Name: Ben Lacy
Genre: Young Adult fantasy
Title: The Tragedies
Sections in [] were written by Shakespeare.
Chapter 1
Romeo and Juliet
[JULIET - Yea, noise? then I'll be brief. O happy dagger!
Snatching ROMEO's dagger
JULIET - This is thy sheath;
Stabs herself
JULIET - there rust, and let me die.
Falls on ROMEO's body, and dies]
"They both died because of a misunderstanding!" I yelled out loud as I
tossed the paperback copy of Romeo and Juliet across the living room.
Romeo killed himself because he thought Juliet was dead, but she'd just been
faking. Until she found out Romeo had killed himself, then she did it for
real. What a stupid story.
One week ago, I'd been in Mrs. Acton's tenth grade English class where we'd
been reading the first Harry Potter book. Midway through class, the Vice
Principal stuck her head in the door and said, "Penwright, take your things
and follow me," snapping her fingers as she did.
In the hall, she gushed on about how well I'd done on the most recent
standardized test as she walked me to Mr. Borden's Masterpieces of English
Literature class.
"You're too advanced for the children's stories they read in the regular
English class, Art," Mr. Borden declared, sniffing as if the thought of
those books made him ill. "We'll be reading important books with deeper
meaning and hidden symbolism that will reveal truths about the human
condition."
I had no interest in learning hidden truths about the human condition much
less taking an even harder English course, so I tried to politely weasel my
way back to my old class. "I dunno, Mr. Borden, if it's all the same to
you, I'm fine where I am. I like a fun story."
Mr. Borden laughed heartily, "Well, don't worry, these are fun stories."
His expression became more sympathetic. "I think it'll help keep your mind
occupied," he added.
"Occupied with how terrible these books are," I mumbled aloud. I hated it
when people thought they were comforting me by doing something I didn't
want. I always ended up feeling worse. I sighed, walked across the room
and picked up the book. There was a quiz on Friday.
I stretched back out on the couch and pulled the cap off the highlighter.
This is thy sheath - there had to be some stupid symbolic meaning there, I
decided. I drew the yellow felt tip across the phrase. It remained
stubbornly black and white. I pressed harder, the tip squealed over the
paper, still nothing.
I pitched the marker into the waste basket. The junk draw in the kitchen
had a dozen pens and almost as many pencils, but no highlighters. I walked
to the extra bedroom we used as an office. Dad's teak desk with the slate
top sat alone in the center of the room. I stood there staring at it for a
moment. It had been days since I'd been here, days since anyone had. Being
here felt wrong.
Don't be silly, I told myself. It's just another room. I opened the top
desk drawer then brushed a layer of dust off my hand. I found more Bics, a
mechanical pencil, and a pen that looked like a small gold torpedo.
I picked up the torpedo. Removing the cap from the top half revealed a tiny
golden tip. Holding it almost to my right eye, I could make out a very fine
split running down the center of the point. I wondered if this was the kind
of pen you had to dip in ink. I drew it across the remains of an old
envelope, a fine gold line trailed the path. The gold ink glittered with a
metallic sheen I'd have thought was real gold if I hadn't known better.
It wasn't a highlighter, but the gold ink would probably serve just as well.
Besides, the pen was very cool. Tiny, wavy lines ran through the shaft
making the gold shell throw off flashes of light as I spun it through my
fingers. The clip was shaped into a tiny gold arrow, with feathers on the
end attached to the cap, and an arrow head pointing from the free end. It
must be gold plating, but it had been beautifully made.
I flipped the book back open, sat down at the desk and touched pen to paper.
The lights went dim. I heard two voices talking.
["Put this in any liquid thing you will, and drink it off; and, if you had
the strength of twenty men, it would dispatch you straight."]
Those words sounded familiar. My eyes began to adjust to the darkness. I
stood between two rows of crudely cut wooden shelves. Large glass bottles
and brown ceramic jars filled each shelf. Farther away at the end of the
aisle formed by the shelves, I saw a heavy set man with his back to me
standing at a counter. Was I in some kind of old store?
On the other side of the counter was a man wearing a feathered cap and a
shirt with large puffy sleeves. Heavy brocade ran down the front of it.
The weak light coming in from the one window behind him wasn't strong enough
to let me see his face.
["There is thy gold, worse poison to men's souls, doing more murders in this
loathsome world, than these poor compounds that thou mayst not sell,"] a
teenager's voice said. The boy dropped some coins onto the counter. One
rolled toward the table edge until the shopkeeper slapped it flat.
I looked around me, had I woken up in a low budget production of that stupid
play? No, there was nothing but walls behind me. Was I dreaming? What
that kid had just said about 'poison to men's souls,' I remembered reading
that. In fact, it was on the page I'd touched with the pen just before .
just before I ended up here. I realized I was holding something tightly in
my fist. I lifted the gold pen to eye level.
Romeo started to back away from the counter. ["I sell thee poison; thou
hast sold me none. Farewell: buy food, and get thyself in flesh,"] he
continued. I knew what was going to happen next, Romeo would go to
Juliet's tomb, kill Paris, than himself. Had the pen brought me into the
story at the spot where I'd touched it to the page?
Now at the shop's door, Romeo finished his speech, ["Come, cordial and not
poison, go with me
To Juliet's grave; for there must I use thee."]
"No, wait," I shouted making a spur of the moment decision. Both Romeo and
the apothecary turned toward the back of the shop as I ran down the rows
shelves, knocking several bottles over as I did. Before the apothecary
could react, I ducked under the counter and dashed toward the door. I
barely swerved in time to avoid running into an open barrel full of some
foul smelling liquid. I moved more carefully; I knew enough about olden
times to have some very nasty guesses as to what might be lying out in the
open.
"Boy, thou dost not belong here," the apothecary yelled. He grabbed a large
stick and tried to duck under the counter like I had me, but the stick
struck the counter sending him tumbling to the floor right by the barrel. I
turned away; he was pretty chunky, I could outrun him.
"It's a fake," I yelled, running outside.
Genre: Young Adult fantasy
Title: The Tragedies
Sections in [] were written by Shakespeare.
Chapter 1
Romeo and Juliet
[JULIET - Yea, noise? then I'll be brief. O happy dagger!
Snatching ROMEO's dagger
JULIET - This is thy sheath;
Stabs herself
JULIET - there rust, and let me die.
Falls on ROMEO's body, and dies]
"They both died because of a misunderstanding!" I yelled out loud as I
tossed the paperback copy of Romeo and Juliet across the living room.
Romeo killed himself because he thought Juliet was dead, but she'd just been
faking. Until she found out Romeo had killed himself, then she did it for
real. What a stupid story.
One week ago, I'd been in Mrs. Acton's tenth grade English class where we'd
been reading the first Harry Potter book. Midway through class, the Vice
Principal stuck her head in the door and said, "Penwright, take your things
and follow me," snapping her fingers as she did.
In the hall, she gushed on about how well I'd done on the most recent
standardized test as she walked me to Mr. Borden's Masterpieces of English
Literature class.
"You're too advanced for the children's stories they read in the regular
English class, Art," Mr. Borden declared, sniffing as if the thought of
those books made him ill. "We'll be reading important books with deeper
meaning and hidden symbolism that will reveal truths about the human
condition."
I had no interest in learning hidden truths about the human condition much
less taking an even harder English course, so I tried to politely weasel my
way back to my old class. "I dunno, Mr. Borden, if it's all the same to
you, I'm fine where I am. I like a fun story."
Mr. Borden laughed heartily, "Well, don't worry, these are fun stories."
His expression became more sympathetic. "I think it'll help keep your mind
occupied," he added.
"Occupied with how terrible these books are," I mumbled aloud. I hated it
when people thought they were comforting me by doing something I didn't
want. I always ended up feeling worse. I sighed, walked across the room
and picked up the book. There was a quiz on Friday.
I stretched back out on the couch and pulled the cap off the highlighter.
This is thy sheath - there had to be some stupid symbolic meaning there, I
decided. I drew the yellow felt tip across the phrase. It remained
stubbornly black and white. I pressed harder, the tip squealed over the
paper, still nothing.
I pitched the marker into the waste basket. The junk draw in the kitchen
had a dozen pens and almost as many pencils, but no highlighters. I walked
to the extra bedroom we used as an office. Dad's teak desk with the slate
top sat alone in the center of the room. I stood there staring at it for a
moment. It had been days since I'd been here, days since anyone had. Being
here felt wrong.
Don't be silly, I told myself. It's just another room. I opened the top
desk drawer then brushed a layer of dust off my hand. I found more Bics, a
mechanical pencil, and a pen that looked like a small gold torpedo.
I picked up the torpedo. Removing the cap from the top half revealed a tiny
golden tip. Holding it almost to my right eye, I could make out a very fine
split running down the center of the point. I wondered if this was the kind
of pen you had to dip in ink. I drew it across the remains of an old
envelope, a fine gold line trailed the path. The gold ink glittered with a
metallic sheen I'd have thought was real gold if I hadn't known better.
It wasn't a highlighter, but the gold ink would probably serve just as well.
Besides, the pen was very cool. Tiny, wavy lines ran through the shaft
making the gold shell throw off flashes of light as I spun it through my
fingers. The clip was shaped into a tiny gold arrow, with feathers on the
end attached to the cap, and an arrow head pointing from the free end. It
must be gold plating, but it had been beautifully made.
I flipped the book back open, sat down at the desk and touched pen to paper.
The lights went dim. I heard two voices talking.
["Put this in any liquid thing you will, and drink it off; and, if you had
the strength of twenty men, it would dispatch you straight."]
Those words sounded familiar. My eyes began to adjust to the darkness. I
stood between two rows of crudely cut wooden shelves. Large glass bottles
and brown ceramic jars filled each shelf. Farther away at the end of the
aisle formed by the shelves, I saw a heavy set man with his back to me
standing at a counter. Was I in some kind of old store?
On the other side of the counter was a man wearing a feathered cap and a
shirt with large puffy sleeves. Heavy brocade ran down the front of it.
The weak light coming in from the one window behind him wasn't strong enough
to let me see his face.
["There is thy gold, worse poison to men's souls, doing more murders in this
loathsome world, than these poor compounds that thou mayst not sell,"] a
teenager's voice said. The boy dropped some coins onto the counter. One
rolled toward the table edge until the shopkeeper slapped it flat.
I looked around me, had I woken up in a low budget production of that stupid
play? No, there was nothing but walls behind me. Was I dreaming? What
that kid had just said about 'poison to men's souls,' I remembered reading
that. In fact, it was on the page I'd touched with the pen just before .
just before I ended up here. I realized I was holding something tightly in
my fist. I lifted the gold pen to eye level.
Romeo started to back away from the counter. ["I sell thee poison; thou
hast sold me none. Farewell: buy food, and get thyself in flesh,"] he
continued. I knew what was going to happen next, Romeo would go to
Juliet's tomb, kill Paris, than himself. Had the pen brought me into the
story at the spot where I'd touched it to the page?
Now at the shop's door, Romeo finished his speech, ["Come, cordial and not
poison, go with me
To Juliet's grave; for there must I use thee."]
"No, wait," I shouted making a spur of the moment decision. Both Romeo and
the apothecary turned toward the back of the shop as I ran down the rows
shelves, knocking several bottles over as I did. Before the apothecary
could react, I ducked under the counter and dashed toward the door. I
barely swerved in time to avoid running into an open barrel full of some
foul smelling liquid. I moved more carefully; I knew enough about olden
times to have some very nasty guesses as to what might be lying out in the
open.
"Boy, thou dost not belong here," the apothecary yelled. He grabbed a large
stick and tried to duck under the counter like I had me, but the stick
struck the counter sending him tumbling to the floor right by the barrel. I
turned away; he was pretty chunky, I could outrun him.
"It's a fake," I yelled, running outside.
Interesting that reading my own story in a different format's helped me catch two typos I never noticed in the word doc.
ReplyDeleteGood start.
ReplyDeleteI too hate when people try to force me to do something I don't want to do and mask it as if they're helping. I like how this fantasy includes Harry Potter as a book series.
Instead of saying "I decided" or "I told myself", you could put it in italics as inner thoughts. It will also help cut down on the "I" sentences.
Watch out for repeated words. You've used "tiny" twice in one paragraph and in the the paragraph before that. Same with shelf/shelves and counter.
I made it all the way to the end only to realize the MC is a boy. All this time I thought it was a girl. Try making that obvious sooner. Like when the vice principal pokes her head in the room.
This comment has been removed by the author.
ReplyDeleteKim is having trouble posting - so this is from her!
ReplyDeleteFirst of all, thanks for putting your work out there for evaluation – this is, of course, a seemingly obvious part of publishing, but it is also quite nerve-wracking, so congrats for taking that leap!
Before I dive in, I like to give a short explanation about my workshop philosophy so that you know where I’m coming from. One of my writing teachers, Sands Hall, likes to say when we approach another writer’s piece, we must assume that this writer has put everything where it is on purpose. Thus, it is not our job as the responders to try to make this piece of writing what we would want it to be, but rather to ask questions that allow it to become the best version of the author’s intention. I do this with a couple of first steps. I am going to tell you two things I think you’re doing well – sometimes, just knowing where the work shines allows other parts of the work to rise to that level of sparkle. Then, I’ll give you two things to consider for revision, usually through two questions to ask yourself while you’re revising. Okay, let’s get started:
Let's start with this fantastic gold pen -- this moment of discovery of it is so pure and crisp, "I picked up the torpedo." It shines -- this object already has weight and purpose, excellent. Can't wait to see what you do with it.
Your conflict is immediate and interesting -- first, Art doesn't want to care about English, "I had no interest in learning hidden truths about the human condition"; but, then -- he cares enough to possibly change the shape of R&J. Very clever. This has so much potential!
Two things to consider for the next round:
First, speaking of that pen...I wonder if you should try opening with its discovery and then looping us back to how Art ended up with it in his hand. Just play around with where we first see it. Could it happen sooner? Could it be our window into the story?
Second, go through and look for where you give us a sense of place -- where is he at all times (the classroom, the living room, the past). Are there sensory descriptive clues you could weave in for each of these places that will help ground us there as a reader?
This is a fun one, Ben -- can't wait to see the revision!
First of all, thanks for putting your work out there for evaluation – this is, of course, a seemingly obvious part of publishing, but it is also quite nerve-wracking, so congrats for taking that leap!
ReplyDeleteBefore I dive in, I like to give a short explanation about my workshop philosophy so that you know where I’m coming from. One of my writing teachers, Sands Hall, likes to say when we approach another writer’s piece, we must assume that this writer has put everything where it is on purpose. Thus, it is not our job as the responders to try to make this piece of writing what we would want it to be, but rather to ask questions that allow it to become the best version of the author’s intention. I do this with a couple of first steps. I am going to tell you two things I think you’re doing well – sometimes, just knowing where the work shines allows other parts of the work to rise to that level of sparkle. Then, I’ll give you two things to consider for revision, usually through two questions to ask yourself while you’re revising. Okay, let’s get started:
Let's start with this fantastic gold pen -- this moment of discovery of it is so pure and crisp, "I picked up the torpedo." It shines -- this object already has weight and purpose, excellent. Can't wait to see what you do with it.
Your conflict is immediate and interesting -- first, Art doesn't want to care about English, "I had no interest in learning hidden truths about the human condition"; but, then -- he cares enough to possibly change the shape of R&J. Very clever. This has so much potential!
Two things to consider for the next round:
First, speaking of that pen...I wonder if you should try opening with its discovery and then looping us back to how Art ended up with it in his hand. Just play around with where we first see it. Could it happen sooner? Could it be our window into the story?
Second, go through and look for where you give us a sense of place -- where is he at all times (the classroom, the living room, the past). Are there sensory descriptive clues you could weave in for each of these places that will help ground us there as a reader?
This is a fun one, Ben -- can't wait to see the revision!
I love this concept. The use of the gold pen to touch the page and take him into that action is very clever.
ReplyDeleteI think you mean “drawer” in this sentence: “The junk draw in the kitchen…”
When he goes looking for a highlighter, you set up the mystery of his dad, and we immediately wonder what happened to him.
After he finds the gold pen, he flips the book open. I imagine him back on the couch where he started doing his highlighting, not realizing he’d brought the book with him. And might he have some inner thoughts/hesitation about sitting at this desk because of the mystery around his dad?
When he is suddenly between two wooden shelves, wouldn’t he be a bit startled and wonder if he’d fallen asleep and was dreaming, or something? It seems that reaction might come sooner than where you’ve place it.
I love this visual: “One rolled toward the table edge until the shopkeeper slapped it flat.” Your description allows me to see and hear it.
In the second to last paragraph, it’s hard for me to follow where people are in relation to each other. I’m sure if you tweak this paragraph a bit, you can make it clearer.
Again, love the concept, and look forward to your revisions.
I liked the little clues that the main character is going though something, and like most teenagers, he can see right through the adults trying to "distract" him.
ReplyDeleteIt would be nice to get a clearer back story to the main character before he discovers the pen. Could we see him walking home from school as soon as class is over, maybe talking to a friend, etc. I feel like we jump in so quickly to the adventure with the gold pen, it would be great to get to know the main character more before we are introduced to the new world.
Is there anything else we could learn about the dad before we jump into the story? Was he an author or illustrator - is that why he would possess such a pen?
I loved the description of the pen since I didn't know what a torpedo is. Love the idea and can't wait to read more!
Hi Ben! I'm just getting in under the wire, so I'll comment as I read. Here goes:
ReplyDeleteOkay, I lied. I ended up reading the entire piece first, and there's a good reason for that. On initial read of your opening, I loved your MC's reaction to R & J. (Frankly, I had a similar reaction way back when.) The next bit is what gave me pause and is the reason I kept reading. It's backstory, very telling and important, but it might be in the wrong place. I say this because after this part, once the pen started doing its thing I was like 'Yes!', this is good! Weaving the brief backstory into the piece a bit later would help with this, and you might even be able to shorten it. All I think you want the reader to know is that your MC is reading this (stupid) story because he was made to take a higher level English class. You could even communicate that through a snarky thought in his head. I'm also wondering if there's some connection between the pen and his father. You seem to elude to some sadness, regret, or event here. You could expand on that, but just a bit. They mystery and intrigue of it are good.
My only other observation of this first read-through is that the story jumps right into a new setting (etc...) once the pen begins working, but as the reader I really haven't been grounded into the opening scene yet - where (living room, I think), character, emotions, etc... Like the average day in this average, regular setting he's used to and then switch to the fantastical new setting the pen provides. Find some contrasting things that give the opening setting a completely different feel from the setting the pen provides. Use tension (from whatever emotional pain he might have) and a little suspense before jumping into the pen.
Thank you for letting me read your work. I see a ton of potential here and I'm excited to see what you do next with it!
Sheri~