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Marj
Posted: Thu Feb 03, 2005 6:18 pm Reply with quote
Joined: 21 May 2004 Posts: 10497 Location: Manhattan
We are a talented and creative bunch. So if you're working on some poetry, a novel or any kind of writing and would like to try it out, here is the place.

We promise to be kind and helpful in our comments. Mostly, we look forward to reading your work.
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daffy
Posted: Thu Feb 03, 2005 6:41 pm Reply with quote
Joined: 20 May 2004 Posts: 1939 Location: Wall Street
"It was a dark and stormy night..."

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Marj
Posted: Thu Feb 03, 2005 6:50 pm Reply with quote
Joined: 21 May 2004 Posts: 10497 Location: Manhattan
I'm am reposting the pologue and first chapter to Carrobin's novel. I still hope she will send it to Lorne for posting in The Spare Bedroom.

OK Marj, here's the brief Prologue and the first page of the first chapter. You may get the feeling that I really love the city of York.

THE GHOSTDOGS OF YORK

Prologue

In York the snow falls early, sweeping down in November and veiling the great river and the tall gray cathedral that is called York Minster. Within the old city walls are narrow cobbled streets and the remains of the ancient castle, where you might expect to find a horde of ghosts, and many are the witnesses who have seen them. Human ghosts are well known in old York, as they are in so many other towns in England. But York has other ghosts, too.
Loki is the oldest of the Ghostdogs. He came with the Vikings, and those who have seen him, shadowy in dark corners, describe a big rangy hound who growls with a sound like grinding teeth. Although he is the oldest, he is not the leader; that honor goes to Tuck, who got his name during his brief lifetime in nearby Sherwood Forest. Few have seen him, but he was a shaggy sheepdog when he followed Robin Hood’s merry men, and organizing came naturally to him. Always with him is little Rip-Ear, a snappish terrier who makes certain that Tuck’s orders are carried out.
The rest of the Ghostdogs neither follow nor lead, but seem to flow around Loki and Tuck and Rip-Ear like a cloud of fog. If you happen to catch a glimpse of one of those three in a dark snickleway between the ancient walls, you will know that the rest of the Ghostdogs are not far away.
The Ghostdogs are always on the move. They run through the night streets without noticing the cars or the travelers. They gather in the cold shadows of the Minster crypt, and they love to race through the narrow cobbled lanes of the Shambles. But their work is never-ending, for they must constantly seek and destroy the shadowy evils that creep into their ancient city.

Chapter One

There were dogs running beside him. Or maybe they were in front of him by now. Giles kept noticing them out of the corner of his eye, rushing along the sidewalk. And that was strange, because the streets were crowded with people here in the middle of York in the middle of December, in the middle of a cold and cloudy afternoon. Tourists were standing in Deangate taking pictures of the great Minster, the cathedral that towered over the middle of the city, and cars were honking at them, and yet the dogs seemed to run through the traffic like smoke. Nobody else seemed to pay any attention to them. Giles was starting to wonder if he really saw them, or if he might be just dreaming that he saw them. They were almost like shadows, and when he tried to look directly at them, they disappeared.
But dogs were the least of his problems right now, because he was late. He hurried into the great South Door of the Minster, where a line of tourists glared at him as he pushed past them and walked quickly past the desk where everyone else had to pay to enter. A guard waved him to a stop. “You with the school group?”
“Yes,” Giles said, breathless. “I just got here.”
“So I see. They’re just off to the North Transept.”
“Did I miss the Crypt?” Giles asked anxiously.
The guard smiled. “No, the Crypt is closed this week.” He paused, recognizing Giles’s shocked expression. “I know—everyone wants to see the Crypt. But it’ll be open again by New Year’s. Hurry along now, don’t want to keep your teacher waiting. And take off your cap!”


Last edited by Marj on Sun May 01, 2005 3:51 pm; edited 1 time in total
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Marj
Posted: Thu Feb 03, 2005 6:56 pm Reply with quote
Joined: 21 May 2004 Posts: 10497 Location: Manhattan
Continued ...

The students were standing at the front of the choir screen, all of them wearing the dark green and cream-yellow uniforms of his school. Giles knew his own green necktie was crooked and his collar was askew as he walked toward them, pulling his cap off. Mr. Clement, the fourth-form teacher, frowned at him. “You’re late, Giles.”
“Yes, sir. I didn’t—“
“Never mind the excuses, just get in line. There.” As Giles moved to a place behind a group of other boys, the teacher resumed the speech he had already begun. “We can view some of the oldest stonework in England here…”
“Giles.” The whisper came from behind him; Giles turned to see his friend Will. “What happened? Your clock stop?”
Giles sighed. “You know my aunt.” He kept his voice low so that the teacher couldn’t hear him. “She’s always running late.”
He felt a little guilty for blaming his aunt. It wasn’t her fault, really.
They moved on to look at the stained-glass windows that towered far above them, glowing in the fading afternoon light. “The Five Sisters window was created in the thirteenth century,” Mr. Clement told them, his voice sharp in the dusty quiet of the cathedral. “It’s the oldest example of stained glass in England. As you can see, no one had yet discovered how to get deep dyes into glass, so it isn’t as colorful as the Rose window above the West Door.”
Giles heard the girls behind him whispering about what they wanted to buy in the gift shop, and the boys in front of him were murmuring about the football game they were planning later. Giles smiled, thinking about his own secret.
For the first time in his life, he was going to spend a night by himself.
Of course, nobody else knew. His parents were in Canada visiting his grandmother, and they had left him with Aunt Alyson. But she had taken the noon train to London for a Festive Friday theater evening with her friends—without knowing that his plan to spend the night at his friend Liam’s house had been cancelled.
He hardly noticed when the teacher finished his description of the windows and the vaulted ceiling so far above them that they could hardly see the details. But then Mr. Clement said, “It’s too bad the Crypt is closed today, as well as the Croft underneath it, since it’s one of the most interesting parts of the Minster.” Some of the students groaned; they had been looking forward to that part of the tour. “Perhaps some of you can return next week, when the repairs will be finished. There are no bodies buried in the Crypt, but there are fascinating artifacts and the remains of the old Roman streets and walls, as well as some Viking stonework and models of the city as it was first laid out.”
The rest of the tour took them around the Nave and the East End and into the tall room called the Chapter House, with its shining tile floor and soaring stained-glass windows. Some of the students took photos with their cameras. Finally the teacher made the announcement that the girls behind Giles had been waiting for: “Now we’ll proceed to the gift shop. And don’t pick up anything unless you plan to buy it!”
Giles stood quietly while the rest of the kids moved away, chattering with excitement. He hoped that the teacher wouldn’t ask where his aunt was. When everyone else had begun to move toward the little shop behind the tall stone columns, he turned and walked casually behind them.
He noticed that he didn’t seem to be the last in the group—there was a girl beside one of the columns, a few yards away, watching him. He didn’t recognize her, but he couldn’t see her very well in the shadows. She wore a funny gray dress that seemed a little too long. Maybe she was just a tourist, he thought, and not a part of the class at all. But she seemed to be very young to be alone there, all by herself in the darkness. And then she was gone. He shrugged and forgot about her as he followed the rest of the class into the gift shop.
Everyone was looking at the books and the videotapes and the pins and the key rings, the little models of the cathedral that could be taken home in a suitcase, the CDs of medieval music that the choir sang. Mr. Clement stopped at Giles’ elbow. “Where’s your aunt?” he asked.
Giles took a deep breath. “She’s gone to London for a theater evening,” he told him. That was the truth, at least. “I’m staying with a friend tonight.” That wasn’t quite so true, unless you could call Aunt Alyson’s TV set a friend.
But the teacher moved along quickly to a student who was pulling decorated tea towels out of their plastic wrapping. Giles felt relieved; no one was going to ask him who it was he would be staying with tonight.
Giles saw his friend Nick paying for a poster, and he went over as the clerk handed Nick his change. “Hi, Nick, can I walk along with you to Gillygate? Aunt Alyson’s not picking me up today.”
“Sure.” Nick stuffed the pound coins into his pants pocket. “Don’t you wish we could go in the Crypt?”
“Yeah. Maybe we can do it next month.”
“My mum told me about it.” The boys walked out of the shop and Giles looked down the cathedral’s wide aisle. He noticed that the gray girl was there again, in the shadows by a column. Nick went on: “You go down some stairs and there’s part of a stone wall the Romans built, and some models showing how York looked back then. There are big slabs in the floor where people were buried. I’m going to ask Mum to take me there when it’s open again.”
The boys passed the roped-off stairs of the Crypt entrance and came out of the South Door of the cathedral. They walked down the stone steps to the plaza, turning right to cross the courtyard to the street. “I’m going to get some pizza,” Giles told Nick. “I’m on my own tonight.” He bit his lip; he hadn’t meant to tell anyone. It had just popped out. “Don’t tell your mum,” he added.
Nick looked at him in surprise. “Your aunt lets you do that?”
“Why not?” Giles replied. “I’m twelve, after all. Almost a teenager.”
“Then why shouldn’t I tell Mum?” Nick asked, suspiciously. He grinned when Giles didn’t answer. “Right, so your aunt doesn’t know, does she?”
“Well, not really. She thinks I’m staying at Liam’s. But this morning his mum called to say that he’s got a sore throat, so…” Giles shrugged. “She called just as Aunt Alyson was leaving. I didn’t want to worry her.”
Nick laughed. “I won’t tell Mum. But what are you going to do with your free time?”
Giles shrugged again. “First I’m going to get a pizza with anchovies and pepperoni, and a soda, and then I’ll go back to the flat and watch videos. Tomorrow’s Saturday, so I can stay up all night if I want to. And Aunt Alyson has some super DVDs that she said I shouldn’t watch because they’re wicked violent.” He paused, looking behind them. “Did you see some dogs?”
“There aren’t any dogs around here,” Nick said. “Does your aunt have Lord of the Rings?”
“No—she says those should be seen in a cinema to be enjoyed properly. But she has Mad Max and Mad Max Two. She’s a real Mel Gibson freak, Aunt Alyson is.”
They stopped in front of the pizza shop, and Nick started to walk on, but then he paused. “Hey, Giles. Didn’t you have a cap when you got to the Minster?”
“Oh!” Giles rubbed his dark curly hair with his hand. “Yeah. I was wearing the knit cap Mum sent me from Canada. I can’t lose that—my gran made it. I must have dropped it while we were walking around looking at all those windows. I’ve got to go back!” He turned and ran down the street toward the cathedral, as Nick called, “Good luck!”

As Giles stepped into the chilly shadows of York Minster, he had a strange feeling that something had called him back to the great cathedral, with its towering stone columns lining the aisles. He felt as if someone was waiting for him. As he walked along looking for his hat among the rows of wooden chairs where he and his classmates had been sitting while the teacher described the cathedral’s history, he knew that someone was watching him, even though there were only a few tourists wandering about. He caught sight of his hat lying on the stone floor between two of the chairs, and he hurried down the row to pick it up. When he stood up again, he saw her. The girl in gray was watching him from beside a thick stone column near the gift shop.
Now he was really curious. He walked toward her; she kept watching him, her large dark eyes very serious. She seemed shy, stepping backward out of the fading light. He stopped a few yards away.
“What is it?” he asked. “Who are you?”
“There’s not much time,” she said, in a low but urgent voice. Then she turned and started to move away.
“Wait!” he insisted. “Wait! Time for what?”
The girl had stopped in the deep shadow. She was smaller than Giles, thinner, and her strange smoke-colored dress came down to her ankles. “Time to help.”
“What?” He was becoming very annoyed with the girl, and confused as well. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Who are you anyway? What’s your name?”
“Sarah.” She stood watching him curiously.
“Well—Sarah—what do you mean? Who needs help?”
“Come. Harris can tell you,” she said.
“Who’s Harris? Come where?” Giles felt uneasy now, but his parents’ warnings about kidnappers had never included little girls in smoky dresses.
She shrugged a little. “He can tell you.”
Giles sighed. There was no reason at all why he should go with this silly little girl and see some mysterious Harris person. But maybe he should find out what was going on. Someone might really need help, and he could tell the police.
“All right,” he said. “But I know karate.”
“Who?” the girl asked.
“Karate—you know—fighting.” He swung his hands up into place in front of him, palms down. “I can take care of myself.”
She didn’t seem impressed. “Come on, then.”
She moved through the shadows so smoothly that he wondered if she had on roller blades— it was hard to tell because her skirt was long and seemed to sweep around her. He thought for a moment that she was going to go out the South Door, but she turned to her right and walked down the steps to the Crypt.
Giles hesitated, because of the rope across the railing and the neat sign that said CLOSED FOR REPAIRS. But she looked back at him. “He’s down here.”
“Wait.” He couldn’t understand how she had gotten halfway down the stairs without moving the rope. Unless—
“Wait,” he said again, although she was standing still, looking up at him from the stone steps. “Wait.” His mouth felt so dry that he could barely speak, and he couldn’t think of any other words. “Wait—”
She watched him patiently. He licked his lips and took a deep breath. “Um—are you— no. Are you? I mean—you know?”
She seemed to frown a little. “You aren’t making sense.”
He took another deep breath. “You’re a—gho—you—are you a ghost?”
“Aye, she’s a ghost, but I ain’t,” came a rumbling voice from the passageway below. Suddenly there was a skinny old man there, looking up at him from the foot of the steps, holding a flashlight in one hand. He pointed the beam at Giles, who blinked in the glare. “Who be you?”
“He can help,” Sarah told the old man. “He was alone in the Minster. I brought him.”
“Did you now?” The old man squinted up at him. “Well, come on down, boy. Let’s have a look at you.”
Giles hesitated, trying to adjust to this new situation. But the ghost girl was friendly, and if the old man were a kidnapper, it would be easy to fight him off. Giles ducked under the rope and followed Sarah down the steps.
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Marj
Posted: Thu Feb 03, 2005 6:59 pm Reply with quote
Joined: 21 May 2004 Posts: 10497 Location: Manhattan
"One of my problems was that I would write stories about characters in my favorite movies--I enjoyed them, but I never showed them to anyone and of course they couldn't be published. It's always been a problem for me to create a character that interested me as much as the ones that already existed. I don't feel that I've done really well by Giles, who started off as a pretty generic 12-year-old, but I've gotten to know him better and maybe I'll develop him a bit more. I'm quite enthralled with my Vampyre, however." - Carrobin

Here's a bit between Giles and the Vampyre:

The Vampyre spoke, its whispery voice sounding dusty, as if it was rarely used. It took Giles a moment to understand the words, because of the dryness, and because of the odd accent. The Vampyre said, “You are but a boy.”
“I’m twelve,” Giles said, trying to sound steady and reasonable.
“Twelve.” The Vampyre’s dry mouth stretched, and Giles could see the sharp white tips of its pointed fangs. “A moment. A sneeze. I have had hiccups that lasted longer.”
Giles hadn’t known that vampires ever got hiccups. But he could see the pointed teeth, so he didn’t laugh. “How old are you?” he asked, the question rushing out in spite of his own better judgment.
“Me?” The Vampyre smiled again, a frightening expression. Its face was as white as a skull in the brightness, the lips a pale pink, the eyes ice blue. The silver-white hair hung to its shoulders, straight and shining. It didn’t look old, but it didn’t look young either; it didn’t look human. “I am too old to remember. Centuries.” The strange eyes kept gazing at Giles, as if studying him like a statue or a painting.
“Are you going to suck my blood?” Giles asked nervously.
“I no longer drink the blood of men. Or boys. I learned long ago that I did not need it. Vampires do not starve.”
Giles felt very relieved, then confused. “Then why did you bring me here?”
The Vampyre made a gesture with its cold white hand. “You have it. The Glass.”
Giles dug into his pocket. Yes, the Light Glass was still there. “You want it back? You could have just taken it from me. You didn’t have to bring me here.”
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Rod
Posted: Thu Feb 03, 2005 10:42 pm Reply with quote
Joined: 21 Dec 2004 Posts: 2944 Location: Lithgow, Australia
....


Last edited by Rod on Thu Jul 28, 2005 10:28 pm; edited 1 time in total

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A long time ago, but somehow in the future...It is a period of civil war and renegade paragraphs floating through space.
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Marj
Posted: Fri Feb 04, 2005 12:39 am Reply with quote
Joined: 21 May 2004 Posts: 10497 Location: Manhattan
I have never considered myself an expert or even a peer when it comes to poetry, but Rod, I was wowed by yours.

Congratulations!
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Rod
Posted: Fri Feb 04, 2005 2:11 am Reply with quote
Joined: 21 Dec 2004 Posts: 2944 Location: Lithgow, Australia
...


Last edited by Rod on Sat Oct 08, 2005 9:20 pm; edited 1 time in total

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A long time ago, but somehow in the future...It is a period of civil war and renegade paragraphs floating through space.
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jeremy
Posted: Fri Feb 04, 2005 4:57 am Reply with quote
Joined: 21 May 2004 Posts: 6794 Location: Derby, England and Hamilton, New Zealand (yes they are about 12,000 miles apart)
Oh yeah the pirate radio told us what was going down
Got the tickets from some messed up bloke in Camden Town
And no one seems to know exactly where it is
But that's okay, cos we're all sorted out for E's and Whizz


From London’s urban spew and fume
They came to dance the night away,
Discrete lives lost in fond commune,
‘Til reclaimed by the light of day
Spilling out into the dawn, sleepless
Eyes in shade in spite of summer’s soft shawl,
Wet with candid dew. Its clinging caress
And insightful chill, welcomed by all
Enveloped in Eve’s loving embrace.
England’s cool heart warmed by a smiling face.

_________________
I am angry, I am ill, and I'm as ugly as sin.
My irritability keeps me alive and kicking.
I know the meaning of life, it doesn't help me a bit.
I know beauty and I know a good thing when I see it.
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tirebiter
Posted: Fri Feb 04, 2005 5:18 am Reply with quote
Joined: 20 May 2004 Posts: 4011 Location: not far away
Rod, Jeremy: Impressive, both of you. Glad this place is here for "sharing" (that awful word). More?
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marantzo
Posted: Fri Feb 04, 2005 9:11 am Reply with quote
Guest
Fine stuff guys.

Jeremy, since you mentioned dancing the night away in London, do you ever go to Tramp? The owner lives in the complex that I'm at. Met him three years ago here. He and his wife are lovely people. Two years ago he had Bill Wyman's wife and kids as guests while Bill was stumping in France for his book about the Stones. The girls were delightful. His wife was....well, a little dramatic.

Maybe I'll write a poem about it.
jeremy
Posted: Fri Feb 04, 2005 9:33 am Reply with quote
Joined: 21 May 2004 Posts: 6794 Location: Derby, England and Hamilton, New Zealand (yes they are about 12,000 miles apart)
Tramp is an established, glitzy nightclub - not really my scene, not to mention a bit out of my league. Apart from my forays into the third world, I'm sorta semi-retired from night-clubbing - I'm too old for the places with a buzz I like, but not sure I'll ever settle in to clubs with "best of" play lists that attract an older crowd.

I wasn't even aware that Bill Wyman had a family. It seems only a few years ago that he was splitting-up from his teen bride, the ever so lucious, but soon to be anorexic, Mandy Smith.

_________________
I am angry, I am ill, and I'm as ugly as sin.
My irritability keeps me alive and kicking.
I know the meaning of life, it doesn't help me a bit.
I know beauty and I know a good thing when I see it.
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marantzo
Posted: Fri Feb 04, 2005 10:37 am Reply with quote
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Jeremy, was Mandy Smith a model who was originally from the U.S.? The name Mandy seems right, but I could be mistaken. This was two years ago. They had two daughters around 6 and eight years old at the time. Maybe this was his second wife?
marantzo
Posted: Fri Feb 04, 2005 10:39 am Reply with quote
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And the woman I met did seem awfuly thin.
chillywilly
Posted: Fri Feb 04, 2005 12:15 pm Reply with quote
Joined: 20 May 2004 Posts: 8250 Location: Salt Lake City
Thanks, Marj. I'll have to play catchup on carrobin's work.

Rod, nice work. I'm no poetry expert, but it flowed very well from these eyes.

Towards the end of the month, I'll be posting the first chapter to the book I am currently working on. Just making a few more changes to some of the character development.

But it's nice to have a place online to get some feedback and share our works.

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Chilly
"If you should die before me / Ask if you could bring a friend"
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