Author Topic: I Swear, wip, 8th edit, #106, 1372 words, mild swearing plus one F word  (Read 27526 times)

Offline protekme

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Re: I Swear (part 1), wip, including intro 1255 words, mild swearing
« Reply #15 on: December 29, 2012, 09:37:42 PM »
It's unhealthy to stay up all night. Here, it's only 8:37pm

I understand, I'm the same when I work on a project. I hardly sleep.
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Offline bri h

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Re: I Swear (part 1), wip, including intro 1255 words, mild swearing
« Reply #16 on: December 29, 2012, 09:41:00 PM »
where exactly is "here"? I'm in England and its 02.40, bed for 3am, back up for 09.00, and we get to do it all over again! ha ha.
Fare thee well Skip. We're all 'Keening' now. xbx

Offline bri h

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Re: I Swear (part 1), wip, including intro 1255 words, mild swearing
« Reply #17 on: December 30, 2012, 09:34:18 AM »
hey protek, if you want to answer a specific part of someones answer, click top right on the "quote" then when you get the part you like go to the end and enter your dialogue after the endquote, then when you post, it'll have the blue of the quote followed by your answer! Hope that helps you. respec' bri.
Fare thee well Skip. We're all 'Keening' now. xbx

Offline Alice, a Country Gal

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Re: I Swear (part 1), wip, including intro 1255 words, mild swearing
« Reply #18 on: December 30, 2012, 09:54:48 AM »
I like your story, and I laughed so much. I can picture it . . .  so real.

I would love to give you my input as I go along, on your text,  but I don't know how it works with the striking off, etc. I know about the color change.

Could someone tell me how it is being done? It would be a lot easier than writing a new text (for me and for you). I would be more inclined to do it for others also.


Protekme and Brian . . . when you are typing in the text box, look above the box, just under the bold Message icon: you'll see sever small buttons with different things in them you can use. B=Bold , I=italic , U=underline,  S=strike through.

There are more button available to use if you wish. let your cursor hover over them and you'll learn what you can do with them.

Now back to your usual thread. Sorry for the interruption.
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Offline bri h

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Re: I Swear (part 1), wip, including intro 1255 words, mild swearing
« Reply #19 on: December 30, 2012, 10:14:53 AM »
 :o  I knew that Ali! (warms hands ready for the whuppin some chick is gonna get!) ha ha. (I jus forgot) x
Fare thee well Skip. We're all 'Keening' now. xbx

Offline bri h

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Re: I Swear (part 1), wip, 1st edit, 1343 words, #20 mild swearing
« Reply #20 on: December 30, 2012, 10:29:49 AM »
I swear (part 1)


I was eight years old when I was taught a valuable lesson by my Mother.  How to swear, and not get caught.

South Shields, 1967.  I'm leaning against our wooden gate, in the back lane, swearing my head off to the bloke next door, who'd already complained a couple of times to mam about my bucket-gob.  Repeating all the words I'd heard recently, thinking I was so big and clever, whilst the other kids looked on with their mouths open, as they waited to see what happened next.
  
I should have got a clue when their eyes lit up, with the knowledge that someone other than themselves was going get his arse smacked good and proper. A hand had grasped my collar-pulling a few hairs out at the back of my neck in the process-as I was yanked off my feet, and flew back through the gate. Mam had seen through all my lies, knowing I'd swear again, because I'd repeatedly promised her that I'd never ever sworn at anyone! She knew, intuitively the way that all mothers do, that I was lying, so she'd stood hidden on the other side of the gate!
  
I was now being dragged backwards across the yard, past the coal-house and to the back steps, blubbering and pleading with her that I'd, be good and live a chaste, decent law-abiding life, from then on.  But soon my heels were thumping on the rickety stairs, all I could see were the cobwebs in the roof amid the dirt and stains, and the fast retreating light from the back door down below. She hauled me like a sack of spuds up the stairs, and into the scruffy shed-like scullery, my own personal torture chamber.  

She'd warned me time and time again that if she ever caught me swearing, she'd wash my mouth out with Carbolic Soap.
If everyday soap could be categorized as, nice and sweet, soft and gentle, perfumed and refreshing, then Carbolic was the total opposite.  It was blocky, rough, smelled of disinfectant, lather-less, industrial cleaner, and generally horrible. Carbolic was the skinhead of soaps, and I was about to have a meal of it!
I could tell mam had lost it because she took most of the dirty plates out of the sink and smashed them to the floor, oh gawd, I was in trouble, I just stood looking at her hoping that if I looked miserable enough she'd relent and take pity on me, but she didn't and yanked me up by the hair and collar-when she had her mad on she could be a strong bugger!

Mam slapped me onto the damp-smelling drainer, like a Butcher slapping a hunk of beef onto his chopping-block. I could feel the dampness seeping into my clothes as my head kept drooping into the big china sink.  Mam didn't like the position I was in, so she dragged me further up the drainer, scattering the greasy pans and plates, this was more comfortable to me, but now I was directly under the brass tap

I'm now on the draining board, struggling and wriggling, Mam's got a strong, polished-finger-nailed hand holding me by the throat. I can see the upside-down view of the greasy plates in the sink. There's pans and plates being scattered, clattering everywhere by my wildly kicking legs, she's fighting to keep me positioned and I'm fighting her to keep my head away from the tap.  She turns the brass tap on, there's a clunking noise as the air is released and I can hear the water approaching up the pipe.  A single drop of water gathers on the end of the tap, and I think I'm saved, [sometimes the water just didn't flow, and I remember thinking to myself that this was one of those days]. But alas, not this day!

The treacherous water gushed out of the tap soaking my head and neck.  I was now spluttering and spitting as I still begged mam to let me go.  But once mam made up her mind to do something she did it. Oh Gawd did she do it.
The ironic thing is, whilst all this was going on, mam was shouting at me, "I'll teach you to f***ing swear you little bas***d! You won't f***ing swear again! Will you? you f***ing little shite!"

I jammed my mouth closed with a snap.
"Open your mouth, and this'll go easier on you!" shouted mam. At this point, a team of wild horses wouldn't get me to open my mouth.
"Open your mouth" she repeats.  It's a staring match now, if it could be called that, because I have to keep blinking to keep the splashes of water out of my eyes. My mouth is still wedged shut, but I'm trying to dodge the water still gushing out of the tap and God it's so cold!
  
Then she leans down, gets right in my face, practically nose to nose and repeats in a really strange quiet-like, whisper, "Brian, open your mouth", she's smiling.  I'm shitting myself now!  Anyone who's experienced a stern-loving mother like this will know exactly what I'm talking about. This was the killer-smile that brooked no arguments, no resistance, no bullshit. This kind of command has to be obeyed, or woe betide you!
I stammer a quick "Please mam", and in that instant of begging, she jams the carbolic soap into me gob!  Oh she could be so quick!  She's now rubbing and drubbing like its wash day on a monday, she's singing some obscure little song. Meanwhile I'm begging and sobbing and getting myself worked up into a lather, really feeling sorry for myself.  The bar is wedged into my teeth, she's really putting some 'elbow grease' into it! The taste was so horrible, like sucking on a toilet urinal cake, and trying like frig not to swallow.  She was so thorough and resolute, she was determined she was going to teach me a lesson, even if it killed her.

Finally, its over.  She stands me on my feet, of course being the devious little git that I am, I wobble a bit, look as if I'm goint to faint, and mam wraps me in her arms, acting all contrite, [guilt can be a good commodity when youre eight and know how to wield it]  As she wraps me in her arms cooing to me and telling herself what a horrible person she is for inflicting this on her poor child, I made a cardinal error, and smiled, thinking to myself of how I could turn this to my advantage?

She saw this and instantly she was back to Jeckyll-mam, my arse was back on the draining board in a flash.  She had the carbolic soap in her hand raised up ready to "wash" me again.  I just looked on with what I can only describe now as a futile-acceptance of something I had no control over.  She saw this, and slowly dropped the bar onto the floor, looked at me with a little discomfort on her lovely face and told me to get off the drainer.

This wasn't so easy with my little legs and no stool to climb down.  But I eventually struggled off and stood before her.  "Now", she said. "Will you ever swear again?"  I hung my head down and swore on the bible that I wouldn't.  She's standing in front of me with her hands on her hips and tapping her foot, I knew I could still be in trouble at this sign.  She sighed and said under her breath, shaking her head slowly from side to side, "Eee, our brian, what am I going to do with you?"  I just hoped it wasn't anymore of what had just happened.  She then sent me to my room, without supper.
I'd like to say at the end here that I learned my lesson that day. But I'd be lying, because I still swore, I just never put myself in the position of letting mam hear me.  
« Last Edit: December 30, 2012, 10:41:33 AM by brianh »
Fare thee well Skip. We're all 'Keening' now. xbx

Offline Dawn

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Re: I Swear (part 1), wip, 1st edit, #20, inc intro, 1255 words, mild swearing
« Reply #21 on: December 30, 2012, 11:39:20 AM »
Argggh just been reviewing your first piece.
Time to take it serious and get the job done

Offline Dawn

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Re: I Swear (part 1), wip, 1st edit, #20, inc intro, 1255 words, mild swearing
« Reply #22 on: December 30, 2012, 12:06:41 PM »
Really enjoyed this, Brian. Just some suggestions from me. All just my opinion. ;) Oh and I blame Wolfe for making suggesting I read Write Tight. ;)

I was eight years old when I was taught a valuable lesson by my Mother. How to swear, and not get caught.  (nice good intro)

South Shields, 1967. (perfect) I'm leaning against our wooden gate, in the back lane, swearing my head off (personally don’t like this, I would maybe say swearing and cussing to the bloke next door) to the bloke next door, who'd already complained a couple of times to mam about my bucket-gob. Repeating all the words I'd heard recently, thinking I was so big and clever, whilst (I think this should be while, Sio, once told me to always use this) the other kids looked on with their mouths open, as they waited to see what happened next.

I should have got a clue when their eyes lit up (do you need up?), with the knowledge that someone other than themselves was going get his arse smacked good and proper. A hand had grasped my collar-pulling a few hairs out at the back of my neck in the process-as I was yanked off my feet, and flew back through the gate. Mam had seen through all my lies, knowing I'd swear again, because I'd repeatedly promised her that I'd never ever (I would get rid of ever) sworn at anyone! She knew, intuitively the way that all mothers do, that I was lying, so she'd stood hidden on the other side of the gate!

I was now being dragged backwards across the yard, past the coal-house and to the back steps, blubbering and pleading with her that I'd, be good and live a chaste, decent law-abiding life, from then on. But soon my heels were thumping on the rickety stairs, all I could see were the cobwebs in the roof amid the dirt and stains, and the fast retreating light from the back door down (get rid of down you have below) below. She hauled me like a sack of spuds up the stairs, and into the scruffy shed-like scullery, my own (maybe get rid of own) personal torture chamber.

She'd warned me time and time again (bit wordy and clichéd) that if she ever caught me swearing, she'd wash my mouth out with Carbolic Soap.
If everyday soap could be categorized as, nice and sweet (could you find a better word?), soft and gentle, perfumed and refreshing, then Carbolic was the total opposite. It was blocky (I think could be reworked to get read It was as redundant) , rough, smelled of disinfectant, lather-less, industrial cleaner, and generally horrible. Carbolic was the skinhead of soaps, and I was about to have a meal of it! (Like this)
I could tell mam had lost it because she took most of (get rid of most of) the dirty plates out of the sink and smashed them to the floor, oh gawd, I was in trouble, I just stood looking at her hoping that if I looked miserable enough she'd relent and take pity on me, but she didn't and yanked me up by the hair and collar-when she had her mad on she could be a strong bugger! (that’s a long sentence)
Mam slapped me onto the damp-smelling drainer, like a Butcher slapping a hunk of beef onto his chopping-block. I could feel the dampness seeping into my clothes as my head kept drooping into the big china sink. Mam didn't like the position I was in, so she dragged me further up the drainer, scattering the greasy pans and plates, this was more comfortable to me (this is quite vague), but now I was directly under the brass tap

I'm now on the draining board, struggling and wriggling, Mam's got a strong, polished-finger-nailed hand (-) holding me by the throat. I can see the upside-down view of the greasy plates in the sink. There's pans and plates being scattered, clattering everywhere by my wildly kicking legs, she's fighting to keep me positioned and I'm fighting her to keep my head away from the tap. She turns the brass tap on, there's a clunking noise as the air is released and I can hear the water approaching up the pipe. A single drop of water gathers on the end of the tap, and I think I'm saved, [sometimes the water just didn't flow, and I remember thinking to myself that this was one of those days] (why have this in brackets?). But alas, not this day!

The treacherous water gushed out of (I would have from) the tap soaking my head and neck. I was now spluttering and spitting as I still begged mam to let me go. But once mam (decided) made up her mind to do something she did it. Oh Gawd (comma) did she do it.
The ironic thing is, whilst (while) all this was going on, mam was shouting at me, "I'll teach you to f***ing swear you little bas***d! You won't f***ing swear again! Will you? you f***ing little shite!"

I jammed my mouth closed with a snap.
"Open your mouth, and this'll go easier on you!" shouted mam. At this point, a team of wild horses wouldn't get me to open my mouth.
"Open your mouth" she repeats. It's a staring match now, if it could be called that, because I have to keep blinking to keep the splashes of water out of my eyes. My mouth is still wedged shut, but I'm trying to dodge the water still (omit) gushing from and omit out of) out of the tap and God it's so (omit so) cold!

Then she leans down, gets right in my face, practically nose to nose and repeats in a really strange quiet-like, (I would remove this comma) whisper, "Brian, open your mouth", she's smiling. I'm shitting myself now! Anyone who's experienced a stern-loving mother like this will know exactly what I'm talking about. This was the killer-smile that brooked no arguments, no resistance, no bullshit. This kind of command has to be obeyed, or woe betide you!
I stammer a quick "Please mam", (inside quotation) and in that instant of begging, she jams the carbolic soap into me gob! Oh she could be so quick! She's now rubbing and drubbing like its wash day on a m (M)onday, she's singing some obscure little song. Meanwhile (comma) I'm begging and sobbing and getting myself worked up into a lather, really feeling sorry for myself. The bar is wedged into my teeth, she's really putting some 'elbow grease' into it! The taste was so horrible, like sucking on a toilet urinal cake, and trying like frig not to swallow. She was so thorough and resolute, she was determined she was going to teach me a lesson, even if it killed her.

Finally, its over. She stands me on my feet, of course (think you need a comma here) being the devious little git that I am, I wobble a bit, look as if I'm goint (think this is going to) to faint, and mam wraps me in her arms, acting all contrite, [guilt can be a good commodity when you’re eight and know how to wield it] (do you need brackets) As she wraps me in her arms cooing to me and telling herself what a horrible person she is for inflicting this on her poor child, I made a cardinal error, and smiled, thinking to myself of how I could turn this to my advantage?  (a long sentence, last part wordy)
She saw this and instantly she was back to Jeckyll-mam, my arse was back on the draining board in a flash. She had the carbolic soap in her hand raised up (omit up means same as raised) ready to "wash" me again. I just looked on with what I can only describe now as a futile-acceptance of something I had no control over. She saw this, and slowly dropped the bar onto the floor, looked at me with a little discomfort on her lovely (I would either find a better word or omit lovely) face and told me to get off the drainer.

This wasn't so easy with my little legs and no stool to climb down. But I eventually struggled off and stood before her. "Now", (inside quotation) she said. "Will you ever swear again?" I hung my head down (omit down) and swore on the b(B)ible that I wouldn't. She's standing in front of me with her hands on her hips and tapping her foot, I knew I could still be in trouble at this sign. She sighed and said under her breath, shaking her head slowly from side to side, "Eee, our brian, what am I going to do with you?" I just hoped it wasn't anymore of what had just (omit just)happened. She then sent me to my room, without supper.
I'd like to say at the end here that I learned my lesson that day. But I'd be lying, because I still swore, I just never put myself in the position of letting mam hear me.
« Last Edit: December 30, 2012, 12:08:57 PM by Dawn »
Time to take it serious and get the job done

Offline bri h

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Re: I Swear (part 1), wip, 1st edit, #20, inc intro, 1255 words, mild swearing
« Reply #23 on: December 30, 2012, 12:29:22 PM »
Thanks for the wonderful crit Dawn, you keep mentioning "inside quotes" what do you mean?  did it read good for you(was so tempted to ask if it was good for you, but thought better of it! ::))(I forgot to take the brackets off and change the whilsts into whiles(anything to keep shvons face straight! ;D) xbx
Fare thee well Skip. We're all 'Keening' now. xbx

Offline Dawn

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Re: I Swear (part 1), wip, 1st edit, #20, inc intro, 1255 words, mild swearing
« Reply #24 on: December 30, 2012, 12:32:01 PM »
 ;D "She used to tap her foot at me for that," Dawn said. :P (look at the example, the comma is before the speech mark) for the UK and usually US it's inside the speech marks.

Time to take it serious and get the job done

Offline bri h

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Re: I Swear (part 1), wip, 1st edit, #20, inc intro, 1255 words, mild swearing
« Reply #25 on: December 30, 2012, 12:37:18 PM »
oh, right. Gotcha.  :)
Fare thee well Skip. We're all 'Keening' now. xbx

Offline bri h

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Re: I Swear (part 1), wip, 2nd edit, #26, inc intro, 1332 words, mild swearing
« Reply #26 on: December 30, 2012, 01:12:12 PM »
I swear (part 1)

I was eight years old when I was taught a valuable lesson by my Mother.  How to swear, and not get caught.

South Shields, 1967.  I'm leaning against our wooden gate, in the back lane, swearing my head off to the bloke next door, who'd already complained a couple of times to mam about my bucket-gob.  Repeating all the words I'd heard recently, thinking I was so big and clever, while the other kids looked on with their mouths open, as they waited to see what happened next.
  
I should have got a clue when their eyes widened in shock, with the knowledge that someone other than themselves was going get his arse smacked good and proper. A hand had grasped my collar-pulling a few hairs out at the back of my neck in the process-as I was yanked off my feet, and flew back through the gate. Mam had seen through all my lies, knowing I'd swear again, because I'd repeatedly promised her that I'd never sworn at anyone! She knew, intuitively the way that all mothers do, that I was lying, so she'd stood hidden on the other side of the gate!
  
I was now being dragged backwards across the yard, past the coal-house and to the back steps, blubbering and pleading with her that I'd, be good and live a chaste, decent law-abiding life, from then on.  But soon my heels were thumping on the rickety stairs, all I could see were the cobwebs in the roof amid the dirt and stains, and the fast retreating light from the back door down below. She hauled me like a sack of spuds up the stairs, and into the scruffy shed-like scullery, my torture chamber.  

She'd warned me time and time again that if she ever caught me swearing, she'd wash my mouth out with Carbolic Soap.
If everyday soap could be categorized as, nice and sweet, soft and gentle, perfumed and refreshing, then Carbolic was the total opposite.  Blocky, rough, smelling of disinfectant, lather-less, industrial cleaner, and generally horrible. Carbolic was the skinhead of soaps, and I was about to have a meal of it!
I could tell mam had lost it because she took the dirty plates out of the sink and smashed them to the floor, oh gawd, I was in trouble, I just stood looking at her hoping that if I looked miserable enough she'd relent and take pity on me, but she didn't and yanked me by the hair and collar, when she had her mad on she could be a strong bugger!

Mam slapped me onto the damp-smelling drainer, like a Butcher slapping a hunk of beef onto his chopping-block. I could feel the dampness seeping into my clothes as my head kept drooping into the big china sink.  Mam didn't like the position I was in, so she dragged me further up the drainer, scattering the greasy pans and plates, now I was directly under the brass tap

On the draining board, struggling and wriggling, Mam's got a strong, polished-finger-nailed hand holding me by the throat. I can see the upside-down view of the few greasy plates left in the sink. There's pans and plates being scattered, clattering everywhere by my wildly kicking legs, she's fighting to keep me positioned and I'm fighting her to keep my head away from the tap.  She turns the brass tap on, there's a clunking noise as the air is released and I can hear the water approaching up the pipe.  A single drop of water gathers on the end of the tap, and I think I'm saved, sometimes the water just didn't flow, and I remember thinking to myself that this was one of those times. But alas, not this day!

The treacherous water gushed out of the tap soaking my head and neck.  I was now spluttering and spitting as I still begged mam to let me go.  But once mam made up her mind to do something she did it. Oh Gawd did she do it.
The ironic thing is, while all this was going on, mam was shouting at me, "I'll teach you to f***ing swear you little bas***d! You won't f***ing swear again! Will you? you f***ing little shite!"

I jammed my mouth closed with a snap.
"Open your mouth, and this'll go easier on you!" shouted mam. At this point, a team of wild horses wouldn't get me to open my mouth.
"Open your mouth" she repeats.  It's a staring match now, if it could be called that, because I have to keep blinking to keep the splashes of water out of my eyes. My mouth is still wedged shut, but I'm trying to dodge the water still gushing out of the tap and God, it's cold!
  
Then she leans down, gets right in my face, practically nose to nose and repeats in a really strange quiet-like whisper, "Brian, open your mouth", she's smiling.  I'm shitting myself now!  Anyone who's experienced a stern-loving mother like this will know exactly what I'm talking about. This was the killer-smile that brooked no arguments, no resistance, no bullshit. This kind of command has to be obeyed, or woe betide you!
I stammer a quick "Please mam", and in that instant of begging, she jams the carbolic soap into me gob!  Oh she could be so quick!  She's now rubbing and drubbing like its wash day on a Monday, while singing some obscure little song. Meanwhile I'm begging and sobbing and getting myself worked up into a lather, really feeling sorry for myself.  The bar is wedged into my teeth, she's really putting some 'elbow grease' into it! The taste was so horrible, like sucking on a toilet urinal cake, and trying like frig not to swallow.  She was so thorough and resolute, she was determined she was going to teach me a lesson, even if it killed her.

Finally, its over.  She stands me on my feet, of course, being the devious little git that I am, I wobble a bit, look as if I'm goint to faint, and mam wraps me in her arms, acting all contrite, guilt can be a good commodity when youre eight and know how to wield it.  As she wraps me in her arms cooing to me and telling herself what a horrible person she is for inflicting this on her poor child, I made a cardinal error, and smiled, thinking to myself of how I could turn this to my advantage?

She saw this and instantly she was back to Jeckyll-mam, my arse was back on that draining board in a flash.  She had the carbolic soap in her hand raised and ready to "wash" me again.  I just looked on with what I can only describe now as a futile-acceptance of something I had no control over.  She saw this, and slowly dropped the bar onto the floor, looked at me with a little discomfort and possibly shame on her face and told me to get off the drainer.

This wasn't so easy with my little legs and no stool to climb down.  But I eventually struggled off and stood before her.  "Now", she said. "Will you ever swear again?"  I hung my head and swore on the Bible that I wouldn't.  She's standing in front of me with her hands on her hips, tapping her foot, I knew I could still be in trouble at this sign.  She sighed and said under her breath, shaking her head slowly from side to side, "Eee, our brian, what am I going to do with you?"  I just hoped it wasn't anymore of what had just took place.  She then sent me to my room, without supper.
I'd like to say at the end here that I learned my lesson that day. But I'd be lying, because I still swore, I just never put myself in the position of letting mam hear me.
« Last Edit: December 30, 2012, 01:19:18 PM by brianh »
Fare thee well Skip. We're all 'Keening' now. xbx

hillwalker3000

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Re: I Swear (part 1), wip, 2nd edit, #26, inc intro, 1332 words, mild swearing
« Reply #27 on: December 30, 2012, 03:10:55 PM »
Good to see how well you have tightened this up but there are still a couple of tweaks that might improve it further:

I was eight years old when I was taught a valuable lesson by my Mother. How to swear, and not get caught.
but you did get caught so this doesn't make sense. And I still don't see why you need this introductory paragraph to be honest - because the story starts here > South Shields, 1967.

There are still some clichés to sort out:
swearing my head off - a team of wild horses - even if it killed her
- none of which make sense literally.

And the scene involving your head in the sink is still impossible to picture
- an upside-down view of the plates (are you facing the sink or the tap?)
- dishes thrown onto the floor yet they're still in the sink
- pans being scattered everywhere by your kicking legs (how tiny were you aged eight? small enough to fit along the entire draining board?)
It would work better in my opinion if you took out some of the choreography that only slows down the pace of the story and becomes a distraction.

Also - for the record - Dr. Jekyll was the good guy so your reference doesn't work that well.

H3K

Offline 510bhan

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Re: I Swear (part 1), wip, 2nd edit, #26, inc intro, 1332 words, mild swearing
« Reply #28 on: December 30, 2012, 03:31:31 PM »
Work out why the parts have been bolded . . .  ;)

I swear (part 1)

I was eight years old when I was taught a valuable lesson by my Mother.  How to swear, and not get caught.

South Shields, 1967.  I'm leaning against our wooden gate, in the back lane, swearing my head off to the bloke next door, who'd already complained a couple of times to Mam about my bucket-gob.  Repeating all the words I'd heard recently, thinking I was so big and clever, while [since the sentence now begins with an 'ing' word 'while/whilst/as' turns this into a frag -- and not a good one] the other kids looked on with their mouths open, as they waited to see what happened next.
  
I should have got a clue when their eyes widened in shock, with the knowledge that someone other than themselves was going get his arse smacked good and proper. A hand had grasped my collar-pulling a few hairs out at the back of my neck in the process-as I was yanked off my feet, and flew back through the gate. Mam had seen through all my lies, knowing I'd swear again, because I'd repeatedly promised her that I'd never sworn at anyone! She knew, intuitively the way that all mothers do, that I was lying, so she'd stood hidden on the other side of the gate!
  
I was now being [incredibly sludgy/passive/tell way of putting things] dragged backwards across the yard, past the coal-house and to the back steps, blubbering and pleading with her that I'd, be good and live a chaste, decent law-abiding life, from then on.  But soon my heels were thumping on the rickety stairs, all I could see were the cobwebs in the roof amid the dirt and stains, and the fast retreating light from the back door down below. She hauled me like a sack of spuds up the stairs, and into the scruffy shed-like scullery, my torture chamber.  

She'd warned me time and time again that if she ever caught me swearing, she'd wash my mouth out with Carbolic Soap.
If everyday soap could be categorized as, nice and sweet, soft and gentle, perfumed and refreshing, then Carbolic was the total opposite.  Blocky, rough, smelling of disinfectant, lather-less, industrial cleaner, and generally horrible. Carbolic was the skinhead of soaps, and I was about to have a meal of it!
I could tell Mam [when using Mam as a name/title it needs to have a capital letter] had lost it because she took the dirty plates out of the sink and smashed them to the floor. Oh gawd, I was in trouble, I just stood looking at her hoping that if I looked miserable enough she'd relent and take pity on me, but she didn't and yanked me by the hair and collar, when she had her mad on she could be a strong bugger!

Mam slapped me onto the damp-smelling drainer, like a butcher slapping a hunk of beef onto his chopping-block. I could feel the dampness seeping into my clothes as my head kept drooping into the big china sink.  Mam didn't like the position I was in, so she dragged me further up the drainer, scattering the greasy pans and plates, now I was directly under the brass tap.

On the draining board, struggling and wriggling, Mam's got a strong, polished-finger-nailed hand holding me by the throat. I can see the upside-down view of the few greasy plates left in the sink. There's pans and plates being scattered, clattering everywhere by my wildly kicking legs, she's fighting to keep me positioned and I'm fighting her to keep my head away from the tap.  She turns the brass tap on, there's a clunking noise as the air is released and I can hear the water approaching up the pipe.  A single drop of water gathers on the end of the tap, and I think I'm saved, sometimes the water just didn't flow, and I remember thinking to myself that this was one of those times. But alas, not this day!

The treacherous water gushed out of the tap soaking my head and neck.  I was now spluttering and spitting as I still begged Mam to let me go.  But once Mam made up her mind to do something she did it. Oh Gawd did she do it. [consistency --gawd or Gawd?]
The ironic thing is, while all this was going on, Mam was shouting at me, "I'll teach you to f***ing swear you little bas***d! You won't f***ing swear again! Will you? you f***ing little shite!"

I jammed my mouth closed with a snap.
"Open your mouth, and this'll go easier on you!" shouted Mam. At this point, a team of wild horses wouldn't get me to open my mouth.
"Open your mouth" she repeats.  It's a staring match now, if it could be called that, because I have to keep blinking to keep the splashes of water out of my eyes. My mouth is still wedged shut, but I'm trying to dodge the water still gushing out of the tap and God, it's cold!
  
Then she leans down, gets right in my face, practically nose to nose and repeats in a really strange quiet-like whisper, "Brian, open your mouth", she's smiling.  I'm shitting myself now!  Anyone who's experienced a stern-loving mother like this will know exactly what I'm talking about. This was the killer-smile that brooked no arguments, no resistance, no bullshit. This kind of command has to be obeyed, or woe betide you!I stammer a quick "Please mam", and in that instant of begging, she jams the carbolic soap into me gob!  Oh she could be so quick!  She's now rubbing and drubbing like its wash day on a Monday, while singing some obscure little song. Meanwhile I'm begging and sobbing and getting myself worked up into a lather, really feeling sorry for myself.  The bar is wedged into my teeth, she's really putting some 'elbow grease' into it! The taste was so horrible, like sucking on a toilet urinal cake, and trying like frig not to swallow.  She was so thorough and resolute, she was determined she was going to teach me a lesson, even if it killed her.

Finally, its over.  She stands me on my feet, of course, being the devious little git that I am, I wobble a bit, look as if I'm goint to faint, and mam wraps me in her arms, acting all contrite, guilt can be a good commodity when youre eight and know how to wield it.  As she wraps me in her arms cooing to me and telling herself what a horrible person she is for inflicting this on her poor child, I made a cardinal error, and smiled, thinking to myself of how I could turn this to my advantage?

She saw this and instantly she was back to Jeckyll-mam, my arse was back on that draining board in a flash.  She had the carbolic [consistency carbolic or Carbolic?]soap in her hand raised and ready to "wash" me again.  I just looked on with what I can only describe now as a futile-acceptance of something I had no control over.  She saw this, and slowly dropped the bar onto the floor, looked at me with a little discomfort and possibly shame on her face and told me to get off the drainer.

This wasn't so easy with my little legs and no stool to climb down.  But I eventually struggled off and stood before her.  "Now", she said. "Will you ever swear again?"  I hung my head and swore on the Bible that I wouldn't.  She's standing in front of me with her hands on her hips, tapping her foot, I knew I could still be in trouble at this sign.  She sighed and said under her breath, shaking her head slowly from side to side, "Eee, our Brian, what am I going to do with you?"  I just hoped it wasn't anymore of what had just took place.  She then sent me to my room, without supper.
I'd like to say at the end here that I learned my lesson that day. But I'd be lying, because I still swore, I just never put myself in the position of letting Mam hear me.

Offline bri h

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Re: I Swear (part 1), wip, 2nd edit, #26, inc intro, 1332 words, mild swearing
« Reply #29 on: December 30, 2012, 03:42:13 PM »
Skinny has just mentioned dr jeckyll and mr hyde to me phil, so am slightly ahead of you on that one mate! I suppose the lesson was not to do owt that me ma would hear about. The lesson was learned after the torture, I'll work on the title a bit more OK!  ha ha.
The scullery was basically an add on on the end of the house, very ramshackle, it was just a long wooden draining board slightly sloping down to what we called a boody sink, boody is the word to describe Sankey or Royal Doulton sinks of the era, its hard to believe how much those common sinks fetch these days innit?  To me in those days, it was more like a trough than a sink.
I'm thinking now of taking the descrips of the dishes in the sink out, if you cant see it in these prelim stages then what chance have others got? It did happen, but of course I was there and your enquiries shows me that others wont be able to imagine it.  
Am puzzled by something youve advised phil. Thru all your crits to me youve said if I have to use a bold or italic, or some such then the words obv arent strong enough to stand on their own. So why underline in the title?
I'll look more at the clique's and pare pare pare. ha ha. Skinny has given me the order to go get her a maccyD, so am off to corrupt her taste-buds, I'm like her burger-pimp, hee hee. respec'

Just saw ya crit shvon you were posting same time as me, so Ive come back to modify.
No one said thered be a quiz! ha.
I see what you mean about the tenses, still a wip on my part as you know, but I'm getting there I think you'll agree. I thought you didnt use capitals on people unless you were talking directly to em, or at the beginning of sentences? I'll work on those as well. 
I saw a couple of tense anomalies myself just now, so I'll work on em when I get back.
 I hope you recog'd the homage I did to you by taking out the whilsts and replacing with whiles! ha ha.
As usual, thank you so much for the input, I'm starting to feel like yours and Dawns and Phils pet-project at the minute! ha ha
(I know phil, cut it out with the exclams and the brackets, he ha)
« Last Edit: December 30, 2012, 03:53:42 PM by brianh »
Fare thee well Skip. We're all 'Keening' now. xbx