of falling woken woke Samuel from his restless sleep, his tall slender frame stiffened from a night on the floor being too respectful to spend the night in the bed where his mother died the floor was too respectful? . Stretching, he noticed a slight rain now began to sway rain doesn't sway in the early morning breeze and knew it was soon time for him to leave. Having spent his entire life on this small stretch of land in the north west of Ireland, he felt a deep sense of sadnessdon't tell us, show us that he now had to leave but he also knew that to stay would mean for him the same fate that had bestowed what??? both his parents. Tinged with this sadness Samuel Hill also felt fear, a fear of what would greet him in this country he knew so little about as he made the journey that he hoped would find a ship to take him away from it.

Overall impression: too much happening in this, and not being developed properly. Even though this has his mother dying and being buried, we don't actually get to see either the death or the burial, and don't get to experience Samual's emotions while it's happening.

Henry James was the last writer who got away with having everything significant happen off-page, and I'm not sure he pulled it off either.

If they were served a notice of eviction six months ago, and no one had come near him since, why is he leaving? The logical thing would be to stay where he was until he was physically put off the land. Come to that, surely evictions were normally pretty fast? Pay up by Sunday or you're out. Not a month's notice.

I'm a bit confused by the trunk and the white hanky. Why do they have a trunk if they never go anywhere? And what's the significant of the white hanky?

How does he plan to pay for a passage to any other country?

belly19

EileenG wrote: »

Overall impression: too much happening in this, and not being developed properly. Even though this has his mother dying and being buried, we don't actually get to see either the death or the burial, and don't get to experience Samual's emotions while it's happening.

Henry James was the last writer who got away with having everything significant happen off-page, and I'm not sure he pulled it off either.

If they were served a notice of eviction six months ago, and no one had come near him since, why is he leaving? The logical thing would be to stay where he was until he was physically put off the land. Come to that, surely evictions were normally pretty fast? Pay up by Sunday or you're out. Not a month's notice.

I'm a bit confused by the trunk and the white hanky. Why do they have a trunk if they never go anywhere? And what's the significant of the white hanky?

How does he plan to pay for a passage to any other country?

Thanks for the feedback and I agree with a lot of the points you make. As this is a draft I will take what you said on board and restructure the chapter. Thanks again.

alfa beta

Hi belly

You need to slow down. You need to describe stuff. You need to draw the reader in. You need to develop characters. Feelings. Everything...

Start over, but this time really live the piece. Be Samuel. Feel what Samuel feels, and then tell us about those feelings in short simple unadorned sentences. Tell us his wretched, miserable story the way he would. That way you'll make Samuel and his story believable.

Here's an idea: Imagine your own mother starving and dying before your eyes. Imagine the pain, the sorrow, the sheer desperation you feel as you watch her fade away, as you hear her breathing get weaker and her cough get worse? Imagine the hopelessness and the guilt you feel when you lie to her about the doctor coming...and develop all this over paragraphs, plenty of them, pages even, see where you get to, you can always edit stuff out afterwards...maybe introduce memories of when you were young and she played with you, or when she tended to you when you were ill etc etc and contrast that with the current situation....

As for the burial - my god, this should be heart-rending!! (and should certainly not 'effortless' - that word stuck out like a very sore thumb). Again imagine it, and imagine it from Samuel's point of view - the difficulties he faces, just the way the ground itself is stoney and rough, the way the shovel is old and worn. Imagine how it shudders when it hits something hard, sending pain up his arms and through his ravaged, starving body. The reader should feel the way his clothes stick to him as he digs, they should hear his gentle (but desperate) sobbing, they should see the threadbare blanket on the graveside and experience his agony, his overwhelming grief, as he lifts it and places it into hole he's toiled so hard over...

The whole thing should be so much more emotional. It should be a much bigger deal, if you know what I mean.

even finding the trunk and the jacket and the eviction notice and stuff - these bits feel like they're very rushed through. The reader needs to be there. The reader needs to be looking under the old metal bedframe when the trunk is hauled out, the reader needs to smell the dank leather, hear the rusty latch click open, feel the tension and as the jacket is pulled out and looked at, know the reason why the pockets are searched - was it on the off-chance that there might have been money in them, money to buy a scrap of food, just a scrap of stale bread, something that might fend off the gnawing empty pain that has come to define Samuels pitiful existence.

So, look, slow down and start again. And this time make it real. Make it big. Imbue it with emotion. With feeling. With 'realness'

At the moment unfortunately the piece reads like a sort of school essay or something. Bang, bang, bang. Job done. Know what I mean? Thing is, you do appear to know how to string a sentence together (but do shorten them) so with a lot of editing and a lot of thought and a lot of immersing yourself in you characters you might come out the other end with something worthwhile.

It will take a lot of work though, so be patient and be willing to try really really hard!

That's just my tuppence worth - hope it helps though.