By the Wheelbarrow [First Draft]

A troublesome, overzealous boy commits a grave transgression which causes him to be ostracised from his colony, but after reflection and isolation, he returns not as a boy, but as a man.

The world that was laid around him pulled away and shifted out of perception, merely serving as a backdrop to his thoughts at that moment. Envisioned were mighty castles sat on gladding clouds with crystal rivers and streams overflowing into the vivid blue beneath. He dreamt that maybe, one day, they all could be of his possession and his possession alone. This was not to last. Indiscernible objects of oak wood began surging out of the drains of the castle and occupying the rivers completely, accumulating in number to the extent that the internal pressure shattered and tore down the drains along with the adjacent brick walls, destroying his haven. His mind failed to describe these culprits and so did his patience, as the call of his name severed his cherished reverie.

“Aaryan!” called a rather small boy from the other end of a hall of trees and flora, “Aaryan! The pot lady is asking for you!”

Begrudgingly, the indulgent young man, Aaryan, unceremoniously rolled his head towards the voice and was met with nothing but the verdure that led to his village. On the spur of the moment, the lively and animated boy shot up into Aaryan’s view. It was Oscar.

“Aary-” got out Oscar, unthinkingly, before being abruptly silenced by Aaryan’s palm.

“I’m no longer twenty metres away, Oscar; I’m right in front of you - yours truly!” asserted Aaryan, spitefully, unfastening his hand from Oscar’s mouth.

“My bad, Sir Aaryan! It’s just that the pot lady said it was urgent,” explained Oscar. “It’s about the state of the hen’s coop.”

Aaryan flopped back onto the bed of smooth warm rocks, as if a simple sentence had sapped any energy he once had at that moment’s notice, no longer appreciating the heat the rocks offered him.

“Yeah... yeah,” dismissed Aaryan. “Do tell her that I’m well and truly rushing to her as soon as can be.”

“Right!” responded Oscar, as he happily marched away from sight.

With serenity once again returned, Aaryan rested his head towards the hopeful sky above. His vision followed the clouds and the direction they headed and wished that he could join them, like he had dreamed of countless times before. Though, today, his heart warned him of a feeling that stretched far deeper than the worry of the consequences of his sloth. And today, he was right to feel as such.

On a new moment, and while the day was still fresh as ever, he swayed off the rock, extended his waking legs, and stood - pressure. Pressure to conjure up an excuse troubled him but not so much so that it disarmed the boy from his idleness. “Was it today or yesterday that it was raining so terribly?” he thought to himself, “No, that was yesterday.” His thoughts continued, “Oh, that’s right; the wood on the fence gate has been awfully sharp.” Aaryan peered down to his abraded right hand.

Before long, the leaves which guided to his village were pressed into the bed of pliable grass on which they rested and the songs the birds sang faded into one melody after another as he trod along the spineless trail. The sun’s influence receded from his skin as the thick foliage began to branch and lean over his path, leaving little room for the great star above. On cue, the boy was bathed. Rich air methodically flew through the tunnels of flora and his nostrils, carrying with it the collective scent of the surrounding, tightly knit meadows.

Periodically, the verdure above his head gave way and revealed the towering expanses of mountains to which the grand isles of the archipelago sat in unison around. Every isle was connected through the deep-rooted stone structures that ran within the deep of the waters, and the gaps they left remained as rivers, lakes, streams, and the like. The water they offered sustained and distributed the archipelago’s vast wildlife, for the boundless array of isles could hold such riches. When the mountains retreated to serve as no backdrop, the brilliant cerulean sky painted the rest of the horizon.

Aaryan, like his kin and neighbours, had only ever known the emerald and cerulean diamond colours of the exalted archipelago they tread extensively upon. For they had exclusively inhabited the archipelago, outside culture was never prevalent. This archipelago, named the Isles of Eden by its inhabitants after one of the first to set foot on the land mass, bound its life to itself. Nothing but rain impregnated the Isles of Eden, nor did anything but water seep from it. It remained undiscovered, unbothered, untainted, as blue above and below was its eternal bird cage.

Author's Note

This is a draft of my novella. It is its opening sequence and is COMPLETELY unfinished! The description I have written here is a summary of the complete plot. This draft only contains the plot before the protagonist, Aaryan, is ostracised from his colony in the story, which is the 'disruption' part of the plot, according to Todorov's narrative theory.

There is so much else I'd love to fit in the description. I'd have loved to show much more of my intentions about the characters and scenery I want to introduce in the story.

This will be a redemption, adventure, and fantasy genre fictional piece of writing involving moral lessons I myself have learnt, the most beautiful vocabulary I can muster up to describe awe-inspiring fantasy scenery, and engaging character interactions and relationships. For now, I want to see what you think. Does the dialogue flow naturally and is the humour well placed? Is my vocabulary too abstract at points? Do I drag on describing the scenery or do you think that is justified as I set up the story's world? Let me know. Thank you.

Version 2 Edit: this site can't handle em dashes, so I replaced them. I also added tags.

Reviews

[JayG]

Since you plan to devote enough time to write a novella there are some things that you absolutely must know—things that none of us know when we turn to writing fiction. But if they are not addressed, the effort will have been wasted. So while I have bad news, it’s not meant to discourage you. It’s meant to save you wasted time. And, nothing I say has to do with talent, or how well you write. Instead, they are the result of things we forget and things we’re not told.

So, take a deep breath and I’ll list a few:

1. Fiction-Writing is a profession. And like all professions, the techniques and special knowledge are acquired in addition to the set of general skills we’re given in school. And since they offer degree programs in it, you have to assume that at least some of what’s taught over those four years is necessary. But...because the pros make it seem so natural and easy we forget that.

2. The purpose of public education is to prepare us for the needs of employment. And the kind of writing that employers mostly need is reports, papers, and letters. And to ready us for that, in school we spend our time writing reports and essays. We leave our school years well trained in writing nonfiction, but are exactly as prepared to write fiction as to perform root-canal surgery. The writing techniques we practice are fact-based and author-centric. The narrator, alone on stage, talks TO the reader—lecturing, in a voice that’s dispassionate because the reader can’t know the emotion you would place in the reading…or the gestures, body-language, or facial expressions you would use.

3. When we read our own work, before we open to the first page we know things the reader can’t know: Who we are, where we are in time and space, and, what’s going on. Moreover, we know the backstory of the characters, and hold a mental image of the scene in our mind before reading the first word. So for us it will always work. It’s why we must edit from the seat of the reader, who knows only what the words suggest, based on their life-experience, not our intent.

4. The goal of nonfiction is to inform. The goal of fiction? E. L. Doctory put it well with, “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 we can’t do that with our schoolday writing techniques because it will read like the weather report

In example, look at your opening as a reader must, instead of the author:

• The world that was laid around him pulled away and shifted out of perception, merely serving as a backdrop to his thoughts at that moment.

What? The world that was "laid around him?" What can that mean to someone who just arrived and knows none of what’s mentioned in point 2, above? What can any of this mean? You know. The unknown “he” knows. Anyone with him knows. But the one you wrote this for? Not a clue.

I hate to give such bad news, but were this a submission to a publisher, here is where the rejection slip comes out of the drawer, because the reader lacks context to make the line meaningful. And even had you clarified in the next line, is there a second first-impression? No.

• Envisioned were mighty castles sat on gladding clouds with crystal rivers and streams overflowing into the vivid blue beneath.

You’re trying to be literary, to make up for lack of emotion inherent to nonfiction writing. But that’s like gluing on glitter. The solution is to acquire those missing skills—the ones the pros take for granted. If you don’t know a short-term scene-goal exists, and why it’s necessary you’ll not factor it in. If no one tells you why a scene on the page is, and must, be very different from one on stage and screen, and the elements that make it up, how can you write one?

The answer? Add the missing skills, practice them till they’re natural to use, and there you are. Will that be easy and fast, a list of “do this instead of that?” Of course not. You’re learning a profession. But on the good side, learning what you want to know about is never a chore. And once mastered, the act of writing becomes a lot more fun.

There are lots of good books in the library’s fiction-writing section. Personally? I’d suggest starting with Dwight Swain’s, Techniques of the Selling Writer, which recently came out of copyright protection. It's the best I've found, to date, at imparting and clarifying the "nuts-and-bolts" issues of creating a scene that will sing to the reader. The address of an archive site where you can read or download it free is just below. Copy/paste the address into the URL window of any Internet page and hit Return to get there.

https://archive.org/details/TechniquesOfTheSellingWriterCUsersvenkatmGoogleDrive4FilmMakingBsc_ChennaiFilmSchoolPractice_Others

So try a chapter or three. I think you’ll be glad you did. And don’t let this throw you. Hang in there, and keep on writing.

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

[halfaheart]

Hi JayG,

Firstly, I want to say I truly appreciate the time you've taken to write such an insightful and informative review.

I wholeheartedly agree with what you've said. The extent of my knowledge regarding writing fiction is tiny, so I'm grateful you have given me this advice and especially the resource, Techniques of the Selling Writer. I'll def try it out.

While I started writing this novella as an application of what I've learnt from GCSE English and as a hobby during my A-Level studies, I'd love to get better at writing fiction (and writing in general) because why not?

Thanks a bunch,

Nathaniel