Hiya Newbie :),
Rebecca here, and I'm going to be reviewing this piece here for you, and offer some suggestions and the like. But remember, they are my own suggestions, and not a true reflection on your real styles of writing.
Welcome to WDC! (writing dot com)
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First Impressions:
The title is hooking, it's what made me chose this piece to read in the first place.
Side Note Suggestions:
In the description, you say: "criticism accepted". That is, I feel, and unecessary comment. Of course criticism is accepted, that's why it is posted on this site. :) If you are trying to attract reviewers, instead of "criticism accepted", put "looking for reviews".
You have this piece marked as an "other", wheras your others are marked as poetry. This piece should be labled as "short story". You can fix that under edit (if you aren't clear as how to do that, just ask me, as well as any other questions you might have)
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Grammatical and Appearance Suggestions:
(below you will find a copy of your peice. In it, I will put in any suggestions I have between [ ] 's. They will also be in bold so it will be easier to see)
Also, I will italicize any conjunctions that aren't in dialogue. When writing a story, there should be not conjunctions save for when in a persons speech.
[BEGIN TEXT]
I wrote this a little while ago and I think I could make it good, but I need someone to tell me how. Please review. [this should be in italics, since it isn't a part of the story, or in brakets such as these]
[There is a house, which is quite unremarkable - could go into more detail on the blandness of the house, to give the introduction of the clock more contrast] except for one thing; it [houses- this word is said twice in this sentence. I suggest changing it to improve fluidity], in the dining room, a very curious clock; a grandfather clock. One need only look at it[comma] and need only listen to it[comma] to notice something curious about it. It's hard to put a finger on, [without writing a whole paper,- awkward portion of the sentence, suggestion: omit it] but there is something about the grandfather clock in that house[, change to --] something odd.
Perhaps it's the curvature of the wood, for though small parts of the wood are now splintered and shattered, its shape still remains. Perhaps it's the color of the paint[, change to --] that shade of light blue[, change to --] though I doubt it was always that [way (specify what subject this represents) change to "color"]. Perhaps it's the tarnished pendulum, which looks like it must at one point have been engraved. Maybe the sound it makes when the pendulum swings is what does it. That sound must be a laugh. There must be something that causes me[, change to a period] every time I look at the grandfather clock, or listen to it ticking, tocking, laughing almost[, change to ;] to nearly hear it say,
"I know something you don't know."
It makes me wonder what kinds of secrets this clock holds. It makes me wonder whether this clock has seen something, or known something that, by now, is ages old. Some secret someone took to the grave long ago, not knowing there was a witness, or an object, that held his secret. It makes me wander back through time, imagining, envisioning whatever secret that might be.
I can almost see some enterprising businessman in a blue [waist-coat = waistcoat] hosting a dinner with his colleagues, smiling because his life's work has at last [had]been accomplished. Never again will his family sink into poverty. Not once do his thoughts turn to an old grandfather clock, sitting in the corner of the room behind him, its blue, faded paint shining in the lamplight, smiling in a way, saying,
"I know something you don't know."
I can just imagine some group of patriotic Americans holding this house, fighting back a British assault. As pieces of wood fly around in frenzy, the noise quiets. For one moment, perhaps longer, the British hold back, or perhaps retreat. One of the soldiers inspects the damage on the house, finding that one of the bullets hit the old grandfather clock and splintered the wood on its side, scratching the blue paint, but other than that, it's fine. It still ticks and still tells time. Its tick even almost sounds like a laugh, perhaps a laugh of defiance? He turns to check everything else, and the grandfather clock behind his back wordlessly speaks,
"I know something you don't know."
Deeper into time my mind travels in its attempt to uncover this secret, back to an age of pirates, as a group of oddly dressed men are unloading a grandfather clock they just stole into this house, their headquarters. The captain and his most trusted advisers are seated around a table discussing the voyage and its profits. The only people to have thought of the grandfather clock are the two men who unloaded it, and they quickly turn to leave the room. They don't take much notice of the clock itself, its paint now a royal blue, its wood now smooth, its shining pendulum now engraved with a wondrous design, swinging in its place, ticking, tocking, laughing. Even then, the grandfather clock still says the thing it has been saying for centuries,
"I know something you don't know."
Whatever secret that clock holds, it must have held that secret since the day it was crafted. Since the day a pair of skilled hands created the [gently] curved wood, since the day those skilled hands engraved on the pendulum, and for some reason painted the wood blue. Perhaps an old master created that clock using all of the secrets of his trade. Thus, the clock's words would be intended for the other craftsmen, telling of a secret they could never replicate. Perhaps it was crafted by an apprentice who, not realizing his work would inspire curiosity hundreds of years later, simply gave it to his master to sell. Thus, the clock's secret would be that an apprentice crafted it. It seems more likely though that the craftsman was holding a different kind of secret. Something he wasn't allowed to tell, but told that clock. Something that he kept saying as he crafted it, not knowing that the words he was saying were shaping his work. Thus, the clock's secret would be the secret of its craftsman.
With all of my speculating, I still could not say for sure what secret that clock held[. change to comma] [or what]time it gained that secret. I stopped my speculating, and turned to face the clock.
"What happens when you fade? What happens when you are so far beyond repair that you can no longer hold your secret? What will become of that [secret change to "it"]?"
The clock seemed to slow for just a moment, as if considering this possibility.
"You are made of wood and that wood is already rotten. The medal of your pendulum is already tarnished. You of all things should know the workings of time. You of all objects should know the never-ending relentless pounding of that force. What secret do you have that you've never told? What small thing is so important? A treasure perhaps, hidden within your clockwork? A secret held by your creator?"
The pendulum mysteriously stopped swinging. For only a few moments, the pendulum just hung there. The clock just paused as if it was thinking. The inevitable doom of the words I had spoken had almost frozen the clock in time. And in a whisper, I promised,
"I will find your secret. I will uncover that word or trinket, or whatever it is you hold. I will not allow your secret to die."
The moment ended. The pendulum once more began to swing, as if pushed by some internal force[, change to ;] as if motivated by a spirit. The clock resumed its ticking. The silent laughter began again, the invisible smile returned, and the grandfather clock continued with its counting of time.
It took time and many disappointments, but motivated by a promise to an object that could not live, I traced the descendants of successful businessmen. I found one who had lived in the house that held the clock. The clock had been there before he moved in. I searched through volumes of books about the wars against Britain, and finally found a battle that occurred at the clock's home. The man who owned it at the time had bought it from elsewhere. I learned everything I could about pirates, and their hideouts, finding that one of the items stolen was a grandfather clock that they had placed inside their headquarters. Finally, I managed to trace the clock and the mystery back to the family that, four hundred years ago, gave the clock its secret. They even remembered what their ancestor's secret was. And they told it to me. I found the reason for the grandfather clock's laughter. I will not tell though, because [its = it's] better that if you ever see that clock, you'll see its smile. That if you ever hear that clock, you'll hear it ticking, tocking, laughing, and telling the truth when it says,
"I know something you don't know."
[END TEXT]
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All in all, this is a good piece. I like the plot. It is very origional, and so is your style of writing.
I hope you keep on writing,
Rebecca
Courtesy of,
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