Chapter in story - Review

femur61

If someone read this and give opinions. It is second chapter in a novel I am attempting to write. Do people think this is boring? I know from a grammatical view it is not perfect but mainly I want to know is it boring and will it keep people reading or do I need to change it?

Thanks.

Monday. Monday the beginning of the week after a day of rest and reflection so Catholics could start the week with a new zeal and enthusiasm. Sheila hated Mondays. It was the housekeeper's day off in the O'Reillys household so Sheila had to help her mother in the kitchen, stripping beds and washing the sheets if there was a good wind. It also meant she had to peel the spuds. Every Monday her mother would leave the stool by the open kitchen back door, so she could enjoy the breeze and the view of the Rhododendrons while peeling the spuds. It was the most boring job ever. So that is why Vera hated Mondays.
‘Vera the bucket is there for you.’
Dipping, Washing, Peeling. Over, and over again. Sometimes she peeled too many, sometimes too little. To stop her mind from straying, she tried to peel the potatoes in a continuous peel with the skin falling into the water creating a whirlpool. As the circular skin fell into the water forming a perfect circle, swirling around and around her mind lost for a few minutes in the downward spiral in the vortex of water that was created. Often she left pieces of potato skin on the spuds, so when mashed they tasted dreadful; always hoping her mother would get some of her other siblings to peel them. ‘Vera you have to do it right. Stephanie is too young, and she loves to bake anyway.’
Today the task was more onerous than usual. She was tired. Her father's midnight visitors had been extra loud. Muffled shouts and banging woke her during the night; a continual roar of whispered excitement filtered its way upstairs to Sheila's ears while she lay in bed. Stephanie slept through in the opposite bed, the odd snore informing her body to move. Sheila was used to men arriving at unusual times, night or day. Well practiced at finding her way in the dark of night knowing which floorboards creaked, she knelt on the landing trying to listen. The light from the drawing-room crept under the door, evidence escaping that people were in that room, so she could assume there was a large group of people. She couldn’t understand what they were saying, in loud hushed whispers a combination of voices lost in a mixture of both Gaelic and English she was too far away. She stayed on the landing until the people left, the door opening and each person filtering out soundlessly, shaking her father's hand as each left. Only once, she saw a woman with them. A tall woman, with an enormous hat, each of the men shaking her hand vigorously hanging on to her every word.
Sheila now finished her morning chores; she was free to meet her sister by the lake. Sitting by the shore in the afternoon sunshine she asked Stephanie, ‘Do you wonder - or wish that you could do something more exciting?’
Looking blankly at Sheila, she asked, ‘What do you mean?’
Sheila knew Stephanie’s world would never want, need, desire or long for anything more exciting than wondering if her scones, or bread were cooked sufficiently, or if more sugar would make the jam more desirable. Sheila also knew she would be content doing the same thing day in day out. It would never cross Stephanie’s mind to change her routine. It would greatly disturb her if her day, her life wasn't mapped out the same as her mothers, or the same as the other women around her. ‘Do you not want to do something more exciting with your life?’
‘Like what?’
‘Work with father in the shop, or in his office with Mrs. Murphy.’ Again that blank stare that soon changed to a look of horror.
‘No.’
‘We never do anything or go anywhere, except mass, and that is so boring.’ She was beginning to doubt her belief in God. She wondered how her Catholic God was different from the McQuaids Protestant God down the road.
Stephanie stared at her sister blankly, ‘Imagine having to work has hard as the housekeeper Mrs. Slaney, she scrubs the floors and cooks for everyone; I love helping her bake, but I am finished when she goes home. She has a family to look after when she goes home. And her husband has gone to England to work. Apparently, her son is going to join the British army.’
‘Why.’
‘John Redmond has told people they should go and fight for the British, the war is their war as well. I don’t understand that either. The British have suppressed for us hundreds years, but Mr. Redmond has urged men to fight so that the bill for Home Rule will be passed soon.
‘Oh, I don’t know.’ Sheila said pensively, thinking about the meetings taking place in their drawing room wondering was there a connection.

Fuzzytrooper

Started off a bit slow but I became more interested as I saw where I think this is going. It does however feel like it would fit better as part of a short story or novelette rather than a full blown novel

femur61

Fuzzytrooper wrote: »

Started off a bit slow but I became more interested as I saw where I think this is going. It does however feel like it would fit better as part of a short story or novelette rather than a full blown novel[/QUOTE

Thanks, you can sort of guess but this extract is only a small part of the novel, it is to create a picture of her life but there are many more twists to it.

Das Kitty

First off, this is great. Really nicely written, and the characters are well drawn. I got to the end and wanted to read more.
I’ve put in some suggestions for tightening it up, and a few questions I was asking as I read.

Monday. Monday the beginning of the week after a day of rest and reflection so Catholics could start the week with a new zeal and enthusiasm.

I’d lose this entirely.

Sheila hated Mondays. It was the housekeeper's day off in the O'Reillys household so Sheila had to help her mother in the kitchen, stripping beds and washing the sheets if there was a good wind.

The two bolded bits. I found the mention of the family surname a bit clunky in Sheila’s point of view. The second bit, I don’t think adds anything to the chore listing and how it affects Sheila.

It also meant she had to peel the spuds. Every Monday her mother would leave the stool by the open kitchen back door, so she could enjoy the breeze and the view of the Rhododendrons while peeling the spuds. It was the most boring job ever.

Sheila or her mother or both?

So that is why Vera hated Mondays.

You don’t need this. It’s re-stating.

‘Vera the bucket is there for you.’
Dipping, Washing, Peeling. Over, and over again. Sometimes she peeled too many, sometimes too little.

Too few.

To stop her mind from straying, she tried to peel the potatoes in a continuous peel with the skin falling into the water creating a whirlpool. As the circular skin fell into the water forming a perfect circle, swirling around and around her mind lost for a few minutes in the downward spiral in the vortex of water that was created.

Maybe think about cutting this down a bit. There’s a good bit of restating going on.

Often she left pieces of potato skin on the spuds, so when mashed they tasted dreadful; always hoping her mother would get some one of her other siblings to peel them.

‘Vera you have to do it right. Stephanie is too young, and she loves to bake anyway.’

Would Stephanie’s love of bakery save her? What if she was just “busy” baking?

Today the task was more onerous than usual. She Sheila was tired. Her father's midnight visitors had been extra loud. Muffled shouts and banging woke her during the night; a continual roar of whispered excitement filtered its way upstairs to Sheila's ears while she lay in bed. Stephanie slept through in the opposite bed, the odd snore informing her body to move.

Beautifully described.

Sheila was used to men arriving at unusual times, night or day. Well practiced at finding her way in the dark of night knowing which floorboards creaked, she knelt on the landing trying to listen. The light from the drawing-room crept under the door, evidence escaping that people were in that room, so she could assume there was a large group of people.

Were there shadows moving or was it just the sound? Evidence doesn’t specify.

She couldn’t understand what they were saying, in loud hushed whispers a combination of voices lost in a mixture of both Gaelic and English; she was too far away. She stayed on the landing until the people left, the door opening and each person filtering out soundlessly, shaking her father's hand as each they left. Only once, she saw a woman with them.

Only once ever? What about this night being described here. Was the woman there?

A tall woman, with an enormous hat, each of the men shaking her hand vigorously, hanging on to her every word.

If Sheila is spying from the landing, how can she see this? Everyone is leaving soundlessly. Does it happen on the porch, in the hallway?

Sheila, now finished her morning chores ; she, was free to meet her sister by the lake. Sitting by the shore in the afternoon sunshine she asked Stephanie, ‘Do you wonder - or wish that you could do something more exciting?’
Looking blankly at Sheila, she asked, ‘What do you mean?’
Sheila knew Stephanie’s world would never want, need, desire or long for anything more exciting than wondering if her scones, or bread were cooked sufficiently, or if more sugar would make the jam more desirable.

Why did she ask if she knew the answer?

Sheila also knew she would be content doing the same thing day in day out. It would never cross Stephanie’s mind to change her routine. It would greatly disturb her if her day, her life wasn't mapped out the same as her mothers, or the same as the other women around her.

I don’t think you need this. It’s all implied in the above.

‘Do you not want to do something more exciting with your life?’
‘Like what?’
‘Work with father in the shop, or in his office with Mrs. Murphy.’
Again that blank stare that soon changed to a look of horror. ‘No.’
‘We never do anything or go anywhere, except mass, and that is so boring.’ She was beginning to doubt her belief in God. She wondered how her Catholic God was different from the McQuaids Protestant God down the road.

Seems a little shoe-horned in here. Could it become part of their conversation?

Stephanie stared at her sister blankly, ‘Imagine having to work has hard as the housekeeper Mrs. Slaney; she scrubs the floors and cooks for everyone; I love helping her bake, but I am finished when she goes home. She has a family to look after when she goes home. And her husband has gone to England to work. Apparently, her son is going to join the British army.’

Third time Stephanie has stared blankly.
Who’s saying this? Is it Sheila or Stephanie? Looks like Stephanie from the structure, but the content makes me not sure.
You've repeated goes home twice in two sentences.

‘Why?’
‘John Redmond has told people they should go and fight for the British, the war is their war as well. I don’t understand that either. The British have suppressed for us hundreds years, but Mr. Redmond has urged men to fight so that the bill for Home Rule will be passed soon.

So this is Stephanie. She seems very informed for a young girl who likes baking and has no interest in the wider world. I wonder if she could convey it in a “X told me…” sort of way?

‘Oh, I don’t know.’ Sheila said pensively, thinking about the meetings taking place in their drawing room wondering was there a connection.

Why would her mind make that leap? What if she overheard something from the room? Maybe home rule or something?

femur61

Thanks very much for the thorough constructive critism. A lot of your points I had the same niggling thoughts as well. It is definitely much easier to read as the writing is tighter.

fruvai

femur61 wrote: »

It was the most boring job ever. So that is why Vera hated Mondays.

I don't really think these lines work

a continual roar of whispered excitement

I'm not sure that makes sense