- This topic has 38 replies, 9 voices, and was last updated 8 months, 3 weeks ago by
.
-
Posts
-
@savannah_grace2009 @whalekeeper @esther-c @hybridlore @freed_and_redeemed (I hope I got that right this time lol) @vinagirl @idon’trememberwhoelsewantedtofollowalongonthis @liberty (I think you’re the one who said you like historical fiction, particularly the American Revolution. If I’m wrong and it’s someone else I’m thinking of, you can ignore this lol)
Ok, well it’s been a little while and I didn’t get very far with this story yet, but I do have the first “chapter” if it can be called that. It’s rough draft material, but I guess my questions for you guys would be 1, does it draw you in and make you want to read more? And 2, does it sound historically accurate to you? And then 3, how is my character development?
April 16, 1775
Bang! The slam of the door and the scuffle of boots on the floor caused seventeen-year-old Henry Williams’ head to jerk up from his careful work at the typesetter.
“Peter! Land sakes, don’t break that door off the hinges!” The loud voice from the back of the print shop came from Benjamin Edes, co-founder of the Boston Gazette and father of the young man who had just entered the print shop. His tall form appeared in the open doorway to the back room, his eyes demanding an answer. Henry glanced back and forth between father and son.
“Sorry, Father,” Peter apologized, taking in a deep breath. His cheeks were flushed to match his ruddy hair. “General Gage just sent scouts to Concord. Rumor has it he’s going to send more troops to confiscate any weapons and gunpowder being stored there. Gage has been ordered to arrest any rebel leaders, and Hancock is already making plans to leave Boston. I have no doubt you’ll be one of his targets, too.”
“No doubt,” Benjamin muttered. “Gill, did you hear that?” His question was addressed to the back room.
“Every word.” A shorter man appeared beside him, concern knitting his brow. “Henry, how’s that type coming along?”
“I’m almost finished, sir,” Henry replied, looking back down at the typesetter. He had lost track of where he was when Peter rushed in, but the frame was almost full. Prickles ran up and down his spine. Tensions between the colonists and the British had been growing worse over recent months, and Henry wondered how many more provocations would take place before war broke out. Blood had already been shed; Henry could still remember the night of the Boston Massacre vividly. At the age of twelve, Henry had heard the gunshots ringing out, even from his home. He had just recently been apprenticed, and the print shop was buzzing about it the next day.
“I’m not leaving Boston,” John Gill was saying. Edes’ partner in the business, he may have been smaller in stature, but he was known for his stubbornness. “The Gazette needs to run somehow.”
“I wouldn’t put it past the Brits to arrest you both,” Peter warned. John Gill waved a hand.
“Arrest me if you like. Put me in jail. I’m not turning coward and running.”
“Get to work, Son,” Benjamin jumped in. “That type needs to be inked so it has time to try.” He grasped his partner by the arm and steered him back into the room that served as their office, closing the door. Peter turned to Henry.
“Is that type all ready to go?” he asked.
“Almost. I lost my place when you barged in.” Henry looked into the fiery eyes of his friend. Peter could be hotheaded sometimes, and it had gotten both boys in trouble when they were younger. But Henry appreciated the companionship, and Peter’s passion for freedom fueled Henry’s own fire.
“Do you think this is the last straw?” Peter asked, setting a hand on the typesetter frame. Henry turned his focus back to his work, concentrating on finishing the last sentence before replying.
“I don’t see how the men of Concord would allow the British to take their arms,” Henry said slowly. He looked up from the type into Peter’s eyes, determination firming his jaw. “If the British marched in to take the weapons from my family, I’d fight to the death. Once we’re defenseless, we’re doomed.”
Peter got out the ink, and the two young men began the process of inking the type.
“Speaking of your family,” Peter said, “Elizabeth hasn’t come round recently.”
Henry resisted the urge to roll his eyes. It was no secret that Peter was sweet on Elizabeth. Henry couldn’t deny that his sister was beautiful, but Elizabeth didn’t take a fancy to Peter’s quick temper and hotheaded habits.
“Mother has been keeping her busy around the house,” Henry replied vaguely. The true reason Elizabeth hadn’t come round lately was because she was politely avoiding Peter, but Henry wasn’t going to tell his friend that. Changing the subject back to the British, Henry asked, “Have you heard when the British raid on Concord is supposed to be?”
Peter shook his head. “Sometime in the next week, I’d imagine. The scouting party is heading that way as we speak, but I doubt they’d try anything more than scouting without more troops.”
“I guess we shall see, eh?”
“We shall see.”
Henry dropped the rag into a metal bucket and let out a sigh of satisfaction.
“You’re still here, Henry?”
Henry spun around, seeing Benjamin standing behind him. There was still light filtering in through the windows, but the growl in Henry’s stomach told him it was past time for dinner.
“Yeah, some ink spilled on the table and I wanted to clean it up before I left,” he replied.
“I could’ve had Peter do that. He shirked enough of his duties today anyway, and he was probably the one who spilled the ink.” Benjamin rubbed his temples. Henry stayed silent. Peter had left the print shop nearly an hour ago, off to some other adventure.
“Go on home, son, you’ve done more than enough today,” Benjamin said. Henry’s brows raised in surprise. Rarely did he hear words of affirmation from his employer; usually it was this or that or the other that needed to be done before he left.
“Thank you, sir,” Henry replied. Lifting his bag over his shoulder, Henry drew in a breath and turned back to Benjamin. “Here tomorrow, usual time?”
“Plan on it,” Benjamin replied. “These days, nothing can be certain. We shall see what comes of these recent orders Gage has. If he really is after key figures in Boston, then no doubt they’ll come round here. We should be prepared to pack up and leave at a moment’s notice.”
“Am I expected to go with you if you leave Boston?”
“I shall leave that decision to you,” Benjamin said. “Gill is staying; I prefer to write articles from a cave in the countryside rather than a jail cell. I know not what Peter will do. Likely there will still be opportunity here in the city for you to continue with Gill if I am operating from one of the smaller towns.”
If Gill avoids arrest, Henry thought to himself. Moving the Gazette out of the city seemed a wise choice, for to stop the printing of the paper was exactly what the British wanted. But could he leave his family in Boston? He was of age, yet the support of his family stirred and motivated him each day.
“I’ll be here tomorrow,” Henry promised, turning out the door into the street. As he made his way down the cobblestones, he watched a horse-drawn carriage rattle past. A tall man in a tricorn hat brushed by him at a fast pace, his piercing eyes wary.
“Watch where you’re going, boy,” he said roughly.
“Sorry,” Henry apologized, ducking his head. These days, it was impossible to know if a person was a friend or foe. No doubt, there were plenty of citizens who would like to imprison, or worse, kill him, if they should find out he was apprenticed with the Boston Gazette.
Picking up his pace, Henry turned the corner and wound his way down the familiar streets until he reached the little home next to the church his father led. The humble stone building bade him welcome and invited Henry in, drawing him with the irresistible tug of love, joy, and security. Outside, the world was in tumult; inside, all was safe and familiar.
Henry lifted the latch and entered the home, pushing the door shut behind him.
“Henry!” A pair of small arms wrapped themselves around Henry’s waist, and as he bent down to the level of his youngest sister, a smile spread across his lips.
“How was your day, Lottie?” he asked, draping an arm across the five-year-old’s shoulders.
“I helped Mama bake cornbread,” Lottie said proudly. Henry drew in an exaggerated sniff.
“Is that the delicious smell in the air?” he asked. Lottie giggled. Henry straightened and removed his hat, hanging it on a peg by the door, along with his satchel. A quick glance around the room gave evidence that Mama and the other girls were still in the kitchen, but Father was seated at his desk in a corner of the parlor, Bible open in front of him. Henry’s brothers, Elijah and Zachariah, were on the floor, playing with wooden soldiers. Active imaginations led the eleven- and eight-year-old boys to create scenes of battle, usually re-enactments of the French and Indian War.
“Come see my cornbread,” Lottie was saying, tugging on Henry’s hand. Henry acquiesced to her pull, catching Father’s tender smile and returning it. Lottie led the way into the kitchen, guiding Henry to the stone slab where a steaming loaf of cornbread sat cooling.
“It looks splendid,” Henry praised, a growl in his stomach agreeing with the sentiment. Mama turned from her station by the fire, wiping an arm over her forehead and smiling.
“You arrived just in time, Henry,” she said. “The stew is almost ready.”
“The table is set,” fourteen-year-old Anne announced. “Shall I call in Father and the boys?”
“Go ahead,” Mama directed. “Elizabeth, would you help me get this stew off the fire?”
Elizabeth, only a year younger than Henry, obliged, and as the steaming pot of stew was placed on the table, Elijah and Zachariah barged into the room, followed at a more mannered pace by Father and Anne.
“Let’s thank the Lord for our food.” Father cleared his throat and waited until everyone was settled in their places, then bowed his head and began the prayer over the food. A chorus of amens echoed around the table at the conclusion of his prayer, and Elizabeth began serving the stew.
“What’s the latest from the print shop, Henry?” Father asked.
“Have you heard that General Gage received orders to confiscate arms and arrest some of the men who have been speaking out against the King?” Henry inquired. Word spread quickly, but most likely his father had spent the day in meditation over a portion of Scripture to preach on Sunday.
Father’s eyebrows rose, and Mama drew in a sharp breath.
“Gage sent a scouting party to Concord, and there are rumors of a raid later this week,” Henry went on.
“What of the Gazette?” Mama inquired. “Won’t they be coming after Benjamin Edes and John Gill? They’ve been speaking out against the King and publishing papers on freedom from tyrannical rule.”
“No doubt they’ll be targets,” Henry agreed. Mama’s brow knitted with concern.
“Would you be a target, too?”
“I’m only an apprentice,” Henry attempted to reassure her.
“A seventeen-year-old apprentice who shares the same views as the owners of the paper,” Anne spoke up. “I bet that’s enough incentive for them to come after you.”
Henry shot her a look. She wasn’t helping his case, and she certainly wasn’t helping Mama feel any better. Mama closed her eyes for a moment.
“Don’t worry about me, Mama,” Henry said. “I’m not the one authorizing what’s being printed. Benjamin and John are the ones at highest risk of arrest.”
Mama looked at Henry again. “Sometimes I wonder if allowing you to apprentice with the Gazette was a mistake.”
“Now, Charlotte, I don’t believe it was a mistake,” Father jumped in. “It’s been a wonderful opportunity for him to learn a trade, and instilling the value of freedom and courage at that. We knew the potential when we let him start there five years ago.”
“The colony was much less heated five years ago,” Mama replied.
“Freedom has a price to pay, Mama,” Henry said. “I am willing to do my part to secure freedom for the generations to come. Isn’t that what you’ve always told us? We all have a part to play in the story God is writing here in the colonies.”
“You remember well,” Mama agreed. “I admit, I did not think it would come to fighting for independence, but it seems now there is no alternative. The British are not willing to come to peaceable agreement.”
“Don’t speak too soon, Mama,” Elizabeth cautioned. “We’re not at war yet, and we can thank God for that.”
“By the looks of things, it won’t be long before war breaks out,” Henry said. “The Concord militia won’t let the British take their arms. It could go two ways- either the British stamp down any uprising, or it escalates into war. I rather think the British don’t know what they’re up against. The colonists aren’t going down without a fight.”
Somber silence fell around the table, the reality of Henry’s words sinking deep.
“I only pray that any fighting may be short, and few lives be lost,” Mama murmured.
"Real love is for your good, not for your comfort." -Justin Whitmel Earley
Hello! I’d love to give feedback! 🥰
1, does it draw you in and make you want to read more?
I was drawn in by the character relationships! Knowing this is the first draft, I think it could be better if we jumped into the relationships before the historical events. I’ve read some classic his-fics (Johnny Tremain, five out of five stars), and some of them barely include events and dates in the first chapter. They start small with the basic relationships and setting.
Maybe more focusing on the emotions between Henry and Peter and Elizabeth, and between Henry’s masters and his family. I would almost recommend starting the day before the Concord news and the unrest about Henry’s job… or just set it up slower?
And 2, does it sound historically accurate to you?
I can’t fully judge that because I haven’t researched it as much as you XD
And then 3, how is my character development?
Like I said, you’ve planted seeds. I can see Henry is contemplative but freedom-driven, since he takes his parents into account but still works for the paper. The parents are hesitantly letting him continue. That’s what I got from the first chapter :]
Congrats on a solid first draft of this chapter! The first is always the hardest.
“Everything is a mountain”
@trailblazer I don’t know much about this time period, but I really enjoyed it so far! It does draw you in.
I feel like it’s hard to have character development within one chapter, but I’d be interested to see where this goes! Please tag me if you post more ! 😉
WE ARE REVIVING THE PROTECTION SQUAD! *steals Joseph, Julian, and Sabina from Ellette*
1, does it draw you in and make you want to read more?
It certainly does for me! There’s suspense concerning the potential arrest of people, and the growing excitement of a war possibly coming.
And 2, does it sound historically accurate to you?
Most of it does. I did note that some of the speech wouldn’t have been used back then. i.e. “Yeah”.
Also, from what I’ve learned, people were mostly called by their last names. Of course, you wouldn’t do so for family (though I have seen wives call their husbands by their last name or Papa), but in most other areas you would do so. In writings back in the day, last names were used in less formal settings. Work, acquaintances, people older than you, etc…You even see friends being called by their last names. So, I feel like having Peter call his employers by their first name unless given the privilege to do so, is slightly inaccurate. But, it just depends on how you want to write this. I have read 1700s stories that have modern speech in them.
And then 3, how is my character development?
It seems rather good. I’m no expert in writing myself, but you seemed to set Peter’s character fairly well.
I hope this helps in any way!
My place beside you, My blood for yours, Till the Green Ember rises, Or the end of the world!
I’ve heard mixed opinions about the first chapter of a book… I used to always be told it needed to start off with action to draw the reader in, but I’ve come to realize the scene needs to be set up well, too. I guess it’s finding the balance between just enough action to hook the reader and a solid foundation of getting to know the characters and connecting with them. Thanks for the feedback!
Yeah I was trying to be careful about my language but I easily slip back into modern speech lol. I don’t want it to be difficult for the readers to understand, but I can definitely cut the slang. Hmmm I should research some old idioms or something that would add a little flavor to the story….
Anyway as far as the last names, would they use, for example, Mr. Gill and Mr. Edes, or just Gill and Edes? I think for friend and family level I’m gonna stick with first names for the sake of the reader, but otherwise I’ll try to keep some formality.
"Real love is for your good, not for your comfort." -Justin Whitmel Earley
Anyway as far as the last names, would they use, for example, Mr. Gill and Mr. Edes, or just Gill and Edes? I think for friend and family level I’m gonna stick with first names for the sake of the reader, but otherwise I’ll try to keep some formality.
Either would work.
My place beside you, My blood for yours, Till the Green Ember rises, Or the end of the world!
I just wanted to let you know that I’ve seen this post I just haven’t the chance to read it and give you my thoughts. 😭 I’ll try my best to get to it this week!! 😀
Write what should not be forgotten. — Isabel Allende
That’s fine! Take your time.
"Real love is for your good, not for your comfort." -Justin Whitmel Earley
- You must be logged in to reply to this topic.