Beginnings

A Chapter by FTomlinson

Aurora ran away from home when she was just sixteen. Leaving behind an abusive family, she finds herself caught up in a war between two rival kingdoms and falling in love with a prince.

Aurora groaned as she heard the cockerel from outside her window announcing the dawn. Rubbing her eyes with the palm of her hands, she heaved herself from the bed. It was cold this morning, the mud walls not doing much to keep out the cool air. She quickly threw her day dress on over her shift, lacing it up and pulled on her thick, woollen stockings. Moving over to the fireplace, her numb fingers struggled with the flint until at last the flame caught. She stayed crouched by the fire watching it flicker to life and warming herself. When her legs started to numb from the position she was in, she walked over to the rickety table and picked up the large, copper kettle from where she had left it the night before. Hanging it from the hook above the fireplace, she began to shuffle around looking for something to eat. She settled for some bread and a bit of cheese, sitting down to eat her meagre meal at the table. When the kettle started to steam, she took it from the hook and poured herself a cup of tea. She ate quickly and then tidied away the remnants of her breakfast. Exhausted, she laced up her boots and threw a heavy cloak over her shoulders.

It wasn’t fully light outside, but the village was awake. The blacksmith nodded at her as she came out from her door, his anvil already being out to use. She picked up the bucket from beside the door and walked to the well at the centre of the village. Tying the rope onto the handle, she lowered the bucket into the water below. She had started to warm up as she heaved the full bucket back up and carried it carefully to the trough. She repeated the process for each of the water troughs until they were all full and then set about filling up the food troughs. All around her, her neighbours went about similar tasks, sparing her a smile. Not much was known about Aurora. The rest of the village had lived there since they were born and would live there until they died. They lived in their fathers houses and everyone of them was connected through someone’s marriage. Aurora on the other hand, had only arrived a year ago with no family and no possessions. Mrs Harlowe had been living here then, an old widow whose only sons had died in a war. She had taken one look at the starving girl and taken her into her heart. It had been a rough winter since then and the cold air got into Mrs Harlowe’s lungs. She hadn’t recovered. Aurora lived alone now, quietly going about her life as Mrs Harlowe had before her.

The sun was high in the sky by the time she was able to rest a little. Settling down on a tree stump with a drink, she saw Frederick, her only friend here, coming over. She smiled and beckoned him over with a wave of her hand.

‘Good morning Rory,’ he said as he settled down next to her.

‘Good morning Freddie,’ she replied holding out an apple to him. He took it and bit into it immediately. ‘Did you get your morning chores done?’ Frederick lived on the other side of the village with his seven brothers and five sisters in a house the same size as Aurora’s one room building; to say that it was crowded was an understatement. As the middle child, he was often overlooked and shove to the side, neither as strong and useful as his elder brothers nor as beautiful and delicate as his baby sister.

‘All done, I just came out for a bit of peace,’ he replied. ‘I was getting a headache! Sonia stole Rachel’s doll, and the wailing was something else. How goes your work?’

‘I need to take the eggs to market,’ she replied, biting into an apple of her own. ‘Hopefully, I’ll make enough to buy some food for a few days, my cupboards are pretty bare.’ Frederick gave her a sympathetic smile. He understood her hardships as he was living through them too. In fact, the entire village was. It had been a hard winter, and that had taken its toll on them all. The harvest the previous year hadn’t yielded as much food as they needed and with a large part of their income going in taxes to the crown, things had never been bleaker. It wasn’t uncommon for Aurora to go several days without a meal and in Frederick’s house, with so many mouths to feed, he couldn’t remember the last time he had felt full.

The walk to the nearest market took about an hour and Aurora didn’t have a horse to make the journey quicker. Frederick waved her off as she made her way down the dirt road, basket of eggs on her arm. The sun was high in the sky by then, but it wasn’t late enough in the year for her to feel it’s warming rays. Aurora was thankful for her thick cloak and sturdy boots as she slowly made her way to the nearest town.

When she arrived, she had a look at the different stalls, admiring the trinkets and exotic foods that were on offer. She managed to trade her eggs for enough to buy a loaf of bread and tucked it into her basket. She decided to take the long way back home, there was still plenty of light left, and she had no one to rush back to. Rather than following the road, she cut through the woods towards her favourite spot. She passed underneath the canopy of trees and down the gentle slope towards the river that marked the boundary between the Kingdom of Euralia, where Aurora lived, and the Kingdom of Teora on the other side. She sat down on the bank by the river and looked across. Teora looked no different from Euralia. It had the same green grass, the same blue sky, and the same tall trees. Sitting here and looking across the river reminded her about where she had come from.

Aurora was sixteen years old when she ran away from home. In her home, she wasn’t wanted anyway. Her father was cruel and spiteful, and her brother was a younger version of him. Her mother had died when she was small; she couldn’t remember her at all. Growing up, everyone had told her she looked just like her, but she had never even seen so much as a portrait of her. Aurora’s most defining feature was the mass of auburn curls on her head that seemed untameable. This had come from her mother apparently, as well as her striking green eyes. She sighed deeply, taking one last look across the river into Teora, promising herself she would never go back.

Aurora made her way through the woods the rest of the way back to the village. The sun was getting low by then and Aurora set about her evening tasks, making sure all of her livestock were shut away securely. She relit the fire and hung the freshly filled kettle. When the water was hot, she used some to make herself a fresh cup of tea and then the rest to wash herself. After, she settled herself down by the fire, drying her hair. She took out a book of fairy tales, the one thing other than the clothes on her back, that she had brought with her from home. She enjoyed the magic that they brought to her normally repetitive life. Opening it to her favourite story, she lost herself in tales of princes and princesses, good overcoming evil and magic and wonder, not knowing that her life was about to change.

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© 2021 FTomlinson

Author's Note

Have at it! I hope you enjoyed. :)

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Reviews

JayG

Well, you did ask, so I figured you would want to know. There are several factual issues that need editing, and rethinking, plus the structural issues that are getting in the way

• Aurora groaned as she heard the cockerel from outside her window announcing the dawn.

Sad but true: A pretty universal way to guarantee a rejection is to open with the protagonist waking. They wake, they get out of bed, they dress and eat breakfast—all the things the reader does every day. So who will pay money to read something as exciting as someone they know nothing about doing it in an unknown location?

In this case, we don’t know where and when we are. You know. She knows. The others in the story know. Shouldn’t the one you wrote it for know, as well? If we don’t, and lack context, why should we care that someone we know nothing about gets up, dressed, and eats in an unknown location. Then, immediately after waking she's exhausted? Will we learn why, eventually? Who cares? There's no second first impression, and if the reader walks away because they’re confused, they’ll never know your story.

• Moving over to the fireplace, her numb fingers struggled with the flint until at last the flame caught.

Given that it’s so cold, why doesn’t she have a banked fire there, keeping the house at least bearable in temperature? One that only needs tinder added and warmed to relight? Why do we care where the kettle was before she placed it over the fire (without filling it, apparently) Who heats lots of water, and takes all that time to do it, for a single cup of tea? And how can you pour tea from the kettle? That’s not how tea's made.

• It wasn’t fully light outside, but the village was awake.

What village? What country? What planet? And how does SHE know the entire village is awake? It's her story, after all, so if she doesn't know it, and care right then, the reader can't, either. You're writing her story, remember, not a historical document.

And, no one slept in? Every single person is awake? How do YOU know? You're neither there not in the story.

I bring this up because here is the crux of the problem. This is not a story, as publishers and readers think of a story. This is a report. Aurora isn’t living the events. She’s simply one of the people the narrator talks about. She does things according to the script you supply, like it or not. But we’re not with her, sharing her life. Instead, an external narrator, whose voice carries emotion only for you, who know how you want the story read, explains and reports, second-hand. We don’t know how she perceives the situation, or what motivate her to speak and act. We have only a chronicle of events, presented in overview, which is the format for a report. The problem is that you’re writing exactly as you’ve been taught to write—a skill perfected by writing endless reports and essays in school.

But fiction’s goal isn’t to inform, As E. L. Doctorow put it: “Good writing is supposed to evoke sensation in the reader. Not the fact that it’s raining, but the feeling of being rained upon.” And no way in hell can you do that without placing the reader on the scene AS THE-PROTAGONIST. And not only didn’t your teachers explain how to do that, they didn’t tell you it was necessary. Why? Because Fiction-Writing is a profession, and professional knowledge and technique are acquired IN ADDITION to our basic school-day skills. And in the case of writing, we learn the nonfiction skills of writing reports and essays because employers need us to write them, not novels.

So it’s not a matter of talent. Nor is it how well you write. It’s not about the story, either. It’s just that you need the skills of fiction to write fiction. After all, every book you’ve chosen was published, which means created with the specialized tools and techniques of the profession. We don’t see them as we read, any more than we see the cooking techniques of the chef when we eat the meal. But we do expect them to be used.

So, add a few of the tricks the pros take for granted, and they will keep you from screwing up, because your protagonist will have become your writing partner. Try to make her/him do something that someone in that situation won't choose to do, and they’ll place hands on hips, turn to you and say, “Hell no. No way would I do that. So either change the situation, change me, or let ME tell you what Il do next.

And THAT’S where the fun of writing lies.

Your local library’s fiction-writing section is filled with the views of successful pros in writing, publishing, and teaching. So time spent there is time wisely invested.

And I can help in that. The best book I’ve found on the skills of fiction-writing is free at the address below this paragraph. So copy/paste it into he URL window at the top of an Internet page and hit return.

https://archive.org/details/TechniquesOfTheSellingWriterCUsersvenkatmGoogleDrive4FilmMakingBsc_ChennaiFilmSchoolPractice_Others

I wish my news was better, and didn’t bite. And I’m sure this wasn’t what you were hoping to hear. But since it is what every author who writes fiction needs to know, I thought you’d want to hear it.

So dig in. and while you do, hang in here, and keep on writing.

Jay Greenstein
https://jaygreenstein.wordpress.com/category/the-craft-of-writing/the-grumpy-old-writing-coach/

Posted 3 Years Ago

Well, you did ask, so I figured you would want to know. There are several factual issues that need editing, and rethinking, plus the structural issues that are getting in the way

• Aurora groaned as she heard the cockerel from outside her window announcing the dawn.

Sad but true: A pretty universal way to guarantee a rejection is to open with the protagonist waking. They wake, they get out of bed, they dress and eat breakfast—all the things the reader does every day. So who will pay money to read something as exciting as someone they know nothing about doing it in an unknown  location?

In this case, we don’t know where and when we are. You know. She knows. The others in the story know. Shouldn’t the one you wrote it for know, as well? If we don’t, and lack context, why should we care that someone we know nothing about gets up, dressed, and eats in an unknown location. Then, immediately after waking she's exhausted? Will we learn why, eventually? Who cares? There's no second first impression, and if the reader walks away because they’re confused, they’ll never know your story.

• Moving over to the fireplace, her numb fingers struggled with the flint until at last the flame caught.

Given that it’s so cold, why doesn’t she have a banked fire there, keeping the house at least bearable in temperature? One that only needs tinder added and warmed to relight? Why do we care where the kettle was before she placed it over the fire (without filling it, apparently) Who heats lots of water, and takes all that time to do it, for a single cup of tea? And how can you pour tea from the kettle? That’s not how tea's made.

• It wasn’t fully light outside, but the village was awake.

What village? What country? What planet? And how does SHE know the entire village is awake? It's her story, after all, so if she doesn't know it, and care right then, the reader can't, either. You're writing her story, remember, not a historical document.

And, no one slept in? Every single person is awake? How do YOU know? You're neither there not in the story.

I bring this up because here is the crux of the problem. This is not a story, as publishers and readers think of a story. This is a report. Aurora isn’t living the events. She’s simply one of the people the narrator talks about. She does things according to the script you supply, like it or not. But we’re not with her, sharing her life. Instead, an external narrator, whose voice carries emotion only for you, who know how you want the story read, explains and reports, second-hand. We don’t know how she perceives the situation, or what motivate her to speak and act. We have only a chronicle of events, presented in overview, which is the format for a report. The problem is that you’re writing exactly as you’ve been taught to write—a skill perfected by writing endless reports and essays in school.

But fiction’s goal isn’t to inform, As E. L. Doctorow put it: “Good writing is supposed to evoke sensation in the reader. Not the fact that it’s raining, but the feeling of being rained upon.” And no way in hell can you do that without placing the reader on the scene AS THE-PROTAGONIST. And not only didn’t your teachers explain how to do that, they didn’t tell you it was necessary. Why? Because Fiction-Writing is a profession, and professional knowledge and technique are acquired IN ADDITION to our basic school-day skills. And in the case of writing, we learn the nonfiction skills of writing reports and essays because employers need us to write them, not novels.

So it’s not a matter of talent. Nor is it how well you write. It’s not about the story, either. It’s just that you need the skills of fiction to write fiction. After all, every book you’ve chosen was published, which means created with the specialized tools and techniques of the profession. We don’t see them as we read, any more than we see the cooking techniques of the chef when we eat the meal. But we do expect them to be used.

So, add a few of the tricks the pros take for granted, and they will keep you from screwing up, because your protagonist will have become your writing partner. Try to make her/him do something that someone in that situation won't choose to do, and they’ll place hands on hips, turn to you and say, “Hell no. No way would I do that. So either change the situation, change me, or let ME tell you what Il do next.

And THAT’S where the fun of writing lies.

Your local library’s fiction-writing section is filled with the views of successful pros in writing, publishing, and teaching. So time spent there is time wisely invested.

And I can help in that. The best book I’ve found on the skills of fiction-writing is free at the address below this paragraph. So copy/paste it into he URL window at the top of an Internet page and hit return.

https://archive.org/details/TechniquesOfTheSellingWriterCUsersvenkatmGoogleDrive4FilmMakingBsc_ChennaiFilmSchoolPractice_Others

I wish my news was better, and didn’t bite. And I’m sure this wasn’t what you were hoping to hear. But since it is what every author who writes fiction needs to know, I thought you’d want to hear it.

So dig in. and while you do, hang in here, and keep on writing.

Jay Greenstein
https://jaygreenstein.wordpress.com/category/the-craft-of-writing/the-grumpy-old-writing-coach/

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