Please post your homework and questions for Lesson 2 here. 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 good enough. Now drop it. Shae's about to rejoin us."
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.
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.”
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
“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.
"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.
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.