Maybe her life is a joke to her because she did survive it- and look where she is. I wanted the interior monologue to seem like she was jumping from thought to thought like we do when we’re wandering around like she is. I’m going to keep working at it. Thanks for the thoughts. They’re helpful.
Novel Treatments / The Maiden's Heart
The Maiden’s Heart
The Mountain in the Lake
When I was younger, my life was full of promise that was slowly chipped away by the society I lived in. I was pigeon holed. Kept. Defiled. Reviled and finally- hunted. I escaped. My life is a joke. I try to make sense of what happened, how it happened, why it happened, but I don’t know how. I used to think I was smart but lately, not so much. I often stare off wondering why I lived. I suppose Darwin had something to do with it, but I wouldn’t say I was the strongest- so why did I survive? It doesn’t make sense. My name’s Joann Dark. I’ve lost everything I had, and everyone I’ve ever loved. I had one sister, Piewackit, and I don’t know where she is now. I have no friends left. I can never go back home. This is the fifth year of my exile. My home was San Francisco, but since the war began in earnest against women- this open chaparral has been my home, and I hate it out here. I pick up a handful of dirt, I can hold millions of years in the palm of my hand, and the wind blows it all away. What does it mean? Is it a metaphor for life? Maybe. What do I know? Nothing is what it appears to be. It wasn’t there, and it isn’t here.
I’m on my way up to a fire I spotted on a mountain. Fire means people, and I’m curious. I don’t really know how far I have to walk because things out here deceive. There is no point of reference because distance is distorted by time and space. You can’t tell how far away anything is. It takes forever to get where you want to go. It always turns out to be father away than you imagined. Everything looks the same. During the day, hallucinations befuddle the mind. Confusion becomes a normal state of mind. Mountains shimmer on phantom lakes. I have spent hours walking for miles and miles and miles to a lake- all the while telling myself; I should be there by now, but the closer I get; the further away it gets, and then it disappears. Imaginary water floats in the air making the land look like it’s under water, but there is no water; it’s all a dry ocean of heat waves. The rippling pools of water appear far off in the hottest part of the day luring you, teasing you and when you try and get to them they vanish like ghosts. The heat confuses me. The sun beats down, drying my nose, eyes, and skin. Tears leave dry riverbeds of salt on my face; it crusts on my skin like bread crumbs, it feels like sand paper.
I’ve survive because I still hope. I’ve learned a few things. If the shrubs between the folds of the hills stay green- there’s water. Follow deer paths, there’s water. But in the dry canyons where there are water marks are high up on the canyon walls, and there’s no vegetation on the sandy floor- these are the signs that water once flowed through, and Death could suddenly come from rain high up in the mountains and wash you away-even if it’ dry as a bone where you are. Death haunts the valleys and canyons like a ghost. You never see it coming until it’s too late, but you can hear it, if you listen. I stay on the deer paths when I find them. Sometimes it’s not safe because of the cougars. If you see their tracks mixed with deer tracks, they’re hunting, and it’s not safe. I wouldn’t want to meet up with one, although I’ve heard them cat calling in the woods. The things I hate the most are the vultures. Not when they’re feeding, they’re beautiful creatures when they’re feeding. It’s then they’re flying over my head- that’s when I hate them.
One minute they’re not there, and the next they hover and circle for hours never moving a wing to fly. They smell death, and then they circle it- with their three upturned wing tips like fingers drawing in the air-there, there; there as they sail silently in rising currents of heat, gliding, caught in a whirling cesspool. I curse them when they follow me, and wave my arms; I’m alive. I’m alive.
I feel like a lonely creature walking on the bottom of the sea with no vultures to keep me company tonight-as I remember the past- and see the cool forest of fog laden buildings rising on the seven hills of San Francisco. It’s cool there. I always knew where I stood. City girl. Concrete beneath my feet. I miss it so much. I walk uphill to a fire and people.
My bones should be buried there. Who would know I was dead out here? Who would find me? And who will bury me or scatter my ashes off the Transamerica Pyramid, or feed me to the ducks at Golden Gate Park, or keep me in a telephone booth on 16th and Mission with the prostitutes? I miss the city, and I want to go home.
I often dream of it at night. People could be anonymous in a crowd. It was the kind of place you could walk where you wanted, do what you wanted to do, and no one would pay attention to you what so ever. It was a provincial town with a big reputation. But it was like all cities, it had its flaws if you looked close enough. You could know your neighbors or not. It was a choice, and neighbors said nothing to you about the filth, the violence, the noise because they didn’t want any one to say anything to them when they were filthy, violent, or noisy. That was before all the trouble started.
It’s funny how you go through life expecting certain things. I used to expect the mail, the paper, the phone bill, and the rest of the garbage of civilization because there was an order to it. It turned out to be a joke. We had some Cinderella story in our heads, but the princes turned out to be queens in their own right. We all bought it, all the bullshit, and all the lies. What else was there to do?
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Owl_Light reviewed Version 2 -
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The reflective style might not be the way to present this interesting idea. Perhaps an all action thriller? Starting with some action. This reflective writing has enabled you to set out an idea but should not be the start of a book. Especially not at the start.
oppression of women in Western society would not be possible today because the emancipation of women has gone too far ie women scientists, women in power.But if you present your idea as a sequence of events you could explain exactly how it happened.
no reason attempted for the war against women but I can think of plenty.
keeping women in their place is believed to be for the good in modern Islaam. when you compare it to the chaos of Western family structure today and the resultant breakdown of society perhaps they have a point?
like the analogy of quest for water/death washing away
3 upturned wings?
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chickiemcweird reviewed Version 2 -
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Here are your predominant themes:
1) Evidence of water having been where it isn’t now. This kind of desert-sphinx riddle is a favourite of dreams’. I sense the idea for this novel began on some such subconcious frontier. I like the dry ocean of heat waves and riverbeds of salt on your face. Relating yourself to the landscape makes you more than a narrator-guide. You are a function of its existence, and it yours. This will give you more freedom, as you continue, to impart things beyond the normal scope of human perception, thus seeding fertile descriptive beds for future harvest.
2) Cougar tracks on deer paths: peril and predator, hunting and hunted, with you as neither or both. You’ve shrunk from relating the relevance of this. Develop it. You need to or it wouldn’t have surfaced.
3) Scavenger calligraphy as the official distinction between aliveness and dead. To me this is you writing to claim the value of your life. That is why you prefer the birds feasting. Their circles are the question yet unanswered in your mind.
I want you to leave crumb trails of these themes in the initial paragraphs where you speak of cultural impotence and begrudged legacy. You gather prose momentum as you go, but I would be compelled more forcefully into the farther reaches of the piece if this were established sooner.
For more specifics, message me.
sjvance reviewed Version 2 -
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You have tons of sentence fragments in your writing that need to be fixed. I count at least ten in the first paragraph. It makes the story seem jumbled, like you are jumping from thought to thought.
Defiled. Reviled and finally- hunted. I escaped. My life is a joke. – how could life be a joke if your character has survived all of this? ”My life is a joke,” is out of place here.
I often stare off wondering why I lived - maybe, “my thoughts often drift to the question of why I lived”
It wasn’t there, and it isn’t here. - unclear, What “wasn’t and isn’t?”
I pick up a handful of dirt, I can hold millions of years in the palm of my hand, and the wind blows it all away - I love this line, good description
You have a few minor grammar/spelling errors to fix. Although I like the story line and the character looks as if she will be solid, the flow from one sentence to another is, at times, not solid.
Owl_Light reviewed Version 1 -
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Description of chaparral in the lake section. then get to section called chaparral.perhaps you could re-arrange it.
narrator is not described.needs to be. reader wants to know who is telling the story and where they are coming from.it’s not clear if the narrator is living rough.
why would the narrator be so afraid of the women?
Sorry but I don’t think you have put all you know about this story onto the page. The reader can’t be expected to figure things out for themselves.
women’s fingers slid…then she turned.how many guns are there?
you have a great idea for a story but need to do some more work on it.
jenbabe4198 reviewed Version 1 -
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The first paragraph is somewhat troubling because it’s base is short, simple sentences. Combining a few to make a couple of complex sentences will create a flow so it’s not so choppy. Also when you describe the weather in the day time you use the word ‘dry’ three times within two sentences. For some readers when they see the same word repeated in such a short amount of time they might think “Okay. I get it. It’s dry.” How dry is it? Ater that the story does pick up, but I do worry about Joanne’s mental health. Does she need a hug? LOL. I’d like to see where this story goes.
avedis reviewed Version 1 -
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I’ll start at high level, then move down into specifics.
The theme and ‘world’ grabbed me, held my attention. The mood was captured and conveyed. I wanted to learn more about the main character and her situation.
The short stacato sentences worked overall, but need to ease off as the story progresses – put in the occassional longer ones as a breather.
The heat haze as water works, but becomes slightly repetitive.
As purely personal preference, I’d like the introduction “My name’s Joanne Dark” closer to the beginning – I like to put a name to the speaker.
Overall spelling and grammar have no flaws, but some sentence strutures could do with re-working.
OK, specifics:
“Things out..time and space. ” The repetition of ‘out here’ could be either used more or dropped. A single reptition in consecutive sentences is weak. To use it more – “Out here things deceive..Out here..no reference..Out here everything…” etc so that “Out here” becomes imprinted.
“The land looks under water”. No, the land has no eyes. Try something like “The land is submerged beneath an ocean of heatwaves”
Following this, you repeated the word “day”, it jars. Repetition of a word is best only used to enforce, to make concepts strong (e.g. your repeated use of “water” really works well, imprints the concept).
“My name’s Joanne Dark…dry mud.” Your name and the moon shadow etc are related, not so the nature of the path, the mud the insects. So break this into two sentences.
“open fire which sent sparks” -> “open fire sending sparks” (It is still active).
“When I reached the hill top, I stood ” You have suddenly changed from present to past tense and keep changing from here on. Keep consistent.
When the group start speaking, you constantly use “said”, this grates. Try to find different ways of tagging the speech.
“showed me a gun” -> “showed me the gun”, she only had one.
“between five, six, or seven” -> “between five and seven” (that covers six)
“The women’s fingers slid around the trigger of their guns.” This is just plain ugly. Reword it.
This would also help “Then she turned” where you go from women plural to she singular.
You are stronger on the introspective monologues, get a bit woolly when it come to character interaction, so need to work on this.
Overall, a good intro with potential.
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