The Story Continues

Makos is hiding behind a destroyed tent shop while a crowd inspect damage done by his magical power. He hopes they will leave soon.

 Makos heard the crowd talking. "What happened here?" An authoritative man's voice demanded.

"A little boy attacked the holiday shops." Another man's voice answered.

"A boy?" The first voice asked. "I doubt a small child could have done so much damage. Now, tell me, who is responsible for this mess?"

"It's true." A third voice, that of a woman, said. "I was walking by the shield maker's tent. There was one boy who starting shouting and attacking the other children with a toy shield. Then this happened."

"That isn't much of an explanation." The first voice said. "How does children playing end up in disaster?"

"That's just it," The woman explained, "I don't know that he was a child afterall. No normal child can break things by waving his hands at them!"

"Waving his hands?" The first voice spoke. "I'm still confused."

The woman replied. "The child must be a demon in disguise. See that?" A pause in speaking was interrupted by more mumbling from the crowd. "The demon boy jumped out of this tree and waved his hands at the top of this building and all of a sudden it broke off and nearly fell on an old woman."

"I'm fine." The voice of a very old woman said. "No need to worry about me. I dodged it at the last second. I used to be an acrobat in the circus, you see."

Makos felt horrible. He hadn't realized that someone almost got hit by what he'd done, let alone an old woman. The idea of her doing flips and cartwheels made a laugh burst through his nose. He promptly clapped his hands over his nose to hide the noise.

"Yes, very well." The first voice said. "It appears this is another of several pranks gone wrong this week."

"Pranks?" The woman said incredulously. "Explain how a prank did that."

"Mm. Yes. They are getting worse, but rest assured, this is no work of a demon. This is simply the result of gang wars."

Several people gasped.

"Gangs, here?" One man asked.

"Unfortunately, yes." The authoritative man answered. "The criminal factions of Untwine City have been seeking to spread their influence. That is bad enough on its own, I assure you, but where two or more gangs have their eye on the same town, things can get a little.. rowdy."

Makos began to feel relieved. He didn't know much about gangs, but he knew everyone was going to blame the entire incident on someone else. He would be off the hook and on his way in no time.

"But what about the boy?" One voice demanded.

Makos's heart stopped.

The crowds continued their discussion without him.

"What about him?" The first man asked.
"What do we do about him? He could be working for one of the gangs."

That was it. Makos had been targeted.  The people were going to find him and lock him up. Before he could think it over any more, he rolled onto his feet and scurried away into the bushes as silently as he could manage. When he reached the path that crossed through the park, he took off at a full run.

"Hmpf." The man snorted. "I suppose it is possibly the lad was coerced into helping. If he was serving as a distraction, he may know more about which gangs we are dealing with here. This is the first sign of their turf wars reaching our town. If we act fast, we may be able to stop it before any faction gains a foothold here."

"Then let's help the poor boy. He is probably very frightened." The woman said.

"Indeed. Everyone, form up. We need as many eyes out for the boy as we can manage." The authoritative voice mustered. "We shall use tightly-knit group tactics to scan the streets and locate this child. If you recognize him, shout after him to stop as loudly as you can."

Makos' mind reeled at the last thing he had heard. They thought he was working for criminals. He was an outlaw now. He would be forced to live his life outside of society. He would never be able to play with his friends again. He would have to learn to cook rats and sleep in trees. He probably only had maybe three days tops to gather supplies before people began to see through any of the disguises he would use.

Thinking it best to disguise himself sooner than later, he pulled his handkerchief out and tied it over the bottom half of his face. Nobody would recognize him, he was sure of it. At least it would buy him a little time.

A loud shouting made him stop in his tracks and turn around to see what was the matter. At the end of the path behind him, he say a large mob shaking fist and screaming, "Stop! Stop!" He looked about, but couldn't see anyone else around for them to be shouting at. The realization hit. They were after him already.

He acted on the first thought to enter his mind. He ran off the path and into the forest. It was thick with evergreens, and they kept scratching at his arms as he pushed through them. He didn't pay attention to where he was going. He just knew he had to keep running.

After what seemed like an hour or two, Makos began to get tired. His feet began to drag. the sky hadn't gotten any darker, but he was sure it must be getting close to night. He kept trudging along through the trees, but his foot hooked around a gnarled root and he fell on his face.

Tears began to well up in his eyes and he started lifting himself up from the pine needle-covered ground. "I wish I never got these stupid powers!" He shouted.

"Me neither." A deep, grumbling voice said.

Free Day #4: Writing Groups

You work through your rough draft, getting all of your story down to paper. You read it and reread it, checking for spelling errors, grammar issues and make sure all of it makes sense. You are confident that your work is complete and as good as it can be.

Then you face reality and submit your story to a writing group.

This is the worst moment in the process and at the same time the best experience. You get to lay your masterpiece before other writers or people who have a keen eye for detail and accuracy and have to sit back, shut up, and watch as they devour it.

Writing groups are assembled for one purpose: getting third party perspectives. This is also known as 'work-shopping.' Trust me when I say that it is very easy to think you have everything written in a way that any reader can understand what's going on and catch on to your intended moods. Easy to assume, but probably not entirely accurate.

This story is a product pulled straight from your own imagination. You already come with an understanding of what is happening. Sometimes what seems clear and obvious to you is not so for others because you left out certain 'obvious' bits of information. This can turn your hilarious scene into just a scene. It can be like telling a joke, but not building it up correctly. If you don't, the punch line just doesn't get that punch.

That's where writing groups are handy. You allow others to tell you how they see the story, how it makes them feel, and any points on grammar you may have missed.

Getting feedback will be difficult. Most of the time, someone will find something that needs work and you may feel like you have to defend yourself, explaining why you wrote it the way you did. What is important is that you refrain from responding in self defense. Answering questions is fine, but this really can undermine the purpose of the process. If they didn't catch on from your story alone, it isn't sufficient. You won't be there for every reader to explain why you made your character do something, or how they should be feeling about it.

Another thing to note is that not all feedback is correct. Someone may make a comment that something needs to be changed to something else or handled in a specific way because it just isn't working. Listen to the advice. Take note of it. When you review your notes, realize that the feedback means you might actually have a problem needing repairs. It doesn't mean what has been suggested is always the best way to solve it. The best method is to identify it and fix it they way your gut tells you.

Be aware, however, that not all feedback actually indicates a problem. Sometimes a reviewer may have a preference for certain parts of story writing, or they just do things differently than you. Write their advice down, then determine later if it is actually something you need to be concerned about. A good indicator that a problem most likely exists is when multiple reviewers mention it.

The rules of a writing group for when you submit something for review:

1. Close your mouth and take no part in the process.

2. Take notes.

3. Realize that not all feedback is an accurate solution to the problem, but can be an indicator of it.

4. Realize that some feedback may be more preference. Learn to pick and choose what needs to be repaired. If you incorporate everything, you may lose your unique writing style and it may just become a tried-and-true, bland version of your story without that special thing that makes you unique.

5. Thank those who gave you feedback. They could have just saved your book from complete failure!

The process isn't a negative one. This is all good and beneficial. Not all feedback will be critical, either. The jobs of writing group members are to check for issues, share their interpretation of mood and plot, and tell you what really works for them, what they appreciate and what excites them.

Nothing feels better than getting praise for your hard work! Well, getting paid for it would feel pretty good, too, but praise is always very nice and motivating.

The last rule is simple: Swap roles. Your writing group likely consists of more writers than just yourself. If someone else has something to offer for critiquing, help them out. You may learn a lot from seeing how someone else goes about building up a story. Things you find they were missing may open your eyes to similar problems in your own work.

I'm in a writing group. The group is named Reading Excuses and can be found online here. Earlier this week, I submitted a short story I posted on this blog (here), for some workshopping. I received excellent feedback on it and, with permission, would like to post some of what was suggested:

Mandamon said:

First off, I enjoyed this, even though it left me with more questions than answers.

Pg 1:  I'm interested already by the rain searing, and what cost it entails.

Pg 1: "dismissive" might not be the right word here?  She would be dismissive OF the pain.

Pg 2: I like that the light is playing with her.  It reminds me of a cat playing with a patch of light.

Pg 3:  While she's chasing the light around, is it still raining ?  You don't mention it, or the pain, again (edit: you mentioned it right after I wrote this).  Also, is the sun peeking through clouds?  Why is it disappearing in one spot and appearing in another?

--I think you address this point later too.  It might just be there's not enough mention of it at the start.

Does the rain make any physical mark on her?  Does she actually get burned, or is she just feeling it?

You make the sun a character as much as she is.  Does the rain have as much of a personality?  Do other objects or natural forces?  Does the sun make the wind blow, or did it talk to the wind?

I was a little confused at the end as to why a handful of gold dust would make the whole land fill with light.  Didn't her mother bring back handfuls of dust before?  Or did she bring something else?

Overall, a cool story.  I still had some questions on: why the rain hurt, what the sun was, and where the new sun came from (though I assume that was Sare, somehow).  Still, for the length of this, it works.  You never really answer any of the worldbuilding questions, but it kept my interest throughout.  There were a couple places where the sentences got a little wordy, but aside from that, well written.  I didn't have a problem with the new POV at the end, as I assume Sare isn't around any more to be one.  You could do the same thing through narration, but it wouldn't have the same connection to people like Torin and his father.

Mr. Wednesday comments:

Nice story! The main thing that concerns me is that the writing is a little vague in certain places. With something that is primarily action-based, you could probably tighten it up just a little bit in some of the ways Mandamon mentioned above. I'm really curious, is this a standalone short story or the beginning to a novel? Either way, assuming it is the very beginning of something rather than a later chapter, I would have liked a little more motivation for her actions from the beginning. I feel like it starts with a lot of action and it takes a little while before we understand what she's doing and why. 

Pg 1: I agree that "dismissive" isn't the right word in this context. Maybe "negligible"?

Pg 2: "Trying to stay in the largest patches, she soon realized it would soon disappear."  You use the word "soon" twice back-to-back and it makes the sentence a little awkward.

Pg 6: "She bore with the pain almost to the point of losing consciousness" I feel like you don't necessarily need the "with", "she bore the pain" seems a little bit more direct.

Pg 7: "Its comforting glow warmed her each time, yet she was feeling an odd emotion from it now." Going into the past progressive tense with "was feeling…now" makes this sentence a little awkward. You slip into the past progressive a lot throughout the story, and to me it gets a little murky. Also, I feel like you could be more specific about her odd emotion. What emotion is she feeling, exactly?

I kind of agree with RD about the abrupt shift in POV at the end. If this is a short story, I think it's a little dangerous to do so. I get what you were going for, I just feel like it's a bit too stark in this draft. It might work if you smooth out the transition a little bit, although I don't really have any recommendation for how you would do so.

Very cool concept overall! Keep up the good work!

So there we go. See any common trends throughout? It sounds like I need to work on my voice, for one, which is what lead me to write the post on that. It has also been pointed out several times about how the swap between point of view characters is disconcerting. One mentioned how it played a stylistic role.

All of the advice I received is excellent and priceless. I actually agree on everything that was said. On the differences of opinion, I need to weigh my options and determine if there is possibly a way to retain the stylistic effect without shaking my readers out of their immersion.

I am definitely going to continue submitting work, like all writers should. Most of what was said covered things I thought I explained, but definitely did not explain well enough, if at all. Now I know to be more careful in putting my ideas down more clearly. I even learned new techniques.

The last rule of writing groups?

Do it!

Meanwhile...

Time to jump over to see what the younger brother has been up to. The nice thing about this being a rough draft? I can always fill in the gaps later. HA!

Let's see. Before the brothers split up, they had just reached the outskirts of town. Makos saw celebratory banners and they realized it was the holiday 'Rune Day'. Makos begged to run on ahead and Danos relented. Danos ventured into a side alley. What about Makos?

After the story segment, I will talk about some ways to avoid passive voice and what that means. I will show corrections. Thoroughly.

Makos was doomed. He knew it in his gut. He would be in so much trouble when Danos found out.

In his right hand, Makos held a small, splintered piece of carved wood that was roughly in the shape of a kite shield. Blue paint strokes formed in a strange symbol were interrupted by a large chunk missing from the corner of the shield.

In Makos' left hand, he clung tightly to canvas draped over a tree limb. His feet kicked in the air, several feet from the ground. He frowned worriedly at the thin layer of grass beneath him, his one-handed grip slipping.

The stunned silence from the crowds was at last broken by one voice calling out, "How'd he do that?"

A murmur picked up from the gathering crowds and Makos blushed under the scrutiny of hundreds of eyes.

'Don't move or it might happen again!' he thought, forcing his legs to calm down. As if to spite him, the remaining strength in his hand failed.

On his way to the ground, Makos couldn't stop himself from swinging his arms all over. He yelled out while green ripples in the air flung out where ever he moved his hands. His impact with the ground was met by a loud crunch.

His legs collapsed beneath him and he ended up on flat on his back. He could see the canvas from the shield stall flapping about with the leaves all around it. He closed his eyes and refused to open them. If he'd broken his leg, he didn't know what he would do.

Screaming from the crowds caught him off guard and he opened his eyes, leaning his head forward to see what was the matter. He saw the top of the brick building across the street was missing a section of wall, specifically the corner. Looking down, he found the missing brickwork on the sidewalk with people forming a ring about it.

'I'm so dead.' He thought. 'When those people come over here, they'll lock me up in prison for the rest of my life!'

He gave in to a growing nagging of curiosity and examined his legs and was relieved to discover they were undamaged aside form bruising. It was then that a brilliant idea occurred to him, promising hope. If he wasn't lame, he could escape quietly before people stopped inspecting the rubble.

Struggling to his feet as quietly as he could, Makos wobbled behind the rest of the shield merchant's stall and dropped to the ground.

'That fall took a lot out of me.' He thought. 'I'll just hide here a second and then sneak away after they start to leave.'

He hoped dearly that they would leave, specifically in the opposite direction.

Alright, let's analyze this a moment. What is passive voice? Well, it's the opposite of active voice. Real helpful, right?

A good way to explain is by showing an example:

I wrote a letter. vs. The letter was written by me.

Can you tell which is which?

Both sentences say the exact same thing, but the first example is in an active voice while the latter is written in a passive voice. Why does it matter? When should an author use one or the other? Maybe a better question is: What sort of feeling do you get from each sentence?

Active voice is direct. There is an actor who is doing something to something.

Passive voice is indirect. There is something that is being acted upon by something else.

Active voice has an inherent effect of putting a sense of responsibility on the actor. Ever hear someone try to avoid the responsibility of a mistake? If, as a child, I had broken my mother's favorite fragile, expensive plate, I would try to get out of it by saying, "Your plate is broken" instead of "I broke your plate."

Something interesting about passive voice, as I just used, is that the one who causes the condition doesn't even have to be included. I didn't mention the plate was broken by me. This phenomenon allows for a fun little tool to identify passive voice in a sentence.

As explained by Mary Robinette Kowal in Season 9 Episode 17 of the Writing Excuses podcast, you know a sentence is in the passive voice if you can add "by zombies" to the end.

"Your plate was broken by zombies." Passive voice.

Imagine my mom coming home to that explanation.

The other main feature of passive voice is it creates a sense of detachment and leaves room for confusion and a hazy picture of the scene. Active voice solves this by saying exactly who did what and to what or whom they did it. There is no doubt. Information is available and the reader can move on without wondering what they are supposed to be visualizing.

In the case of writing novels, it's obvious we only want to use the active voice. No one should ever employ the passive voice, right? Isn't that obvious?

Well, if you want to only write in an active voice, go right ahead. Just remember, however, that just like ingredients in a potential meal, anything and everything can be employed in some way, breaking rules in some exceptions where a more powerful effect can bring about more powerful flavor.

Bitter flavor, while almost always a negative thing, can be used to compliment other flavors in a way that turn the dish into a true work of art.

One last quick word on a benefit of using passive voice: If you want to bring more attention to what is being done, where the actor isn't so important, passive voice is a perfect fit.

Time for some editing. (Note: Normally when I write, I ignore the editing process. The first draft is the rough draft. Repairs and modifications can be included later. For the purpose of demonstration in this post, however, some editing may prove worthwhile.)

Let's start with the first paragraph.

Makos was doomed. He knew it in his gut. He would be in so much trouble when Danos found out.

The very first sentence here is a perfect example of good use of passive voice. All we are concerned about is how Makos is feeling. He has a sense of dread. Who or what doomed him? Did you find yourself asking this question? If do, then awesome! This is also what is intended. I have opened your mind up to start paying attention to the details that follow, or things you have already seen. Now you are hooked and I can unveil the cause of his distress.

The second sentence is in an active voice: He knew it. An actor doing something to something. In this case being aware that he is doomed. The last sentence is passive, but changing that wouldn't really work, would it? Maybe it would. Please comment below if you think otherwise.


In his right hand, Makos held a small, splintered piece of carved wood that was roughly in the shape of a kite shield. Blue paint strokes formed in a strange symbol were interrupted by a large chunk missing from the corner of the shield.

All of this is active.

In Makos' left hand, he clung tightly to canvas draped over a tree limb. His feet kicked in the air, several feet from the ground. He frowned worriedly at the thin layer of grass beneath him, his one-handed grip slipping.

The first part is also active. The second phrase is odd. His feet aren't kicking anything, they are jsut kicking. I suppose you could say they are kicking themselves. In that case, the sentence is has an active voice without defining the target of the action. It is simply implied.

An alternative view would be that Makos is the actor, as opposed to his feet, and his feet are the things being acted upon. He is willing his feet to kick about. In passive voice it would be said that His feet were kicked, not even mentioning the actor. Does it really make a difference? I don't believe so. The action doesn't really have a huge impact other than painting a scene, and in this case, I want the focus on the action, so passive voice is perfect for it. Either way, I've accomplished my purposes here.

The stunned silence from the crowds was at last broken by one voice calling out, "How'd he do that?"

Uh oh. This is passive and has no good reason to be passive. Perhaps I should reword it:

A single voice broke the stunned silence of the crowds, "How'd he do that?"

Wow! I really like that. Not only is it more concise, it holds a better focus and is more efficient on page space. Would you rather waste an extra second reading those extra words? One sentence may not make much of a difference, but after thousands of sentences, it could create a lot of drag and wasted time.

A murmur picked up from the gathering crowds and Makos blushed under the scrutiny of hundreds of eyes.

Another example of strangely worded passive voice. The crowd is cited as the location from whence it rises, but doesn't exactly attribute the acting as the crowd's fault. Makos blushing is self evident that he is acting upon himself, in this case his face. I like the focus being on the sound of quiet talking. The point is that he needs to feel pressure from others. Who cares who they are? Personal choice here.

'Don't move or it might happen again!' he thought, forcing his legs to calm down. As if to spite him, the remaining strength in his hand failed.

Thinking is obvious, like talking. The next part assumes that he is forcing his own legs, hence the comma for borrowing the same subject, making it active voice. Strength failing is active, acting upon itself.

On his way to the ground, Makos couldn't stop himself from swinging his arms all over. He yelled out while green ripples in the air flung out where ever he moved his hands. His impact with the ground was met by a loud crunch.

All active up until the last sentence. I actually like this the way it is, if only for the purpose of timing. Maybe I'm strange, but I think a lot of impact can be gained from saving the critical details for the very end.

His legs collapsed beneath him and he ended up on flat on his back. He could see the canvas from the shield stall flapping about with the leaves all around it. He closed his eyes and refused to open them. If he'd broken his leg, he didn't know what he would do.

Active voice throughout. The green section is where two phrases overlap. In the first half, 'he' is the actor while in the second half 'the canvas' is the actor.

Screaming from the crowds caught him off guard and he opened his eyes, leaning his head forward to see what was the matter. He saw the top of the brick building across the street was missing a section of wall, specifically the corner. Looking down, he found the missing brickwork on the sidewalk with people forming a ring about it.

All active, with some inferred elements like before, and another example of target serving as an actor later in the same sentence.

'I'm so dead.' He thought. 'When those people come over here, they'll lock me up in prison for the rest of my life!'

Active voice.

He gave in to a growing nagging of curiosity and examined his legs and was relieved to discover they were undamaged aside form bruising. It was then that a brilliant idea occurred to him, promising hope. If he wasn't lame, he could escape quietly before people stopped inspecting the rubble.

I highlighted a section in orange to point out now. He was relieved to discover. He is the actor, as inferred. Being relieved is the action. To discover almost looks like the target, like a state of being. Well, don't let this confuse you. He is targeting himself. The further action of discovering is just a reason why he is relieving himself.

Struggling to his feet as quietly as he could, Makos wobbled behind the rest of the shield merchant's stall and dropped to the ground.

'That fall took a lot out of me.' He thought. 'I'll just hide here a second and then sneak away after they start to leave.'

He hoped dearly that they would leave, specifically in the opposite direction.

I'm actually surprised I used as much active voice as I did. Good! That means my practice is working.

In summary, there is a purpose to active voice and a purpose to passive voice. Be sure that you use the right voice for the right impact, or you may suffer from loss of potential impact or even downright confusion and not feeling immersed in your characters' experience.

Here's a fancy tool someone pointed out to me that I set as one of my homepage tabs. I use it regularly to find instances of passive voice in my work, just in case I didn't intend to have it there.

Free Day #3: Pacing

Today I want to talk about pacing. I am taking today as a Free Day since I didn't use it yesterday.

What is pacing and why use it?

Pacing is like the tempo in a song. It can be fast or slow; energetic or calming. Like music, pacing can help set a unique mood.

Pacing is also like motion blur in a video. I know. I already used that example on Free Day #1
That's fine. In that article, I discussed how the level of detail in a scene can change the reader's focus to those things more fully described. It is also a great tool for setting the pace of a story.

Here's some sample text:

Gus walked up to a box. He punched a hole in the box. It punched him back.

Here are two examples of the same text paced differently using level of detail:

Example 1:

Gus walked down the gravel trail. Evergreens to his left and right swayed in a sudden breeze. The wind blew through his wavy, black hair. It was a refreshing cool gust leftover from an escaping winter season.

Gus stopped in front of an obstacle in his path. It was an ordinary box of ordinary tan coloring. It was a little taller than him and twice as wide. He grumbled to himself. "What is with this box?" He shook his head. "It doesn't even have a label."

As he studied the box, he realized how much it reminded him of his third-cousin. He had met the relative at a family reunion two years ago. Charlie was his name. For some reason, he never did like Charlie. That kid was always in his way.

Gus fumed at the thought of meeting Charlie again. He imagined what his reaction would be if Charlie tried getting in his way again. As he dwelled on that concept, Gus noticed that the box was about Charlie's size. He frowned, imagining his cousin in place of the box. If he was ever given another chance he would punch Charlie right in the face.

It only took a little effort of picturing his obnoxious cousin instead of the box. Gus glared at it and imagined it saying to him in Charlie's annoying voice, 'What are you going to do now, cousin? Here I am, in your way.'

"Oh, I'll show you what I'm going to do." Gus said, gritting his teeth, brow furrowing. Gus pulled his arm back and flexed it. He formed his hand into a tight fist. His knuckles cracked under the strain. Gus could feel his blood begin to boil.

Clenching his abs all at once, Gus took a half step forward and extended his fist at lightning speed. Gus felt his knuckles meet resistance at the surface of the cardboard. At first, it bowed behind the might of his attack. Next, bends began to appear and the box began to fold around his fist. Finally, his fist broke the surface. He saw the little tear peel back into a hole, which peeled back into a larger hole, which grew by the millisecond until his entire fist penetrated the cardboard. The sweet rush of adrenaline made his eyes dilate and he smiled wickedly.

Gus' forearm passed into the box halfway to his elbow before he pulled it back with the recoil. He brought his arm back into position for another strike, then let his arms drop. He smiled and nodded once. The box was done for. That would teach it to never block his path again.

Gus shifted his foot so that he could step around the failed obstacle, but he was interrupted. His head pushed back as his shoulders tried to move forward with the rest of his body. Gus saw a muscular arm extending out of the hole in the box where he had broken in. The arm's hand was a fist, gloved in red and blue material, but the fingers were bare, protruding from the glove. The brightly colored material was in contact with a large section of his face.

Gus blacked out.

Example #2:

Gus approached the obstacle in his path. It was a large cardboard box, standing upright in the middle of the road.

He glared at the box. It reminded him of his obnoxious cousin, Charlie, always in the way.

Gus blinked, seeing Charlie standing there instead of the box. It made his blood boil.

Without hesitation, Gus laid a heavy fist right through the front of the box at eye level.

Before he even had a chance to smirk, a muscular arm sprung through the hole in the box, fist first. It connected with his face.

Gus blacked out.

 In these two examples, we can see how the level of detail determines a lot about how fast the scene plays through. The same thing is happening in each, but one feels like it is happening in slow motion. The other ends after a few seconds, it seems.

A benefit of using high level of detail is that it helps to immerse the reader. This can, unfortunately, also destroy the mood that really needs to exist in this scene. Not only can descriptions immerse readers, but the mood to a scene can as well.

Ever watch a suspenseful movie? How much do you remember of the rooms in which a furious gun fight takes place? A general sense of it, right? Of course you remember the balcony. That's where the bad guy fell from the thirtieth story while the good guy jumped after him, unloaded several well-aimed rounds for good measure and then wing-suit-glided away over a busy city backdrop.

What do you mean you don't recall the room number or what time was displayed on the clock? You don't even remember the bad guy's name? What do you mean he was just bullet-fodder?

Oh, I see. None of those things were the focus and it was an action-packed, suspenseful scene. IT still drew you in, though, did it not? These same principles apply in writing.

Set your pacing according to the mood you want to enlist. Is the dance hall supposed to be lively? Add lots of vague comments about strobe lights blaring and thrumming beats while people swing their arms all over and jump around. Want it to be romantic? Then mention the way the dim light pools in the dancers' eyes as they hold each other and slowly spin to the calm music that evokes rich emotion. Describe how the dancer's feel being in each others' arms and how their nervousness melts away.

Want a real challenge that is bound to be a headache of fun? Describe the romantic couple waltzing in the lively dance hall.

Continuing the Story

Continued...

Danos shook his head and leaned forward to make certain of what he was seeing. There, not three feet away from him, stood a man no taller than four inches. He was dressed like a gentleman, with nice slacks, a white shirt with a darkly colored bow tie, and shiny shoes. He also wore a fancy, pinstriped jacket.

His head was covered in curly hair of various shades of gray, receding at the sides. Danos had to squint to make out the gold belt buckle made of braided metal bands. He also thought he recognized a pocket watch chain stretching from a button hole in his shirt to his left pants pocket.

The diminutive gentleman squinted back up at Danos. "Not big on personal space, are you?"

"Personal space?" Danos asked. "You can't even reach me."

"As I recall, one's stature and wingspan have nothing to do with it." He frowned harshly until Danos took a long step backwards.

The man let out a relieved breath. "Better. Now, I believe you owe me an apology, son."

"Um. Sorry." Danos obliged.

"Um sorry is a poor excuse of an apology, but I'm in a bit of a good mood today, so it will do." He put his hand beside his mouth conspiratorially, then whispered loudly, "It's a holiday, you know?"

Danos nodded. "Rune Day."

"Well, yes, that." The man flipped his hand dismissively. "It is also the anniversary of my election."

"Congratulations." Danos said. "What were you elected for?"

The man folded his arms and stuck his nose up into the air. "Don't you recognize your own governor?"

"You?" Danos asked, marveling. "You're the governor?"

"You find it hard to believe?"

"Well," Danos replied, "I've seen the governor once before and you aren't exactly the same."

"You are referring to my height, yes?" The governor supplied.

"Yeah." Danos nodded. "That, and you don't have a hat."

"And therein lies the problem." The governor said, shoulders slumping. "I was searching everywhere to find my hat after it blew away in a rather strong gust of wind. You see, the hat is special."

"Special how?" Danos asked.

The governor grinned at him. "Would you believe its magical?"

Danos laughed, bringing a frown to the tiny official's face. "I wasn't laughing at you. It's just what you said. This isn't the only case of magic I've seen since yesterday."

"Oh, really?" He asked in a curious tone.

"Let's just say I believe you." Danos said.

"Well alright." The governor raised a tiny arm and beckoned him closer. Danos stooped down and moved his ear closer.

The governor quietly said, "When I wear my hat, I can change size at will."

"Wow." Danos said. "So you can become large again?"

"I could have, at least until I lost it." He said as his shoulders drooped inwards.

"Ah. Right."

"Yes." The governor continued, perking up and glaring back up at Danos. "I could have found it by now, but someone decided to frighten my domesticated rodent. I suspect I won't ever find poor Quicksilver again."

Continued tomorrow.

At Last! A New Character

The story is moving along. Answers need to be found that will provide direction. Some clue needs to exist that will lead the heroes on to the resolution. This story is not so short, is it? Oh well. I plan on writing full-length novels anyway, so I may be better off starting with one.

Onto the story. Let's see if I can pick up the pace a little and get our heroes on the right track without making everything too complicated.

Something caught Danos' eye while he watched his brother disappear into the gathering crowds. He turned and saw what he could have sworn looked like a tiny man disappearing around the corner of the alleyway to his left.

He shook his head and then scratched it. "You really are going crazy." He mumbled to himself, then strode to the alley's entrance and looked down it more closely. He took quiet steps down the narrow path between mismatched brick walls, feeling sillier the further he went.

He began to turn back, certain he had imagined it, when he heard a faint scuffling sound around the corner at the end. It sounded like paper tearing and dragging along rough cobblestone. 'Probably just a rat.' Danos assured himself while he approached the turn as silently as he could manage and peered around the edge of the wall.

"Sure enough." He laughed. There was the rat, dragging a scrap of paper on its back.

At the sound of his voice and laughter, the rodent bolted, shooting right down the alley to the next bend. Danos chuckled at the creature as it still dragged along the patch of old newspaper. 'Must be grimy paper, sticking like that.'

Something deep inside him built up, making him want to act like a kid again. At first, he rejected the thought, but after realizing there was nobody around to see him, he grinned and chased the rodent, letting out a "Ha ha! I'm gonna catch you, rat!"

The rat reached the turn and scurried to the right. A few steps behind, Danos leaped out past the corner and spun to face it with a snarling sound.

The rat had reached a dead end and it was struggling in a corner to run up the walls with no success. Each time it tried, it got a little higher, but fell to the cobblestones, landing on all fours. Realizing that Danos was getting closer, the rat turned around and backed its hind end up into the corner.

Danos lifted one leg high above the ground, then slapped it down, making a loud clap as leather soles slapped stone. The rat jumped two feet into the air, legs reeling, and somehow managed to catch its forelimbs on a gap between bricks. It clung on dearly, but slowly began to lose its grip.

Feeling extra mischeivious, Danos stook another step forward, slapping the other foot down and yelling "Boo!"

The rodent lost it. A damp spot covered the wall as it launched another two feet into the air, flailing its whole body about midair. Through the whole ordeal, the scrap of paper hung on, until the rat finally landed on its back with a loud "OUCH!" It then flipped back onto its feet, and dashed madly between Danos' legs, only to disappear around the corner.

Danos watched it as it left, stunned. 'Did that rat just say...'

"Ow!" A small, though loud, voice repeated from the dead end.

Danos turned back around and stared wide-eyed at the spectacle. Where the rat had fallen was a little man, sprawled out on his back. He managed to sit up, his back making little popping noises, and Danos could see the string tied around his waist which was looped through holes in the paper at each end.

"You've really done it this time!" The little man yelled up at him, which was only as loud as a normal person's talking volume. "You've gone and broke my back at last!" He picked himself off the ground and dusted off his backside.

"Where are you?" Danos managed to say in amazement. It wasn't what he meant to ask, but he was lucky to have gotten out a proper sentence anyway, the way his mind was reeling.

"Where am I?" The man glared up and him. "I'm in the middle of nowhere without a steed, that's where. And its no thanks to you!"

Danos tried forming his mouth into the beginning of another sentence, but failed, looking like a fish out of water.

"Wait. That's not right." The little man held his head. "I mean its ALL thanks to you!" He then crossed his arms and added, "Not that I'm thanking you, mind."

I think I'll stop this here for tonight. Its got momentum and will be much easier to motivate myself to keep the ball rolling as opposed to starting from a lull again.

Plot

Plot. What is plot?

You plot a course, right? Right. The characters are going to go through something, do something, go somewhere. And then we have plot twists. Often against the designs of the protagonist, the plot is changed; a new direction is forced or the reality of the course is made evident, where the protagonist was fooled or unaware.

For my story, the brothers have a plot. They are going to live their life, but the story begins with a twist warned to happen. Before that can even occur, a stranger shows up who takes away any chance to prevent the plot twist. This forces a change of direction. Now the boys are on their own and they have to save their father. They confront the stranger and banish him with newly discovered powers.

This is great for the characters. Things are becoming exciting and easier. That's no good for us, though. We don't want exciting and easier, we want exciting and dramatic! How to fix this? Balance the playing field. The younger brother has a magic power. We just need to make more people with powers who are in opposition to his goals. Let's allow him to assume he is still unique, however. The reveal will be made more dramatic.

The boys got up the next morning and ate a simple breakfast: oatmeal. Without milk or brown sugar or butter. After cleaning up the dishes, they said their farewells to the clock that was their father and headed for town.

"Do you think anyone will really know how to change him back?" Makos asked while flicking a stick around like a whip.

Danos kept his eyes on the dusty road, watching the sunlit patches as they approached them. When they passed into one, warm tingling on his skin pushed away the damp chilly air of the morning. He sighed, and said. "I don't really know, but what else can we do?"

Makos' swings with the stick calmed down to more thoughtful circles aimed at the road.

Danos eyed his brother, then added. "If you think about it, though, chances are someone saw him come into town and talked with him. You know how Baker Jim is. He'd want to welcome a new face in to sample some of his banana nut berry bread. Everyone always buys a loaf once they taste it."

Makos lifted his head and straightened his shoulders. "That's true." He said in an upbeat voice. He ran out in front of Danos and held up open palms, somehow holding the end of the stick with just his thumb. "Wait! You know what? I heard father say the governor arrived yesterday."

Danos smiled broadly. "You're right! That means he was inspected with everyone else. Makos, you're a genius."

Makos put his hands to his hips and showed off all of his teeth with a grin. "That'll teach you to not listen to me more often. What if I hadn't said anything?"

Danos rolled his eyes. "Come on. You have to admit, most of your ideas are kind of..."

"Awesome?" Makos suggested.

"Childish." Danos shrugged.

"Childish?" Makos demanded. "You just don't have any imagination."

Danos raised an eyebrow. "What does imagination have to do with starting a fire so you don't have to do your chores?"

"It was only a little fire!" Makos replied, scowling. "I wasn't anywhere near the stables anyway. You were the one who kicked the embers close enough for the hay to burn up."

"I was too worried trying to make sure you didn't burn yourself to notice how many 'little fires' you had made." Danos said, returning the scowl. "Do you realize how much trouble your fires caused for father? He lost a full day of wages because you couldn't keep out of trouble."

Makos crossed his arms and turned around, walking down the road faster than Danos, only slowing down once he had gotten a few yards.

"Always pouts like a child. Never learns." Danos mumbled to himself.

After an hour of silent walking, the scene of the town seemed to have a magical affect on their moods. It was only every other week their father took them into town. It was already six weeks into August and they hadn't made a trip yet that month, so it felt like a dream.

"I can see banners!" Makos cheered. "They're red and green!"

"Is it already Rune Day?" Danos wondered aloud.

"I can see the shield shop!" Makos said. "It must be!"

"Now that I recall, it did come late March last year, so yeah. It must already be Rune Day, then." Danos had to catch the hem of his brother's coat before Makos went dashing off to the storefronts.

"Remember," He said. "We don't have any money, and we are here to find help for father."

"I know." Makos said, his shoulders slumped a little and his voice lost a little emphasis. "But Maro always has free shields for kids!" He added, grin returning. "Besides, I can ask Maro if he's seen the governor yet today."

"Okay." Danos relented. "Just don't try begging for an extra shield this time. It's not fair to the others."

"I won't." Makos hurried on ahead, leaving Danos shaking his head in disbelief. Had he been as excited as that two years ago? He didn't see what the big deal was now. The shields were only cut-out pieces of scrap wood painted with fake runes.

Check back tomorrow for more!