gumOnShoe's *greatest* works

[gumOnShoe]

I have a few select stories I am more proud of than others, several of which have been written over time. I'll only be posting the most complete of these, and I'll start with my MWC winner coal heart.

Before I do though, I'd invite you to read, review, critique, tear down, or build up where you see fit. I know my writing still has a long way to go, but these stories I'm posting for the enjoyment of others. I'm also perfectly willing to answer any questions in regards to my stories, writing process, or whatever you may be curious about.

A little bit about me before I post any stories:

In elementary school I made an attempt to write my first novel with a friend. It was a "horror" story about two kids going to camp and getting attacked by a monster. There were only ten pages and my characters never got off the path to the cabin. I remember thinking I'd like to write at some point in my life, but thinking that people who know what they are going to do their entire life probably knew since they were born. It didn't occur to me that I was actually starting down that path until recently.

That story was chucked off to the side and I tried to write a large fantasy/sci-fi piece next. I've got 80 pages of rubbish, consequently, in a box under my bed. It was hard to throw away, but it needed to happen.

Realizing that I needed an education in writing if I ever wanted to be any good, I minored in writing at college. I'm much happier with my work now, and while it doesn't reach a level of mastery, I often find that I can at least tolerate my work. I think the most valuable lessons I ever learned, I learned from my poetry class. If you want to write prose, you should learn the basic idea of valuing every word of every sentence and there is no better practice than an intensive poetry class.

With out further adu, a story will be posted next. I'll likely space out posting works.

[gumOnShoe]

- 1 -

On the edge of the town square, just under the reaching grasp of the pine woods, and not too far from the winding path that led up into the mountain pass lay Krelic Keep; a tavern made of stones set in mortar between wooden beams. A weathered wooden sign the image of a castle tower, drifted back and forth on rusted chains on an extended beam. The Krelic's chimney, from which smoke drifted continuously, leaned out between two hulking trees. Down the chimney, was a huge fire, but the chimney was of such a make that it served only to amplify, like a giant horn, the blustering wind that caused the trees to sway and grown and the pounding rain which made the air heavy and damp. In the tavern, the walls were mostly the same as they were on the outside, but adorned with the heads of long dead game. Straw littered the wooden floor here and there, tracked in with muddy foot prints. Tables were scattered across the floor, roughly four seats to each, half of which were filled. There was no, bar, merely a man who kept running up and down the cellar steps taking empty flagons and bringing them back full.

The horn chimney carried in to the room the howl of a wolf. "Them's no ordinary wolves out twixt the trees luv. They's man beasts, soon as rip yeh neck ti' navel fer the thrill of it as eat yeh fer yer meat. And in the light o' day they's change back to human form and walk midst us. Werewolves, eh, they are. Wouldn't walk home 'lone tonight with out a lamp and a strong arm like mine fer protection. Makes no sense, on a night like this. Why don't yeh let poor Jack guide ye home. I know how to keep a miss warm, a bit o' fire in the belly and heat neath the sheets. No wolf 'll come near ye. Wat'd yer say?"

Giggling erupted from girl's mouth. Jack was old, gray haired and frayed all around. He stood framed by the light, one leg up on the stool as he leaned towards her. His knee length brown coat was tattered and ember scarred. His eyes were wide and bright with his drink, his breath smelled of whisky and she thought, The town smithy? Lord!, but said, "Wolf men, indeed! Only one monster out to get me tonight Jack. Tis you. I'm not that far gone in me cups."

"Yeh tis tem'tu'ous, miss," Jack said the word the way some rolled pebbles around in their mouth. "Ain't no sense in temptin fates. Tis not wise. I'm only looking look'n out fer ye."

"Lookin out fer yourself, Jack. I'll be fine. Home's just cross the square, past the hounds. Ye'd hear quite a racket if'n anything twer to happen. Ain't no such thing as werewolves or vampires."

The Krelic's door slammed open, carried the force of wind outside that sent every man shivering. A low moan was heard from the chimney as the trees nearby groaned and the door yawned darkly into the night. "Yeh, done it now miss! Yeh broght the Devil down 'pon this house wit yer naysayins. Can see his shadowy form cummin fer us."

There was indeed a shadowy form in the doorway, and it moved further in becoming more solid with each bent step it took. The light of the fire shown on it as crossed the threshold to reveal a soaked main in his mid 30s. He wore a drenched, foreign overcoat with silver buttons and a top hat, clearly bent out of shape from him trying to hold it on his head. Clumps of gray brown hair peaked out beneath the black hat, and too long sideburns melded into a weeks growth of beard. He looked as if he were used to shaving and as if in better times had done it often, perhaps more than once a day. Everything about him said that he was leaving those times behind him, and hout here was likely not to find them again.

The girl, Jack noticed was no preoccupied with the angular features of the foreign, younger man. "Ain't no good miss, mark me words. Bad winds and black news."

"He's just a man Jack. No Devil in him, nor wolf neither; hansom, too." The tavern keep was ushering him in now, shutting the door against the autumn chill.

"Tis foolish to judge eh man on 'is face, miss."

The tavern keep and the man were exchanging words now. She could catch glimpses of what he said: horses, broken shoe, blacksmith, lodgings for the night. The keep pointed in her direction, know Jack's. He was the town smithy. The foreigner nodded in what appeared to be appreciation and then cautiously walked cross the hall to where she sat, and Jack leered, still with one foot on a chair, hands rested on a knee.

"Excuse me, gentleman, I beg your pardon, but I was hoping you might see to horse shoe. Tomorrow of course, old chap, but all the same I'd much appreciate it. It seems one of my horses is easily spooked by wolves, even though we hadn't ventured across one, not that I blame it. Wolf howls give one a touch of the shivers, make you feel close to the other world, the spirits, if you know what I mean." Jack stared at the man, mouth hung open slightly. "I'm not err, interrupting am I, please say you'll help. I've brought coin, ought to be plenty enough."

"Aye, Jack 'll help yeh, sir. Won't ye Jack. Not interuptin a thing on me word."

Jack pulled himself into a standing position, still several inches shorter than the visitor. "Need yer name and proof o' coin. Don't do no charity work, ye understand o' course."

"Yes, of course. My name is Dr. Wilhelm Pennst, scientist and surgeon," he said, reaching into his breast pocket and pulling out to the audible clacking of several other coins, one gold one. "Here's your proof, but you'll understand it might be worth more to me than just a shoe for a horse. I do have more work for a smithy if you find yourself up to the task."

Jack stroked the gray whiskers on his acne strewn chin. "Aye, that'll do nicely. Bring yer horses 'round to the shop on the morrow. We'll get that right an' ready. Name's Jack."

"And you miss," Dr. Pennst said, eying the young woman, "what's your name?"

"Tis mis Jane, sir. Daughter of the woodcutter Edmond, sir."

"I'm no Sir. That's a title reserved for more foolish men than, men who see god in their King. I'd prefer Dr. Pennst."

Blushing, "Yes, sorry, Dr. Pennst."

"Well then, it was nice meeting the two of you, my one bright spot on this rather dismal day, but I'm afraid I ought to be on my way for the evening. Don't want to catch cold, need my rest. I'll bring the horses by tomorrow, Jack.'

"And the coin," Jack reminded him, none to softly.

"Yes, of course, the coin. Good night." Dr. Pennst, went to turn, tipping his dripping hat as he went, a habit he had yet to break. Jane tried to imagine him as part of the village, clothes old and torn from toil, exhaustion from work and burden set in sagging eyes; a more bent walk and less amiable smile; yellowed teeth, yet it didn't fit him or he didn't fit it. He wouldn't. If Dr. Pennst planned to stay in Krelsir Valley, he'd always be an outsider; too kind, to polite, and not like to survive the winter. It'd be turning cold soon. Jane bet they'd have three weeks left of cold rain before the snow set in. The passes would become treacherous in a month and blocked in two. A man would have a hard time feeding horses up here.

"Night Jack, tis best I turn in as well, whilst I can," then added, "alone."

"Eh," he nodded. "Careful, suppose I might'n have better luck next time."

"No, you won't," she said silently to herself letting quiet hang between them as she walked away gathering her coats close around to ward off the rain. She hung back on the edge of the firelight for a moment before leaning into the door and stepping out into the dark.

[gumOnShoe]

- 2 -

Edmund had taken strapped Hallus, the great German hound, to his sled each time he wandered out to go find wood in the snow. Hallus was a great big dog, up to a man's waste and strong from helping pull trees in. In the summer months, horses could be used to bring in the wood, but even then Hallus came along for the ride. One February evening, as the sun was beginning to set, Hallus was seen running through the town square, sled empty, Edmund ominously missing. Jane seeing Hallus and not her father, turned the dog around and followed his tracks, an easy feat with the sled rocking and sliding a track between tree and root. Her father, being a woodsman always had work in the winter, but doubly so now that Pennst had come to town. Jane was just entering the eves of the forest, stepping through her father's fading foot holes in the foot deep snow, when it dawned on her just how much Pennst had surprised her.

Not only, was he alive and well, but he seemed to be thriving, and the town too. The day after he had turned up, he'd produced documents of ownership for a large vacant manor a few miles from town and taken up residency. He had hired two local men to move his belongings in, in the dead of night, and paid enough to keep them silent and the town excited for weeks. The two men had also labored to make the house winter ready, while supposedly making changes to the inner rooms. There were rumors, unsubstantiated all, of grotesque experiments and walking dolls that ran on clockwork and gears. But they were just that, unsubstantiated, and surely a man of such manors had only earned the reputation by valuing his privacy and paying enough to get it.

Jack was constantly busy at his bellows, making parts he claimed he couldn't understand. He shipped them by slid, under covered blanket to Dr. Pennst. He was still was also being paid well for his efforts and it became clear that Pennst was quite rich. Jack had replaced his tattered coat with a brand new one and bought a set of fine fur gloves as well. He strode around as if he were important, when he wasn't bent over the anvil.

And because Jack was busy, Edmund, Jane's father had found himself busy as well. The bellows needed fuel, constantly, and so Edmund found himself employed in excess. He had taken to wandering into the woods more and more often in search of good firewood. Hallus pulled the slid, which the tree would be placed on to be pulled back to town. But today Hallus had shown up alone, without a tree, and in a panic running through the square. Jane didn't like it one bit.

Fearing the worst, wolves, she picked up her pace; Hallus on her heals as they raced through the timber. The ground had begun to slope upward by the time she reached her father. He was pinned beneath a tree, which he had clearly been chopping down before it fell on him. In the split where the tree had come in two, she could see the rot and loam her father had not seen. She breathed in heavily as Hallus whimpered and licked her father's blood soaked brow. He made no sounds, but his chest rose and fell slowly, weakly. Jane felt dizzy, bewildered and spun back the way she had came, scrambling and slipping through the snow, back to town; faster, into a run, snow flying out from beneath her boots; dodging branches, tripping on hidden roots, ripping her skirt on covered brambles; snow fell into her eyes from disturbed branches; impeding, drowning her movement; cheeks red, throat raw, and lungs burning she chocked down frigid air. Her legs felt half frozen as they rubbed against each other; snot clogged her nose, tears blurred her vision freezing on her cheeks as the wind bit.

She burst out of the trees between two houses and then through the gap. She was near Edmund's. He was a doctor, a surgeon. He was life. He would, must help. Fists against a wooden door rising and falling, echoing into the house, "Pennst! Doctor!" she screamed, gasped over and over till he came to the door. She fell onto him them, feeling his warmth, too weak to stand. She was fighting for every breath, trying to speak.

"Relax, breath, you need to calm yourself Miss Jane or you'll faint. Come on, gather your form. Madness doesn't become you." He was wearing spectacles that hung on the tip of his nose and enlarged his eyes. "What in the name of heaven is going on?"

Finally she gasped, taking huge vacuous, shuddering breaths between each word, "Father, hurt pinned, bleading, breathing, help."

"Stay right here, I'll raise the town alarm and you can show us the way. I'll be back soon."

Perhaps it was his generosity for previous tasks that had roused so many men to help so quickly. It was true Edmund was well liked, and it was a small town, but Jane noticed the way the men exchanged glances, smiled and winked that something else had brought them. It was only a few of them who seemed genuinely concerned about her father, and even some of them were the best liars in town.

She lead them through the woods to where Hallus still stood guard of Edmund. They had the tree up and Edmund out from under it in minutes and then on to the sled which they dragged back to town, careful not to jostle Edmund too much. Dr. Pennst had them pack snow in around his body several times to keep Edmund preserved.

When they returned to town Dr. Pennst dressed Edmund's head wound and began to inspect the rest of his body. He muttered to himself much during the examination and then sent Jane on her way, "You're father is deteriorating quickly and I'll need to work fast, which means I need you out of the way. Go and see to your business about town, I'll update you later."

Later came and went, and when she finally did see Dr. Pennst again, all she received was a dismissal. Her father was still in bad shape and couldn't be disturbed as his life hung in the balance. He'd let her know if Edmund's condition improved, but it wasn't likely to happen for several weeks, and even then there were no guarantees. And so, she waited late into March, when the snows were still deep.

All the while, Jack kept the bellows going, filling stranger and stranger orders, telling taller and taller tales at the Krelic Keep of armor, latches and gears. Jane grew worried by the day, but thankful for the action, respectful of ranking, and more than a little smitten by Pennst's looks, she never fully saw through with her demands and worries about her father.

[gumOnShoe]

- 3 -

Acrylic glops of white spattered the horizon beneath gray clouds which rolled and toppled across each other in the fading light of day. The Caucus Mountains were laden with snow, even in late April, highlighted by flashes of lightening. Thunder in a snow storm; Edmund was scared, even after all his years as a woodsman and pressed his metallic body beneath two large boulders at the base of a snow blanketed pine. Intertwined with the hollow whistling of the wind, and the deep rumble of thunder was the bobbing and bumping of his brain against his head jar. The preservation liquid swished with the brain to the quaking of his limbs, a metallic scrape back and forth like crickets.
Another bolt across the sky; A flash on tree tops illuminating the valley, dimming the village below; a lone wolf's cry in the night; alone; cowardly.

Ever cold, Edmund's metallic body seeped chill into his blood. Inward, a coal ember burned hot to keep blood and oil from freezing. He knew he was now a construction of balance on the edge of two extremes.

"The nerves, for pain, had to go. I'm sure you understand. I could not remove your sense of heat, you need to stay steady or you will fade away."

But he was already fading anyway. Without pain he had grown numb to everything physical around him while emotions wracked his ruined body. Clockwork spun inside the armor that kept him alive, aiding his movements. He'd finally emerged from the Doctor's care a week ago into the town, to screams of horror. Jane, his only child, had looked at him with such wide eyes, blood slowly draining from her face as her face melded into a mix of shock and sadness. He was dead to her, he could see it already, and without a voice he was unable to comfort her.

Hallus had done nothing, but bark at him, the Doctor's blood on his armor only infuriating the dog more. Edmund shrank back between the boulders, willing his coal heart to dye out, to extinguish itself watching the glow of the town dim and brighten in the lightning. There was a house on fire. There was a body of a young man inside and a girl crying for her father, but Edmund was only numb.

[Luke]

-1- -2- -3-

Interesting read, and very well descriptive. The story was well written, but had some grammatical errors, that stuff happens though. Nothing serious. I really liked this one.

[gumOnShoe]

At 1/29/10 01:31 PM, EpicFail wrote:

-1- -2- -3-

Interesting read, and very well descriptive. The story was well written, but had some grammatical errors, that stuff happens though. Nothing serious. I really liked this one.

Yeah, ever since I realized I posted the shitty version I've been thinking about deleting this thread and starting it over. There are places where I even have two words I was considering, but forgot to take one out. :/

One of the story's strongest points is the sort of pathetic fallacy of the weather that's strongest at the start. Coupled with the character's talk of werewolves and death, regardless of sexual undertones, really bring this out. The setting and the way the atmosphere is built up around the town is used picturesquely, partilcularly with, like I mentioned, the weather, and the physical presence of the wolves and the characters' statuses.

The use of phonetic dialogue was a bit of a gamble in the longer sequences towards the start, but it wasn't used enough to a suffocating degree to wear out its welcome. The frequent contrast with the (supposedly) more tamed Pennst in dialogue alone does its job by the end of the story. That said, the characters were presented well, not to distract from the dominant aspects of the atmosphere, yes?

The ending was a bit too compacted in my eyes, and I think you should consider maybe making an extension to this story - one which slows down the overall pace and enhances the setting even greater, taking some time out to discuss the transitions which are spaced ouut quite well in terms of plot, but otherwise seem to have the feel of being activated by a button. This extended, should you ever consider it, would probably boost what is entitled to be a series of immense shock at the end. In this form here, it seems a little weak as it comes about so quickly , weighed down by other parts of the story.

At 1/29/10 01:50 PM, gumOnShoe wrote: Yeah, ever since I realized I posted the shitty version I've been thinking about deleting this thread and starting it over. There are places where I even have two words I was considering, but forgot to take one out. :/

I thought it was rather odd that some of it seemed to be lacking in a bit of double-checking. That said, even with all the first-draftness about the story, it's mostly understandable what's going on, in that the most frequent errors are homophonic. Some of the sentences seem to run on a bit long, which I'm not sure is something you went back and later went over (I admit to not having read this before - call this laziness, or if you want to be kind, a review of an earlier draft).

It might be quite interesting to keep this thread though, as you could post the 'completed' version here to give a successful example of growth, maybe? Then you could pick out what comments are made by both and consider a next possible stage?

[Kajenx]

Man, this started really well and I thought I was going to be reading a novel, then it just sort of ended suddenly. I absolutely love your writing, and I could read it all day, but I feel like this could have been fleshed out more around the end. There was enough to hold it together, but I felt a little disappointed.

The characters and plot were really great, though, and, as I said, wonderful writing.

MOAR PLOX, kthxbie.

[FUNKbrs]

We need to talk about your use of of metaphors.

The fact that you're creative enough to come up with a lot of them is good, but sometimes I don't need a floorplan to the inn to understand people are in there drinking.

What I'm basically saying is that there are details that matter and that should be accentuated with metaphors because of some symbolic or foreshadowing purpose, while sometimes you may be able to think of a metaphor that fits but it doesn't really serve a purpose in the writing.

I have to admit, I'm inspired to post the final draft of my first novel in here as opposed to the rough copy that's in my blog. I had a big issue with this when I was writing it, but now I think I've found the right balance.

[gumOnShoe]

At 1/31/10 08:10 PM, Kajenx wrote: Man, this started really well and I thought I was going to be reading a novel, then it just sort of ended suddenly. I absolutely love your writing, and I could read it all day, but I feel like this could have been fleshed out more around the end. There was enough to hold it together, but I felt a little disappointed.

The secret to this story is that the ending is the first thing I wrote, and that the bit after the accident was all written in about 4 hours right before the competition was over. I've planned some revisions and expansions to it, but I may leave it till the summer. There certainly is more space, as you elaborated. Unfortunately, I have another commitment, writing wise, that I'm trying to flush out.

At 1/31/10 08:39 PM, FUNKbrs wrote: We need to talk about your use of of metaphors.

This is the first time I've heard this. I've never been accused (I've done some accusing myself on this point) of this, but now that you bring it up I'll have to look over it. Writers always need something else to hate about their work.

What I'm basically saying is that there are details that matter and that should be accentuated with metaphors because of some symbolic or foreshadowing purpose, while sometimes you may be able to think of a metaphor that fits but it doesn't really serve a purpose in the writing.

I'm not sure I always believe in purpose and most often I think I made choices to help get people into the mood, but if its detracting I'll need to revisit it. I certainly am capable of doing wrong, and the lack of editing in this first piece is testament to that. I really wanted to have something to *post* up.

I have to admit, I'm inspired to post the final draft of my first novel in here as opposed to the rough copy that's in my blog. I had a big issue with this when I was writing it, but now I think I've found the right balance.

Yeah, I know that feeling. I'll be posting up selected works, but I think anything I plan on publishing will have to go out in a different medium first. I hope to at least be able to post selections, or say a related short story though. Publishing would be very cool though.

[Kajenx]

At 1/31/10 08:39 PM, FUNKbrs wrote: We need to talk about your use of of metaphors.

GAH! What are you talking about, the writing was flawless!