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MM Pollard
August 2nd, 2012, 10:48 PM
Please post your homework and questions for Lesson 2 here. MM

kalinya
August 3rd, 2012, 12:13 AM
"Better just assume she's attending the Tuesday and Thursday Milongas for a while" Jett advised as they took their seats at an empty table.
Craig nodded. Jenni hadn't sounded happy at the end of the call. She'd sounded - well... gutted. Not a trace of light, bright and sunny. Guilt. Remorse. Regret. Each and every one of them savaged him. "So who's she seeing these days? Anyone we know?" He felt Jett's gaze sharpen with rapier swiftness.
"And why would you be asking?"
Craig pretended not to hear the edge of menace. "Don't want to see the kid end up with the wrong sort." He hoped he'd sounded a damn sight more fraternal than he felt. Truth was, Jenni had been his Worst Nightmare and Favorite Fantasy for years.
"Brendan McFarlane. Well, that was last weekend - but you know Jenni. She could have moved on to another victim by now."
"Let's hope she has." Craig caught Jett's quizzical glance. "I heard that McFarlane senior's under investigation for embezzlement - and given that his son has never done a day's work in his life; and is said to have one hell of a nasty temper when thwarted, she'd be safer dating the Devil."
"Just so long as you're not putting your hand up for the job." Jett glanced over his shoulder, but his wife wasn't within earshot. "Remember, pal. She's off limits to you."
Craig raised both brows. "May I remind you that I haven't been near her in years."
"If you know what's good for you, you'll keep it that way." Jett saw Shae emerge from the clubhouse. "Mind you, it does amaze me how you always manage to know the dirt on every guy she sees. It's like you think no-one's good enough. Now drop it. Shae's about to rejoin us."

Kaye Spencer
August 3rd, 2012, 05:50 PM
Original dialogue:

“Sorry.” Clearing his throat to mask his worry, he asked, “How badly are you hurt? They worked you over pretty hard.”

“Nothing serious. I rolled with the punches and obliged them with an adequate amount of whimpering, begging, and cussing. You?”

“The same.” Rubbing the back of his head, he said, “I figured out their game early on, too, but I pissed off that little beady-eyed bastard Jarvis. He hit me with a sap.”

Ceara touched the crown of her head. “He’s sneaky with it all right. When they brought me in here, I didn’t see it coming in time to deflect the blow.”

Back on solid footing with talk of business, Hagen asked, “Where are we?” He took another look around, this time with serious study of every item with particular interest in the desk.

“In the back of one of Moran’s booze warehouses. I've been here once. We’re in the garage storage area behind the fake office front where they gave us the warm welcome after they caught us at the train station.”

Hagen pulled on the chain then planted his hands on the desk and pushed, hoping it would move, but not surprised when it didn’t budge. “It’s heavy and solid, but together we might be able to lift it and get the chain free. The radio’s loud enough to mask the noise if we’re careful.”

“No good. It’s bolted to the wall. I’ve already checked it out.”

He put his shoulder against the side and shoved anyway. “Damn.” Crawling under the desk, he made a thorough inspection. “Chains aren’t standard desk accessories and office furniture isn’t typically bolted down. I’d say we aren’t the first to be shackled here.”

“That’s my thought as well.”

“When did they bring me in here?” Turning his attention to the room, he searched for any means of escape. Tire iron. Hammer. Crowbar. Anything within reach to use for leverage, but there was nothing.

“Around one.” Ceara filled him in on waking up then faking unconsciousness while listening to the talk about Eddie’s plans.

*****

Edited dialogue:

"Sorry." He cleared his throat, embarrassed at his unprofessional and physical display of concern for her. "How badly are you hurt? They worked you over pretty hard."

"Nothing serious. I rolled with the punches and obliged them with an adequate amount fo whimpering, begging, and cussing. You?"

"The same. I figured out their game early on, too, but I pissed off that little beady-eyed Jarvis." Hagen rubbed the back of his head. "He hit me with a sap."

Ceara patted her head. "He's sneaky all right. When they brought me in here, I didn't see it coming in time to deflect the blow."

"Where are we?" Back on solid footing with talk of business, Hagen took another look around, this time with serious study of every item, especially the massive desk.

"In the back of one of Moran's booze warehouses. I've been here once before. It's the garage storage area behind the fake office front where they gave us the warm welcome after they caught us at the train station."

Hagen pulled on the chain then planted his hands on the desk and pushed, hoping it would move, but not surprised when it didn't budge. "Help me here. We might be able to lift it and get the chain free of the leg. The radio's loud enough to mask the noise if we're careful."

She shook her head. "No good. It's bolted to the wall. I've already checked it out."

He put his shoulder against the side and shoved anyway. "Damn." Kneeling, he inspected the underside of the desk. "Since chains aren't standard desk accessories and office furniture isn't typically bolted down, I'd say we aren't the first to be shackled here."

"I thought the same thing."

Hagen turned his attention back to the room, searching for any means of escape, any tool to pry the desk from the wall. Tire iron. Hammer. Crowbar. Something to use as leverage, but there was nothing. "When did they bring me in here?"

"Around one." Ceara filled him in on waking up then faking consciousness while listening to the goons talk about Eddie's plans.

kalinya
August 3rd, 2012, 06:52 PM
MM - sorry, very new at this sort of online forum/workshop thing. My homework submission for this lesson is the ORIGINAL text. I read it with a view to editing it, but after reading it aloud, then repeating that exercise and dropping the dialogue tag I found, but I was okay with what I had. Hence you have only one version of the material. I would be more than happy to have you point out weak/poor areas etc - I am here to learn and would welcome your guidance.

Can you also tell me how much material you want form us in our homework? Mine seems awfully short to the other responses, so how much is too much?

Thank you - and thank you for running this workshop.
Kalinya


"Better just assume she's attending the Tuesday and Thursday Milongas for a while" Jett advised as they took their seats at an empty table.
Craig nodded. Jenni hadn't sounded happy at the end of the call. She'd sounded - well... gutted. Not a trace of light, bright and sunny. Guilt. Remorse. Regret. Each and every one of them savaged him. "So who's she seeing these days? Anyone we know?" He felt Jett's gaze sharpen with rapier swiftness.
"And why would you be asking?"
Craig pretended not to hear the edge of menace. "Don't want to see the kid end up with the wrong sort." He hoped he'd sounded a damn sight more fraternal than he felt. Truth was, Jenni had been his Worst Nightmare and Favorite Fantasy for years.
"Brendan McFarlane. Well, that was last weekend - but you know Jenni. She could have moved on to another victim by now."
"Let's hope she has." Craig caught Jett's quizzical glance. "I heard that McFarlane senior's under investigation for embezzlement - and given that his son has never done a day's work in his life; and is said to have one hell of a nasty temper when thwarted, she'd be safer dating the Devil."
"Just so long as you're not putting your hand up for the job." Jett glanced over his shoulder, but his wife wasn't within earshot. "Remember, pal. She's off limits to you."
Craig raised both brows. "May I remind you that I haven't been near her in years."
"If you know what's good for you, you'll keep it that way." Jett saw Shae emerge from the clubhouse. "Mind you, it does amaze me how you always manage to know the dirt on every guy she sees. It's like you think no-one's good enough. Now drop it. Shae's about to rejoin us."

madcapmaggie
August 4th, 2012, 08:13 AM
Mrs. Chambers said, "I cleared out a couple of drawers and some space in Alan's closet. You go ahead and put your things away." Mrs. Chambers attempted to smile and hurried off.
I stared at the lower bunk, heaped with Alan's things. He'd blow a fuse for sure when he saw that. Alan stomped in just as I put the last of my clothes away.
"What are you doing here, freaker?" Alan asked. "What happened to your buddy Tom?"
I stepped towards him, and he cringed back. "Tom's not my buddy." Far from it. He'd get a shake that would make his bones rattle if I ever got hold of him.
"It's not what I heard. I heard you were Tom's faithful little slave."
"I'm living here for now." I took a step and braced my legs apart, folding my arms over my chest.
"For how long?" Alan plopped down on the lower bunk beside a pile of shirts and pants. "What's this stuff doing on my bed?" Alan dumped the pants and shirts on the floor.
"They're yours, I guess. I put all mine away." I glared at him.
Alan kicked at a couple of the shirts. "Go ahead, low-life, pick my things up."
"No." Taking my comp tablet, I climbed the ladder to the top bunk.
Alan got off the bed and kicked his clothes a few more times. He leaned down and picked up one shirt, then another, then a pair of pants. He dumped everything on the bed. "What am I supposed to do with this?"
"Fold it up again," I said.
Alan stared at the mess. "I suck at folding."
"Too bad." I paused a moment. "So do I."
Alan sighed, picked up a shirt and folded it in half. "Where is all this stuff supposed to go?"
"Maybe your mom can get you a storage box to fit under your bed."
"Dad won't spring for a storage box." Alan finished folding the clothes. "We can't afford it, not when the ones they sell on the base are imported from New Oregon. Maybe Mom will give me a basket. She buys them at the market in Aleyne City."
Alan disappeared down the hall, returning a short time later with a woven basket. He filled it, then pushed the basket under the bed. "It sucks about your dad."
"Yeah." I bit my lip to keep from crying. All Alan has to do is show me a tiny bit of sympathy and I crumble into a pathetic heap.
"What's going to happen to you now?" Alan passed a hand over his face. "Where's your mom?"
I shrugged. "She ran off." I swung my legs over the side of the bed and jumped down. "Dad says she ran off. Now I wonder if he lied to me."
"Do you have any other relatives?" Alan flopped backwards on the bed and crossed his arms under his head.
"Maybe, but I never paid much attention." I licked my lips. "No relatives ever came to visit us, even when Dad was stationed on New Oregon." Did we not have any, or did they all dislike Dad? "Dad never mentioned anything about them."
"Is he still here on the base?" Alan asked.
"I guess." I rolled my shoulders to relieve some of the tension, and they emitted an audible crack.
Alan grimaced. "You have to go visit him and ask him."
"Like how? He's in prison or something. I have no idea where he is, or if he's still on the base." I didn't want to visit my father, especially since I figured even if he did agree to see me, he wouldn't tell me anything.
"He's still here, all right," Alan said. "No out system ships have landed or taken off since your father's trial. The only arrivals or departures are the in system ships visiting the asteroid mines."
"How did you find out all this?" I twisted to stare at Alan. He lay on the bottom bunk, his arms crossed behind his head..
"I'm going to be a star ship pilot when I grow up," Alan said. "Or at least, an in system ship pilot. I can find out when all the ships take off and land. There's an app on our comp net you can ask."
I brushed some of the ever-present sand off my pants. "I guess I better go ask Major Reynolds if I can visit my father."
Alan rolled off the bunk. "I'm coming along."
I stared at Alan. "Why? You don't even like me."
Alan shrugged. "It's something to do."
*********************************** revised **********************


"I cleared out a couple of drawers and some space in Alan's closet. You go ahead and put your things away." Mrs. Chambers attempted to smile and hurried off.
I stared at the lower bunk, heaped with Alan's things. He'd blow a fuse for sure when he saw that. Alan stomped in just as I put the last of my clothes away.
"What are you doing here, freaker?" Alan asked. "What happened to your buddy Tom?"
I stepped towards him, and he cringed back. "Tom's not my buddy." Far from it. He'd get a shake that would make his bones rattle if I ever got hold of him.
"It's not what I heard. I heard you were Tom's faithful little slave."
"I'm living here for now." I took a step and braced my legs apart, then folded my arms over my chest . "For how long?"
Alan plopped down on the lower bunk beside a pile of shirts and pants. "What's this stuff doing on my bed?" He dumped the pants and shirts on the floor.
"They're yours, I guess. I put all mine away." I glared at him.
Alan kicked at a couple of the shirts. "Go ahead, low-life, pick my things up."
"No." Taking my comp tablet, I climbed the ladder to the top bunk.
Alan got off the bed and kicked his clothes a few more times. He leaned down and picked up one shirt, then another, then a pair of pants. He dumped everything on the bed. "What am I supposed to do with this?"
"Fold it up again."
Alan stared at the mess. "I suck at folding."
"Too bad." I paused a moment. "So do I."
Alan sighed, picked up a shirt and folded it in half. "Where is all this stuff supposed to go?"
"Maybe your mom can get you a storage box to fit under your bed."
"Dad won't spring for a storage box." Alan finished folding the clothes. "We can't afford it, not when the ones they sell on the base are imported from New Oregon. Maybe Mom will give me a basket. She buys them at the market in Aleyne City."
Alan disappeared down the hall and returned a short time later with a woven basket. He filled it, then pushed the basket under the bed. "It sucks about your dad."
"Yeah." I bit my lip to keep from crying. All Alan had to do is show me a tiny bit of sympathy and I crumble into a pathetic heap.
"What's going to happen to you now?" Alan passed a hand over his face. "Where's your mom?"
I shrugged. "She ran off." I swung my legs over the side of the bed and jumped down. "Dad says she ran off. Now I wonder if he lied to me."
"Do you have any other relatives?" Alan flopped backwards on the bottom bunk and crossed his arms under his head.
"Maybe, but I never paid much attention." I licked my lips. "No relatives ever came to visit us, even when Dad was stationed on New Oregon." Did we not have any, or did they all dislike Dad? "Dad never mentioned anything about them."
"Is he still here on the base?" Alan asked.
"I guess." I rolled my shoulders to relieve some of the tension, and they emitted an audible crack.
Alan grimaced. "You have to go visit him and ask him."
"Like how? He's in prison or something. I have no idea where he is, or if he's still on the base." I didn't want to visit my father, especially since I figured even if he did agree to see me, he wouldn't tell me anything.
"He's still here, all right," Alan said. "No out system ships have landed or taken off since your father's trial. The only arrivals or departures are the in system ships visiting the asteroid mines."
"How did you find out all this?" I twisted to stare at Alan.
"I'm going to be a star ship pilot when I grow up," Alan said. "Or at least, an in system ship pilot. I can find out when all the ships take off and land. There's an app on our comp net you can ask."
I brushed some of the ever-present sand off my pants. "I guess I better go ask Major Reynolds if I can visit my father."
Alan rolled off the bunk. "I'm coming along."
I stared at Alan. "Why? You don't even like me."
Alan shrugged. "It's something to do."

* * * *

dmcomfort
August 5th, 2012, 07:35 PM
Charlie plucked the greasy fast-food bag off the desk, ignoring Peter’s pleading words and chucked it in the trash.
“That stuff is going to kill you, Pete.”
He looked at her, his eyes holding a pleading gaze as she slid into her seat. Charlie slid open the metal drawer and tossed Ready Pac Tuna packet at him.
Peter snorted his disgust.
“Come on, Charlie. I waited in line for twenty minutes for that.” His big hand motioned towards the trash where she threw his lunch.
She leaned forward, sitting her elbows on the cool surface of her desk and gestured to his stomach. “Your shirt is screaming, dialing nine-one-one, and I’m responding. Charlie leaned across and narrowed her eyes to where she had just pointed. “Good God, Pete. Did you manage to get any of it in your mouth?’
Peter responded with another snort and picked up a white napkin, attempting to wipe away the red stain, which was now spreading.
“You’re not supposed to rub it in, Pete. You’re supposed to –” She stopped, noticing the existing stains lingering on his ‘use-to-be’ white shirt and shook her head, leaning back in her squeaky chair. “Never mind.”
“What?” Peter stopped rubbing and glanced up at her, confusion marring his brows.
She gave him a lopsided grin and decided to change tactics. “Didn’t Martha pack your lunch today?”
Wariness entered Peter’s eyes. “She did…”
Charlie arched a brow and waited, letting the seconds tick by in silence. She could wait him out all day.
“For the love of – come on, Charlie. You don’t expect me to eat that!” Peter pointed to the white container sitting at the edge of his desk. Something suspiciously looking like ground carrots sat inside, the color horrendous and unappetizing even to her. She’d never admit it to Peter though; she stood by Martha on this. After Peter’s second heart attack last spring, Charlie had joined his wife’s focus in helping the overweight Detective get healthy. She risked a glanced back at Peter’s protruding stomach.
Or at least, healthier.
“Charlie!” The booming voice bellowed through the small detective’s unit and she jumped slightly, clenching her fists on the table. She leaned to the side and called out to the rude and obnoxious man. “Yes, Chief?”
“My office. Now!” Then, Chief Woolsey turned and headed back into his office as if he expected her to follow.
She did.

janet2write
August 5th, 2012, 08:40 PM
Lesson 2 homework _ Janet R.

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.”
“It’s club soda. Amelia DiSantes told me it’s what you’ve been drinking all evening. I’m Ensign Will Gerard.”
“Lia Burkell.” Smiling, she took the proffered glass. “Thank you, Ensign Gerard. For some reason I thought it cooled down in the evenings with San Diego being along the ocean. I guess I should have done my homework before packing. This dress doesn’t breath in the least. I was thinking of making my excuses and heading out.”
“Please, call me Will. You came with Lt. Commander DiSantis and his wife?” He knew she hadn’t, but no way was he going to let on that he’d made inquiries on just who she was or wasn’t accompanied by. He’d discovered she was staying with some relative; which meant no hotel room, and probably no pool.
“No. After my mini-tour of the base and attending the graduation ceremony I had planned to leave, but then Vin asked me to stay for the party.”
“Vin?” Who the hell was Vin? Everyone he’d spoken to said she was alone.
“My cousin, PO2 Vincenzo Burkell. That’s Petty Officer, second class.” She bit her lower lip and Will almost let out a groan at the sight of those gorgeous white teeth nipping her pouty lower lip. “I guess that was redundant, wasn’t it?”
“Yeah, I’m pretty much up on my rates and ranks.”
She did that little tilt thing again with her head, her eyes narrowing slightly for just a fraction of a second, then she said, “Vin graduated BUD/S and is going on to earn his Trident.”
Will laughed, “Ah, one of the new tadpoles. Good for him. You know he still has ways to go, right? So you’re here with him?”
“Yes and yes.” She smiled. “He explained that BUD/S was just the start of the program and he has to complete SEAL Qualification Training.” The smile broadened and her whole face lit up. And Will thought, Good God, she’s beautiful. “I’m very proud of him.”
Will smiled right back at her. “You should be. It’s a tough road to hoe.” He shook his head. “Jeeze, that sounded right off the farm, didn’t it?”
He took in her beautiful face, large blue eyes and long auburn waves, and asked, “Do you swim?”
“Um, why do you have a pool?”
“I do.” He nodded his head toward the beach. “But I may have been asking about a dip in the ocean you’ve been so engrossed in.”
“I’m not much for dips in the ocean.”
“How would you like to follow me to my place? I’ll toss something on the grill and you can cool off in the pool.”
“I don’t have a suit with me. But thanks anyway.”
“Don’t need one. I have plenty of shorts and tee shirts.”
She bit her bottom lip and there went that little narrowing of her eyes again and he could tell she was wondering if she could trust him, or if he was setting her up. “Hey, why don’t you introduce me to your cousin,” he suggested. “We’ll let him know where you’re going to be and head out. Would that make you more comfortable?”
“I don’t know you.”
“I’m safe Lia. You can trust me.”

MM Pollard
August 6th, 2012, 02:07 PM
The saying is a tough or hard row to hoe. I followed your dialogue. The narrator gives us glimpses of his thoughts -- that's good.

MM

MM Pollard
August 6th, 2012, 03:10 PM
Kaye, my suggestions are in [ ] within your homework. Any questions? You have a good mix of beats, tags, and dialogue. The dialogue sounds natural. MM


Original dialogue:

“Sorry.” Clearing his throat to mask his worry, he asked, “How badly are you hurt? They worked you over pretty hard.”

“Nothing serious. I rolled with the punches and obliged them with an adequate amount of whimpering, begging, and cussing. You?”

“The same.” Rubbing the back of his head, he said, “I figured out their game early on, too, but I pissed off that little beady-eyed bastard Jarvis. He hit me with a sap.”

Ceara touched the crown of her head. “He’s sneaky with it all right. When they brought me in here, I didn’t see it coming in time to deflect the blow.”

Back on solid footing with talk of business, Hagen asked, “Where are we?” He took another look around, this time with serious study of every item with particular interest in the desk.

“In the back of one of Moran’s booze warehouses. I've been here once. We’re in the garage storage area behind the fake office front where they gave us the warm welcome after they caught us at the train station.”

Hagen pulled on the chain then planted his hands on the desk and pushed, hoping it would move, but not surprised when it didn’t budge. “It’s heavy and solid, but together we might be able to lift it and get the chain free. The radio’s loud enough to mask the noise if we’re careful.”

“No good. It’s bolted to the wall. I’ve already checked it out.”

He put his shoulder against the side and shoved anyway. “Damn.” Crawling under the desk, he made a thorough inspection. “Chains aren’t standard desk accessories and office furniture isn’t typically bolted down. I’d say we aren’t the first to be shackled here.”

“That’s my thought as well.”

“When did they bring me in here?” Turning his attention to the room, he searched for any means of escape. Tire iron. Hammer. Crowbar. Anything within reach to use for leverage, but there was nothing.

“Around one.” Ceara filled him in on waking up then faking unconsciousness while listening to the talk about Eddie’s plans.

*****

Edited dialogue:

"Sorry." He cleared his throat, embarrassed at his unprofessional and physical display of concern for her [I like the original tag. Is he really going to worry about being unprofessional after being beat up.] "How badly are you hurt? They worked you over pretty hard."

"Nothing serious. I rolled with the punches and obliged them with an adequate amount fo whimpering, begging, and cussing. You?"

"The same. I figured out their game early on, too, but I [am] pissed off that little beady-eyed Jarvis." Hagen rubbed the back of his head. "He hit me with a sap." [What's a sap? Do you mean "He hit me like a sap"?]

Ceara patted her head. "He's sneaky all right. When they brought me in here, I didn't see it coming in time to deflect the blow."

"Where are we?" Back on solid footing with talk of business, Hagen took another look around, this time with serious study of every item, especially the massive desk.

"In the back of one of Moran's booze warehouses. I've been here once before. It's the garage storage area behind the fake office front where they gave us the warm welcome after they caught us at the train station."

Hagen [Don't repeat character name of narrator unless you need to to avoid confusion] pulled on the chain[,] then planted his hands on the desk and pushed, hoping it would move, but not surprised when it didn't budge. "Help me here. We might be able to lift it and get the chain free of the leg. The radio's loud enough to mask the noise if we're careful."

She shook her head. "No good. It's [The chain's] bolted to the wall. I've already checked it out."

He put his shoulder against the side and shoved anyway. "Damn." Kneeling, he inspected the underside of the desk. "Since chains aren't standard desk accessories and office furniture isn't typically bolted down, I'd say we aren't the first to be shackled here."

"I thought the same thing."

Hagen turned his attention back to the room, searching for any means of escape, any tool to pry the desk from the wall. Tire iron. Hammer. Crowbar. Something to use as leverage, but there was nothing. "When did they bring me in here?"

"Around one." Ceara filled him in on waking up [and] then faking consciousness [unconsciousness] while listening to the goons talk about Eddie's plans.

MM Pollard
August 6th, 2012, 03:16 PM
Kalinya, my comments are within your assignment in [ ]. Your dialogue sounds natural. You have a good mix of tags, beats and dialogue. I found a few errors in the mechanics. Any questions? MM


"Better just assume she's attending the Tuesday and Thursday Milongas for a while[,]" Jett advised as they took their seats at an empty table.
Craig nodded. Jenni hadn't sounded happy at the end of the call. She'd sounded - well... gutted. Not a trace of light, bright and sunny. Guilt. Remorse. Regret. Each and every one of them savaged him. "So who's she seeing these days? Anyone we know?" He felt Jett's gaze sharpen with rapier swiftness.
"And why would you be asking?"
Craig pretended not to hear the edge of menace. "Don't want to see the kid end up with the wrong sort." He hoped he'd sounded a damn sight more fraternal than he felt. Truth was, Jenni had been his Worst Nightmare and Favorite Fantasy for years.
"Brendan McFarlane. Well, that was last weekend - but you know Jenni. She could have moved on to another victim by now."
"Let's hope she has." Craig caught Jett's quizzical glance. "I heard that McFarlane senior's under investigation for embezzlement - and given that his son has never done a day's work in his life; and is said to have one hell of a nasty temper when thwarted, she'd be safer dating the Devil."
"Just so long as you're not putting your hand up for the job." Jett glanced over his shoulder, but his wife wasn't within earshot. "Remember, pal. She's off limits to you."
Craig raised both brows. "May I remind you that I haven't been near her in years."
"If you know what's good for you, you'll keep it that way." Jett saw Shae emerge from the clubhouse. "Mind you, it does amaze me how you always manage to know the dirt on every guy she sees. It's like you think no-one's [no one's] good enough. Now drop it. Shae's about to rejoin us."

MM Pollard
August 6th, 2012, 03:26 PM
Margaret, my comments are within your assignment in [ ]. Except for spots I noted, dialogue sounds natural. I can believe two kids are talking to each other. Any questions? MM




*********************************** revised **********************


"I cleared out a couple of drawers and some space in Alan's closet. You go ahead and put your things away." Mrs. Chambers attempted to smile and hurried off. [ how would the narrator know she attempted to smile. He would only know if he saw a smile.]
I stared at the lower bunk, heaped with Alan's things. He'd blow a fuse for sure when he saw that. Alan stomped in just as I put the last of my clothes away.
"What are you doing here, freaker?" Alan asked. "What happened to your buddy Tom?"
I stepped towards him, and he cringed back. "Tom's not my buddy." Far from it. He'd get a shake that would make his bones rattle if I ever got hold of him.
"It's not what I heard. I heard you were Tom's faithful little slave."
"I'm living here for now." I took a step and braced my legs apart, then folded my arms over my chest . "For how long?" [I don't understand this question.]
Alan plopped down on the lower bunk beside a pile of shirts and pants. "What's this stuff doing on my bed?" He dumped the pants and shirts on the floor.
"They're yours, I guess. I put all mine away." I glared at him.
Alan kicked at a couple of the shirts. "Go ahead, low-life, pick my things up."
"No." Taking my comp tablet, I climbed the ladder to the top bunk.
Alan got off the bed and kicked his clothes a few more times. He leaned down and picked up one shirt, then another, then a pair of pants. He dumped everything on the bed. "What am I supposed to do with this?"
"Fold it up again."
Alan stared at the mess. "I suck at folding."
"Too bad." I paused a moment. "So do I."
Alan sighed, picked up a shirt and folded it in half. "Where is all this stuff supposed to go?"
"Maybe your mom can get you a storage box to fit under your bed."
"Dad won't spring for a storage box." Alan finished folding the clothes. "We can't afford it, not when the ones they sell on the base are imported from New Oregon. Maybe Mom will give me a basket. She buys them at the market in Aleyne City."
Alan disappeared down the hall and returned a short time later with a woven basket. He filled it, then pushed the basket under the bed. "It sucks about your dad."
"Yeah." I bit my lip to keep from crying. All Alan had to do is show me a tiny bit of sympathy and I crumble into a pathetic heap.
"What's going to happen to you now?" Alan passed a hand over his face. "Where's your mom?"
I shrugged. "She ran off." I swung my legs over the side of the bed and jumped down. "Dad says she ran off. Now I wonder if he lied to me."
"Do you have any other relatives?" Alan flopped backwards on the bottom bunk and crossed his arms under his head.
"Maybe, but I never paid much attention." I licked my lips. "No relatives ever came to visit us, even when Dad was stationed on New Oregon." Did we not have any, or did they all dislike Dad? "Dad never mentioned anything about them."
"Is he still here on the base?" Alan asked.
"I guess." I rolled my shoulders to relieve some of the tension, and they emitted an audible crack.
Alan grimaced. "You have to go visit him and ask him."
"Like how? He's in prison or something. I have no idea where he is, or if he's still on the base." I didn't want to visit my father, especially since I figured even if he did agree to see me, he wouldn't tell me anything.
"He's still here, all right," Alan said. "No out system ships have landed or taken off since your father's trial. The only arrivals or departures are the in system ships visiting the asteroid mines."
"How did you find out all this?" I twisted to stare at Alan.
"I'm going to be a star ship pilot when I grow up," Alan said. "Or at least, an in system ship pilot. I can find out when all the ships take off and land. There's an app on our comp net you can ask."
I brushed some of the ever-present sand off my pants. "I guess I better go ask Major Reynolds if I can visit my father."
Alan rolled off the bunk. "I'm coming along."
I stared at Alan. "Why? You don't even like me."
Alan shrugged. "It's something to do."

* * * *

MM Pollard
August 6th, 2012, 03:31 PM
Comfort, my comments are within your assignment in []. Your dialogue sounds natural. Charlie and Peter sound like to co-workers who have known each other for a while. Any questions? MM


Charlie plucked the greasy fast-food bag off the desk, ignoring Peter’s pleading words and chucked it in the trash.
“That stuff is going to kill you, Pete.”
He looked at her, his eyes holding a pleading gaze as she slid into her seat. Charlie slid open the metal drawer and tossed Ready Pac Tuna packet at him.
Peter snorted his disgust.
“Come on, Charlie. I waited in line for twenty minutes for that.” His big hand motioned towards the trash where she threw his lunch.
She leaned forward, sitting [setting] her elbows on the cool surface of her desk and gestured to his stomach. “Your shirt is screaming, dialing nine-one-one, and I’m responding. Charlie leaned across and narrowed her eyes to where she had just pointed. “Good God, Pete. Did you manage to get any of it in your mouth?’
Peter responded with another snort and picked up a white napkin, attempting to wipe away the red stain, which was now spreading.
“You’re not supposed to rub it in, Pete. You’re supposed to –” She stopped, noticing the existing stains lingering on his ‘use-to-be’ white shirt and shook her head, leaning back in her squeaky chair. “Never mind.”
“What?” Peter stopped rubbing and glanced up at her, confusion marring his brows.
She gave him a lopsided grin and decided to change tactics. “Didn’t Martha pack your lunch today?”
Wariness entered Peter’s eyes. “She did…”
Charlie arched a brow and waited, letting the seconds tick by in silence. She could wait him out all day.
“For the love of – come on, Charlie. You don’t expect me to eat that!” Peter pointed to the white container sitting at the edge of his desk. Something suspiciously looking like ground carrots sat inside, the color horrendous and unappetizing even to her. She’d never admit it to Peter though; she stood by Martha on this. After Peter’s second heart attack last spring, Charlie had joined his wife’s focus in helping the overweight Detective get healthy. She risked a glanced [glance] back at Peter’s protruding stomach.
Or at least, healthier.
“Charlie!” The booming voice bellowed through the small detective’s unit and she jumped slightly, clenching her fists on the table. She leaned to the side and called out to the rude and obnoxious man. “Yes, Chief?”
“My office. Now!” Then, Chief Woolsey turned and headed back into his office as if he expected her to follow.
She did.

MM Pollard
August 6th, 2012, 03:35 PM
Janet, my comments are within your assignment. Your dialogue works here to build character and further the plot -- if she takes him up on his swim offer. Any questions? MM


Lesson 2 homework _ Janet R.

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.”
“It’s club soda. Amelia DiSantes told me it’s what you’ve been drinking all evening. I’m Ensign Will Gerard.”
“Lia Burkell.” Smiling, she took the proffered glass. “Thank you, Ensign Gerard. For some reason I thought it cooled down in the evenings with San Diego being along the ocean. I guess I should have done my homework before packing. This dress doesn’t breath in the least. I was thinking of making my excuses and heading out.”
“Please, call me Will. You came with Lt. Commander DiSantis and his wife?” He knew she hadn’t, but no way was he going to let on that he’d made inquiries on just who she was or wasn’t accompanied by. He’d discovered she was staying with some relative; which meant no hotel room, and probably no pool.
“No. After my mini-tour of the base and attending the graduation ceremony I had planned to leave, but then Vin asked me to stay for the party.”
“Vin?” Who the hell was Vin? Everyone he’d spoken to said she was alone.
“My cousin, PO2 Vincenzo Burkell. That’s Petty Officer, second class.” She bit her lower lip and Will almost let out a groan at the sight of those gorgeous white teeth nipping her pouty lower lip. “I guess that was redundant, wasn’t it?”
“Yeah, I’m pretty much up on my rates and ranks.”
She did that little tilt thing again with her head, her eyes narrowing slightly for just a fraction of a second, then she said, “Vin graduated BUD/S and is going on to earn his Trident.”
Will laughed, “Ah, one of the new tadpoles. Good for him. You know he still has ways to go, right? So you’re here with him?”
“Yes and yes.” She smiled. “He explained that BUD/S was just the start of the program and he has to complete SEAL Qualification Training.” The smile broadened and her whole face lit up. And Will thought, Good God, she’s beautiful. “I’m very proud of him.”
Will smiled right back at her. “You should be. It’s a tough road to hoe.” [tough row to hoe] He shook his head. “Jeeze, that sounded right off the farm, didn’t it?”
He took in her beautiful face, large blue eyes and long auburn waves, and asked, “Do you swim?”
“Um, why do you have a pool?”
“I do.” He nodded his head toward the beach. “But I may have been asking about a dip in the ocean you’ve been so engrossed in.”
“I’m not much for dips in the ocean.”
“How would you like to follow me to my place? I’ll toss something on the grill and you can cool off in the pool.”
“I don’t have a suit with me. But thanks anyway.”
“Don’t need one. I have plenty of shorts and tee shirts.”
She bit her bottom lip and there went that little narrowing of her eyes again and he could tell she was wondering if she could trust him, or if he was setting her up. “Hey, why don’t you introduce me to your cousin,” he suggested. “We’ll let him know where you’re going to be and head out. Would that make you more comfortable?”
“I don’t know you.”
“I’m safe[,] Lia. You can trust me.”

dmcomfort
August 6th, 2012, 06:19 PM
Comfort, my comments are within your assignment in []. Your dialogue sounds natural. Charlie and Peter sound like to co-workers who have known each other for a while. Any questions? MM




Not at all. bhowdysmilie.gif Thanks for the help and great catches!

saibot11
August 6th, 2012, 11:56 PM
I get confused about how to handle thoughts. Do you have a good explanation for this.

"So far, who's on your card?” her uncle asked.
“Just you and Dusty.”
Uncle Trevor smiled, “Let me see.” Untying the ribbon from her wrist, Liz handed the small beige card across to him.
“How ‘bout dancing a polka with your old uncle?"
"You're not old---and I'd love to."
He picked up a quill and dipped it into a filled inkwell in the center of the table. “I’m gonna put Dusty down for the last number, alright?”
“Okay.” Liz bit her bottom lip to keep from smiling.
A pair of cowboys walked up and stood next to Trevor. “Tom, Bear--- I’d like you to meet my niece, Elizabeth.”
“Nice to meet you Miss,” the men said in unison.
She noticed the cute guy who wore a light brown shirt tucked into his jeans, a dark vest, a black bandana tie, and a tan Stetson. He said, “Miss Elizabeth, I’d be honored if you allowed me a dance…that is…if it’s alright with Trevor.” His likable smile lit up his golden eyes.
Her uncle glanced Liz's way. “What do you think?”
“Sure.” Dusty’s handsome; this guy’s hot. Since I’m stuck here, I might as well have some fun.
Uncle Trevor added, “Only if you promise to be on your best behavior, Tom.” The man nodded.
The other cowboy shifted from one foot to the other. “Miss Elizabeth, would ya be willing' to dance with an old cowboy like me?”
Underneath his weathered face, Liz saw kind eyes. She chimed in, “Of course.”

Kaye Spencer
August 7th, 2012, 10:52 AM
This particular story is set in 1929 Chicago with the St. Valentine's Day Massacre just about to happen. I'm using a lot of gangster slang, hence "sap" is slang for billy club.

Hmmm... 'faking consciousness' bwahahah - Thanks for catching that.:oops:

MM Pollard
August 7th, 2012, 12:44 PM
Jeanne, you need a comma after you in "Nice to meet you, Miss," Miss is a noun of direct address.

about thoughts: most editors say if you are in the character's pov, your reader will know that he or she is thinking and not speaking by the absence of quotation marks. No italics.
Internal monologue is generally frowned upon, especially if you use too much of it.
You can reword her thoughts this way:
Dusty was handsome, but this guy was hot. Since she was stuck here, she might as well have some fun. "Sure."

To clarify: She thought and then she spoke.

Any questions? MM


I get confused about how to handle thoughts. Do you have a good explanation for this.

"So far, who's on your card?” her uncle asked.
“Just you and Dusty.”
Uncle Trevor smiled, “Let me see.” Untying the ribbon from her wrist, Liz handed the small beige card across to him.
“How ‘bout dancing a polka with your old uncle?"
"You're not old---and I'd love to."
He picked up a quill and dipped it into a filled inkwell in the center of the table. “I’m gonna put Dusty down for the last number, alright?”
“Okay.” Liz bit her bottom lip to keep from smiling.
A pair of cowboys walked up and stood next to Trevor. “Tom, Bear--- I’d like you to meet my niece, Elizabeth.”
“Nice to meet you Miss,” the men said in unison.
She noticed the cute guy who wore a light brown shirt tucked into his jeans, a dark vest, a black bandana tie, and a tan Stetson. He said, “Miss Elizabeth, I’d be honored if you allowed me a dance…that is…if it’s alright with Trevor.” His likable smile lit up his golden eyes.
Her uncle glanced Liz's way. “What do you think?”
“Sure.” Dusty’s handsome; this guy’s hot. Since I’m stuck here, I might as well have some fun.
Uncle Trevor added, “Only if you promise to be on your best behavior, Tom.” The man nodded.
The other cowboy shifted from one foot to the other. “Miss Elizabeth, would ya be willing' to dance with an old cowboy like me?”
Underneath his weathered face, Liz saw kind eyes. She chimed in, “Of course.”

MM Pollard
August 7th, 2012, 12:46 PM
This particular story is set in 1929 Chicago with the St. Valentine's Day Massacre just about to happen. I'm using a lot of gangster slang, hence "sap" is slang for billy club.

Thanks for explaining sap to me. I'm not up on my 20's slang. MM

lynda_frazier
August 7th, 2012, 05:32 PM
Lesson 2:
BEFORE:
<st1:City w:st="on"><ST1:p Tracy </ST1:p</st1:City>grabbed for her bag, but wasn’t quick enough. Pat jerked it out of her reach.
“I’m one of the good guys Tracy. I have a background in chemistry and needed information on the drugs they’re making. Instead I got stuck with you.”
“What does that mean? I never asked for your help.” She needed to stay calm. “I don’t need your help. I could have taken care of myself. So when you’re finished tossing my stuff around, feel free to go.”
“Nier knows who we are. I’m being set, It’s a perfect plan because I’ll be left with no agency to turn to for help. I need you alive to help clear my name. Right now the only one I can trust is my brother. Now let’s get out of here so I can find him.”
<ST1:p<st1:City w:st="on"> Tracy </st1:City></ST1:pstepped forward, testing her leg. “News will leak out and my father will know I’m not dead. This is good. He’ll get his team together and they’ll find us. We’ll be fine, don’t you see?”
“You didn’t hear a word I said, did you.”
<ST1:p<st1:City w:st="on"> Tracy </st1:City></ST1:pheaved a frustrated sigh as Pat rambled on.
“The message they’re going to send is that you were found alive, and I killed you. So yes, they’re coming, but not for you, for me.”
<ST1:p</ST1:p She turned and shoved her hand into a compartment she’d made in the mattress. She’d known the day would come when she would need these. <ST1:p<st1:City w:st="on">Tracy </st1:City></ST1:pfelt around and grabbed the rubber banded stack of papers and pulled them out, throwing them at Pat.
“This will clear you. It has information on the Flanagan’s and Dex’s formula.”
“You forgot one thing. I killed you. If you’re not with me they’ll think it’s true, and that I stole this information. So whether you like it or not, we’re sticking together. I just need to do one thing.”
<ST1:p<st1:City w:st="on"> Tracy </st1:City></ST1:pstepped forward as Pat scribbled on the wall.
“What in the hell is that?”
“It’s a message. If my brother comes here he’ll know where to find us.”
“Tag, you’re it? Really, is your brother a toddler? Let’s just get the hell out of here. I was never caught until I hit the wall. So make sure you have a plan that will get us past that, and I’ll stay with you. For now.”
<O:p</O:p
AFTER:
<ST1:p<st1:City w:st="on"> Tracy </st1:City></ST1:pgrabbed for her bag, but wasn’t quick enough. Pat jerked it out of her reach and glared at her.
“I’m one of the good guys, Tracy. I have a background in chemistry and was undercover to get information on the drugs they were making. Instead I got stuck with you.”
“What does that mean? I never asked for your help.” She needed to stay calm. “I can take care of myself. So when you’re finished, feel free to go.”
“Nier knows who we are. I’m being set up. It’s a perfect plan. I’ll be left without an agency to turn to for help. I need you alive to clear my name. Right now the only one I can trust is my brother. Now let’s get out of here so I can find him.”
<ST1:p<st1:City w:st="on"> Tracy </st1:City></ST1:pstepped forward, testing her leg. “The news will leak out and my father will know I’m not dead. He’ll get his team together and they’ll find us. We’ll be fine, don’t you see?”
“You did not hear a word I said, did you.”
<ST1:p<st1:City w:st="on"> Tracy </st1:City></ST1:pheaved a frustrated sigh as Pat rambled on.
“The message they’re going to send is that you were found alive, and I killed you. So yes, they’re coming, but not for you, for me.”
<ST1:p<st1:City w:st="on"> Tracy </st1:City></ST1:pturned and shoved her hand into a compartment she’d made in the mattress. She knew the day would come when she would need these. <ST1:p<st1:City w:st="on">Tracy </st1:City></ST1:pfelt around and grabbed the rubber banded stack of papers and pulled them out, throwing them at Pat.
“This will clear you. It has information on Flanagan and Dex’s formula.”
“You forgot one thing. I killed you. If you’re not with me they’ll think it’s true and that I stole this information. So whether you like it or not, we’re stuck together. I just need to do one thing.”
<ST1:p<st1:City w:st="on"> Tracy grabbed her bag</st1:City> as Pat scribbled on the wall.
“What in the hell is that?”
“It’s a message. If my brother comes here he’ll know where to find us.”
“Tag, you’re it? Really, is your brother a toddler? Let’s just get the hell out of here. I was never caught until I hit the wall. So make sure you have a plan that will get us past that, and I’ll stay with you, for now.”
Off to Lesson three. Hope I stayed on track with this one.
Thanks
Lynda

janet2write
August 7th, 2012, 06:07 PM
No questions, thanks MM.

Kay Angel
August 14th, 2012, 03:48 PM
Thanks for explaining sap to me. I'm not up on my 20's slang. MM

FYI, technically, a sap isn't a billy club. It's a small, semi-soft club. Homemade saps in the twenties were socks filled with rocks, a brick, coins, etc. Fill the foot area, knot the top, and use the knot for a grip--gives a hefty club.

Kay Angel
August 14th, 2012, 04:21 PM
Unedited (402 words):
“On the other hand, I might not fail. However,” I drew out the pause dramatically while, in my head, I ran through probable species based on cage size and eliminated a number of possibilities for the remaining prospects given the array of inmates I could see. Odds were good I could handle anything in that cage, and I could use this to push my own agenda. “I have heard that you have other levels that are off-limits to certain customers until they have earned their entr&#233;e through a means I have yet to hear.” I let more of the warmth of my eyes seep out, into something a bit less comfortable. “An oversight on your part, I am sure.” Sweeping my lashes down to shield the fire from burning too hotly, I reined in my inner Hellfire and continued without giving him a chance to answer the barb. “So, I will attempt to induce this shift, and you will show me the entirety of your stock, allowing me to choose from all areas, fail or not. Or we can wager, with your side of the bet being a second slave of my choice for each I buy today.”

“Ah, such confidence. You place a great deal of value on your skills. And if you lose, my deliciousness? What would be worth such a sacrifice on my part?”

“A day and a night of my services.”

With a laugh, Armand shrugged and turned, ostentatiously surveying row upon row of cages and cages filled with exotic slaves awaiting his will. “Forgive me, my darling Jewell, but I think you estimate your services a bit highly.” He gestured flamboyantly at the cages. “I can have anything I want, any time I want.”

“Not that you will have a chance of finding out the difference between what you have and what I could provide, cher, as those were not the services I was offering.” Only because I was watching for it did I catch the fleeting glimpse of greed hidden under his confident smirk. This was what he had been hoping for: an offering of skills and gifts to let him decide if I was worth trying to contain. “I offer twenty-four hours of personal training, in the sexual art or arts of your choice, to no more than three of your merchandise, in the presence of no more than one of your own chosen guards.”


Revised (451 words):
“On the other hand, I might not fail. However...” I drew out the pause dramatically while, in my head, I ran through probable species based on cage size and eliminated a number of possibilities for the remaining prospects given the array of inmates I could see. Odds were good I could handle anything in that cage, and I could use this to push my own agenda.

“I have heard that you have other levels that are off-limits to certain customers until they have earned their entr&#233;e through a means I have yet to hear.” I let more of the warmth of my eyes seep out, into something a bit less comfortable. “An oversight on your part, I am quite sure.”

Sweeping my lashes down to shield the fire from burning too hotly, I reined in my inner Hellfire and continued without giving him a chance to answer the barb. “So, I will attempt to induce his shift, and you will show me the entirety of your stock in payment, allowing me first choice from all areas, fail or not. Or we can wager, with your side of the bet being a second slave of my choice for each I buy today, also from any and every area of your wares.”

“Ah, such confidence, Jewell. A wager then, after all. You place a great deal of value on your skills. And if you lose, deliciousness? What would be worth such a sacrifice on my part?” Smirking yet again, he smoothed his silk tie, and ran his greedy eyes over me from head to toe.

“My offer is for a day and a night of my services.”

Without turning a hair, Armand shrugged and looked around, ostentatiously surveying row upon row of cages and cages filled with exotic slaves awaiting his will. “Forgive me, my darling Jewell, but I think you estimate your services a bit highly.” He gestured flamboyantly at the cages. “I can have anything I want, any time I want.”

“You will not have a chance of finding out the difference between what you have and what I could provide, cher, as those were not the services I was offering.” Only because I was watching for it did I catch the fleeting glimpse of the greed hidden under his confident smirk--and not a single flicker of anger. This was what he had been hoping for: an offering of skills and gifts to let him decide if I was worth trying to contain. “I offer twenty-four hours of personal training, in the sexual art or arts of your choice, to no more than three of your merchandise, in the presence of no more than one of your own, chosen guards.”