Morrigan

A rather short stoil based on the Celtic myth of the M�™rrìgan.

I stood there, paralysed by the sight. A wench dressed all in black had sat where no one had moments before, scrubbing clothes against a washboard. The soapy water had long since gone murky with blood. She met my puzzled gaze with her own. Cruel coal-black orbs made my soul hers. A twisted grin touched each side of her face, yet never taking pause from her dutiful cleaning. I had many questions, but to discern whether this was actually a goddess or a daemon was most urgent. 

It took every ounce of courage not to seek a sword for my hand. However the comfort that would come from being armed would likely do very little. Though she appeared a wench, she had the aura of an entire army; cruel and bloodthirsty. I stayed my hand and stood tall, doing my damnedest to guise the fear. Her cackle taught me my efforts were in vain. I didn't know what the hell I was doing, standing there like a right git. After all, I was the one who summoned the bloody hag. Before I caved to the fear and ran without my answer, I had forced myself towards the lass clad in shadows. 

It was at this point I had once again paused. My mouth ajar, and my eyes bulging from mine skull. Had my trembling not worsened, I could have been deemed a right statue. I hadn't gotten a good look at the clothes she was washing until the distance had closed. My eyes moistened, my face trapped in a silent scream. Without knowing, my fortune had already been told. ‘Twas not long before I regained control of my bod, running towards the hills and abandoning my post. 

The Britons close in on the morrow. The lads and I ready to meet them with steel o’ our own. But I weren’t ready for the oncoming bloodbath. To see me mates drown in arrows and dot the landscape we sought to protect with their very bodies. And to blindly join ‘em was without question. But what man outside of some blethering legend could selflessly sow his own life into the land of his country. The hag corbie washes the clothes with a knowing crooked smile. That same morrow her work would be done. All she would be missing is one set of armour, but she knew that the moment we met.

Reviews

[JayG]

• I stood there, paralysed by the sight.

This is a report, not a story opening. Instead of us being on the scene in real-time, and as the protagonist, which is what readers expect, Someone unknown, who is pretending to be the one the events once happened to, just tapped me on the shoulder at told me they once stood in an unknown place, for unknown reasons, unable to move because they saw something unknown. Why would I care, or want to know more? You know what you mean. The unknown person knows. But you gave the reader not a hint of what you're talking about. And, your first-impression has been spent. No second first-impression is possible. So here is where most people will stop reading, because you give them nothing meaningful, or understandable. Write from your chair, of course. But always, always, always edit from the chair of the reader. They have only the context you provide—none in this case—and the emotion that the wording and punctuation suggests. And the meaning of the words? It's what they suggest to the reader, based on their lfe, NOT your intent.

• A wench dressed all in black had sat where no one had moments before, scrubbing clothes against a washboard.

Who cares what color her clothes are? We can't see her, for for all we know she could be wearing a burka, jeans, or a dress.

Ansd, she had sat? You just told the reader she had, but isn't now. Not what you mean, but it is what you told the reader. Watch your tenses and clarity.

When I type, "A man is washing a car outside, but wasn't, before," That's true, accurate, and tells you as little as you told the reader. There are lots of people washig clothes right now. So why do I care that someone in an unknown place, in an unknown year, dressed in black, is washing clothes, but wasn't at an unknown time before? Make your words meeaningful as-they're-read. Don't expect to retroactively remove the confusion you create.

This story is in your head, and meaningful as you read because of that, but you forgot to give meaning to the reader. Instead, you're reporting things that make sense to you as if the reader has a clue of what you mean.

Here's the deal: There's a LOT to writing fiction, and not the smallest part of it was taught in the school you attended because Fiction-Writing is a profession, and professional knowledge, in all fields, is acquired IN ADDITION to the skills we given, to make us useful to employers. And employers need nonfiction. No matter how hard we try to write fiction with those nonfiction writing skills it will always come out reading like nonfiction.

So. hit the library's fiction-writing section. Lots of help to be had there. So take advantage of it. If you can, dig up a copy of Debra Dixon's, GMC: Goal Motivation & Conflict. It has what you need.