Marabella - First Chapter, part III

And the last installment of Marabella, Discovering Magics

            “Um.” Wesley seemed to consider for a moment.  “Okay, then.” He resumed brushing her hair and spoke in even tones.  “I was only five years old at the time, traveling with my cousin, Benji, he was Nan and Henry’s son, and my father. He was trading in Riverton on the south bank.  Geremiah was there too. He had a ring made that day.  We went to the silver-smith with him. He asked me to hold it, well the bag anyway.   He and father must have known the ferry was in trouble. It's all a blur to me. Still, I remember that as the ferry reached the middle of the river there was a loud snapping sound and the ferry began to spin.  As it lurched downriver there was the cracking sound of splintering wood, and ladies screamed.  Next thing I knew, the big hunter man, Geremiah was putting me into an empty flour barrel with the saddlebag.  I could hear my father’s voice say not to be afraid as they pounded the lid tight. Then they threw the barrel toward the shore. I was terrified.  I was barely five.” Wesley looked over at the fire, remembering. “I recall it felt like flying. The barrel seemed to sail on the wind.   Hours later, I was found by searchers shivering with cold and clinging to the saddlebag sitting amidst the remains of the broken barrel in the rocks near the shore. *this part of the dialogue seems a little stilted. Not natural. Try placing yourself in the mind of an eleven-year-old and reading it aloud. See how it sounds to you*That's what people say anyway. I don’t really remember being found; just lots of sad people, crying, things like that.   The bag was Geremiah’s. “      

            “We still have it.” She mumbled. Marabella sat quietly, thinking about the story Wesley had told her.  *let the reader come up with the reason she is sitting quietly. Explaining too much inhibits the imagination. Fewer words*Finally she spoke.  “That was the most I’ve ever heard you talk.” She turned to look at him.  “Thank you for telling me.”  He met her gaze and smiled a crooked grin that made Marabella smile back.  “Could you read to me while we wait?” Marabella gave Wesley her sweetest smile.  He shrugged an affirmative and glanced over at the books on the nearest shelf.

The previous paragraph needs broken up to highlight the conversation and give dramatic flair.

            Wesley's nervousness seemed to *seemed to? Either it did or it didn’t :)*disappear as he ran his finger along the spines of the tomes.  He chose and sat back comfortably. “This is Adventures on the Pelagus Sea. There's a story in here about the Pelago Sea Stone. It gives the bearer the ability to swim like a fish and breathe underwater.”  Marabella climbed up into the chair next to him and looked at the book.  The puzzled look on her face made Wesley grin again.  “It's written in Pelago.  It's easy. Just follow along.”

            Nan peeked out from the kitchen to see Marabella and Wesley sitting side by side in her chair with a large book open on their laps.  Both the children were looking intently at the page as Wesley read.  It made her smile.  She turned back to her work, grinning.*you jumped from Marabella’s POV to Nan’s. Can you show this and still remain in Marabella’s mind?* After an hour of baking and wrapping and loading items on to Wesley’s goat cart, everyone was ready to go.  “May I go wake Mother?”  Marabella was anxious. “I’m supposed to take her to Festival.” 

            “You will, child.” Ma Nan chided. “Just be patient and let the sun climb a little higher before you wake her.  We’re only going to set up in the meat shop.”

            Marabella frowned and stomped her foot as she walked beside the big Billy goat pulling the overloaded cart.  “Well, I’m not looking at anything until Mother gets here!” The adults chuckled and continued on to the shop. Once there, they began to unload the cart.  The children were instructed to stay outside with the cart while Henry, Nan, and Ruth set up inside. Nan took baby Natan.  The morning air was still quite chilly but the brightening blue sky promised a beautiful day. 

            The little market square was beginning to teem with activity.  Tempting aromas wafted through the morning air.  Vendors from all about the area set up makeshift stalls around the square and every building. Fresh bread, pies, and sweetbreads *sweetbreads? Or sweet breads? There is a difference* caught Marabella’s attention.   Front and center stood the colorfully painted wagons known as caravans.  To Marabella they looked like little rooms on wheels with their doors and windows with curtains.  Bright cloth awnings were attached to each caravan giving the square the look of a great uneven tent.  Marabella fidgeted restlessly and looked at the brightening sky.  That moment Nan leaned out the meat shop door.  “All right, you may go wake Mara now.”

            “Thank you, Nan.” The child yelled over her shoulder as she ran toward Narrow Alley.  The six year old stopped a moment to catch her breath then knocked on the door of the small room she shared with her mother and baby brother.  She knew the door would be barred.  Mara always barred the door. She heard the thick oak plank scraping on the inside and the door swung inward revealing a bleary eyed Mara.

            “Good morning my darling.” She yawned.

            “It’s time!” Marabella smiled, bouncing on her toes.  Mara could see she was ready to go.*oops. You changed POV here. We were in Marabella’s head and now Mara’s.

            “You’ve been up since dawn, haven’t you. *is this a question?* I’m awake but I do need to get cleaned up.  You go back to the square.”  The child frowned at the floor.  “Have a look around and I will be there when I'm dressed. “ Mara stepped to the shelf by the small fireplace.  She took a few coins from the wooden box.  She looked earnestly at Marabella handing her the coins.  “I want you to find something special for my breakfast, and don’t forget the sweetbreads.” *sweetbreads (pancreas of a calf) and sweet breads are two different things. Which is it?*  Charged with such an errand, Marabella skipped back to the square.

Rounding the corner by the meat shop, she spied Wesley.  He was leading the empty goat *my mind read this as ‘golf cart’. Did I ever do a double take, LOL*cart toward the blacksmith’s stables.  It appeared that Wesley had stopped to talk with some boys. *suggestion: Several boys had stopped him and formed a ring around him. She broke into a run when one of the boys shoved Wesley to the ground.  “Goat boy!”  She heard him spit at Wesley.  Another of the three threw a handful of pebbles at Wesley.  None of the adults setting up or milling about seemed to notice the altercation.  Furious, Marabella skidded to a halt in front of the Tanner’s shop.  The three boys still taunted silent Wesley.

            Marabella picked up a stone the size of her six-year-old fist and hurled it at the first boy catching him squarely on the side of his head.  “LEAVE MY WESLEY ALONE!” *don’t use caps or exclamation marks* she screamed and reached for another rock.

            “You let a little girl fight for you, goat boy?”  One one of the boys teased.  Wesley started to rise *started to rise but stopped? This makes it sound like he is half way between the ground and standing up*but remained mute.  The boy took a step toward Marabella and she let fly with another stone striking him in the shoulder.  “Ouch.” He winced, now angry.

            “I’m bleeding!” the first boy she had hit exclaimed.  He too turned toward *alliteration* the girl.  At that moment, Halsta, the blacksmith, stomped away from his forge, blocking the boys’ path to Marabella. 

            Still clutching his heavy hammer, Halsta growled. “You boys find something else to do.” When the three bullies hesitatedcomma he shook his hammer and barked, “NOW”. *caps* The three kicked up dust heading for the west end of the square. With a grin, the red-faced man went back to his work.

            Wesley dusted himself off and proceeded to walk his cart to a suitable place to tie it up.  He looked at his defender when she sauntered up. “Your Wesley?” he questioned. 

            “Well, yes” she stated matter-of- fact. “You’ll always be my Wesley.”  He shrugged.  Finishing his task, he took Marabella’s hand and led her back to the meat shop.  Mara was just arriving.  It was time to enjoy Festival.

            Marabella walked hand in hand with her mother.  They strolled from wagon to wagon and stall to stall. There were vendors selling fruits and vegetables, fine paper and ink, wooden toys, colorful fabrics, and sturdy pottery bowls.  Each day of Festival Marabella spent the morning perusing the various vendors, watching the acrobats, and helping her mother with baby Natan.  When the sun started to fall in the sky, she would take Natan to Ma Nan while her mother went back to Narrow Alley to prepare herself for the evening.  Marabella was allowed to purchase one thing each day.  The first day she filled her belly with sweet breads.*sugary treats rather than calf innards I hope* The next, she bought a book from a woman in a big floppy hat.    She watched as her mother bought a bit of fabric from a wagon with stacks of material and sewing notions.  Mara eyed a little box of silver needles, glanced at the few coins in her hand and sighed, pushing the needles back to the vendor, shaking her head.  Before Festival ended, Marabella also had a new pair of shoes and some fragrant soaps from Wesley's mother.  Festival was over far too quickly for Marabella. It was soon time to return to day to day life. 

***

            One day while Mara helped out at the meat shop and her friend Tufa watched baby Natan,  Marabella was left to her own devices for entertainment.  “Go outside and find something to get into.” Ma Nan was saying to the six year old.  Mara shot her a look. “Well,” Nan chuckled, “she will anyway.” The women exchanged a smile.  “But try not to throw any more rocks at boys, won't you.  I had to put four stitches in that child's head.” Nan called to Marabella as she headed out the door. 

            She walked out of the meat shop.  There was a gathering of men and some sort of commotion down at the corral. *i'd re-write the previous sentence. Kinda clunky* At the center of the excitement was Hough, one of Helfin's few men of wealth.  She had seen him at the black smith's *blacksmith is one word* getting a new wheel on the fine carriage he had for his family. Hough and another man were trying to rope the horse that was tearing around the corral.  The magnificent red beast was having none of it.  He galloped around the corral, pawed at the dirt and tossed his mane.  The men watching cheered and jeered as the two in the corral made one attempt after another to no avail.  Hough's young son watched from the other side.  The stallion reared and bucked, kicked and huffed before bolting again out of reach.  “How are you going to break him Hough?” one man asked. 

            Hough scratched his head and looked over at his small son, just a few years older than Marabella.  “Not sure. The boy is still a bit young for such a spirited colt.”  Marabella climbed up on the fence and watched as the two men tried again to get a rope on the horse. 

            “Be careful, little girl.” Another man spoke to Marabella.  “He's wild...might knock you right off that fence.”

            Marabella gave him her sweetest smile. “I'll be careful,” she said and kept climbing.  She sat on the top rung of the fence, watching the boy scramble down from his perch to avoid the rowdy beast as it tore by a bit too close. 

            After a while the men seemed to give up.  “Let's let him settle a bit.” Hough said, red faced and out of breath.  The men began to disperse.  “I'm sorry, Geoffrey, he may just be too much horse for you...or me for that matter.” He patted his son's head with affection.  Geoffrey looked winsomely at the young stallion and sighed.

            Marabella watched as the breeze ruffled the boy's hair and something in his liquid brown eyes touched her heart.  She reached into her jacket and pulled out an apple.  She eyed the horse pacing around the corral now free of those trying to tame him.   She took a bite. MMM, good apple, she thought. The horse stopped and pricked up his ears.  She sat quietly on the fence.  The horse huffed loudly and pawed the ground.  Marabella took another bite and looked the horse right in the eyes. Come here horse. That’s a good boy, want a bite?  None of the men still present even breathed as the beast walked calmly over to the little girl and took a bite of the apple in her hand.  He did not flinch when she patted him on the side of his face or nip when she stroked the softness of his nose.  She leaned forward and spoke softly and the beast too, leaned in as if to catch every word.  The men stood in awed silence as the young stallion, which had, moments ago been trying to trample two grown men, nuzzled the little girl sitting on the fence.  She spoke quietly to the horse a while longer and then planted a child's kiss right on his nose. 

            “He seems to favor you.” Hough smiled at the girl with dirt on her face. 

            “Henry says I have a way with animals.” she smiled back. “What's his name?”

            “What do you think we should name him?” the boy spoke up.

            “I thought you wanted to call him...” Hough started but Geoffrey cut him off.       “No father. That was not a good name.” Then to Marabella, “so what do you think?”

            She looked hard at the mighty beast, his auburn coat shining in the morning sunlight.  She stared the horse directly in the eye again.  The horse tossed his head and pawed at the ground.  “I like Red Storm, but I think he would just like to be called Storm.”

            Hough laughed. “Well, that certainly fits.”

            “Storm it is.” Geoffrey smiled.  “How did you do that, get him to quiet like that?  What did you say to him?”

            Marabella shrugged her shoulders.  “Oh, he was just scared and kinda' angry with everyone running at him and all. Don’t you think?  And he really likes apples.  I told him you were probably a nice boy and would treat him well and give him an apple every day.”  Storm tossed his mane and pawed the ground.

            “I will.” Geoffrey turned to the horse.  “You'll get an apple every day.”  With his father's help, the boy slipped a leather halter over the Storm's head.  The stallion stood calm and patient.  When Geoffrey looked up again, the strange little girl was gone from the fence.*changed POV* Several of the men standing around murmured as she walked past back to the meat shop.

            The seasons turned and turned again.

My last advice concerns formatting. Be sure to check formatting marks and see if there are errors. Don’t use tabs ever.

Marabella - First Chapter, part II

Here is part II of Marabella - Discovering Magics.       

     Having eaten, Marabella pleaded. “Please let me feed the scraps to Sam and Fetch.”

            “Henry, see to her would you. I’ve got to put Natan down.  He’s fallen asleep already.”  The baby’s bright red curls fell across his pale face as his head bobbed with sleep.  Nan lifted his chubby frame and wiped his face and hands as he struggled, half asleep. 

            “Marabella is perfectly able to handle the dogs, Nan.  I don’t see why…”

            The butcher’s wife cut him off with a look.  “I’m not worried about the dogs.  She handles them better than you, I know.  But I also know that girlcomma and she’ll be down the street before you can find your head.  Now go!”  She hefted the toddler to her shoulder and headed for the bedroom.  *a most excellent paragraph*

            The little girl had already disappeared out the door.  When Henry stepped outcomma he saw her *I feel like the POV changed here. We were in Marabella’s head. Now we have Henry’s perspective* standing on the top rung of the front fence as steadily as he stood on the stoop.  The dogs were lapping hungrily at the remains of the stew.  Henry smiled.  “I know that you won’t fall or anything but if Ma sees you on that fence, she’ll chew my ear off the rest of the night.”  Marabella giggled like a little girl should and jumped lightly to the ground.  She looked up at the big man suddenly serious.

            “Did you know my father?  Did he really die or is Momma just protecting me?”

            Henry was taken aback at the sudden maturity in the little girl’s face. *now that we’ve changed to Henry’s POV, it is important to stay there* Her eyes burned into his and he could not but tell the truth.  *suggestion: “...he could do nothing but tell the truth.” “I know how people talk but your mother really cared for your father.  He was killed same time as my brother and my boy on the ferry.”

            “But some say you can’t know who…” she spoke up. *cut this attribution. It isn’t needed and slows the dramatic moment. Also, regarding the use of ellipses: Use ... to imply hesitation or the voice dropping off. Use an em dash — for interruption. It sounds like Henry interrupted her*

            “Never you mind what some say” he assured her.  There’s no mistakin’ YOUR*better to italicize than to capitalize* father. You have those same green eyes.  You look like your mother but I’ve only seen those eyes once before.” 

            “You knew my father.”  The child moved closer to Henry and held him with her gaze.  “Tell me about him.”*into action now. I can forgive the earlier descriptions if this continues*

            “I really think this is something Mara should tell you first.” Henry began.  But he was no match for Marabella’s stare.*try showing this not telling her effect on him. Example: But her emerald eyes tore through his resolve like a cat hitting a cobweb. *Begin a new paragraph here*“I can tell you this.*I would add an attribute. Example: “I can tell you this,” he began slowly, “your father was Geremiah.  He was a woodsman and a damn fine hunter.  He was my friend and the best supplier of wild game I ever had.  He hunted the mountains, this valley, the next, and far beyond.  That is, until he met Mara.  Then he seemed to stay closer around these parts.”  Henry suddenly struggled for words.  “You should ask your Momma to tell you this story.  This just ain’t my story to tell.”  The dogs bristled and growled as some revelers ran past, breaking the spell. 

            “They‘re just boys passing by” Marabella soothed the beasts.

            Henry wiped his face with a ham-like hand.  “Well, let’s be off to bed with you now.”   He saw his chance to distract her from her seriousness. *note: some might see this as ‘telling vs showing’ but here it is needed and desirable. Good job. I would cut the last three words though* “You’ll be wanting to get an early start at the festivities tomorrow and there’s lots to do. How's about I read you a story, maybe something from The Traveler’s Tales?”

            “Oh yes,” Marabella clapped her hands and smiled brightly, a child once more. “The one about the Moonfire Ring! I like that one.”  Henry agreed and ushered the child inside.

            In the square, the raucous throngs crowded around the brightly painted wagons.  Revelers danced by torchlight to the lively music.  Among them moved Mara, her hair billowing down her back in dark ripples that shown in the light.  Despite the cruelty the years had wrought upon her, Mara still caught the attention of men.  She moved gracefully in and out of the crowd.  The curve of her cheek and the line of her neck were still true and beautiful.  Mara smiled brightly, her full lips rouged and perfectly formed.  Only a keen observer would notice that her smile never reached her eyes.  Most of her patrons thought it was her way of being coy, averting her eyes from them, glancing shyly through her dark lashes.  But in truth, she preferred not to look into a man’s eyes.  This was her way of maintaining the facade her profession required.  Many eyes looked admiringly at Mara this evening.  Festival filled the village with so many new faces.  *I’d start a new paragraph here*Mara tightened the red sash (the sign of her profession) around her tiny waist.  She positioned herself in the eye line of the well-dressed men loitering around the outdoor tables of the drinking house.  She kept her eyes on the musicians and the makeshift stage set up in front of the wagon caravan but she could feel the eyes*you are using the word ‘eye’ too much* upon her as she swayed and twirled to the music.  Mara was a good dancer, graceful and light on her feet.  She knew it would not be long before one of the men approached her.  She let the music wash over her and engaged her internal detachment. *ah, no. Find a different way to say this. It’s like missing a step in the dark. The words are modern vernacular and very out of place* *Begin a new paragraph here*“You dance well.”  Mara’s first customer had a deep voice.  His name was Pavitch.  His rough hands were those of a workingman but his fine clothes said money.  *a good way to say this and leave the rest of the scene up to the reader’s imagination. Good job*

            The sun was barely up when Marabella popped her head out the bedroom door.  She regretted leaving the big soft bed but she was anxious to begin the day and get to Festival.  She closed the door quietly so as not to wake her sleeping baby brother and crept toward the kitchen.  A fresh fire was already crackling in the great-room hearth. A sure sign Henry is up she thought.  Easing her way into the kitchen, she stood silently watching Ma Nan *I’d use less ‘ing’ words. Example:” She eased into the kitchen, stopped, and watched Ma Nan...”bustle about preparing puffy meat pies for baking. The delicious smell of meat, onions, and peppers cooking made her mouth water. She could hear Henry outside at the well. She watched Nan move about the kitchen, her long light brown hair in a loose braid down her back.  Nan’s chubby fingers pressed out the dough then rolled it flat with the smooth round stone.  She trimmed the edges with a knife before spooning the meat mixture onto the dough circle and folded it over pressing it closed all around.  Then she painted the pastry with a brush. Completely engrossed watching the process, Marabella asked, “Why are you painting them?”  *try beginning your sentences with something other than ‘she’. It breaks the monotony. Yeah, I know, I used ‘she’ also, lol*

            Ma Nan yelped with surprise. “I didn’t hear you get up.  I’ve been so blasted busy this morning.  I swear I’m going to hang a bell around your neck.  You are the quietest child…sometimescomma” she added grinning.  Nan's round face was pink from her toil but her gray eyes danced with mirth when she looked at Marabella.

            “Why are you painting them?”  Marabella questioned again. 

            “Oh.” Nan smiled. *attribution isn’t needed* “It ain’t paint, little darlin’. It’s egg water. A little water, a little egg…it makes the edges stick and makes ‘em golden and crisp when they’re done.” 

            “Ah.”  Marabella nodded.  Just then Henry came through the door with two big buckets of water. 

            “Fill the pitcher and basin.” Nan ordered, turning back to her chore. 

            “And the rest goes on to warm, I know.” Henry interrupted glancing at Marabella with a wink.  “Ruth and Wesley just rounded the corner. They’ll be here momentarily.” He added.

            “They must rise in the middle of the night.” Nan fretted.  “They are always early.”

            “But never late.” Henry smiled as he filled the pitcher.  He picked up the buckets and headed for the great-room.

            “Don’t spill any of that.” Nan squawked.

            “Yes, my lady” Henry bowed and sailed from the room. 

Note: cut attributions whenever possible. It increases the pace.

            Nan’s cheeks flushed pink for a second and then she was back to business.  “Now you young miss”.  She turned her attention back to Marabella. *why did I strikethrough this phrase? Because what other young miss is there? Just Marabella* “Wash your face over here and go get dressed.”  Marabella obeyed, dipping her hands into the basin.  The shock of the cold water made her squirm.  She heard Wesley and his mother Ruth outside.  Drying her face and hands on a clean towel, Marabella turned to Ma Nan.

            “Mind you visit the privy, then get dressed. And try to drag a brush through that hair. I’ll be in to tend to Natan, first chance I get.”  Nan kept busy as she spoke. “Ruth and Wesley will be in here in a flash and I need to make some room for us to work.”  Ruth was the wife of Henry's brother Anton. She was a nervous woman with a harsh voice.  Belle *who is Belle? Marabella?* was one of the few who knew how truly kind Ruth could be. *telling* She had often sent milk and cheese to them with no expectation of payment and the message that she just “had too much”.  Marabella had heard Henry say that when Anton was alive, she laughed and smiled often and loved to sing, that his death had made her fearful and sad, and as everyone knew, overprotective of her son, Wesley. 

            Marabella struggled to pull the brush through her dark tangle of curls.  Ma Nan and Ruth were in the kitchen preparing meat pies and bundles of herbs to sell at Festival.  Henry had volunteered to give Natan his bath.  Wesley, Henry’s nephew watched silently from the corner for a few minutes then said, “Can I help?”

            Marabella looked out from behind her veil of snarls. “Yes please.”

            Wesley guided her to the footstool and sat behind her in Nan’s chair.  He began to gently brush her hair, separating the tangles with his fingers.

            Wesley was eleven years old, five and a half years older than Marabella.  But he was small and thin so he seemed younger than his years.  He rarely spoke.  In fact, some people of Helfin assumed he could not speak.  Many around the village also thought him an idiot due to his silence.  Marabella had heard gossips comment that the ferry accident had rattled his brain. She knew his brain was just fine, as she’d seen him read many of the books on Henry’s shelves. However, he did seem almost *either is or isn’t. Skip almost. It slows the narrative* unnaturally quiet.  He and his mother eked out a living growing herbs, raising goats, and selling soap, goat milk and cheese.  His mother Ruth was also an herbalist and tended the sick in much the same way as Ma Nan. 

            Marabella could feel the tension flowing out from Wesley as he sat behind her. “You’re good at this. Nan always pulls when she is in a fret like she was this morning.”  *new paragraph*She encouraged, wanting to fill the silence.  Wesley relaxed slightly. 

            “She gets in a hurry is all.”  Wesley’s voice was barely above a whisper. He continued brushing her hair in silence.  Finally Marabella sighed and blurted out, “Did you know my father, Geremiah? He was a hunter.” 

            Wesley stopped mid-stroke with the brush raised above her scalp.  “Well, yes I do remember him.  He helped my father save my life when the ferry broke free.  That was just after my fifth birthday, before you were born.” 

            “So tell me about it.”  Marabella was eager to hear anything she could about her father, even the story of how he had perished. 

Part III tomorrow. 

Marabella - First Chapter, part I

This week I am continuing the critique of Marabella - Discovering Magics, first chapter.
Part I of three:

ONE

Festival

The bustling village of Helfin heaved and overflowed with the multitudes of visitors jamming its narrow muddy streets.  In addition to the usual market-day crowds, throngs of peasants, farmers, and their families, and mountain folk and their families tramped into town for Festival.  Festival had no set certain date in this unimportant speck on the map. *er, what? Read that sentence again please* But every fall, after harvest and before the winter cold set in, crowds would gather for days in excited anticipation of the arrival of the traveling clan of Demalions who brought Festival with them whenever they came.  Children lined the road on the outskirts of town each day, eager to be the first to see the brightly painted wagons as they rattled and bumped into view.  Every boy and girl knew that each wagon carried some wonder or mystery or entertainment.  Word had come days ago that Festival had ended in Sellwood, in the next valley east of Helfin.  All knew the Demalions were on their way.

Lots of descriptions in that first paragraph. Remember, it is difficult for the brain to wade through so many pictures. Cut back and I think you will find it easier. I used the strikethrough option to show where you can cut.

            The Demalions were an interesting people.  They *Why did I strikethrough this? Because you need to Show me the Demalions are interesting not Tell me* traveled from town to town entertaining and trading their wares*period* of their craftsmen But they were said to possess other skills as well.  *now why did I shorten that sentence and begin another? To increase drama and also to give your words a bit of poetic lilt. Pick a song that has a good beat to the lyrics for an example. I like What Was I Thinkin’ by Deirks Bentley. Video is at the end* The Demalions were rumored to have the gift of the magics, a cause for fear and mistrust among those Common-folk who neither used nor understood the magics. *would that make them belligerent then? Would the common folk want them to come to town?*  And while they traveled the whole of the Common Valley, they only resided in numbers in a few places. The remote towns, one in the mountains and one near the sea, were where they spent the off seasons. Westwytch, near the Pelagos Sea and Blackwytch to the east in the Black Woods were both outside the Common Valley. While traveling, the Demalions usually camped for a couple of days between towns. Days had passed since they had exited Sellwood.

An excellent setup for the rest of the chapter. You introduced us to the Demalions without too much description or backstory. Plus you threw in a little conflict also. What has kept the Demalions from arriving? I would get to this point earlier, maybe even the first sentence. “The Demalions were late and no one knew why.”

            Sellwood was considerably larger with more commerce than Helfin, and year round river access.  Smaller and more rural, Helfin only had access to the nearby ferry for part of the year.  When the spring rains came and the river swelled, it became too high and fast for access to the banks near Helfin.  But by summer and fall when crops began to flourish and harvesting began, Helfin was ready and able to use the river ferry once again to get cargo up and across to Riverton, the large trading town on the south bank.  *okay, now you are losing me. My attention is wandering. Stop with the background noise and bring on some action*The swirling, chilly waters had claimed more than a few who tried to cross after the spring rains began. Nearly seven years prior, the rains had come early, in late winter, and the last ferry of the season had tragically been splintered and broken on the rocks downstream.  Many bodies were eventually found, many were not. Whole families were lost. Only two survived, an old man named Broxton who died a moon cycle later of pneumonia and a boy, Wesley, just five years old.  Some thought the boy was not quite “right” after the accident.  *If this information isn’t absolutely necessary, cut it from this chapter and add it later on. It gums up the story. Way too slow for the first chapter when you need to capture then hold the interest of the reader* *Update: I see this is important later on but I think it needs edited for clarity and to increase the drama. Example: Nearly seven years prior, the rains came early. The last ferry of the season had splintered and broken on the rocks downstream.  Many of the bodies were found, many were not with whole families lost. Only two had survived. An old man, who died a moon cycle later of pneumonia and a boy, Wesley, just five years old.  Some thought the boy was not quite “right” after the accident.

            The people in the streets pushed and prodded their animals, wheeled carts and wares and listened for word of the approaching wagons. *a little bit clunky. Try re-wording* Merchants scrambled for places in the crowded market square as they prepared to set up shop.  Competition was fierce but Festival always increased the weight of every merchant’s purse. *excellent use of arcane or local vernacular. Good job* Farmers and mountain-folk brought all sorts of fruits, vegetables, and farm animals. Hunters hauled in stacks of furs, skins, and leathers. *note the addition of commas*Tradesmen transported *note alliteration* everything from furniture to fabric and rugs, pottery and poetry to town for trading. *note additional alliterations* Makeshift kitchens were set up to prepared pies and breads, roasted vegetables and meats and an array of home-cooked foods. Anyone who had anything to sell could make a profit at Festival. 

Again I would shorten some of these sentence for drama and to make it flow. Example: Hunters, with stacks of fur and leathers. Tradesmen and their furniture, fabric, rugs, and pottery.   

             The sound of women's laughter and the odor of scented oils wafted through the air of Narrow Alley, known for its Ladies of the Red Sash. The wide Red Sash worn round the waist indicated that these ladies were open for business to sell their time, and their bodies.  The low mud-brick buildings that lined the street Narrow Alley were made up of rooms connected together so Narrow Alley and resembled a hallway of doors.  It was here in one of the smallest, darkest rooms a woman sat by the embers of a cooking fire combing her thick, dark hair.  She too was preparing her wares for Festival. *ah. Action*

            Once Mara had been a stunning beauty with fiery dark eyes and full red lips that needed no decoration.  Though only a farm girl from the village of Melilotus, she carried herself like a lady.  She was bright and witty.  She even knew how to read and do sums. *telling, not showing* Mara left her poor farmer parents and five sisters to seek adventure and employment.  But Mara became a victim of her own beauty.  The adventure she sought never took her further than this dark street.  The harshness of her life for the past decade had stolen the fire from her eyes and the adventure from her soul.  The cruelty of some of her past patrons had marred her beauty with scars and fear.  She brushed her hair in such a way as to hide the scar that ran in front of her ear and into her hairline.  *an example of Showing :)* She smoothed out the faded dress with the low neckline, and tightened the red sash to show off her still small waist and her firm round butt.  “They always like the view from the rear” she said to the room with a sad bitter smile.

            The small sparse room contained a table with two chairs and a shelf by the hearth, which held cooking utensils, a meager supply of food, a plain wooden box and two worn pairs of shoes.  On a peg by the door a green shawl hung over an old leather saddlebag.  *stop with the descriptions. Too much* A half empty bucket of clean water was nestled close to the fire to warm for cooking and bathing.  A smaller bucket by the door was draped with the remains of an old leather apron and served as a toilet. *eww* On the other side of the door a tiny window with a thread-bear pink curtain filtered indirect sunlight and offered some semblance of ventilation to the room.  At the other end of the room hung a worn brown curtain from the ceiling to the hard dirt floor.  Behind it a straw-filled mattress and blankets served as sleeping quarters and place of business.  Out from behind the curtain popped a dark tousled head, “Mama, you’ve waked the baby.”  The child scolded. 

I feel drowned in description again. Give the reader a color, object, scent, or sound to nail them to the scene then back off and get back to Action. Otherwise, the eye tends to wander.

            “Oh Marabella, I am sorry, I guess I forgot about you two for a moment”.  As the child walked into the gloom, the fire seemed to brighten and the room glowed with her countenance. *this word seems out of place with the arcane language* Her eyes shown like two fiery emeralds as she looked into the embers.  “We must stoke the fire so your friends can see how pretty you look.  Tonight will be a good night?” she questioned.*who is speaking? I’m confused*

            “Yes Marabella, tonight will be a good night.”  Mara smiled at her daughter.  “And tomorrow we will shop at the market square and get fresh tomatoes and apples and maybe even some sweet bread, if you're good.”

            “I’ll be good Mama, *quotation marks* the moon-faced child beamed.  “I’ll take the baby to Ma Nan’s and I’ll come when it’s time for you to wake up.” Mara smiled at her daughter, wiping a smudge from the child's cheek.  She changed the baby's wrappings and moved the heavy bar from the door.   Tears glistened in Mara’s dark eyes as she watched the six-year -old *note dashes* help the tottering baby down the narrow street, lifting the chubby cherub over puddles and dancing around, singing as they went.  *lots of verbs here. Cut back and lose the alliteration also*

            In the failing light, the children puddle jumped down the back streets, as shouts and cries could be heard from the main ways.  “They’re here, the wagons are here!”  The faint sound of music was barely audible *‘faint sound’ and ‘barely audible’ mean the same thing. This is called an echo. Cut one or the other* over the shouts of the crowds.  “The Demalions have arrived!” a boy bellowed as he ran past toward the square.  Festival had begun. 

            “Marabella, come on in here.  The street is no place for children on the first night of Festival, or any NIGHT *I would not capitalize this* of Festival for that matter,*cut the comma and insert a period*” The sturdy, plump woman scooped up the baby as the children came through the gate.  The two big, black dogs, usually so ferocious, whined and nudged at the little girl.

            “I want to stay out and play with the dogs for a while comma” Marabella said.

            “Out of the question.  No, you’d be out in the streets in a minute. I won’t hear of it,” Ma Nan stomped her foot on the porch *why did I strikeout this phrase? Because she had to stomp her foot on something. No need to tell us it was the porch* and tried to scowled to hide a grin.  “Come in and have some stew that I’ve made.”  The woman knew better than to look directly at the child because once faced with those enchanting eyes, it was almost impossible to deny Marabella anything.  “Get in here.” She held the door. 

            Marabella gave the huge dogs each a final pat and obediently followed the woman into the bright kitchen.  The dwindling sunlight shone through the front window, firelight danced in the cooking hearth and lamps lit the corners of the room.  She liked the musty smell of dried meat and herbs that permeated the dwelling.  In contrast to her own meager room, Ma Nan and her husband Henry had a real house built from rough-hewn cedar and quarry stone (not just smooth river rocks like many in Helfin).*I would not use parenthesis in a novel. Use commas or emdash* It was five rooms with a pantry and a washroom.  Henry had even built a wooden walkway from the back steps off the washroom to the privy.  There were two rooms for sleeping with real beds off the floor *I like this. It gives me an idea of living conditions.  And what is valued in this world. Good job* and a large great room with a big hearth that kept the whole house warm.  In every room comma there were shelves with pottery and books, and hanging from a rope strung around the ceiling hung herbs drying.  Marabella’s favorite room was the kitchen.  By the door hung the coat and blood stained apron worn daily by the butcher.  In the corner was a low table with a large basin and water pitcher.  A window with glass and cheery yellow curtains overlooked Ma Nan’s little herb garden in the front of the house.  On the other wall was a cooking hearth, which actually that peeked through to the larger hearth in the corner of the great room.  Marabella was amazed at the invention and how the real wood floors fit perfectly up against the twin hearths.  *I would re-word that sentence. A bit clunky* Henry explained that his brother had actually *don’t use this word* been a stonemason and had helped Henry build the house many years ago. The room was warm and inviting.  There was always something delicious in the larder or in the cooking pot. 

            Henry was a quiet man who enjoyed reading by the fire when he wasn’t working in his meat shop or smokehouse.  He was large and barrel-chested with an easy smile. His thinning brown hair was flecked with gray and his clear blue eyes sparkled every time he looked at his wife.  He and Nan enjoyed the children, as they no longer had any of their own, and they pitied them and their mother.

            Mara sometimes helped Nan when she had extra work to do cutting and preparing the meat for the smokehouse.  Henry, the butcher and his wife were not rich but they had a thriving business in Helfin.  He was known for his honesty in trading and was never too busy to help a neighbor.  Nan, known as Ma Nan by everyone, often worked by his side but was well known in the area as a midwife, herbalist, and healer. She often watched over Mara’s children when Mara had to work in her “profession.”  She enjoyed spending time with the youngsters as her young son had been lost in the ferry accident almost seven years before, and the only child left in her family was her odd nephew Wesley.

You are creating a fine world but too much backstory makes the reader’s eye skip. Not to say I don’t love it but maybe find a place or two to cut. It will increase the pace.

            Ma Nan scooped bowls of the steaming stew for the children.  She was a wonderful cook,*telling not showing* known also for her puffy meat pies that she sold at Festival each year.  Marabella liked her stew best of all.  Nan dipped a crust of hard bread into a cup of goat milk and handed it to the baby while the bowl cooled.  “Hot” she warned Marabella with a nod toward her bowl.  Marabella grinned from the corner where she made sure Ma Nan saw that she was washing up in the basin before eating.  *clunky. Not sure it’s needed* Nan smiled her approval.  “There’s some cheese if you like” Nan announced absently as she fed a spoonful of stew to the baby.

You’ve introduced a most excellent array of colors and smells. Thumbs up.

            Marabella went into the pantry to the large stone crock sitting on the floor.  Lifting the wooden lid from the crockcomma she retrieved a piece of goat cheese wrapped in cloth.  The smell was strong as she leaned over the crock that kept the cheese cool. Carefully replacing the wooden lid, she carried it back to the table and placed it on the cheese board.  “This cheese smells different from the last batch.  Did Wesley bring it by?”  Marabella inquired as she popped a crumb into her mouth.

            “You have a good nose, little one” Henry spoke from the corner where he washed up in the basin.  “Wesley brought that by yesterday.  He said the nanny just had two kids and I should bring you by the next time I go out to the farm.  Would you like that?” 

            Marabella bounced in her chair and exclaimed through a mouthful of potato, “Oh mmm huhm, pweese.” She swallowed her food and took a gulp of her milk.  “We can’t go tomorrow because mother and I are going to the market.  She said tonight will be a good night.”  The adults exchanged slightly embarrassed looks. *what does ‘embarrassed’ look like?* They both cared for Mara and often wished she could find work other than wearing the Red Sash.*telling not showing. You must show this. It’s a little tricky staying in Marabella’s head but here is an example: She looked up and saw the adults exchange a tight-lipped glance. Ma Nan’s cheeks were a curious shade of pink.
Part Two tomorrow.

Here is Dierks Bentley video. Note how synchronized the beat and the lyrics are to each other. Try this in your narratives:

Shrouded Goddess

I've got one last critique for you all this week, a first page from an NA/YA Fantasy:

 

CHAPTER 1

Sophie

I sneak out of my bedroom as soon as the hallway empties. Harp notes and laughter drift in the air from the night festivities downstairs. But that is not where I’m headed. (I had to think about why I didn't like this sentence. It's because it merely serves as a lead in for the information that follows. I think there's a better way.) Mingling with the drunken nobility without my grandmother’s protection will only get me married by morning. (That fast?)

Candlelight frames the door of her (I might name 'her' here, either as my grandmother or her given name.) chamber, and I squeeze through the narrow opening to avoid announcing my presence with creaking hinges. Eyes closed and ocher hands folded over her chest, Aryeea seems at peace. Her dark hair is still as black as mine. Tribal blood pumps strong in our veins, no matter what we do to hide our descent.

As she lies, resting on a bed brought by my grandfather from across the sea, I can almost believe Aryeea is dead. I’ve always known she wouldn’t live forever, but the thought of not seeing her again isn’t comforting. (why would it be?) I’ll even miss the snapped orders she flings at me all day long.

“Sophia, stop viewing me. I’m not dead yet.” Her bark wakes me from my reverie.

I straighten my back so she won’t sense my relief. “I thought you moved on without saying goodbye.” (here the narrator is suggesting she did think Aryeea was dead but previously the narrator could almost believe that she is dead.)

“I will, but not yet.” Aryeea sits, adjusting the feather pillows I embroidered for her against the headboard. “And when I do, make sure you bury my wedding braid with me. Your grandfather might need a reminder when we meet on the other side.” With shaky fingers, she straightens her loose hair. “And your uncle won’t even think of it when the time comes. The Barony is all he cares about.”
***
My first thought is that Sophia's reactions to her grandmother are a bit confusing. If her grandmother is on her deathbed (which it appears is the case) then I would think Sophia would be more worried about Areeya's passing. My second that is that there's nothing here to connect me to Sophia. She isn't interested in whatever festivities are happening below, believing that mingling with the 'drunken nobility' will only get her married by morning which seems a bit much. Even assuming she did mingle and was forced into marriage I would think a marriage would take longer to put together - especially if she's related to the Baron. I wonder if the threat of an impending marriage might add a little oomph to this first page. Not necessarily that Sophia IS going to marry someone soon but that someone will be chosen for her soon. That way her grandmother could become more of an ally and her passing would be more of a loss, giving Sophia more to worry about than just one or the other. It would also make sense then for Sophia to seek out her grandmother when there's a party going on downstairs when in reality, most young girls would be dying to go, or at least watch , rather than go visit with Granny.
Readers, what do you think of this first page? Any helpful suggestions or comments?
 
 

Marabella - Discovering Magics (part 3)

This is the third and final installment of the prologue to MARABELLA - DISCOVERING MAGICS, along with my critique. To sum up, in the first part Geremiah has just given his young son a gift to hold on to and keep safe, they're on a ferry, and there's a storm brewing. In part two the storm gets worse, and one of the ropes breaks. Geremiah empties a barrel of its contents...

“Wesley” was all Anton said.  Geremiah grabbed for the child as the ferry rocked and spun out of control.  Still clutching the saddlebag, Wesley stared bewildered into the big man’s kind face.  Geremiah slipped his knife into the bag Wesley held and lifted the tiny boy into the barrel.  Anton yelled over the din of screams and cries of the passengers scrambling to cling to the out of control ferry, “Don’t fear my son.  Be brave.” Together the men pounded the lid back on the barrel.  “Always take care of your mother” Anton continued.  “Don’t be afraid!”  Steadying themselves and pausing for just the right moment, Anton and Geremiah heaved the barrel with tremendous force toward the north shore.   Geremiah held his hand aloft as if willing the barrel toward the land. “Drifan.” His whisper was lost in the gale.  The tiny barrel and its precious contents sailed northward over the turbulent waves.

The current smacked the ferry again and a torrent of icy water washed over, (I forget what the rule is but I know you need a comma before the majority of these types of sentences – any readers out there who know this grammar rule?) taking several more passengers with it.  Anton made a grab for Broxton but the old man’s arm slid through his wet hands and he was dragged over the side.  “The rocks!” someone shouted.  Geremiah grasped Benji around the waist just as the ferry was jolted, smashing into the first of the boulders jutting from the frigid swells. Geremiah’s broad back crashed through the railing and both went over into the cold gray surge.  The remnants of the ferry spun again exploding into splinters on the rocks.   

Shouts of alarm sounded on the shore but already little was left, save debris swirling in the current and drifting toward the land; a plank of wood, a straw hat with pink ribbons, a small flour barrel bouncing off the rocks along the bank and several lifeless bodies. 

            This tragedy would hang over the village for many years.  But life went on and the seasons turned and turned and turned again. (I’d consider losing these two last sentences. The prologue reads stronger without them and that last image: “…a small flour barrel bouncing off the rocks along the bank and several lifeless bodies.” is far more powerful than a banal comment about how life goes on the seasons pass, don’t you think?)

***

My first thought is that this is a pretty darn good beginning. There are a number of elements within this prologue that could be expanded upon in the first chapter. The boy, Wesley, the gift for his mother he's supposed to keep safe, another survivor perhaps...that's the fun of prologues. How do they tie in to the rest of the story? That said, I’d suggest thinking long and hard about whether this information – the tragedy – can be imparted elsewhere, because prologues can be a very difficult sell to agents and editors. I happen to like a good prologue, but I think I’m in the minority. Anyway. If you decide to keep it, I would suggest remaining a more distant narrator and lose the description of Geremiah; it isn’t important to know whether he’s good looking. What’s important is what’s happening: the ferry is going to go down and Geremiah has to save his son and the gift – a ring – to “my lady, Mara.” The other option is to see if the information about the tragedy can be imparted another way, either through dialogue,  a history lesson, research, family tales, dreams...whatever. The important thing is that if you're going to have a prologue, you have to make it indispensable to the story.

Readers, what do you think?

Oh! To see more of this story, come back on Monday when CD will be critiquing the first chapter. I know I'll be here!