The Council Wars Book I: Styanar

[Gavrushka]

Chapter 1



‘Styanar’, the word sat comfortably on Ed’s tongue.

He remembered her amazing eyes so clearly, the gentle laughter too; it seemed inconceivable he had just imagined her.

And equally inconceivable that he hadn’t.

He sat with his back to a tree absently rolling an acorn between thumb and forefinger, his eyes focussed on the log cabin that had been his home for the last few weeks.

The events of yesterday, he thought, had to be the creation of a mind unhinged whilst trying to save the electrical wholesale business founded by his grandfather.

The toil of three generations had seen the business grow from his Grandfather’s garage with his office in his basement, into a small shop, and then fifteen years ago expanding into a respectable sized warehouse now employing thirty people.

As every Sunday, he had gone to visit his Grandfather, almost ninety now, in his nursing home. Talk had turned to business and Ed had been forced to admit how bad things had become, sales having slowed to less than half what they had been.

Ed was crushed by the tears that had appeared in his Grandfather’s eyes, by the hurt and disappointment on his Grandfather’s face even as he offered his Grandson encouragement.

Ed had promised his Grandfather he was trying, doing everything in his power to save the business.

Trying and failing.

Ed knew Alphanamp Ltd, his unwanted competitor, everyone in the electrical trade did. The company had systematically taken up residence in every town and city within a hundred miles, always on their main competitor’s doorstep.

The result was always the same; the competition was destroyed.

He brought his mind away from thoughts of business for they always tumbled into a deep pit of despair as solutions to the bleak situation eluded him entirely.

“Was last night real Kipling?” he enquired of the Labrador slumbering peacefully at his feet.

Kipling, in response, fixed his master with a baleful stare. Then, with a dramatic sigh, he laid his head back down to seek sleep once more.

Ed’s thoughts drifted back to the strange events of the previous evening:




The drive home had started just like any other. Ever since he had separated from his wife, last spring, he had driven to the cabin they had bought up in the mountains fifteen miles out of town, fifteen miles away from people and stress, refunds and bank managers. Fifteen glorious miles from accountants and divorce lawyers.

He turned off what was deemed the ‘main road’, in reality little more than mud and rock graced with a hint of tarmac, onto the rutted track which was the sole access to his mountain retreat.

Ed had the radio on, keeping it turned down low; it seemed inappropriate to have it any louder as he travelled through the forest. So it was that he heard the muffled ‘thump’ reminiscent of the noise he remembered from his childhood when the mining company blasted the rock face, at the quarry, two miles away from his home.

He brought the truck to an abrupt stop, and dropped the window. In the rear view mirror, he could see Kipling bolt upright and looking off to the right, in the direction Ed had also thought the noise must have come from.

“It was probably just a bear with wind,” Ed said chuckling.

Kipling seemed to accept this most unlikely of explanations and laid back down on the back seat as Ed continued the journey up the hill.

When he arrived at the cabin, he did not need Kipling’s warning growl to tell him he had a visitor. There was someone moving just inside the tree line, caught by his headlights.

He switched his lights onto full beam and turned his truck to face the stranger as Kipling’s throaty growl gave an unlikely harmony to the idling engine. The figure looked female, and was staggering drunkenly through the trees towards him. She looked up and her eyes reflected the light from his truck in such a way as to cause him alarm.

“What the...” Ed said, opening the car door slowly, making sure Kipling did not escape.

However, he need not have bothered; Kipling seemed more than content to growl from the safety of the back seat.

Slowly Ed got out of the car, all the time keeping his eyes on the very feminine figure around thirty yards in front of him on the edge of the forest.

“Who are you? What are you doing up here?” The questions felt lame as soon as he had asked them.

In response, the figure took a faltering step whilst calling out “Atyul!” in a voice that seemed to slither out of her mouth before she collapsed to the ground.

Thoughts of caution were forgotten and Ed raced to the stricken figure laying just yards in front of him.

His shadow fell across her as he arrived then, stepping to one side to be able to see her more clearly, his legs buckled under him as the light fell upon her face.

She was not human.

Her face was a series of gently overlapping plates, the colour of dull bronze, with ears narrow and pointed, laying flat against her head. Her large blue eyes with catlike pupils stared up at him and a very human looking mouth only half hid a row of lethal looking serrated teeth.

A small tube ran up the back of her neck, hooked round her ear and ran back down to her nose. The tube emerged from halfway down her back where it entered into a small backpack that seemed to pop and fizzle. It was a noise that was all too familiar to him. There was a power source within it.

“Atyul,” she repeated in a voice painfully weak, whilst reaching towards him with a hand that ended in wicked claws. Her whole body began to shake, and a trickle of light red blood flowed from her nose.

She was dying.

“I’ll do what I can,” he said reaching for his penknife in his back pocket.

He felt along the edge of the backpack, where the crackling could be heard and found a loose flap, which he quickly pulled open to reveal a long metal cylinder with two wires sticking out of the top from contact plates.

One wire had come loose and was arcing across to the other. Quickly, he pushed the two apart, then seeing the other wire was held in place by a cap, felt down the back of the cylinder quickly locating the second cap that must have somehow become displaced.

Taking a deep breath, he pushed the loose wire into the cap then closed it back down on the contact, resulting in a huge electrical jolt sending him flying through the air to land on his back five yards distant.

‘That’s the second time today,’ Ed thought, as he lay there. He clenched and unclenched his fists, trying to shake off the effects of being, once again, electrocuted.

“Saplaza,” she said in that strange rasping voice.

Ed struggled to a sitting position just as, whoever she was, walked to his side crouched down and parted her lips, displaying her razor sharp teeth.

“I hope that is meant to be a smile, because if it isn’t I’m in trouble,” Ed said.

She laughed, there was no way it could be anything else but laughter. It was gentle laughter very much like a host of tiny bells ringing; he found it reassuring.

He watched as she reached for a pouch on her leg and pulled out a small black square. She held it up and showed it to him before going through the actions of placing it onto her tongue, and then pushing her tongue against the roof of her mouth. Smiling, she held it out in her hand for him.

“I guess you can understand me, and so I am going to trust you. I am supposed to put this on my tongue?” he asked.

“Tak,” she said and nodded.

Gingerly he reached out and took the ‘tablet’, watching her eyes the whole time. He placed it on his tongue, just as she had gestured, when suddenly it seemed to take on a life of its own and he felt his head go numb as it dissolved instantly.

Ed cried out in alarm and started trying to shuffle backwards.

“Don’t worry; it is supposed to do that. I assure you I would do nothing to harm you, and how else could I say thank you for saving my life?” she said.

Ed sat there and stared, his frantic shuffle had taken him about a yard back from her, where he could get a far clearer picture of her as she stood in front of him.

She looked tall, maybe even six foot, which put her an inch or two taller than he was. Her blue eyes seemed to be filled with mirth as he stared. Her delicate nose wrinkled as she smiled, a nose that narrowed at the bridge before splaying and deepening to form a ridge above her eyes. Her hair was white and short, shaved flat on the top and far shorter at the sides. With the bronze skin, the overall effect was striking.

“I do understand that being male puts you at an intellectual disadvantage, but I could have sworn you possessed the power of speech earlier,” she said. “My name is Styanar and I want to thank you for saving my life.”

She held out a hand to Ed, which he accepted, and pulled him to his feet.

“It was nothing, erm... Styanar,” Ed replied. “My names Ed, and I, erm... take it you are not from around here?”

Styanar once again laughed. “Well surprisingly that is only partially correct. My father is human, but my mother is from elsewhere.” With this, a small display lit up on her forearm. She glanced at it before continuing. “Look I only have a few seconds before I must go, but if you will so permit I will meet you here again tomorrow, at the same time, to say thank you properly and reward you.”

“There is no need for a reward, but well okay,” Ed replied.

“Hey be careful not to let me off the hook so easily, I am half Tegasi,” she said before, with a final laugh, she stepped backwards and in a flash of light disappeared.




So Ed sat, already convinced he had imagined it all, and besides it was starting to get cold and he was more than a little hungry.

“Come on Kipling, I’m letting my fantasies get the better of me. Let’s go get supper,” Ed groaned as he got to his feet and stretched.

“Did you miss me?” a voice called out from behind him followed by gentle laughter much like a myriad of tiny bells.

The loyal and fearless Kipling, realising his master’s danger, legged it back to the cabin with at least conscience enough to spare Ed an apologetic glance over his shoulder, before disappearing through the open door to no doubt seek refuge under the bed.

“I am afraid my maternal heritage puts your courageous companion on the lunch table,” Styanar said with a grin. “A fact he appears all too aware of.”

“You wouldn’t...” Ed began.

“I am joking,” Styanar replied. “I was trying to offer an excuse for his cowardice,” her grin widened. “Although from your elevated heart rate and rapid breathing I imagine you are considering following him.”

“No, no,” Ed stammered, “you just surprised me that was all.”

“Of course,” she said, patting his cheek and winking as she walked past him in the direction of his cabin. “I assume you are going to offer me a drink?”

Ed watched as she wiggled in a most feminine manner in what appeared to be an extremely tight pair of jeans towards the Cabin. It did little to help calm his racing heart.

He jogged to catch up with her, reaching her half way to the Cabin. “You haven’t got the breathing pipe you had in yesterday. How can you breathe?”

“I breathe your air Ed. The tube merely supplied a few trace elements that are essential for me to survive.”

“So how come...” Ed began.

Styanar raised one clawed finger to his lips and smiled. “Please, I will explain all inside otherwise every question I answer will only bring a further five to your lips.”

Ed followed her in silence the rest of the short distance to the Cabin.

Styanar walked in and looked around, the dining kitchen was to the left and living room with large settee and two chairs to the right. She made her way to the kitchen table, pulled out a chair and sat down.

“I would love a coffee if you don’t mind. A weakness I inherited from my father I guess. Milk and two sugars please, or cream if you have it,” Styanar said.

“You’re an alien!” Ed said. “Jesus Christ, you are an alien. You come from another planet, and you are sitting at my table waiting for a coffee.”

Styanar sat with a mischievous grin on her face. “Damn it Ed, who greased your synapses?”

Ed continued undeterred. “It just hit me like a ton of bricks. You act so much like a human, you are wearing tight jeans and a leather jacket. It just came crashing in on me. You are a bloody real live Alien!”

“Well I am only ‘live’ thanks to you,” she paused, her grin returning. “I am wearing tight jeans now why would you mention that?”

“Oh you even tie me up with my words just like my shortly to be ex wife used to do,” Ed said handing her a cup of coffee and jug of cream.

Styanar’s face suddenly turned very serious. “I am sorry things did not work with your wife.”

“It’s okay,” Ed replied, “things had been going downhill for a while. Now at least we can talk to each other without shouting. It is just one of those things.”

“Marriages amongst my kind, or rather on my Tegasi side, are based on matters financial with families bidding for the hand of the daughters from influential families.” She reached for the cream, pouring as much as would fit into the cup. “I would not subscribe to such a notion. I am not a prize cow to be auctioned off.”

“I can see how that would upset you,” Ed said taking a sip of his coffee.

“I’m only half Tegasi anyhow, far too successful in business in my own right and I don’t exactly find members of my mother’s race attractive. They are dumpy little lizard creatures who drink oil and smell of rotten eggs,” the smile returned. “I think my mother must have drugged my father.”

Ed sat slack jawed. Unless he had misunderstood her, she had just told him she was half lizard. He could understand why her skin was the way it was now, and yes, it did have a vague reptilian look to it, although on her it was certainly appealing. Her blue eyes were regarding him intently, and twinkling with merriment, an act that caused her nose to wrinkle in a most endearing way.

“Still,” she added, “they are nowhere near as bad as those from my father’s race.” She laughed as he stumbled for a response and reached out to pat his hand. “I am joking.”

He could only nod dumbly. The conversation, to him, felt very much like the kind you had when you went to chat a woman up in a bar, only to find she was a barrister and she ran rings round your small talk leaving you crawling on hands and knees back to your bar stool.

“I wear a patch on my arm that supplies me with the elements I need when I know I am coming to Earth,” noting his confusion, she pointed to her nose. “No breathing tubes today, but yesterday I made an unexpected visit, crashing less than four hundred yards from here and damaging my failsafe breathing device in the process. The irony is that a Tegasi could happily breathe your air as they have a very different respiratory system to me. It is just me that is crippled here.”

“Well it is just a good job I run an electrical wholesale business Styanar, or I might have not known what to do to fix the unit on your back. Anyway I am just glad you are okay.”

“Then I was even luckier than I could have imagined,” she said. “Now, for the main reason I am here. I made you a promise that I would reward you and I intend to honour that promise.”

“There really is no need Styanar,” Ed interrupted. “Saving you, getting to meet you is reward enough. I must be the first human to meet an alien, and that is just incredible.”

“Well actually the second, as well you know, and we both know what that first meeting led to,” she winked at him. “But anyway, your reward, Ed I intend to give you a spaceship.”

Ed, who had just taken a swig of his coffee involuntarily gasped and managed to fill his lungs with not only air, but coffee too, which he then, during the inevitable coughing fit that followed, managed to propel across the table and all over Styanar.

Styanar reached for a napkin and made a dramatic show of wiping coffee from her face and jacket. “It is a good job I didn’t offer to have your babies, or I could have finished you off completely!”

Ed’s coughing fit dissolved into laughter as he waved his own napkin at her in surrender. “I know you were only joking,” seeing the malicious grin spread on her face, he added. “On both counts, that is.”

Her head twisted to one side as she regarded him silently. Ed had the uncomfortable feeling that she was weighing him up.

“Besides,” Ed added, “I struggle to drive a truck. Can you just imagine me trying to pilot a spaceship?”

“A spaceship is easier Ed. There is far less to hit,” she replied.

“Apart from planets of course,” Ed said sniggering into his coffee cup. “But there again Earth is only small. It probably never showed up on your radar.”

Styanar gasped. “Well I do believe you just got the better of me! I hadn’t been keeping too close an eye on the score, but I think that makes it six – one or, is it seven – one, in my favour? Now before you can think of anything else rude to say, I must point out my offer is genuine. I am going to give you a spaceship.”

“You surely are not serious? You have to admit you have been having some fun at my expense. I just assumed this was just another joke,” Ed replied with a bemused look on his face.

“I am very serious Ed. Don’t you understand I would be dead if not for you!” Styanar said, reaching over and squeezing his hand.

“I didn’t do that for a reward; I think this is a little too much to sink in, Styanar. I am struggling, as it is. I just want to leap up and down and point at you. Yesterday I was forced to listen to the miserable drivel from the people who work for me, and I just wanted to grab them and tell them I had met a beautiful alien lady with an amazing laugh.”

Styanar smiled at the praise. “Steady on Ed, you don’t have to work for it. I have already agreed to give you a ship, and try as you might I am not going to make it two!”

“I didn’t expect even one, I still don’t and the comments were meant as a compliment not a bargaining point,” Ed said, a little miffed at her response.

Styanar frowned, staring Ed in the eyes for a few seconds. “Then thank you. There will be a few rules of course. The first, and most important rule, is that you must maintain secrecy. The second is you don’t go shooting things, unless it is in self defence and the third...,” she looked over Ed’s shoulder and grinned.

Ed looked behind him to see a very sheepish looking Kipling stood in the doorway to the bedroom with his neck straining to push his head as far forward as possible to get a better look at Styanar. The rest of him had concluded it was far safer to remain in the bedroom.

“Oh come on Kipling, don’t embarrass yourself any further,” Ed said in exasperation. “He has always been a bit nervous with strangers.”

“And they don’t come much stranger than me,” Styanar chuckled. “Do you have any food he would like that I could coax him with?”

Ed reached behind him retrieving a large bag of dog biscuits from the worksurface and handed them to Styanar. “This may do the trick.”

Styanar started shaking the packet before reaching inside to pull out a handful of biscuits.

It was all too much for Kipling as he took one timid step after the other towards her alternately whining and growling.

“Well it would appear he has more to say than you do,” Styanar said.

Kipling arrived at the table and sat three feet away from Styanar, tail wagging slowly with his head stretched so far forward he was in danger of overbalancing.

Styanar sat with biscuit laden outstretched hand less than a foot away from Kipling’s nose, her face lit up with pleasure.

“Do you have any pets Styanar?” Ed asked.

Styanar was busy laughing as greed got the better of Kipling who had buried his head in the palm full of proffered biscuits all fearful thoughts extinguished.

“You mean apart from the lizards that work for me?” she said with a chuckle as Kipling was now twisting his head to get at the last of the biscuits in her palm. “Yes I do have a pet called Kyaan, she is a little like a dog, but reptilian.”

“I couldn’t imagine life without Kipling. I agreed to hand over the family home as part of the upcoming divorce settlement as long as I could keep him,” Ed watched as Kipling pawed at Styanar demanding more biscuits. “I hope I get the chance to meet Kyaan one day.”

Styanar looked up from Kipling, once again holding Ed’s eyes with head tilted over to one side and the makings of a smile on her lips. “Well that brings us neatly onto the third rule that comes with this highly sophisticated, unbelievably expensive, ship that I propose to give you,” she sat back and smiled.

“Oh and what’s that Styanar?” Ed asked.

For some reason Styanar could no longer hold his gaze, her head dropped to look at Kipling now seated at her side with his head resting on her lap. She seemed to concentrate all her attention on fussing over him.

“I want you and Kipling to come and visit me whenever you can,” Styanar said in a quiet voice before biting her bottom lip.

Ed studied her in profile as she bent over Kipling gently stroking him. With a shock, he realised that sometime in the last few minutes he had stopped thinking of her as an alien. Her forehead bulged a little where the bridge of her nose splayed outwards over each eye to form a bony ridge. Her spine was also a little more pronounced than on a full human, but these just felt like observations now and nothing more.

He liked her, he enjoyed her company, and she evidently enjoyed his.

“Try and stop me!” he said with conviction.

Styanar let out a huge breath that Ed had not realised she had been holding. The hiss of air through her teeth was so dramatic that Kipling let off a little yelp and leapt back a pace before returning to offer himself up for another good stroke.

“Thank you,” she said quietly.

Ed was more than a little unnerved as she relaxed back in her chair staring at him intensely. Absently she stroked Kipling who was sat contentedly at her side with his head laid on her lap.

After almost a full minute, he began to shuffle nervously. She had not even blinked.

“Oh I am sorry! Ed I was brought up by a different species. When we are comfortable with someone, we stare. I had not even realised it would make you feel quite the opposite.”

“It’s okay. What was it like?” Ed asked.

“A little scary really, your ears stick out far too much and your teeth are far too square,” Styanar chuckled.

Ed barked out a laugh “I’ll give you two points for that, so we’ll call it nine-one. Now just so there is no confusion I’ll ask again. What was it like being brought up by the Tegasi?”

“It was hard being different. My mother taught me at home because children can be cruel, no matter how advanced the society they come from,” Styanar broke into a smile. “And besides I was bigger and far stronger than any of them and bloodied one snout too many.”

“You mean bloodied noses?” Ed interrupted.

In response, Styanar rolled back her jacket sleeve to reveal the same device she had worn when he had first seen her. She tapped the screen a few times and a small holographic image about a foot tall appeared of what Ed imagined must be a Tegasi.

“Oh you do mean snout,” Ed said slowly.

“This is my mother,” Styanar said.

“She’s very erm... You’ve got her erm...,” Ed stumbled over his words.

Styanar pressed the display on her wrist once more and the hologram detached itself from the device to balance on the table next to her now empty coffee cup.

“I’ve got her what dear? Do take your time,” she said leaning back into her chair.

“You’ve got her claws,” Ed said weakly.

Styanar smiled, albeit a little sadly. “I love my mother, as any daughter would, but your reaction to her species is exactly how I feel every day I spend with them. I used to come to Earth as often as I could because I feel far more human than Tegasi. Yet I have to stay hidden from sight. You are not a space-faring species and so I am forbidden by galactic law from interacting with humankind.”

“So you have never spoken to another human, other than your father of course, before me?” Ed questioned.

“I never knew my Father. My mother would never say anything of him at all. She still will not. I made the discovery myself, just a few years ago, that my father was human.” Styanar breathed deeply, once again biting at her bottom lip. “You are the first human I have ever spoken to.”

Ed gasped. “That is awful.” He suddenly picked up on what she said earlier. “What do you mean you used to come to Earth?”

“I told you I was forbidden from interacting with mankind by galactic law. Well recently, the High Council ‘suggested’ that your entire Solar System was put out of bounds for no other reason than to try and strike at me. I still come, just a little less often. It does not pay to upset the Council any more than necessary.”

“Well I am just glad you didn’t follow their suggestion entirely,” Ed said with a smile.

“I am afraid that is not quite the end of it. This suggestion was made initially by my commercial competitors who detest the fact that a ‘half blood’, as they call me in private, has a bigger business Empire than the next two biggest combined.”

Ed watched as Styanar’s claws began digging into the oak table.

“Oops,” she said, looking a little embarrassed. She held up a clawed hand. “I can’t even cut them. They have a blood supply running through the nail itself.”

“I like them,” Ed said, “and I think Kipling approves too. Anyhow, you were talking about having problems with competitors, and that is something with which, I can empathise. I have nearly been put out of business by one myself.”

“I will do business with you Ed, consider your business saved,” Styanar said absently.

“I...” Ed stumbled for words. “How would you be able to do that?” After a second, he added “Thank you.”

“I have more than a dozen organisations on Earth, and others on the planets of a further fifteen pre-space faring species in this region of space alone. The Tegasi are an avaricious species and all regulations are relaxed when it comes to matters financial,” Styanar said.

“Wow. I don’t even know what to say, you have just casually offered to save a business that my grandfather started. Thank you seems so inadequate. By god you must have a huge business empire!” Ed said, sitting back in his chair shaking his head in bemusement.

“I have the biggest business empire in the galaxy Ed, and by a long way. I manufacture everything from food stuffs to warships.” Styanar laughed as Ed’s mouth dropped open.

“I should have held out for two ships,” Ed said smiling, still shaking his head.

“And if you’d pushed I am sure I would have stretched to three.” Styanar grinned in response.

“They must really hate you? Your competitors I mean,” Ed said.

“They hate me enough to try and kill me, which was precisely the reason for my unexpected appearance yesterday. Someone sabotaged my ship, and undoubtedly my breathing apparatus too. It is not the first attempt, not by a long way, and it surely won’t be the last,” she sighed. “I have had enough of it Ed. They would have succeeded this time if not for you. I’ll take no more from them.”

“Can’t you go to the authorities?” Ed asked.

“Look at me!” Styanar shouted. “I am a half breed! They hate me for my success. For all I know those authorities could be the ones that sabotaged my ship.” Seeing Ed frown she added. “No not paranoia, just a Tegasi trait. They exist for the pursuit of wealth and no more.”

Ed sat silently. He was shocked by her emotional outburst. He watched her as the anger drained away from her, replaced by sadness.

She got to her feet, and walked to the window, her back to him, with hands gripping the granite worksurface tightly. “I am sick of it Ed. I am going to do the one thing I can; I am going to put each and every one of them out of Business.”

Ed stood and walked round the table to stand at her side. He reached to put a comforting arm around her but she quickly twisted towards him and buried her head in his shoulder throwing her arms around him, sobbing pitifully.

He held her for a few minutes until the sobbing stopped. She eventually pulled back and stood there just in front of him staring at her feet.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

“Does staring at your feet also mean you are feeling comfortable Styanar?” Ed said with a chuckle. “Or do you simply prefer your feet to staring at my oversized ears and messed up teeth!” He felt an urgent need to make her smile.

It worked, after a fashion, as she raised her head to regard him with the makings of a smile playing across her lips, albeit sad, and perhaps just a little forced.

“Make me another coffee you foolish man, and this time leave enough room for a respectable amount of cream. The last was barely drinkable,” she replied, grinning at him.

Her smile this time appeared genuine and he found himself grinning back at her as he set about pouring another coffee.

He looked round to see she had walked into the living room with Kipling at her side and, removing her boots, she sat in one of the two chairs. She curled her long legs under her and plumped up the cushions before laying her head on them, her eyes half closed eyes.

“Can I make you something to eat?” Ed asked.

“Something sweet would be nice,” she answered in a dreamy voice as she stretched her arms out in front of her.

Kipling was sat in front of her chair sniffing at her naked feet bringing the occasional little giggle from her.

From the fridge, Ed recovered a quarter piece of chocolate cake, and transferred it into an oversize bowl before emptying most of a tub of double cream on it.

“I think you might enjoy this. It is called chocolate cake. I took the liberty of putting a little cream on it for you,” Ed grinned as he handed her the bowl of cake and placed the coffee and additional cream on the table beside her.

“I think I could get used to such treatment,” Styanar replied sitting up and staring in the bowl before sniffing at the contents.

“It feels kind of daft to say, but I love cooking. I love baking. One of my biggest regrets when I separated from my wife is that most meals for one come out of a packet rather than being prepared. Still I made the cake myself,” Ed said sitting down in the other chair facing hers, across the table.

Styanar lifted a large spoonful to her mouth, whilst cream dripped back from the underside of the spoon into the bowl. Her catlike blue eyes were watching him as she put the spoon into her mouth, chewing slowly.

Ed found he was holding his breath. “Well?” he asked.

Styanar pointed to her still half full mouth and carried on chewing, her eyes filled with mirth at Ed’s urgent need for comment. She chewed slowly before swallowing.

“Well?” he asked again.

She took a deep breath waving the empty spoon at Ed, a slight frown on her face before quickly shovelling another full spoon of cake into her mouth. Laughing, as she dribbled cream down her chin, at Ed’s mock outrage.

“It is a wonder your wife agreed to a separation Ed. You may be dreadful company but your cake more than makes up for it,” she said winking.

“You have more barbs on your compliments than an angler has on the hooks in his tackle box!” Ed chortled as she shoved yet more cake into an already almost full mouth.

He watched her as she continued eating, a fact she seemed to enjoy until, relenting to Kipling’s equally eager stare, she offered up the bowl for him to lick clean.

“I’ll take you to your ship in the morning if that is okay Ed?” She awaited his enthusiastic nod before continuing. “I had intended to take you tonight but my stomach is so full that I am too tired to really explain things properly.”

“I still can’t believe it Styanar,” Ed paused. “That’s not true, I can believe it. It is just I don’t really know what to expect. Luckily it is a Bank Holiday tomorrow, so I don’t have to worry about work either.”

“Oh you will know what to expect soon enough Ed,” she said whilst removing her jacket, revealing a white sleeveless half top that ended just where her stomach started.

“You’ve got no belly button!” Ed blurted out pointing an accusing finger at her stomach.

“Oh it’s okay I have got a spare one somewhere,” she said grinning at him.

“Then...” Ed started.

“You really don’t want to know,” she replied.

“But...”

“Well I would show you if you really insist, but I really don’t think I know you well enough,” Styanar replied, tilting her head to one side.

“Oh sorry it is just... Sorry!” Ed could say no more as he felt his face redden under her scrutiny.

“I can see the subject is fascinating to you, and I promise after showing you your ship in the morning I will take you through a Tegasi pregnancy and birth in intricate detail if you would so desire,” she said throwing a challenging grin at him.

“You know, Styanar, I think coping with a spaceship will be quite enough for my undersized male brain don’t you?” Ed replied.

Styanar laughed as she got to her feet and stretched, arching her back as she did; an action that caused certain other parts to be all too prominently displayed.

“Are you going now, Styanar?” he said feeling his face flushing once more drawing his eyes from her chest back to her face with an effort.

“Going?” she said. “I had intended to sleep here if I may.”

Seeing him gasp she added quickly. “I didn’t mean that! I meant on the settee!” She looked at him and grinned. “Sorry to disappoint you and all that.”

“Oh Styanar, my poor head! What are you doing to me? It is as if you know exactly which button to press to leave me speechless! Oh I’ll get you some blankets.” Ed said throwing his arms in the air as he walked into the bedroom.

It took him a few minutes to dig out some spare blankets and a pillow for her. He had found the ones with a floral design on them. They had been his wife’s favourite.

When he returned into the living room she was lying on her side on the settee, her eyes closed, with an arm round Kipling who was snuggled up beside her.

He stood in the doorway for a minute just watching her. She was fast asleep, as was Kipling. God she was beautiful.

He walked over and gently unfolded the blanket over her, tucking it in gently around both her and Kipling. One of her eyes opened and she sighed contentedly before closing it again and began purring very much like a cat.

With a warm glow of contentment Ed tip-toed his way back to his own room, slipped under his blankets, and fell into a deep dreamless sleep of his own.


© Copyright 2011 G.J.Rutherford All rights reserved.

[Gavrushka]

I'd put this up a year ago, but removed it when thoughts of writing commercially occupied my mind... - This is an excert from the first chapter of a book that stretches to 121,000 words.

It is, as far as I am concerned, finished. - I've an extensive reader group who have journeyed through this with me- They age from teens through to 73, and the reaction has been universally encouraging.

[Morkonan]

I used Word while going through this and, by habit, used colors and such for my edit/comment text. That doesn't easily translate well to copy/paste. Also, there's quite a bit of redundant text, as I'm working and referencing a live copy. That would probably clog up the forum a bit, since I can not use collapsible windows on this forum to hide large blocks of text. (Spoilers just make the text the background color.)

So, I exported the first four pages as a .pdf file which can be found here:

http://www.zshare.net/download/97148972568f4378/

It's just a free file host. The pdf has been virus scanned, etc.

But, in the interest of spurring dialogue, I'll include a few comments on the first few pages:

*************

He remembered her amazing eyes so clearly, the gentle laughter too; it seemed inconceivable he had just imagined her.

(“amazing” – Avoid the cliché’. If you have to, invent a new word. Anything but a cliché’. So, instead of describing her eyes as “amazing”, you need to describe them. One word is nice, but a couple, would be better, in this case. Follow “her amazing eyes so clearly” with a metaphor or simile. Water metaphors are always popular, so I would tend to avoid them myself. But, choose your own for her eyes and give a few words to describe them, in an amazing way, the reader. The same might go with “gentle laughter.” But, you have to get past the eyes, first, to see how everything reads. Hook the reader, right off the bat, with a good punch-line for describing her eyes. Stretch your legs, get the reader not only interested in your main character, but this person you are describing that they have not yet met.)

He sat with his back to a tree absently rolling an acorn between thumb and forefinger, his eyes focussed on the log cabin that had been his home for the last few weeks. (Joining these paragraphs – Some paragraphs need to be joined, IMO, in order to keep the pace comfortable. Too many paragraph breaks will leave the reader with a stunted experience, like flying rapidly over the terrain instead of walking through it. That’s great for epics and action pieces, but not something I would think would be good for this bit of introspection. It appears you want your reader comfortable, right now. But, it’s just my opinion. It’s your piece.) The events of yesterday, he thought, had to be the creation of a mind unhinged whilst trying to save the electrical wholesale business founded by his grandfather.

Ed’s thoughts drifted back to the strange events of the previous evening:

(Long italicized flashback sequence follows.)

(Never use this much italic. It’s fine for a short piece, internal dialogue, a few remembered moments. But, anything more than a sentence or three and it’s an eyesore. I guarantee the reader will be inclined to skip it in its entirety. Readers are conditioned to skip large blocks of italics as they’re usually the boring part of any bit of text in a School textbook that isn’t required for the test... So, if you absolutely must have this extended flashback scene, remove the italics. I guarantee, as well, your editor will want them removed. *ADD - Well, I'm not an editor, so maybe he won't want them removed. But, pages of italicized text would be an eyesore and it's really not necessary. The reader, if they have been reading, will be able to understand that section of text is a flashback or otherwise unique.)

A Note on Flashbacks: Flashbacks tell your reader that your narrator has already survived whatever it is that they are relating. Think on that, for a moment… There is no drama with little risk and a flashback, typically, represents “no risk” for the character relating the flashback. Any drama in a flashback is, therefore, hollow.. unless it supports the creation of present risk. For instance, a prisoner awaiting his death-sentence might very well relate his story and that story will still contain a good bit of drama – We know the prisoner is about to be executed, we want to find out why.

Before I read the flashback, I’ll add a piece of advice that you will usually find authors recommending –If you have a big flashback that is full of interesting things and dramatically influences your character, why in the hell should you make it a flashback when, instead, it should be a part of the main story! Anytime you have such a situation where you are leading into a very dramatic flashback from what appears to be a boring segment, always consider starting your novel FROM the flashback, making it present day, and then moving on from there. Usually, you’ll find your work a lot more enjoyable to read.

That's just a few of the types of things in the .pdf file. If such feedback meets with your approval, I will continue. Just let me know.

[Gavrushka]

ON the eyes, I go on to describe them slightly later, - should I do so again? - Or just change the word, perhaps to remarkable? - The idea was to portray 'simplistic awe' - These are his thoughts, not those of the narrator. Gentle laughter I need to keep - allow me that one, or at least let me know your judgement after you see the second occurence.

Yeh, the paragraphs... I was in two minds... I read it was punchier to keep them short, but my instincts said join them- I'll change this and see how the reader group react.

The flashback will need to stay, or I don't have the ability to change the way it is written - BUT I can see it would be easy to just put an extra blank line before and after to pull it out of the main text. - There is one other occasion, later on, where I use an even longer flashback... Danielle Trussoni did one of the longest ever flash backs I have ever seen... It stretched to around 200 pages! LOL

The flashback is part of the main story, but unfortunately it is an event that cannot be related in a sequential fashion without damaging the impact - OR rather I can't see a way to do it without affecting the reader's entertainment.- The second flashback, much later in the story, is 32 years back in time. I'd never really appreciated it as an issue.

(*SS or Mark, if either of you can download the PDF and send it to me, it would be very much appreciated.*)


I can't download the PDF, unfortunately, it just reverts to a 'your download will begin in...' and then counts once more at the end - It offers up a symbol for android scan, and that is all.

You have no idea how much help this is to me, and I am sure to many others that read your comments.

[Gavrushka]

Morkonan, my magnificient muse has downloaded and forwarded me the PDF, and I've now had a chance to read it. - I agree with almost every point, with a couple of minor exceptions.

On the point of 'localisation' I had assumed it was the job of others to do such - wind, I thought was generally accepted - perhaps flatulent is better, of 'guffy bear is being guffy'.

You are very thorough, and had me facepalming with one or two things you picked up.

The very reason you gave for NOT repeating the word inconceivable, was the very reason I DID use it... LOL... -I think I will debate that one long and hard.

This is a mixture of proof-read and constructive criticism, and I am a little over-awed- Thank you.

[Morkonan]

ON the eyes, I go on to describe them slightly later, - should I do so again? - Or just change the word, perhaps to remarkable? - The idea was to portray 'simplistic awe' - These are his thoughts, not those of the narrator.

Well, "simplistic" is fine. If you have a reason for choosing a word, that's fine too. Just be sure the reason works out to be valid. Here, have you successfully set up this character as being somewhat "simplistic" in their internal dialogue? It might be sort of difficult to do. And, there's the question of whether or not you want to build up the reader's interest in this female character by using this first character's internal dialogue. For instance, if he referred to her as a "cast iron bitch" you'd certainly set the stage for the reader to have a negative opinion of her. Is she really that beautiful or alluring to the character who is thinking about her eyes? Maybe so. Maybe even if he's "simplistic" he could evoke something from the reader.

"Her hair smelled like freshly baked bread. I always liked bread. It makes me think of home."

That's "simplistic" isn't it? Yet, it offers an experience to the reader and evokes their own emotions and memories of "home" and that comfy, warm feeling the writer might be trying to communicate.

Gentle laughter I need to keep - allow me that one, or at least let me know your judgement after you see the second occurence.

That's fine. Like I said above, if you have a reason for doing something, then it's good enough for me. If I can see it, I'll note it. If I can't.. well, I suppose I won't.

Yeh, the paragraphs... I was in two minds... I read it was punchier to keep them short, but my instincts said join them- I'll change this and see how the reader group react.

Feel free to get feedback on any of my comments. They're not set in stone. They're on-the-fly observations and such. But, as far as "punchier", don't create "punchier" when there are no punches. Remember, "Pace" is very important. If it's a rapid, punchy pace, then it had better be a rapid, punchy bit of the story.

Imagine a scene where a character is sculpting a clay model.

The clay was soft, forgiving. My hands circled around it, drawing it out. I moved to the base and spun the wheel again, listening to the beat of the music in the background. My thumbs pressed inwards, towards the center, and the clay moved with life.

vs

The clay was soft, forgiving.

My hands circled around it, drawing it out.

I moved to the base and spun the wheel again, listening to the beat of the music in the background.

My thumbs pressed inwards, towards the center, and the clay moved with life.

(A pretty terrible example, especially since I used "soft" and "forgiving" in the open. But, the Pace effect that I'm trying to relate should, at least, be detectable. Or, it might suck as a good example. Lol)

The flashback will need to stay, or I don't have the ability to change the way it is written - BUT I can see it would be easy to just put an extra blank line before and after to pull it out of the main text. - There is one other occasion, later on, where I use an even longer flashback... Danielle Trussoni did one of the longest ever flash backs I have ever seen... It stretched to around 200 pages! LOL

I you must have the flashback, be sure it is absolutely necessary and there is no way around it. If so, that's understandable. But, it's not, necessarily, desirable. It's like getting a tooth pulled - It has to be done, but nobody likes to see it done very often.

One thing I think you can do before you hit the flashback is make the narrarator/character more significant to the reader. Since you have a dog there, and dogs always do this (Dunno why, it's how humans are built.) then have the character touch the dog. Yes, the dog is there and the character interacts with it. But, have the character ruffle the dogs muzzle or something. Get him to briefly interact with the dog. I would choose something like "Stage Direction" in a bit of dialogue. ie:

Ed stroked his dog's flank, gave him an affectionate pat and said "Come on, old horse. It's time to go."

Something like that evokes something from us, even if we're not dog lovers. It's a human mystery.

(Stage Direction are those things that a character does while speaking or holding internal dialogue. ie: "Where the hell is my pot" she said, as she rummaged around the kitchen cabinets. "Where did you put it?"

The flashback is part of the main story, but unfortunately it is an event that cannot be related in a sequential fashion without damaging the impact - OR rather I can't see a way to do it without affecting the reader's entertainment.- The second flashback, much later in the story, is 32 years back in time. I'd never really appreciated it as an issue.

If it is part of a particular mechanic you are using that has significance, that's fine. I can only offer general comments and suggestions. Remember, your "Voice" is your own. While I might be able to give Style suggestions, I can not create your Voice. That is yours.

You have no idea how much help this is to me, and I am sure to many others that read your comments.

I hope it is a help and doesn't force on a dreaded episode of Writer's Block! If that happens, let me know and I'll give you some exercises and such to break it or try to help you stumble through it.

(Combining your replies)

On the point of 'localisation' I had assumed it was the job of others to do such - wind, I thought was generally accepted - perhaps flatulent is better, of 'guffy bear is being guffy'.

It's up to the reader. But, it's up to you to Write for the Audience. I just noted that in order to bring that particular small bit up. "Wind", "Tins" (For cans/containers), "Lorry" (Some sort of weird Brit transport, I think. ) and "Bollocks" (Even though I don't know what the heck that actually means.) are likely to be understood, conceptually, by the rest of the English speaking world. Still, if you have a lot of that going on and the Setting is Connecticut in the United States, then the character/narrator using those words had better be a Brit! Anyway, it's not a big issue at all. I just wanted to mention it. In fact, after thinking on it, I think you should probably keep "Wind." Using that word contributes to the setting. (I assume the character or setting uses British/non-American English.)

The very reason you gave for NOT repeating the word inconceivable, was the very reason I DID use it... LOL... -I think I will debate that one long and hard.

If repetitions WAS your intent, then keep it, by all means! You have stated you wanted the character to have "simplistic" thoughts. Then, his Internal Dialogue should be simplistic as well.

I'll work on a few more pages tonight. I'll try to be a bit more specific when a suggestion is for a "Correction" versus one that is merely meant to be illustrative and bring up a bit of information regarding style.

Would it be OK with you to continue using .pdf downloads or is it more convenient for you to have them posted in a thread or PM? It's easier for me to format my suggestions and corrections so they can be easily understood by using different colors. Plus, it keeps eyesores off the board. However, I could PM you the full portion and then post important excerpts, in case others wish to read them, as I did earlier, if you prefer that. Just let me know and I'll be happy to comply with any format you'd like.

[Gavrushka]

Please carry on by PDF, if it is best for you Morkonan.; you can even leave cryptic clues attached in obscure places and I'll treasure hunt my way to your comments if you prefer!

I will try and work a way to grab the PDFs myself, but if I cannot not, then there is someone who can download it and send it to me.

There is one important point about Ed and his reaction to thoughts of Styanar, the reasoning behind which you will find out fairly soon. - Ed is simply over-awed by her and, although he is fairly bright, she dwarfs him intellectually.

I need to rethink 'flashbacks', if they make readers ache. - In the other book, I have had a character reminisce to fulfill the same role - It seemed appropriate, and it was several thousand years he looked back... - But I wanted Ed at the tree at his cabin at the start of the book, yet I needed to quickly drop to the night before... The impact, I feel, would be lost be starting with him driving to the cabin, then leaping over the next day to the following evening when he once again met her...

...Damn, writing is hard!

In the original pre-flashback scene it was lengthier, but added little... - I will look carefully and see if there is any way I can help the reader bond. -My idea, naively I am sure, was the opening lines mentioning Styanar would encourage the reader to 'bear with me'.

I know that first page is where I could possibly lose half the readers...

I already feel like my arsenal of writing tools has doubled; I just hope and pray that I put it to good use. - I trust that my reader group will give me a swift kick in the 'bollocks' if I mess up however!

[Gavrushka]

Okay, I've tried to take everything onboard, and made alterations where you have suggested... I'll need opinions from my reader group that in putting it right, I've not lost anything. - I feel happier with it now and that must mean something!

Altered beginning in following post:

[Gavrushka]

Chapter 1 (as revised)


‘Styanar’, the word sat comfortably on Ed’s tongue.

He remembered her remarkable eyes so clearly, the gentle laughter too; it seemed inconceivable he had just imagined her.

And equally inconceivable that he hadn’t.

He sat with his back to a tree absently rolling an acorn between thumb and forefinger, his eyes focussed on the log cabin that had been his home for the last few weeks. The events of yesterday, he thought, had to be the creation of a mind unhinged whilst trying to save the electrical wholesale business founded by his grandfather.

The toil of three generations had seen the business grow from his Grandfather’s garage with his office in his basement, into a small shop, and then fifteen years ago expanding into a respectable sized warehouse now employing thirty people.

As every Sunday, he had gone to visit his Grandfather, almost ninety now, in his nursing home. Talk had turned to business and Ed had been forced to admit how bad things had become, sales having slowed to less than half what they had been.

Ed was crushed by the tears that had appeared in his Grandfather’s eyes, by the hurt and disappointment on his face even as he offered his Grandson encouragement. He had promised his Grandfather he was trying, doing everything in his power to save the business.

Trying and failing.

He knew Alphanamp Ltd, his unwanted competitor, everyone in the electrical trade did. The company had systematically taken up residence in every town and city within a hundred miles, always on their main competitor’s doorstep. The result was always the same; the competition was destroyed.

Such thoughts dragged his mood downwards and they were more unwelcome than ever this evening. There was no solution to be found anyhow; he just wasn’t quite ready to admit failure, not tonight. Real world problems could wait until Tuesday, when he was back in the office. Tonight he was going to meet Styanar.

“Was last night real Kipling?” he enquired of the Labrador slumbering peacefully at his feet.

Kipling, in response, opened his eyes, lifted his head towards his master and gave him a look that spoke of irritation before, with a dramatic sigh, dropping his head back down onto his paws, to seek sleep once more.

Ed’s thoughts drifted back to the strange events of the previous evening:


The drive home had started just like any other. Ever since he had separated from his wife, last spring, he had driven to the cabin they had bought up in the mountains fifteen miles out of town, fifteen miles away from people and stress, refunds and bank managers. Fifteen glorious miles from accountants and divorce lawyers.

He turned off what was deemed the main road, in reality little more than mud and rock graced with a hint of tarmac, onto the rutted track which was the sole access to his mountain retreat.

Ed had the radio on, keeping it turned down low; it felt wrong to have it any louder as he travelled through the forest. Foolish he knew, but he had an almost reverent respect for the forest; after all, it had been the most gentle of counsellors, helping him come to terms with the split from his wife. So it was that he heard the muffled ‘thump’ reminiscent of the noise he remembered from his childhood when the mining company blasted the rock face, at the quarry, two miles away from his home.

He brought the truck to an abrupt stop, and dropped the window. In the rear view mirror, he could see Kipling bolt upright and looking off in the direction Ed had also thought the noise must have come from.

“It was probably just a bear with wind,” Ed said chuckling.

Kipling seemed to accept this most unlikely of explanations and laid back down on the back seat as Ed continued the journey up the hill.

When he pulled up outside the cabin, he did not need Kipling’s warning growl to tell him he had a visitor. There was someone moving just inside the tree line, caught by his headlights.


..........

[Morkonan]

Please carry on by PDF, if it is best for you Morkonan.; you can even leave cryptic clues attached in obscure places and I'll treasure hunt my way to your comments if you prefer!

Will do. I'm not sure why you were unable to d'load the .pdf. It is probably due to "Permission" settings in your firewall or browser. You need to let javascript run on that page in order to download the pdf. If that's an issue, I'll see what else I can work out.

...Damn, writing is hard!

Writing is easy. Good writing is hard. Even pros that know all the tricks and tips get their submissions rejected. Though it's rarely, especially if they're an established author. But, it happens.

...I know that first page is where I could possibly lose half the readers...

No you won't. We're gonna fix it so you capture their attention and hold it!

I already feel like my arsenal of writing tools has doubled; I just hope and pray that I put it to good use. - I trust that my reader group will give me a swift kick in the 'bollocks' if I mess up however!

Bah! You've got balls of steel! As a writer, and prospective author, you have to... Everyone wants a free kick.

OK, now, on your flashback. After you've given me a bit of future history and told me "Why" you want it, I think I know what you can do in order to keep it AND keep the readers from dreading it. You have to give them something to look forward to, first. I'll explain:

The readers don't care about Ed. They don't care about his tree. They don't care about his cabin, his pining over some woman, his shoes, his body odor after sitting out in the sun all day, whining about some chick nor do they care about his dog. Well, yeah, they care about the dog. But, they couldn't give a crap about Ed even if you beat them to death with a wooden fork. If Ed jumped off a cliff, they wouldn't care one bit. Unless he didn't feed the dog, first. Then, they'd be really ticked off...

So, Ed whining about some woman in the opening doesn't mean a whole lot to readers. Sure, a few who just broke up with their girlfriends might get interested. But, that's it. (Well, maybe an ophthalmologist or two, depending on how you wrote the eye part.) And, if they don't care about Ed, don't care about his love-life and are in a hurry to see whether or not they're going to read the rest of the book, they're surely not going to care about finding out about more stuff they don't care about. Get it? The reader doesn't care about that flashback because there's nothing of interest there for them. (Note: Pulp romance novels are entirely different and follow a very specific formula that their readers have come to expect. I am assuming this isn't a pulp romance. If it is, I can't help you there as I haven't the foggiest clue what their patented Five Step Plan is.)

Now, we are going to fix all of this. At least, I am going to give you some suggestions and you can figure out for yourself if they will work, improve the telling of the story or even fit within your plans for the story.



Fixing It:]/b] Getting the reader to care about Ed within the frame you have set for the opening, getting the reader interested in the story and getting the reader to really care about reading the flashback.

1) Ed needs to be a human being. Everyone can identify with emotions, but physical things are a bit more immediate. So, get some sensations in there. Let Ed feel the sun, but for God's sake don't talk about the weather! Let him appreciate the vista he's viewing from his porch/perch. But, do it "lightly." A sentence here or there on the scene and his appreciation of it, no more than that. Also, include some tactile stuff.. An interesting opening might be Ed sitting on a sharp rock (Only if that imagery can be carried over, later.) or resting his back against a sturdy oak, feeling the bark's bite, etc.. Whatever. Get something physical in there that Ed reacts to, but isn't too dramatic.

2) Ed needs to be doing something. Nobody likes reading about a guy thinking. Well, unless it's a philosopher. But, Ed's probably a garage philosopher, intimately familiar with such heady topics as the relevance of engine mounts to everyday life and how many foot-pounds of torque it takes on a head-gasket cover and how that relates to foreign policy. So, his philosophizing isn't going to be too entertaining, unless you're going for comedy.

Here's a secret - Everyone LOVES to read about character's jobs. Seriously, it's true. There isn't one reader that would put down a book because the writer decided to give a few snippets about the main character's job. Not one. You've got a bit about Ed's job in there, but does it really matter? Is there a tie-in with his work and something else in the book? A subplot? The main plot? If not, there should be. You should at least tie-in some sort of subplot with Ed's job. Otherwise, mentioning his job is sort of a useless sail that gets no wind and just obscures things. Filler. Blech...

So, Ed needs to be doing something in this opening bit and it shouldn't be philosophizing a great deal. At least, not yet. He obviously can't start trading securities right now. Plus, it doesn't fit the scene. So, get Ed involved with some sort of action. Chopping wood, thinking about his job every time the axe strikes... or lugging his junk out of the car and into the cabin, thinking to himself about the city he left behind and some of the minor characters involved with his work's subplot... or fixing a flat tire that he notices after briefly appreciating the scenery and his absence from the city. (That would be a good one, too! The dog could get in the way while he's doing it, he talks to the dog, etc..)

Whatever it is, have Ed doing something to keep the reader interested, have him think a little about his job (Or a lot, if it's a major part of the plot) and interact with his dog about 3/4 of the way through the intro. Keep the dog, loose the tree for this part.

3) Now, here's the Atom Bomb that is going to make the reader WANT to read the flashback. Up until now, you will not have addressed the issue of the girl. Not once. Not even a hint, a stray bit of hair or her lingering perfume will be remarked upon in this opening piece. Nothing. Nada. Zilcho. Zero. What's that word you guys use? "Naught?" Anyway, whatever. The point is that you are going to introduce this girl in the flashback. You're not going to say a darn thing about her in the opening. If you do, the reader won't be rewarded with the introduction of her character when they read the flashback. ALL, and I do mean "ALL" you are going to allude to in the last paragraph before before the flashback is that something happened which changed Ed's life forever.

Have Ed react to that thought. Let him drop his axe, his tire-iron, his cup of coffee.. whatever. Foreshadow the significance of what happened to him in whatever it is that he does in reaction to that thought barging into his peaceful little routine. But, don't let on what it actually was. The reader must not know that Ed is in love or whatever it is that makes him all googly-eyed over the girl.

That's it. That's all you have to do. If you do that, you'll get readers to read your flashback. They will identify and care about Ed (As much as they can, right now.) because he's human, does interesting things, is nice to his dog and they haven't been bored yet. They will wonder what memories he could have had that interrupted his interesting little day.

You can take the above examples and twist them around however you wish. For instance, Ed could be sewing, thinking about work and how it contrasts with the peace at the cabin, his dog gets really interested in watching his hands move, he interacts with his dog by talking to him, playfully pushing him away, goes back to his sewing, stabs his finger with the needle and then... utters the "inconceivable" lines that you wrote as his internal dialogue. Que flashback.. and.. we're rolling.

(Please, please, don't have Ed sewing! It's just a radical example of how you can take the ideas above and twist them to fit whatever you want to write. )

See how the above suggestions work for you. Write a couple of pieces to get your head around them. Twist them in your own loops for a bit and come up with your own ideas that fulfill the same sorts of things I'm describing above. Rough draft it out and then read it and read on through your flashback to see if what I have suggested is an improvement.

Note: What you should see is that none of my suggestions significantly change anything in your prologue. Many of the same mechanisms are still there. We've just taken one away and added some emphasis on others.

[Gavrushka]

Ed is gonna put on a pink wig and burst into song... Does that work?

NOW, I am unsure about not mentioning Styanar, but I can see the benefit - I need to think on an approach... - In the meantime, I have adapted the end of the pre-flashback scene... I hope it is of use...

... I do like the idea of not mentioning Styanar, but that is bloody hard...

OH, I just realised, I didn't mention her in the first version.... I don't have that now...

SS, do you have an archived first draft?

Anyway - Altered approach to flashback is below:

[Gavrushka]

..............

Kipling, in response, opened his eyes, lifted his head towards his master and gave him a look that spoke of irritation before, with a dramatic sigh, dropping his head back down onto his paws, to seek sleep once more.

Ed winced as he attempted to shift position on the hard ground, forgetting he’d suffered a burn to his left hand earlier that day whilst replacing a blown fuse in the mains board at work. He stared at the bandage hand and chuckled; his mind really had been elsewhere today. Still it had given his staff something to smile about, once they had realised he’d not been seriously hurt. Laughter had been rarely heard at work of recent; all the staff knew their jobs were far from safe.

One of the first things his father had taught him, and his grandfather had reinforced, was that a company was its people, not the offices, not the stock and not the bank balance. If his company did fold, then he would do the right thing by those that worked for him, no matter what the cost. Once again, he found his mind drifting towards dark thoughts and so he closed his eyes, pictured Styanar and found he was smiling once more.

With that, Ed’s thoughts drifted back to the strange events of the previous evening:

[Morkonan]

Sorry for the delay. A couple of things came up. I'll work up another .pdf for tomoprrow.

..............Kipling, in response, opened his eyes, lifted his head towards his master and gave him a look that spoke of irritation before, with a dramatic sigh, dropping his head back down onto his paws, to seek sleep once more.

Kipling glanced at his master from his (something that suggests a comfortable spot), chuffed an irritated snort and dropped his head to resume his afternoon nap.

1) You don't have to say that Kipling is responding to something. That is understood.

2) You don't have to say "irritated." It's better if you "Show" irritated. (There's an old writing proverb "Show, don't tell.") Here, I left in "irritated" because I'm in a hurry. But, you can remove it, add another clue to the dog's irritation (rolling eyes is a good one) and then you don't have to say "irritated" at all. The reader will feel it, instinctively, if it's done right.

3) Dropping his head to his paws. Here, which is better? Is it better to give full detail or better to let the reader imagine some for themselves? You choose.

4) (Something that suggests a comfortable spot.) I don't remember where Kipling was at the time or what his physical position was and, I'm sort of in a hurry. The point is that with what is going on with Kipling, you can further suggest his irritation by describing him relaxing in what we would think was a comfy spot. Then, he "chuffs" and does whatever, obviously irritated about being disturbed, gives his master a glance that say's "Can't you see I'm busy, here?" and goes off to sleep without a care. The comfy part, whatever it is or wherever it appears, sets the reader up for the dog's irritation.

Ed winced as he attempted to shift position on the hard ground, forgetting he’d suffered a burn to his left hand earlier that day whilst replacing a blown fuse in the mains board at work. He stared at the bandage hand and chuckled; his mind really had been elsewhere today. Still it had given his staff something to smile about, once they had realised he’d not been seriously hurt. Laughter had been rarely heard at work of recent; all the staff knew their jobs were far from safe.

Maybe. But, if he was injured at work, wouldn't that be something better told in the story, as well? Sure, for us, it wouldn't be. At least, not with what we're (you're) trying to do, here. But, the reader might think that it should be. Maybe it's something frustratingly significant that the writer is trying to pull on us! They're trying to trick us by going off-camera and doing shady stuff! Burn them!etc.. Have him bang his hand while doing something else while thinking about work, perhaps?

One of the first things his father had taught him, and his grandfather had reinforced, was that a company was its people, not the offices, not the stock and not the bank balance. If his company did fold, then he would do the right thing by those that worked for him, no matter what the cost. Once again, he found his mind drifting towards dark thoughts and so he closed his eyes, pictured Styanar and found he was smiling once more.

With that, Ed’s thoughts drifted back to the strange events of the previous evening:

Rushed. You can do better than that. You've already done better than that. You can't slide into home base before you round third. Or, cribbage a waggage, or whatever it is they do to score a point in Cricket.

Remember, it's your Voice. What I might do, specifically, is my Voice and may not suit your story. My suggestions are general, except where they are specific... But, here, if it were me, I would mix it up. Again, this is just my Voice. But, it might be a decent example of how to do something differently.. (Going roughshod over it, rough draft style to save time right now. But, should give you a feel.)

***

Ed set the tool box on top of the fender of the old truck and popped the hood. The battery cables, mostly hidden by the electrical tape from his previous repairs, had come loose from the battery again.

"See, Kip? It's just loose. We'll have it fixed in a sec."

Kipling watched on in interest for a few moments and when it was apparent that nothing edible was about to appear, he ambled over to his morning spot in front of the porch.

"Thanks Kip. You're a big help." said Ed. He grabbed a wrench and started tightening down the cable's connections. His grandfather would have been proud that he had kept this old Ford running. He had tried to do the same for his grandfather's business. But, things had been tight, lately, and there wasn't much relief on the horizon. His grandfather had told him that the most important part of the company was its people. And, if things didn't change, he was going to have to let some of them go.

Ed's grip slipped from the wrench and he stumbled forward, grazing the back of hand along the sharp edge of the Ford's old metal bodywork. Blood welled up along the cut, but it wasn't deep. He grabbed a rag from the toolbox and pressed it against the wound. He had tried to keep things the way his grandfather had wanted.

Kipling lay on his side, his head recently positioned to give him a better view of Ed's attempts at car repair. He sniffed the wounded hand as Ed sat down beside him on the grass and gave him an obligatory pat.

"I really tried, Kip. But, I don't know what more I can do." he said. Ed had tried everything to save his grandfather's business. The truck's transmission had already been replaced three times and it was due for another service call. He had made whatever deals he could, with anyone that would take them, in order to breathe life back into the company. He had tried to turn the tide, but nothing seemed to work. The old Ford wasn't going anywhere. His suppliers were closing his accounts. The bank kept calling. His customers were leaving. Nothing was going to work. The battery cables were shot. He was going to loose the company just like he had already lost his sanity.

"Did it really happen, Kip?" he asked.

The dog didn't answer.

(Gotta run. I'd tidy up the back-and-forth in the last paragraph before suggesting it, but I think you can see the kind of "unstable" pace I'm sort of shooting for, there. Again, and this is important -This would be a different Voice, not yours. The only point in providing it is to shoot you some fresh input, not to try to write your story for you.)

Add - Actually, that's kind of horrid. The last bit, anyway. But, whatever. It's "different" and I just jumbled it together at the last second to see how it read for effect. Needs work to make the pace in the last bit a bit more frantic and disjointed.

[Gavrushka]

When I started writing, I read a book called 'On Writing', by Stephen King... One of the things he said, you have just reminded me of... - Never end a sentence with a preposition... NO! LOL- That's not it... - WHAT the character says, should tell the reader how he says it, so there should be no need of further description in the narration. - IF I said that 'he said tersely' - THEN the speech he made was either not 'terse' enough, or I lacked the confidence to feel it did.

I understand that in the 'telling' rather than the 'showing'... Thank you.

I am learning a lot of rules and new techniques, but I fully recognise there is one thing I cannot learn, and that is a new style... I guess that is why I find it so difficult to read an alternative suggestion of how the words should be stacked - I take the lessons from the words, and a few minutes after my emotive reaction I had to laugh at my reaction... - Does that make sense?

I guess I can do better than the 'endear the reader to Ed' routine... - And I realise PART of the reason the ones chosen were inadequate... - I know too much about Ed, and I have allowed some 'bleed' of future knowledge... I think, as you said, a story is never finished, just finished 'enough', although I recognise these words need to change...

I've a question... - I could not, currently, go back through the entire story and change every line... SO, my question is, does there come a point where the reader trusts the author enough to carry on?

Morkonan, do you ever sleep? - I think those words were written at 3:00am, local time.

[Gavrushka]

My nephew, age 32, read the first two chapters of Styanar last night, and thoroughly enjoyed them, HOWEVER, he was clueless as to what Ed was about, with nothing at all about him in the opening. I really need to work on intros...

I've edited the start, leaving the Styanar reference in for the moment... (Sorry I realise how tedious it must be seeing my every revision of a very small section, but it forms a good reference for me) :

[Gavrushka]

‘Styanar’, the word sat comfortably on Ed’s tongue.

He remembered her remarkable eyes so clearly, the gentle laughter too; it seemed inconceivable he had just imagined her.

And equally inconceivable that he hadn’t.

His mind was numb to the enormity of last night’s events and revisiting them simply caused him confusion. The last few weeks had been hard to deal with, perhaps impossible, and he’d found solace in an imaginary world created by a mind unhinged by stress.

Three months ago, his wife had told him to leave. There had been no warning, or perhaps he had just been too busy to see one. He had arrived home from work, late one Friday night, and she’d been stood there on the doorstep, her mother at her side.

Lisa had calmly explained how she’d moved all his possessions to their holiday home, a few miles out of town and that he should see a solicitor as she was divorcing him on the grounds of ‘irreconcilable differences.’ He’d remembered apologising to her, for whatever he had done, getting back in his truck and driving off. He had seen her twice since, at work, to sign documents she’d thrust in front of him.

He’d always thought Lisa had been out of his league. She was pretty, educated and, well, he was just an electrician made good who’d inherited a thriving business from his parents. Oh, he knew he was a reasonable catch; he was good looking, with a great sense of humour, and very mild mannered but he had to admit his best feature was his wealth, courtesy of Sykes Electrical Services.

And now he was in danger of losing that too.

He sat with his back to a tree absently rolling an acorn between thumb and forefinger, his eyes focussed on the log cabin that had been his home for the last few months. He really was in an unsalvageable position; Sykes Electrical Services would close by the end of the year. [End of Section]

The toil of three generations had seen the business grow from his Grandfather’s garage with his office in his basement, into a small shop, and then fifteen years ago expanding into a respectable sized warehouse now employing thirty people.




© Copyright 2011 G.J.Rutherford All rights reserved.

[greypanther]

Can I ask you please Morkonen, what qualifies you to critique others writing? Are you a published author? Editor? what other than a doctor?

<niggle,niggle,niggle>

Or are you just an inteligent, avid reader?

[Morkonan]

Can I ask you please Morkonen, what qualifies you to critique others writing? Are you a published author? Editor? what other than a doctor?

<niggle,niggle,niggle>

Or are you just an inteligent, avid reader?

I am not a published author of fiction. (I could say I was and it wouldn't make much difference, would it? )Though, I think my name is on a couple of published papers, but they were done for grant money and I wasn't a lead.. and didn't get any grant money. Still, that's a different format and I have misplaced my APA manual...

But, I never offer criticism without explanation. If that explanation is not enough to convince the writer that they should consider the point, then either my criticism could be unfounded or it simply doesn't fit the writer's style. Or, the writer could be "wrong." That happens, too.

I am a writer and have been studying writing for quite awhile. I'm currently involved in two writing projects. I hope to begin submitting them for publication some time next year. But, "real life" has taken its toll and stolen much of my time, these past few months. I have a feeling it's going to interject itself next year and I have no way to really avoid it.

Am I "qualified?" Well, that depends on what you consider "Qualified." I know several published "authors" who's advice I wouldn't take for writing instructions on the side of a bubble-gum wrapper. If you look at the shelves these days, there are a great many writers who have managed to get published that clearly don't deserve such an honor if it was based on their skill alone. So, are we to take that an "author" (A distinctive title I bestow on writers when they've been published.) is only qualified to critique a work? An author is qualified to advise someone how to become published, that much I will grant.

In short, if someone can give specific criticism and offer explanations and even examples that substantiates their criticism, I think that's all it takes. Books are written for everyone, not just other authors. The critic doesn't have to always be right. But, they do have to prove their points and, most importantly, offer helpful and constructive criticism. Too often, reading freely offered criticism is worth exactly what you paid for it.

[Gavrushka]

What I can add, greypanther, is that I feel I've learnt a lot. (I just had to check whether it was learnt/learned LOL)

I was naive to think that telling a story was enough at first. Then, after a few comments from people, I posted here and those comments were confirmed.

Now, I'm a better writer than I was a few days ago.

The one thing with using a reader group, which I do, is they will concentrate on the story and pick up on much of ther grammar. However there is an extra technical level, beyond that, which is equally important...- A reader group AUTO trust that a writer knows what he is doing, and won't drop out early on in the story - BUT strangers will... - And now I understand why...

I sent Styanar to my nephew, and asked him to 'bit the bullet' and keep reading, which he did - BUT he had been so nonplussed by Ed, he'd not have done that otherwise... - Now he will...

The other technical issue I relied on was telling a reader what was happening 'telling them' someone was happy or sad rather than communicating it with words. - On the fly example:

"I think you should leave," Jeff said angrily. (TELL)

Jeff moved towards the chair, his knuckles whitening as they grasped the back. Slowly he lifted his head towards Steve eyes finding his friend.

He never spoke.

Steve flinched and took a step backwards. "I'll go," he said. (SHOW)



Oh, you know what I meant! - Yes, I know it could be ambiguous as to who never spoke, but the context should answer that...

[greypanther]

I apologise if I caused you any offence Morkonan, if any taken, it was certainly unintentional. I think my reading your posts is coloured by that little niggle I have; I really must pin it down.
You are certainly not the person I thought you may have been; they would have responded very differently to my trollish prodding! Again I apologise.

You are correct Gavrushka, further as it is your work that is getting the critique, your opinion is the only one that matters. I guess that I am used to some very negative comments on other sites when it comes to others creative works. I assumed the worst and butted in where my comments were un-needed.

I apologise to you too and promise to read an entire thread, attempt to understand the context, before I comment again.

Something else has occured to me about myself and who I am. This forum just never ceases to be useful.

Anyway, good luck with your work, I hope you get the story to where you need it to go.