blaque_syren
(?)Community Member
Offline
- Posted: Tue, 01 Mar 2005 04:03:06 +0000
Please try and answer most of these, it would help me out a lot.
Does this catch your interest?
Am I introdusing the characters well enough?
How is my sentance structure?
Does anything in particular stick out to you?
Do I need to add more detail to the prologue, not the actual action inthe prologue but description. If so what?
*****
Prologue
The night air was thick with the smell of smoke. The 17th century village was alive with the yells of angry peasants. The crowds surrounded a platform bearing two forms; a young man and a young woman. They were secured to wooden poles with a spread of firewood at their feet. The crowd was shouting angrily in unison. However, there were a few scattered faces in the crowd that were sullen, withdrawn, and emotionless. They watched the spectacle with sort of sad, held in anger as a man walked onto the platform and lit the pyres. The fire consumed the youths quickly, as if assisted by some unseen force. The silent ones drifted away from the crowd. They stood as two groups at opposite ends. An older man with brown hair flecked with gray, in his late fifties addressed the group to the left. ?This isn?t over,? he said biting down hard on the side of his mouth and spat the blood at them, walking away.
****
Moira woke with a gasp; her body was drenched in sweat. She pushed her damp mink brown hair out of her face clumsily, looking around her room to reassure herself that she was in Chicago, not a medieval village. But she was home, sitting up on her futon bed, the yellow covers clutched in her fists. She looked at the alarm clock on top of her white nightstand. It was 2:00 am. She sighed and fell back against her pillows. She couldn?t shake these dreams; she?d been having them for weeks but every few nights something was added. Like this night, the older man spitting the blood and promising further trouble had been added. She shook her head, rolling onto her side, determined to get some more sleep. Tomorrow was the first day of school and she didn?t want to be dragging her feet through the hallways.
She woke the next morning, early. She padded softly down the carpeted stairs and into the kitchen, having changed into a pair of worn out jeans and black pull over. Her mother was up reading the Chicago Times. The headlines were still going on about the police killing people with their tazers. She shook her head in disgust. She had always hated cops. God help you if you hurt one of them but if they kill you they can just get off Scott free. She sat down across from her mother, a woman in her 40s that shared her daughter?s mink brown hair and warm dark eyes. They sat quietly. Her mother knew if she tried to talk to her daughter when she woke up she would get at best a few disgruntles noises in answer. Moira?s father had left her and her mother when she was eight. While for most families divorces seemed to create tension in the family it had brought Moira and Angela Mathews closer together.
At a quarter to 7:00am Moira went ahead and left. Unglamorously she had to take the bus, she had her learners permit but she could only drive with a licensed driver in the front seat. She had set a date for her driver?s test. But until then she had to wait. Once she reached the school she went over to her friends. Her friends Gabrielle Guevara and Veronica Tailor were sitting on the front steps. Gabrielle and Veronica were a complete contrast to one another. While Gabrielle was dark skinned with black hair, and tall with a sort of natural grace, Veronica was petite with fair skin and hair and astonishing blue eyes. But they both had a confidence that Moira had never mastered.
Does this catch your interest?
Am I introdusing the characters well enough?
How is my sentance structure?
Does anything in particular stick out to you?
Do I need to add more detail to the prologue, not the actual action inthe prologue but description. If so what?
*****
Prologue
The night air was thick with the smell of smoke. The 17th century village was alive with the yells of angry peasants. The crowds surrounded a platform bearing two forms; a young man and a young woman. They were secured to wooden poles with a spread of firewood at their feet. The crowd was shouting angrily in unison. However, there were a few scattered faces in the crowd that were sullen, withdrawn, and emotionless. They watched the spectacle with sort of sad, held in anger as a man walked onto the platform and lit the pyres. The fire consumed the youths quickly, as if assisted by some unseen force. The silent ones drifted away from the crowd. They stood as two groups at opposite ends. An older man with brown hair flecked with gray, in his late fifties addressed the group to the left. ?This isn?t over,? he said biting down hard on the side of his mouth and spat the blood at them, walking away.
****
Moira woke with a gasp; her body was drenched in sweat. She pushed her damp mink brown hair out of her face clumsily, looking around her room to reassure herself that she was in Chicago, not a medieval village. But she was home, sitting up on her futon bed, the yellow covers clutched in her fists. She looked at the alarm clock on top of her white nightstand. It was 2:00 am. She sighed and fell back against her pillows. She couldn?t shake these dreams; she?d been having them for weeks but every few nights something was added. Like this night, the older man spitting the blood and promising further trouble had been added. She shook her head, rolling onto her side, determined to get some more sleep. Tomorrow was the first day of school and she didn?t want to be dragging her feet through the hallways.
She woke the next morning, early. She padded softly down the carpeted stairs and into the kitchen, having changed into a pair of worn out jeans and black pull over. Her mother was up reading the Chicago Times. The headlines were still going on about the police killing people with their tazers. She shook her head in disgust. She had always hated cops. God help you if you hurt one of them but if they kill you they can just get off Scott free. She sat down across from her mother, a woman in her 40s that shared her daughter?s mink brown hair and warm dark eyes. They sat quietly. Her mother knew if she tried to talk to her daughter when she woke up she would get at best a few disgruntles noises in answer. Moira?s father had left her and her mother when she was eight. While for most families divorces seemed to create tension in the family it had brought Moira and Angela Mathews closer together.
At a quarter to 7:00am Moira went ahead and left. Unglamorously she had to take the bus, she had her learners permit but she could only drive with a licensed driver in the front seat. She had set a date for her driver?s test. But until then she had to wait. Once she reached the school she went over to her friends. Her friends Gabrielle Guevara and Veronica Tailor were sitting on the front steps. Gabrielle and Veronica were a complete contrast to one another. While Gabrielle was dark skinned with black hair, and tall with a sort of natural grace, Veronica was petite with fair skin and hair and astonishing blue eyes. But they both had a confidence that Moira had never mastered.
