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MM Pollard
July 31st, 2012, 11:22 PM
Please post your homework and questions on Lesson 1 here. MM

CarolD
August 2nd, 2012, 06:15 PM
MM, I wasn't sure how much of our ms you wanted to see. Below are five short paragraphs. Hope it isn't too much! Thanks.
_______________________
The sunlight’s warmth lay a spider-web across the gray marble floor, yet a chill cut to Megan's bones. Death hung in the air. She smelled it. Felt it. Her senses alive with its familiarity. Each click of her heels inched her closer to a hissing respirator in room 407. <o:p></o>
Accommodating theVail attorney’s request, providing closure to a chain of unhappy incidents in her past, was not what she’d had in mind. Still, she’d come.<o:p></o>
Megan pressed three fingers against her temples and moved into the room. Facing the man in the slanted bed, would be the hardest thing she'd done since her husband and son's death.<o:p></o>
Uncertain of his feelings, or if he was even aware she was there, Megan moved into the room and stopped beside her father's bed. She was unprepared for the toll the terminal illness had taken on his body.<o:p></o>
Megan wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of seeing her tears. With a smile pasted on her face, she braved seeing the man who no longer resembled her father.<o:p></o>

dmcomfort
August 2nd, 2012, 09:06 PM
He shifted, twigs beneath his heavy boot snapping, the sound loud in the silence of the night. Cool air blew across his body, invading beneath the hefty jacket wrapped around him but doing nothing to decrease the heat building within. He shifted closer, his hot breath creating rounded white circles on the glass pane.

His eyes caressed over her body, his hands itching to make it a physical caress as she teased him with her slow, sultry ways. A small smile played on the edges of her lips, secret musings holding her thoughts as clear as a picture across her face. She undid the bottom button of her white blouse and let the silk slide off her shoulders and to the floor. The material wisped to the ground as a plastic bag would dance on a windy day. His eyes followed the fabric, taking it all in, never getting enough. He wanted to savor this, wanted to possess her.

As the shirt settled in a pool at her feet, his gaze moved up, savoring every inch of her legs, on over the rounded curve of her lush bottom, before coming to rest on her delicate hands, moving in jerky movements to undo the skirt hanging from her hips. One snap, two, the slide of a zipper and a push, then the material was joining its lost mate to the floor.

He groaned, moved his hand to rub the increasing pressure of his groan. His other hand tightened against his pant leg, bunching the rough cloth in his fist in an attempt to stay rooted to the spot. He wouldn’t go to her, not yet. He’d make her wait, tease himself with time, and build the anticipation of meeting. He’d cause the both of them to coil so tight it would feel as if the first touch of his skin against hers was heaven. For now, he would only watch.

Smooth skin filled his gaze, eating up the contrast of caramel coloring with beautiful lace covering hidden treasures. Her body, while magnificent, did not dare to hold his attention and instead he latched on to the cloth wrapping itself around her as if a lover clinging from being away too long.

Thin ivory straps wrapped her lush hips like a peach to its pit, encompassing, cocooning its surprise. Twin mounds were held in a loving embrace only a new mother could rival. The ache increased in between his legs and he gave it a squeeze. Breath panted in the thick of parted lips, his face growing sweaty under the cloth, his body heating to an inferno which rivaled lava.

He wanted her.

They had to wait.

He must.

The man inched closer, riveted. Her breast jutted out, her back arching as she reached behind her and unsnapped the clasps holding secrets captive. His groan turned into a breathy moan as he increased the grip he held on himself. The material flitted down to join its family, baring her beautiful breasts to him. Dark brown areolas stared back at him and the tension building inside his stomach spread, warmth gathering low before the precipice broke free.

The hand that had been holding his jeans slapped against the wall, the sound startling the dark haired beauty inside. Hot pulses of liquid pushed from his body as erotic pleasures heightened as she turned to stare at the window, her eyes widening as she caught sight of his covered face. She screamed, her hands moving to cover her body in an instinct. He shuddered as the last pulses left him. She dashed across the room and he turned, leaving the spot he kept warm for the past hour. Watching. Waiting. For the right time.

MM Pollard
August 2nd, 2012, 11:04 PM
Clarification of homework:
post 4 or 5 paragraphs of your revised text. MM

kalinya
August 2nd, 2012, 11:59 PM
At last! Craig was unsettled by the traitorous and unwelcome thought. Wrapping both hands around the chilled bottle, he discreetly swallowed then forced his frozen limbs to move; to turn him around to confront She-Who-Was-The-Bane-Of-His-Life.
Personal space was a concept Jenni Bracken had never heard of. Not when it came to him, at any rate. He hooked the refrigerator door closed to stop himself committing the indignity of backing into the bloody thing when he went into retreat. And he had to go into retreat. She was far too close - and wearing far too little. God! What was she wearing, anyway? Some soft slinky floor length wrap that draped itself much too faithfully over breasts that looked ripe and suspiciously unfettered.
Dear God. She's all grown up. Stunning. Perfect. Off limits! Off limits! His brain screeched the warning, not that his idiotic body took any bloody notice! His mouth was filling with saliva; his lips seemed to tingle while his tongue thickened; his hands itched with the need to touch her; and below his belt - well, now his pants felt reeeeallll crowded. After a swift sweep of his hand reassured him that the fall of his buttoned up jacket protected his secrets, he swallowed the saliva and found his voice. "Jenni." Shit! He sounded like a stuffy old man! Maybe that's a bonus? "Why are you running around the house dressed like-." Words failed him and the brazen little madam marked the fact with a wide grin that was both mocking and triumphant.
"It's just my robe" she said deeply.
And had the nerve to shift a little closer! Craig was on the verge of hyperventilating. He hugged the Bollinger tighter to his sternum and tried to put a little more distance between them. All he managed to do was back up against the kitchen cupboards. "Just?" he mocked and managed to flick her appearance with a derisive glance. "Looks more like a gift wrapped invitation, kiddo." It was truth so heavily coated in derision that even she should have been offended. Not the least deflated by his remark, she clasped her hands behind her back and twisted from side to side.

madcapmaggie
August 3rd, 2012, 01:19 PM
Please post your homework and questions on Lesson 1 here. MM
*** Sorry to be late posting this. I'm still trying to wrap my mind around the fact that my book has just been published, my debit card information was compromised, and one of our dogs downed some mouse poison. Yes, he's fine now. *** Margaret, sincerely hoping for a very dull week ***

Captain Chambers escorted me out of his office and led me to a hover car. After stowing my few belongings in the back seat, we drove over to his house. What a dump. Stains were scattered over the oatmeal-colored carpet and the dingy walls were peppered with holes. Even though our place beat it by a league, it didn't make me feel better.
In the kitchen, the aroma of sugar and cinnamon filled the air, and a plate of cookies stood on the counter. My mouth watered. While I hesitated in the doorway, Mrs. Chambers hurried over. She was tiny, barely reaching my shoulder. A small girl lurked behind her. Messy brown hair framed her face.
"Come in, come in. I'm afraid you'll have to bunk in with Alan. I hope it's all right." She twisted her hands together and glanced up at Captain Chambers. After he frowned at her, she dropped her eyes.
Captain Chambers said, "We're offering him a home. Of course he won't mind."
"I have a father. He's in the hospital." I wasn't some charity case, even though I was stuck on an alien planet with a father I despised as my only family. What if something happened to him? I couldn't stay here forever. This base was the only permanent human, er, Terran, habitation on this planet. A sudden vision of me alone on the spaceport landing field rose in my mind. My hands started to shake, and I thrust them into my pocket, hoping no one would notice. Was that a spirit vision, or plain and simple fear?
"Marie, I'll leave you to handle this." Then Captain Chambers turned and left.

Kaye Spencer
August 3rd, 2012, 05:05 PM
Belly down on cold concrete, Ceara Rocchelli fought her way to consciousness. Dirty, oily garage aromas accompanied her on the slow ascent into disoriented awareness. She squinted through the stale, dank cigarette smoke hanging in the air as she stared straight ahead through semi-darkness. Many seconds passed before her foggy brain recognized the thin, blurry glow in the distance as light peeking from under a closed door. There was something important about that light, but the thought faded before she could grab hold of it. Running her tongue over her dry lips, she tasted blood. With each blink, it was harder to reopen her eyes. The tantalizing lure of warm, blissful sleep beckoned. She was bone-deep cold and so tired…

She jerked awake with a gasping sob, and the movement sent a sharp, stabbing pain knifing across her shoulders and down her back. Despite the throbbing in her head, she planted her hands on the concrete and pushed upright. Metal rattled and scraped, and her right arm caught. She gawked stupidly at her handcuffed wrist and the short length of chain attached to it. Several more seconds passed before it hit her that both she and the chain were connected to the wall.

Panic blazed like a wildfire through her body. She tore at the cold steel, gouging her wrists raw with futile clawing. She blinked furiously to clear her vision of the tears dissolving the tenuous hold she had on rational thinking. Jumping up, she started to yell for help then clamped her mouth shut when the sound of angry, muffled voices beyond the door came to her. Holding her breath, she didn't move. Somehow she knew her situation would be worse if she brought attention to herself.

Think, damn it. Think. Why am I chained? Who chained me? Where am I?

Wading through the thick quagmire of her sluggish thinking aggravated the throbbing behind her eyes. The last thing she remembered was something—no someone—had hit her. She touched the knot near the crown of her head and felt crusted blood matted in her hair. Her nurse’s training prompted her to check herself over for other injuries, but she found nothing worse than bruises and abrasions.

Shivering brought her back to her immediate captive dilemma, and she hugged herself against the frigid air, shuffling her feet and rubbing her arms to warm-up. The meager streetlight filtering through grimy ceiling-level windowpanes offered a dim view of her warehouse prison of stacked boxes and other garage paraphernalia.

Disconnected, fleeting snippets of events surfaced in her memory. She remembered going to the hospital for her shift then going on an ambulance run and returning to the hospital. As the images became clearer, her heartbeat quickened, anxiety gripped her. She'd taken a hack to the train station… waited… recognized… caught—

Whipping around, she stared at the narrow ribbon of light across the room. Cold, empty fear turned her stomach. Hagen. Almost her liberator. They hadn’t made it. She was certain Hagen was still out there with Eddie’s goons working him over.

MM Pollard
August 3rd, 2012, 06:33 PM
Margaret, debit cards are evil! I refuse to have one! Now if I could just hold on to my check book....MM

MM Pollard
August 3rd, 2012, 06:47 PM
Carol, I can't picture your first sentence: The sunlight’s warmth lay a spider-web across the gray marble floor, yet a chill cut to Megan's bones.
This sentence tells in a quick summary in two gerund phrases. Gerunds are -ing verbs used as nouns. Here both phrases are a compound subject. Because there are two, your verb should be were. Add and and drop the comma after request like this: Accommodating theVail attorney’s request and providing closure to a chain of unhappy incidents in her past were not what she’d had in mind. [when?] Still, she’d come.<o:p></o
Megan pressed three fingers against her temples and moved into the room. Facing the man in the slanted bed, would be the hardest thing she'd done since her husband and son's death.<o:p> Delete the comma after bed -- you are using another gerund phrase as the subject of this sentence. </o
Here: you have a participial phrase -- uncertain of his feelings -- this one is okay. Uncertain of his feelings, or if he was even aware she was there, Megan moved into the room and stopped beside her father's bed. She was unprepared for the toll the terminal illness had taken on his body.<o:p></o
[Don't repeat proper names so much.] Megan wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of seeing her tears. Maybe it's just moi, but I think this would be better before the gerund compound subjects. With a smile pasted on her face, she braved seeing the man who no longer resembled her father.<o:p></o[/QUOTE]

The only pp you have works. Yea! Gerunds are my other pet peeve. I have a workshop on them in November -- Passive Writing: Do You Really Want to Send Your Reader into a Coma? For more info, e-mail or message me. MM

MM Pollard
August 3rd, 2012, 06:55 PM
Comfort, you have several participial phrases in your selection here. They work because you have used them to describe the building tension.
You hop out of the guy's head at: The man inched closer, riveted.
If the man is the narrator, he isn't going to think of himself as the man.

Good job.

MM

saibot11
August 3rd, 2012, 11:24 PM
I thought I had posted my homework. I am showing you my worst example.
Thanks. After your explanation, you cleared up some issues I had with “ing” words at the beginning of sentences and when to use commas.

Original: When Dusty opened his eyes he saw the image of the pretty blonde sitting on tree stump reading. Blinking, she disappeared. (This is a dreadful hanging participial. The girl didn’t blink. Dusty did.)
Changed: When Dusty opened his eyes, he noticed a pretty blonde, sitting and reading a book under a tree. He blinked; she disappeared.

MM Pollard
August 4th, 2012, 01:33 PM
Jeanne, you are sooo right! I'm glad I could help! MM

Original: When Dusty opened his eyes he saw the image of the pretty blonde sitting on tree stump reading. Blinking, she disappeared. (This is a dreadful hanging participial. The girl didn’t blink. Dusty did.)
Changed: When Dusty opened his eyes, he noticed a pretty blonde, sitting and reading a book under a tree. He blinked; she disappeared.

MM Pollard
August 4th, 2012, 04:37 PM
Kalinya, as I read your homework, I've added in [ ] anything I thought was missing.


At last! Craig was unsettled by the traitorous and unwelcome thought. Wrapping both hands around the chilled bottle, he discreetly swallowed[,] then forced his frozen limbs to move; to turn him around to confront She-Who-Was-The-Bane-Of-His-Life. [ I would delete to move and the semicolon.]
[You have a participial phrase here beginning with wrapping. It's confusing because you have him wrapping his hands around the bottle and then he swallowed. Did he take a drink from the bottle?]
Personal space was a concept Jenni Bracken had never heard of. Not when it came to him, at any rate. He hooked the refrigerator door closed to stop himself [from] committing the indignity of backing into the bloody thing [thing is vague] when he went into retreat. And he had to go into retreat. She was far too close - and wearing far too little. God! What was she wearing, anyway? [this question seems unnecessary since he already said she was wearing too little] Some soft slinky floor length wrap that draped itself much too faithfully over breasts that looked ripe and suspiciously unfettered.
Dear God. She's all grown up. Stunning. Perfect. [begin new paragraph here when you change the tone] Off limits! Off limits! His brain screeched the warning, not that his idiotic body took any bloody notice! His mouth was filling with saliva; his lips seemed to tingle while his tongue thickened; his hands itched with the need to touch her; and below his belt - well, now his pants felt reeeeallll crowded. After a swift sweep of his hand reassured him that the fall of his buttoned up jacket protected his secrets, he swallowed the saliva and found his voice. "Jenni." Shit! He sounded like a stuffy old man! Maybe that's a bonus? "Why are you running around the house dressed like-." Words failed him and the brazen little madam marked the fact with a wide grin that was both mocking and triumphant.
"It's just my robe" she said deeply.
And had the nerve to shift a little closer! Craig was on the verge of hyperventilating. He hugged the Bollinger tighter to his sternum and tried to put a little more distance between them. All he managed to do was back up against the kitchen cupboards. "Just?" he mocked and managed to flick her appearance with a derisive glance. "Looks more like a gift wrapped invitation, kiddo." It was truth so heavily coated in derision that even she should have been offended. Not the least deflated by his remark, she clasped her hands behind her back and twisted from side to side.
Your last line is a pov jump. Unless Craig can read her mind, he can't know if his remark offended her or not unless she tells him how she feels. He can guess from her behavior, but you need to make sure your reader knows that Craig is guessing.

Any questions? MM

MM Pollard
August 4th, 2012, 04:48 PM
Margaret, you did a great job with this piece.
First, I want everyone to look at: After stowing my few belongings in the back seat, we drove over to his house.
stowing ... is NOT a participial phrase here. It follows after -- a preposition in this case. The phrase is the object of the preposition. Technically, we call -ing constructions used as nouns -- GERUNDS.

You do have a participial phrase later. She was tiny, barely reaching my shoulder. Reaching my shoulder describes she. Here we have an example of a phrase doing a good job of emphasizing and SHOWING at the same time.
She was tiny -- tells. Barely reaching my shoulder -- shows the reader just how tiny she is.

Any questions? MM

MM Pollard
August 4th, 2012, 05:01 PM
Kaye, I have underlined all of the participles and particpial phrases in your piece. I don't suggest that you rewrite all of them. I just want you to be aware of this tendency. Any questions? MM


Belly down on cold concrete, Ceara Rocchelli fought her way to consciousness. Dirty, oily garage aromas accompanied her on the slow ascent into disoriented awareness. She squinted through the stale, dank cigarette smoke hanging in the air as she stared straight ahead through semi-darkness. Many seconds passed before her foggy brain recognized the thin, blurry glow in the distance as light peeking from under a closed door. There was something important about that light, but the thought faded before she could grab hold of it. Running her tongue over her dry lips, she tasted blood. With each blink, it was harder to reopen her eyes. The tantalizing lure of warm, blissful sleep beckoned. She was bone-deep cold and so tired…

She jerked awake with a gasping sob, and the movement sent a sharp, stabbing pain knifing across her shoulders and down her back. Despite the throbbing in her head, she planted her hands on the concrete and pushed upright. Metal rattled and scraped, and her right arm caught. She gawked stupidly at her handcuffed wrist and the short length of chain attached to it. Several more seconds passed before it hit her that both she and the chain were connected to the wall.

Panic blazed like a wildfire through her body. She tore at the cold steel, gouging her wrists raw with futile clawing. She blinked furiously to clear her vision of the tears dissolving the tenuous hold she had on rational thinking. Jumping up, she started to yell for help [, but] then clamped her mouth shut when the sound of angry, muffled voices beyond the door came to her. Holding her breath, she didn't move. Somehow she knew her situation would be worse if she brought attention to herself.

Think, damn it. Think. Why am I chained? Who chained me? Where am I?

Wading through the thick quagmire of her sluggish thinking [this is a gerund phrase used as the subject of the sentence] aggravated the throbbing behind her eyes. The last thing she remembered was something—no someone—had hit her. She touched the knot near the crown of her head and felt crusted blood matted in her hair. Her nurse’s training prompted her to check herself over for other injuries, but she found nothing worse than bruises and abrasions.

Shivering brought her back to her immediate captive dilemma, and she hugged herself against the frigid air, shuffling her feet and rubbing her arms to warm-up. [warm up] The meager streetlight filtering through grimy ceiling-level windowpanes offered a dim view of her warehouse prison of stacked boxes and other garage paraphernalia.

Disconnected, fleeting snippets of events surfaced in her memory. She remembered going to the hospital for her shift [,and] then going on an ambulance run and returning to the hospital. As the images became clearer, her heartbeat quickened, anxiety gripped her. She'd taken a hack to the train station… waited… recognized… caught—

Whipping around, she stared at the narrow ribbon of light across the room. Cold, empty fear turned her stomach. Hagen. Almost her liberator. They hadn’t made it. She was certain Hagen was still out there with Eddie’s goons working him over.

kalinya
August 4th, 2012, 05:24 PM
No questions, MM! Thanks for this - you're giving me that extra little nudge I need so that I can look at my work like a reader does - ie: knowing nothing of what's in my head! Thank you.

Kaye Spencer
August 4th, 2012, 05:34 PM
This particular piece is in first draft, so it still has considerable editing ahead of it. I'll be watchful of those darn participles on the second edit.:detective:

Kaye

janet2write
August 5th, 2012, 08:24 PM
I'm very late in getting going on this class. Here's my post for the beginnings of a wip. I was unable to figure out how to double space when I did cut and paste. My original document is all double spaced and has correct indents. I'm only pasting a short couple paragraphs as I go into dialog next and will post that for lesson 2.
Janet R.

Will stood watching the willowy redhead leaning against the railing of the patio and staring out at the ocean. She rolled her head along the back of her shoulders, then rolled those creamy shoulders as if trying to ease the tension he could almost feel roiling off of her. He’d been watching her all evening as she sat and talked to Will’s CO, Commander DiSantes and the CO’s wife, Amelia. After making some discrete inquiries he’d found out she was unattached and hadn’t arrived with the DiSantes’ or anyone else for that matter, for either the BUD/S graduation and transition ceremony or the party afterward.
The dress she wore was a deep emerald green with thin straps and a deep cut back exposing her shoulder blades. It clung to perfectly sized breasts and down along her slender ribcage to a vee at her hips where it flared slightly. The warm breeze wafting over the patio caused the lightweight material to swirl around her thighs exposing the slits at each side of the dress running from mid thigh to where the hem now wrapped around her toned calves.
When she leaned forward into the rail, seemingly unaffected by the wind in her hair or the fact that her dress was now plastered between her legs, Will figured it was time to make his move.
Making sure he came at her from the side so he’d be in her peripheral vision, he walked onto the patio and handed her a wine glass with club soda and a twist of lime. Yeah, his inquiries had given that little bit of intel also; she was a non-drinker with an alcoholic father.
“Hello. I figured you might like this since it’s not cooling off in the least, even with the wind picking up.”
She turned narrowed eyes toward the glass and tilted her head slightly. “I don’t drink, but thank you for thinking of me.”

janet2write
August 5th, 2012, 09:04 PM
Lesson 1 corrections.
I can see at least one sentence that may be too long. And, I left out a hyphen with mid thighs. I changed "the dress" to read "her dress". I underlined those corrections. I'm not sure how to fix this run on sentence. I tried making it two sentences, but it didn't sound right.
Janet R.

The warm breeze wafting over the patio caused the lightweight material to swirl around her thighs exposing the slits at each side of her dress running from mid-thigh to where the hem now wrapped around her toned calves.

MM Pollard
August 6th, 2012, 01:46 PM
Janet, I'm sorry. I replied to your second post before I read your first one. OOPS. MM


Janet, that's a long one. Let me ask you some questions.
1. Does the reader already know the character is on the patio?
2. Is this the first time you have described her dress?
3. Why is the info in this sentence important? If it's old news that you are repeating, you can delete it.
4. If describing the dress in this much detail is important, then you need to slow down and describe it.

What if --
In the warm breeze, her chiffon (instead of lightweight fabric -- I think chiffon is lightweight -- it's been ages since I sewed anything) dress swirled around her thighs at the side slits, exposing her (adjective to modify thighs) thighs and her toned calves.

In the warm breeze, her ankle-length chiffon dress swirled round her thighs at the side slits, exposing her toned thighs and calves. 22 words
It was as if the breeze wanted her naked. She wondered what Jesse would do if the breeze had its way.
What I have added here could be so off-base for your scene, but the point is that description should be there for a reason -- to tell us something about the characters or the setting or further the plot. You may already have done that in your next sentence.

The original is 38 words.
MM

Lesson 1 corrections.
I can see at least one sentence that may be too long. And, I left out a hyphen with mid thighs. I changed "the dress" to read "her dress". I underlined those corrections. I'm not sure how to fix this run on sentence. I tried making it two sentences, but it didn't sound right.
Janet R.

The warm breeze wafting over the patio caused the lightweight material to swirl around her thighs exposing the slits at each side of her dress running from mid-thigh to where the hem now wrapped around her toned calves.

MM Pollard
August 6th, 2012, 01:55 PM
Janet, with Will giving the description of the dress, you can add how she and this dress affect him. What does he like? What turns him on?

MM


I'm very late in getting going on this class. Here's my post for the beginnings of a wip. I was unable to figure out how to double space when I did cut and paste. My original document is all double spaced and has correct indents. I'm only pasting a short couple paragraphs as I go into dialog next and will post that for lesson 2.
Janet R.

Will stood watching the willowy redhead leaning against the railing of the patio and staring out at the ocean. She rolled her head along the back of her shoulders, then rolled those creamy shoulders as if trying to ease the tension he could almost feel roiling off of her. He’d been watching her all evening as she sat and talked to Will’s CO, Commander DiSantes and the CO’s wife, Amelia. After making some discrete inquiries he’d found out she was unattached and hadn’t arrived with the DiSantes’ or anyone else for that matter, for either the BUD/S graduation and transition ceremony or the party afterward.
The dress she wore was a deep emerald green with thin straps and a deep cut back exposing her shoulder blades. It clung to perfectly sized breasts and down along her slender ribcage to a vee at her hips where it flared slightly. The warm breeze wafting over the patio caused the lightweight material to swirl around her thighs exposing the slits at each side of the dress running from mid thigh to where the hem now wrapped around her toned calves.
When she leaned forward into the rail, seemingly unaffected by the wind in her hair or the fact that her dress was now plastered between her legs, Will figured it was time to make his move.
Making sure he came at her from the side so he’d be in her peripheral vision, he walked onto the patio and handed her a wine glass with club soda and a twist of lime. Yeah, his inquiries had given that little bit of intel also; she was a non-drinker with an alcoholic father.
“Hello. I figured you might like this since it’s not cooling off in the least, even with the wind picking up.”
She turned narrowed eyes toward the glass and tilted her head slightly. “I don’t drink, but thank you for thinking of me.”

lynda_frazier
August 7th, 2012, 05:02 PM
I hope I did this right. Let me know if I'm off track on this lesson.
Thanks
Lynda

LESSON 1 BEFORE:
Five more minutes. He would have everything he needed in just five minutes. <ST1:p<st1:City w:st="on">Tracy</st1:City></ST1:p’s life depended on it.
Sweat soaked into Ron’s T-shirt as his shoulders strained against the weight of the heavy backpack. He struggled to hear over the pounding in his ears, but the alley echoed with every movement. Dwayne wanted more money, but that’s not what he brought today. The bastard would be lucky to walk out with his life if he didn’t spit out the right answers.
The stench of decaying fish hung in the dark alley with the pungent odor clinging to the muggy night air around him. Damn, <ST1:p<st1:City w:st="on"><st1:City w:st="on">Kingston</st1:City> <st1:State w:st="on">New York </st1:State></st1:City></ST1:puse to be pleasant in the summer, now it just got hotter each year. What he wouldn’t give for a cool breeze right about now. He crouched back into the shadows. Ron Daily had been the head of the FBI Counterterrorism Department for over 30 years and survived many stakeouts, but none as important as this one. His daughter was alive and this bastard was going to tell him where to find her.
Dwayne had been an informant, and pretty reliable until now. He even attended <ST1:p<st1:City w:st="on">Tracy</st1:City></ST1:p’s funeral.
That son of a bitch.<O:p</O:p
Ron’s face heated up as his anger burned inside him. Two years! He lost two years with her, and for what?
Ron crammed his hand into his back pocket and pulled out the manila envelope. The corners were wrinkled and the top was torn, but the contents were intact. The pictures of <ST1:p<st1:City w:st="on">Tracy </st1:City></ST1:pholding a newspaper verified the date, and the fucking letter.

AFTER:
Five more minutes. Ron will have everything he needs in just five minutes. <ST1:p<st1:City w:st="on">Tracy</st1:City></ST1:p’s life depended on it.
Sweat soaked into his T-shirt as his shoulders strained against the heavy backpack. Shifting the weight, he maneuvered through the littered alley, struggling to hear over the pounding in his ears. Dwayne wanted more money, but that’s not what he was getting today. His life was on the line if he did not give Ron her location.
The stench of decaying fish permeated from the dumpster, clinging to the muggy night air around him. Damn, <ST1:p<st1:City w:st="on">Kingston</st1:City> <st1:State w:st="on">New York</st1:State></ST1:p use to be pleasant in the summer, now it just got hotter each year. What he wouldn’t give for a cool breeze right about now. He wiped the back of his hand across his forehead and crouched back into the shadows. Ron Daily was the head of FBI’s Counterterrorism Department for over 30 years now and survived many stakeouts, but none as important as this one. His daughter was alive and this bastard was going to tell him where to find her.
Dwayne had been an informant, and pretty reliable until now. He even attended <ST1:p<st1:City w:st="on">Tracy</st1:City></ST1:p’s funeral.
That son of a bitch. <O:p</O:p
Ron’s face heated up as his anger burned inside him. Two years! He lost two years with her, and for what?
He crammed his hand into his back pocket and pulled out the manila envelope. The corners were wrinkled and the top was torn, but the contents were intact. The pictures of <st1:City w:st="on"><ST1:pTracy </ST1:p</st1:City>and the fucking one page letter that told him she was alive, just not where.

janet2write
August 7th, 2012, 06:16 PM
Thank you for the comments and suggestions. This really helps. I do think I should add how Will is affected as he watches Lia.

Janet

Kay Angel
August 9th, 2012, 03:16 PM
Original:

It didn’t take long for Armand to set his house to rights. Less time than I expected actually. A few minutes and I sat with two extremely large, extremely strong, and supremely homosexual--not that it would keep them safe, should I need to feed--guards stationed at the door to a lovely parlor, green and gold walls and furniture with a few pops of cream in the rug and pillows. Despite the starkness of the rest of his plantation, this room showed a taste and refinement I hadn’t associated with Armand and wondered idly who his decorator was.


The brush and a mirror arrived in the hands of a timid young slave, along with an offer of refreshments. The look of astonishment on her blushing face when I requested fresh milk was priceless and I wished I could see Armand’s face when he was told. So many things had been said about me over the years, I forgot half of them. Apparently I wasn’t supposed to be able to consume food. It was true that very few human foods served a purpose other than concealing my nature, but some did. I could convert mother’s milk to essentia, though I preferred human to cow, or any non-sentient, really.


Few sentients other than humans produced milk to give their young. The few that did almost never parted with it, so those were quite a delicacy among succubae and incubi, which is why I was surprised when the youngling returned with a pitcher full of fresh mother’s milk, human mixed with that of a number of other species.


Somewhere nearby, Armand held a number of nursing mothers. A large number.


A sigh slipped out. This was going to be so much trouble.


I handed the brush to the girl and settled back on the chaise, sipping the milk. Puzzling out the various contributors made waiting worthwhile. It gave me a better idea of just how many I would be purchasing.

Edited:

It didn’t take long for Armand to set his house to rights. Less time than I expected, actually. A few minutes and I sat in a lovely parlor, green and gold walls and furniture with a few pops of cream in the rug and pillows. Two extremely large, extremely strong, and supremely homosexual--not that it would keep them safe, should I need to feed--guards stationed at the door. Despite the starkness of the rest of his plantation, this room showed a taste and refinement I hadn’t associated with Armand and I wondered idly who his decorator was.


The brush and a mirror arrived in the hands of a timid young slave.


Eyes downcast, she managed to get out, “Master wishes me to see to your comfort, madam. May I offer you anything?”


Poor child. Ephemera were so fleeting, to spend their lives this way was such a pity. I pondered the easiest request that would satisfy her master while not sacrificing any vital bit of information on my own habits. “Are you any good with that brush, child? I need to tame this mass.”


“Ye... yes, madam.”


Not quite enough then. “If I could get a glass of fresh milk, I would be quite content to sit here while you fix my hair. Still warm is best.”


The look of astonishment on her blushing face was priceless. She practically ran from the room and I wished I could see Armand’s face when he was told. So many things had been said about me over the years, I forgot half of them. Apparently I wasn’t supposed to be able to consume food. It was true that few human foods served any purpose other than concealing my nature, but some did. I could convert mother’s milk to essentia, though I preferred human to cow, or any non-sentient, really.

Few sentients other than humans produced milk to give their young. The few that did almost never parted with it. Those precious fluids were quite a delicacy among succubae and incubi, which is why I was surprised when the young woman returned with a pitcher full of fresh mother’s milk, human mixed with that of a number of other species.


Somewhere nearby, Armand held a number of nursing mothers. A large number.


A sigh slipped out. This was going to be so much trouble.



I handed the brush to the girl and settled back on the chaise, sipping the milk. Puzzling out the various contributors made waiting worthwhile. It gave me a better idea of just how many I would be purchasing.



(OK, the revised version is 430 words, but I'm CLOSE!)

MM Pollard
August 10th, 2012, 01:16 PM
Kay, mother's milk? That's a new one! When your narrator asks for fresh milk, she doesn't say where she wants it from, so how does the servant know to bring back human milk? Your narrator is a succubus?
This lesson covered participial phrases. Your revision is very good.
I have a question about this sentence: Ephemera were so fleeting, to spend their lives this way was such a pity. I don't understand what exactly you mean by ephemera here. According to Webster's, ephemeral -- the adjective means lasting a short time. Lasting a short time is fleeting doesn't make a lot of sense.
Maybe you mean, Pleasures were so ephemeral, to spend.....
MM


Original:

It didn’t take long for Armand to set his house to rights. Less time than I expected actually. A few minutes and I sat with two extremely large, extremely strong, and supremely homosexual--not that it would keep them safe, should I need to feed--guards stationed at the door to a lovely parlor, green and gold walls and furniture with a few pops of cream in the rug and pillows. Despite the starkness of the rest of his plantation, this room showed a taste and refinement I hadn’t associated with Armand and wondered idly who his decorator was.


The brush and a mirror arrived in the hands of a timid young slave, along with an offer of refreshments. The look of astonishment on her blushing face when I requested fresh milk was priceless and I wished I could see Armand’s face when he was told. So many things had been said about me over the years, I forgot half of them. Apparently I wasn’t supposed to be able to consume food. It was true that very few human foods served a purpose other than concealing my nature, but some did. I could convert mother’s milk to essentia, though I preferred human to cow, or any non-sentient, really.


Few sentients other than humans produced milk to give their young. The few that did almost never parted with it, so those were quite a delicacy among succubae and incubi, which is why I was surprised when the youngling returned with a pitcher full of fresh mother’s milk, human mixed with that of a number of other species.


Somewhere nearby, Armand held a number of nursing mothers. A large number.


A sigh slipped out. This was going to be so much trouble.


I handed the brush to the girl and settled back on the chaise, sipping the milk. Puzzling out the various contributors made waiting worthwhile. It gave me a better idea of just how many I would be purchasing.

Edited:

It didn’t take long for Armand to set his house to rights. Less time than I expected, actually. A few minutes and I sat in a lovely parlor, green and gold walls and furniture with a few pops of cream in the rug and pillows. Two extremely large, extremely strong, and supremely homosexual--not that it would keep them safe, should I need to feed--guards stationed at the door. Despite the starkness of the rest of his plantation, this room showed a taste and refinement I hadn’t associated with Armand and I wondered idly who his decorator was.


The brush and a mirror arrived in the hands of a timid young slave.


Eyes downcast, she managed to get out, “Master wishes me to see to your comfort, madam. May I offer you anything?”


Poor child. Ephemera were so fleeting, to spend their lives this way was such a pity. I pondered the easiest request that would satisfy her master while not sacrificing any vital bit of information on my own habits. “Are you any good with that brush, child? I need to tame this mass.”


“Ye... yes, madam.”


Not quite enough then. “If I could get a glass of fresh milk, I would be quite content to sit here while you fix my hair. Still warm is best.”


The look of astonishment on her blushing face was priceless. She practically ran from the room and I wished I could see Armand’s face when he was told. So many things had been said about me over the years, I forgot half of them. Apparently I wasn’t supposed to be able to consume food. It was true that few human foods served any purpose other than concealing my nature, but some did. I could convert mother’s milk to essentia, though I preferred human to cow, or any non-sentient, really.

Few sentients other than humans produced milk to give their young. The few that did almost never parted with it. Those precious fluids were quite a delicacy among succubae and incubi, which is why I was surprised when the young woman returned with a pitcher full of fresh mother’s milk, human mixed with that of a number of other species.


Somewhere nearby, Armand held a number of nursing mothers. A large number.


A sigh slipped out. This was going to be so much trouble.



I handed the brush to the girl and settled back on the chaise, sipping the milk. Puzzling out the various contributors made waiting worthwhile. It gave me a better idea of just how many I would be purchasing.



(OK, the revised version is 430 words, but I'm CLOSE!)

Kay Angel
August 14th, 2012, 01:11 PM
Kay, mother's milk? That's a new one! When your narrator asks for fresh milk, she doesn't say where she wants it from, so how does the servant know to bring back human milk? Your narrator is a succubus?
This lesson covered participial phrases. Your revision is very good.
I have a question about this sentence: Ephemera were so fleeting, to spend their lives this way was such a pity. I don't understand what exactly you mean by ephemera here. According to Webster's, ephemeral -- the adjective means lasting a short time. Lasting a short time is fleeting doesn't make a lot of sense.
Maybe you mean, Pleasures were so ephemeral, to spend.....
MM


The narrator is a succubus. The maid/slave probably didn't know, but she knew to ASK someone who knew. It's that kind of place, and the consequences for not delivering something that pleased the guests are pretty horrible there.

Ephemera is a term long-lived species and immortals use for being that 'flit' through their longer lives.

MM Pollard
August 14th, 2012, 03:27 PM
Thanks, Kaye, for the new word and the info on your story. MM

Kay Angel
August 14th, 2012, 03:39 PM
Thanks, Kaye, for the new word and the info on your story. MM

I should have said, it's a word used that way in my current world. I like to give a twist to things using words that people probably know, but don't use much. =D