Have you ever purposely written something horrible as a feature in one of your stories? Here follows such a snippet from one of my short stories. Background: the man writing this bit of muck is trying to pen a fantasy novel, but he sucks at writing, as you'll plainly see....
Lord Snave heard someone shouting his name over the rancorous clashing of battle. It was Heathcliff his faithful squire. “Lord Snave!” Heathcliff yelled loudly “Kronac’s forces are filling in the mote!”
Snave raises a fist. “Damn him!” He ran over, following Heathcliff to the far side of the castle. Sure enough Kronac’s men were toiling with shovels and even their bare hands, filling in the moat. Snave bent down and snatched a crossbow from one of his own dead men. He leaned out between the protective stones and fired, and he took out one of the enemy.
“Fire men!” Snave yelled out to his soldiers about him on the walls. “Stand together like a band of brothers!” Snave was struck in the chain armor beneath his plate mail by a crossbow arrow bouncing off a stone. “My lord!” Heathcliff cried alarmed. He rushed to his masters side.
Snave pushed him away roughly. He reached up and grabbed the arrow gritted his teeth and pulled it out of his shoulder. He uttered one fierce grunt, then it was over. He was cheered by his men for such manly bravery. "They’ll never take us! Not so long as I draw a breathe!” Snave addressed his men, who shouted confidently and turned back to shooting people down on the ground.
“Fire!” someone yelled. Snave looked up and saw a flaming missile flying over his wall to crash down in his courtyard. The flaming barrel exploded and the flames covered his great hall. Snave’s serving peasants and wenches ran from the building. “No!” Snave shouted when he saw Tallulah the serving wench he’d been bedding scurry from the hall covered in flames. He smelt her burning hair.
“No!” Snave shouted again in grief. He tossed his leg over the wall and was ready to leap down into a hay cart to help his love. Then he heard Heathcliff babbling once again. “What!”
“Me lord! Kronac wishes to speak with me lord!” Snave looked down into his courtyard where his beloved lay writhing in flames. He pounded his breast and fought back his tears. “Oh fowl injustice!” he cried, but he got up, dusted himself off.
Heathcliff lead him to over his main gate. His men stopped firing, Kronac waited for him down below. “Lord Snave it appears your outmanned and outmatched!”
“Fiend! You’ll NEVER batter this down!” He shook his fist and so did his brave soldiers.
“And you’ll never get out alive! So I say we settle this one on one, man to man!”
“A duel is it?”
“A joust sir! To the DEATH!” With that Kronac threw down his metal glove. Snave tossed his down below where it crashed into the bloodsoaked muddy earth on which Kronac was standing.
“I accept!” Snave said. He turned around. “Heathcliff, saddle my horse!”
So, have you ever had to stoop this low and write something this fowl in order to move your plot, or prove your point?
Lord Snave heard someone shouting his name over the rancorous clashing of battle. It was Heathcliff his faithful squire. “Lord Snave!” Heathcliff yelled loudly “Kronac’s forces are filling in the mote!”
Snave raises a fist. “Damn him!” He ran over, following Heathcliff to the far side of the castle. Sure enough Kronac’s men were toiling with shovels and even their bare hands, filling in the moat. Snave bent down and snatched a crossbow from one of his own dead men. He leaned out between the protective stones and fired, and he took out one of the enemy.
“Fire men!” Snave yelled out to his soldiers about him on the walls. “Stand together like a band of brothers!” Snave was struck in the chain armor beneath his plate mail by a crossbow arrow bouncing off a stone. “My lord!” Heathcliff cried alarmed. He rushed to his masters side.
Snave pushed him away roughly. He reached up and grabbed the arrow gritted his teeth and pulled it out of his shoulder. He uttered one fierce grunt, then it was over. He was cheered by his men for such manly bravery. "They’ll never take us! Not so long as I draw a breathe!” Snave addressed his men, who shouted confidently and turned back to shooting people down on the ground.
“Fire!” someone yelled. Snave looked up and saw a flaming missile flying over his wall to crash down in his courtyard. The flaming barrel exploded and the flames covered his great hall. Snave’s serving peasants and wenches ran from the building. “No!” Snave shouted when he saw Tallulah the serving wench he’d been bedding scurry from the hall covered in flames. He smelt her burning hair.
“No!” Snave shouted again in grief. He tossed his leg over the wall and was ready to leap down into a hay cart to help his love. Then he heard Heathcliff babbling once again. “What!”
“Me lord! Kronac wishes to speak with me lord!” Snave looked down into his courtyard where his beloved lay writhing in flames. He pounded his breast and fought back his tears. “Oh fowl injustice!” he cried, but he got up, dusted himself off.
Heathcliff lead him to over his main gate. His men stopped firing, Kronac waited for him down below. “Lord Snave it appears your outmanned and outmatched!”
“Fiend! You’ll NEVER batter this down!” He shook his fist and so did his brave soldiers.
“And you’ll never get out alive! So I say we settle this one on one, man to man!”
“A duel is it?”
“A joust sir! To the DEATH!” With that Kronac threw down his metal glove. Snave tossed his down below where it crashed into the bloodsoaked muddy earth on which Kronac was standing.
“I accept!” Snave said. He turned around. “Heathcliff, saddle my horse!”
So, have you ever had to stoop this low and write something this fowl in order to move your plot, or prove your point?
