So I started working on a novel called "Iron Rose" a few months ago. It is a Romance Drama that looks at the issue of acceptance in relation to LGBT people. I haven't had a great chance to do much work/editing on it but it's starting to take shape. Let me fill you in...
Love is complicated. Zac, a teenager at Rosewood High, is stuck between right and wrong. His boyfriend. Daniel, is the happiest thing that could have ever happened to him, but his father it turns out is strongly against homosexuality. Only his mother is keeping them all together, but it's slowly tearing their lives apart. Will their love stay strong whilst keeping the family together, or will it all come tumbling down? The following few weeks will never be the same again.
Explanation of the title (Spoilers if you want it to remain a mystery :eek:
Spoiler:
The title "Iron Rose" looks at two different factors in this story. Iron can generally be considered as a rough, tough metal that isn't easy to shape or bend in its pure form, and thus it represents the father in this story. Rose can generally refer to that of love or romance, and thus that represents the love between Zac and Daniel. Can you see the clash between the two objects?
As for the story itself, I'll post the first part of the first chapter (I'm not even on chapter two yet lol, but there's like seven pages already), and if you guys want to read more I'll happily post more. So let me know what you think! It's a work-in-progress and starts off slow, so don't be expecting too much detail on the actual storyline just yet - it's mostly just hints and references in this first part
I've spoilered it so it doesn't spam the page. You're welcome.
And finally, enjoy! :biggrin:
Spoiler:
1.
The familiar pitter-patter and splash of steaming water rinse off my body as I step head-first into the shower. Clean me of my guilt, I think to myself, cleanse me of whatever sin my father sees in me. Not that it will help, or even have any effect, but if I’m allegedly not allowed to be in love, then what am I allowed to do? My firm hand grasps the shower tap, tilting it left or right to adjust the temperature; up or down to adjust the pressure. My hand meets the tile wall by accident, and I find myself feeling the grainy texture of the cracks in-between each tile, immersed in my own fantasy. Each grain I see as a part of myself: rough, torn, divided - like the tiles. Who am I, I wonder, and why? I find my way back to the shower tap and settle it on the temperature I like, before reaching up to the shelf for the shampoo. I rinse my hair first, plucking out loose bits of dandruff, hair or old dead skin. I’ll need some conditioner too, I thought, but we are out. I’ll have to tell mum to tell dad. I pop the cap of the shampoo and instantly receive the fresh, concentrated apple scent. This again distracts me, reminding me of the day it all happened. A day I try so hard to forget that I end up remembering it anyway. I come out of the dream and focus back on the scent, training myself to relax upon its aroma before pouring out a serving the size of a quarter. My hair was recently cut, I thought, so I don’t need that much. I remember the style I liked: short down the sides and trimmed up the top, with a bit of my fringe left overhanging my forehead to style as I please, even though I always styled it to the right with a few tufts spiking up. Always. I set the shampoo back on the shelf before applying the handful to my hair, rubbing it through until I felt the familiar, thick foamy texture build up in-between my fingers. The way I rubbed my head, I thought, reminded me of the way my mother rubbed it to calm me. It was an oddly sickening feeling, so I washed out the foam and watched it drop to the shower basin with the water by its side. Was that a thud I heard, as the foam hit the floor? A vibration flow through my feet? I tried to ignore it as I next reached for the soap, beginning to make a back and forth movement on my body. Each particular part of my body I saw as committing some sort of sin. For whatever reason I do not know, but they all stood out and represented some familiar aspect of them. First it was my legs that met the soap: the things that directed me toward my alleged debaucheries each day. Next were my arms: the things that handled them, touched them, scarred them. What then followed was my torso: the thing that held the heart of them - the memory of them that I reluctantly keep within me. It was a large area that needed a lot of work; all the crevices, gaps and bumps; they all affected me in some way. But I didn't wash it nearly as much as my face: the thing that saw the sins; that felt them, heard them, smelled them, regretted them. This was what I washed the most, making sure to get every pore, hair or fissure. It was an ominous, difficult task, yet I felt somewhat relieved when it was over. It was as if the anticipation of each and every shower either made me fear myself, or fear those around me. Fear of what would come out of the sinner, fear of what would happen. Fear of what the observer would do if they discovered my motives. After I felt myself cleansed of my alleged sins I claimed the day before, I pushed the tap downward and exited the shower, ready to collect more for the coming day. It was not over. It never was.
Weird - it won't stay open for me either. Are the spoilers normally meant to do that here? The spoilers I use on another forum normally stay open. I'll see if I can post it some other way.
Edit: I can't seem to edit the post. Can the mods work their magic to fix it?
While you clearly can compose visually and sensually rich images.....the wall of words means that some of these jewels get lost in the setting.
Also......
Also, every writer needs a good editor...but we also need to consider how every word advances our narrative....and then toss away the words that get in the way. Even stream of consciousness thinking....ie:
Quote:I rinse my hair first, plucking out loose bits of dandruff, hair or old dead skin. I’ll need some conditioner too, I thought, but we are out. I’ll have to tell mum to tell dad.
Somehow this act and the random thought about running out of conditioner need to resound at a later point in the story or the reader is left thinking that the writer is just filling up pages with words.
You also set up some confusion for the reader here. First there is a reference to some great conflict with the father but suddenly he's the only one who is capable of buying a hair care product and you are referring to your parents as mum and dad.
It is excellent exercise for writers to record and play with the images of ordinary events like washing our hair..... composing phrases rich in adjectives, adverbs, similes and metaphor is the equivalent of a singer warming up before an aria.
But when it comes time to capture the moment on the page....keep your prose light and spare....only keep the words that excite a reader's anticipation in order to draw them through the scene. You want to have the reader empathize and/or sympathize with.... or even be provoked by the motivation and action of the characters. You don't want the reader to feel like an indifferent observer and to have their eye and attention skip through the scene.
The one thing you will want to play with but in a subtle way is the dichotomy between the elements in your title and to consider their entire life cycles as you are working with the imagery they afford in your prose.
Nit-picking, I know, but "the following weeks will never be the same."? Are the weeks different from before they characters got into a time machine and changed them? Js...
Beaux Wrote:Nit-picking, I know, but "the following weeks will never be the same."? Are the weeks different from before they characters got into a time machine and changed them? Js...
Puzzled me too.
"His boyfriend. Daniel, (..)" is the fullstop meant to be a comma?
Iron Rose
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