 Black Train, Intro to a story I am going to write |
Mosaic Musings...interactive poetry reviews > Prose Forums > Short Stories & Chapters for Critique -> Stonehenge  |
 Aug 9 05, 19:36
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#1
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 Egyptian  Posts: 431 Joined: 1-August 03 From: Lee's Summit, MO, USA Member No.: 5 Real Name: Butch Writer of: Poetry & Prose  |
Hi guys, been a while, still plowing through my Masters. I have been writing 2 to 3 papers a week for class, along with presentations, so it eats up a bit of my time. Occasionally I get a respite and jot something down. This is something I am going to use as a prologue to a story I am contemplating. Just wanted to see what you think. I've been reading some of your stuff; just don't have much time to crit, yet. Hope to do some catching up big time soon.
Charon Black Train By Emerson Butch Sollars My ear lies pressed against the rails listening for the distant rumbling of an oncoming train. Before my eyes, the rails disappear into a single point in the distance, twin lines seemingly drawn by a young person’s hand. Somewhat straight, the rails have imperfections every so often, a slight bend here and there - in and out - as if the hand trembled as it drew upon the landscape’s canvas. Trees line the pathway - mighty oaks, maples and elms, sprinkled in amongst the countless cottonwoods. Crickets call one another in a rhythmic chant each seeking a companion to share the moist oppressive heat. A slight breeze waltzes through the natural tunnel before me, caressing and sliding along the branches of the trees. Playfully, the breeze touches my face and hair, lifting a small flop of hair, dropping the blond tresses across my eyes, tickling my nose, before continuing its joyous adventure onward towards the opposite direction, away from my gaze. As if it could pull my head, my gaze follows the breeze as it dances towards the distant town, which sits beside the tracks. Dashing into the train station, the gentle wind becomes a bit more rowdy, as it throws a piece of discarded newspaper into the sky, before it disappears within the alleyways of the hazy town. Faintly I hear the sound of a whistle in the distance, calling from the direction with which the breeze entered the scene. Once more I place my ear to the tracks and listen, a slight tremble can be felt in the tracks. My eyes focus on the crossties before me, rotted chunks of wood, worn in many places from weathers cruel hand, pieces torn and thrown about without a care. Alone, I arise to my knees; faintly smoke appears over the tops of the trees on my far left, as the train rounds the bend and begins it approach along the pathway which leads towards me. A glance back at the town, I see the signal light at the station turn from red to green. No one wishes to travel today, no cargo to be loaded. I stand in the middle of the tracks as the train bears down upon me. I now can hear the sound of the steam being released. The hideous and chest pounding chug of the massive pistons - back and forth, back and forth - a continuous endless cycle. Black smoke belches from the great stack bellowing upwards then slammed back along the tail of the creature. Slowly the rails beside me begin to shake, as if frightened of the massive beast. Small stones quiver in anticipation of the mighty weight as the train continues its approach. Small animals suddenly dart from the holes and burrows they have created in the crossties, terrified of the approaching massive monster. Yet I stand, a barrier to its existence, fixed upon its solitary eye, as it gleams in the blackening sky. I fear not, for it does not exist. I know it cannot be. The engine screams at me in anger, a terrifying banshee cry of rage. Closer it comes, its number blazoned on its cowcatcher in brilliant red and gold – 666 – the mark of the beast. Ten feet, five feet, one foot, it smashes into me and passes on. Turning, I watch it fade into the distance. The Black Train has come once more… Posted as an unpublished work by Emerson H. Butch Sollars ·······  ······· |
  
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Aug 10 05, 02:58
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#2
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 Ornate Oracle Posts: 3,660 Joined: 23-August 03 From: Somerset, England Member No.: 22 Real Name: Grace Writer of: Poetry & Prose |
[b]Good morning Charon,
A very intriguing start to your story, making me want to continue reading. It immediately raised the question... suicide attempt? After the initial description of the rails I began to doubt that theory. No one contemplating suicide would be so lyrical about the beauty of nature and the wind. A couple of little bumps interrupted the read for me Charon. Playfully, the breeze touches my face and hair, lifting a small flop of hair, Playfully the breeze touches my face and lifts a small flop of hair? before continuing its joyous adventure I think the word joyous constitutes a hyperbole here, since you have already stated that the wind is playful Charon. onward towards the opposite direction, away from my gaze. delete 'towards to opposite direction, ? As if it could pull my head, my gaze follows the breeze as it dances towards the distant town, Repetition of gaze here. I'm sorry I don't understand the first phrase 'as if it could pull my head' and I think the sentence would stand perfectly well as 'Turning my head, my eyes follow, as it dances towards the distant town.' You can't actually see a breeze. Dashing into the train station, the gentle wind Delete 'train' (self-explanatory) the gentle wind Delete 'the gentle wind' and add 'it' becomes a bit more rowdy, as it throws a piece of discarded newspaper into the sky, before it disappears within the alleyways of the hazy town. becomes a bit more rowdy sounds slightly awkward and wordy Charon. May I suggest becomes rowdier tossing discarded newspaper skywards, before disappearing into the alleyways of the hazy town? Faintly I hear the sound of a whistle in the distance, calling from the direction with which the breeze entered the scene. Confusing the reader. You could simply say.. Faintly I hear the sound of a whistle in the distance. (no indication of direction is necessary and it detracts from the build up of fear. Alone, I arise to my knees; faintly smoke appears over the tops of the trees on my far left, as the train rounds the bend and begins it approach along the pathway which leads towards me. Delete Alone, (self-explanatory) arise is archaic, rise is better, repetition of faintly. faint (traces) of smoke appear above the trees to my left as the train rounds the bend and thunders towards me? Again to build up the fear? The hideous and chest pounding chug delete and Black smoke belches from the great stack bellowing upwards then slammed back along the tail of the creature. Black smoke belches from the great stack billowing upwards and then streaming back towards the tail? Slowly the rails beside me begin to shake, The rails beside me begin to tremble (to increase the fear?) Small animals suddenly dart from the holes and burrows they have created in the crossties, terrified of the approaching massive monster Small creatures? Animals implies something larger than could live under crossties. QUOTE Yet I stand, a barrier to its existence, fixed upon its solitary eye, as it gleams in the blackening sky. I fear not, for it does not exist. I know it cannot be. The engine screams at me in anger, a terrifying banshee cry of rage. Closer it comes, its number blazoned on its cowcatcher in brilliant red and gold – 666 – the mark of the beast. Ten feet, five feet, one foot, it smashes into me and passes on. Turning, I watch it fade into the distance. The Black Train has come once more… Really strong ending to a very novel beginning  One last query Charon, you state that the town is hazy but I don't know how you can see it when you say at the end the train comes around a bend? Just my observations Charon. Choose of lose. Good luck with the story. I shall look forward to reading the next instalment. ······· ······· Love
Grace  http://mysite.orange.co.uk/graceingreece Life is not measured by the number of breaths we take, but by the moments that take our breath away. Nominate a tile for the Crown Jewels and Faery Awards today! For details, go to the Valley of the Kings! MM Award Winner             |
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| Guest_Nina_* |
Aug 10 05, 16:03
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#3
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Hi Charon
As Grace said, an intriguing start to the story. At first I too though it was a suicide attempt but by the end I'd decided that the main character is a ghost who must have been killed by the "black train" at some point in the past and is reliving his death. Grace has given you a very comprehensive, detailed crit, so I shall just say thanks for the read and I look forward to more of the story. Nina |
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Aug 21 05, 09:35
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#4
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 Mosaic Master  Posts: 18,892 Joined: 1-August 03 From: Massachusetts Member No.: 2 Real Name: Lori Kanter Writer of: Poetry & Prose Referred By:Imhotep |
Hello Butch!
 Nice to see you posting a new piece for us to read!  An interesting prologue of this 'Black Train'. Looking forward to reading more! I am hoping (with my critique) to eliminate some run-on sentences for you mostly as some of your 'as if' similies. Please take or toss as you wish. {add} [delete] (comment) Cheers! ~Cleo  My ear lies pressed against the rails listening for the distant rumbling of an oncoming train. Before [my eyes] {me}, the rails disappear into a single point in the distance, twin lines seemingly drawn by a young person’s hand. {I can see that} [Somewhat straight,] the rails have imperfections every so often, a slight bend here and there - in and out - as if the hand trembled {while} [as] it drew upon the landscape’s canvas. Trees line the pathway - mighty oaks, maples and elms, sprinkled in amongst the countless cottonwoods.[/color] (I would change the sentence to read: Mighty oaks, maples and elms, sprinkle in amongst the countless cottonwoods, lining the pathway.) Crickets call one another in a rhythmic chant{,} each seeking a companion to share the moist{ened,} oppressive heat. A slight breeze waltzes through the natural tunnel before me, caressing and sliding along the branches of the trees. Playfully, the breeze touches my face [and hair,] lifting a small flop of hair[,]{.} {Reactively it} drop[ping]{s} the blond tresses across my eyes, tickling my nose, before continuing [its joyous adventure] onward [towards the opposite direction], away from my gaze. [As if it could pull my head, my gaze] {Turning my head, my eyes} follow[s] the breeze as it dances towards the distant town, which sits beside the tracks. Dashing into the [train] station, [the gentle wind] {it} becomes [a bit more rowdy, as it] {more dominant, throw[s]{ing} a piece of discarded newspaper into the sky, before [it] disappear[s]{ing} within the alleyways of the hazy town. Faintly{,} I hear the sound of a whistle in the distance[, calling from the direction with which the breeze entered the scene] (don't feel you need the extra words here). Once more I place my ear to the tracks and listen, a slight tremble [can be] felt in the tracks. My eyes focus on the crossties before me, rotted chunks of wood, worn in many places from weathers cruel hand, pieces torn and thrown about without a care. [Alone,] I [a]rise to my knees; faintl[y] {traces of} smoke appear[s] over the tops of the trees on my far left[,]{.} [as] The train rounds the bend and begins it approach along the pathway [which leads] towards me. {I} [A] glance back at the town[, [I] {to} see the signal light at the station turn from red to green. No one wishes to travel today, no cargo to be loaded. I stand in the middle of the tracks as the train bears down upon me. (I'd switch this sentence around to: The train bears down upon me as I stand in the middle of the tracks.) (New paragraph) I [now can] hear the sound of the steam being released. The hideous and chest pounding chug of the massive pistons - back and forth, back and forth - a continuous endless cycle. Black smoke belches from the great stack bellowing upwards then slamm[ed]{ing} back along the tail of the creature. Slowly the rails beside me begin to shake, as if frightened of the massive beast. Small stones quiver in anticipation of the mighty weight as the train continues its approach. Small animals suddenly dart from the holes and burrows they have created in the crossties, terrified of the approaching [massive] monster. Yet I stand, a barrier to its existence, fixed upon its solitary eye, as it gleams in the blackening sky. I fear not, for it does not exist. I know it cannot be. The engine screams at me in anger, a terrifying banshee cry of rage. Closer it comes, its number blazoned on its cowcatcher in brilliant red and gold – 666 – the mark of the beast. Ten feet, five feet, one foot, it smashes into me and passes on. Turning, I watch it fade into the distance. The Black Train has come once more… As Nina would say: without all the twiggly bits, it would look like this... My ear lies pressed against the rails listening for the distant rumbling of an oncoming train. Before me, the rails disappear into a single point in the distance, twin lines seemingly drawn by a young person’s hand. I can see that the rails have imperfections every so often, a slight bend here and there - in and out - as if the hand trembled while it drew upon the landscape’s canvas. Mighty oaks, maples and elms, sprinkle in amongst the countless cottonwoods, lining the pathway. Crickets call one another in a rhythmic chant, each seeking a companion to share the moistened, oppressive heat. A slight breeze waltzes through the natural tunnel before me, caressing and sliding along the branches of the trees. Playfully, the breeze touches my face lifting a small flop of hair. Reactively it drops the blond tresses across my eyes, tickling my nose, before continuing onward, away from my gaze. Turning my head, my eyes follow the breeze as it dances towards the distant town, which sits beside the tracks. Dashing into the station, it becomes more dominant, throwing a piece of discarded newspaper into the sky, before disappearing within the alleyways of the hazy town. Faintly, I hear the sound of a whistle in the distance. Once more I place my ear to the tracks and listen, a slight tremble felt in the tracks. My eyes focus on the crossties before me, rotted chunks of wood, worn in many places from weathers cruel hand, pieces torn and thrown about without a care. I rise to my knees; faint traces of smoke appear over the tops of the trees on my far left. The train rounds the bend and begins it approach along the pathway towards me. I glance back at the town to see the signal light at the station turn from red to green. No one wishes to travel today, no cargo to be loaded. The train bears down upon me as I stand in the middle of the tracks. I hear the sound of the steam being released. The hideous and chest pounding chug of the massive pistons - back and forth, back and forth - a continuous endless cycle. Black smoke belches from the great stack bellowing upwards then slamming back along the tail of the creature. Slowly the rails beside me begin to shake, as if frightened of the massive beast. Small stones quiver in anticipation of the mighty weight as the train continues its approach. Small animals suddenly dart from the holes and burrows they have created in the crossties, terrified of the approaching monster. Yet I stand, a barrier to its existence, fixed upon its solitary eye, as it gleams in the blackening sky. I fear not, for it does not exist. I know it cannot be. The engine screams at me in anger, a terrifying banshee cry of rage. Closer it comes, its number blazoned on its cowcatcher in brilliant red and gold – 666 – the mark of the beast. Ten feet, five feet, one foot, it smashes into me and passes on. Turning, I watch it fade into the distance. The Black Train has come once more… ······· ·······"It's a dangerous business, Frodo, going out your door. You step into the Road, and if you don't keep your feet, there is no knowing where you might be swept off to." ~ J.R.R Tolkien, The Lord of the Rings
Collaboration feeds innovation. In the spirit of workshopping, please revisit those threads you've critiqued to see if the author has incorporated your ideas, or requests further feedback from you. In addition, reciprocate with those who've responded to you in kind. "I believe it is the act of remembrance, long after our bones have turned to dust, to be the true essence of an afterlife." ~ Lorraine M. Kanter Nominate a poem for the InterBoard Poetry Competition by taking into careful consideration those poems you feel would best represent Mosaic Musings. For details, click into the IBPC nomination forum. Did that poem just captivate you? Nominate it for the Faery award today! If perfection of form allured your muse, propose the Crown Jewels award. For more information, click here!  "Worry looks around, Sorry looks back, Faith looks up." ~ Early detection can save your life.MM Award Winner    |
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| Guest_Toumai_* |
Aug 29 05, 02:52
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#5
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Hi, Butch :wave:
Lovely to hear from you and to see you have somehow found time to write something other than Masters work - thanks :pharoah2 I was intrigued by this prologue (which is I guess the purpose, so it obviously works). At first I thought it was someone waiting for a train to bum a ride, or hijack; then suicide flitted thru my mind (but the narational tone rather sets that aside) and finally I wondered if it is a narator who is investigating the mysterious ghostly black train? Looking forward to more :ghostface: I see that Grace and Lori have given very detailed crits, so I shall wait (lazy, me - I shall have to go off on holiday more often! ) to see if you revise and then return. Hope the studies go well, Fran |
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