Post by Geneva on Jul 22, 2014 7:14:47 GMT
Hey, Hive, how ya doin'?
I'm starting a novel. It's something I've always wanted to do. But I honestly don't have a great source of honest feedback. I get the feeling that close friends and family kind of have predisposed bias or feel the need to lay it easy on me so I was hoping the anonymity of the internet might help in lending a hand. Here's a really short piece of prose I threw together in the setting and style of the book I'm hoping to write. Please tear into it and critique as honestly as you can. This isn't one draft stream of consciousness 40k fiction but a proper attempt at prose so feel free to treat it as such. Any feedback is good feedback as it will at least give me an idea of how to fine tune my style.
Seriously. I'll love you forever if you do.
A wail pierced the night and in that instant Abcán knew he was doomed. As his back slumped against moss covered bark he winced and pulled the bloodstained cloth away from his wound. The blood was black. There would be no more moonlight visits to the Seelie nor poems to bring back home. This was finally the end of his journey. He coughed dryly in lieu of laughter as the forest around him grew ashen grey. He was terrified but the experience was magical all the same. Were he not dying he might have bemoaned the fact that no one would ever believe him were he to tell the tale.
Finally she appeared; an old woman with a plain and tattered gown. She was an attractive crone despite her age though Abcán felt a chill run through him as he beheld her like plunging into an ice cold river in Winter. She approached him sullenly avoiding his eyes. He was grateful. To meet the eyes of a Banshee would surely drive him mad and he treasured his lucidity now in this moment more than ever. It was a fitting death considering all that he had seen; poetic even. The Banshee knelt before him and rested her hands upon his breast. He shuddered at her touch but it gave him comfort. He slid further down the tree into the earth as she unclothed him and tended to his wounds. It felt somewhat otherworldly. The Banshee gathered his clothes and took them to a small pond of water. Had it been there before? Abcán hadn’t taken note before now but he liked to think it hadn’t been. Her hands reached impossibly deep into the water as she wordlessly worked, washing his shirt, trousers and undergarments. It seemed an odd existence to Abcán though he felt in no position to judge. He could no longer lift his arms and legs. He lay, head lopsided and watched the crone and listened to the gentle sound of the water as it sloshed around her porcelain arms. Had I but pen and paper now, Abcán thought to himself, and the strength to use either.
The crone stopped at last and waited. Briefly, her arms trailed listlessly in the water as she gazed blankly at the ripples beneath her. Finally she lifted his last item of clothing, his old trousers and added them to the soggy pile beside her. She rose, carrying his clothes and walked towards him. Kneeling, she began to dress him. The wetness of his clothes chilled him no more than the cold of the forest. Rather it relaxed him. He let out a long, deep breath and closed his eyes. Though the world went black he could feel the gaze of the crone above him, looking down on him. He felt her movements like a cold breeze against his skin as she first knelt and then cradled his head. He felt so tired. The Banshee then threw her head back and screamed; long, loud and shrill. And Abcán passed from one world to the next wishing he had only the strength to thank the white woman for aiding his passing.
So... too pretentious? Vague? Dare I say just right? Proboards doesn't support indentations so I apologise if it looks blocky. I'm hanging on your collective word, Hive.
