Ah okay, well, I may have given too much information on the next few. Sorry
about that. Just let me know and as I said, I can adjust my "thoroughness". :)

Dee

--- In stmaryscountywritersgroup@yahoogroups.com, julie schlomer
<jschlomer71@...> wrote:
>
> THIS is what I'm looking for!! THank you. I want to know what your initial
reaction is when you read it. I'll be rewriting for sure :)
>  
> THANKS!
>
> --- On Sat, 11/21/09, DeeRhine <goldenlight2@...> wrote:
>
>
> From: DeeRhine <goldenlight2@...>
> Subject: [stmaryscountywritersgroup] Re: I Wanna Be a Writer
> To: stmaryscountywritersgroup@yahoogroups.com
> Date: Saturday, November 21, 2009, 1:53 PM
>
>
>  
>
>
>
>
> Julie,
>
> Without being entirely sure what kind of feedback you want, I'll give
> you generic suggestions. Hope that is ok.
>
> What I liked: Your style was good. The transitions from one thought to
> another were good too. Your writing had a natural flow to it, as if you
> were talking with me, which is great - especially for fiction.
>
> Suggestions: With essays, it's important to stick to a topic and not
> wander off. " I Wanna Be a Writer", sets the reader up for hearing why
> you want to write. As I read, I learned more about why you didn't think
> retail would work for you than why you want to be a writer. Ask yourself
> why you want to write and then give three reasons. Make paragraphs out
> of each reason. OR you could simply retitle the piece into "Why Retail
> Wasn't for Me"...or some other title. The title just set me up for
> understanding why you want to write.
>
> Give it another try - as writers that is what we do - rewrite - rewrite
> - rewrite...UGH! :)
>
> Keep writing....
>
> Dee
>
> --- In stmaryscountywriter sgroup@yahoogrou ps.com,
> stmaryscountywriter sgroup@yahoogrou ps.com wrote:
> >
> >
> > Hello,
> >
> > This email message is a notification to let you know that
> > a file has been uploaded to the Files area of the
> stmaryscountywriter sgroup
> > group.
> >
> > File : /I Wanna Be a Writer.doc
> > Uploaded by : jschlomer71 jschlomer71@ ...
> > Description : Off the cuff essay
> >
> > You can access this file at the URL:
> >
> http://groups. yahoo.com/ group/stmaryscou ntywritersgroup/ files/I%20Wanna% \
> 20Be%20a%20Writer. doc
> >
> > To learn more about file sharing for your group, please visit:
> > http://help. yahoo.com/ l/us/yahoo/ groups/original/ general.htmlfile s
> >
> > Regards,
> >
> > jschlomer71 jschlomer71@ ...
> >
>

The Shively plantation was at least eight miles south of the Dunkirk plantation. Kian knew this because he had heard the Dunkirks talk about the Shively estate, as they would occasionally pay them a visit.

The woods were dark and he strained to see just a few inches in front of him. Dried leaves covered the ground and they crunched beneath his feet. To him, the sound was deafening. Surely, someone would hear him. No, he wouldn't think about that. He would run until his lungs and legs could no longer keep the pace. It was after midnight, and he wanted to be at the Shively's before dawn, before everyone woke.

Sweat poured down his back and off his forehead. His lungs burned with the exertion. He stumbled and tripped over something hard, probably a log. He took that moment to catch his breath. As he sat among the leaves, he listened for any sounds – sounds of the plantation owners coming after him, but he heard only the crickets and an owl. He stood and brushed the leaves and dirt off his tattered pants, then froze. To his left something rustled the leaves. A twig snapped. More leaves crunched.

If he had not been standing still, he would never have seen it. In fact, now he wasn't even sure he had. It was so fast, so subtle, only the rustle of leaves gave the creature away.

His pulse thundered in his ears as he tried to hold his breath in hopes of hearing better. It was probably a deer, he thought, fighting to calm his body and mind. They came out at night, didn't they? Or maybe a raccoon, he surmised. He sprinted onward not waiting to find out.

Then, a shape passed in front of him, maybe six feet ahead. It appeared to be a human form as it walked upright on two legs. He crept forward, pausing between each step. He listened and crept. He broke into a jog and was knocked to the ground by something solid. It lay on top of him. Definitely human – no, nothing human could move that fast nor feel that hard.

"What do you want?" he asked as he fought to push the form off his body. It was like trying to move a boulder.

"What are you doing in the woods at this time of night?" a male voice, smooth, calm, inquired, not even breathing hard. There was an accent, which Kian did not recognize.

"Get off of me." Kian pushed against the man, but he was as hard as iron and as heavy as a horse.

"You did not answer my question. What are you doing in the woods at this time of night?"

The male's breath blew against his neck, cool and soft. The attacker's face hovered inches above his, but Kian could only discern the man's profile with no details.

He searched his mind for some answer that would sound plausible, but he could not think that quickly.

"I am looking for my wife." He hoped that would suffice.

"Wife? Slaves do not have wives, my nighttime friend."

The stranger rolled off Kian and yanked him by his arm to a standing position. He held fast to Kian's upper arm. His grip was solid and tight, unshakable.

"I have a wife," Kian snarled.

The man shook his head, "Tut, tut. You had a wife, but you are a slave now and no slave is permitted to marry. So, I ask you again, what are you doing in the woods at this time of night?"

What did this man want? He was not a Dunkirk. And surely no slave owner would stand in the forest and harass Kian with such insignificant questions. No, a slave owner would either have shot him by now, or dragged him back to the plantation.

"I was a free man once and I was married. My wife may be at the Shively plantation." It was always better to be truthful – that's what he had always told his children. He would soon see.

"But you are not free now. I see the collar around your neck."

Kian touched the metal ring around his throat.

"True," he eyed the silhouette before him. What did this man want with him? He had no time to spare. Kian took one-step back, but the man's grasp still held his arm and he too took one-step with Kian. "What are you going to do with me? I have no money to give you. As you already stated I am a slave. Are you going to take me back?"

"No. I do not think so."

Kian exhaled, "I need to keep going. I can't stay as I must be at the Shively plantation before dawn."

"You want to be free?" The stranger stepped so close Kian could feel the space shrink between them. The man stood eye to eye with him, which meant he was at least six feet as Kian stood 6'2".

"Of course, but I cannot be free. You already noticed my collar." More than anything, he wanted freedom. Freedom might enable him to find his wife and look for his children. Freedom would mean he was a man again.

"I can give you freedom – freedom like you have never known."

Kian glared at the man sideways, "How can you do that?"

"Let me save that for later. First, let me tell you what I can offer you. I can give you freedom from death - Freedom from illness and cold. You would gain strength unlike any man. You would have powers beyond your wildest dreams and it would enable you to leave this collar behind." The man paused and Kian swore he saw this man's eyes glow. They flickered like a dog's eyes at night, or maybe a cat's.

"No one can give me that." He happened upon a lunatic! In all of the possible scenarios Kian had envisioned, encountering a lunatic was not one of them. It just goes to show you that you can never be completely prepared. "I need to go now." Kian shrugged and tugged his arm trying to escape the man's vise grip. He let go and Kian nearly fell to the ground. He turned his back on the man and walked away listening for footsteps.

Before Kian had taken two steps, the man was in front of him and Kian bumped into him. It was like walking into a tree, solid, unyielding.

"How did you do that? You were behind me. I did not hear you move, or see you move."

He chuckled. "You can embody speed and agility too and be free, like me."

"What will I give up?" There always had to be a downside. In his 32 years, Kian knew something that sounded too perfect, often wasn't perfect. "You're going to give me all of this, why?"

"Let's say because I need something from you."

The stranger stepped closer and his chest nearly touched Kian's rapidly rising and falling chest. He wanted to run and he wanted to step away from this crazy man, but his body did not obey his mind.

Kian snickered, "I figured that. What do you want?"

"Answer me first – do you want to be free?"

"Bullocks, yes! I want to be free!"

The man slammed Kian's back against a tree. He forced his chin up and to the left exposing the right side of his throat. There was no moving as the man held him to the tree as tightly as if a boulder had fallen against him. Then, he bit Kian's neck. The man sucked and a deep burn ignited around the wound, sliding deeper into his shoulders, and then in his chest. Kian felt his body go limp. His eyes fluttered shut.

When he woke, he lay on the cold ground still in the forest, he presumed. The sky sparkled with stars – surprisingly serene considering he'd just been attacked. He turned his head and saw a boot. He tried to sit up but his body would not comply.

A deep voice above his head spoke, "You are hovering on the threshold of death. If I leave you now, you shall perish and never wake. If you drink from me, as I did you, you shall wake to find the freedom of which I described." He kneeled beside Kian. "Shall I leave you, or shall I give you the gift of freedom?"

He could feel himself slipping away. His body already cold and numb, his spirit began leaving him. He did not want to die a slave in this cold forest, beside a lunatic. Visions of his wife, her wide toothy smile flashed before him. He heard her soft, voice calling to him. He wanted to be free again. Free to search for her. Free to embrace his children. Free to be a man with his woman beneath him. Life was slipping away and the darkness was closing in around him. If this stranger was lying and simply a lunatic, he had nothing to lose now.

"Free-dom," Kian croaked.

"Then, drink."

The lunatic plastered his wrist against Kian's mouth. Something wet and sticky touched his lips – blood. His stomach lurched and he gagged, he thought he would be sick, but his body had no energy even to heave. The blood touched his tongue and he tasted the metallic flavor as he swallowed. He licked the blood from his lips and grimaced.

"Drink! Before the wound closes!"

Kian sucked hard and his mouth filled with the thick, sweet metallic tasting liquid. He coughed and gagged but he swallowed it. As he drank, fire coursed through is veins and he felt a surge of power in his body. The liquid fueled him, and he sucked harder.

The man yanked his wrist away and slipped his arms beneath Kian's body. He lifted him, as if her were no heavier than a child, and then ran. Kian's head fell back over the man's forearm and as the cool night air rushed over his burning skin, he slipped into a dream.

Virginia - 1673

He never found his wife or children. In his heart, he hoped they were still in Ireland. It kept him going, thinking they were free, even though he clearly was not.

For the last year, he had belonged to a family by the name of Dunkirk. Apparently, they paid about ninety pounds of cotton for him. That was extremely cheap for a slave, but the Dunkirks needed many workers to tend their large plantation. They farmed in the colony of Virginia and had hundreds of acres that needed cultivating. Kian worked the fields along side dark skinned people and other Irishmen, and as long as he made no trouble, he avoided lashings.

From sun up until sun down, he toiled in the fields, pulling weeds, removing any bugs from the leaves that might harm the plants. Sweat oozed from every pore of his body as the intense Virginian sun scalded his shoulders and back, something he'd never experienced in Ireland's cooler climate.

Just before sunset, Kian along with the rest of the slaves heard one of the workmen signal the end of the day. In unison, the sweaty, exhausted men, turned from the fields and shuffled back to their huts.

Inside the one room cabin, he fell onto his bed and dreamed. He woke in the middle of the night, sweat pouring off him, and looked around realizing it wasn't a nightmare. Indeed, he lay in a hut surrounded by snoring men, their bodies oozing of perspiration even in sleep. Slamming his head back onto his makeshift pillow, which consisted of a change of clothes rolled into a log, he sighed.

Nay, Fiona no longer lay beside him. Bereft of her warmth and her twinkling blue eyes, he tried to return to sleep and dream of her. There he could be with her. There he could see her still and smell her hair perfumed by the salt air. In his dreams, he felt her arms wrap around his waist, and her soft lips touch his. He could see his children running through the heather, laughing as they chased one another. He even heard the sheep bleating behind his house.

Then, the rooster crowed.

He woke and his heart ached once more.

The Dunkirk's fed their workers well, as they wanted their slaves healthy and strong. He supposed he was lucky in that sense. He had his health and was tall with good muscles. The work drove out his frustration, of which he had a never-ending supply. If there was one thing he could do without, it was the collar.

Kian tugged at the heavy metal encircling his throat. Apparently, in the past, some slaves had run away. To deter the slaves from attempting to escape, the Dunkirks collared their property. On the metal ring around Kian's neck, was the name of his owners and their address. Just like some folks branded sheep or cattle, he mused. The metal chafed his skin and sweat pooled beneath it.

He supposed he should be thankful that the Dunkirks even cared to monitor their salves. Some slave owners would hunt the runaway down, kill him, and then simply purchase a new one. Irish slaves were some of the cheapest so Kian tried to be irreplaceable.

One evening during dinner, Kian overheard men talking about a new shipment of slaves that the Shively family purchased. The Shively plantation was the nearest neighbor and even then, the farm was over five miles away. 

"….lots of women apparently. Mrs. Shively's going to have help in her kitchen now. Since that last Negro girl ran away, she hadn't been able to find a replacement." The slave slurped from his bowl.

"Aye, well, Mr. Shively will have another use for them." The other man shook his head and scowled.

"They're all from the island, poor bastards. Shivelys hate the Irish and are going to work them to the bone."

"Hey, Kian!" one of the men called.

He nodded at the man.

"Didn't you come from Dún Laoghaire?"

"Aye, why do you want to know?"

"No reason. I heard some of Shively's slaves were from Dún Laoghaire."

Kian's pulse throbbed. He sat up straight. All the moisture left his mouth. He cleared his throat and asked, "Do you know any of the women's names?"

"Nay, did ye have a wife, Kian?"

He did not answer. Instead, his mind began plotting his escape. It would be worth a lashing just to see his wife, to know she was alive.

***

The next night Kian went to bed as usual, but did not sleep. He lay awake for hours until the plantation and cabin were silent but for chirping crickets and scurrying mice. He rolled off his blanket, grabbed his bundle of clothes and food that he'd stored beneath a floorboard, and walked towards the door. One man rolled over and sniffed. Kian held his breath and eased the door open. It creaked. He stopped and listened. Satisfied that everyone was still asleep, he opened the door enough so that his body could slip through the crack.

Outside the cabin, the singing crickets and the barking dogs decrescendoed as he stepped onto the grass. He inhaled the crisp autumn air and swore he could smell the sea. Images of his wife combing wool from the Laird's sheep floated to his mind. He remembered her sitting on a stool outside their stone home, her long raven hair blowing in the cool sea breeze.

He needed to know she was alive and well.

The rocking sensation and stench of urine were the first things he noticed upon waking. He squinted and felt a throbbing above his left eye. His hands were still bound and he could not wipe, what probably was blood, off his forehead. Beneath his head, the rough floor of the cargo hold scratched his cheek. The smell of urine and feces stung his nose. The boat swayed and the contents in his stomach flowed in synchronization with the motion. He pulled himself to a sitting position, and then scanned the area looking for his family.

There were hundreds of people sitting shoulder to shoulder. Men, women, and children, huddled together like frightened sheep. Men stared at the floor or their feet, anywhere other than at one another. He peered over the faces stained with tears, heads bowed in shame and fear – but not one recognizable face. They must be from other villages. A spark of hope lightened his heart, and for a moment, he envisioned his family snug in their beds – the traders gone.

The dark wood of the cargo hold wrapped the interior in gloom. Sunlight shone through the boards above his head, creating columns of light that blinked on and off as the boat rocked. Footsteps tapped on the deck and muted, deep voices mumbled. Sniffling and hiccupping floated through the crowd like a wave on the water. He neither heard nor saw his family amongst these poor souls.

In a soft voice, he asked the old man beside him, "Have you seen a woman called Fiona? Black hair, fastened on top of her head, blue eyes."

Without lifting his gaze, the man shook his head.

Desperation mixed with something close to excitement boiled in his gut and before he had a second thought he hollered, "Fiona!" He held his breath and listened. Children whimpered and winced as he called for his wife again, Fiona!" Could they still be on shore? Perhaps the traders only captured the men from the village and then they released his family.

"Shh," the old man beside Kian elbowed him.

Feet pounded the deck overhead, stomped down the steps, and then an Englishman burst into the cargo area.

"No talking! The next one who even whispers gets thirty lashes!" This man with the smoky gray eyes was the same one he'd seen on shore. His cold stare looked left and then right. The man rubbed a hand over his prickly chin and then climbed back up to the deck.

Julie,

Ok, I see that these three were probably unfinished pieces, so maybe my feedback was premature? If it was, just tell me and I'll be sure to adjust the way I critique.  ALSO, I do not know what your background is or how much you know or don't know. So, when I give examples I try to give reasons for why I thought these areas required attention. If it is something you already know, just make me aware and I'll not add the reasons. I'll simply assume you know why I pointed it out. Did that make sense??? LOL!

What I like: Your style or "voice' when you write. It's a specific style and that is a very good thing. Voice is difficult to get and usually it happens naturally over time. So, kudos to you! You again stayed on topic. Your thoughts did not wander. Your transistions from one idea to another were smooth and seamless. 

Suggestions: After reading all three pieces, I think these are more journal entries or streams of conscienceness, rather than essays. Which makes a huge difference when giving feedback. As an example, starting sentences with conjunctions doesn't matter so much when you are journaling. Even when journaling though, I might try to keep all my sentences complete.

Example:

Your original sentence: "To follow: a rant."

I would just make that a complete sentence.

Redundancy is another HUGE issue for writers. Published authors have to be wary of doing this because redundancy bores the reader - especially if it is a redundancy of an idea. Ever read a novel or story where the author tells you five different ways that he/she doesn't like cake? After a while you're like, okay, I get it, you don't like cake. Then, you beginning skipping anything that is about not liking cake. :)

Example:

Your original sentence: "The whole entire point is that happiness is not going to come from inside your cubicle walls."

Take out words that have the same meaning (redundant), or words that don't help convey the meaning, but instead just add bulk.

"The point is that happiness is not going to come from inside your cubicle walls."

-or taking out the most -

"Happiness is not going to come from inside your cubicle."

-or taking out just one word-

"The entire point is that happiness is not going to come from inside your cubicle walls."

Choose which one still keeps the flavor/feeling of what you want to say and is the clearest to read.

I hope this all helps. Most of these things come out in the rewriting process. I just don't know yet what you know and don't know (my redundancy) - so please - if anything I say sounds condescending, I don't mean it that way. I am just trying to explain WHY I chose those things to point out. I've had most of these things pointed out in my writing and it all began with explanations which helped me tremendously. Of course, I still do these things - LOL!

Dee-

--- In stmaryscountywritersgroup@yahoogroups.com, stmaryscountywritersgroup@yahoogroups.com wrote:
>
>
> Hello,
>
> This email message is a notification to let you know that
> a file has been uploaded to the Files area of the stmaryscountywritersgroup
> group.
>
> File : /Julie/The Job.doc
> Uploaded by : jschlomer71 jschlomer71@...
> Description : Essay - draft
>
> You can access this file at the URL:
> http://groups.yahoo.com/group/stmaryscountywritersgroup/files/Julie/The%20Job.doc
>
> To learn more about file sharing for your group, please visit:
> http://help.yahoo.com/l/us/yahoo/groups/original/general.htmlfiles
>
> Regards,
>
> jschlomer71 jschlomer71@...
>

Hi Julie,

What I liked: Your idea never wandered. You stayed on topic throughout the
entire piece. Your points are well made and I agree with them [although that is
not necessary to make a good essay ;)].

Suggestions: You might want to reconsider beginning sentences with conjuctions
(but, and, or) when writing essays. Once might be okay in such a short piece;
however, when we use any word repetitively and in the same position, it can tire
the reader. I guess what I'm saying is to vary how you begin your sentences as
well as the length of your sentences and begin them with something other than a
conjunction. (which I found just fine - the length)

As an aside, beginning sentences with conjunctions in fiction writing, these
days, is okay. Fiction writers even use incomplete sentences as well, but not
often. It just depends on the genre - essays, reports, etc are a bit more formal
and have stricter rules. Creative writing, short stories, diaries, etc are more
lenient.

I agree completely with your premise. How on earth can normal people afford
those prices? I don't know of anyone either who pays such exhorbitant prices for
clothing.

Dee

--- In stmaryscountywritersgroup@yahoogroups.com,
stmaryscountywritersgroup@yahoogroups.com wrote:
>
>
> Hello,
>
> This email message is a notification to let you know that
> a file has been uploaded to the Files area of the stmaryscountywritersgroup
> group.
>
>   File        : /Julie/Fashion essay.doc
>   Uploaded by : jschlomer71 <jschlomer71@...>
>   Description : Another essay - draft
>
> You can access this file at the URL:
>
http://groups.yahoo.com/group/stmaryscountywritersgroup/files/Julie/Fashion%20es\
say.doc
>
> To learn more about file sharing for your group, please visit:
> http://help.yahoo.com/l/us/yahoo/groups/original/general.htmlfiles
>
> Regards,
>
> jschlomer71 <jschlomer71@...>
>

Julie,

GREAT! That's okay if you've never read Paranormal fiction. Your crits were
RIGHT ON! I just need to know (and I'll usually specify) where it stumps the
reader, if the characters are compelling, do you want to turn the page. Those
are things when I am rewriting I need to know first before I start nitty gritty
grammar, syntax, blah blah blah stuff. I'll post the 2nd part of the prologue.

Thank you and I'm working on all of yours. I have two done. If ever you want
very detailed critiques, please specify. What I mean by that is, grammar,
sentence structure, wording, repetitious ideas...It's almost a line by line
crit. Anyways, I'm off to post my feedback for you. ;)

Dee-

--- In stmaryscountywritersgroup@yahoogroups.com, "JulieS" <jschlomer71@...>
wrote:
>
> Hi Dee - I will definitely read your prologue. I'm glad you gave some
guidelines on the feedback you are looking for - that will help. I must admit
I've never read any Paranormal Romance before so this should be interesting.
>
> I am going to post a short essay I just wrote about an hour ago in a fit of
creativity. It's indicative of what I like to write at this point: my thoughts
and feelings about things. I have thought about branching out to fiction but
haven't gotten there yet.
>
> I am hoping to get some advice, help, maybe a little encouragement, from this
group. I need to talk with other people who love to write and can understand
what it's like.
>
> Also, your idea about posting challenges would be wonderful! That's one of my
favorite things from "Pen on Fire" - her exercises are so helpful. One of my
main issues is that I freeze up when I try to think of something to write.
>
> Thanks!
>
> Julie
>
> --- In stmaryscountywritersgroup@yahoogroups.com, "DeeRhine" <goldenlight2@>
wrote:
> >
> > Great Julie!
> >
> > Nice to hear from you. I posted a small exerpt from my prologue of a fnished
novel. I have not yet received feedback. I'm looking for how the reader feels
about Kian, the main character, if the scene is set up well, does it flow or are
there places where it doesn't work. I'm not looking for grammar or punctuation
yet. It's too early. It's a Paranormal Romance fyi.
> >
> > Feel free to post something for feedback. I have in the past considered
posting writing challenges (practices) for those who aren't currently working on
a piece. If that appeals to you let me know.
> >
> > Only post excerpts in the message section - longer pieces upload to the file
section.
> >
> > I hope to be setting up a meeting soon. Tell us anything about you that we
should know. What do you write, for how long, what are you hoping to get out of
such a group...
> >
> > Welcome Julie!
> >
> > Dee
> >
> > --- In stmaryscountywritersgroup@yahoogroups.com, "JulieS" <jschlomer71@>
wrote:
> > >
> > > Hi everyone - Thanks for letting me in! I welcome the opportunity to sit
down face to face and talk to all of you. I can make the Wed or Thurs meetings
from 6-8. Looking forward to getting started!
> > >
> > > Julie
> > >
> > > --- In stmaryscountywritersgroup@yahoogroups.com, "DeeRhine"
<goldenlight2@> wrote:
> > > >
> > > > Looks like the poll said:
> > > >
> > > > Wed and Thurs are the preferred days
> > > >
> > > > 6-8pm is the preferred time.
> > > >
> > > > Is there anyone who PLANNED on coming to the meetings and can NOT make
either of those days or that time? If you didn't plan on coming, please do NOT
respond.
> > > >
> > > > This time around we will have what is called a social hour or social
period where we can just "chat" before we begin critiquing. I don't want to rule
out the social aspect as I loved talking to the members of the group. I just
don't want to eliminate the writing aspect! :)
> > > >
> > > > Any ideas please suggest them -
> > > >
> > >
> >
>

Julie,

Without being entirely sure what kind of feedback you want, I'll give
you generic suggestions. Hope that is ok.

What I liked:  Your style was good. The transitions from one thought to
another were good too. Your writing had a natural flow to it, as if you
were talking with me, which is great - especially for fiction.

Suggestions: With essays, it's important to stick to a topic and not
wander off. " I Wanna Be a Writer", sets the reader up for hearing why
you want to write. As I read, I learned more about why you didn't think
retail would work for you than why you want to be a writer. Ask yourself
why you want to write and then give three reasons. Make paragraphs out
of each reason. OR you could simply retitle the piece into "Why Retail
Wasn't for Me"...or some other title.  The title just set me up for
understanding why you want to write.

Give it another try - as writers that is what we do - rewrite - rewrite
- rewrite...UGH! :)

Keep writing....

Dee




--- In stmaryscountywritersgroup@yahoogroups.com,
stmaryscountywritersgroup@yahoogroups.com wrote:
>
>
> Hello,
>
> This email message is a notification to let you know that
> a file has been uploaded to the Files area of the
stmaryscountywritersgroup
> group.
>
> File : /I Wanna Be a Writer.doc
> Uploaded by : jschlomer71 jschlomer71@...
> Description : Off the cuff essay
>
> You can access this file at the URL:
>
http://groups.yahoo.com/group/stmaryscountywritersgroup/files/I%20Wanna%\
20Be%20a%20Writer.doc
>
> To learn more about file sharing for your group, please visit:
> http://help.yahoo.com/l/us/yahoo/groups/original/general.htmlfiles
>
> Regards,
>
> jschlomer71 jschlomer71@...
>

Julie,

I've downloaded all of your files and will give what feedback I can. Is there
anything in particular for which you wish me to look? (transitions from one
paragraph/thought to another, grammar, flow, sentence structure, sentence length
and variation? etc)

Dee

--- In stmaryscountywritersgroup@yahoogroups.com,
stmaryscountywritersgroup@yahoogroups.com wrote:
>
>
> Hello,
>
> This email message is a notification to let you know that
> a file has been uploaded to the Files area of the stmaryscountywritersgroup
> group.
>
>   File        : /Julie/The Job.doc
>   Uploaded by : jschlomer71 <jschlomer71@...>
>   Description : Essay - draft
>
> You can access this file at the URL:
>
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>
> To learn more about file sharing for your group, please visit:
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>
> jschlomer71 <jschlomer71@...>
>

Kathi,

I am not familiar with that. I do know that there is a reference book that is
called "2009 Novel & Short Story Writer's Market (Novel and Short Story Writer's
Market) (Paperback)". I have an old copy but yes, the library has a few copies.
If you go to the reference desk and ask them for the book - asking for the one
that lists the agents/publishers etc for the most current year they will point
you to it. It lists suggestions, as well as agents, publishers etc for every
genre. There are different books for different markets (Poetry/short story etc)

I hope that helps.

Dee

--- In stmaryscountywritersgroup@yahoogroups.com, Kathleen Edwards
<kfedwards@...> wrote:
>
> Hi
> I can't come to your group because of schedule conflicts and vision
> problems that preclude night driving, and anyway, I'm mostly doing
> poetry these days, which isn't your focus.  But I'm wondering if you
> can help me.  I used to write short articles for Christian
> publications and recall that there was some kind of reference I could
> check in the Library that had publishers  of books and periodicals
> listed, but I don' t remember what it was called.  Can any of you
> point me to it.  There is a Bible study I have written that I might
> want to submit somewhere.
> Thanks.
>
>
> Kathi Edwards
>

Sorry it's taken me a while to get back to you. I  had my daughter's birthday to
deal with among other things. But I really appreciate your thorough detail and
that is the EXACT kind of feedback I'm looking for. Where does it slow you down
- where do you stumble. EXCELLENT suggestions. Thank you.

Now, I'm off to see what files were uploaded and I will give feedback if that is
desired. Thank you again!!!

Dee

--- In stmaryscountywritersgroup@yahoogroups.com, "JulieS" <jschlomer71@...>
wrote:
>
> So here's a little feedback for you.
>
> First of all, the flow is extremely good. Your attention to detail is
excellent and helps me get a visual of what is happening. That's the biggest
thing I took away from this - I could actually see what was happening.
>
> There are two spots where the description made me stumble and re-read the
previous couple of sentences - I have pasted the section below and put my
comments in parentheses.
> ___________________________________________________________________
>  "The English bastard at the end of the tether laughed deeply, "Where do ye
think ye're going?" The Englishman hauled the lead straight up.(what happened
when he hauled the lead straight up? Did Kian get brought to his knees? Because
in the next paragraph Kian stumbles to his knees and I thought he was already on
the ground) His hard gray eyes twinkled with enjoyment as he looked down at
Kian.
> >
> > Kian gagged, and his eyes bulged as the rope squeeze his throat. He stumbled
to his knees, easing the tension around his neck. Once on his feet, he glared at
his captures (captors)."
> _____________________________________________________________________
>
> In the part between describing Brannagh's ordeal and then switching to
background on how it began by the traders finding Kian and Fiona first, can you
add a little bit more about the other kids as an intro to their existence? The
focus on Brannagh somehow made me assume that she was an only child and when the
other kids appeared I was surprised.
>
> Everything else is great and I really like the cliffhanger at the end. I don't
get into this genre particularly but the prologue leaves me wondering what's
going to happen next.
>
> Hope some of this helps.
>
> Julie
>
> --- In stmaryscountywritersgroup@yahoogroups.com, "DeeRhine" <goldenlight2@>
wrote:
> >
> > Prologue
> >
> > Ireland - 1672
> >
> > Kian MacTiernan's jaw pulsed. He squeezed his eyes shut, and bowed his head
letting his shoulder-length hair fall forward hiding his pained expression. He
fisted his hands, and the rope tying his wrists together behind his back, burned
his skin. A chain around his ankles kept him from running. He could do nothing.
> >
> > That morning's breakfast rose into his throat, burning all the way up,
leaving a bitter taste in his mouth. His wife stood less than five steps from
him, tied at the hands and feet, as he was. He saw her mouth moving, her face
streaked with tears, and her body twisting to free itself from her captor's
clutch. He no longer heard his wife's cries because his pounding heart drowned
out everything else, but he could see her yelling, calling to him.
> >
> > "Let her go!" he bellowed.
> >
> > His mouth was his only weapon and an impotent one at that. He wanted to
destroy – to maim – to break limbs. The blood coursing through his veins heated
his face. He lunged forward, but the rope, tied around his neck went taut,
yanking him backward and onto the wet ground.
> >
> > The English bastard at the end of the tether laughed deeply, "Where do ye
think ye're going?" The Englishman hauled the lead straight up. His hard gray
eyes twinkled with enjoyment as he looked down at Kian.
> >
> > Kian gagged, and his eyes bulged as the rope squeeze his throat. He stumbled
to his knees, easing the tension around his neck. Once on his feet, he glared at
his captures. Someday he would kill these devils, he thought.
> >
> > "Daddy!" his youngest child, Brannagh, called to him. She had been sleeping
in her bed when the slave traders stormed his home. His watery eyes searched her
small form for any damage. She appeared dirty and terrified but not physically
harmed.
> >
> > The Englishmen had found him and his wife first. After they'd bound both
Kian and Fiona, the traders had yanked each child from their bed. They'd
startled poor Brannagh, and Kian had heard her shriek while he stood bound
outside his stone home. She shrieked and kicked as one man tucked her under his
arm like a bundle of wood and dropped her on the ground. A breath rushed out of
her when she'd hit the hard earth. Tears streamed down her cheeks, and she
grabbed her stomach.
> >
> > "She cannot breathe!" Kian had hollered. "For God's sake, help her!"
> >
> > Everyone had ignored his pleas. The men continued bringing his children out
and dropping them to the ground. Their long, white nightshirts stained with mud
as they struggled to their feet. With sleep still in their eyes, his children's
gazes darted from him to his wife. He would remember the looks on their faces
until the day he died. Their faces all flushed and hair tousled from the fight.
Their eyes wide with fright and shock, as they pleaded with him to make the men
release them and let them return to their cozy beds. More than anything Kian
wanted to embrace them and tell them, it would all be all right, but he knew
their lives would never be the same.
> >
> > Lorcan, his eldest son, had a swollen eye. They'd tied his wrists together
while inside the house; he must have put up quite a fight. Tighe, the middle
child, stood with his mouth agape. His deep green eyes rimmed with tears.
> >
> > He shook his head and looked at his children. "Da will get you later. Go
with the men. Don't fight them." He turned his face toward the thieves and
through gritted teeth snarled, "You hurt my family and I will kill you." Kian's
jaw pulsed with fury and frustration. What he wanted to do was to pummel every
man that had touched his wife and children. He wanted to see the men's faces
fill with the same terror as he saw now on his babes' faces. But he could only
stand and watch the traders push and shove, lift and carry his family.
> >
> > A man was supposed to protect his family, to keep them safe from harm. A
man's job was to provide food and shelter for his woman and children and Kian
had done that, but now he was failing them. Now, when they needed him most, he
watched powerless to protect them. He was allowing these thieves to steal what
mattered most in the world from him. The traders were taking not only his
family, but more so, they were taking his whole world.
> >
> > "Go on!" The man with the icy eyes shoved Kian toward the ship that was
anchored off the shore in Dublin Bay . He stumbled forward and took the first
step away from his family. He could not look back at them. He didn't want to see
the pain and disappointment on their faces. But he heard them - Their sobs and
his wife's soft pleas to leave him alone twisted his heart.
> >
> > A line of fifteen villagers forced to board the vessel formed along the
shore. All of them were from Dún Laoghaire. Kian braved a peek back at his
family. He noticed that they remained in front of their house. Perhaps the men
would leave them alone? Maybe the traders only came for him? That thought eased
the tightness in his chest just a bit.
> >
> > The slave traders had raided the village before dawn. No one had heard them
coming. The villagers had heard rumors that men were stealing children from
other villages across Ireland and taking them aboard ships, but Kian hadn't
believed this. He didn't understand why any person would do such a thing and
thought the stories myths.
> >
> > Now, he knew better.
> >
> > Kian stumbled in behind another man from his village. Neither man looked at
the other. They kept their gaze on the wet Irish sod that squished between their
toes.
> >
> > Where would they take him?
> >
> > He did not want to get on that boat. If he got on the boat, there would be
no escape. His life would be over. A swell of emotion built in his gut and
fluttered his heart sending his pulse racing. He had to think of a way to
escape. Every step he took, felt like a little death, one-step closer to
captivity and one-step away from everything he'd ever wanted or known. His mouth
went dry and sweat rolled from beneath his dark hair.
> >
> > The traders stomped around pushing men, women, and children into one line or
another. Whips cracked and screams erupted, but the men kept rounding more
people up near the shore. There had to be nearly fifty villagers and maybe
twenty shipmen, Kian observed.
> >
> > "There are more of us than them," Kian whispered leaning toward the man in
front of him.
> >
> > The man remained silent.
> >
> > Under his breath, Kian continued, "If we get on that boat, we're as good as
dead."
> >
> > The man turned an ear toward him and Kian persisted, "If we rush them, we
might be able to take a few down."
> >
> > The man snorted, "Aye, and then the rest of `em would kick our arses." He
turned away from Kian and stared at the back of the man's head in front of him.
> >
> > One of the Englishmen walked up behind Kian and shoved him forward. He
didn't like being shoved. All the anger and frustration boiled up and ran
through his veins. Without thinking, Kian jabbed an elbow into the man's solar
plexus. The man bent over and groaned dropping to his knees. It felt good to get
a hit in, if only for a moment. The blood still thundered in his ears
threatening to explode, but the jab had released a wee bit of pressure.
> >
> > A crewmember ran back to the end of the line where Kian stood smirking and
staring down at the wounded trader.
> >
> > "You'll not do that again!" A heavyset sailor lifted his arm, and slammed a
club across Kian's head. A sharp pain burst through his skull. He fell straight
to the ground and everything went dark.
> >
>

So here's a little feedback for you.

First of all, the flow is extremely good. Your attention to detail is excellent
and helps me get a visual of what is happening. That's the biggest thing I took
away from this - I could actually see what was happening.

There are two spots where the description made me stumble and re-read the
previous couple of sentences - I have pasted the section below and put my
comments in parentheses.
___________________________________________________________________
  "The English bastard at the end of the tether laughed deeply, "Where do ye
think ye're going?" The Englishman hauled the lead straight up.(what happened
when he hauled the lead straight up? Did Kian get brought to his knees? Because
in the next paragraph Kian stumbles to his knees and I thought he was already on
the ground) His hard gray eyes twinkled with enjoyment as he looked down at
Kian.
>
> Kian gagged, and his eyes bulged as the rope squeeze his throat. He stumbled
to his knees, easing the tension around his neck. Once on his feet, he glared at
his captures (captors)."
_____________________________________________________________________

In the part between describing Brannagh's ordeal and then switching to
background on how it began by the traders finding Kian and Fiona first, can you
add a little bit more about the other kids as an intro to their existence? The
focus on Brannagh somehow made me assume that she was an only child and when the
other kids appeared I was surprised.

Everything else is great and I really like the cliffhanger at the end. I don't
get into this genre particularly but the prologue leaves me wondering what's
going to happen next.

Hope some of this helps.

Julie

--- In stmaryscountywritersgroup@yahoogroups.com, "DeeRhine" <goldenlight2@...>
wrote:
>
> Prologue
>
> Ireland - 1672
>
> Kian MacTiernan's jaw pulsed. He squeezed his eyes shut, and bowed his head
letting his shoulder-length hair fall forward hiding his pained expression. He
fisted his hands, and the rope tying his wrists together behind his back, burned
his skin. A chain around his ankles kept him from running. He could do nothing.
>
> That morning's breakfast rose into his throat, burning all the way up, leaving
a bitter taste in his mouth. His wife stood less than five steps from him, tied
at the hands and feet, as he was. He saw her mouth moving, her face streaked
with tears, and her body twisting to free itself from her captor's clutch. He no
longer heard his wife's cries because his pounding heart drowned out everything
else, but he could see her yelling, calling to him.
>
> "Let her go!" he bellowed.
>
> His mouth was his only weapon and an impotent one at that. He wanted to
destroy – to maim – to break limbs. The blood coursing through his veins heated
his face. He lunged forward, but the rope, tied around his neck went taut,
yanking him backward and onto the wet ground.
>
> The English bastard at the end of the tether laughed deeply, "Where do ye
think ye're going?" The Englishman hauled the lead straight up. His hard gray
eyes twinkled with enjoyment as he looked down at Kian.
>
> Kian gagged, and his eyes bulged as the rope squeeze his throat. He stumbled
to his knees, easing the tension around his neck. Once on his feet, he glared at
his captures. Someday he would kill these devils, he thought.
>
> "Daddy!" his youngest child, Brannagh, called to him. She had been sleeping in
her bed when the slave traders stormed his home. His watery eyes searched her
small form for any damage. She appeared dirty and terrified but not physically
harmed.
>
> The Englishmen had found him and his wife first. After they'd bound both Kian
and Fiona, the traders had yanked each child from their bed. They'd startled
poor Brannagh, and Kian had heard her shriek while he stood bound outside his
stone home. She shrieked and kicked as one man tucked her under his arm like a
bundle of wood and dropped her on the ground. A breath rushed out of her when
she'd hit the hard earth. Tears streamed down her cheeks, and she grabbed her
stomach.
>
> "She cannot breathe!" Kian had hollered. "For God's sake, help her!"
>
> Everyone had ignored his pleas. The men continued bringing his children out
and dropping them to the ground. Their long, white nightshirts stained with mud
as they struggled to their feet. With sleep still in their eyes, his children's
gazes darted from him to his wife. He would remember the looks on their faces
until the day he died. Their faces all flushed and hair tousled from the fight.
Their eyes wide with fright and shock, as they pleaded with him to make the men
release them and let them return to their cozy beds. More than anything Kian
wanted to embrace them and tell them, it would all be all right, but he knew
their lives would never be the same.
>
> Lorcan, his eldest son, had a swollen eye. They'd tied his wrists together
while inside the house; he must have put up quite a fight. Tighe, the middle
child, stood with his mouth agape. His deep green eyes rimmed with tears.
>
> He shook his head and looked at his children. "Da will get you later. Go with
the men. Don't fight them." He turned his face toward the thieves and through
gritted teeth snarled, "You hurt my family and I will kill you." Kian's jaw
pulsed with fury and frustration. What he wanted to do was to pummel every man
that had touched his wife and children. He wanted to see the men's faces fill
with the same terror as he saw now on his babes' faces. But he could only stand
and watch the traders push and shove, lift and carry his family.
>
> A man was supposed to protect his family, to keep them safe from harm. A man's
job was to provide food and shelter for his woman and children and Kian had done
that, but now he was failing them. Now, when they needed him most, he watched
powerless to protect them. He was allowing these thieves to steal what mattered
most in the world from him. The traders were taking not only his family, but
more so, they were taking his whole world.
>
> "Go on!" The man with the icy eyes shoved Kian toward the ship that was
anchored off the shore in Dublin Bay . He stumbled forward and took the first
step away from his family. He could not look back at them. He didn't want to see
the pain and disappointment on their faces. But he heard them - Their sobs and
his wife's soft pleas to leave him alone twisted his heart.
>
> A line of fifteen villagers forced to board the vessel formed along the shore.
All of them were from Dún Laoghaire. Kian braved a peek back at his family. He
noticed that they remained in front of their house. Perhaps the men would leave
them alone? Maybe the traders only came for him? That thought eased the
tightness in his chest just a bit.
>
> The slave traders had raided the village before dawn. No one had heard them
coming. The villagers had heard rumors that men were stealing children from
other villages across Ireland and taking them aboard ships, but Kian hadn't
believed this. He didn't understand why any person would do such a thing and
thought the stories myths.
>
> Now, he knew better.
>
> Kian stumbled in behind another man from his village. Neither man looked at
the other. They kept their gaze on the wet Irish sod that squished between their
toes.
>
> Where would they take him?
>
> He did not want to get on that boat. If he got on the boat, there would be no
escape. His life would be over. A swell of emotion built in his gut and
fluttered his heart sending his pulse racing. He had to think of a way to
escape. Every step he took, felt like a little death, one-step closer to
captivity and one-step away from everything he'd ever wanted or known. His mouth
went dry and sweat rolled from beneath his dark hair.
>
> The traders stomped around pushing men, women, and children into one line or
another. Whips cracked and screams erupted, but the men kept rounding more
people up near the shore. There had to be nearly fifty villagers and maybe
twenty shipmen, Kian observed.
>
> "There are more of us than them," Kian whispered leaning toward the man in
front of him.
>
> The man remained silent.
>
> Under his breath, Kian continued, "If we get on that boat, we're as good as
dead."
>
> The man turned an ear toward him and Kian persisted, "If we rush them, we
might be able to take a few down."
>
> The man snorted, "Aye, and then the rest of `em would kick our arses." He
turned away from Kian and stared at the back of the man's head in front of him.
>
> One of the Englishmen walked up behind Kian and shoved him forward. He didn't
like being shoved. All the anger and frustration boiled up and ran through his
veins. Without thinking, Kian jabbed an elbow into the man's solar plexus. The
man bent over and groaned dropping to his knees. It felt good to get a hit in,
if only for a moment. The blood still thundered in his ears threatening to
explode, but the jab had released a wee bit of pressure.
>
> A crewmember ran back to the end of the line where Kian stood smirking and
staring down at the wounded trader.
>
> "You'll not do that again!" A heavyset sailor lifted his arm, and slammed a
club across Kian's head. A sharp pain burst through his skull. He fell straight
to the ground and everything went dark.
>

Hello,

This email message is a notification to let you know that
a file has been uploaded to the Files area of the stmaryscountywritersgroup
group.

   File        : /Julie/The Job.doc
   Uploaded by : jschlomer71 <jschlomer71@...>
   Description : Essay - draft

You can access this file at the URL:
http://groups.yahoo.com/group/stmaryscountywritersgroup/files/Julie/The%20Job.do\
c

To learn more about file sharing for your group, please visit:
http://help.yahoo.com/l/us/yahoo/groups/original/general.htmlfiles

Regards,

jschlomer71 <jschlomer71@...>

Hello,

This email message is a notification to let you know that
a file has been uploaded to the Files area of the stmaryscountywritersgroup
group.

   File        : /Julie/I Wanna Be a Writer.doc
   Uploaded by : jschlomer71 <jschlomer71@...>
   Description : Off the cuff essay

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Be%20a%20Writer.doc

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Regards,

jschlomer71 <jschlomer71@...>

Hello,

This email message is a notification to let you know that
a file has been uploaded to the Files area of the stmaryscountywritersgroup
group.

   File        : /Julie/Fashion essay.doc
   Uploaded by : jschlomer71 <jschlomer71@...>
   Description : Another essay - draft

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say.doc

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Regards,

jschlomer71 <jschlomer71@...>

Hello,

This email message is a notification to let you know that
a file has been uploaded to the Files area of the stmaryscountywritersgroup
group.

   File        : /I Wanna Be a Writer.doc
   Uploaded by : jschlomer71 <jschlomer71@...>
   Description : Off the cuff essay

You can access this file at the URL:
http://groups.yahoo.com/group/stmaryscountywritersgroup/files/I%20Wanna%20Be%20a\
%20Writer.doc

To learn more about file sharing for your group, please visit:
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Regards,

jschlomer71 <jschlomer71@...>

Hi Dee - I will definitely read your prologue. I'm glad you gave some guidelines
on the feedback you are looking for - that will help. I must admit I've never
read any Paranormal Romance before so this should be interesting.

I am going to post a short essay I just wrote about an hour ago in a fit of
creativity. It's indicative of what I like to write at this point: my thoughts
and feelings about things. I have thought about branching out to fiction but
haven't gotten there yet.

I am hoping to get some advice, help, maybe a little encouragement, from this
group. I need to talk with other people who love to write and can understand
what it's like.

Also, your idea about posting challenges would be wonderful! That's one of my
favorite things from "Pen on Fire" - her exercises are so helpful. One of my
main issues is that I freeze up when I try to think of something to write.

Thanks!

Julie

--- In stmaryscountywritersgroup@yahoogroups.com, "DeeRhine" <goldenlight2@...>
wrote:
>
> Great Julie!
>
> Nice to hear from you. I posted a small exerpt from my prologue of a fnished
novel. I have not yet received feedback. I'm looking for how the reader feels
about Kian, the main character, if the scene is set up well, does it flow or are
there places where it doesn't work. I'm not looking for grammar or punctuation
yet. It's too early. It's a Paranormal Romance fyi.
>
> Feel free to post something for feedback. I have in the past considered
posting writing challenges (practices) for those who aren't currently working on
a piece. If that appeals to you let me know.
>
> Only post excerpts in the message section - longer pieces upload to the file
section.
>
> I hope to be setting up a meeting soon. Tell us anything about you that we
should know. What do you write, for how long, what are you hoping to get out of
such a group...
>
> Welcome Julie!
>
> Dee
>
> --- In stmaryscountywritersgroup@yahoogroups.com, "JulieS" <jschlomer71@>
wrote:
> >
> > Hi everyone - Thanks for letting me in! I welcome the opportunity to sit
down face to face and talk to all of you. I can make the Wed or Thurs meetings
from 6-8. Looking forward to getting started!
> >
> > Julie
> >
> > --- In stmaryscountywritersgroup@yahoogroups.com, "DeeRhine" <goldenlight2@>
wrote:
> > >
> > > Looks like the poll said:
> > >
> > > Wed and Thurs are the preferred days
> > >
> > > 6-8pm is the preferred time.
> > >
> > > Is there anyone who PLANNED on coming to the meetings and can NOT make
either of those days or that time? If you didn't plan on coming, please do NOT
respond.
> > >
> > > This time around we will have what is called a social hour or social
period where we can just "chat" before we begin critiquing. I don't want to rule
out the social aspect as I loved talking to the members of the group. I just
don't want to eliminate the writing aspect! :)
> > >
> > > Any ideas please suggest them -
> > >
> >
>

Great Julie!

Nice to hear from you. I posted a small exerpt from my prologue of a fnished
novel. I have not yet received feedback. I'm looking for how the reader feels
about Kian, the main character, if the scene is set up well, does it flow or are
there places where it doesn't work. I'm not looking for grammar or punctuation
yet. It's too early. It's a Paranormal Romance fyi.

Feel free to post something for feedback. I have in the past considered posting
writing challenges (practices) for those who aren't currently working on a
piece. If that appeals to you let me know.

Only post excerpts in the message section - longer pieces upload to the file
section.

I hope to be setting up a meeting soon. Tell us anything about you that we
should know. What do you write, for how long, what are you hoping to get out of
such a group...

Welcome Julie!

Dee

--- In stmaryscountywritersgroup@yahoogroups.com, "JulieS" <jschlomer71@...>
wrote:
>
> Hi everyone - Thanks for letting me in! I welcome the opportunity to sit down
face to face and talk to all of you. I can make the Wed or Thurs meetings from
6-8. Looking forward to getting started!
>
> Julie
>
> --- In stmaryscountywritersgroup@yahoogroups.com, "DeeRhine" <goldenlight2@>
wrote:
> >
> > Looks like the poll said:
> >
> > Wed and Thurs are the preferred days
> >
> > 6-8pm is the preferred time.
> >
> > Is there anyone who PLANNED on coming to the meetings and can NOT make
either of those days or that time? If you didn't plan on coming, please do NOT
respond.
> >
> > This time around we will have what is called a social hour or social period
where we can just "chat" before we begin critiquing. I don't want to rule out
the social aspect as I loved talking to the members of the group. I just don't
want to eliminate the writing aspect! :)
> >
> > Any ideas please suggest them -
> >
>

Prologue

Ireland - 1672

Kian MacTiernan's jaw pulsed. He squeezed his eyes shut, and bowed his head
letting his shoulder-length hair fall forward hiding his pained expression. He
fisted his hands, and the rope tying his wrists together behind his back, burned
his skin. A chain around his ankles kept him from running. He could do nothing.

That morning's breakfast rose into his throat, burning all the way up, leaving a
bitter taste in his mouth. His wife stood less than five steps from him, tied at
the hands and feet, as he was. He saw her mouth moving, her face streaked with
tears, and her body twisting to free itself from her captor's clutch. He no
longer heard his wife's cries because his pounding heart drowned out everything
else, but he could see her yelling, calling to him.

"Let her go!" he bellowed.

His mouth was his only weapon and an impotent one at that. He wanted to destroy
– to maim – to break limbs. The blood coursing through his veins heated his
face. He lunged forward, but the rope, tied around his neck went taut, yanking
him backward and onto the wet ground.

The English bastard at the end of the tether laughed deeply, "Where do ye think
ye're going?" The Englishman hauled the lead straight up. His hard gray eyes
twinkled with enjoyment as he looked down at Kian.

Kian gagged, and his eyes bulged as the rope squeeze his throat. He stumbled to
his knees, easing the tension around his neck. Once on his feet, he glared at
his captures. Someday he would kill these devils, he thought.

"Daddy!" his youngest child, Brannagh, called to him. She had been sleeping in
her bed when the slave traders stormed his home. His watery eyes searched her
small form for any damage. She appeared dirty and terrified but not physically
harmed.

The Englishmen had found him and his wife first. After they'd bound both Kian
and Fiona, the traders had yanked each child from their bed. They'd startled
poor Brannagh, and Kian had heard her shriek while he stood bound outside his
stone home. She shrieked and kicked as one man tucked her under his arm like a
bundle of wood and dropped her on the ground. A breath rushed out of her when
she'd hit the hard earth. Tears streamed down her cheeks, and she grabbed her
stomach.

"She cannot breathe!" Kian had hollered. "For God's sake, help her!"

Everyone had ignored his pleas. The men continued bringing his children out and
dropping them to the ground. Their long, white nightshirts stained with mud as
they struggled to their feet. With sleep still in their eyes, his children's
gazes darted from him to his wife. He would remember the looks on their faces
until the day he died. Their faces all flushed and hair tousled from the fight.
Their eyes wide with fright and shock, as they pleaded with him to make the men
release them and let them return to their cozy beds. More than anything Kian
wanted to embrace them and tell them, it would all be all right, but he knew
their lives would never be the same.

Lorcan, his eldest son, had a swollen eye. They'd tied his wrists together while
inside the house; he must have put up quite a fight. Tighe, the middle child,
stood with his mouth agape. His deep green eyes rimmed with tears.

He shook his head and looked at his children. "Da will get you later. Go with
the men. Don't fight them." He turned his face toward the thieves and through
gritted teeth snarled, "You hurt my family and I will kill you." Kian's jaw
pulsed with fury and frustration. What he wanted to do was to pummel every man
that had touched his wife and children. He wanted to see the men's faces fill
with the same terror as he saw now on his babes' faces. But he could only stand
and watch the traders push and shove, lift and carry his family.

A man was supposed to protect his family, to keep them safe from harm. A man's
job was to provide food and shelter for his woman and children and Kian had done
that, but now he was failing them. Now, when they needed him most, he watched
powerless to protect them. He was allowing these thieves to steal what mattered
most in the world from him. The traders were taking not only his family, but
more so, they were taking his whole world.

"Go on!" The man with the icy eyes shoved Kian toward the ship that was anchored
off the shore in Dublin Bay . He stumbled forward and took the first step away
from his family. He could not look back at them. He didn't want to see the pain
and disappointment on their faces. But he heard them - Their sobs and his wife's
soft pleas to leave him alone twisted his heart.

A line of fifteen villagers forced to board the vessel formed along the shore.
All of them were from Dún Laoghaire. Kian braved a peek back at his family. He
noticed that they remained in front of their house. Perhaps the men would leave
them alone? Maybe the traders only came for him? That thought eased the
tightness in his chest just a bit.

The slave traders had raided the village before dawn. No one had heard them
coming. The villagers had heard rumors that men were stealing children from
other villages across Ireland and taking them aboard ships, but Kian hadn't
believed this. He didn't understand why any person would do such a thing and
thought the stories myths.

Now, he knew better.

Kian stumbled in behind another man from his village. Neither man looked at the
other. They kept their gaze on the wet Irish sod that squished between their
toes.

Where would they take him?

He did not want to get on that boat. If he got on the boat, there would be no
escape. His life would be over. A swell of emotion built in his gut and
fluttered his heart sending his pulse racing. He had to think of a way to
escape. Every step he took, felt like a little death, one-step closer to
captivity and one-step away from everything he'd ever wanted or known. His mouth
went dry and sweat rolled from beneath his dark hair.

The traders stomped around pushing men, women, and children into one line or
another. Whips cracked and screams erupted, but the men kept rounding more
people up near the shore. There had to be nearly fifty villagers and maybe
twenty shipmen, Kian observed.

"There are more of us than them," Kian whispered leaning toward the man in front
of him.

The man remained silent.

Under his breath, Kian continued, "If we get on that boat, we're as good as
dead."

The man turned an ear toward him and Kian persisted, "If we rush them, we might
be able to take a few down."

The man snorted, "Aye, and then the rest of `em would kick our arses." He turned
away from Kian and stared at the back of the man's head in front of him.

One of the Englishmen walked up behind Kian and shoved him forward. He didn't
like being shoved. All the anger and frustration boiled up and ran through his
veins. Without thinking, Kian jabbed an elbow into the man's solar plexus. The
man bent over and groaned dropping to his knees. It felt good to get a hit in,
if only for a moment. The blood still thundered in his ears threatening to
explode, but the jab had released a wee bit of pressure.

A crewmember ran back to the end of the line where Kian stood smirking and
staring down at the wounded trader.

"You'll not do that again!" A heavyset sailor lifted his arm, and slammed a club
across Kian's head. A sharp pain burst through his skull. He fell straight to
the ground and everything went dark.

Hi everyone - Thanks for letting me in! I welcome the opportunity to sit down
face to face and talk to all of you. I can make the Wed or Thurs meetings from
6-8. Looking forward to getting started!

Julie

--- In stmaryscountywritersgroup@yahoogroups.com, "DeeRhine" <goldenlight2@...>
wrote:
>
> Looks like the poll said:
>
> Wed and Thurs are the preferred days
>
> 6-8pm is the preferred time.
>
> Is there anyone who PLANNED on coming to the meetings and can NOT make either
of those days or that time? If you didn't plan on coming, please do NOT respond.
>
> This time around we will have what is called a social hour or social period
where we can just "chat" before we begin critiquing. I don't want to rule out
the social aspect as I loved talking to the members of the group. I just don't
want to eliminate the writing aspect! :)
>
> Any ideas please suggest them -
>

Looks like the poll said:

Wed and Thurs are the preferred days

6-8pm is the preferred time.

Is there anyone who PLANNED on coming to the meetings and can NOT make either of
those days or that time? If you didn't plan on coming, please do NOT respond.

This time around we will have what is called a social hour or social period
where we can just "chat" before we begin critiquing. I don't want to rule out
the social aspect as I loved talking to the members of the group. I just don't
want to eliminate the writing aspect! :)

Any ideas please suggest them -

I added a new application here. It is called a Profile page that is just for
this group so it is not displayed on all of yahoo.

If you wish, please feel free to use it. I will set up one myself and I will be
submitting some of my work for review and suggestions.

Please, post yours as well. Go ahead and post it either or both in the file
section and the message section.

No poetry please....

Thank you!

Dee

I've tried to delete that reminder many times - I even took the actual file and
deleted it. I have NO idea why it is still sending it out.

HOWEVER, we WILL begin meeting again. I am waiting until after Thanksgiving.

I approved the new member, but you may approve the member too. If I decide I can
change that and recind the invitation.

I'll try again to delete that message.

But yes, after Thanksgiving I will set up a day and time. It will still be on
Wed, it looks like. And probably at 7pm again as I only heard from two people
other than myself.

sorry about the confusion. I'm working on deleting the file AGAIN.

Take care,
Dee

Wed and Thurs won in the poll

With the times 6-8.

Is there anyone who CAN'T meet on either of those days?

It begins today! 2000 words a day will get you 60,000 words by the end of Nov.
That also gives you a buffer for Thanksgiving.

Anyone up to the challenge?

Sign up at thelink I provided in the link section.

We'll start meeting soon and can use this as our foccal point.

It looks like Wed and Thursdays from 6-8 are winning in the polls right now. If
you haven't and you want to - cast your vote!