Post by Darkstar on Oct 12, 2010 18:59:09 GMT -6
Yes, it is another paper for the same class, but this time, instead of setting, it is about characterization. There are some key parts that I am supposed to represent and that I would like for you to check over while you are reading this so I can see what I need to change.
1. The name of the character. (Please state the name.)
2.An overall personality trait. (Once you are done reading, I would like for you to post the trait you think I'm trying to show through the character along with any critique you have.)
3. Place your character in a specific setting. (Please state the setting, too. XD)
4. A physical description of the character. (This is optional.)
5. Some use of dialogue.
Okay, so if you want, I would like for you to answer 1-4. If you don't want to do that, than I would at least like for you to do number 2. That's the one I had the hardest to come up with. :3 I also want harsh criticism, since the people in my class, once again, cannot seem to give it.
So, read please, and then criticize as harshly as you would like. This paper can only be three pages long, so I know the character isn't developed as fully as it is in a novel.
I also should tell you that I am not done editing it yet, so there are grammatical errors and whatnot.
“If I were to run, what would you do?”
The black haired woman who stood over the boy, trying to find a vain in his arm responded, the tiredness in her voice too evident to be mistaken as something else. “Find you, of course.”
“And if that doesn’t work?” the young boy, around the age of thirteen asked curiously.
Finding the artery, she shoved the needle into it, the boy jerking his arm back in response to the pain as she injected more of the liquid into the vein. Keeping her face down, she studied his arm, but a tired smile pulled at her lips. As she pulled the syringe back, she responded in a slight croon, “I refuse to tell.”
Even though the research was valuable to her in some way, the room was dimly light with few candles, which flickered throughout the room. Behind her, a table was littered with papers containing her scrawling handwriting, the notes written in a hastily manner. The closed window allowed none of the cold night air to seep into the dark room.
Turning to a table to her right, she picked up another syringe on the table, along with a few vials of some other liquid. Pouring the liquid into the syringe, she stared intently at it, wishing to just fall over and allow the sleep she needed to overcome her. Bracing herself against the table, she set the vial and the syringe down, the liquid now seeping down the edge of the table. Her cloudy black eyes stared at nothing as she focused on what she wanted, needed, wished for.
Evangeline didn’t know what happened to her in the past, and right now, she could not care less of what haunted her, only that it deprived her of much needed sleep. Every time she closed her eyes, visions sought her mind, nightmares that no one wished for, which did not help her in her quest to sleep. Even if they happened before, she could no longer remember for it must have been so long ago that her mind refused to comprehend it. These sleepless nights always seemed to force her to do the same thing: drag her son back into this room, set him down in the chair, tie his arms behind him and continue what she began during the day.
Hearing his breathing become unsteady, she quickly filled the syringe with different contents from what she spilled on the ground and went over to him.
Whining began in that instant, always had, even though this was going on long enough for him to figure out that whining got him nowhere. She already told him that ‘it was just too bad’.
The screams echoed throughout the small room, almost seeming to stop time. A chill ran up her arm as she stuck the syringe yet again into his arm, not even noticing that it was muscle that she hit and not the bloodstream. Jerking back even harder this time the boy forced the syringe out of his mother’s weak hand before he struggled yet again to get out of the tie.
“Stop,” she warned, tiredness still in her voice. “Stop.” The plea was too weak to come out in the warning yell that she wished to force out of herself.
“Mother, I cannot put up with this anymore!” the boy cried as he gave up, his arm more blue than it was before she stuck the syringe in it. “I can’t handle this anymore. Your wits left you weeks ago!”
Her eyes met his, the cloudiness showing nothing, though the bags under her eyes hinted that the sleep statement was correct. Quickly, he dropped his gaze, not wanting to look into the eyes that saw whatever she saw every day.
Even though his eyes left hers, she still focused her eyes on his face. Reaching out, she ripped the half-empty syringe from his arm. The boy gasped, but she ignored him. “My wits have not left, my son,” Evangeline rebutted. “My logical capabilities still work well. It is my sanity that I cannot find.”
Ducking his head down, he tried to hide his face with his dusty brown hair, the tears flowing down his cheeks as pain reached throughout his body even more. Turning around, Evangeline went to the table with papers. Sitting down, all that flowed into her ears was the sound of her son crying, whimpering, struggling. She took out the one book she always looked at, the one that taunted her with secrets. Once a thick book, many of the pages no longer hugged the binding, but rather bonded with the table. Digging though the papers to find the single pen, she began writing, paying little attention to the words she actually put on the paper.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Thank you so much for reading. Remember: Question number 2. XD
1. The name of the character. (Please state the name.)
2.An overall personality trait. (Once you are done reading, I would like for you to post the trait you think I'm trying to show through the character along with any critique you have.)
3. Place your character in a specific setting. (Please state the setting, too. XD)
4. A physical description of the character. (This is optional.)
5. Some use of dialogue.
Okay, so if you want, I would like for you to answer 1-4. If you don't want to do that, than I would at least like for you to do number 2. That's the one I had the hardest to come up with. :3 I also want harsh criticism, since the people in my class, once again, cannot seem to give it.
So, read please, and then criticize as harshly as you would like. This paper can only be three pages long, so I know the character isn't developed as fully as it is in a novel.
I also should tell you that I am not done editing it yet, so there are grammatical errors and whatnot.
Title Pending
“If I were to run, what would you do?”
The black haired woman who stood over the boy, trying to find a vain in his arm responded, the tiredness in her voice too evident to be mistaken as something else. “Find you, of course.”
“And if that doesn’t work?” the young boy, around the age of thirteen asked curiously.
Finding the artery, she shoved the needle into it, the boy jerking his arm back in response to the pain as she injected more of the liquid into the vein. Keeping her face down, she studied his arm, but a tired smile pulled at her lips. As she pulled the syringe back, she responded in a slight croon, “I refuse to tell.”
Even though the research was valuable to her in some way, the room was dimly light with few candles, which flickered throughout the room. Behind her, a table was littered with papers containing her scrawling handwriting, the notes written in a hastily manner. The closed window allowed none of the cold night air to seep into the dark room.
Turning to a table to her right, she picked up another syringe on the table, along with a few vials of some other liquid. Pouring the liquid into the syringe, she stared intently at it, wishing to just fall over and allow the sleep she needed to overcome her. Bracing herself against the table, she set the vial and the syringe down, the liquid now seeping down the edge of the table. Her cloudy black eyes stared at nothing as she focused on what she wanted, needed, wished for.
Evangeline didn’t know what happened to her in the past, and right now, she could not care less of what haunted her, only that it deprived her of much needed sleep. Every time she closed her eyes, visions sought her mind, nightmares that no one wished for, which did not help her in her quest to sleep. Even if they happened before, she could no longer remember for it must have been so long ago that her mind refused to comprehend it. These sleepless nights always seemed to force her to do the same thing: drag her son back into this room, set him down in the chair, tie his arms behind him and continue what she began during the day.
Hearing his breathing become unsteady, she quickly filled the syringe with different contents from what she spilled on the ground and went over to him.
Whining began in that instant, always had, even though this was going on long enough for him to figure out that whining got him nowhere. She already told him that ‘it was just too bad’.
The screams echoed throughout the small room, almost seeming to stop time. A chill ran up her arm as she stuck the syringe yet again into his arm, not even noticing that it was muscle that she hit and not the bloodstream. Jerking back even harder this time the boy forced the syringe out of his mother’s weak hand before he struggled yet again to get out of the tie.
“Stop,” she warned, tiredness still in her voice. “Stop.” The plea was too weak to come out in the warning yell that she wished to force out of herself.
“Mother, I cannot put up with this anymore!” the boy cried as he gave up, his arm more blue than it was before she stuck the syringe in it. “I can’t handle this anymore. Your wits left you weeks ago!”
Her eyes met his, the cloudiness showing nothing, though the bags under her eyes hinted that the sleep statement was correct. Quickly, he dropped his gaze, not wanting to look into the eyes that saw whatever she saw every day.
Even though his eyes left hers, she still focused her eyes on his face. Reaching out, she ripped the half-empty syringe from his arm. The boy gasped, but she ignored him. “My wits have not left, my son,” Evangeline rebutted. “My logical capabilities still work well. It is my sanity that I cannot find.”
Ducking his head down, he tried to hide his face with his dusty brown hair, the tears flowing down his cheeks as pain reached throughout his body even more. Turning around, Evangeline went to the table with papers. Sitting down, all that flowed into her ears was the sound of her son crying, whimpering, struggling. She took out the one book she always looked at, the one that taunted her with secrets. Once a thick book, many of the pages no longer hugged the binding, but rather bonded with the table. Digging though the papers to find the single pen, she began writing, paying little attention to the words she actually put on the paper.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Thank you so much for reading. Remember: Question number 2. XD
