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The Golem (YA Adventure in History)


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#1 Valmodeus

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Posted 06 January 2018 - 08:21 AM

The mob stormed up Anton’s street with enough force to make his floorboards tremble.  By the time it reached the door downstairs, he had to quell his hands from trembling along.  

Within the space of his next breath, a high-pitched crash and fragments of glass entered his bedchamber. He dropped to all fours and covered his head for whatever good it might do. A swarm of sharp edges ripped up his robes, stinging his forearms like so many bees.

“This is silk, damn you!” he hissed. Then he felt something hot – scorching hot. When he dared to detach his hands from his face, he realized the worst had yet to pass.

Beneath his fragmented window, beside his claw-footed bed, a torch burned brighter than all the candles in his room combined. Fiery tongues began lashing his bed’s shredded canopy in a bid to consume it whole.

Clambering to his feet, Anton bunched up his robes and tried stomping out the torch. Agonizing embers nibbled at his heels but he refused to quit until the flames were no more.

Soon after, a breeze of night wind crept through the window and chilled the sweat on his cheeks. The chill went bone-deep when some dullard shouted over the rest of the mob, “Burn the witch!”

Not if Anton had a say. Bending his back, he brought the torch with him as he forced his quivering legs toward the window. In between steps he glimpsed shard-sized reflections of his narrow jaw and jet-black hair. Each time he averted his eyes as quickly as possible - vanity had no place at a time like this. The situation called for courage, so it was with a dose of the stuff that Anton peered over the windowsill. 



#2 lnloft

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Posted 16 January 2018 - 03:54 PM

You've been sitting here a week and a half with no responses. Patience like that should be rewarded.

 

The mob stormed up Anton’s street with enough force to make his floorboards tremble. Good first line. By the time it reached the door downstairs, he had to quell his hands from trembling along. 

 

Within the space of his next breath, a high-pitched crash and fragments of glass entered his bedchamber. I got a little thrown off, here, because we had the mob at the door downstairs and then his window breaks. I was assuming that the mob was just going to be smashing down his door, so I got disoriented by this. He dropped to all fours and covered his head for whatever good it might do. A swarm of sharp edges ripped up his robes, stinging his forearms like so many bees.

 

“This is silk, damn you!” he hissed. Then he felt something hot – scorching hot. When he dared to detach his hands from his face, he realized the worst had yet to pass. Not a fan of lines like this.

 

Beneath his fragmented window, beside his claw-footed bed, a torch burned brighter than all the candles in his room combined. Fiery tongues began lashing his bed’s shredded canopy in a bid to consume it whole.

 

Clambering to his feet, Anton bunched up his robes and tried stomping out the torch. Agonizing embers nibbled at his heels but he refused to quit until the flames were no more.

 

Soon after This "soon after" makes me feel like a couple minutes have passed, when I'm assuming it's just a few seconds, really., a breeze of night wind crept through the window and chilled the sweat on his cheeks. The chill went bone-deep when some dullard shouted over the rest of the mob, “Burn the witch!”

 

Not if Anton had a say. Eh, not really liking this line, either. Bending his back, he brought the torch with him as he forced his quivering legs toward the window. In between steps he glimpsed shard-sized reflections of his narrow jaw and jet-black hair Describing a character's physical appearance by having them see their reflection is a bit of a cliché.. Each time he averted his eyes as quickly as possible - vanity had no place at a time like this. The situation called for courage, so it was with a dose of the stuff that Anton peered over the windowsill. 

 

Hmm... as individual sentences, you have a nice grasp of the language, crafting interesting sounding phrases. But the biggest critique I have is that I don't feel any urgency. Anton's got a mob at his door and a torch nearly burning his house down, and he seems very hum-ho about it. Like this is scary, intense stuff. So how can you show that a little better? Some of it, I think, might be word choice. "Clambering to his feet" comes to mind as an example. "Clambering" to me implies doing it somewhat slowly, but maybe he should be "leaping" or "scrambling"? Short, sharp sentences can also add to that sense of urgency, maybe even sometimes one word sentences. So as not to write your story myself, I'm going to give an example where he's woken up by the chaos instead of already awake: "Anton raised his head, disoriented. He tried to focus on what was around him. Shouts. Heat. Smoke." Something like that, stylistically, might add that urgency, but obviously do what works within your voice. I'm just offering suggestions; if you have a different thought to the urgency, go for it. Anyway, good start, and good luck.


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