Part 1

I yelped in pain as I was thrust through the air by an unbelievable force. I hit the ground hard and rolled onto my side with a groan. I needed to get up and keep running. I tried to at least sit up. I could not. Images kept creeping through my mind of the person, or thing, that had thrown me through the air as if I were a feather. All i could see was a flash of sharp, razor blade teeth, mixed with the strange scent of copper. Metallic copper..blood! My eyes crept open with difficulty, my vision blurring. No...it wasn't my vision that was blurred, but the two monsters in front of me. My eyes involuntarily screamed open as I saw what could only be described as inhuman speed. I squinted to make sure I was seeing things right. This couldn't be happening. No human was that fast. No human...

My mind was racing, trying to figure out if it was possible. The two figures seemed occupied with each other, so I decided to make a run for it. My legs ached and my body felt like it had been hit by a truck, but here I was, running once again for my life.

 

I don't quite remember when it happened the last time. I was very young after all. What I do remember was the absolute fear I had felt. I was maybe six or seven years old, and my mother and I were heading home from a day out. It was past sundown and I could tell that my mother wanted to hurry home. Instead of complying, I begged to play on the swings at the park, just for a little longer. I was giggling as she pushed me higher and higher. I wanted to touch the sky, but when I said higher once more there was nothing. The swing stopped and I could here the sounds of crunching. I turned my head only to see my mum being held in the jaws of a ferocious wolf. This wolf seemed strange somehow. Maybe because it was a lot larger than normal, I'm not too sure. But it felt different. Somehow I knew that it wasn't a normal wolf. I stared at it's sickly, yellow coloured eyes.

I didn't think of it at the time, but maybe it was after me all along. My mother had always told me stories with a big bad wolf in them. She always told me that was why we traveled so much. I didn't really get it then, but I get it now. Maybe she was trying to warn me somehow, without making me fear for my safety all the time. To have a somewhat normal childhood. 

After that, I don't remember much. Only the running, the fear, and the image of my mum limp in those jaws. After I had awoken in a hospital, I was sent to many foster homes, until I turned eighteen. 

I didn't follow my mothers warning, how was I suppose to know that this was going to happen fourteen years later. 

 

It is only now that I am wishing I had taken her advice. Whatever was out there, trying to kill me now, was the same creature that had killed my mother. I kept running and running until I had reached the outskirts of the neighboring forest. I stopped to catch my breath and leaned against the nearest tree. This forest went on for miles and miles. It was known as 'The Lost Den'. Everyone who wandered in here seemed to get lost or go missing. But this place was the only place that I had even a slightest chance of hiding in. I just prayed to god that it would work. 

A howl filled the night air. My heart began to beat faster. It sounded like it was getting closer. Without a second thought I began to sift through the dense forest. Heading deeper and deeper into a maze. I slowed and tried to navigate my way around fallen obstacles and ditches. I fell a few times, pretty sure scraping myself along with it. Not good. If I leave blood behind, they were sure to find me. The clouds shifted and the moon began to shine through, making it much easier to navigate. It also made it much easier to see me. I cringed. I so wished I hadn't thought of that.

 

Another howl sounded off, this time even closer. I started to sprint through the trees, not caring if I left a trail behind. My breathing was labored, and it was getting harder and harder to run. I couldn't give up, not yet. Just when had my mind set on survival, my vision began to blur. I fell. Hard. I tried to sit up again, but screamed out. My leg, I couldn't move it. It felt like it was on fire! No, I must move. I crawled and whimpered my way about an inch. Something moved in front of me. My head snapped up. I searched but could not see anything. A twig snapped behind me and I spun my head around. Nothing. My heart was hammering in my chest, so loud I nearly missed the faint tickle of hot breath upon my cheek. My gaze slowly drifted forward. A wolf the size of a car stood in front of me, staring straight into my eyes. Its sickly, yellowed eyes seemed to mock me. It's massive jaws pulled back to reveal a snarling set of canine cutlery. Drool dripped down my cheek. I saw the hunger envelop him and it snapped it's jaws wide open, ready to take his prey. 

A single tear slid down my cheek as I remembered how my mother had died. I shut my eyes as I saw the monster begin to move and waited for my imminent death. And waited. 

Hmm..this was taking longer than I thought, or was I already dead?

My eyes flew open. Nothing. Only trees. My eyes swept the forest carefully, to which they landed on two wolves snapping and snarling at each other. They were fighting once again. Another chance. I had another chance to survive. A faint hopeful smile played on my lips, but before I could finish the thought, a loud crack sounded. My eyes snapped towards a wolf with the other in its jaw. It's muzzle around the others throat. It let go, and it hit the ground with a thump. My stomach churned. It was everywhere. The blood seeped into its matted fur as it walked towards me. I saw hints of white and grey beneath the slick, red velvet substance. It's eyes sparkled crystal clear blue, even from this distance. If I wasn't so afraid, I'd even say they were beautiful. It padded towards me with ease. Now was the time then. The time I was to truly die. My eyesight began to fade as I hoped I wouldn't feel this savage death.

I'd blacked out before it had even reached me. 

Reviews

[JayG]

You’re working hard. But a lot of the story a reader might find necessary never made it to the page. Part of the problem is that because you already know the story, the characters and the scene in progress—and know it before you read the first word, every line acts as a pointer to images, plot, and context, all living in your mind.

You also know how you would perform what is, in reality, a transcript of you telling the story to an audience. So for you the narrator's voice is filled with emotion. It varies intensity, tempo, and emotion for best presentation. But, does the reader get any trace of that? No.

As you read, you can feel your hands visually punctuating with the proper gesture, while your facial expression illustrates the necessary emotion. And now much of that does the reader get? None, again. They have to make due with what the words you’ve chosen suggest to them, based on THEIR background. So for them, every line acts as a pointer to images, plot, and context, all living in *YOUR* mind. But without you there when it’s read to clarify, or perform…

Throughout, what hit me was the distance between the narrator and the reader. Instead of being in the viewpoint of the one living the scene, it was 100% narrator driven, often as a fairly generic overview When you say, “Images kept creeping through my mind of the person, or thing, that had thrown me through the air as if I were a feather,” That’s a report, not something the protagonist is living.

Think about it. The protagonist has SEEN whatever it is. But instead of making the reader know it as he or she perceives it, we don’t even know if it’s a person or “thing.” We’re getting data, not being made to live the story as-the-protagonist, and in real-time. And where’s the fun in reading a report?

Think of yourself when reading a horror story. At some point our protagonist will feel terror. Which would you prefer: a) to have the author inform you that the protagonist is terrified? b) To have the author terrify YOU, and make you afraid to turn out the lights when it’s time for bed?

Each of those two approaches requires a different methodology. The first will inform the reader as to the events—an informative goal. The second is to make the reader feel what the protagonist IS FEELING in the moment they call now—an emotional goal.

I mention this because the techniques of nonfiction are meant to inform, while the craft of fiction—which is emotion-based and character-centric—has moving the reader, emotionally as its goal. So unless you possess the specialized skills of fiction, can you use them? As Mark Twain put it: “It ain’t what you don’t know that gets you into trouble. It’s what you know for sure that just ain’t so.” Bur more to the point is this, from E. L. Doctorow: “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 nonfiction writing skills do that.

So what this boils down to is that it’s not a matter of talent or how well you write. It’s that the tricks-of-the-trade of fiction, which is a profession every bit as much as journalism, are necessary if writing fiction is the goal. And they are very different from those you’ve used all your life. In fact, because your current skills feel intuitive and natural it’s going to be hard to switch over. Each time you try, your current skills will howl in outrage and reach for the controls to “fix” the writing. But once mastered, the act of writing fiction becomes a LOT more fun. First, because the protagonist becomes your co-writer, and begins whispering suggestions in your ear. Try to order them to do something they wouldn’t naturally choose as the most necessary course of action and they will let you know that you’re wrong. And without that kind of feedback, your characters will be smart when you need smart, and obediently shed IQ points when you need that. They’ll all think with your mind, and speak with your voice.

But when the protagonist is the one making the decisions... Then, they become a lot more real to both you and the reader. In fact, they will often suggest the way out of a problem that’s better than what you were thinking of using. And in the end, it is their story, not yours.

More than that, when you treat every character as the protagonist of their own story they, too, will become a lot more real. And when that happens, the reader, instead of learning about the events, will begin to live them in real-time, as-the-protagonist.

The way to get from here to there is simple enough: add the tricks of fiction to your existing skill-set.

Still, while that’s both simple and obvious, the word easy doesn’t appear, because you'll be learning the skills of a profession. But as a writer, already, I think you’ll find the learning fun. In fact, I’m betting that you’ll often find yourself saying, “But that’s so obvious. Why didn’t I see it myself?”

My personal recommendation, as it so often is, is to pick up a personal copy of Dwight Swain’s, Techniques of the Selling Writer. To date, it’s the best I’ve found so far as imparting the nuts-and-bolts issues of fiction.

And for an overview of some of the differences between fiction and nonfiction writing, you might dig around in the writing articles in my blog.

Hang in there.

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

[Brooke Graco]

Thank you so much for your review! I always thought something was amiss. I'm definitely going to read that book you suggested! It's very hard for me to do writing in the characters view, since I am a DM for dnd, and anything I've written has to be narrative style. BUT, I'm up for the challenge.
I've also started my second chapter in the characters view and not the narrative view. And it is a lot more fun! I hope to re write this part after getting those tips and tricks from the book!

Once again, this has helped me a lot! Thank you!!!

[Pradeep Nair]

See... first of all.. it's really wonderful.
there is a creative talent unfolds from the first sentence itself.

"My heart was hammering in my chest, so loud I nearly missed the faint tickle of hot breath upon my cheek."----- Realistic!

A single tear slid down my cheek as I remembered how my mother had died. I shut my eyes as I saw the monster begin to move and waited for my imminent death. And waited. "- thats a real WOW!

"I wanted to touch the sky, but when I said higher once more there was nothing. The swing stopped and I could here the sounds of crunching."- Creative Imagination..!

please go ahead...

[Brooke Graco]

Thanks for the feedback on this story, I'll try to be more creative with other sentences as well. :)

[Sunflower/Sara Kendrick]

Reads like a very imaginative person wrote this one..Good luck with the publishing of your work..Who knows it might be the next best movie out there..Thanks for the visit to my page..I am sorry that rain hasn't passed your way..We did not get but about 1/2 to 3/4 of an inch and it had been around a month since rain..Sara

[Brooke Graco]

Thank you for the review, I appreciate it.

[Sunflower/Sara Kendrick]

You are quite welcome..Have a great day!! Sara