Navarous
May 23rd, 2008, 08:12 PM
Hello everyone! I'm an aspiring amatuer weekend hobbyist short-story writer =) and I could use as many pointers as I can get. If anyone has the time and desire to have a look at this and give me some advice I would really appreciate it. I understand that it's probably wrought with grammatical and/or spelling errors and I apologize for that, but I've got to start somewhere. What I want to know more than anything is if the style works at all (if it has one) and if it reads well. I've tried reading it out loud to myself and it sounds pretty terrible to me, but it's the best I could come up with to show the way that I write. Btw, this isn't a story that I'm writing just an example of how I would write one. Please excuse the formatting, I haven't figured out how to get it to look right.
Edit: PS: It kind of goes back and forth from present time and to a memory. Is there a standard way to represent that, or at least a commonly accepted one?
The steady rumble emanating from his stomach proved a minor distraction in
comparison to the throbbing ache in his ankle. He had hoped it was nothing
more than a strain but the purple bruise that had settled across his foot
in the last few hours seemed to suggest otherwise. Memories of the morning
ran continuously through his head, reminding him of just how careless he had
been, and how lucky he was to be here.
It had started off well, as most things do. Trevan had waited patiently
outside the Meade Hall, waiting for someone in particular. An unknown man
had wandered into town tonight, wearing a face that begged to
forget the events of the day. Trevan had studied him closely, unable to
make out where he might be from. He wore the garb of a simple man, but
carried himself with a grace that spoke of nobility. His hair was wind
blown and his hands carried enough dirt to fill an Elken grave. Trevan
had thought him most likely a worker from an outland farm, but it still
seemed strange that he had never seen him. More curious still was the
dagger sheathed at his side. There was nothing out of the ordinary about
a man carrying a weapon in this day and age, but a farmer carrying an
ivory hilted dagger inlaid with gold, that, was another story altogether.
Trevan had entered the Hall once that night, trying to remain as casual
as possible. How lucky he thought he had been. The strange man had been
deep in his cups, and was in the process of asking a barmaid where he
could get a room for the night. Trevan left quickly then, hoping to make
it back to the Inn before it was too late. He strode silently down the
cobbled street, admiring the newly lain stones. It had taken the village
years to afford to have these stones imported, but it had been well
worth it. Trade from nearby towns had nearly doubled now that they had
an access route of sorts and lonely traders had been very profitable
for Trevan.
Kimbul was a simple man, but smart enough to see a good deal when it
was thrown in front of him. He bit back a smile when Trevan entered
but he just had to laugh when the young boy tossed him the usual silver
mark. "Who'll it be this time eh Trevan? Should I give em' the room?"
Trevan smiled as brightly as Kimbul, but with quite a few more
teeth, "He wears a peasants clothes an' walks like a king. I'd say
he's 'bout as tall as you but much thinner. He should be comin' soon now."
A sluggish groan rolled out from the oaken door behind him and Trevan
wandered down the wooden hall, wishing he had been quicker. Trevan softly
unlocked the door to room seven and let himself in. The room was scarcely
furnished but of course nobody that came this way could afford more. Trevan
locked the door behind him and made his way to the far side of the room.
He drew a knife from his boot to pry up the patch of loose boards in the
floor and slid into the all to familiar cubby space below. A familiar
click from the room above set his heart racing just as he slid the
boards back into place. The dull thud of footfalls echoed all around him,
he could feel the vibrations through the floor. Trevan slowed his breathing,
doing his best to remain calm. He had been here too many times to count but
anticipation and fear nearly got the best of him tonight.
Trevan spat dust and blood into the river before reaching in for a handful
of the fresh water. "I should have known something was wrong, I'm so stupid
sometimes!" he swore under his breath. "If I had just stayed under there,
none of this would have happened." Trevan did his best to wash the dried
blood from his face and tunic, wincing as he pulled a small shard of glass
from his cheek.
Edit: PS: It kind of goes back and forth from present time and to a memory. Is there a standard way to represent that, or at least a commonly accepted one?
The steady rumble emanating from his stomach proved a minor distraction in
comparison to the throbbing ache in his ankle. He had hoped it was nothing
more than a strain but the purple bruise that had settled across his foot
in the last few hours seemed to suggest otherwise. Memories of the morning
ran continuously through his head, reminding him of just how careless he had
been, and how lucky he was to be here.
It had started off well, as most things do. Trevan had waited patiently
outside the Meade Hall, waiting for someone in particular. An unknown man
had wandered into town tonight, wearing a face that begged to
forget the events of the day. Trevan had studied him closely, unable to
make out where he might be from. He wore the garb of a simple man, but
carried himself with a grace that spoke of nobility. His hair was wind
blown and his hands carried enough dirt to fill an Elken grave. Trevan
had thought him most likely a worker from an outland farm, but it still
seemed strange that he had never seen him. More curious still was the
dagger sheathed at his side. There was nothing out of the ordinary about
a man carrying a weapon in this day and age, but a farmer carrying an
ivory hilted dagger inlaid with gold, that, was another story altogether.
Trevan had entered the Hall once that night, trying to remain as casual
as possible. How lucky he thought he had been. The strange man had been
deep in his cups, and was in the process of asking a barmaid where he
could get a room for the night. Trevan left quickly then, hoping to make
it back to the Inn before it was too late. He strode silently down the
cobbled street, admiring the newly lain stones. It had taken the village
years to afford to have these stones imported, but it had been well
worth it. Trade from nearby towns had nearly doubled now that they had
an access route of sorts and lonely traders had been very profitable
for Trevan.
Kimbul was a simple man, but smart enough to see a good deal when it
was thrown in front of him. He bit back a smile when Trevan entered
but he just had to laugh when the young boy tossed him the usual silver
mark. "Who'll it be this time eh Trevan? Should I give em' the room?"
Trevan smiled as brightly as Kimbul, but with quite a few more
teeth, "He wears a peasants clothes an' walks like a king. I'd say
he's 'bout as tall as you but much thinner. He should be comin' soon now."
A sluggish groan rolled out from the oaken door behind him and Trevan
wandered down the wooden hall, wishing he had been quicker. Trevan softly
unlocked the door to room seven and let himself in. The room was scarcely
furnished but of course nobody that came this way could afford more. Trevan
locked the door behind him and made his way to the far side of the room.
He drew a knife from his boot to pry up the patch of loose boards in the
floor and slid into the all to familiar cubby space below. A familiar
click from the room above set his heart racing just as he slid the
boards back into place. The dull thud of footfalls echoed all around him,
he could feel the vibrations through the floor. Trevan slowed his breathing,
doing his best to remain calm. He had been here too many times to count but
anticipation and fear nearly got the best of him tonight.
Trevan spat dust and blood into the river before reaching in for a handful
of the fresh water. "I should have known something was wrong, I'm so stupid
sometimes!" he swore under his breath. "If I had just stayed under there,
none of this would have happened." Trevan did his best to wash the dried
blood from his face and tunic, wincing as he pulled a small shard of glass
from his cheek.