Rate my writing, or don't - I'm not too bothered either way

[Smiley73]

So the last time I wrote something for English I posted it here, and I don't know if anyone enjoyed it but no one complained about it >.> and I think I got some people interested in this one

 

That last one was for class, but this one is for a school contest, open topic, only real restriction is that is must be over 800 words.

 

I'm not looking for much out of this, if you like it you can tell me and if you don't then tell me that as well, but if you do either please try and come up with a reason why you find my writing good or bad, so this exercise might be helpful to me. or you could just read this and not post, that works too, not that it helps me too much. So without further ado:

 

 

 

Black and silver clouds filled the sky, forming menacing shapes that leered down at the landscape below. A crack of lightning disturbed the still, windless air, illuminating the hills for a moment, forming a rose whose petals of light and shadow radiated from a young willow tree which missed its entire right side, which had been sheared off by the lightning strike, the sap along the cut instantly cauterized by the searing heat. An ear-bursting (deafening?) thunderclap moved from the tree, shaking the branches of the surrounding trees and creating a deep tremor that moved through the earth, scaring the small animals that had sought refuge there from the storm.

 

The still air carried the sound of the thunderclap, miles and miles, over the rolling hills towards a keep from which the stricken willow was an indistinct dot. A single guard patrolled the ramparts, gazing out suspiciously at the picture of rolling hills before him. He had been standing still and counting seconds since the last strike of lightning. Grunting, he resettled the heavy coat designed to prevent the wind from stealing his body’s precious heat. It was almost useless now, the air was still and not even a hint of wind passed through the crenellations atop the wall of the keep.

 

The guard was not a superstitious man, but these clouds could make any sane man afraid. It just was not natural, this still air interspersed with lightning strikes. It should be raining, pouring down with a vengeance, the main roads through the keep should have been turned to rivers, the lower levels of the building should be flooded, but they were not, most of the townspeople would have preferred flooding. As it was many of the townspeople kept themselves locked inside their houses, only venturing out at the greatest necessity, their imaginations gone wild at proposing a cause and consequence to the weather, it was the new bishop or the marriage people had been against, or the vindictive spirits of some unknown enemy, it was going to kill them all in their sleep, no, the keep would be wrought asunder by some biblical curse, no the clouds would strike down the townspeople one by one.

 

There were so few guards reporting for duty that long stretches of the keep stayed unguarded. If there was an attack on the keep the town would be swept aside, but no leader would be able to march men under these clouds, their morale would have been broken as faster than the townspeople’s, rumours spread faster than orders in an army camp. In any case, only the strongest-willed guards ever arrived for duty these days, and they only arrived to take care of the most important tasks, guarding the treasury, the lord’s chambers and here, the walkways around tower that served as a jail.

The inside of the tower was gloomily lit. Deep pools of shadows shrouded most of the spiralling steps, only intermittently broken by torches that had yet to burn out. The servant staff who would normally have tended to the torches were spread too thin to worry about torches around the jail, no one would be visiting the cells now, no one important at least.

 

The further down the tower went the wetter it became. Slimy mould grew along the stone wall and steps, treacherous footing, a slip here could crack your skull and no one would be the wiser for days. Most would just put Most would just put your disappearance down to the ominous clouds overhead, another wives’ tale to entertain their imaginations. The deeper the tower went, the thicker the carpet of mould became, by the time the steps were below the surface the mould covered the entire wall and stairway.

 

The steps came to an end not too far below the surface. In here the mould did not grow, partly because of the guards and servants who still made rounds here and partly because of the presence of torches here. The torches were brought by the guards, no guard wanted to sit in the dark for an entire shift. That was a fate reserved for the prisoners...

 

A roughly-hewn, heavy oak door reinforced with rusted bars of iron separated the guard room from the jail cells. The door was opened two times a day to bring in the scraps for the prisoners; otherwise the prisoners were left to languish amongst themselves. Sometimes they were silent, sometimes they shouted murderous curses and railed against the doors of their cells, trying to scratch through the doors or pull out the bars that the guards looked through. They told stories of what they did, what they would do, how they would get out, mostly inarticulate gibbering, the lack of light and time did strange things to men.

 

The one thing they didn’t do was laugh. When that happened they fell silent and crept into the corners of their cells like rats fearing a snake in their midst and there they remained until the laughter ended. Madman’s laughter it was, it stated for no apparent reason. Sometimes it was a deep, rolling laughter, other time it was short, evil bursts of sounds, but no matter what it chilled it’s listeners to the bone.

 

The laugher was kept in its own cell, the cell furthest away from the guard room and the rest of the prisoners, in a special containment room with a door nearly as thick as the gates to the keep, but the door and distance did little to muffle the sounds of laughter that emanated from the room periodically. The laughter might be absent for days on end or it might go on for hours and hours. The waiting had been known to drive prisoners and guards mad.

The cell itself was dark as pitch as no one would enter into it to light torches. The cell was carved out of the surrounding rock; there were no seams or cracks that could be exploited. There was no person brave enough among the townspeople to enter the cell, they feared the laugher more than the storm overhead, or an army or any sort of natural disaster, those could be explained, or put to an act of a vengeful god, but this, this could be none other than evil. An evil so great the townspeople feared to kill it, in case the bounds of flesh would restrain it.

 

The laugher usually sat on its haunches in the centre of the cell, unaware of its surroundings. Slowly it rocked, back and forth, back and forth. A steady, unbroken cadence. A soft giggle occasionally emitted from its mouth sometimes breaking into laughter sometimes dying out. The laugher never made an attempt to get out of the cell, never scratched the stone walls or flung itself against the thick wooden door. It just sat. And rocked. Back and forth. Back and forth.

 

Outside lightning lit the hills again, and as the flash faded the thunder rolled towards the keep. The laugher’s giggling intensified as it punctuated the sounds of thunder with its own sounds of madness. Soon a full-hearted cackle came from the cell and lightning flashed, and thunder rolled...

 

One thing that I am a little worried about is what I call the laughing guy. I use "it" because then the person seems less human more... something else, otherwise I'd just make it a he, it would make the wording a little less awkward

[Mrs. Cindy Gill]

good vocabulary, very descriptive, very evocative.

 

if you want critique i'll just say you do what i do, too many commas, too many adjectives. dickensian. the modern humans like short, simple sentences and ideas.

[Smiley73]

good vocabulary, very descriptive, very evocative.

 

if you want critique i'll just say you do what i do, too many commas, too many adjectives. dickensian. the modern humans like short, simple sentences and ideas.

 

true, I do love my punctuation... and description...

[Mrs. Cindy Gill]

i'm wordy myself, cause that's what i like to read.

[Ithillian Turambar]

You could use 'their' instead of 'its' for the laughing person. Some sentences are too long, with too many commas. Try reading your work out loud to see if the structure works or if the meaning gets a little lost.

 

Your descriptions are good and I'm definitely feeling the atmosphere, but I would recommend varying your sentence lengths. Sometime a short simple statement can be just as effective as a long drawn out description - and it helps to keep the story's pace moving along and not slow down too much.

[Nyanna al'Meara]

Ooo! Vair good beginning, definitely caught the attention :) and I love the description of the laughter! XD

Great return to the beginning in that last paragraph...keeps the spirit of the story and the descriptive part seems much more natural! :D

 

I do agree about varying the sentence lengths, that's the only thing that stood out to me continuously. I had to learn that too, took me a while because I always wanted to put in so much detail! I recommend a short, snappy sentence here and there. Like you did for the laughter paragraph, that was really effective! It just helps to balance the story and not let it become monotonous.

 

Good luck wiv le school comp :)

[Smiley73]

thanks for the feedback peoplez I'll look at shortening my sentences, maybe take take out some description >.> just a tiny bit

[Smiley73]

Ooo! Vair good beginning, definitely caught the attention :)

 

yeah the beginning was basically lifted off tGS

[Kudaran Dragon Blooded]

The large amount of description is fine, only makes the writing better. The only problems I see are sentances that could be cleaned up, say with some semicolons in the place of commas.

[Smiley73]

So here's my revised version, much the same as before just with more full stops, which also required a little sentence restructuring, but mostly the same as before:

 

 

Black and silver clouds filled the sky, forming menacing shapes that leered down at the landscape below. A crack of lightning disturbed the still, windless air, illuminating the hills for a moment. The hills turned into a rose whose petals of light and shadow radiated from a young willow tree its entire right side sheared off by the lightning strike, the sap along the cut instantly cauterized by the searing heat. A deafening thunderclap moved outward from the tree, shaking the branches of its neighbours and creating a deep tremor that moved through the earth, scaring the small animals that had sought refuge there from the storm.

 

The still air carried the sound of the thunderclap over the rolling hills towards a keep from which the stricken willow was an indistinct dot. A single guard patrolled the ramparts, gazing out suspiciously at the hills before him. He had been counting seconds since the last strike of lightning. Grunting, he resettled the heavy coat designed to prevent the wind from stealing his body’s precious heat. It was almost useless now, the air was still and not even a hint of wind passed through the crenellations atop the wall of the keep.

The guard was not a superstitious man, but clouds like these would make any sane man afraid. It was not natural, this still air interspersed with lightning strikes. It should be raining, pouring down with a vengeance. The main roads should have been turned to rivers, the lower levels of the building should be flooded, but they were not. Most of the townspeople would have preferred flooding. As it was the townspeople kept themselves locked inside their houses, only venturing out at the greatest necessity. Their imaginations gone wild at proposing a cause and consequence to the weather: it was the new bishop or that young couple that eloped, the vindictive spirits of some unknown enemy, it was going to kill them all in their sleep, the keep would be wrought asunder by some biblical curse, no, the clouds would strike them down one by one.

 

There were so few guards reporting for duty that long stretches of the keep remained unguarded. If there was an attack on the keep the town would have fallen, but no leader would be able to march men under these clouds. Their morale would have been broken faster than the townspeople’s, rumours spread more quickly than orders in an army camp. In any case, only the staunchest guards ever reported for duty these days, and they were only enough to take care of the most basic tasks: guarding the treasury, the lord’s chambers and here, around tower that served as a jail.

 

The inside of the tower was miserably dark. Deep pools of shadows shrouded most of the spiralling steps, only intermittently broken by torches that had yet to burn out. The servant staff who would normally have tended to the torches were spread too thin to care about torches in the tower. No one would be travelling there now, no one important at least.

 

The tower became wetter the closer it got to the ground. Slimy mould grew along the walls of the tower and steps. It was treacherous footing, a slip here could crack your skull and no one would be the wiser for days. Most would ascribe the disappearance to the ominous clouds overhead, another wives’ tale to feed their fears. The carpet of mould grew thicker nearer the ground, by the time the steps went below the surface the mould covered the entire wall and stairway.

 

The steps came to an end not too far below the surface. Here the mould did not grow. The guards and servants still made rounds here and brought with them torches. No guard wanted to sit in the dark for an entire shift. That was a fate reserved for the prisoners...

 

A roughly-hewn, heavy oak door reinforced with rusted bars of iron separated the guard room from the jail cells. The door was opened twice a day to bring in scraps for the prisoners; otherwise the prisoners were left to languish amongst themselves. They were silent sometimes, sometimes they shouted murderous curses and railed against the doors of their cells, futilely attempting to scratch through the doors or wrench the bars set in the door of each cell. They told stories of what they did to get here, how they would escape, what they would once they did. Mostly incoherent gibbering, the gloom did strange things to men.

 

The one thing they never did was laugh. When that happened they fell silent and crept into the corners of their cells like rats fearing a snake in their midst. There they remained until the laughter ended. Madman’s laughter it was. Sometimes it was a deep, rolling laughter, other times short, malevolent bursts of sounds, but no matter what it chilled its listeners to the bone.

 

The laugher was kept in its own special containment cell, the cell furthest away from the guard room and the rest of the prisoners. The cell had a door nearly as thick as the gates to the keep, but the door and distance did little to muffle the sounds that emanated from within. The laughter might be absent for days or it might go on for hours. Prisoners and guards alike were known to have been driven insane by both the laughter and the waiting.

 

The cell itself was dark as pitch no one dared enter to light it. The cell was carved out of the surrounding rock, no seams or cracks existed that could be exploited. The townspeople feared the laugher and this cell more than the storm overhead, or an army or any sort of disaster, those could be explained, or put to an act of a vengeful god. This was only evil. They feared even to rid themselves of it, in case the bounds of flesh restrained it.

 

The laugher sat on its haunches in the centre of its cell, unaware of its surroundings. It clutched its knees to its chest, eyes staring blankly to the wall. Slowly it rocked, back and forth, back and forth. A steady, unbroken cadence. A soft giggle occasionally escaped its mouth - sometimes breaking into mad laughter sometimes dying down. The laugher never made an attempt to escape, never scratched the stone walls or flung itself against the thick wooden door. It just sat. And rocked. Back and forth. Back and forth.

Outside lightning lit the hills again, and as the flash faded the thunder rolled towards the keep. The laugher’s giggling intensified as it punctuated the sounds of thunder with its own sounds of madness. Soon a full-hearted cackle came from the cell and lightning flashed, and thunder rolled...