Tell me what you think

[jdajd]

Anyone who reads this please feel free to comment. Thanks for any help.

Jon

Part I

Chalk and sand spilled out onto the men crouched in the length of captured German trench as bullets struck the sandbags above their heads. Their position marked the furthest point of the advance and the rest of their Battalion either lay out where they fell or had somehow made it back to the original jump off point.

They had been in the trench now for over six hours and were trying to decide whether they should hold and wait for the next attack to reach them, wait for the cover of night and try to get back to their own lines, or surrender. It was clear from the bullets coming from all four directions that the Germans had moved back into their front line and that David and the rest were now completely surrounded and cutoff.

David knew that they had very little option really. He did not like their chances of sneaking through the German line back across no-mans land and into their own trenches. The thought of surrender was abhorrent to him, especially given how many men had fallen taking this position. They would have to and they would hold here until relieved.

The only good thing about their current position was that they were finally free of artillery fire because neither side could risk shelling the area. Being in the German lines the enemy was not shelling for fear of hitting their own men and the British were not firing because they did not know exactly where they were. It was small consolation.

A scout plane had flown over earlier in the day and signals for more bombs and SAA were made. Close to an hour after that fighting broke out between them and the British line, but no one else made it to them. Later one runner had managed to escape the trench with a message telling HQ where they were and their current situation, but it is unlikely that he actually got through to the British lines.

David and his small band of men were completely cutoff in approximately 50 yards of what used to be the German second line. They had overrun the main line of defenses with little to no resistence, but their euphoric rush came to a grinding halt upon entering the second line.

It appears now that the Germans had conceded the first line but were determined to hold the second. They had trained machine guns on the gaps that had been blown in the wire and it was a lucky man who breached the German wire. Of those who did few were unharmed many of the men were wounded and a few quite seriously.

The Captain had been dragged unconscious into the trench after receiving a bullet to the stomach. He died a couple of hours later never having regained consciousness. Now David, a 2nd Lieutenant for less than a year, was the highest ranking man and the one who would make the decision that would determine the fate of the rest.

The trench was set up in the typical zig-zag fashion to lessen the impact of shells falling in the trench and to prevent someone from firing enfilade down the trench. It was a deep trench that reached a height of close to three feet above the tallest man’s head. and in order to peer out over the parapet the men had to climb onto a firestep that came up to most of their stomachs. This was definitely built to be a permanent home rather then the ramshackle affairs they had been used to.

The men had taken and held 5 of the German firebays, but they were only occupying three at the present time. Charges were set in the last bay on each end to bring down the walls and kniferests, wire and other obstacles were dragged in to fill the rest of the space. David posted sentries near the trench blocks should the Germans attempt to dislodge them.

With the only thing dividing them being an improvised trench block the two sides were mere yards apart. They could hear the Germans talking and laughing among themselves, like this would be a mere walk in the park. At one point a voice called out in perfect English that they should give up now and avoid the grief they would cause their parents when they are killed. The rest of the Germans laughed at this.

They were not laughing at the response, which was to launch a couple of grenades in their direction. David had let his cook a while and it exploded immediately on contact with the German side. David and his band got their own laugh when they heard the cries for Korpsmen. The flurry of German stick grenades that followed did no harm and the men’s spirits were raised a little.

In one of the middle bays there was an entrance to a dugout that had obviously been abandoned in a hurry. When David and the others first went down to see what was what they found candles still burning. It was clear to everyone who came down how the Germans had survived the week long bombardment. These bunkers were practically impenetrable. It would have taken a direct hit from one of the heavies to have done any real damage.

Even if the entrance had become blocked by debris there was still another exit. David and two others had followed it to see where it would lead and came up in the then stil abandoned first line. Hurriedly, the men set charges and blocked this entrance to make sure that no unwelcome visitors paid them a surprise visit.

The dugout was a good place to lay the wounded, and David had them brought down and made them as comfortable as possible. Looking around at the men as they huddled in the dark the flickering light of the candles made some of the men look like ghosts. He saw them living in their own mausoleums and right then David knew that for many this would be the last place they saw.

The thought chilled him for a moment. He knew what war was. He knew that men had to die and that they would frequently do so alone. But, to think that brave men like this would die so far from home and the people that they loved. To have to watch as they wasted away in a dank hole in the ground. To know that there was no hope for them was heartbreaking.

Shaking off these thoughts David climbed back out into the sun and guiltily breathed a sigh of relief that he could escape that macabre underworld. The sight that met him did not do much to warm his spirit. The floor of the trench was littered with the bodies of the both the Germans who had defended it and David’s comrades who had fallen taking it. Once the men did get into the trench the fighting was as vicious and savage as if the men had regressed to their most primitive state. There was no right or wrong, no morality just his life or yours. David himself realized he was still smeared with the blood and brains of the man whose skull he had crushed with his knobkerry.

Wiping his face with a rag David called over a few of the men nearby and told them to collect the bodies He did not know what to do with them, but he did not feel right leaving them lying around. In the end the bodies were placed in a secluded corner in the fire bays that had been turned into trench blocks. While living on the Western Front definitely desensitized a man to the horrors of war David did not think that under the present circumstances it would be a good idea to leave the bodies of friends and comrades out where the other men could see them and dwell on them.

Strewn about the trench was also the equipment of the men that had defended it. David had the men round up anything that was of use and they had found several rifles and SAA as well as two boxes of potato mashers. There was plenty of food left in the dugout and if the situation were different the men would have had a field day collecting souvenirs. All things considered it was not a bad place to be and David thought that when the time came they could hold.

The biggest problem that they faced was that most of the men had run out of water long ago and even just resting in the trench without any real physical activity their mouths were parched. There were bodies laying nearby each presumably with a full bottle of water, but under the watchful eye of the German machine gunners they might as well have been back in Picadilly Circus. Despite how well provisioned the trench was there was little water to be had and what there was was being given to the wounded. They set up a ground sheet to collect any water if it rained, but a glance at the cloudless blue sky showed how likely this was.

David surveyed the men he found himself with and felt little doubt that he could trust every man there with his life. They were a motley crew, but a good example of what had affectionately become known as Kitchener’s mob. They were a true cross section of British society. David himself had been serving under the supervision of a solicitor in London when war was declared. Of the men that he knew personally Sergeant Christopher was a stevedore on the London docks, L/C Lloyd had been a clerk in a bank and Private Stephens was a lift operator at Harrods. David knew that none of them would have spent any time together had it not been for the great equalizer of the war, but there were no other men he would have rather been with at the moment.

As David scanned the trench he found his gaze returning to Robert. Robert and his two friends John and Henry had grown up together and joined in the summer of 1914. They had become known as the Three Musketeers. They had been totally inseparable and it was rumored that when John was deemed too small to join up both Robert and Henry refused to join without him. Finally, after a week of scouring the city they found a recruiter that had allowed them all to join.

David thought back to earlier that morning as he paced down the trench trying to calm the men before they went over the top for the first time. Stopping to speak briefly with each man. Making light conversation about where they were from and what they did at home asking about family. Anything to take their minds away from what they were about to do.

When he reached the Musketeers he overheard them saying their goodbyes to each other should something happen to one of them. They all promised that no matter what anyone said if any of them were to fall the others would stop to see they were cared for. They shook hands and even hugged and reminisced about old times together as boys. They had determined that if one of them did not make it the others would bring back word to the family. Standing before them watching their comradery David had felt like an intruder at a solemn occasion, but they greeted him affectionately, as if he had known them for ages.

Now, sitting huddled against one wall the only survivor Robert was softly muttering to himself. David could not even begin to imagine what he was going through. He would have to bring both of his oldest friends’ stories back to their families. John, the littlest was no more. He had caught a shell all to himself and there wasn’t even enough left of him to bury.

Henry on the other hand had made it with Robert to the wire, which is where he still lay. He had been shot through the head and died instantly. His corpse had become entangled in the wire and his left hand waved ghoulishly to the men in the trench. How could Robert tell the parents that their John had simply ceased to exist or that he had had to shoot Henry’s arm off so that he could finally lay in peace.

There was someone else who occupied David’s mind, Richard, a scared little boy who should never have been out here to begin with. He had joined up in the heady days of 1914 and because of his size he was allowed to slip by even though he was only 17. David had taken a liking to the boy and always made sure that he was alright.

David remembered watching him go over the top with the fearlessness and sense of immortality that only came with youth. David had admired as he kept up the charge even as his friends and comrades were slaughtered all around him. In his minds eye he could see this boy fight with a savagery the belied his age

Richard was very brave for his or any age, but even the strongest man can break under extreme conditions. Sitting in this trench cutoff from any help his mental facilities slowly eroded and he soon began to whimper for his mother. No one there gave him any difficulty as they all liked the boy. Furthermore, they were all more than a bit windy and would certainly have been happy to be in their mothers arms again themselves.

About an hour after the runner had disappeared David and the others had watched, because that was they he could do, as the boy without warning sprang to his feet climbed onto the parapet and attempted to run for their lines. He had not even gotten all the way out of the trench when a bullet entered the back of his head shredding his face to bits of bone and flesh.

He fell back into the trench his now ruined face staring at David accusing him of not preventing his death. It had unnerved David and he could tell that Richard had not been alone in his feelings. Everyone was on edge and close to reaching their breaking points.

To buck the men up he walked along the length of the trench talking to the men joking with them and trying in anyway to keep their spirits up. He over heard a few men talking about the hopelessness of the situation, but it was stifled as soon as they saw him. For the most part though the men seemed optimistic.

Strangely, above all else the men had a sense of extreme pride in the job they had already accomplished. They saw it as a feat of military gallantry that they were able to breach the first German line and take control of even a small portion of the second. He could not disagree and commended the men on the excellent job they had done so far, at the same time reminding them that there was still a lot to do.

After making his “rounds” David stopped in the dugout again to see how the men inside were doing. The wounds ranged from minor “blighty” ones to severe, probably fatal, wounds. In fact one man had already died of his wounds. David thought his name was Scott, but he was not sure if that was a first or last name. Scott had taken a bullet to his chest and been carried to the German wire by another man who was himself cut down shortly before reaching the trench.

He had dropped Scott in such a way that his arms and upper torso was hanging into the trench with his feet still on the parapet. No one had paid him much attention while the fighting still raged, but when things calmed down someone noticed that he was still barely alive and pulled him down. He must have passed on relatively recently because no one else seems to have noticed that he had died yet. David realized that Scott was one of the men on whose face the candle danced its ghostly dance.

David talked to those men capable of doing so a while and tried to lift the men’s spirits telling them that a renewal of the attack was imminent and that it was just a matter of time. He did not know himself whether this was true. Earlier in the day it had seemed as if an attack was launched, but it had evidently petered out before reaching them. The matter of time would have to be a quick one because he was not sure how long the men could hold out.

Now all they could do was wait. About an hour before there had been another flare up near one of the trench blocks when a few potato mashers came over. No one was hurt and the men responded in kind, taunting the Germans to come on over. He was fairly sure that no Germans were hurt this time, but he liked his men’s bravado. He could not help but feel though that even those few grenades might be sorely missed.

The day dragged on towards night and David’s apprehension mounted as the light diminished. He figured that any attack would be made under the cover of night. Verey lights began to go up on all sides of the trench casting a haunting orange light over the trench. They could hear Germans near by, but the voices were getting closer and then further away. It seemed like the Germans were toying with them playing with their minds.

All at once the sky exploded in an chaos of flares that arched through the sky. Explosions rocked the earth at both ends of the trench and a cry went up that they were coming. Off to David’s left towards the northern end of the trench he heard the sharp report of an SMLE followed by a volley from all of the rifles in that section. David ran over to see what he could do. As he came to this portion of the trench he saw his men banging away at vague shadows barely visible in the growing gloom. A grenade landed in the vicinity, but the rifle fire began to trail off as the attack had melted back into the night.

Then the trench block at the southern end was blown and a hail of grenades dropped over the wreckage. In the explosion David could briefly see two men being tossed aside like ragdolls. The after images from the explosion danced in David’s eyes and made it hard to see through the darkness, but as his vision he cleared he saw huddled grey shapes slipping wraith like around the bend in the trench.

He fired off an unaimed shot from his revolver and the lead German ducked back around the traverse. David called for some men to follow him and pulling the pin on a Mills lobbed it over the traverse. At the same time two potato mashers landed behind him knocking him over with the blast. He could feel the heat from the fragments as they sang past his face.

Groggily, David glanced up just as a pair of boots went by his head. Then he was looking into the eyes of a German that fallen on top of him blood flowing from a gaping wound in his head. Pushing the body off of him he got slowly to his feet and could make out his men firing towards the traverse and lobbing their own grenades at the mass of Germans. With the men packed in so tight even an unaimed bullet was likely to strike something.

David lurched to his feet and seeing that they were unlikely to hold this bay withdrew to the next. All the time the air was afire with bullets flying in all directions and the explosions from countless grenades. David was the last man around the bend and before he turned the corner he dropped two grenades. The advancing Germans were right on top of them as they went off and the carnage was indescribable.

Flares were bursting over the trench throwing the men into alternating shadow and light. The effect was to cast the fighting in a strobe effect. The trench was a confusion of lights and swearing and screaming. David was firing wildly with his revolver in his right hand and swinging his knobkerry at any available target with his left. There was a satisfying feeling each time the club struck home.

Slowly, David and his men started to push the Germans back in the direction they had come. The floor was covered in dead and wounded and a step could not be taken without trodding on someone below you. They were able to retake the fire-bay they had first withdrawn from eventually drove the Germans back over the debris of the trench block.

There was no telling how long the Germans would wait to relaunch their attack and no time to stop and catch their breath. David was like a man possessed. He was no longer the civilized solicitors apprentice he was before the war. He was a cold-blooded killer. He had the men round up the bodies of the Germans, dead and wounded, and stacked them on top of the debris to form an ad hoc block. Anything available was used to block up the breach.

Having done this David withdrew his men to the next fire-bay and prepared to hold again.

[jdajd]

Uh (tap tap tap) is this thing on?

[Bernard_Lewis]

OK. Very hard to read something like this in isolation. Where is the characterisation so that you can feel for and empathise with (or against!) the participants? Why are they there? Where exactly are they and what is the plan?

Where is the dialogue - e.g. Fred talking to Bert etc. rather than a mere description of what is happening?

Some of the terminology would need explaining e.g. kniferests will not mean much to the general public. If the work is aimed at the 'specialist' reader why read this when you can get first hand accounts (Frank Richards etc) or even regimental or smaller unit histories?

Trying to be constructive but I'd not buy this based on what I have seen to date (to be honest I don't read much fiction anyway). Maybe my remarks will gather you a few more comments that will help you along.

Bernard

[jdajd]

Thank you, I hope it does generate some more responses. I guess I should have mentioned, which I did in an earlier post on a different thread, that I was just writing this as a hobby. I have absolutely no intention of trying to get it published or thought that it may actually be good enough. Having said this you are right that it is hard to read out of context, but that was the way it was written. There is no back or front story yet, this was more an exercise in writing about an experience on the Western Front therefore it is not time or place sensitive. As to the dialogue you are also correct and I definitely feel that there is a real need for dialogue and I know several places where it would be appropriate. Also I would never expect anyone to choose a fictional story over a first hand account, but I think people would read both for entirely different reasons. The Red Badge of Courage is a fictional account of a soldiers life in the Civil War, but I do not think anyone would choose between that and a history of the war. Its the authors interpretation. I would like to thank you for taking the time to read the story and giving your opinion.

[spike10764]

I do want to read more of this story and find out what happened next.

If you get my meaning, it's almost a fictional first hand account - I think that can tend to look bad compared to actual first hand accounts. What I mean is , the language is of the author being told the story and retelling it. I think that if you maybe broadened the number of characters and their scope, then you could get more out of this story (tell it as an overall story, as opposed to one mans experience).

Is David his first name ? or is he Lieutenant David ? You have chosen a lot of possible first names for what I presume are surnames Sgt Christopher, L/CP Lloyd,

Scott, even Pte Stephens, then Robert, John and Henry appear and I start to get a little confused.

As Bernard says, introduce the characters first and try to fit in explanations of the terms, so a novice could read it easily.

Just my opinion- I'm not qualified to opine on writing, but I know what I like from fiction.

I do want to hear more, mind you....

[Ozzie]

Punctuation. Read your work out loud and where your voice falls or you pause, you probably need commas, etc.

I agree with the previous readers in that it is interesting and you do want to keep reading.

Dialogue would help characters evolve, and would also give you an oppurtunity to explain terminoligy.

[frev]

Jon,

It's obviously got something - because 4 of us so far have read it from start to finish - and that means you held our attention.

Like Bernard, I don't really read fiction these days - but when I did, I read it to get 'lost' in other people's lives.

Agreeing with the others - the way to do this is through the character/s - character & dialogue are what make the story - you've got your setting/plot (WW1) - now you have to really take us there. Big rule in fiction writing: DON'T TELL - SHOW!

Listen to your wife - 'war parts' aka 'boring bits' are often only skipped over when there's nothing of interest to flesh them out. (yes, I snuck over & had a look at your other thread - and no, she didn't pay me to say that) Background authenticity is important but don't concentrate on it to the detriment of the story.

Do you know David - I mean, does his life up till now (in the trench) flash before you as you write. Was he a happy child, did he always want to be a solicitor, did he join up as soon as war broke out, was he fat, did he have a wife & family? Unless you really know him - how can we.

I thought the 3 Musketeers made for great secondary characters - I 'felt' more for them in the short time they were in the story extract, than I did for David - and I'd like to know more of their story.

Anyway, I only have the nerve to put my 5 cents worth in because you asked for it - I'd never have the nerve to put myself on the line like you have. You may deny it - but I'd say deep down you want to publish - let's face it - what writer doesn't!

I'd love to see another draft.

Cheers, Frev.

[Clive Maier]

For me, this is not a story. It is a nicely written colour or descriptive piece. Short sentences, few passive verbs, very clear English. At 3,600-plus words it is too long to fit into a short story which would normally be 2,000 to 8,000 words long, and generally not more than 5,000 words. It could find a place in a novel or novella.

The chief problem for me is the omniscient narrator. This device makes it difficult to show rather than tell, and so engages the reader less and robs the piece of subtlety. The treatment of the Germans borders perhaps on caricature. They had the same feelings, fears and decencies as anyone else. And would they all have laughed at a comment made in perfect English?

[Dragon]

You need to trial your text on your target readership.

A few observations.

I feel that as it stands, the story lacks immediacy and your choice of tenses is part of the problem. Try rewriting the whole thing in the present tense. Get rid of the pluperfect; it is annoying and suggests afterthought and bad planning in the author’s mind. And you should avoid the passive entirely.

If you don’t know what I mean:

A scout plane had flown over [pluperfect] earlier in the day and signals for more bombs and SAA were made [passive].

'had flown over’ – the plane’s reconnaissance flight could be communicated through memory, but I’m left wondering why the reader doesn’t already know this piece of information. (Eg in thought or dialogue: ‘That plane this afternoon… bloody waste of time… I wish I knew what’d happened.’)

‘signals were made’ where again, in thought or dialogue, ‘Wonder if they saw my signals?’ would be more engaged and raises some tension for the reader – will help come?

And I haven’t a clue what SSA means, sorry.

Then you go on to a statement which completely avoids any emotional engagement with what is happening to the people:

Close to an hour after that fighting broke out between them and the British line, ... but it is unlikely that he actually got through to the British lines.

Now the essence of this is that your main characters were cut off. They’re in appalling danger. But you’ve got to the point at which men are in a life-threatening situation and I haven’t any idea how they feel. I can’t even imagine the picture. Try this. Suppose you use the first person instead of the third. Be David and record your thoughts now: reflecting (if you must) in series of snapshot images (and not the pluperfect) on how you’ve got to this point and how it feels to be here now. And maybe your thoughts are not at all conventional or predictable.

Use the senses to bring out what the scene is like to be actually there; it has a smell, it has a tactile quality (soil is gritty... mud feels like...), there are sounds (men’s soft breathing, distant machinery whining, soft soilfall with the scrabble of rats) which you need to describe, simply, not in long descriptions, but using onomatopoeia and imagery.

Have you considered changing the time of day? If you made it darkness, your character would focus on the other senses, which would enhance the immediacy of the experience.

Eg, when you lob grenades at the enemy, what does the grenade feel like in your hands? Maybe throwing it exacerbates an old arm injury. Can you hear it passing through the air? Does it catch a passing light? Does it cross the moon? And then you see it explode – what does that look like? Do you feel anything in your own position (spattering soil?) What sounds come from the injured men? (and not just the bland statement ‘cries for Korpsmen’. These are grievously injured people.) Is there muttered dialogue between you and your colleagues?

I’m just trying to suggest how you can bring the scene to life.

Final comment. Some of your phraseology is lazy. ‘The carnage was indescribable’ – try. ‘A man possessed’ – cliché. ‘A walk in the park’ – modern idiom. ‘Tossed like ragdolls’ – overused in poor writing. ‘Rocked the earth’ – think of your own imagery. Using tired, off-the–shelf images is a useful barrier device to prevent you revealing your own personality in your writing. Switch on your emotions, examine them and admit to them. Ask yourself why you’re writing. Try pushing your imagination and your use of language and trusting the outcome. Be adventurous, if you can. Take risks.

What if you tried to recast one short section and testing the reaction to that?

Gwyn

[jdajd]

Really want to thank everyone for their help so far. I appreciate thee feedback and I am glad that people read it through all the way. It says to me that the story has potential. I knew it needed work and many of the opinions stated coincided with my own feelings. I have read it several times and made many revisions and each time it sort of felt like a collection of WWI cliches (thrown like ragdolls, a little windy etc.)

First I agree there is a serious need for dialogue. I knew this, but just did not get around to doing it. The scene in the dugout with the wounded, his memory of the morning prior to the attack I think these would be excellent ways to make the characters more real so the reader cares about them as people. I would also like to, and have had a hard time to, write about time out of the line like a scene in an estaminet, but I find myself returning to combat.

This is sort of what I was getting at in my other thread. It is difficult for me, an American living in the 21st C. to put myself in the shoes of an Englishmen living essentially at the end of the Victorian Age. I have done a couple of stories where the protaganist was an American serving with the BEF, which made it a little easier as I was able to write about places I have been.

I was thinking of this story as a framework to work around. The characters and the situation will get fleshed out around what is essentially a bare bones story. I was trying to describe the scene without really getting to the people or the story really.

My goal of posting here was two fold. One was to allow other people to read it b/c it is just fun (and very scary)for others to read what I have written the other was to get feedback on what needs to be changed. For this I cannot thank you enough and I will make the changes suggested and re-post when I am through. Hopefully you will have the patience to wait and help again. I should say though that thanks to the poor American education system I have no flipping idea what the pluperfect is and the example just did not help very much.

Jon

[Bernard_Lewis]

At least we now have some views. Writing for yourself is all well and good but why not keep working on it, use the ideas that have been given by members (and your own - its your story after all) and eventually send it to a publisher?

What would you have to lose? If it got accepted it would have merit and maybe more than a few of us would buy it (and you'd make some cash)

I'd be wary of vanity publishers - it it can't find a proper publisher you could try self publishing? Or leave it on the shelf which was your initial plan anyway. As long as you don't start thinking of Hollywood and buying expensive autos on the advance you've not yet had, you'll not go too far wrong! Good luck.

Bernard

[Dragon]

that thanks to the poor American education system I have no flipping idea what the pluperfect is and the example just did not help very much.

The simple past tense is:

The men read their instructions.

I walked to the end of the road.

The pluperfect shows an action which has been completed before a particular point in the past. You’re using it when you find you need to tell the reader some information which the reader ought already to know, but doesn’t.

It’s formed by had + past participle.

The men had read the instructions two hours earlier.

I had walked to the end of the road.

In my opinion, if a writer has to go back (or keep going back) in her narrative to explain something important, it’s a sign of disorganised thinking and of a writer who can’t be bothered to redraft the story and get it right.

Incidentally, don’t be too self-conscious about your American system. I went through a grammar school education (in the UK a grammar school is for the brighter end of the population) without doing any grammar. I could still communicate.

Gwyn

[spike10764]

This is sort of what I was getting at in my other thread.  It is difficult for me, an American living in the 21st C. to put myself in the shoes of an Englishmen living essentially at the end of the Victorian Age.  I have done a couple of stories where the protaganist was an American serving with the BEF, which made it a little easier as I was able to write about places I have been.

I would say you have had a reasonable attempt at putting yourself in that post Victorian Englishmans shoes.

The thing that struck me, is, in most personal accounts, stories etc from around this time is they appear to use surnames or nicknames to refer to people. It's something I consider a very formal middle class English thing(officers of the time tended to be), very public school.It's also a very military thing, in my mind

. I don't really know if they actually used surnames like that but most accounts suggest they did(eg So I said to Forster- "Damned if I'll let you and Ding Dong (Bell) get my platoon killed- I'll go myself").

The thing is even if they didn't, the feeling is they did, so to me this sets the atmosphere and tone- helps place it, at the time, in my mind.

I'm glad you have replies and I hope you can get something from them and we can hear more from your story and watch it develop.

[AGWR]

Gwyn,

Very good criticism, but what's wrong with the passive voice?

Regards,

AGWR

[marina]

Takes the strength out of the verb.

marina

[Dragon]

what's wrong with the passive voice?

In fiction, the active is better. It’s immediate and clear. It personalises the story and the characters. It engages the reader. It has impact.

The passive is fine in scientific or academic English, where the voice should be impersonal. However it is often clumsy, often obscure, often impenetrable and it

can lead to unnecessary long sentence structures.

Signals for more bombs were made. versus They asked for more bombs.

Gwyn

[Ozzie]

Thankyou to all who replied to Jon, it is very helpful to other people who are trying to write fiction set in WW1. Some of us are not as brave as Jon in posting our writing. I applaud him.

Ozzie

[Desmond7]

That slow dribble of chalk and sand from the parapet/sandbags would made a great piece of phrasing for life ebbing away/ Egg timer/sand?

So did that sand spill down onto the face of a soldier in his last moments? Did someone try to move him from it? Was their effort worth it?

Did the dust and smoke in the air make them thirst.

I'd like to 'vision' more sweat/BO/grubbiness/fear/exhilaration/humanity.

My hat off to you. Brave. No joking.

Des

[AGWR]

Gwyn/ Marina,

I take your point... Excessive use of the passive voice can appear a bit laboured, but it can also be quite effective, particularly if one wants to understate something.

Jon,

I agree with Des. Very brave to post this extract on the forum.

Personally, I have never found contemporary writing set in the Great War particularly convincing. I think that part of the problem is that, like most members of this forum, my frame of reference is based on the experience of reading large numbers of firsthand accounts. This has resulted in certain linguistic expectations when reading about the war. Modern colloquial expressions, such as 'buck up' and 'walk in the park', seem out of place when describing such events. Please, however, do bear in mind that I am a WW1 'war bore' and it probably wouldn't bother a 'normal' reader… I suppose, ultimately, the most important attribute of any novel is that it tells a good story.

Best of luck with it.

Regards,

AGWR

[jdajd]

I do not know if you read the other thread or the earlier posts, but the authenticity was one of the things that I wanted help with. Part of that is spotting anachronisms like statements "buck up" or "walk in the park", although in those two instances I would think that they would have been appropriate for the time. I too am a "war bore" albeit in the embryonic state so I am trying to do a World War I story that truly captures the moment. Not that I would even think to compare myself or the story, but sort of like All Quiet or Storm of Steel, which were obviously written by veterans. I want the reader to smell the dirt and to feel the mud and pebbles rain down on them from a near-by explosion or actually feel the fear that the man in the trench felt. That is why the help that people have given so far will be priceless. I have already taken some of it and started on a portion in the dugout, but thats for later.

BTW I do not think of myself as brave I guess because I am able to do this with almost total anonimity. I am getting a thrill though from having people read my work. Thanks for the continued help.

Jon

[Dragon]

I think ‘buck up’ has been around in British English since the 19th century. However, I think that using ‘walk’ in the sense of a metaphor or a verb conveying something happening easily is probably the middle of the 20th century. (Eg saying that “he’ll walk it” is very thirties in language style.)

I haven’t actually got a slang dictionary so this is only worked out from my knowledge of etymology.

It’s easy enough to get round jarring idioms, though. If you’re going to include dialogue, read some that was written at the time and you’ll develop an ear for it. I’d think that contemporary drama would be an excellent source and would avoid unnatural periphrasis. In my opinion, language used out of historical context would be much more intuitively noticeable to a non-specialist reader than a small detail of uniform or something. Gadzooks.

If you get the scene right, and focus closely, the language will flow, because human emotions haven’t changed in centuries and you don’t need slang idioms to convey them. They’re deeper than that.

Gwyn

[AGWR]

Jon/Gwyn,

I accept that the phrase 'buck up' almost certainly predates the Great War, although its original meaning is perhaps a little less clear. It was just that I have never come across this particular form of usage ('to buck up the men' in any accounts/ literature/ newpapers from that period.

Regards,

AGWR

PS Jon, when can we expect the next instalment?

[mcderms]

Start off by planning what you want to write and why. Do CVs for all the characters you will be using to give them depth. Think how your characters would think as it's very easy to have a conversation with between a docker and a duke but be unable to distinguish who's who without names being given. Even in a short piece like this, flesh people and events out - who's fat, thin, a chain smoker, a drinker etc. etc. Does a bullet shred bone? What do you see in your mind when you write this and does 'shred' convey your thoughts?

Write it - scrap it - write it again - scrap it ad nauseaum until you know it's as good as it can be.

Don't be afraid to look for a local creative writing group or course. Some are very good and we all need a little help.

Hope this is of use from someone else who feels he has novels in him!

[jdajd]

Not an addition to the story, which will be here soon for anyone interested, but I thought this was interesting. I will preface it with the fact that I was not looking for it, but happened to find it by accident. For Gwyn and AGWR I am reading Malcolm Brown's Imperial War Museum book of 1918, which is written directly from the IWM archives from contemporary records. I found the following passage that I though may interest you. It was written June 13 by Lt. Edwin 'Ted' Trundle 26th Btn 2nd Aus Div AIF and in it he is talking about the effect that their recent "peaceful penetration" has been having: "Well, dear, the whole stunt was most successful and we are all very 'bucked' about it." It seems that he means it the same way I did. Just