The church bell

[Charles Darnay]

Hullo, I've been working on what I hope to be a novel, and thought I would throw the first (very short) chapter up here to see if there are any impressions about the character and/or style. The story is not called "the church bell", I just needed to call this something:
______________________________________

The bells struck twelve times: symmetrically sublime.
I drifted to work under a cloudy sky when I felt the bells’ magnetic pull. I looked at my watch: early enough to not struggle. I let the bells direct me up the small pathway, through the large grey doors and into the open room. A red carpet spread out from my feet leading down to a small wooden pulpit. A simple white pot sprouted small orange flowers leaning toward the pulpit. Dark oak pews planted around the room, blending into the congruent-coloured walls at the far end. The dang and dong measured my steps as I cautiously moved down the rows: the wind from the open door screaming you’re not welcome! But the room was empty and I was early. The last dang and dong forced me onto one of the pews, three rows from the front. I examined the small pentagonal stained glass windows at the front and found nothing aesthetically pleasing enough to keep my eyes. Seemingly abstract patterns in pastel colours (the cloudy disposition of the eastern sky did nothing to help their brilliance). A crucifix and a small red cross (fitting for a church in the name of St. George) were the only distinguishable shapes that jumped out at me. I decided rather to turn my gaze inward; pushing my glasses away I rested my hands in my head and remained for some time. Until I heard a noise. I looked up expecting to see someone at the pulpit. Finding no one, I readjusted my glasses and looked around. Standing behind me was a tall man in a grey sports jacket over a cobalt dress-shirt. His hair was light-brown, short and clean. He had a white collar around his neck: I took this to mean that he was the priest.
“I’m sorry – father?” I said.
“Only to my daughter,” he replied with a faint smile and a shake of his head, “Reverend John, or just John.” Do I go shake his hand? I didn’t. He didn’t seem to care much about me. He walked along the rows scanning for garbage. He made his way to the pulpit and shuffled some papers around. I don’t know why I was staring at him. I felt as if I had walked into his house, and invited myself to his couch without so much as a word. I needed to ask him a question, if only to vindicate my right to be there, my purpose for being there.
“So, ah, Reverend, what was your sermon about today?” He studied my goofy smile and wandering gaze. Sure enough John saw right through me: I suppose if you’re going to be a priest, you must be familiar with your nonverbal communications.
“If you wish to ask what it is you want to ask, by all means,” he said, returning to his papers. I should have – but what? I shook my head and shuffled my way out of the room muttering an apology: I was going to be late for work.

I was walking to class one afternoon last autumn when I passed by a young man and woman both dressed in a plain white shirt and black pants. The woman clutched a bible just under her breasts. The man called out to me as I passed:
“Jesus loves you!” to which I responded:
“Probably not. I’m Jewish.” I continued to walk but quickly felt a soft hand on my shoulder. I turned around and almost hit the young man who was standing well within my personal bubble. I backed away.
“It’s okay, you’re cool, it’s cool,” he stammered apologetically. I think he thinks I’m offended. He was too close for my unfocused eyes to keep his stare so I looked at his partner. Her eyes betrayed nothing behind lose strands of dark red hair. She was cute. But I said nothing: I laughed softly and continued on my way. I’m not sure why this memory came back to me as I left the church that Sunday afternoon.

[Jack of Hearts]

Thanks for offering this up. Is this your first post here? This reader doesn't remember seeing any other posts by you in this particular forum. Anyways, onward we go...


The bells struck twelve times: symmetrically sublime.

This probably isn't working like you wanted it to. 'Symetrically sublime' is ostensibly nonsensical and purple- at best, it's a strangely forced/placed normative statement made by the narrator, arbitrarily it seems, enough so to draw too much attention to itself and break the reader's engagement with the actual story. It seems to say, "I need a great opening line! Let's try this!" more than anything.


I drifted to work under a cloudy sky when I felt the bells’ magnetic pull.

This is an example of a busy/incidental sentence. Certain bits of extraneous information just seem to fall into the middle of it. There seems to be at least three bits of information loaded in there. Presumably, not all that information is equally important to the story- if it were, it would have its own aspect of craft or at least its own sentence where the reader doesn't have to decide upon the relative value of it. It's like getting stuck in the mud here. Decide what's important for us (your reader) to know and help us get through it as efficiently as possible.
This is one of the most important ideas, applicable elsewhere, that this reader feels he could share with you. Don't make us do extra work for little or no pay off. Don't make us read extra words for no good reason.


I looked at my watch: early enough to not struggle.

Huh?


I let the bells direct me up the small pathway, through the large grey doors and into the open room. A red carpet spread out from my feet leading down to a small wooden pulpit.

This may not be correct, but this reader thinks you're using the wrong verb tense in the last sentence above. Shouldn't it be "... and led down to a small wooden pulpit."? This reader is no english teacher, though.


A simple white pot sprouted small orange flowers leaning toward the pulpit.

The verb tense question again. Even if it is grammatically ok, it still reads kind of funny. Regardless of whether it's permissible or whether it's a matter of taste, this reader would have it as: "... small orange flowers that were leaning toward the pulpit." or perhaps the past tense of the verb "to lean" without any auxillary verb, whatever the heck that verb actually is ("lent"? There's a bad pun here somewhere...). Again, not an english teacher.


Dark oak pews planted around the room, blending into the congruent-coloured walls at the far end.

This one is a two-for... not only verb tense (which this reader promises to stop harping on) but also verb choice. When you used "blending", it seems you meant in terms of color. It's not immediately clear though, and then comes a double whammy of confusion with the descriptor "congruent-colored." To top it all off, this is a meaty sentence as it is. Make it more simple, in every sense, and then find your elegance- not at the expense of comprehension.



The dang and dong measured my steps as I cautiously moved down the rows: the wind from the open door screaming you’re not welcome!

The personification of the wind is interesting but it's abrupt and strangely presented. Maybe a little more care here? The abrupt aspect kind of works, though. Same problem with verb tense, maybe- and a question: why not present it as actual dialogue or more clearly as the narrator's thoughts? That is not to say that you should have, but this reader is wondering why you didn't.


But the room was empty and I was early. The last dang and dong forced me onto one of the pews, three rows from the front. I examined the small pentagonal stained glass windows at the front and found nothing aesthetically pleasing enough to keep my eyes.

Why is it important to know the narrator examined this detail and his reaction to it, at least so blatantly? We all know by now that this is a story told from the first person. If a detail is just described minus extraneous tag words we know who's seeing it and, depending how it's presented, how they feel about it. It's already built into the style you chose to write in. Quit distracting us! Quit making us do extra work!

You should quickly find that this reader (and many others) are exceedingly lazy like that. But trust that we can do a lot with minimal details. They're powerful, those little things. Just a dab'll do ya.

Also, the onomatopoeia is getting a bit distracting. Too many dongs for this reader's liking.


Seemingly abstract patterns in pastel colours (the cloudy disposition oof the eastern sky did nothing to help their brilliance).

Probably would delete everything in the parenthesis. But the fragmented sentence was an interesting choice here. It seems to work- it's just that the more sentence in the parenthesis makes it seem like you're afraid to own up to it. Own it!


A crucifix and a small red cross (fitting for a church in the name of St. George) were the only distinguishable shapes that jumped out at me. I decided rather to turn my gaze inward; pushing my glasses away I rested my hands in my head and remained for some time.

So much extra, unenlightening chatter! Also, typo- "... rested my hands in my head..." Phrasing gets a little awkward with "... remained for some time." Probably needs an extra word for flow/clarity. Beneath it all is actually a really great imagining of subtle events/nonverbal expressions but we're digging in some muck for them.




Until I heard a noise. I looked up expecting to see someone at the pulpit. Finding no one, I readjusted my glasses and looked around. Standing behind me was a tall man in a grey sports jacket over a cobalt dress-shirt. His hair was light-brown, short and clean. He had a white collar around his neck: I took this to mean that he was the priest.

Could probably get rid of some of the details of the reverend. None of that is really important or well-remembered. Could definitely get rid of the last line after the colon.


“I’m sorry – father?” I said.
“Only to my daughter,” he replied with a faint smile and a shake of his head, “Reverend John, or just John.” Do I go shake his hand? I didn’t. He didn’t seem to care much about me. He walked along the rows scanning for garbage. He made his way to the pulpit and shuffled some papers around. I don’t know why I was staring at him. I felt as if I had walked into his house, and invited myself to his couch without so much as a word. I needed to ask him a question, if only to vindicate my right to be there, my purpose for being there.

'Do I go shake is hand,' if it is the internal monologue of the narrator in the moment of action, needs to be better signified. It's also a little strange because it's in the present tense, whereas the story so far has been told in the past tense. Even if it's internal monologue of the moment, it's weird and sort of odd to include it in a story that's being told in the past tense. There are some lines here that you could clip or alter- instead of directly telling about the narrator's uncomfortable feelings, you could convey them otherwise. It's not nice to whack readers over the head.


“So, ah, Reverend, what was your sermon about today?” He studied my goofy smile and wandering gaze. Sure enough John saw right through me: I suppose if you’re going to be a priest, you must be familiar with your nonverbal communications.

Eh... what? Is the 'nonverbal communication' referring to god? That kind of makes sense, except the reverend is reading the narrator's body language and god seems to be conspicuously disembodied. This reader votes this line detracts more than it contributes.


“If you wish to ask what it is you want to ask, by all means,” he said, returning to his papers. I should have – but what? I shook my head and shuffled my way out of the room muttering an apology: I was going to be late for work.

That's one strange and partially meaningless line of dialogue. But it's not the biggest problem this reader has with this paragraph. It seems you want the reader to speculate what the narrator's question is- but you haven't provided any context for what the question might actually be. This seems rather lazy, a cheap grab for magnitude or emotional power. It seems disingenuous. But that may not be fair- this reader realizes this is part of a novel, like you said, so maybe you're seeding that for something to come in a later chapter. But if it's just for this part, shame on it.


I was walking to class one afternoon last autumn when I passed by a young man and woman both dressed in a plain white shirt and black pants.

... That's abrupt! Busy sentence.


The woman clutched a bible just under her breasts. The man called out to me as I passed:
“Jesus loves you!” to which I responded:
“Probably not. I’m Jewish.” I continued to walk but quickly felt a soft hand on my shoulder.


This is kind of amusing. It would be great to give the exchange more snap by getting rid of filler words. Let the dialogue shine here, this reader thinks. 'To which I responded'... this is no good. This is exactly the problem. It's not good to take the long way around. Wherever 'to which I responded' came from, whatever the place is, needs to die. Not just in you. In the world. In the entire world.

Whoever's voice is echoing around/within us all and gives us these fruity, untruthful ways of communicating, whoever started that voice, this indirect means of communication, this lie, this reader would like to kick him in the crotch. But that's a digression.



I turned around and almost hit the young man who was standing well within my personal bubble. I backed away.

Eh... what's the nature of this 'hit'? This reader doesn't understand.


“It’s okay, you’re cool, it’s cool,” he stammered apologetically. I think he thinks I’m offended. He was too close for my unfocused eyes to keep his stare so I looked at his partner. Her eyes betrayed nothing behind lose strands of dark red hair. She was cute. But I said nothing: I laughed softly and continued on my way. I’m not sure why this memory came back to me as I left the church that Sunday afternoon.

Tense-shift-alert. And about the sequencing, or the actual actions in this part... huh? What exactly is going on? Why is the man touching the narrator and then suddenly apologizing?

So this reader thinks you need to hit this thing with a deep deep edit. Kill the filler. So many extra words. Decide what's worth keeping, what's worth making your readers journey through- and to be honest not all of this is. In fact, think of your readers more. What were we supposed to get out of this? Not sure what you wanted us to conclude with the church scene, and then jumping to the walking scene. Maybe you don't know what you meant, yourself. As it stands this is all sound and fury that sometimes shows great promise in its crafted subtleties. But it's not worth wading through the muck to get to your talent. You should just give us your talent and get rid of all the other junk.








J

[hillwalker]

Jack has already pin-pointed much of what’s wrong with this. It’s over-written - in places meandering so perversely that the reader no longer understands where to focus. Your display of verbosity and erudition is in danger of smothering the story at birth.


I drifted to work under a cloudy sky when I felt the bells’ magnetic pull. I looked at my watch: early enough to not struggle. I let the bells direct me up the small pathway, through the large grey doors and into the open room.
3 sentences all framed the same way – ‘I did this’ – ‘I did that’ – ‘I did the other’.
It ends up as a series of isolated, disjointed events when what this extract should actually be doing is reflecting the narrator’s motion. Varying the structure and the pace along these lines might make it read a little more fluidly:
I drifted to work under a cloudy sky. My watch showed I had time to spare. The bells’ magnetic pull steered me along the small pathway, through the large grey doors and into the open room.
Can you see how the reader is now being propelled along the same path as the narrator?

A red carpet spread out from my feet leading down to a small wooden pulpit.
What was leading to the pulpit? The carpet? - or your feet? I think this sentence implies the latter.

Similarly A simple white pot sprouted small orange flowers leaning toward the pulpit.
Again you’re including two verbs that serve to confuse matters further rather than illuminate.

This over-meticulous descriptiveness is in danger of making things less clear – ironically adding too much detail merely makes the image more difficult to picture. Give your readers some breathing space – trust them to fill in some of the blanks.

‘The dang and dong’ – Yeugh. This is obviously an attempt at being novel but it made me cringe. It’s absurdly out of sync with the general style of the piece.

‘the wind from the open door screaming you’re not welcome! But the room was empty and I was early’’
2 non-sequitors – why would the screaming wind make one expect the room to be occupied (which is what you are implying) and on what basis were you early?

He had a white collar around his neck: I took this to mean that he was the priest.
- one might consider this as a light-hearted aside, except that the ponderous attention to detail displayed so far suggests otherwise. The author is merely being pedantic.

The entire episode inside the church comes to nothing in the end so one is left wondering why did the writer drag the reader along on such a pointless diversion?
Presumably he is suffering a crisis of conscience but his behaviour is annoying rather than intriguing.

I’m not sure why this memory came back to me as I left the church that Sunday afternoon.
- nor is this reader, though one assumes his reaction made him question his own beliefs and how they affect his behaviour subconsciously when confronted by other believers.

Reading a disembodied chunk of a novel is never going to allow one to comment in a meaningful way because everything is viewed out of context. So don’t let the generally negative tone of these crits dissuade you from continuing to work on it. But you need to be aware that two readers found this piece to be over-written to the extreme and confusing in parts.
You may think you’ve now done the most difficult bit. But there’s still blood to be spilt because it’s time to take out a red pen and apply it like you would a scalpel.

Good luck

H

[Charles Darnay]

I can agree with both of you on most of your points.

Jack: I'm pretty sure I am in the right in regards to verb-tense, but that does not mean it is not confusing or overwritten.

Hill: I don't think the church incident is pointless, but I agree that I should work in more of reasoning. It is part of the novel, and further details concerning this scene are revealed later - but does that matter if the reader is not willing to get there? Probably not.

Thank you both so much.

[My2cents]

I like how the story reveals the cause of the protagonist's inexplicable church visit. Dopplerlike is how I would describe it in that the reader becomes aware of the cause only after the scene describing the cause recedes. Very subtly done.

Needless to say, I'm intrigued. Don't stop.

[Jack of Hearts]

You keep ponying up the goods and this reader will read 'em.






J

[WolfLarsen]

I like the whole ding and dong thing. You could've kept using it in sentence after sentence and given it an exciting rhythm.

This piece needs more excitement! Whatever you do to make it more exciting just do it.

One poster said that the piece is lost in too much detail. Maybe that's what the problem is. The piece needs more excitement! I don't care what you do to make it more exciting, just make it more exciting.

[Charles Darnay]

So, among being busy and sick for the past few days, this took longer than I expected. But I pared down the piece, removing the admittedly flowery language and adding more "reasoning." If you may indulge me: does the revision work? Is there too much life sucked out? Any thoughts, as always, wonderfully appreciated.

_____________________________________

The bells struck twelve times.
I passed by the church on my way to work. Normally I would walk by, but I had time to kill. The bells directed me up the small pathway, through the large grey doors and into the open room. A red carpet led down to a small wooden pulpit. I cautiously moved down the rows of oak pews as the wind from the open door pushed me forward. Taking my seat three rows from the front I studied the empty room. A small pot of orange flowers. Two pentagonal stained glassed windows of abstract patterns dimly lit by a cloudy sky. There was nothing to keep my attention so I pushed my glasses away and buried my head in my hands and sat still for some time. Until I heard a noise that made me look up, expecting to see someone at the pulpit. Finding no one I readjusted my glasses and looked around. Standing behind me was a tall man in a grey sports jacket over a cobalt dress-shirt, and a white collar around his neck.
“I’m sorry – father?” I said.
“Only to my daughter,” he replied with a faint smile and a shake of his head, “Reverend John, or just John.” I wasn’t sure if I should go shake his hand. I didn’t. He didn’t seem to care much about me. He walked along the rows scanning for garbage. He made his way to the pulpit and shuffled some papers around. I don’t know why I was staring at him. I felt as if I had walked into his house, and invited myself to his couch without so much as a word. I needed to ask him a question, if only to vindicate my right to be there, my purpose for being there.
“So Reverend, what was your sermon about today?” He studied my goofy smile and wandering gaze.
“Jesus,” he said and returned to his papers. I don’t know what I was expecting. I don’t know why I thought that being in a church would provide an answer, a direction. Should I have asked, “Reverend, what do I do?” Should I have said, “Reverend I am scared?” Too much reading imbued me with the false idea that a simple church had the power to comfort me. I didn’t say anything; just stood up and continued on my way to work.
Back outside I was struck with a memory of my first week at university. I was walking to class one afternoon when I passed by a young man and woman. They were both dressed in a plain white shirt and black pants. They leaned against a table stacked with Bibles. A banner was taped to the front of the table: “Campus for Christ.” The man called out to me as I passed:
“Jesus loves you!”
“Probably not. I’m Jewish.” I continued to walk by him.
“Wait,” he called, “it’s okay, you’re still cool, it’s alright.” It took me a second to realize that he thought I was offended. I looked at his partner: her eyes betrayed nothing behind strands of dark red hair. I laughed at them and continued on my way. Being Jewish was apparently something I should feel sorry about.
I thought about them as I left the church: they had graduated and they probably had jobs, families, lives. They probably knew exactly what it was they were supposed to do.

[Jack of Hearts]

Charles-

Would you be game for opening up a dialogue about this piece? What this reader means is he wants to ask you questions about it, not just go through it with a fine-toothed comb like last time. Let's really interact with what's in this piece itself, how it's laid out structurally, and what your process was when you created it. This reader would like to do this in this thread itself, but would also do it by PM if you prefer it that way.

Awaiting your response.







J

[Charles Darnay]

I'm open for any public discussion. I will answer what I can when I can.

[Jack of Hearts]

Ok. First let's talk about what this piece is mostly about. For you, what is that? Here's this reader's estimations. Let's compare notes.

This piece seems to mostly be about the journey of a young man. It's as though he needs direction. He, at first, comes to a church to find it. But at the moment of the narrative, religion seems to be failing in regards to providing him direction. Upon exiting the church, the young man has a memory of being made to feel shame for his Jewish heritage.

So essentially this piece is about a young man who needs direction, comes to a church to find it and instead finds alienation (in the reverend's sermon being about "Jesus," in the memory that comes after, which also mentions Jesus)...

So how close to the mark are we here?

Also, what were your thoughts when you sat down to convey this? What was most important to you to communicate to us readers? And what, to your mind, was the best way to do it (your intended technique)?







J

[Charles Darnay]

Ok. First let's talk about what this piece is mostly about. For you, what is that? Here's this reader's estimations. Let's compare notes.

This piece seems to mostly be about the journey of a young man. It's as though he needs direction. He, at first, comes to a church to find it. But at the moment of the narrative, religion seems to be failing in regards to providing him direction. Upon exiting the church, the young man has a memory of being made to feel shame for his Jewish heritage.

So essentially this piece is about a young man who needs direction, comes to a church to find it and instead finds alienation (in the reverend's sermon being about "Jesus," in the memory that comes after, which also mentions Jesus)...
w
So how close to the mark are we here?

Also, what were your thoughts when you sat down to convey this? What was most important to you to communicate to us readers? And what, to your mind, was the best way to do it (your intended technique)?







J

You are pretty right on in terms of meaning. The central character of the work, Laurence, is a soon-to-be university grad (in final year) who is in the increasingly common position of not knowing what the hell he's supposed to do with his life post-graduation. It is this concern that draws him to the church. He is looking for an answer that is not there. He believes that "Christians" as he sees them has everything figured out, their lives are set and they don't have the existential problems that he has (being both Jewish, and not very observant.) So the piece explores the intense desire for an answer and the frustration that Laurence does not have access to it.

As for your second question...

I wanted to explore what was happening in Laurence's head. The desire, the frustration, his emotional/mental state at that moment. Such is why I took the route of plethora of minute detail, to try to capture every thought, sight and sound that was involved in this episode.

[Jack of Hearts]

You are pretty right on in terms of meaning. The central character of the work, Laurence, is a soon-to-be university grad (in final year) who is in the increasingly common position of not knowing what the hell he's supposed to do with his life post-graduation. It is this concern that draws him to the church. He is looking for an answer that is not there. He believes that "Christians" as he sees them has everything figured out, their lives are set and they don't have the existential problems that he has (being both Jewish, and not very observant.) So the piece explores the intense desire for an answer and the frustration that Laurence does not have access to it.

Ah-hah! There's something we can talk about in here. It's going to be about how Laurence views Christians. And how he sees himself. Hold on a second, though...


As for your second question...

I wanted to explore what was happening in Laurence's head. The desire, the frustration, his emotional/mental state at that moment. Such is why I took the route of plethora of minute detail, to try to capture every thought, sight and sound that was involved in this episode.

Ok! Thanks for telling this. These details, presumably, are subjective to Laurence's experiences?

Okokok, let's talk about the general structure of the work. This reader is going to lay it out, and you say how close he is.

This piece happens in four parts.

First, Laurence is wandering to the church, apparently lured by the bells.

Secondly, he's in the church and sees the reverend.

Thirdly, he leaves the church and enters into a memory.

Fourthly, comes the memory itself.

If you agree with that, let's talk about the function of these things. Let's break it down.

1. Why do you need to describe Laurence wandering into the church? What is important to do in this segment. Maybe you can get rid of this, maybe you can't, depending on your answer here.

Wouldn't it be more efficient if you just started him off in the church? What would you lose by doing that? What's there an opportunity to do by describing Laurence wandering to the church?

2. This is probably the most powerful part of the selection. Laurence perhaps realizes that the church has no answers or direction to offer him. In your opinion or understanding of the piece, how exactly does this happen? What prompts it? What is the significance of the reverend in this process, is it just that he displays indifference? Because you don't need a character to display indifference. You can just sit in a church and the walls can feel indifferent, every pew can frown at you. Every idol makes a scorning face. So what's that reverend up to, anyways?

3. This is just exiting and remembering. What is the catalyst that leads up to leaving, in your opinion? And as far as memory goes, it kind of reads abruptly in the story. Do you agree with that? Do you think there's an opportunity to anchor the memory better to the story?

4. This is the second most important part of the piece right now, where Laurence is made to feel shame about his heritage. Weakly coming through is that the Christian couple are better off and seem more directed, but this doesn't feel fully fleshed out in the story.

If you feel this structural layout is right at all, then this next part will be useful. If you don't, then this next part is just garbage. Whoops!

Ok, now it seems to this reader that the structure could better be served if we moved things around a bit. As it stands, he thinks you can do great things with the wandering sequence, there's great opportunity there... but if you don't develop it then it should probably just get cut. So ideally, we start with a more fleshed out 'wandering to the church part.' But here's the change up- this reader would take the third part (memory transition) and the fourth part (memory) and put them before the second part (church). If you fleshed out the memory part more fully, it could read as Laurence feeling shame for being Jewish and seeing the happy 'Christian' couple as better- and suddenly we, the readers, understand his motive for going to the church before he does it. And then you could build into the church scene (now the final scene) the heavy hitter conclusion that his memory led him to a fools' paradise. And all this could be done in that nice, logical order. Of course, this is only good if you weren't actively against a traditional sequencing. It would definitely help your readers out more though.

What do you think? There's a lot of question in there... this reader is really curious as to what you see for this story...







J



EDIT: If there's a particular reason you'd want the sequencing a particular order, that seems mostly ok... except it's gotta be a conscious decision, this reader thinks. It's got to be built in...

[hillwalker]

Jack has already covered almost everything in his astute reading of your piece. I'm truly impressed by his insight. I'll just mop up a few measly bits...

It's twelve o'clock and the narrator is heading to work. Immediately we're looking for some significance since it's the only detail we're given in the opening scene. He's working afternoon shift perhaps. Does it matter? Well, apparently not... so why do we need a time check? Silly question but that's how some readers' minds work. If you tell us something there has to be a reason... or not as in this case.

Then you tell us you 'passed by' today whereas normally you 'walked by'. I won't explore this issue further - I'm sure you see what I'm getting at. If it's irrelevant leave it out otherwise it becomes a distraction.

The interlude with the reverend is better handled than in draft 1 - though he still comes across as unsympathetic and somewhat distracted (trawling for garbage rather than ministering to some lost soul). I'm not sure if that's the author (or his alter ego - the MC) projecting his expectations onto the church official or not. But it raises questions that will obviously not be answered here.

Then the memory of the young students seems to appear from nowhere - we don't know why he entered the church so we don't see any relevance in this particular memory at this point in the story. And telling us they have probably graduated by now and found themselves a happy life made me think the narrator was a great deal older now - but from your comments he is still a student himself. Strange in that case. Perhaps if you restructured the plot your readers would be able to share the journey rather than pick up clues from the sidelines... and on occasion reach the wrong conclusion.

H

[Charles Darnay]

Thank you both Jack and Hill for your intense responses. Let's see if I can get to everything.


Ah-hah! There's something we can talk about in here. It's going to be about how Laurence views Christians. And how he sees himself. Hold on a second, though...



Ok! Thanks for telling this. These details, presumably, are subjective to Laurence's experiences?

Okokok, let's talk about the general structure of the work. This reader is going to lay it out, and you say how close he is.

This piece happens in four parts.

First, Laurence is wandering to the church, apparently lured by the bells.

Secondly, he's in the church and sees the reverend.

Thirdly, he leaves the church and enters into a memory.

Fourthly, comes the memory itself.

If you agree with that, let's talk about the function of these things. Let's break it down.

I see it as two parts. Where Part 1 is folded into Part 2, and Part 3 is folded into Part 4.


1. Why do you need to describe Laurence wandering into the church? What is important to do in this segment. Maybe you can get rid of this, maybe you can't, depending on your answer here.

Wouldn't it be more efficient if you just started him off in the church? What would you lose by doing that? What's there an opportunity to do by describing Laurence wandering to the church?

Over the course of edits (including ones before the draft initially posted) there was an importance to the church bells, which is what "pulls" him into the church. Since I have pretty much removed that part, I suppose I can start the story in the church itself without losing anything.



2. This is probably the most powerful part of the selection. Laurence perhaps realizes that the church has no answers or direction to offer him. In your opinion or understanding of the piece, how exactly does this happen? What prompts it? What is the significance of the reverend in this process, is it just that he displays indifference? Because you don't need a character to display indifference. You can just sit in a church and the walls can feel indifferent, every pew can frown at you. Every idol makes a scorning face. So what's that reverend up to, anyways?

The reverend is part of the disillusionment. While I agree that it can be done without a person, I prefer it to be a person that brings it about. The Reverend, as I see him, has come back into the room following the morning's service to tidy up, and he sees someone sitting there, clearly wrapped up in his own thoughts. While I don't present what is happening in the Reverend's head, my understanding of his thought process is: "if this young man needs something he will ask, but he probably prefers to be left alone."



3. This is just exiting and remembering. What is the catalyst that leads up to leaving, in your opinion? And as far as memory goes, it kind of reads abruptly in the story. Do you agree with that? Do you think there's an opportunity to anchor the memory better to the story?

The prompt to leave is that (a) he needs to go to work and (b) he realizes that this is not accomplishing anything. I removed in my revision the prompt that he needs to get to work, I can work that back in.

As for the memory - both you and Hill mentioned a similar point and it is something I will be playing around with. However, my view concerning memory is that they are abrupt, irrational, and not wholly calculated. So I do not have a desire to ground it more than is needed/seems appropriate.


As far as the structure is concerned: this is another thing I will be playing around with. In the original draft I had made it more clear that the memory occurs 3 years prior to story: this again got lost in editing and I will try to rework it in to make it more clear. However, what you suggest by changing the structure, reversing the two "events" is that the memory prompted him to go into the church - where what I am going for is that being in the church prompted the memory. I don't know why but I feel that distinction is important. But I will be playing around with it to see how it reads if I reverse things.

And I agree that the young Christian couple need to be strengthened as characters.

More to come in a bit.

[cafolini]

Charles. It seems to me that there were two Golems of Prague and they reincarnated at Litnet.

[Jack of Hearts]

Charles. It seems to me that there were two Golems of Prague and they reincarnated at Litnet.

Well this was unpleasant to read.

Charles posted his piece here to have it read and receive comments. If the implication is that the feedback has been more damaging then helpful, well maybe we should all just shut up and just type "Cool story, man, no diarrhealectics, parallel consciousnesses."

Typically, Mr. Folini + a grain of salt. But today just sucks so this response is more about this reader's mood IRL atm.

Anyways, hopefully you get your money's worth out of what's been offered in response, Charles.






J

[hillwalker]

Some people give constructive criticism - some give snide remarks in an attempt to appear as if they give a sh1t. Take your pick.

H

[Charles Darnay]

Charles. It seems to me that there were two Golems of Prague and they reincarnated at Litnet.

Actually, the golems are still in Prauge. I had lunch with them a few months back, good guys.

[smerdyakov]

I think the critiques Hillwalker and Jack provide on this site are top class. They are as good as - if not better than - most professional critique services, I'd imagine. The two lads deserve to be lauded for the time and quality they invest here on LitNet.

[Charles Darnay]

I think the critiques Hillwalker and Jack provide on this site are top class. They are as good as - if not better than - most professional critique services, I'd imagine. The two lads deserve to be lauded for the time and quality they invest here on LitNet.

Agreed

[cafolini]

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VSComzwzqFQ

[hillwalker]

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VSComzwzqFQ

Personally I'm still no wiser. Why the veiled comments? If you have something to say spit it out; are you suggesting the story's plagiarising 'The Golem'? Or are you comparing Jack and myself to 2 malignant mythical creatures? If you were upfront enough to make your feedback clear we would respect you more - whether we agree with you or not.

H

[cyberbob]

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VSComzwzqFQ

That video is ****ing weird and doesn't explain ****.

Anyway, after looking up Golem of Prague on wikipedia, it is a Jewish myth about a golem that goes crazy and turns on the Jews and kills some of them.

Since the TS might be Jewish, or because the protagonist of TS' story is Jewish, maybe cafolini is saying that you two were extremely harsh in your criticism?

I doubt he was accusing the TS of plagiarizing The Golem since that is a myth and you can't really plagiarize a myth. Unless he's talking about that Youtube video, since there was also a church bell ringing on that, though they don't have much else in common.

It is so interesting trying to unravel the mysteries of cafolini's cryptic posts.

[Charles Darnay]

That video is ****ing weird and doesn't explain ****.

Anyway, after looking up Golem of Prague on wikipedia, it is a Jewish myth about a golem that goes crazy and turns on the Jews and kills some of them.

Since the TS might be Jewish, or because the protagonist of TS' story is Jewish, maybe cafolini is saying that you two were extremely harsh in your criticism?

I doubt he was accusing the TS of plagiarizing The Golem since that is a myth and you can't really plagiarize a myth. Unless he's talking about that Youtube video, since there was also a church bell ringing on that, though they don't have much else in common.

It is so interesting trying to unravel the mysteries of cafolini's cryptic posts.

TS?

Anyway, I am well familiar with the Golem. There is no connection between my story and the myth. As for the "harsh" criticism, I don't see how their comments were anything but constructive. But whatever, a golem is a golem and a troll is a troll

[cyberbob]

TS = thread starter.

[cafolini]

I found the story very good as it was written. I found the criticism very manipulating. And I think Charles went back and forth trying to make room for it. As far as respect, I never look for it and do no give it easily. A Golem is a Golem and a troll is a troll.

[Charles Darnay]

I thank you for the initial compliment (and for taking time to read my work.) I don't think I went "back and forth" to make room for it: I took their points because I thought they were good ones. There is always more editing to be done until I find something I am happy with: the revised draft posted will surely not be the last.

[Jack of Hearts]

You never posted, Chuck, you stinker.







J

[Charles Darnay]

Quite right. I haven't given up on it.

[Charles Darnay]

So I cam back to this after a long period of being busy with teaching/other projects. I have kept the same structure: I suppose I find it difficult to change the structure of a story unless I am unhappy with it (which I am not in this case.) Reading too much Hemingway these days, I have really taken to the idea of truthful sentences, as he describes them - and I have tried to do that here. So I will post the latest edit because...why not.

_________________________________________

The sound of the church bells was enticing on this early Sunday afternoon and I was early for work, so instead on walking past the church as I did every day, I made a left and walked down the small path that led to the large wood door. It was open and the room was empty. I invited myself in, slowly at first for I was afraid someone would jump out at me and tell me I was not welcome. A red carpet led down to a small wooden pulpit. I moved down the rows of oak pews as the wind from the open door pushed me forward. Taking my seat three rows from the front I studied the empty room. A small pot of orange flowers. Two pentagonal stained glassed windows of abstract patterns dimly lit by a cloudy sky. There was nothing to keep my attention so I pushed my glasses away and buried my head in my hands and sat still until a noise made me look up with the expectation to see someone in front of me. I readjusted my glasses and looked around. A tall man in a grey sports jacket over a cobalt dress-shirt and a white collar around his neck stood behind me, his hands pressed against his hips.

“I’m sorry – father?” I said.

“Only to my daughter,” he said with a faint smile and a shake of his head, “Reverend John, or just John.” I wasn’t sure if I should go shake his hand. I didn’t. He walked along the rows scanning for garbage. He made his way to the pulpit and shuffled some papers around. He gave me no acknowledgment. I wandered into his home and invited myself to his sofa and it was all natural to him; someone must do this every day. But it wasn’t natural to me. I was there for a reason, but I didn’t know that was yet. I needed to ask him a question, if only to rationalize my right to be there.

“So Reverend, what was your sermon about today?” He studied my goofy smile and wandering gaze. What should I have said? Should I have asked, “Reverend, what do I do?” Should I have said, “Reverend I am scared?” Too much reading imbued me with the false idea that a simple church had the power to comfort me. He didn’t say anything and neither did I. I continued on my way to work.

I remember when I first noticed the unimposing Anglican Church. Or rather, I remember the incident that happened just before I noticed the unimposing Anglican Church. It was my first year at university and I was walking home from class when I passed by a young man and woman. They were both dressed in a plain white shirt and black pants. They leaned against a table stacked with Bibles. A banner was taped to the front of the table: “Campus for Christ.” The man called out to me as I passed:

“Jesus loves you!”

“Probably not. I’m Jewish.” I continued to walk.

“Wait,” he called, “it’s okay, you’re still cool, it’s alright.” I remember that I laughed at him, or at least that is how I told the story. But I am sure I was angry. How could someone be so genuinely nice and condescending at the same time? What did I have to feel ashamed about? Why did I need his validation? But I told the story in a way that I came out on top, laughing at him over my shoulder and walking away to leave him humiliated. And over the years, in my mind, he became more and more genuinely nice and his silent partner more and more sexualized, her hair colour changing each time. I would not be able to pick either of them out of a small crowd, but they were both happy and successful, their faith provided for their every endeavour.

I seemed to give them a least a second’s thought every time I looked at the church; shaping the characters until they were perfect. They graduated, they had jobs, they had families, and they were happy. They were everything I was jealous of as I walked to a job that didn’t pay enough for groceries, and worked towards a degree that promised more of the same.

[Jack of Hearts]

Charles,

This reader is hardly qualified to comment on any piece. And that's the truth. Lately the truth has been important. In fact, it's the most important thing there is. It makes no sense to talk about this piece in the old ways; in the predictable, reliable ways. Just compare the two drafts- anyone can see something going on here, even if not everyone can articulate it.

Nobody is fit to give you direction except you. What this reader sees is a struggle "behind your forehead" like the James Joyce quote goes. Tracking these two versions together seems to suggest that you're on your way somewhere. You ought to be excited. Not everybody is on their way somewhere.

Old Jack of Hearts is no critic and never met one he liked (hillwalker being perhaps the exception, although he was more like a writer dressing up like a critic, kind of like when Monty Python puts on drag). So all that's left to offer you is readership and empathy.

Keep on truckin'.







J

[Jack of Hearts]

It's nearly time for the yearly check-up. Turn your head and cough, Chuck.



'


J

[Jack of Hearts]

Should be retitled 'The Revision That Never Came.' Shame on you.




J