Anyone have a piece of work (it could be just a chapter or section) that they still have their first draft for and the various evolutions of the story to where they now consider it a good piece of work?
I ask mainly because I know a first draft is jsut that, a first draft, but I am always incredibly hung up on getting it right the first time so that when I go back the changes can be quick and grammatical, and I end up getting bogged out and burned out. I would just like to see how much some other peoples' stories change between drafts.
May 15th, 2006, 08:41 PM
Of course thats just chapter 1 ^^
May 16th, 2006, 02:32 AM
It was the drive of the words that took the creature north in the fifth summer in the fortieth cycle of the Leopard. Oracle now trudged east, walking beside a lazy river, flowing west to the Greentip Sea. On its right side was the latest of numerous fields of ripe golden wheat. It was hot; the sun had burned the sky to a blue-white. Reapers stood under the shade of an oak tree at the field’s edge, preparing to attack the crop with scythe and binding twine. The second summer pass of Rambler was well advanced and season into its late, long hazy days.
Oracle stopped walking, the words in its head commanded it did at this point. It was now a few feet from the reaping band. The creature looked blankly in their direction, frowning; not seeing the small children playing in the dust. It did not smell the wood smoke of their cooking fire, nor hear the laughter of the women as they discussed their men-folk. Oracle was only aware of the power of the words brimming in its mind.
Current Submission version;
The fifth summer of the fortieth Cycle of the Leopard.
The beginning of the fourth pass of the moon, Caresight, in the second summer pass of the moon, Rambler.
Oracle trudged east, walking beside a lazy river, which flowed west to the Greentip Sea. On its right side lay the latest in a long line of fields filled with ripe, golden wheat. Reapers stood under the shade of an oak tree at the field’s edge, preparing to attack the crop with scythe and binding twine.
It stopped walking; the words in its head commanded it too. It was now a few paces from the reaping band. The creature looked blankly in their direction, frowning; it was unaware of the small children playing in the dust. It did not recognise the smell of wood smoke from the cooking fire, nor understand the reason behind the laughter of the women, as they discussed their men-folk. Oracle was only aware at this moment of the power of the words brimming in its mind.
June 6th, 2006, 06:04 AM
A thick fog clawed its way across the abandoned street. There was no moon this night, for the clouds dominated the sky. Barry shivered, he’d forgotten the last time he’d felt the sun on his now ghostly pale complexion. He glanced across at his older sister. Betty was walking tall and proud, her hair wisped across her face.
She hadn’t always been this proud. She reminded Barry of their mum, tall and strong with long black hair. “Betty” he whispered under his breath so she couldn’t hear. How long had it been since someone had called her that? They all called her Kal now. Kal was not like the Betty he’d known. Betty was kind and loving. But not Kal. Kal was different. She had a heart of ice and eyes to match but Barry still saw her as his older, loving sister, the girl she had once been. A dog barked nearby, Barry jumped grabbing hold of Betty’s blood stained shirt. Betty recoiled slightly at Barry’s touch.
He wasn’t supposed to have seen what she had done but he had and there was nothing she could do about it now. She sensed his fear, his sorrow and pain. She glanced down at his frail, ragged figure. She could see it in his eyes; fear. It was etched all over his face. He reeked of it. She remembered Arken and how he had smelt as she had put an end to his pathetic existence. But the fear that held her little brother was not that sort of fear; it was a fear of her and who she had become.
She slinked into a side alley, pulling Barry after her. She crouched down in front of him, taking his hands in hers. Barry's eyes were skittering everywhere, searching for a focus, anything but Betty's eyes. Betty had her mother’s eyes, icy blue and hypnotic. Barry feared those eyes and she knew it. He feared them like everyone else in their coven did. Betty was powerful and now he understood just how powerful, first hand.
“I did it for the Coven. I did it for us, Baz, for us.” she whispered. . . . . . . .