Do you like my first Chapter? Or does its suckitude overwhelm you?

bsently tugging out some of the painful little splinters and fragments of rope imbedded in his heavily freckled skin, a stocky young boy contemplated the distant beach. At the moment, the edge of the vast continent was merely a thin strip of white sand shimmering in the oppressive heat, barely visible over a wide expanse of green waves. From his place high in the crow鈥檚 nest, Cian Rush could also make out a dark ribbon of colour that seemed to hover just above that far-away shore. Recalling what little he had been told about the journey鈥檚 destination, Cian guessed that this band of darkness might in fact be the mouth of the strange, shadowy jungle he would soon be asked to enter.

Tired after a morning spent under a boiling sun, Cian sat down on the small circular platform, knees bent and bare feet flat against its tall wooden sides. Sighing deeply, he wiped his dripping forehead with the back of his hand before gasping in pain and pulling it back when salty sweat invaded the raw little wounds he had created with each splinters鈥?extraction. A warm breeze played across his face as he rubbed his stinging hand, its clean scent a welcome change after a long voyage spent amongst a crew that worked hard and smelt like it. A few yards above his head the tip of an enormous sail twitched back and forth across the sun, causing Cian鈥檚 upturned face to be alternately bathed in golden light and plunged into purple shadow.

He gazed skyward, hypnotized by the fluttering sail, until he remembered one of his mother鈥檚 oft repeated warnings; that looking into the sky on a sunny day was a sure way to make yourself go blind. Cian thought this unlikely, but saw no point in taking chances; it would be difficult to become a ship鈥檚 captain if he couldn鈥檛 read a compass. He pulled the faded blue kerchief that had been wound around his forehead down over his face. It was scratchy and stiff from several weeks鈥?perspiration, but it worked to shield his eyes from the worst of the sun鈥檚 rays.

Recalling his mother鈥檚 advice sent little waves of guilt sloshing around in Cian鈥檚 stomach. The two had fought constantly in the weeks leading up to this voyage, Cian鈥檚 mother insisting that, at twelve years old, Cian was nowhere near old enough to go on such an expedition. But Cian had held firm, relying on his own tenacity and the help of his uncle Roger, who was both captain and funder of this journey. In the end, his mother had said that if Cian wanted to go there was nothing she could do to stop him. However, she had refused to accompany him to the docks to see him off, and he had left her sobbing at the kitchen table, tears running down his own cheeks as he had slammed the front door.

Despite all the fighting, weeping, and fervent declarations Cian had made to his mother that he would be a part of this expedition, Cian鈥檚 desire to take part in the voyage was more or less arbitrary. Cian鈥檚 longing for a life on the ocean had less to do with a passion for adventure on the high seas than it did with a fear of another kind of life. Cian鈥檚 father had died of cholera about a year ago, but until then Patrick Rush had worked as a coach driver for America鈥檚 wealthy elite, as had Cian鈥檚 grandfather and great-grandfather. Memories of his father鈥檚 workdays still repulsed Cian. He vividly recalled watching his father polish his carriage lovingly well into the night; not stopping until wood shone and metal gleamed. Cian also remembered the dismissive way wealthy patrons had treated his father and his cherished coach. Plantation owners put out reeking cigars on the delicate curtains sewn by Cian鈥檚 mother. City bankers were sick in the carriage after whisky fuelled nights in smoky gentleman鈥檚 clubs. Aging matriarchs left behind the messes of their ratty dogs to stain and stink up the carriage carpet.

Watching his father bow and smile to these wretched people had made Cian hot with anger and, though he never admitted this to himself, embarrassment. At his father鈥檚 funeral (to which many of his father鈥檚 customers were invited, although none came), Cian decided that the Rush鈥檚 occupational legacy would die along with his father.

Cian shifted, trying to find a more comfortable position on the baking hot planks. A merry whistle reached his ears, ringing clear all the wayki up to his wooden perch towering over the sea. Cian smiled at the sound. His uncle Roger鈥檚 whistling was easily distinguishable, even over the competing sounds of crashing waves and crying gulls. Not only was the whistling exceptionally bad, but rather than being a common, bawdy ditty that one would expect to hear from the lips of a sailor, the melody was a charming piece of classical music. Chopin, if Cian wasn鈥檛 mistaken. The tune was all the more enchanting for this incongruity; notes meant to tinkle out of pianos in grand halls instead wove their way amongst cursing sailors and creaking ropes.Do you like my first Chapter? Or does its suckitude overwhelm you?
It doesn't suck but you do have some obvious errors. For one you should always Show not Tell your story, and all you have here is one long Tell. You also overwrite, giving way too many details and information when none are warranted to advance the story line.



Keep writing; you are just making rookie mistakes.Do you like my first Chapter? Or does its suckitude overwhelm you?
I read the whole thing. And that's saying something. It held my interest. I came to like and understand Cian. Good descriptions! Well done!!Do you like my first Chapter? Or does its suckitude overwhelm you?
I like this story :) you have a really vivid imagination...It's good and I think it's somewhat professional. There are some mistakes but they are only little spelling mistakes. Keep on writing :D
I love it! It kept my interest right through; you have really interesting and vivid description. I would definitely buy the book.