Young Writers Society

[size=18]Chapter 1
A Beginning[/size]

Yorkshire 1821

Elizabeth’s eyes flickered slowly over the faded tapestry as she paused briefly to scrutinize her work. Her bottle green eyes were steadily becoming increasingly red and sore in the fading light and she could feel her head slowly retreating into her shoulders. Yet she persisted. Since the death of her father, she and her mother had been forced to struggle relentlessly in order to keep the debt collectors from their cottage door. They had been left, without a penny to their name, to support themselves by sewing tapestries and elegant dresses for fine ladies on valiant hunters. Elizabeth rose and strolled to the window with a sigh. Outside lay the beautiful Yorkshire countryside. The sun was slowly shrinking in the distance, casting a crimson glow over some indistinct hills. Cows lay motionless in remote paddock, murmuring softly over the evening breeze. In the small area of ground surrounding the cottage potatoes lay, still lodged fixatedly in the ground. Small holes dotted the earth where some chickens had engaged in frantic scooping as they searched for tasty, edible creatures.


The cottage itself was modest, but comfortable. In the centre lay a large hearth. Big black pots containing resilient, tasteless blocks of hardening bread toasted slowly over the dying embers of the open fire. Two threadbare chairs, yellow from the smoke of the fire, sat squarely in front of it. Curled up on one lay a golden tomcat, purring contentedly in the fire’s warm glow. A well-scrubbed wooden table lay up against the far wall. A crucifix hung on the opposite wall. Other than this the kitchen was unadorned. Suddenly an aberrant rasping sound came from behind the hearth. Elizabeth awoke from her reverie and listened carefully, her young features scrunched up, as she strained to hear the low noise. She moved swiftly towards a door at the side of the hearth and hurried into the tiny room. In the centre of the room lay a large iron bed. Here lay an elderly woman, propped up in the bed, preoccupied with a delicate piece of lace. The woman’s face was white, and her blue, bloodshot eyes gazed frighteningly in the fading light. Every few moments a rasping noise came from this harrowing silhouette, disturbing the silent peace of the minute cottage. Elizabeth strode gracefully over to her mothers bedside and wordlessly arranged the pillows behind her and sat on a stool beside the dresser. The silence echoed.

Creative Critisism Only (Please!)

I think you should break this up into a few paragraphs. It was really tough to read, especially since you were describing so many things. You also had nice phrases and words, but it was so hard to read in the current format that some parts weren't as impacting.

Well, creatively, I think it's okay, but I didn't really feel like straining my eyes to catch everything, so I skimmed a lot of it. I'm sure it would be a lot nicer if you broke it up and sectioned it.

I agree with emotion_less about the paragraphs. Breaking it up a bit would make it easier to read. I like it though. Lots of good descriptions. "But yet she persisted" is a little redundant, I think it should be just "Yet she persisted". That's just a tiny nitpicky thing though. Nice job overall.