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TORN PROLOGUE REVISED

by Joella 

Posted: 03 August 2010
Word Count: 429
Summary: MUCH REVISED PROLOGE FOR TORN. WOULD APPRECIATE YOUR VIEWS.


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PROLOGUE


I roused from fitful slumber, ‘William’s not your son.... Not your son... ’ drumming in my head. I’d been dreaming: reliving yesterday’s nightmare: the agony of the moment my son was taken.

I got up. Perched on the edge of the bed, watching stars fade in the crumbling darkness, I had but one thought. William was everything to me and his mother knew, no less than I, that he was my son. She was playing a game. I was well aware of her motive, but she wouldn’t win. I’d been naive, maybe a fool, but it wasn’t in my nature to give up: I’d never give up on my son.

A gentle breeze wafted in through an open sash. Catching a breath, exhaling slowly, I tried to calm my nerve. It wasn’t working and I knew in an instant that I couldn’t stay here. My Mother meant well, I appreciated her concern, but I had a need to be elsewhere. Pulling on clothes, slipping into trainers, I crept out the back door, borrowed a bicycle and headed for home.

Arriving at Merryfields, I propped the bike against a wall. Without William the house was empty, and not relishing the prospect of being alone, I made my way to the barn. Entering through a side door, flicking the light switch; watching heavy shadows fade, I embraced a welcome, long overdue. I ran a hand over saddles, touched trophies and all those rosettes left, like their memory, gathering dust for too long. Removing photographs pinned to a wall, shuffling them through my hands, I was convinced some of my son were missing. I searched drawers, boxes, even turned out a cupboard, all to no avail. But the search wasn’t without reward. Under a pile of dated Horse and Hound magazines, I unearthed my 1974 / 5 journal. It must have been a good ten years since the final entry, and the significance of that particular day, could not be over stated.

Finding a beer in the fridge, I reclined into the folds of the halcyon sofa. With the journal resting on my lap, whilst mindfully smoothing its cover, I reflected upon the journey that had brought me this far. I’d spent too much time trying to erase memories I believed I was better off without, when maybe I should have learned to value them. There is no doubt that without the bad times - all those dark days, my greatest fortune would never have been known. And now, harrowing though this would be, eager to reconnect, I opened the book....







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Comments by other Members



GaiusCoffey at 21:57 on 06 August 2010  Report this post
Wow. That's a bit different alright!
Writing on a poxy phone so I won't go in depth, but I liked this. It feels like a much better start that is more engaging and warmer. The literary equivalent of foreplay; warming the reader up with a promise of more.
Only comment is that you might be able to neaten that last sentence, possibly just by cutting the clause about eagerness.
G

LorraineC at 07:55 on 07 August 2010  Report this post
This is much better than the last one. In the first one I thought the son had been taken by a stranger. This is now alot clearer. Also it's not as long winded as the first prologue which for me prompted too many questions. It captures the reader's interest enough to want to read on. Hope this helps. Good job. Lorraine

Joella at 17:54 on 11 August 2010  Report this post
Thank you Gaius and Lorraine, for taking the time to respond to this prologue. I'm glad you both consider it an improvement. I'd thought of doing without one, but because the story loops back to the beginning, before the final twist, it is essential. I've taken on board a lot of comments, including those you two previously made, and hope this prologue will provide a better lead into the story. So, you've been extremely helpful and I am relieved to learn that you prefer this version.

Many thanks,

Joella.

jim60 at 10:30 on 19 August 2010  Report this post
Hi Joella, this is certainly different and so much better.
No doubt this wasn't easy and there's the feeling that a lot of time went into this.

This seems more direct, to the point and like Gaius, I think the last line needs looking at again, otherwise. all hunky dory.



NMott at 22:31 on 23 August 2010  Report this post
Hi. Spotted your note in the S&O group and come to take a look.
Maybe tighten up the 'voice' a little with the odd tweek. At the moment it reads a bit too much like writing rather than natural thoughts of this male character. Men are objective, whereas this is a bit too subjective - the writer's 'voice' is coming through. You need to relax and not work so hard at the writing. Also replace the bike with something more manly, like a truck.

Suggested tweeks:

PROLOGUE


I jerked awake with ‘William’s not your son...not your son. ’ drumming in my head. I’d been dreaming, reliving yesterday’s nightmare and the moment my son was taken away from me.

I sat up, swung my legs over the side and perched on the edge of the bed, watching stars fade and waiting for my head to stop spinning. William was everything to me and his mother knew he was my son. She was playing a game. I was well aware of her motive, but she wouldn’t win. I’d been a fool, but it wasn’t in me just to give up. I’d never give up on my son.

A breeze wafted into the bedroom through an open sash window. Catching a breath and exhaling slowly I tried to calm my nerves. It wasn’t working, and I knew I couldn’t stay here in my mother's house. She meant well, and I appreciated her concern, but I had to be elsewhere. Pulling on clean clothes and slipping into a pair of old trainers, I crept out the back door, borrowed the pickup truck and headed for home. My home.

Arriving at Merryfields in a spray of dust and grit, I stopped by the back door but couldn't go in. Without William the house was too empty. Instead, I made my way to the barn, entering through a side door I flicked the light switch and watched the heavy shadows vanish. I ran a hand over saddles, touched trophies and all those rosettes left to gather dust for far too long. Removing photographs pinned to a wall I shuffled through them, convinced that some of my son were missing. I searched drawers, boxes, even turned out a cupboard, with no result. Under a pile of old Horse and Hound magazines, I unearthed an old journal. Flicking through it I realized it must have been a good ten years since the final entry: July 12th, 1975.
Returning to the house, I selected a cold beer from the fridge and settled into the folds of the leather sofa with the journal resting on my lap, and brooded on the journey that had brought me this far. I’d spent too much time trying to erase these old memories, when maybe I should have learnt from them. Without the bad times - all those dark days - I'd never have found my greatest fortune. My son.
I turned to the first entry in the book...


- NaomiM


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