The great all-seeing eye (an exercise)
Point of view can be a tricky thing. We’ve talked about the limitations of first-person POV, which isn’t always as much of an instant path into character as writers sometimes believe. Today let’s consider third-person omniscient viewpoint, where the writer and reader become the great all-seeing eye of the story world.
- Third person viewpoint can be:
- Subjective — deep inside the head of a single protagonist, or sometimes two or three primary characters, depending on the structure of your story.
- Objective — camera-eye point of view that reports the behavior of many characters but never moves into their thoughts or feelings.
- Omniscient — moving in and out of various characters’ heads over the course of a chapter, sequence, or single scene.
Many 3rd-subjective novels actually begin with an objective or omniscient opening that establishes the wider world before focusing down into the head of a single character. That’s fine: it’s a well-accepted way to open a novel, and the reader’s expectation is that once settled in the protagonist’s head, the story will stay there. It takes a certain finesse to navigate the waters of a whole novel in 3rd omniscient: one of the skills we must all learn as writers is to make clear that the voice is truly omniscient, rather than leaving the reader to assume the writer has slipped out of the protagonist’s head because of a lack of control.
Here are tips for keeping yourself on track with 3rd omniscient:
Establish it quickly and clearly. Stephen King is one of the masters of 3rd omniscient, moving in and out of sometimes dozens of character viewpoints (both primary and secondary characters) throughout his novels. (His stories tend more towards single-person POV, which I generally think is a good call — we have less time as writers to establish character, conflict, relationship, and event in short fiction, and anything that feels like “sprawl” to the reader can dilute the emotional punch). Take a look at the opening of King’s recent novel Under the Dome: in the space of five paragraphs, King establishes setting, action, feeling, and moves from one character’s head into another: and then into a third character within a page. Within about 500 words, he’s established firmly that we are taking an omniscient ride.
If you’re working in omniscient POV, make sure your opening doesn’t spend so long in a single character’s head that the reader is jarred by the transition to a new character. Once you’ve established the overall omniscient POV, you can take more time with specific characters as needed.
Use your secondary and walk-on characters to build the world and handle exposition. One power of omniscient POV is creating a “full” world in which the story unfolds. It’s especially useful when your story is about a “group” event (a period in history, a catastrophe, a global thriller, a conspiracy) or when the story needs very different perspectives in order to highlight the real conflict (for example, events which one character believes to be supernatural in origin, and another believes to be scientific). You don’t need to go into the POV of every character, or spend much time with characters we won’t see again: but always look for chances to show a different — or deeper — side of the story through a well-timed internal thought or observation.
Create a direct link when you switch between characters. Think of 3rd omniscient the way a camera tracks, leading the eye (or the reader’s imagination) from one detail to the next. When we watch a camera track, we see how things are connected. For example: a crowd is running from an explosion on a city street. We follow a man as he stumbles along the sidewalk. He bumps a woman; and now the camera stays with the woman as she is shoved into the path of a car fleeing the scene. She’s hit, and as she falls to the ground she looks up in pain at the driver. Now the camera switches to the POV of the horrified driver as he hesitates, then pulls away to continue his escape.
Not all novels move at that fast a pace: the point is that when you make a POV switch, make sure a reader’s “internal eye” can follow the track either because the action leads us there, or because of an emotional or information connection in the narrative.
Always have a good story reason to switch. Readers will assume that every POV switch is important. Make sure it is. Reasons to land inside the head of a particular character include: the character will become a protagonist, antagonist or important secondary character; the character is giving us an important perspective into the protagonist or antagonist; the character’s perspective, feeling or action is or will be crucial to the plot; the character gives us a particular “everday person” window into the context of the story (culture, environment, etc.).
A rapid series of POV switches works best for setup and action; otherwise, stay put for a while. Readers want to connect with characters long enough to experience them “firsthand.” It’s common for omniscient POV novels to spend entire scenes or sequences with (or mostly with) a single character. If that character is currently at the heart of the story, stay with her, dipping in and out of other’s heads as necessary to support the overall forward movement.
Rapid switches in omniscient POV are also used sometimes by writers to ruminate on a particular theme or motif by comparing the thoughts or feelings of several characters in succession, swooping in and out of their heads to create a “three-dimensional” view of an idea or event. This takes a lot of skill, because the writer runs the risk of bringing the story to a halt while lots of people think about things. Your writing has to be impeccable, and the observations/feelings you describe have to be specific and compelling.
Here’s an example of omniscient POV from Night of the Jaguar by Michael Gruber, in which Gruber is using POV shift to pump up the emotional volume of a scary event. Jenny has been captured by gangsters and taken to a warehouse, where she is tied up and being guarded. Rather than simply reporting what happens next from her POV, Gruber takes the time to show us the event from the perspective of someone who isn’t helpless: that makes Jenny’s helplessness even more immediate. Notice also the very subtle shift at the end of this excerpt into the POV of the social workers, which elegantly explains their actions and moves us quickly into a new setting.
In the garage office, Dario Rascon awoke from a troubled dream to the sound of breaking glass. He rose lightly from the cracked leather couch on which he had been sleeping, drew his pistol, and, without bothering to wake the snoring Iglesias, went through the door to the garage bay. After waiting a few moments in the dark, ears straining at silence, he snapped on the lights. Of the eight fluorescent tubes in the pair of hanging fixtures only three came on, but there was enough light to see the Indian, a small brown man, nearly naked, with facial tattoos and a bowl haircut. He was standing under the dark skylight, with sparkling shards of glass all around him.
Rascon pointed his pistol and ordered the man to approach with his hands up, but the Indian, with a movement too swift for any response, vanished behind a workbench. It was dark at that end of the garage, but Rascon was not afraid of Indians. He had shot lots of Indians at home. He moved forward confidently. The Indian was not behind the workbench. Rascon moved farther into the darkness, pointing his pistol here and there like a snake striking.
Ararah. Ararararh.
He jumped at the sound and whirled. Some kind of motor starting up, he thought, the little pendejo must have tripped a switch. Then, amazingly, he was on his face on the concrete, the gun gone skittering across the floor. He felt, as his last earthly sensation, a hot breath on his neck.
Jenny was positioned in the right place to see the whole thing. She saw Moie go dark and vague and his form thicken and grow and then the thing was standing there lashing its tail. She saw what it did to the man. Then another man appeared in the garage and shouted out something, and she saw a speckled blur fly through the air and heard a thump, then a strangled human cry and, after a moment, liquid gnashing sounds. These stopped. Then came the slighter noise of claws clicking on concrete and the beast’s head was near her own, inches away. She looked into the golden merciless eyes. Through chattering teeth she managed to say, “Moie, don’t kill me.”
[...]
…A merciful amnesia had descended on her mind, which now resembled a vast dusty warehouse in which only a few motes of thought floated, the chief of which was LEAVE NOW. She obeyed this and walked out of the repair bay quite nude, pausing only to switch off the lights, having been firmly trained from an early age always to switch off the lights when leaving a room.
Even in Miami, a city void of dress codes, it is hard for a naked woman to go far on a major thoroughfare without someone noticing. Within a quarter mile of where she started, Jenny was fortunate enough to meet a couple of social workers coming home from a movie. Both of them were women and both of them had plenty of experience with drug intoxication among teenagers. They grabbed her, wrapped her in a blanket, and took her to the nearest emergency room, which was at South Miami Hospital.
– from Night of the Jaguar by Michael Gruber
And here’s an exercise: write a brief scene in 3rd omniscient of the beginning of a bank robbery. Set up your omniscient POV right away; then put us briefly into the head of a single character; and then make a smooth transition into someone else’s POV. Please post into the comments section if you’d like feedback.
A couple of notes: if you want to format something in italics, the comment box will accept HTML tags. Also, please bear with us on response times — we’re on editing deadlines and may not respond as quickly as we’d like. Thanks to everyone for your participation, your help to each other, and your patience!
Posted by: Kelley
The day they robbed the bank, Jack and Ryan Smith made two grave mistakes. Out of all of the banks in Sacramento, they choose one relatively close to the metro police station. The bank they selected was also equipped with a revolving door that, to those who walked past it every single day, never stopped moving. When passerby heard the three gunshots that went off in the still of the October afternoon and saw that the revolving door to bank was suddenly still, they quickly surmised that they had witnessed the unmistakably sounds of gunfire and ran to the other side of the street. Hearts pounding, the pedestrians huddled over their iPhones and Blackberrys, all dialing 911 at the same time while still watching the doors in whispered fascination. It felt like only seconds went by when the police cars were heralding their appearance through the symphonic duet of sirens coming from different directions.
Inside the bank, Jack wiped at the sweat that dripped down his nose and tickled him under his mask. Although they had originally purchased George Bush and Barack Obama Halloween masks for this job, Ryan had lost them and they grabbed the first set of ski masks they could find in the outdoor store. Holding his gun tightly, he could feel the hammering of his pulse in drum up his arm and into his throat. 1,2,3,4. He counted inside his head to calm him down, keeping his eye on the 3 ladies he was guarding, feverishly hoping that they couldn’t see him sweating.
Joanne was not afraid. She appraised the would be bank robber in front of her and accurately assessed that the growing wet spot on the front of his pants was urine and he was so afraid that he was about to wet himself. She sat on the floor, hands clasped at her ankles, head hanging down and hair in her eyes in a posture that looked submissive but was really designed so she could get a better look at the intruder. Memorizing his stance, the color of the hair that stood out in tufts under the mask, and the small bit of skin showing underneath his shirt that hinted at a tattoo, she sat back and waited for it to be over.
Shelly –
Nice organic flow from the spectators to Jack to Joanne. Love the light, whimsical tone.
A couple small objections:
“and he was so afraid that he was about to wet himself” moves us from Joanne’s POV into that of the robber.
The other is that a couple of your sentences are long and rambling and could be more clear. e.g.
She sat on the floor, hands clasped at her ankles, head hanging down and hair in her eyes — a posture that looked submissive but allowed a better view of the intruder.
First American Bank was its usual Monday-morning madhouse. Two armed security guards and a dozen wall-mounted cameras surveyed the lobby. Mall vendors, juggling heavy transit bags filled with three days worth of holiday receipts, lined up in serpentine, velvet-roped queues while non-business customers fidgeted in a separate line. Christmas music droned cheerfully over invisible speakers. Behind the wall of bulletproof glass and steel, a dozen tellers worked steadily, efficiently, counting money, verifying deposits, printing receipts while supervisors ran back-up.
Christine Hines, lead teller and 7-year holiday veteran, noticed the man first. Dark glasses. Baseball cap. Blue, frumped-out jacket that could disguise a howitzer. When the man eased the bulge at his midriff sideways, Christine felt the sickening chill of adrenaline. She smiled at the woman trying to explain something to her in broken Spanglish, then casually as she could, slipped her hand under the counter.
In the security booth upstairs, Jimmy Chan scanned the bank of flatscreen monitors, each with a different security feed. It took him about seven seconds to zoom in on the man in blue, another fifteen to alert the guards downstairs. He watched them unsnap their holsters and converge warily on the suspect. If need be, Chan would notify the authorities. In the mean time, he could sit back and enjoy the show.
@ Shelly,
These poor clueless guys (grin). You’ve done a good job conveying just how in-over-their-heads they are from the start. Good job in setting up the omniscient POV in the first paragraph; it sets the scene in terms of situation, characters and the emotional tone, and gets the police on the way so the reader will be waiting for that escalation when it comes. In all the POVs, you’ve done a good job of visualizing the emotional dynamics and then describing them specifically.
I agree with Dianne that you can streamline on a sentence level: you’ve got good specific emotional/physical detail that deserves to shine through clearly. Right now, some of it is less clear than it could be because you’re not getting to it as directly as you could. Here are a couple of suggestions to show what you could do:
You have: When passerby heard the three gunshots that went off in the still of the October afternoon and saw that the revolving door to bank was suddenly still, they quickly surmised that they had witnessed the unmistakably sounds of gunfire and ran to the other side of the street.
This feels a bit repetitive, because you tell us that the folks hear gunshots and then that they work out that they have heard gunshots. I suggest simply showing us the thinking in action, perhaps something like:
When pedestrians heard three sharp sounds and saw the revolving door standing still, they all knew it meant gunshots in the bank. They ran to the other side of the street and huddled over their iPhones, all dialing 911 at the same time and watching the building in whispered fascination.
You have: Joanne was not afraid. She appraised the would be bank robber in front of her and accurately assessed that the growing wet spot on the front of his pants was urine and he was so afraid that he was about to wet himself.
I suggest something that links directly back to Jack’s sweating, since he’s worried about it. Perhaps:
Joanne was not afraid, but she thought perhaps the man with the gun was. He was sweating, and there was a tiny wet spot on the front of his pants that she thought was probably urine.
(I’ve changed the size of the wet spot because if it’s growing, that suggests that he’s already in the process of peeing all over himself).
Thanks for doing the exercise!
@ Dianne,
Great job. It’s clear and smooth. I especially like the detail of the robber easing his midriff bulge sideways as the clue that spurs Christine into action, and the way you make clear that she presses the security buzzer and Jimmy gets the signal, without actually telling us any of this. Showing the beginning of an action and then cutting to the result is a great technique to keep the pace moving forward and keep the reader engaged.
My suggestions are all on the line-editing level and in the fussy-editor zone :) For example:
Mall vendors
,juggling heavy transit bagsfilledwith three daysworthof holiday receipts,lined up in serpentine, velvet-ropedqueues while non-business customers fidgeted in a separate line.Thanks for doing the exercise!
Thanks, Kelley!
I’m brain-fogged today – will post mine when I can think. Instead of a bank robbery, may I use the prelude to a physical attack?
@ Jo,
Yes, feel free. Just remind everyone when you post that you are changing the scenario, in case someone hasn’t read these comments and thinks you’ve totally missed the point :)
@ Kelley – lol, not that that’s ever happened before . . .
Here’s my somewhat feeble attempt at omniscient POV. Don’t know if I am entirely successful. Omniscient POV is one of the hardest to do well. (So says me…)
Friday is the hottest day. The sidewalk in front of Arizona National Bank shimmers like bits of broken glass from the heat. A beige Pontiac idles at the curb, then dies. Two minutes before ten in the morning and Stevie’s brand new dark blue polyester already sticks to his back, large circles of damp expand beneath his arms, a moistness forms on the inside of his knees where he holds steady a12-gauge sawed-off shotgun. He wipes his face with his hand and in the hundred and two degree heat, he starts to shake as though it were as cold as January.
Joey sits in the front lighting up a joint, while James sitting beside him, moves his large, black hands back and forth over the steering wheel. Joey licks the paper, ignoring the man and when the driver sighs heavily, Joey turns his face away, already knowing what James is about to say, ‘Children, we are here to do this thing. Are we clear on that?’ Joey hits the match and inhales deeply.
Stevie stares out the window at the bank. The clock tower in the square chimes ten times. The guard, wearing his faded security uniform, comes to the front door and unlocks it. The old man smiles like he should and nods to a young blond woman and her sleeping baby as they step inside and out of the scorching sun. The glass door falls shut again. The guard pauses, pushes the cap off his forehead and takes a long look outside at the cloudless sky, then his eyes level and land on the beige Pontiac.
‘Oh Jesus,’ Stevie says. ‘He made us.’
James swivels in the front seat already regretting his decision to include Marchetti brothers on this gig. He grinds his back teeth wishing he had listened to his little voice. The little voice is never wrong. Patience is a virtue, the big man tells himself as he throws an arm over the back rest. He sticks his glare onto Stevie’s face and won’t let go. You know we mean to do this. He watches for a sign the boy understands but gets none. He takes hold of the brand new polyester and twists. ‘You hush yourself, now. There is nothing for you to be afraid of.’
Stevie can’t stop himself. He squeals like a little girl. ‘He’s seen us. I swear to God, he was looking right in our window.’
Joey laughs releasing the smoke from his lungs. Weak, little scare-baby my brother is, and he knows there never was a truer statement as he begins to feel himself floating away. Always was, always will be. Joey laughs again and doesn’t see the dark hand that slaps the side of his face, knocking the joint to the floor of the car. ‘Hey,’ Joey shouts and angrily grabbing for it. ‘What do you think you’re doing?’ Without a word, the same hand jerks him upright and hard against the backrest. Joey feels his heart lurch and his throat tighten. He doesn’t float anymore.
‘Time is now, children,’ James says, keeping his voice soft and soothing. ‘You know what to do.’
Joey pulls the .38 special from the front of his pants and holds between his palms. He leans down and kisses the barrel. ‘From now on you are my daddy, my best friend, the best sweetheart I ever had.’ He returns the gun to his pants and pulls his t-shirt over it. He flexes his arms, rolls his neck from side to side. ‘Come on, Stevie. It’s money time.’
Three kids, two girls and a boy, ride up, lean their bicycles against the bank’s wall and chase each other inside. Stevie swallows hard, takes his hand off the barrel of the shotgun. ‘You see them kids go inside?’
Joey stops working his neck. “I ain’t shooting no kids.”
James sighs, feeling the urgent pressure against his bladder. He removes the revolver from his pants, the other one strapped to his calf and rests them on the front seat. He opens the door and steps out. The big man averts his eyes as he comes around to the side of the car. Joey grins up at him as he lowers the window.
‘I have business to attend to and when I get back you two better be ready to do this thing that we plan on doing.’ James turns away and walks into the bank.
Stevie sits up straight, his brand new polyester pulls away from the vynol. He is beginning to smell his own sweat. ‘What’s James up to, anyhow?’
Joey reaches down between his feet for what is left of his joint and sticks it in his mouth. ‘Do I have to draw a picture for you?’ he says and laughs.
‘Yeah,’ Stevie says, shifting over until he is right behind his brother, ‘draw me a picture, Joey.’
Jan –
You definitely have all the ingredients for omniscient POV. You dip briefly into all the characters heads here, providing us with some great details and insights about each one. To make your writing smoother, try to stick with one character longer, rather than bouncing from Stevie to Joey to Stevie to James, etc.
Overall, I think your choice of present tense works against you. Here’s a quick rewrite of the first couple paragraphs to tighten things up.
Friday was the hottest day of the year. At two minutes before ten, the sidewalk in front of Arizona National Bank shimmered like ground glass in the heat. A beige Pontiac pulled up to the curb, sputtered, then died.
In the back seat, Stevie’s brand new navy polyester shirt clung to his back, dark circles expanding beneath his arms. His pants felt clammy where the inside of his knees pressed against the sawed-off twelve-gauge. A hundred and two, and he was shaking like it was January.
In the passenger seat, Joey rolled a joint, licked the paper, smoothed it down. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the driver, James, rub his large, black hands over the steering wheel and sigh. Joey turned his face away, knew already what James was about to say: ‘Children, we are here to do this thing. Are we clear on that?’ Joey hit the match and inhaled.
Dianne–
Thank you! I appreciate this very much and I do see how it does work smoother with the edits and the use of past tense.
Now my next question is how can I keep the emotional punch or the unique state of the each characters’ minds, not only showing what they are up against the moment before the bank robbery, but also drawing the reader in closer. What I am aiming for is having the reader see what is happening in the scene (of course) but also wanting the reader to have to go beyond merely sitting back and watching. I want the reader to get caught up in the story, yes, but I also want them to have to react, make judgments, consider their own lives, etc.
The truth is, I don’t want to sound like everyone else.
@ Jan,
Nice job, Jan. I agree with Dianne that past tense is better for this, and I like very much how compressed your piece is — we get a whole set of relationship dynamics, and the implied promise that something is about to go very wrong, in vivid language and with particular observations about character.
You don’t sound like everyone else. The interesting thing about good writing is that it becomes transparent without being generic. The more clear the writing, the easier it is for the reader to access the characters and their story. But a good story always just sounds exactly like itself, and no two writers ever tell the same story — not even when we begin from the same premise.
As for your question about emotional punch and reader engagement at multiple levells, allow me to answer in stages: first, after establishing your omniscient POV (as you’ve done well, both through the wide focus and then by shifting into multiple characters), then pick a “central character” for the scene or sequence. Focus the core of the scene from that person’s POV. Then take some extra beats (as appropriate — when they don’t interfere with pacing or the action) to let that person expand our understanding of him. Perhaps it’s a brief memory; or an expression of personal preference; or a philosophical riff; or a fleeting wish to pound someone’s head against the dashboard…. Anything that deepens our understanding of the character and serves as a way for us to connect with that character. As we connect with characters, so we evaluate their behavior and choices against what we might do, how we might feel. And so on.
Let me know if that’s not clear and I’ll try again! In the meantime, here’s how I approached your scene. I used Dianne’s beginning and then carried on from there. I picked James as the central character (although you’ve written this well enough and with sufficient depth of character detail that I could have picked any of them). Then I refocused your text either through his POV, or in “neutral,” until he leaves to go to the bathroom: although we’re not directly in his head the whole time, we could be.
The next stage would be to find a moment or two in the scene for us to spend a little more time with James, a “breathing space” for the character to invite us farther in. The great thing about past tense is that you can time-trip this way: you can stop time in the car, let us follow James’ thought or memory to a conclusion, and then put us right back in the car with no perceived loss of time, and no bump to the reader. We are used to this as readers: we don’t even notice it.
So perhaps James could remember a story about last time he didn’t listen to the little voice; or digress internally about how he hates potheads; or wonder if he should just shoot Stevie now and get it over with… He can think about anything you want. He can think about Great White Whales if you can find the right trigger point in the scene and make it emotionally connected to what’s happening now :)
If you feel like rewriting what I’ve done to better suit yourself, and to then expand it in some way to give a reader more to consider, please go ahead!
—————-
Friday was the hottest day of the year. At two minutes before ten, the sidewalk in front of Arizona National Bank shimmered like ground glass in the heat. A beige Pontiac pulled up to the curb, sputtered, then died.
In the back seat, Stevie’s brand new navy polyester shirt clung to his back, dark circles expanding beneath his arms. His pants felt clammy where the inside of his knees pressed against the sawed-off twelve-gauge. A hundred and two, and he was shaking like it was January.
In the passenger seat, Joey rolled a joint, licked the paper, smoothed it down. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the driver, James, rub his large, black hands over the steering wheel and sigh. Joey turned his face away, knew already what James was about to say: ‘Children, we are here to do this thing. Are we clear on that?’ Joey hit the match and inhaled.
James was already regretting his decision to include the Marchetti brothers on this job. He should have listened to his little voice. The little voice was never wrong.
The clock struck ten. James watched as the bank guard, wearing his faded security uniform, unlocked the bank’s front door. The guard nodded to a young blond woman and her sleeping baby as they stepped inside out of the scorching sun. As the door began to shut, the guard pushed the cap off his forehead and took a look at the cloudless sky; then his eyes leveled and landed on the beige Pontiac.
‘Oh Jesus,’ Stevie said. ‘He made us.’
Joey laughed and released the smoke from his lungs. Stevie squealed again, like a little girl, ‘He’s seen us. I swear to God, he was looking right in our window.’
Joey laughed again, and James slapped the joint from his mouth and onto the car floor. ‘Hey,’ Joey said. Without a word, James jerked him upright and hard against the backrest. ‘Time is now, children,’ he said, keeping his voice soft and soothing. ‘You know what to do.’
Joey pulled the .38 special from the front of his pants and kissed the barrel. ‘From now on you are my daddy, my best friend, the best sweetheart I ever had.’ He returned the gun to his pants and pulled his t-shirt over it. Then he rolled his neck from side to side. ‘Come on, Stevie. It’s money time.’
Three kids, two girls and a boy, rode up, leaned their bicycles against the bank’s wall and chased each other inside. Stevie swallowed hard, took his hand off the barrel of the shotgun. ‘You see them kids go inside?’
Joey stopped working his neck. “I ain’t shooting no kids.”
James sighed. All this, and now an urgent pressure against his bladder. He removed the revolver from his pants, the other one strapped to his calf and put them on the front seat. He turned again to the Marchettis. ‘I have business to attend to, and when I get back you two better be ready to do this thing that we plan on doing.’
James left the car and headed into the bank. Stevie sat up straight. He was beginning to smell his own sweat. ‘What’s James up to, anyhow?’
Joey reached down between his feet for what was left of the joint and stuck it in his mouth. ‘Do I have to draw a picture for you?’ he said, and laughed.
‘Yeah,’ Stevie said, shifting over until he was right behind his brother, ‘draw me a picture, Joey.’
Jan –
The only thing that I would add:
In order to keep the reader engaged, it’s not necessary to give us a play by play of every thought each character has. The things the characters say and do will give us insight into what they’re thinking and feeling and keep us immersed in the story. For example, Stevie’s paranoia — imagining the guard has seen them — and squealing like a little girl tell us plenty about his state of mind, even if we see this through the eyes of one of the other characters.
Keep up the good work!
Thanks for the feedback! This exercise really helped define POV for me.
Thank you Kelley and Dianne!
First, Kelley thanks much for your encouragement and suggestions of how to delve deeper into the scene and ways to draw the reader in further. I appreciate your curious nature and expansive thinking. (Always!)
And Dianne, again you are dead on about details. I fear, a bit of nervousness made me overload the scene. The fidgety sense of ‘Have I done a good enough job showing the reader what I see in my head or telling them who these three men are?’ In re-writes I am sure a few will go by the wayside.
Thanks again.
j.
@ Shelly — You’re most welcome, thanks for being part of this conversation.
@ Jan — And you are welcome too, always! Re: details — loading up details is something I do too in first draft, and then I have to go back and start trimming. Let yourself write it all out in the first draft, because it will give you lots to choose from. All I had to do in your scene was pick details you had already created and then craft a through line using those details. It was all there; I just made some choices. And I believe that when we pick the right few details, the reader fills in the rest on their own. I may not see exactly the same James, Joey and Stevie you do, but I sure do see them — and that’s the point.
Well, here is my entry, not sure how good it is but meh:
Two beings were in the manor that night. One of which was Ava, and her world was going to change forever.
Leaning against the wall, her hand resting on the hilt of her elven forged sword, she waited for the mark to appear. She sighed in irritation. The thief was late.
The knight sighed in discontent. “Her card said she’d be here at sundown.”
Shadow Fox ran across the roof silently, her steps nimble and vigilant. Watching and waiting for the guard to get distracted. Hours it felt like, when a soft yawn came to her ears. She smirked, and peered over the edge of the roof. The knight had fallen asleep. Shadow slid down the ground, swiftly picked the lock on the door and slipped in silently, her prize awaited her.
The emerald orb sat there staring at her from the pillow it sat upon. Gazing at the precious gem, she smiled. Her goal was within reach. Losing focus for a minute as she fumbled with her bag, she didn’t notice the door open behind her.
A smirk graced Ava’s lips as she snuck up on the thief. Drawing her sword as she took a step forward, she couldn’t help but smile. She would finally be capturing the elusive Shadow Fox.
“I’d put that back if I were you. You don’t know where its been.”
The thief jumped at the unexpected voice and turned, swiftly drawing a dagger. She dropped the orb and sprang forward to attack.
The last thing Ava remembered before all went black, was a flash of blood in the air.
Donna –
Glad to see you writing!
You dipped into Ava’s head, then switched to Shadow Fox’s POV, then back, so you’ve definitely got the omniscient thing going for you.
I’d recommend going back and reworking the first three paragraphs. If this is part of a larger work, you might get away with your description of them being “in the manor,” otherwise, it would be nice to get some details of the setting.
I’m not sure from the wording if “the knight” and Ava are the same person, or two different people. (If two different people, then Shadow Fox makes three, which contradicts the first sentence.) You might start something like:
Ava’s world was about to change forever. She would finally be capturing the elusive Shadow Fox. Leaning against the wall, she rested her hand on the hilt of her elven forged sword and gave her companion a questioning glance.
The knight frowned. “The card said she’d be here at sundown.”
Ava glanced out the window at the darkling sky and sighed in irritation. The thief was late.
Its part of a larger work, I’ve used these characters before here, and used similar writing so I didn’t think much of it. This is really just a scene I pulled from a larger work that I had previously writen so the detail of what the manor is is included about 10 pages ahead when Ava gets ‘agrees’ to protect it.
Another thing, when you rewrote it as “Ava’s world was about to change forever. She would finally be capturing the elusive Shadow Fox.” Really we aren’t sure, ok yeah its suppose to be omniscient, but where is the thrill in knowing she’s going to capture her? Its obvious by the last sentence she doesn’t, not if she passes out.
Also with “Ava glanced out the window at the darkling sky and sighed in irritation. The thief was late.” Ava isn’t inside the building, she’s standing guard outside of it. The fact that Shadow Fox can see her from the roof is evidence of that.
I’m not trying to be rude, just pointing out details.
Donna –
No problem. I wasn’t suggesting that you use my words, only that you make things more clear. “in the manor” to me sounds like inside.
@ Donna,
Nice to see you back. A few notes:
I agree with Dianne that “in the manor” suggests “inside the manor house,” so you’ll need to clarify that for the reader. This is true even if the manor is described previously. Are there really only two people in the entire house?
Ava sighs twice in two paragraphs: try to avoid repeating words close together. Find a different behavior in one instance, or simply combine those two thoughts — they are essentially giving the reader the same information, that Shadow Fox is late and Ava is annoyed.
Shadow Fox can be vigilant, but her steps cannot — doesn’t really work to apply the adjective that way. Do you mean “careful”? Or do you mean that SF herself is alert?
I am on a personal campaign to remove the word “smirk” from every writer’s working vocabulary. If you are set on using it, only use it once. A “smirk” is never graceful, so it cannot grace Ava’s lips.
slipped in silently, her prize awaited her. This should either be two separate sentences, or “awaited” should be “awaiting.”
The emerald orb sat there staring at her from the pillow it sat upon. You’re using “sat” twice in the same sentence. It’s redundant. Try The emerald orb stared at her from its pillow or something similar, although I would also push back on “stared” unless the orb can actually see her through some kind of magic. Since this is a fantasy, your reader may assume that descriptions that sound like magic are literal, rather than metaphorical.
I think it’s fine to do this scene in omniscient POV — you’re the writer, you get to choose — but you don’t really need to. It would work just as well from Ava’s POV, with her discovering Shadow Fox stealing the orb in progress. If you want to use omniscient here (and in the rest of your book), then I encourage you to jump POV only when it’s necessary to the overall effectiveness of the story. It doesn’t feel necessary here, and the jumps are so fast that we don’t really get to spend any quality time with either character. I’ve met these folks before in your exercises here and know they are interesting, so I think that you should give the reader as much time in one person’s head as possible before making a move.
None of my book is in omniscient, its originally in first person, I just changed it since that was what the exercise called for.
Yes they really are the only two at the manor, and I did mean to change it to at.
@ Donna,
Oh, I see (about changing the scene for the exercise). I’ve never tried switching something I’ve written into a totally different point of view. I’d be interested to hear sometime if it changes anything about the scene for you as the writer by changing it from first person to omniscient. Do you “see” different things about the scene?
Well, when I started off, I wrote the story in both (1st and Omniscient) I kept them seperate since I wasn’t sure which would be better, but I just felt that 1st flowed better with the atmosphere of the book and the tension between the characters. IMO it also allows for more in-depth characterization as well as let in more detail. If you’d like to discuss it further, hit me up with an email.
Kelley –
What are you advocating to replace “smirk?” Just did a word-search of one of my screenplays and found 6 “smirks.” Also 30 “smiles,” 17 “grins,” one “leer,” and a “snerk.”
Dianne, I don’t think there’s a one-size-fits-all replacement. For me it’s always contextual. Can you give a couple of examples?
INT. CLASSROOM – DAY
Chess club. Pairs of students set up their boards. Among them are
Grace, Chris, and ARIEL (17), a cheerful waif.
ETHAN (17), army-brat know it all, sets up by himself.
Lauren swings into the room.
LAUREN
Chess club?
Ethan glances up from his board.
ETHAN
Chess, not chest.
LAUREN
We all have our crosses to bear.
She glances at Grace and Ariel.
LAUREN
Some more than others.
Ethan smirks.
* * *
INT. LAUREN’S APARTMENT – NIGHT
Lauren pads into the Bathroom, takes a pill bottle down from the
medicine cabinet, and pours a pill into her hand.
In the mirror, the floral-patterned wallpaper is alive, a tangled
jungle of vines and leaves and crawling things.
LAUREN’S MOM (O.C.)
I’m gone.
LAUREN’S MOM (34), suburban white trash squeezed into a too-small
waitress outfit, stands at the door.
LAUREN’S MOM
I swear that’s the rattiest pair
of PJs you own.
Lauren smirks.
LAUREN
Yeah, ain’t they cool?
Dianne, thanks for the examples.
In the first one, I’d probably say “Ethan is amused” or “Ethan appreciates the jab” or something that conveys Ethan’s emotional response while giving the actor a little more leeway.
I don’t think you need Lauren to smirk at all. I think her dialogue makes the point just fine.
My two cents!
Here’s my attempt. With Kelley’s permission, I’ve changed the scenario and setting. We are on the very volcanically active planet Gedrel, early in its prehistory/before dry land colonization.
(R for language at the end)
.
Sunlight played across the Djeva Sea, hitting its maze of protruding coral ridges with an outburst of color. Under the surface, waving red and purple tentacles sprang from straw-like arms surrounded by spiky growths. Small yellow and orange-striped fish darted in and out of the gaps, snatching a quick breakfast before the bright blue bea-fruits could retract into their spiny shells for the day. In contrast to the bright colors were the pale skins of the remnants of the Chasm tribe as they too harvested the bea-fruits, webbed hands plucking them from between the stinging dari tentacles. The two coral species always thrived together because the tentacles of the dari protected the precious bea-fruits in this time of danger, when the fruits were out and so were morning scavengers.
Near the end of one coral ridge, Ceer felt the dari’s deep sting as she snatched her empty hand away. Her concentration was in tatters. A few feet away, Tik was busy harvesting too – but with every kick the older woman was shifting closer. Ki, harvesting just beyond Tik, was doing the same. At last night’s meeting, Keeper Tik had again argued for Ceer’s exile to the land. Djai had as always countered that one Jalrian sent to the land alone was surely a death sentence, but her words had seemed tired and disjointed. As Tik’s apprentice, Ki had recounted the losses suffered in the last eighteen years, starting with the boil that had come just after Ceer’s birth. Before yesterday’s battle with the Scrapings Tribe, Djai had led them in every known prayer to the water-goddess. Jal had not been moved. Three of their number had been killed, Djai’s only daughter, Ree, among them. Ceer glanced up from her work to look for Djai, but felt her stomach plunge when she instead saw Tik shift even closer. Cool water streamed between Ceer’s unwebbed toes as she kicked away. Bubbles spurted from Tik’s gills as she moved to follow. Ceer’s slowness was a tribe joke. Djai had always insisted that Ceer’s deformity meant she was special to the land-goddess Melle and should not be harmed. Djai had been a veritable dari to Ceer’s fruit. A shadow moved and Tik stopped short. She had forgotten that dari could also sting.
As she came around the end of the ridge to face the abomination, Djai saw Tik flash her palms forward to stop herself, mouth agape. Djai advanced on Ceer, coral knife held high. The girl had the audacity to look confused as she flushed blue with fear. How could the girl be confused, after bending Djai’s vision for eighteen years? Ceer had been Melle’s from the start, and Melle was never to be trusted. Djai slashed at Ceer’s neck but the girl dodged and the knife edge slit her from collarbone to stomach. Tik hung motionless as Djai slammed Ceer against the coral wall and slashed as if she‘d never stop.
Behind the motionless Tik, the blood cloud reached Ki’s gills and woke her, as if from a trance. She shoved the Keeper forward.
“Hold her!” Ki shouted at Tik. She wasn’t sure if the older woman would hear her above Ceer’s screams as the dari stung and the bea-spines pierced, but Tik seemed to understand. She grabbed Djai and began to haul her backwards. Ki jerked Ceer away from the coral. The girl screamed again as Ki grabbed her around the trunk and towed her through the maze toward shore.
Ki’s arm chafing against Ceer’s back was excruciating. Ceer kicked at the black sand ineffectually, trying to support her own weight as Ki dragged her up the beach. Ki heaved her past the high-tide line. Sand huffed up Ceer’s nose as her lungs kicked in. She struggled to raise her head.
“Wait – “
Ki, already hip-deep in the rolling surf, looked back.
“Thank you – “
“Fuck you. Your boil killed my mothers just the same as yours.” Ki paused, as if explaining to the terminally stupid. “When Tik dies I’ll be Keeper. If I’d let you die I’d have to tell my daughters, and they would have to tell their daughters, who would have to tell their daughters how I incurred Melle’s curse upon the tribe for letting her chosen die. We’ve already been cursed by Jal for keeping you around. We don’t need both goddesses against us.” Ki spat at her, the spittle still arcing into the surf as she dove beneath the waves.
.
Thanks — Jo
I promise to never use smirk in my work, as long as we can pardon Mercer Mayer for his monsters having smirks on their snerks.
Hi Jo,
Good job and thanks for doing this! I am responding on the fly, so apologies if any of my comments aren’t clear. I’ve done some editing in the text and also left some explanatory notes. If something doesn’t make sense (entirely possible, given today’s rate of speed), please let me know and I’ll take another whack at it!
I love the visuals of this — the sea colors, and then the blood cloud and the black sand. I like the way you draw the reader into the world. Then I want you to focus down on Ceer and Djai, and then you can come back out to Ki at the end — I think the attack should happen quickly and clearly from the POVs of the two people involved.
My 2 cents! Thanks again.
——————————–
Sunlight played across the Djeva Sea, hitting its maze of protruding coral ridges with an outburst of color. Under the surface, bright blue bea-fruits hung between waving red and purple dari tentacles: small yellow and orange-striped fish darted in and out of the gaps, avoiding the dari’s stings, snatching a quick breakfast before the bea-fruits could retract into their spiny shells for the day.
I streamlined this and broke up the paragraph because although the detail is beautiful, there is so much color and shape that it’s hard for the reader to process all at once.
The remnants of the Chasm tribe were pale among all the color as they too harvested the bea-fruits, webbed hands careful of the stinging dari tentacles.
Near the end of one coral ridge, Ceer felt the dari’s deep sting and snatched her empty hand away. Her concentration was in tatters. At last night’s meeting, Ki had recounted the losses suffered in the last eighteen years, starting with the boil that had come just after Ceer’s birth. Keeper Tik had again argued for Ceer’s exile to the land. Djai had as always countered that was surely a death sentence, but her words had seemed tired and disjointed.
I restructured the order of events in the above paragraph to end with Djai because I think it makes a smoother transition into the death of Ree. And I also broke it into a couple of shorter paragraphs so that key information would not get lost.
And now three of their number were dead in yesterday’s battle with the Scrapings Tribe; Djai’s only daughter, Ree, among them. Ceer glanced up from her work to look for Djai, but felt her stomach plunge when she instead saw Tik shift even closer. Cool water streamed between Ceer’s unwebbed toes as she kicked away. Bubbles spurted from Tik’s gills as she moved to follow. Ceer’s slowness was a tribe joke. Djai had always insisted that Ceer’s deformity meant she was special to the land-goddess Melle and should not be harmed. Djai had been a veritable dari to Ceer’s fruit. A shadow moved and Tik stopped short. She had forgotten that dari could also sting.
Jo, the previous paragraph needs revisioning. I am finding the POV jumps too hard to follow because I’m also in an unfamiliar environment with unfamiliar names, and have just learned some significant history. It’s a lot to take in at once, so one strategy I suggest is that this confrontation be first from Ceer’s POV and then, when the attack comes, from Djai’s. That would mean restructuring the graph above so that Ceer perhaps is trying to get away from Tik in the first sentence or so, and Ceer is making a deliberate run for Djai — she thinks Djai will protect her, Djai has been her dari. The line “she had forgotten that dari could also sting” can then be from Ceer’s POV, and then switch as you do now right into Djai. I think it makes a smoother transition.
Djai advanced on Ceer, coral knife held high. The girl had the audacity to look confused as she flushed blue with fear. She had bent Djai’s vision for eighteen years. Ceer had been Melle’s from the start, and Melle was never to be trusted. Djai slashed at Ceer’s neck but the girl dodged, and the knife edge slit her from collarbone to stomach. Djai slammed Ceer against the coral wall and slashed as if she‘d never stop.
The blood cloud reached Ki’s gills and woke her, as if from a trance.
Jo —
Lots of wonderful detail here. You have a brilliant imagination. As far as the omniscient thing goes, you’ve shifted seamlessly from Ceer to Djai to Ki.
I am a little confused how Ceer seems perfectly fine after Djai slit her “from collarbone to stomach” and then “slammed her against the coral wall and slashed as if she‘d never stop.”
I’d also argue that you don’t need the profanity here. To begin with, unless it’s Earth (or an Earth-based colony) they wouldn’t use that word. (Note BSG’s use of “frack” and “felgercarb.”) More importantly, Ki’s words contain all the venom you need here. The profanity simply dilutes it.
@Dianne — Thank you for your help – and you’re right, I need to work on Ceer’s physical condition because it doesn’t work yet. I’m mixed on the profanity. I used the generic English f-word because I don’t have a Gedrelian word for it at this time, I just haven’t gotten that far. I’m not even really sure how they mate yet, actually :P.
@Kelley — Thank you for your help :). I think I understand what you’re saying, but I’m fogged tonight so will have to look at it in depth in the next couple of days. I’m glad you like Gedrel – I’m having fun creating it.
Hi Jo,
I didn’t take as much time as I wanted, and I apologize for that: deadlines currently rule my life. So if any comments aren’t clear it’s probably because of my moving fast. Just ask, okay? I do want the comments to be understandable even if you decide you don’t agree with them (smile), and I will be happy to clarify anything that needs it, no problem at all.
In the mother of all late submissions, I finally have my rewrite. In my original post I had a problem with the analogy of Djai-as-dari which I thought could slide, but when I rewrote from Djai’s point of view it was glaring. I’ve tried to fix it here & hope this works better:
.
Sunlight played across the Djeva Sea, hitting its maze of protruding coral ridges with an outburst of color. Under the surface, bright blue bea-fruits hung between waving red and purple dari tentacles. Small yellow and orange-striped fish darted in and out of the gaps, avoiding the dari’s stings, snatching a quick breakfast before the bea-fruits could retract into their spiny shells for the day.
The remnants of the Chasm tribe were pale among all the color as they too harvested the bea-fruits, webbed hands careful of the stinging dari tentacles. Near the end of one coral ridge, Ceer felt the dari’s deep sting and snatched her hand away. The bea-fruit she had just picked dropped into the mass of tentacles and was stung from all sides. She didn’t bother to try to get the fruit back – it would be poisoned now. Ceer’s concentration was in tatters. At last night’s meeting, apprentice Keeper Ki had recounted the losses suffered in the last eighteen years, starting with the boil that had come just after Ceer’s birth. Keeper Tik had again argued for Ceer’s exile to the land. Always Ceer’s dari, Djai had countered that it would be a death sentence and would incur Melle’s wrath. Djai’s words had sounded tired though, and her thoughts disjointed. Three more of their number had died in yesterday’s battle with the Scrapings tribe; Djai’s only daughter, Ree, among them.
Ceer glanced up from her work to look for Djai, but felt her stomach plunge when she instead saw Tik shift closer. Behind Tik, Ki did the same. Cool water streamed between Ceer’s unwebbed toes as she kicked toward the gap in the coral. She could hear Ki and Tik following her. Where was Djai? Behind her, Tik laughed. They were playing games with her – her slowness was a tribe joke. At that thought, the water suddenly felt much warmer. How far were they going to take it? As she dodged through the gap, her heart leapt – Djai was just beyond it. Ceer started to gather her muscles for a massive kick to reach her, but stopped short. She had never considered that Djai-as-dari could sting fruit as well as harvester.
Djai advanced on Ceer, coral knife held high. The girl had the audacity to look confused as she flushed blue with fear. She had bent Djai’s vision for eighteen years. Ceer had been Melle’s from the start, and Melle was never to be trusted. In the instant Djai brought the knife down to plunge it into Ceer’s heart, the girl started and threw an arm out to block the blow. Djai was stronger, though, and the knife still succeeded in slitting a four inch slash between Ceer’s breasts. Bright blue blood blossomed from the wound. The cobalt tang sang in Djai’s mouth and gills. She brought the knife up again and stabbed, this time plunging the knife deep into Ceer’s forearm. The girl cried out but it only added to Djai’s lust. No matter how much she could make the girl bleed and scream, it would never be enough. She brought the knife down a third time but Ceer kicked up at the last second and slammed her foot into Djai’s stomach. Djai dropped the knife in surprise, but it was no matter. Heedless of the pain in her midsection, she charged at Ceer, slamming the girl’s naked back into the coral wall. Ceer screamed again as hundreds of tentacles sent poison into her skin and the sharp branches of their coral homes sliced furrows into her back.
Behind the motionless Tik, the blood cloud reached Ki’s gills and woke her, as if from a trance. She shoved the Keeper forward.
“Hold her!” Ki shouted at Tik. She wasn’t sure if the older woman would hear her above Ceer’s screams as the dari stung, coral tore, and bea-spines pierced, but Tik seemed to understand. She grabbed Djai and began to haul her backwards. Ki jerked Ceer away from the coral. The girl screamed again as Ki grabbed her around the trunk and towed her through the maze toward shore. Ki’s arm chafing against Ceer’s back was excruciating. Ceer kicked at the black sand ineffectually, trying to support her own weight as Ki dragged her up the beach. With a grunt, the girl heaved her past the high-tide line. Sand huffed up Ceer’s nose as her lungs kicked in. She struggled to raise her head.
“Wait – “
Ki, already hip-deep in the rolling surf, looked back.
“Thank you – “
“Tash you. Your boil killed my mothers just the same as yours.” Ki paused, as if explaining to the terminally stupid. “When Tik dies I’ll be Keeper. If I’d let you die I’d have to tell my daughters, and they would have to tell their daughters, who would have to tell their daughters how I incurred Melle’s curse upon the tribe for letting her chosen die. We’ve already been cursed by Jal for keeping you around. We don’t need both goddesses against us.” Ki spat at her, the spittle still arcing into the surf as she dove beneath the waves.
.
Thank you for your help :).
Jo –
No worries :) These exercises have no shelf life, that’s one of the beauties of the interweb.
I think you’re doing a great job with this. For me, Ceer’s POV works much better as the POV for the third paragraph — the action is much more clear to me, and feels more tense.
The transition to paragraph 4 isn’t working for me yet. The last sentence of par. 3 (about Djai-as-dari) is just complex enough that I think it might take the reader an extra beat to parse it, and that breaks the rhythm of the building tension. Then the first sentence of par. (Djai advanced on Ceer, coral knife held high) could be read as still being Ceer’s POV, and so it’s not until The girl… that we understand the shift.
I also think you might have some subtle narrative grammar issues happening here. I think Ceer should see the knife, feel confused, then understand that Djai is no longer her protector, but now her attacker. I really like the idea of Djai-as-dari, but I think it will make more sense if we have seen what Ceer has seen, rather than Djai-as-dari being a ‘teaser” for the reader.
I think the Djai-as-dari can come from Ceer’s POV (understanding too late that the dari sometimes stings its own fruit) or from Djai’s (you stupid girl, did you think the dari never stings its own fruit). That’s your call and I think it could work either way. I think that following the physical description (knife, confusion, fear) with the metaphor will make a nice build.
I like the action in par. 5 (the fight). Just watch for repetition of words like “plunge” and “stab” and “the girl.” One strategy might be to put a couple of these moments into italicized direct thoughts from Djai’s POV. For example, the current sentence [No matter how much she could make the girl bleed and scream, it would never be enough.] is a great moment, and could also work well if it were something like [No matter how much you bleed and scream, Djai thought, it will never be enough.] (Sorry if the brackets are confusing — quoting inline turns out to be tricky when italics versus non-italics are involved!)
The moment when Ceer is pushed back into the coral and stung is really gripping. and I think the transition into Ki’s POV is very nicely done.
Good job!
@ Kelley — I’m sure I have narrative grammar issues, and multiple other issues as well. My most recent & only creative writing class was in 1989 :P. Please keep pointing out anything that you think needs work, I’m here to learn.
Thank you for all of your help :).
@ Kelley — and the brackets aren’t confusing, that makes perfect sense.
Jo — Glad to hear the brackets aren’t confusing, and you are most welcome!
Jo —
Lovely! Very intense and gripping action. Keep at it!
@Dianne — Thank you :)!
Ok, next try:
.
Sunlight played across the Djeva Sea, hitting its maze of protruding coral ridges with an outburst of color. Under the surface, bright blue bea-fruits hung between waving red and purple dari tentacles. Small yellow and orange-striped fish darted in and out of the gaps, avoiding the dari’s stings and snatching a quick breakfast before the bea-fruits could retract into their spiny shells for the day.
The remnants of the Chasm tribe were pale among all the color as they too harvested the bea-fruits, webbed hands careful of the stinging dari tentacles. Near the end of one coral ridge, Ceer felt the dari’s deep sting and snatched her hand away. The bea-fruit she had just picked dropped into the mass of tentacles and was stung from all sides. She didn’t bother to try to get the fruit back – it would be poisoned now. Ceer’s concentration was in tatters. At last night’s meeting, apprentice Keeper Ki had recounted the losses suffered in the last eighteen years, starting with the boil that had come just after Ceer’s birth. Keeper Tik had again argued for Ceer’s exile to the land. Always Ceer’s dari, Djai had countered that it would be a death sentence and would incur Melle’s wrath. Djai’s words had sounded tired though, and her thoughts disjointed. Three more of their number had died in yesterday’s battle with the Scrapings tribe; Djai’s only daughter, Ree, among them.
Ceer glanced up from her work to look for Djai, but felt her stomach plunge when she instead saw Tik shift closer. Behind Tik, Ki did the same. Cool water streamed between Ceer’s unwebbed toes as she kicked toward the gap in the coral. She could hear Ki and Tik following her. Where was Djai? Behind her, Tik laughed. They were playing games with her – her slowness was a tribe joke. At that thought, the water suddenly felt much warmer. How far were they going to take it? As she dodged toward the gap, her heart leapt – Djai was just beyond it.
Coming around the tip of the coral ridge, Djai saw Ceer gather her muscles for a massive kick in her direction. Djai felt bubbles stream from her gills in bitter rage. Witless, thoughtless girl, chosen of a selfish, vengeful goddess. Didn’t I save you when the tribe wanted to kill you after your boil? Blood sang through Djai’s veins as she watched Ceer’s smile freeze, joy changing to uncertainty. Djai reveled in her own thundering heartbeat as Ceer flushed blue with fear and silently mouthed two words – my dari .
“You stupid girl, did you think this dari couldn’t sting its own fruit?” Djai heard her own scream cut through the water as she lunged toward Ceer, Ree’s coral knife feeling small and cold in her hand. In the instant Djai brought the knife down to plunge it into Ceer’s heart, the girl started and threw an arm out to block the blow. Djai was stronger, though, and the knife still succeeded in slitting a four inch slash between Ceer’s breasts. Bright blue blood blossomed from the wound. The cobalt tang sang in Djai’s mouth and gills. Ceer’s screams were like lightning down Djai’s spine as she brought the knife down and was again awarded with blood. No matter how much I make you bleed and scream, Djai thought, it will never be enough . As she brought the knife down a third time, Ceer kicked up at the last second and slammed her knee against Djai’s arm. Too small for her hand to grip well, Ree’s knife arced up through the current and away. It was no matter. Heedless of the pain in her arm, Djai charged at Ceer and slammed the girl’s naked back into the coral wall. Ceer screamed again, higher and wilder this time as hundreds of tentacles sent poison into her skin and the sharp branches of their coral homes sliced furrows into her back. For eighteen years, Melle, you and your ’chosen’ bent my vision. Now watch your chosen die . Djai pressed Ceer’s thrashing head hard against the coral, straining to help the tentacles reach the arteries standing out vivid blue on Ceer’s neck.
Behind the motionless Tik, the blood cloud reached Ki’s gills and woke her, as if from a trance. She shoved the Keeper forward.
“Hold her!” Ki shouted at Tik. She wasn’t sure if the older woman would hear her above Ceer’s screams as the dari stung, coral tore, and bea-spines pierced, but Tik seemed to understand. She grabbed Djai and began to haul her backwards. Ki jerked Ceer away from the coral. The girl screamed again as Ki grabbed her around the trunk and towed her through the maze toward shore. Ki’s arm chafing against Ceer’s back was excruciating. Ceer kicked at the black sand ineffectually, trying to support her own weight as Ki dragged her up the beach. With a grunt, the girl heaved her past the high-tide line. Sand huffed up Ceer’s nose as her lungs kicked in. She struggled to raise her head.
“Wait – “
Ki, already hip-deep in the rolling surf, looked back.
“Thank you – “
“Tash you. Your boil killed my mothers just the same as yours.” Ki paused, as if explaining to the terminally stupid. “When Tik dies I’ll be Keeper. If I’d let you die I’d have to tell my daughters, and they would have to tell their daughters, who would have to tell their daughters how I incurred Melle’s curse upon the tribe for letting her chosen die. We’ve already been cursed by Jal for keeping you around. We don’t need both goddesses against us.” Ki spat at her, the spittle still arcing into the surf as she dove beneath the waves.
.
Thank you for your help :).
Jo, I think you’ve done a great job with this. It’s so vivid! The action and the emotional arc are both very clean. The POV transitions are clear and make sense — they come at shared, emotionally heightened moments that make it easy for the reader to travel between one perspective and another.
I think the dari metaphor works very well.
Perhaps you’ve told us before, but is this a part of a longer work? Because if it is, you should definitely keep going :)
I don’t have a lot of specific comments. My overall response here is how interesting it is to compare this version with your original back in February. Much is the same — the foundation has always been here — but this latest version feels so much tighter. You’ve cut away the exposition, streamlined the flow, and made every single moment count. Very nice job.
Thanks for the praise — in that case I’ll keep going :P. Lack of self-belief has been an impediment.
Gedrel is a planet I made up in high school when we were studying ancient civilizations. I decided to take a planet and follow its civilizations from the dawn thereof into the space age. I have another SE blog challenge entry (Narrative Grammar – skip my first 2 entries, I was having brain injury fog and misunderstood what I was doing that day) w/the same planet on the eve of mass evacuation. In hs I wrote a 74 pg. book about the Gedrelians’ exploration of Earth after the mass evacuation/on their way to colonize a new planet, Djahneh. I also have snippets of some stories from a dark-ages type period back on Gedrel that I wrote at Cottey College. Unfo, when I transferred to CSU, a lot of my inspiration dried up & I stopped working on it (there’s just something inspiring about an all-female, mega academic/arts environment).
Kicking around ideas for the blog challenges has gotten me working on the planet again. Thanks for the inspiration :)!
Leave your response!
Quote
““Good writing is supposed to evoke sensation in the reader. Not the fact that it is raining, but the feeling of being rained upon. – E.L. Doctorow.
”
Recent Comments
Services
Sign up for our newsletter
Connect