- Joined
- Mar 3, 2014
- Messages
- 3,296
A person's life is constructed in part by a series of choices...one such is whether to cower in fear, or throw terror to the wind and post a piece for critiquing. I had promised someone ages ago (when I thought I might attempt this writing thing) that I would put up a story excerpt at 1,000 posts; I promised the same, very publicly, recently. The problem is I don't write--I didn't think I'd be able to, after recently making that attempt; all I've written since school in the 80s are my Chrons challenge entries, a short story since joining, and 1.5 Secret Santa stories.
And oy, I am writing now, aren't I? It's out of terror, and the attempt to delay the posting... I have, though, decided to put up a section of a SS story...the excerpt is around 900 words. The title of this approx. 12k-words story is The Honest Truth About Tuffy Tufttail. I was asked by my SS recipient to write the story of a young female squirrel who is a ninja in training...she also has a pet dragon. Tuffy Tufttail is her name, of course.
I'll mention that in the story the term 'ninja in training' is abbreviated as nit, and is used as a derogatory term against first year students (nitwits is another variation of this acronym, and is also an insult). I would be interested in anything you folks have to say...no need to hold back on me. I wonder is the writing clear...the grammar? Does the character seem real, and interesting? And..what is this? What I mean is, is it YA..or what? Finally, would anyone in the world be interested in reading such a thing? So, here we go--Tuffy, btw, is sitting in the ninja school's kitchen peeling carrots after being punished by a teacher, and reflecting on life as a nit (I'll check back sometime today...next month...whenever I get my nerve back! Also...I REALLY like long sentences!):
************
But things never seemed to work out for her, and she would probably admit in her more reflective moments that sometimes—just possibly—she was responsible for her own misfortunes. There was the time recently when her weapons instructor, Nutcheek Shinyfastfoot, had given a homework assignment: students were to bring in a wrought sugarcane crafted from their own design and workmanship for the next day’s class. It had seemed an impossibly simple task to Tuffy, and after class she had gone to the vast garden plot the school maintained on campus and picked the tallest, thickest stalk of sugarcane she could find; back in her dorm room she splayed the thicker end of the cane, then carefully trimmed and shaped it to resemble a bouquet of tiny wildflowers; she was very pleased with the results, and had visions of praise from her instructor, and of the envious reactions of her classmates at her consummate carving skills.
The true misfortune that befell Tuffy the next day in class was the odd curse of fate that led her weapons instructor to call her first to show and tell her homework for her classmates. She walked to the front of the school room, and proudly held out her shaft of crafted sugarcane for the other nitwits to gaze on in abject jealousy. She began to describe the difficulties of properly capturing the fine delicacy of the morningstar buttercup using the clumsy carving tools available to students. But after a few moments she slowly lowered her work in bewilderment as laughter exploded throughout the room. Tuffy looked from one face to another of her peers in embarrassed confusion, then chanced to look on the desktop of a student in the front row—there she saw what was surely a pawcrafted weapon, a small throwing star; she looked from table to table in the room, and on each a roughly worked star sat idly, awaiting its chance to be shown, and told about; and then the truth of the assignment dawned on her—it was to create a throwing star..a shuriken, not a sugarcane. The red fur on her face and body puffed out in reflexive horror as Tuffy realized the magnitude of her mistake..her public humiliation: this would surely become a legendary story amongst her classmates..perhaps the entire school, once word got out. This error in listening--she had to have been daydreaming, as always, when the assignment was given, and had simply misheard the directions--had led to the most embarrassing moment of her life. She was mortified.
Unfortunately for Tuffy it happened that this was to be a very short-lived most-embarrassing-moment-in-a-life moment. Tuffy had long suspected instructor Shinyfastfoot of disliking her intensely (possibly because of the time she had unthinkingly shot his cherished, bronze-plated, 3rd prize award-arrow for archery excellence at the Furasian Ninja Games into the sky in a tremendous windstorm; it was never seen again); now, rather than sitting her down and calling another student to present their shuriken in an attempt to lessen her embarrassment, he abruptly grabbed a bamboo jousting staff and called out “Defend yourself!” As the mantra of his training was that a ninja squirrel had always to be ready to defend oneself at a bare moment’s notice, and with any item readily at paw, Tuffy had no choice but to immediately strike a ninjutsu pose, brandishing only the sugarcane as her weapon and her defense.
Shinyfastfoot spent the next 5 minutes tapping her on the head, shoulders, and bottom with the hard bamboo staff, as she flailed helplessly about with the sugarcane in a ridiculously futile attempt to ward off his blows. He spun and twisted about her, escaping her sad counterattacks with remarkable ninja grace, while tip-tap-tupping nearly every inch of her with his accursed bamboo staff (in truth, the sugarcane never once even brushed his tunic). Finally, as the clapping and jeering and laughter in the room reached an incredibly loud crescendo, Shinyfastfoot stopped, and called for silence.
“And there, class, proof that a sugarcane is totally useless in defending oneself from an armed attacker. Tufttail, back to your seat..you’ll present a 15 minute lecture tomorrow in class on the importance of the rigid discipline of attentiveness. And Tufttail,” he called, just as she reached her chair, “kitchen duty this evening after homework. I want sugarcane cleaned for the entire student body’s breakfast tomorrow before you go to bed tonight.” The class broke their silence, and renewed laughter soured her mood even further. (Tuffy had wished she had never lost that stupid bronze-plated arrow in the windstorm—she would love to have snapped it in two right then, and thrown the pieces at his feet.)
And oy, I am writing now, aren't I? It's out of terror, and the attempt to delay the posting... I have, though, decided to put up a section of a SS story...the excerpt is around 900 words. The title of this approx. 12k-words story is The Honest Truth About Tuffy Tufttail. I was asked by my SS recipient to write the story of a young female squirrel who is a ninja in training...she also has a pet dragon. Tuffy Tufttail is her name, of course.
I'll mention that in the story the term 'ninja in training' is abbreviated as nit, and is used as a derogatory term against first year students (nitwits is another variation of this acronym, and is also an insult). I would be interested in anything you folks have to say...no need to hold back on me. I wonder is the writing clear...the grammar? Does the character seem real, and interesting? And..what is this? What I mean is, is it YA..or what? Finally, would anyone in the world be interested in reading such a thing? So, here we go--Tuffy, btw, is sitting in the ninja school's kitchen peeling carrots after being punished by a teacher, and reflecting on life as a nit (I'll check back sometime today...next month...whenever I get my nerve back! Also...I REALLY like long sentences!):************
But things never seemed to work out for her, and she would probably admit in her more reflective moments that sometimes—just possibly—she was responsible for her own misfortunes. There was the time recently when her weapons instructor, Nutcheek Shinyfastfoot, had given a homework assignment: students were to bring in a wrought sugarcane crafted from their own design and workmanship for the next day’s class. It had seemed an impossibly simple task to Tuffy, and after class she had gone to the vast garden plot the school maintained on campus and picked the tallest, thickest stalk of sugarcane she could find; back in her dorm room she splayed the thicker end of the cane, then carefully trimmed and shaped it to resemble a bouquet of tiny wildflowers; she was very pleased with the results, and had visions of praise from her instructor, and of the envious reactions of her classmates at her consummate carving skills.
The true misfortune that befell Tuffy the next day in class was the odd curse of fate that led her weapons instructor to call her first to show and tell her homework for her classmates. She walked to the front of the school room, and proudly held out her shaft of crafted sugarcane for the other nitwits to gaze on in abject jealousy. She began to describe the difficulties of properly capturing the fine delicacy of the morningstar buttercup using the clumsy carving tools available to students. But after a few moments she slowly lowered her work in bewilderment as laughter exploded throughout the room. Tuffy looked from one face to another of her peers in embarrassed confusion, then chanced to look on the desktop of a student in the front row—there she saw what was surely a pawcrafted weapon, a small throwing star; she looked from table to table in the room, and on each a roughly worked star sat idly, awaiting its chance to be shown, and told about; and then the truth of the assignment dawned on her—it was to create a throwing star..a shuriken, not a sugarcane. The red fur on her face and body puffed out in reflexive horror as Tuffy realized the magnitude of her mistake..her public humiliation: this would surely become a legendary story amongst her classmates..perhaps the entire school, once word got out. This error in listening--she had to have been daydreaming, as always, when the assignment was given, and had simply misheard the directions--had led to the most embarrassing moment of her life. She was mortified.
Unfortunately for Tuffy it happened that this was to be a very short-lived most-embarrassing-moment-in-a-life moment. Tuffy had long suspected instructor Shinyfastfoot of disliking her intensely (possibly because of the time she had unthinkingly shot his cherished, bronze-plated, 3rd prize award-arrow for archery excellence at the Furasian Ninja Games into the sky in a tremendous windstorm; it was never seen again); now, rather than sitting her down and calling another student to present their shuriken in an attempt to lessen her embarrassment, he abruptly grabbed a bamboo jousting staff and called out “Defend yourself!” As the mantra of his training was that a ninja squirrel had always to be ready to defend oneself at a bare moment’s notice, and with any item readily at paw, Tuffy had no choice but to immediately strike a ninjutsu pose, brandishing only the sugarcane as her weapon and her defense.
Shinyfastfoot spent the next 5 minutes tapping her on the head, shoulders, and bottom with the hard bamboo staff, as she flailed helplessly about with the sugarcane in a ridiculously futile attempt to ward off his blows. He spun and twisted about her, escaping her sad counterattacks with remarkable ninja grace, while tip-tap-tupping nearly every inch of her with his accursed bamboo staff (in truth, the sugarcane never once even brushed his tunic). Finally, as the clapping and jeering and laughter in the room reached an incredibly loud crescendo, Shinyfastfoot stopped, and called for silence.
“And there, class, proof that a sugarcane is totally useless in defending oneself from an armed attacker. Tufttail, back to your seat..you’ll present a 15 minute lecture tomorrow in class on the importance of the rigid discipline of attentiveness. And Tufttail,” he called, just as she reached her chair, “kitchen duty this evening after homework. I want sugarcane cleaned for the entire student body’s breakfast tomorrow before you go to bed tonight.” The class broke their silence, and renewed laughter soured her mood even further. (Tuffy had wished she had never lost that stupid bronze-plated arrow in the windstorm—she would love to have snapped it in two right then, and thrown the pieces at his feet.)
