So I wrote this about....maybe a year ago? Anyway, it was supposed to be for a novel, but I quickly ended up dropping it due a variety of reasons. The writing is a bit crude, and there're some parts I could work out. I might incorporate some parts of this into the new novel I'm writing, tho it'll be different since this was an alternate history piece and my new novel is fantasy. But what I wanted to know, is this confusing? People told me they couldn't understand this chapter at all, and were pretty confused on the whole thing. It was meant to be an introduction for this one character, so yes I know its pretty slow and kinda boring. Obv I've learned from that, and improved on that in my new novel. Tl;DR Did you understand this chapter, or was it completely confusing? Tell me your thoughts on it! And yes, guljz is a made up word. Don't bother googling it Spoiler: Spoiler They must have thought it fun. To look down at me in that way, their dull eyes dancing with such foul arrogance. They way they sneered, they way their lips jerked up at the sight of my battered body, and their stale pity, such images have not left my memories. Even now, as I kneel in front of them, these images refuse to leave my tired eyes. Yet, despite the recurrence of such vivid emotions, my feeble and pathetic woes fell short on their ears. They never did reach them, despite my futile wishes. I hoped that somehow or another, I would one day be able to skewer them with a blade and watch their blood slowly drain from their face while laughing uncontrollably. Or perhaps my hands would coil around their frail necks, who knew nothing of the bitter ways of the world but the sweet warmth that awaited them in their homes. I would give them a slow and dreadful death. These dreams fall on empty hands. They are the shallow dreams of a poor and pitiable peasant who can only shuttle her rage deep inside her. Although the screams grow louder each night, and although her anger grows by the passing second, solace cannot be found anywhere but in the ragging cradle of her dreams. Even now, as the snow seeps in my clothes, leaving my body cold and frigid, there is nothing I can do. While my fingers grow numb, and the feeble clothes I wear grow thin amid the northern angel’s rage, there is but nothing I can do. The brown eyes that once a day used to be filled with a simple joy can now only stare at the white ground, and attempt to find comfort in these thoughts. These eyes dare not look up. The man that stands before them, although being the very subject of such rage and anger, hinders not even a speck of my rage. He, whose neck lays veiled with the warm furs of a wolf, and a coat only made of the finest furs of the country is but only the treasured son of this land’s lord. “Lick them.” Why was it that I, who felt only hatred towards this man could do nothing but obey him? Although his boot may be covered in the old remains of horse manure and mud, the whims of a man who commanded such noble lineage were the sole law in my small world. If even hell came upon these mortal lands, if he commanded it, I would dive in those very fires. I, who was lower than the soles of his shoes could do nothing but follow his commands. My knees dug deeper into the frosty snow beneath me as I ducked my head. My lips parted, cold air escaping from them. Yes, this was my life. Cold uneven breaths poured out of my mouth as I inched closer to his feet. A tough leather texture mixed with the sullied taste of horse dung met my tongue. These dreary eyes of mine fluttered shut. A human lower than dirt. “Hey, hey, hey.” A sharp pain lulled over my jaw as my back hit the ground. “Ugh..” His sickening eyes meet mine, smeared with superiority and arrogance. Piss-colored hair and pasty white skin. An emblem of the thistle flower. “Argh!” Pain seared through my side as his foot jammed into my ribs. I hated this man. I loathed him. More than anything, I wished he would die. Tears swelled as I shut my eyes. “Lick it properly will you?” A gust of cold air hit my face as I sat up. A hollow shell robbed of its dignity and humanity was nothing more than something for them to step on. On and on again they trampled upon me. On and on and on and on. It never did stop. It never would. Smoke filled the room, wafting the room with the toasty smell of porridge. Although it had been quite some time since the sun had risen, hardly any noise could be heard from the farm. It was usually at this time that the voices of the villagers moving about would fill this desolate shack with a liveliness unique to the hustle of life. I stirred the ashen pot, dipping my head in the fumes that erupted from the pot. A small smile lined my face as I closed my eyes. It seemed today was the day when everyone had decided to gather at the chief’s house, perhaps seeking comfort from the cold winter winds within the warm company of other people. The women would gather upstairs, working on weaving and sewing clothes while the men would usually sit downstairs, enveloped in tales of war and heroic tales by the fireplace. “Aleani!” A loud knock resounded from the wooden door accompanied by a young girl’s voice. “It’s Dysta! Ma’ said to come get ye!” Dysta was the chief’s youngest daughter. No doubt she was here to bring me to the chief’s house where everyone else had already gathered. Her petite shadow lingered around the small window, as she bobbed her head around. Although I found no joy in making idle chatter with the other villagers, simply not attending was not a choice. In a small village, where people survived day by day, there was no way for an orphan girl to make do without the insistent help of the other villagers. My fingers grabbed a thick piece of woolen cloth, as I fumbled to wrap it around my head. “Are ye in there?” She pressed her reddened face against the window, her hands cupped around her face. As I pushed open the wooden door, a sudden burst of cold air rushed in, chilling the small shack. Dysta’s back was pressed along the wall as she rubbed her hands together, in hope of some warmth. The cold winter wind had not let up yet despite the sun blazing ahead. She glanced at me, her nose red from the cold. “Hurry up! It’s cold!” As we trudged along in the snow, Dysta’s eyes stayed focused on the ground. She appeared to enthralled by my large footprints in the snow in lieu of her much smaller ones. Compared to her small stature, my large frame towered over her. Her round green orbs gazed at me curiously before speaking up in a meek voice. “Do...do ye think I’ll ever be as big as ye?” Compared to any of the men Dysta had seen, my height towered over them. I must have seemed like an odd giant. Her eyes continued to stare at me with childlike innocence. She was a pale child, with her long red hair twisted in two braids and light brown freckles scattered over her face. Compared to her father, who had a slightly darker complexion than her and thick coarse hair, her looks seemed to have come from her mother, whose pale face seemed to fit right in this frigid land where the snow seemed to never stop. Compared to my pitiable dull eyes, her eyes shone with a brilliance I had never seen before. “...No..” She stopped in her tracks, her eyebrows furrowed in a fit of childish anger. “Why? My brother is pretty tall, y’ know!” She paused as if thinking of another retort to my blunt reply. “And..and pa’ is tall too!” Even for a child, Dysta was still considered small and petite. While other children her age seemed to grow each year, her stature rarely changed. Her pure green eyes were glaring at me now, with small flecks of snow lining her eyes. I turned my eyes away, awkwardly grounding them into the footsteps we had made. Those eyes. The way they held such emotions made my heart burn in envy and guilt. It made me mad. The anger that fueled within my core cried to be let out. This young girl, who lived with such pure innocence and joy made me seethe with jealousy. It wasn’t fair. Perhaps I would slit the throat of this girl. “I think we should get going Dysta..” I could hear her fuming at my lack of responsiveness, but my eyes remained on her small footsteps next to mine. “Dysta! What took ye so long?!” A thin woman rushed down, her face cuddled in a thick cloth and a brown dress. Her eyes were of a pure green like Dysta’s, and her brows were furrowed in a thin line. She grabbed Dysta’s ear, pulling her frail body close to her. “Ahh! Ma’, that hurts!” Upon hearing Dysta’s protest, she tightened her grip on Dysta’s ear. Dysta glanced at me, wet tears brimming her eyes. “Ma’! It’s cuz of Aleani, I’m telling ye!” Dysta grabbed the hem of the woman’s dress, her face red. Her body flailed about as she struggled to get out of her grip. From the far end of the room, a rumbling sound of laughter erupted, the sound resonating against the wooden walls of the house. “Don’t laugh! Nothings so funny!” Dysta’s ear was beet red now, matching the color of her deep red hair. Upon seeing her beet red ear, and her flustered expression, the man who had been laughing before covered his mouth, trying to muffle the sound of his low chuckles. “Yer’ face!” His head bobbed up and down as his stifled voice came out between his laughter. “Shut yer dirty mouth!” “Dysta! Mind yer mouth.” The woman grabbed Dysta by the arm before pushing her towards the stairs. “Head up and wait for me there!” The young man’s shoulders trembled slightly as he lowered his head down on the table. In the center of the room was a dimly lit fire, with the men of the village sitting near it. Many were sitting at the wooden tables while some men lingered near the fire. Although it was inside the house, the cold winter chill that had been brought in by Dysta had enveloped the room in a slight chill. In the corner, Dysta’s father chuckled as he sipped on his warm guljz. As if the woman had just remembered that I was there as well, she looked up at me, her face flustered. She lifted the hem of her dress as she walked over to where I had been standing. She pulled my face closer to hers, touching her cheek with mine. Her face was unusually warm. “Peace be upon ye.” I nodded slowly before mumbling a soft reply. “To you as well…” Her clothes had a faint aroma of porridge and burnt wood. It was a smell I had often woken up to in the midst of frigid winter mornings. Before I could have pulled away, her hands lightly grazed my face, her face scrunched into a small frown. My face twitched slightly at her sudden action. What was this woman doing? “Yer’ face is too cold.” Cold? Her soft voice lingered near my ears. She peered over her shoulder, her eyes settling in on Dysta’s father slumped figure. “Tell one of ’em young’ uns to bring more of those wool blankets.” Dysta’s father lifted his cup, lazily nodding in response. She had no need to take care of me. Yet this woman, persistently, almost as if she was a relentless bug, had made it a habit of hers to engage in such pointless actions. Perhaps she pitied me, or perhaps she felt it was a duty she had to fulfill as the chief’s wife, either way, I didn’t know. Turning her head, her hands grasped mine as she dragged me upstairs in a haste. Her steps had a playful spring to it as she stretched her legs out to skip a step or two while walking. What an odd woman. She was always in a rush for a reason I could never seem to figure out. Even from here, the faint voices of the women upstairs could be heard. With the dim light coming from upstairs, thick black shadows danced along the walls, their wails filling my ears. The small children whose heads seemed to bob up and down endlessly, the women whose figures rocked back and forth, with their twisted figures, I could see it all. My hands clenched her warm hands tighter as we made our way upstairs. A low chuckle erupted from her lips as she glanced back at me. The room had a faint smell of roses as compared to the musty smell that came from downstairs. Colorful quilts were laid out on the floor where the children sat in a circle around a young girl who seemed to be excitedly telling them something. The children spared Dysta’s mother a simple look of acknowledgment before darting their eyes back to the young girl in childish haste. “You see, when I went to the market yesterday, I heard something real interesting.” She paused, as she leaned her head closer to the children. “Well, I’m not really supposed to tell anyone, but, I mean, supposedly, you know…” “Aaaah, don’t do that!” A small boy grabbed her arm as he yelled in annoyance. The other children nodded their heads in agreement. The girl smiled confidently as she crossed her arms. “Well, I heard that the king himself is gonna be visiting our land.” “Eehh, no way. I don’t believe it.” The boy shook his head as he waved his hands dismissively in her face. “Yeah! You’re lying!” The small children erupted in a loud cry of protest, their faces covered with disbelief. “It’s true, though. Besides, you guys already know, don’t you? I never lie.” “You always lie, Azra!” The children erupted in a burst of sudden laughter as they rushed over to the young girl. The children shrieked as they jumped on the girl while letting out rings of mischievous giggles. Before the laughter of the children could last any longer, a firm voice resounded in the room. “Hush now. Don’t be so loud.” It was one of the women who were seated in the middle of the room next to a large ashen pot. The rest of the women were seated in a group amongst themselves on small wooden chairs with several long quilts covering their laps. The large ashen pot bubbled, letting out a strong smell of ginger and meat. It appeared that while the women chatted, they had thought it to be fit to let the stew simmer and cook for dinner, which would usually be attended by everyone in the village. Although this occurrence was not regular, on the especially cold days of winter, everyone would eat together, spending the majority of their day at the village chief's house. Unlike the rest of the year, there was not much to do during this time of the year other than hunting or knitting clothes. The men would go out to either hunt or trade while the women stayed in the comforts of their home, working on various tasks. Skinning and harvesting the hide of the animal was usually left to the women. Occasionally, the winter was spent with the young girls knitting large quilts and sheets for their upcoming marriages in the spring. Grand and lavish clothes along with gems would be provided by the boy’s family, while the young girl would spend her winter preparing for her marriage in spring. Even now, in the corner of the room sat a pair of young girls who were talking in hushed voices while working on a small piece of cloth that had intricate floral patterns colors layered all over it. The light from the fire danced along with their faces, leaving their faces, pink from the winter cold, wet with dewy expressions like young maidens in love. Winter was slow and quiet. “Mithra, here take this quilt.” Dysta’s mother smiled as she took the quilt and placed it on her lap. She sat down in the center of the group, gently picking up her needles that were on the floor. “Ma’ take some guljz.” Dysta lightly handed her the guljz, stumbling through the array of cotton blankets laid out on the floor. As the fire seemed to dance in a frenzy against their bare faces, the women laughed gently, engaging in idle chatter. Dysta had moved against the wall, wrapped in a small cotton blanket, with her eyes half-closed. “The groom’s sister will be coming to visit before the end of winter?” The woman nodded, her eyes glancing back at the pair of young girls sitting at the far end of the room. “I suppose she’ll stay for a few months and leave once the weddings have finished in spring.” Dysta’s mother sipped her guljz, “The girl’s coming all the way out here? This far up North don’t suit those southern gals.” “Ya’ got that right! She won’t last a day up here!” The women chuckled, their faces dancing a twisted tune with the blazing fire. The women’s laughter had now caught the attention of the two girls who had been immersed in knitting their quilts. A large thistle flower had been embroidered on top of the deep red fabric. The two girls glanced up at the women, their glassy eyes looking around the room in a soft daze. The women laughed once more, their voices becoming enveloped in the talks of marriage. The two girls lowered their heads, a deep dark blush settling on their faces. They gingerly laughed, their soft laughter full of girlish excitement. The two girls picked up their quilts, resuming their work in a silent thrill. From time to time, they would lift their heads shyly, before exchanging a set of eager whispers with each other. I gazed at their hands, full of calluses and small scars. The two girls, who were soon to be wed, would be wed into wealthy houses, leaving behind the misery of common life in the depths of their memories. Such a thing was far from common, much less realistic. It was a thing that only happened in dreams and hazy tales, never becoming ripe with truth. Yet, despite the cruel odds, the two girls had achieved what existed only in dreams. Rumored as the beauties of the North, with pitch-black hair and soft eyes, they were to be wed to two wealthy brothers from the capital. I peered over at my feet, a deep dark lash covering it. Covered in thick skin, the lash had etched itself deep into my skin. It was too deep for me to cut. Numerous dark lash marks covered my sunken skin. They reminded of me who I was. Who I was meant to be. I dipped my head deeper into my knees, my fingers gliding over my toes, silently counting them. I could hear Dysta’s mother’s voice faintly in the background as if lulling me to sleep. The voices of the two girls laughing gingerly lingered in my head. The hushed whispers of the children enthralled by tales of a world they never knew. The heat from the fire mixed with the odd sense of a bitter chill stuck to my skin. I could hear Dysta slightly snoring. She must have fallen asleep. Winter was slow after all. A faint trail of roses. The bubbling stew, the old cotton blankets under my feet. One, two, three, four, five, toes. There were five toes on each of my feet. I had ten toes.
I personally think your story seems to be quite interesting with that very raw and emotional introduction to the world as well as the contrasting warm, familial scene immediately following it. There are a couple things, however, that detract from this chapter's clarity and make it slightly hard to read. I apologize if I incorrectly point out anything you did write btw. I just skimmed it. First off the intro is very, very nice. However the lack of significant transition into the second part of the chapter makes the reader lose track of where the chapter is going? I think splitting it into a prologue then another chapter would make more sense, as well as providing a nice segue that perhaps answers simple questions about the second chapter like "how much time has passed" or "is she in the same village." Usually this is done by either explicitly stating "10 years later in village far in the north" (it works but is a bit dull), or by having the past be a dream that the characters wakes up from and then does some expose ("She woke with a start. Gasping and wiping the cold sweat from her brow, she slowly sat up as the light of dawn filtered through the room's curtains. Every morning since that fateful evening has started the same way, and though she had stared into her enemy's eyes a thousand times, she never would become fully used to it..." Goes on to start the day and then it goes into the current scene). The scene where she walks with Dystra is quite simply and fine. Nothing say about it, just wanted to mention that it is fine. The biggest problem and why this chapter is not super clear, is that the scene in the house is quite dreamy and detached. Which potentially fine since it is first person and she seems to be out of place anyways, but as an intro to describe her current situation it definitely should be clear. Also the sudden shift to third person as well as no description of what she is doing at the time is quite disorienting (You basically made us into a ghost with no warning and we thus feel quite detached from what is going on). You have to build the space and breath life into the characters, with all the shifts from downstairs to upstairs and focus changes from her, to the girl's mother, to the children talking, to the girls in love, and back to her is a bit too much without anything to guide it along. Have her pick up food downstairs or whatever (mother0, go upstairs to eat (children), talk to dystra (or be isolated in the rowdy room) and while doing so have her eye catch the thistle flower on the girl's embroidery (girls and marriage then back to her). Other than these things the story is quite intriguing and relatively well written (a couple incorrect word choices like the first paragraph or repeating the situation twice such as the "preparing for her marriage in spring" is repeated twice basically in the same 3 sentences). I really do think that this is quite readable and a pretty good intro with really nice self-referential text (the thistles and such are a nice touch), just slightly inconsistent with pov and pacing that makes it a bit unclear. Also one thing going forward is that you will need to make a really nice way to clear up both how she got to where she is (how is she alive) as well as what happened to those "gentlemen" in the intro. Plus you need to never forget that she right now is quite vulnerable, hostile, and isolated (very contradictory stuff); feeling betrayed by the world (and nobility), so let the future reflect that while also maintaining the balance on not having her be edgy af. Then having her slowly change is probably for the best. Grief, love, and anger are some of the strongest emotions and can change a person significantly. Edit: just noticed you said you dropped this
wow, thanks for the detailed reply! I'm thinking I'll transition the intro to a memory or dream sequence in the first part. In the last house scene, I definitely agree, I could "connect" everything that is going on by placing myself more into her shoes, and even by subtle gestures, such as her looking at someone, or by her hearing someone's conservation, or even the aroma she smells from the bubbling pot, I can connect everything in the chapter while simultaneously highlighting her sense of loneliness. So instead of simply describing the boiling stew, describe it though her sense of smell. Also, yea I don't want her to be too "edgy" or anything like that. In fact she is someone who despite being betrayed and tortured by the world, is very sensitive to love when others give it to her. Like when Dysta's mother touched her cheek or gave her warm blankets, although she's startled by it, she craves for the kindness of others, reason being why of she's so jealous and envious of Dysta. She envies her for having a mother like that. Wow, you seriously give such good advice. Thanks so much. I'm definitely going to incorporate her and her story in my new novel.
Yea I honestly didn't think AT ALL, that this was hard to understand so when some people told they couldn't follow the intro and were confused I was like....really? Is it really? I think maybe it's cuz they were a lot older...but I don't know how that would affect understanding this.
did someone just say a hard to understand story....well look no further - https://www.novelupdates.com/series/invisible-dragon/
I opened a random page from Lawrence's short stories here what I found. Link. Also, I still can't understand what this said. Link.
Thanks for the read, haven't read anything like that for a long time. Lol it made me remember the good old days, but nowadays I basically don't even have the time to look at literature anymore , much less write. I had to search up with what a corker, mangle and mingle was tho. I can understand but it does def take a careful read instead of just running my eyes over it. As for the second picture....can't even decipher a word