Showing posts with label Issue 1. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Issue 1. Show all posts
Monday, 15 August 2011
Tip 1
If you want to write, you have to read. If you want to write well, you have to read a lot. There are two main reasons why you should read.
1) To find out how the author surprises you, and how they managed to pull it off
2) To know what's been done so you don’t do the same thing
There are stories that have been done to the death and you don’t want to end up just writing something everyone’s seen before. Use other’s ideas but mould in to something people haven’t seen.
Reading also helps build up your vocabulary and your spelling, grammar and punctuation will all improve as well.
It doesn’t matter what genre your writing, read all genres of book to get a better feel of how people write. Read a variety of books, old and new; once you know what’s been done, you can write something that hasn’t…..
Keep writing
1
He was jolted out of his reverie by the feeling of a warm body near his ankle, he twitched his leg, hoping it would shoo the ginger cat away.
Today however the cat was insistent, he repeatedly wound himself around Silo
Then he heard a scream.
A voice he recognised. The voice of his wife, Caesara.
It came from the direction Symudiad had been trying to get him to go. He picked up his speed thoughts of the cat gone. Running into the yard Silo felt the heat and heard the crackle and bangs before he glanced up to see the flames picking up speed as they engulfed the farmhouse where his wife worked as a maid.
He could see her, hanging out of a window on the third floor of the house. As he raced towards the house a screech hit his ears. Suddenly he himself felt very dizzy, as though he were falling, he closed his eyes for a second. On the insides if his eyelids he saw the building he had known his entire life. A large and sprawling timber construction which was only a single storey in some places but reached as many as five at others. The place where he had grown up and which he now called home. The thing that struck him most was that he didn’t envision it as he had just seen it, swallowed by fire, but as it had always been, in it’s entirety and completely flame-free.
Silo doubled over and retched. There was a cool breeze blowing onto his face, from the direction of the house. That doesn’t make sense he thought. He looked up once more and what he saw was the most bewildering thing he had ever seen, even more bewildering than the cow who should have died whilst calving last year, or the crop which had grown perfectly this summer despite the drought which was killing both people and plants for miles around.
The house was no longer on fire.
“Silo!” Caesara screeched, “get me out of this damned cursed house.”
He walked up to the building, still reeling from what he had witnessed, although he was not sure he had. You caused it. That wasn’t his own voice, what was it doing in his head?! Walking in through the trade entrance to the large stone kitchen Silo said to Mrs Hurch, “Sorry Missus. I think my wife needs a break. We’ll both be knockin’ off early.”
She simply nodded and watched as his huge body sauntered up her stairs, and returned moments later with his wife slung over his shoulder. She appeared to have fainted as he walked out of the house and down the lane to the single room cottage they called home. It was not a large room, and it was mostly filled by the bed pushed against the far wall. There was a single window trimmed prettily with a floral curtain above the sink, next to the door. A dresser held all their cutlery, crockery, treasures and clothes and the single piece of furniture taking up the remaining floor space was a small but heavy wooden table.
Silo laid Caesara onto the patchwork quilt which covered their bed and shook her slightly. “Wife, I need you to wake up.”
Caesara stirred. Her eyes opened and she said with venom “Gods above only know how much I hate you sometimes. Knockin’ me out and carryin’ me out o’ there like some raider takin’ his won wife.”
“I’m sorry but I had to. It’s important.”
“What’s that important. They’ll be talking about it for months. There’ll be slander.” Caesara was a very beautiful woman thought Silo. Her hair was curly and blonde, shoulder length, her eyes were a unique shade of violet and freckles spotted her cheeks. “Once you put the fire out there was nothing’more to worry about.”
“What’re you talking about Caesara. I din’t put the fire out. I imagined the house without fire and then there was no fire. But I din’t put it out.”
“You mean like in the stories?”
“Yeah”
“The ones ‘bout the Gods”
“Yeah”
“You’re a God.”
“No! I Can't Be!”
Thud Thud Thud. “Answer the door m’love. We’ll talk later.”
Silo walked to the door slowly.
Thud.
A feeling of dread in the base of his stomach.
Thud.
He reached for the door and opened it. A hand was raised ready to thump the door. The hand was large and covered in scars, concentrated around the knuckle area. Attached to the hand was an equally large arm which displayed oversized muscles, even through the white shirt the man was wearing. His chest was equally muscle bound, so much so that his head appeared to sit directly on his shoulders. His nose was crooked, and his mouth which leered from the centre of an overgrown beard was missing more than one of it’s front teeth. The mans overgrown head of hair was also in need of maintenance.
“Mr Elvina”, the mouth leered in a grating voice which did nothing more than fill Silo with terror.
Chapter 1
‘‘How long can we visit for today father?’
Mr Aahil Farah is one of those men who owns a laugh so full and rich that its sound physically warms you, in the narrow shadowy passage where he and his son travel its affection is clear. ‘Ah Salil, how long is a length of string, how high is each blade of grass?’ said Mr Farah. ‘I do not know those answers, or the answer to what you ask. But I know one thing.’
Mr Farah lent very close to Salil, serious for once, the gravity of his message heavy in his eyes. ‘If you don’t hurry, I shall be the one who steals The First Kiss from the beautiful Princess of the tower.’
Salil gasped as his father hurried past him. ‘The First Kiss! Father will get there first and steal it!’
‘No!’ yelled Salil, jumping forward and dodging his father’s blocking arms.
The door was there, wooden and blue. Salil ran on, he was smaller yes, but quicker. His small bare feet padded speedily on the ground, so close to the door, nearer and nearer. Bashing through the door he felt the heat of the oil lamps; their glow lighting the room. He was there!
But strong arms grasped him around the middle and lifted him high, high into the air and away from the solid ground which could have carried him to the Princess.
‘No! Let me down!’ Salil wriggled and squirmed in his father’s arms even as the man laughed, laughed like he had won great treasures that no other man may hope to possess.
Softly a woman came into the small room, smiling at the two of them grappling with one another. ‘Ah me, It must be 4pm on a Wednesday if you two have come crashing in here, letting all the warm air out.’
Despite being only 5 and quite small Salil wriggled and wriggled and somehow found himself right way up on the ground. ‘I must have won the fight then’, he thought. But he puzzled at the wink his father gave the Princess even as he ran to her lovely scented embrace to receive his prize. The First Kiss, delivered on his cheek with a mother’s tender loving hug.
Once Salil had been installed in his mother’s reading chair with some biscuits and water he put his attention to the details of the room to see if anything had changed since his last visit to his mother’s tower.
The needlework pattern was still only half done, the tigers and peacocks still lacking half their fur and feathers, on the table were open books, thick and clearly boring as Salil could see no pictures on their pages.
There was a new instalment on the wall however. The picture he had brought his mother, showing her as the Princess she was, locked in the tower, safe, well-cared for, loved, but nevertheless, locked up. Salil wasn’t sure about giving it to her at first, but his father said it would warm her heart and his to know that he, Salil, was thinking of his mother even when he couldn’t see her.
‘Chanda,’ said Mr Farah in a softer voice than his usual one, ‘I understand the how detestable and impracticable the suggestion is, but I see no other way that this can be resolved’.
Princess Chanda shook her head sharply, normally she had a gentle demeanour but clearly her husband’s words were deeply offending to her, ‘No Aahil, there is no honour in what you propose and would be greatly wounded if you carried out the plans,’ she said. ‘Find another way or carry out your original orders as you were instructed to do so many years ago.’
‘I can’t, I doubt I would ever find the will in me to do that.’
‘Then find another way, leave the poor woman alone. She is not at fault here.’
Salil slipped off the chair, empty cup and plate stacked neatly on the table to make it easier for the Princess’ servants to find. ‘What are you talking about,’ he asked, ‘Can I help?’
His parents looked over to him and for a second seemed like all the fun had gone out of them
completely. But then his father smiled again and it was obvious to Salil that he had imagined it. His parents were always fun and happy.
‘Be gone with you, trouble maker and brave young hero,’ said Princess Chanda laughing at them. ‘Till next Wednesday, and remember, there will only ever be one who can have The First Kiss of the day.’ And though struggling to free his head to try and get The Last Kiss, Salil knew that it was no good, his father always got The Last Kiss, just before Princess Chandra shut the tower door and Salil had to wait a whole week before he could try and get The First Kiss again.
But walking back down the passageway with his father holding onto his hand Salil wasn’t too upset about missing out on The Last Kiss. His mother was a very beautiful Princess after all and his father was very lucky that she loved him.
‘I wish other people could see how pretty the Princess is father,’ said Salil, ‘I don’t think they would believe me if I simply told them.’
Mr Farah stopped and knelt as he gently tugged his son round to face him, ‘Salil, you know you can never speak about your mother to anyone, I’ve told you this many times.’
‘I know, but-’ Salil started.
‘No ‘’buts’’ Salil, this is serious business,’ Mr Farah urged. ‘There are men who would hurt her if she were ever to be found, bad things would happen, you must understand the importance of keeping this a secret.’
And Salil did know, he had been told many times before of these terrible men and the terrible things that they might do if they ever found the Princess Chanda. So pretty or no, his mother had to be hidden away from sight, the whole kingdom deprived of her beauty and kindness. All except Salil and his father.
‘Yes father,’ Salil nodded.
‘Good boy Salil,’ said Mr Farah, looking much more like himself now Salil had reassured him. Standing Mr
Farah stretched his back and took Salil’s hand again so they could continue down the narrow passageway back to the house where they lived.
The other door, back to the house, was in sight now. Green paint flaking, and not nearly so inviting as the blue door down the other end of the passage.
‘Hey Salil,’ whispered Mr Farah.
‘Yes Father?’ Salil replied.
‘I think your mother insulted you as we left, she called you a trouble-maker, and me a young hero.’
Salil looked up at his father’s cheeky warming grin, the laughter lines around his eyes.
‘But you’re far too old to be the young hero.’ noted Salil, deeply confused.
Mr Aahil Farah is one of those men who owns a laugh so full and rich that its sound physically warms you, in the narrow shadowy passage where he and his son travel its affection is clear. ‘Ah Salil, how long is a length of string, how high is each blade of grass?’ said Mr Farah. ‘I do not know those answers, or the answer to what you ask. But I know one thing.’
‘What?’ said Salil.
Mr Farah lent very close to Salil, serious for once, the gravity of his message heavy in his eyes. ‘If you don’t hurry, I shall be the one who steals The First Kiss from the beautiful Princess of the tower.’
Salil gasped as his father hurried past him. ‘The First Kiss! Father will get there first and steal it!’
‘No!’ yelled Salil, jumping forward and dodging his father’s blocking arms.
The passage way was not large, nor long, but Salil saw it stretch for miles ahead with the lofty ceiling above resonating with the hasty beats of his and his father’s footsteps. So often Salil felt his father just behind him, ‘too close! He’ll catch me and prevent me from getting The Kiss!’
The door was there, wooden and blue. Salil ran on, he was smaller yes, but quicker. His small bare feet padded speedily on the ground, so close to the door, nearer and nearer. Bashing through the door he felt the heat of the oil lamps; their glow lighting the room. He was there!
But strong arms grasped him around the middle and lifted him high, high into the air and away from the solid ground which could have carried him to the Princess.
‘No! Let me down!’ Salil wriggled and squirmed in his father’s arms even as the man laughed, laughed like he had won great treasures that no other man may hope to possess.
Softly a woman came into the small room, smiling at the two of them grappling with one another. ‘Ah me, It must be 4pm on a Wednesday if you two have come crashing in here, letting all the warm air out.’
Despite being only 5 and quite small Salil wriggled and wriggled and somehow found himself right way up on the ground. ‘I must have won the fight then’, he thought. But he puzzled at the wink his father gave the Princess even as he ran to her lovely scented embrace to receive his prize. The First Kiss, delivered on his cheek with a mother’s tender loving hug.
Once Salil had been installed in his mother’s reading chair with some biscuits and water he put his attention to the details of the room to see if anything had changed since his last visit to his mother’s tower.
The needlework pattern was still only half done, the tigers and peacocks still lacking half their fur and feathers, on the table were open books, thick and clearly boring as Salil could see no pictures on their pages.
There was a new instalment on the wall however. The picture he had brought his mother, showing her as the Princess she was, locked in the tower, safe, well-cared for, loved, but nevertheless, locked up. Salil wasn’t sure about giving it to her at first, but his father said it would warm her heart and his to know that he, Salil, was thinking of his mother even when he couldn’t see her.
‘Chanda,’ said Mr Farah in a softer voice than his usual one, ‘I understand the how detestable and impracticable the suggestion is, but I see no other way that this can be resolved’.
Princess Chanda shook her head sharply, normally she had a gentle demeanour but clearly her husband’s words were deeply offending to her, ‘No Aahil, there is no honour in what you propose and would be greatly wounded if you carried out the plans,’ she said. ‘Find another way or carry out your original orders as you were instructed to do so many years ago.’
‘I can’t, I doubt I would ever find the will in me to do that.’
‘Then find another way, leave the poor woman alone. She is not at fault here.’
Salil slipped off the chair, empty cup and plate stacked neatly on the table to make it easier for the Princess’ servants to find. ‘What are you talking about,’ he asked, ‘Can I help?’
His parents looked over to him and for a second seemed like all the fun had gone out of them
completely. But then his father smiled again and it was obvious to Salil that he had imagined it. His parents were always fun and happy.
‘Salil!’ his father boomed, ‘If I had a man in my employ half so ready to leap to the frey as you, well, by now I would be King of all the Land.’ And before he could blink Salil found himself in a breath-taking grip, with his father rubbing knuckles over his head as if he were trying to polish Salil’s hair to a mirror shine.
‘Be gone with you, trouble maker and brave young hero,’ said Princess Chanda laughing at them. ‘Till next Wednesday, and remember, there will only ever be one who can have The First Kiss of the day.’ And though struggling to free his head to try and get The Last Kiss, Salil knew that it was no good, his father always got The Last Kiss, just before Princess Chandra shut the tower door and Salil had to wait a whole week before he could try and get The First Kiss again.
But walking back down the passageway with his father holding onto his hand Salil wasn’t too upset about missing out on The Last Kiss. His mother was a very beautiful Princess after all and his father was very lucky that she loved him.
‘I wish other people could see how pretty the Princess is father,’ said Salil, ‘I don’t think they would believe me if I simply told them.’
Mr Farah stopped and knelt as he gently tugged his son round to face him, ‘Salil, you know you can never speak about your mother to anyone, I’ve told you this many times.’
‘I know, but-’ Salil started.
‘No ‘’buts’’ Salil, this is serious business,’ Mr Farah urged. ‘There are men who would hurt her if she were ever to be found, bad things would happen, you must understand the importance of keeping this a secret.’
And Salil did know, he had been told many times before of these terrible men and the terrible things that they might do if they ever found the Princess Chanda. So pretty or no, his mother had to be hidden away from sight, the whole kingdom deprived of her beauty and kindness. All except Salil and his father.
‘Yes father,’ Salil nodded.
‘Good boy Salil,’ said Mr Farah, looking much more like himself now Salil had reassured him. Standing Mr
Farah stretched his back and took Salil’s hand again so they could continue down the narrow passageway back to the house where they lived.
The other door, back to the house, was in sight now. Green paint flaking, and not nearly so inviting as the blue door down the other end of the passage.
‘Hey Salil,’ whispered Mr Farah.
‘Yes Father?’ Salil replied.
‘I think your mother insulted you as we left, she called you a trouble-maker, and me a young hero.’
Salil looked up at his father’s cheeky warming grin, the laughter lines around his eyes.
‘But you’re far too old to be the young hero.’ noted Salil, deeply confused.
Note from the Team
Hi
This is our first Issue of something we're hoping is going to be a long term project.
We want to reinvent the Periodicals which first published Dickens novels, in installments, in the digital media. We'll all write stories, of varying lengths, of which you should hopefully see a new installment every week.
The Team at Dickens Periodical
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