Welcome back to another KP Critiques! Today we have a wonderful excerpt by C. Rosamond Swayze.
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The Arising
Chapter 1
By C. Rosamond Swayze
I walk through the waving fields of oyr,
Is oyr a place? If so, it should be capitalized.
heading towards the farmhouse. The dinner bell is ringing and ringing, its noise reverberating in my ears. Gren walks beside me, as tired as I am. Her braid swings and bumps me in the shoulder as she tosses her head.
I gaze over at the Ackerlys, our neighbors, still hard at work in their fields. Frode, their oldest, isn’t there. I am pondering this fact when Gren interrupts my thoughts.
“Good work today, Samm,” she says, attempting a cheerful attitude.
“It wasn’t half as much as we would get when Dad was around,” I mutter. Gren frowns. “Don’t blame yourself. You’re doing the best you can, and you’re only—“
“I’m fifteen!” I growl. Gren sighs. “I wasn’t trying to belittle you. You’re doing a really good job as the head of the family.”
“Thanks, sis,” I mumble dolefully, scuffing my boot on the ground. Gren notices and frowns. “Don’t do that. We have enough expenses to worry about without extra things like new shoes.”
I groan and bend down to rub the toes of my boots. “There,” I say. I glance up to see her reaction, but she’s not looking at me anymore. She’s looking towards the main road, which a rider is coming down full speed, clouds of dust trailing after him. The rider is tall and rangy, with a shock of dark hair, characteristic of a lef.
Are there any other special traits you can point out here? Being tall, rangy, and having dark hair, doesn’t seem all that special. What other characteristics make lefs stand out?
“It’s Frode!” I shout.
Gren grabs my hand with a panicky look. “Something's wrong!” she gasps, and we shoot off, full speed for the farmhouse.
When we reach the farmhouse, sweaty and panting, the rider is already at the gate. We slip in the back door, with much fear and trembling. Inside, the younger kids are glued to the window, watching the rider’s every move.
You say younger kids but how many of them are there? How many girls and how many boys?
“It’s Frode!” Kermit, my little brother, yells. “Frode the neighbor guy! I love him. He’s funny.”
“Shhh!” Mrs. Anyia hisses. Kermit, subdued, whispers, “Sorry, Mum.”
Perhaps mention where Mrs. Anyia is beforehand. Either describe where she is when Samm first comes in the door, or say “... Mrs. Anyia hisses from the kitchen.” This helps the reader get a sense of place, and not feel like people are appearing out of nowhere.
Mrs. Anyia, my stepmother, moves towards the window, leaving the pot that is bubbling on the stove. Precipitously, there is a pop from deep within the pot, and the lid flies off and clatters to the floor. Mrs. Anyia runs over to grab it and there is a heavy pounding on the door.
I grab the door and fling it open. “What?” I gasp.
Frode Ackerly, the neighbor, gulps for air, his face streaked with sweat and dirt. He pushes his dark, damp hair off his forehead, revealing his extra pointy, lef-ish ears.
“Take a seat, and catch yor breath,” Mrs. Anyia urges.
Frode shakes his head. “My news is too important,” he wheezes, but takes a seat anyway.
“What is it?” I almost shout.
Frode drops the bomb. “The Crusians have breached the wall.”
I gasp, Gren stifles a scream, Mrs. Anyia shrieks, the younger three panic, and Cleo and Abi, my other sisters, run out from the bedroom. Frode stands. “I’m really sorry, but I have to go. My family needs me.”
“No, no, you should have something to drink!” Mrs. Anyia insists.
I’m not sure Mrs. Anyia would suddenly offer a drink after hearing the news. Somehow, it just downplays the situation, and makes the news not seem as serious. What other ways could Anyia react that would show that this is a serious situation?
Frode is firm. “No. You might have forgotten that the Crusians hate lefs, and my family and I are lefs. They need me.”
Mrs. Anyia waves him away and shakes her head. “Fine. Go if you must.”
Frode nods curtly to her and waves to the rest of us. “G’bye, you guys.” He chuckles. “Don’t look so worried, Samm. I’ll take care of Ivie for you.“I turn deep red and scowl at him. Frode laughs and strides out the door.
Abi laughs and grins at me. “No worries now, Samm! Your—“
I cut her off. “Quit that! She’s just my friend, and you know that!”
Mrs. Anyia breaks in harshly. “Stop it! Stop bothering you brother. Don’t worry about that foolish lef’s rubble.” I frown and wish that she wasn’t as harsh with Abi, Cleo, and Gren. She could be as harsh as she wanted with me, but she shouldn’t mess with my sisters.
I keep my mouth shut, though, and stomp off to the bedroom to change into some less sweaty clothes.
Okay, so the event of this scene is the main character - Samm- hears news that the Crusians have breached the wall. What do you want the tone of this scene to be? Do you want this to be a serious scene? Or a fun, playful scene? If you want it to be serious as the news is delivered, make Frode dead serious. Note how Samm is caught off-guard because Frode is usually - I’m assuming - a normally cheerful guy. Let the room fall into silence as the weight of Frode’s words sink in. And don’t immediately switch to the characters teasing Samm, otherwise it takes away the seriousness of the situation, and it makes the characters seem like they are taking the news lightly.
At dinner, the main subject is the Crusians. I am really hoping that those warlike national neighbors will not attack our farm.
These last two sentences are a bit too much "telling, instead of showing". Since you already show them talking about the Crusians in the next paragraph, those sentences are unnecessary. In fact, beginning the scene with Anyia's question would be a much more powerful way to begin the scene.
“Mommy, will we be dead if they come?” little four-year-old Anyia asks. Mrs. Anyia frowns. “I hope not. I really don’t think they will, honey.”
“And why do you think that we will be spared when the rest of these Colcadians won’t?” Quinton, my eleven year old step-brother, says snarkily.
So actually, snarkily isn't a word. You could replace it with an adverb; however, I recommend taking it out altogether. Whenever you delete an adverb, or replace it with something stronger, writing becomes so much more impactful and interesting. Brainstorm some ideas to stretch your creativity and move beyond adverbs. For example, is there any body language that Quinton uses that implies he's being snarky? Any facial expressions? Could you tweak his dialogue a bit more to make it sound even more cynical? Show us that he is being snarky, don't tell us.
“Oh, they won’t bother spoiled, faking Crusians like you,” I retort, “They only bother us ‘Colcadian scum,’ as you so prettily put it.”
Mrs. Anyia whirls around from the stove and slaps me on the back of my hand with a scalding hot spoon, while the two youngest stare in horror.
Oh no! Samm just got hit with a scalding hot spoon, what is his immediate reaction? Does he jerk back with a yell? Does he grit his teeth and grab his hand?
“You keep yor mouth shut, boy!” she hisses, “Don’t talk to my son like that.” Quinton grins, but makes sure his mum doesn’t see it.
I glare back and rub my wounded hand. “I know I’m just your stepson. But why…”
“Yor just a filthy Colcadian, that’s why!” She retorts, and I fire back, “Then why’d you marry Dad? He’s just as much a Colcadian as I am!”
She turns around with fire in her eyes. Oops. I’ve obviously said the wrong thing. I wince as she advances on me. She stops at my chair and leans over me. I lean as far back as I can without falling out of my chair.
“You need to keep in mind that yor lucky to be here. If it wasn’t for me keeping you on, you would be—“ She grits out between clenched teeth, but then Cleo jumps in.
“He would be at the Ackerly’s, as well as me, Abi, and Gren. They would have taken us in much more graciously than you have.”
Kermit pipes up, ”Could I go? I love Frode. I wanna live at his house.”
Mrs. Anyia turns to him, and he shrinks in his chair. “NO. No-one (delete the dash) is going to live with the Ackerlys, and everyone is going to eat their supper without more fighting. Period.”
I nod stiffly and continue slurping my soup. Mrs. Anyia has told me eons of times that I shouldn’t slurp, but that’s kind of why I’m doing it. I know, that’s not right, but right now, I don’t care.
Mrs. Anyia gives me The Look, and I stop slurping, push away my bowl, and grab a slice of buttered oyr bread instead.
“Aut!” Mrs. Anyia says, smacking my already burnt hand. I yelp and drop the bread. Quinton sniggers. She takes it and puts it back in the basket in the center. “Save those for the other kids.”
I frown and growl, “Oh, you mean you and spoiled little Quinton, whose too delicate to do hard work!” I snatch the piece of bread back and storm off; use a comma instead of semi-colon here heading out the door and down the road. I hear Gren calling after me, but I don’t listen.
Interesting conflict set up between Samm and his stepmother.
I wander through the woods on the other side of the Ackerly’s house, munching on the remains of the bread and searching. I walk on and scuff my boot in the dirt. I can’t find it. Then, through the trees, I catch a glimpse of it. My secret place. My secluded niche. My only place to get alone in the craziness that’s called the Karialorn household.
Ooh, nice. I like that your main character has a secret hideout. It really helps me get to know Samm more.
I climb the ladder into my niche, an old tree house Dad, I, and Frode built, and peer in. What I see, makes me almost fall off the ladder.
Ivie Ackerly is sitting there in the corner, sobbing her heart out.
I try desperately to withdraw out without her noticing, so I won’t disturb her, but my foot slips on the second highest rung, and I yelp. Too bad for getting out of this unnoticed.
She turns to looks delete the 's' at me, surprise written all over her tear-streaked face. Then she realizes it’s me, and a mixture of relief and embarrassment floods her face.
“Oh, hi… I wasn’t expecting to see anyone… and I thought you were Frode… plus, you snuck up on me.” Ivie says uncertainly.
I grin weakly, trying to ease the awkwardness of the situation. “I wasn’t trying to… sorry for busting in on you.”
She shrugs. “It’s ok.”
I wait on the ladder, unsure if I should go in or get down. “Uh… I guess I’ll be going…” I mumble.
“No, do come in, please… This is your place, right?” Ivie says, dabbing at her eyes with the corner of her sash. “I’m sorry, ‘cause I’m the one who’s really intruding.”
I clamber in and answer, “No problem. You can hang out here any time. Really,” I add, as her face lights up. (New paragraph)
“Oh, thank you!” she exclaims.
She looks over at me, opens her mouth, and then clamps it shut, messing with her sash and fidgeting around. “What?” I ask her.
“Well,…” Ivie pauses, and pulls at a dark strand of hair that is hanging out of the braided coronet on her head. “I… um… er…”
“What?” I query. “What is it that you can’t tell me?”
She stares at the floor, then at the ceiling, and then she says, “I…”
There is a thud as a clod of soil sails up and hits the window. I jump, and Ivie claps her hand over her mouth. I creep over to the opening in the floor and wince as another clod hits the window again.
“Hey, you up there!” a gruff voice assails us from below.
I whisper to Ivie, “That’s the dirt-thrower.”
“Of course!” she hisses back. I flush and dare to look out of the hole.
I’m not sure of the purpose of the last two lines of dialogue. Are they necessary?
At the bottom of the ladder, a gruff looking woodsman is standing, another clod of dirt in his hand. “You there! Tell me how to get to the Market!”
I sigh with relief and yell back, “You go five kilometers down Fiedernel Road and then turn on Drandonol Road. There’s a sign, and it’s easy to figure out from there.” He nods and trots off.
“That was random,” Ivie says. I nod, and going back to my seat on the floor next to her, I ask, “So… what were you going to tell me?”
So, I'm not sure if the dirt-thrower guy comes back or not. But whether or not he does, I agree with Ivie. That felt a bit too random. It also interrupted the flow of the scene. Nothing in your novel should feel random, even if it turns out to be important later. So if this is important to the story, try to fit it into a different part of the story where it will feel more natural. Perhaps before he enters the treehouse, so that you can maintain the tension with Ivie and Samm's conversation.
Ivie stares at the floor, then stands and walks across the small room to the small panel in the floor. “This is what I needed to—”
I jump up and start walking towards her. “You— you… you looked in there?” I stammer.
She nods, eyes wide. I inhale sharply and walk across the room shakily, then collapse on the floor and lean on the wall for support. I think back on what’s in the little box in that wall. The last thing I got from Dad. I turn pale and mutter, “You— looked at all of it?”
She looks at me and gasps. “I didn’t! I wouldn’t!”
I sigh with relief and shake my head. “I didn’t really think you would, but still…”
Is Samm really that trusting of her? I would think that the trust would be broken between them after that, and he would be suspicious that she did look at all of it. If Ivie is a super trustworthy person, then maybe have Samm ruminate on that to explain his reasoning for forgiving her so quickly. Otherwise, it's a bit confusing as to why he trusted her.
Ivie smiles and says, “Whew. I was worried that you’d be really mad.”
Just as I’m about to say something, Frode’s head pokes through the hole. “Hey, Ivie,” he calls, “I’ve been looking for you for forever. Hey… I almost forgot about this place. Hi, Samm,” he says casually.
So you set up Samm, his secret box, and the fact that Ivie looked inside, so I recommend wrapping up this scene before bringing in Frode. Otherwise, you will leave readers puzzling about what this scene is for. Mainly, just bring some closure to what Ivie was about to say about the box, and answer at least one question before bringing in Frode.
I dip my head in his direction and ask, “Whatcha here for?”
“Oh, it’s getting late, and Mum wanted Ivie back.” Frode says carelessly, his quick eyes darting over every inch of the fort.
The last two times you mentioned Frode talking, you used casually and carelessly. Again, using adverbs is a common way to tell the reader what Frode is like, but if you really want to show the reader Frode's personality, and make them really feel his personality, try using something other than adverbs. Use body language, expressions, or actions to show his casual and laid-back nature. For example, leaning against the tree, scratching his neck, or brushing some dirt of his jacket could all be actions that signal he is being casual. Also, it's just more fun to read actions rather than adverbs. 🙂
I gasp and check my watch. “Oh no! Mrs. Anyia’s going to kill me!~ Put a quotation mark here.
Frode grins. “Yeah, right. She’s never killed anyone yet, huh?”
So it looks like Frode is back to his old jokes. The only problem with this is that there is the possibility that they will be attacked. Adding a change in Frode’s countenance would give the reader another a reminder of the impending doom, and also add to the suspense. You could make Frode completely sad and worried, and Samm is surprised by his 180 degree change. Or perhaps Frode does make a joke, but Samm notices that Frode isn’t his same, upbeat self, and the joke doesn’t feel as lighthearted. This will also add another meaningful moment to your story, as well as more character development.
“I dunno! Bye!” I rush past him and dash through the woods, heading for the farmhouse.
I trot up the path to the house and try to catch my breath. I sprint the remaining meters to the house and open the door, just as Mrs. Anyia pulls it open from the other side and yells, “Samm Arre Karialorn! Where have you been?!?”
I gulp and am about to explain when the expression her face changes for from anger to fear. “Who… is your friend?” she asks uncertainly.
This is a nitpick, but if Mrs. Anyia is full of fear, ‘uncertainly’ would be the wrong adverb to use. Perhaps, “She asks in a shaky voice” or something like that to show her fear.
I raise my eyebrows. “My frien—?“ I whip around, almost knocking my neck out of joint.
A voice comes out of the darkness behind me.
I’m having trouble picturing this. Perhaps at the beginning of this scene you can describe how dark it is outside. Are there any lights coming from any other nearby homes? Does the moonlight provide any aid? Also, I recommend Samm realizing that there is a figure behind him, and then mentioning the voice, otherwise, it’s a bit jarring this way.
“See you later, Samm.” Those words, so casually spoken, send shivers through me. Where had I heard that voice before? How did this stranger know my name?
I almost venture a question, but the figure has turned, and is gone before I can say anything. I spin around to dash into the house and see that Mrs. Anyia is as stricken as I am. Gren is standing behind her, a curious look on her face.
“I have no idea who that guy was, honest,” I blurt out, trying to soothe Mrs. Anyia.
So I know Samm and Mrs. Anyia have a pretty rocky relationship. When you say Samm is “trying to soothe Mrs. Anyia” it sounds like he genuinely cares about trying to make her feel better. What happened to the Samm who was slurping his drink just to spite her? What happened to the Samm who escaped off to his hideout because he was fed up with her? Mainly, I would just like to understand Samm’s thought process right now.
Gren slips past both of us and into the night. “Where are you going?” Mrs. Anyia calls after her.
“I left something in the barn,” Gren calls over her shoulder and then the dark swallows her up. I shiver. I’m reasonably certain that the she was not going in the direction of the barn. What is up?
Why is Samm reasonably certain that she was not going in the direction of the barn? Does he see her going a different direction? Is she dressed in some way that implies she is going somewhere else? Does Samm have any guesses as to where she is going?
I sit on the edge of my bed, running my hands through my messy hair. Gren still isn’t back, and it’s almost twenty-two hundred o’clock. But I have other matters on my mind. Like why Ivie was crying in the fort, if that forester was really just asking for directions, and who that guy in the dark was.
I am so certain that I have heard that voice before, somewhere. And… wait, he knew my name? Oh… yeah, Mrs. Anyia had just told him my whole name, so… that wasn’t too surprising.
Haha. Yes, I was thinking about that.
But… who was that guy? And what was he sneaking around for? If only Dad was here. He would know what to do.
Gren walks in, smelling like pine and dust, her dark, braided coronet flying to pieces. I glance up.
“Where were you?” I demand, a little angry at her wandering off. “The Crusians are attacking; this is no time to take midnight walks!”
Yes! Nice reminder of the Crusians!
Gren just smiles, which is odd enough in itself, and says, “They’ve only breached the wall.”
“We don’t know where, though! And you were worried earlier! What is up, Gren? You can’t fool me: I know something’s going on.”
Gren just shakes her head and says, “I am so tired! G’night, Samm.”
I frown. “Gren!” But she’s already slipped behind the curtain into the washroom to get ready for bed. And she will ignore me if I call. I just know. I sigh and roll into bed.
The next day, I wake up when I hit the floor with a smack. It’s four hundred thirty o’clock, did you mean four thirty? Or four o'clock? and I’ve rolled out of bed, again. At least I don’t have a top bunk. The fire crackles in the next room, and I reach around for my tunic, which I threw on its hook last night. It’s not there. I stumble blearily into the main room and find it hanging over one of the dining room chairs.
“Sorry, I had to wash it.” Gren explains from the stove, where she’s heating jerky and flipping oyr-cakes.
I mumble something, and blink hard, trying to wake up. I take my tunic over my head and make a beeline for the stove.
Gren shoos me away with her spatula. “Go on, get dressed, and wait til it’s on the table.”
I grin and try to snitch a piece of jerky, but she repels me with the spatula, slapping me smartly on the back of my hand— the same one with the burn. I yelp like a kicked puppy, and she leans over to examine it.
“Oh, I’m so sorry, Samm. I didn’t know it was the same one that got hurt last night,” Gren blurts out hastily.
The word hastily here is a bit redundant. "Blurts out" already implies that the words are being spoken quickly.
I grimace and rub my hand. “It’s ok.” I trot back to the bedroom to grab my sash, then hurry back out for breakfast.
That morning, on my way to the barn to milk the beasts, I survey the harvested fields with pleasure and a bit of pride. I hurry through the milking and sprint outside to get a head start on bringing in the harvest. As soon as I get out the door of the barn, I see Ivie coming down the road.
“Hi!” I call, veering off course. She nods in my direction and holds up the basket of mended clothes. I nod back and keep heading towards her. She shakes her head but smiles.
When I reach her, she asks, “Why did you come over here? You’ll get in trouble if your you're not doing your chores.”
I shrug. “I got a head start.”
She raises her eyebrows and retorts, “Fell out of bed early again?”
I nod sheepishly and grin, then ask abruptly, “What were you upset about last night?”
Ivie looks up at me, then hesitates. “Well… I was… upset about the attack. I know it doesn’t mean much to you, but—“
I cut her off. “Of course it means something to me. My stepmother is a Crusian, Kermit and Anyia are half Crusian and half Colcadian, and all that, so…”
So what changed that made Ivie suddenly open up about why she was crying?
She purses her lips. “But, Samm… my family and I are lefs. All of us are. And we’re not half breeds, either. The Crusians seem to hate lefs even more than they hate regular Colcadians, and—“
I interrupt. “I know. I wasn’t trying to belittle your problem. I… it’s so hard to know what to do.”
She nods, reaches over, and pats my arm. I stare moodily at the road until she says, “Well, you better get to work, or Mrs. Anyia will have your hide.”
I nod and head off for the field. Suddenly, screams fill the air, and I see smoke billowing from the direction of the Ackerly’s farm. Ivie shrieks, drops her basket and takes off down the road. I yell after her, but all that comes out is a hoarse cry.
The Crusians are attacking.
Comments
Great job! I see you set up some mystery in this first chapter, and I can really tell that you have a sense of who your characters are. As a reader, I would be looking forward to seeing how all the characters and mysteries come together and tie-in with the attack of the Crusians.
I liked the bits of world building you threw in, and I really encourage more of it! Where exactly does Samm live? Is it sort of like a village? Or are the houses further apart? How far away do they live from the ruler, and what kind of ruler do they have? What does he think about the Crusians attacking?
Also, what do the people of oyr look like? Skin color? Hair color? Eye color? Clothing?
Other than that, the only other piece of advice is to begin each scene with asking yourself "What emotion am I trying to make my reader feel? What kind of tone am I trying to set up in this scene?" Serious? Funny? Sad? Light-hearted? Try to really understand the emotions of your characters, and how they would logically react in those situations.
I hope this helps. Keep writing, and I hope to read more about Samm and his adventures sometime soon!
~ Erin Ramm