Okay. I have never written a novel before so, I'm learning as I go.
I would really appreciate some input on a question I have.
In writing, I find it much easier to write in a present tense--at least I think it's present. I'm sure it's not past.
Here is an example:
Off to one side a number of Moldavs are becoming more and more angry. More and more emboldened. A young soldier begins to speak softly, but emphatically, to his comrades closest to him.
Craning his neck from side to side, Antonio searches out the trouble maker and sizes him up. He turns his head to the left and gives his Cahpitan an order only the two of them can hear.
“Bring that one to me.”
Yuri bows his head in obeisance and begins making his way towards the Moldav ruffian, harshly pushing aside anyone in his path. Right hand crossing his body to grasp his sword’s hilt he points out the Moldav from a few paces away and shouts at him.
“You there! ... YOU! Get your filthy ass up here! ... NOW!”
Doing his best to maintain an air of bravado, the young Moldav soldier makes his way to the front of the group and slowly walks over to where his captor points, as the tall Serstian follows closely alongside, his hand ever upon his sword–ready to draw it and strike him down.
A few paces away from the one who is obviously the leader, Stolov hears the tall Serstian’s sword slowly leave its sheath menacingly, tsssssssssssssssssssssssssshink. Taking the action as a warning, he stops and faces the man outfitted in the fine, shiny armor and exotic wolf’s head helmet.
Removing his helmet and calmly handing it aside to one of his soldiers, Antonio Corrent eyes the captive standing before him.
After only a few seconds of searching the leader’s eye’s an eerie feeling of foreboding claws at Stolov’s insides causing goosebumps to rise upon his skin. He hopes nobody notices.
The leader speaks to him using the common tongue, heavily-accented with Alturran.
“Why have you come to this land, Moldav?”
Unsure of exactly how he should answer, Stolov hesitates slightly, then finds his voice.
“It is the land of my ancestors. I can come and–“
“ THIS land is Alturran land. Belonging to the Alturran peoples,” the words come out from between the Crown Prince’s teeth as little more than a hiss. Taking a steadying breath he gathers himself then continues. “ The only right your ancestors have here is that they sleep peacefully and silently while the living go about living. And you, pig, you have no claim and no right to anything within these borders.”
A silent snarl curls his lips and wrinkles Stolov’s nose. He unconsciously stands straighter and taller as he clenches and unclenches his fists at his sides. But sensing the anxiousness within the Serstian standing to his left and slightly behind him, he bites his tongue until he is sure he can answer calmly.
“Arrogant Alturran bastard...” Stolov’s courage builds and he eyes the pompous leader standing before him from head to toe derisively.
“Bastard I am not, pig. I am the son of Diego Corrent.” Antonio’s words are delivered calmly and evenly, his anger and disgust in check.
Stolov’s eyes bulge out of their sockets at the words. Could it really be? The son of that bastard Diego Corrent? Here?
Sneering, Antonio chuckles at the Moldav’s inability to conceal his surpirse.
“Why do you find this so hard to believe... pig?” His disdain and the emphasis on the word pig contort the Moldav’s dirty face and Antonio laughs heartily.
“After your father was killed and his head stabbed onto a spike at Zeddaya, no Moldav ever thought to see you here.” Stolov’s tiny sense of victory and the sneer at the corner of his mouth evaporate under the Alturran’s scorching glare.
Antonio straightens himself as he prepares to speak and the Moldav flinches slightly.
“Remove my armor.” Antonio Corrent’s order is spoken calmly. Evenly. Menacingly. His eyes stay firmly fixed upon Stolov’s as he speaks. Two aides de camp rush forward and begin frantically working at the buckles of his back and breastplates while he holds his arms up slightly. The aides kneel and tear at the leather straps holding together the cuisses, greaves and sabatons at his thighs, shins and feet.
Stolov stands transfixed, his mind racing, as the Alturran’s armor is practically ripped from his body. He is unsettled by the hard, unwavering stare of the Alturran.
“Cahpitan Danzink.” Antonio's eyes never leave the eyes of the Moldav captive.
Yuri moves a few paces nearer, stopping to one side of the leader and bowing his head slightly “Principi.”
“The pig’s weapon.”
At the words Yuri uncomfortably looks over at one of the officer’s standing nearby. The officer gives him an unsure look of his own in return. He stands straight and addresses him firmly. “Tennente Ahbrego.”
The tennente hurries over to stand before the tall Serstian, snaps to attention, then bows his head slightly. “Sir.”
“Give the Moldav his weapon.”
The tennente nervously looks off to one side for a split second, unsure of how to procede, then speaks, “Sir?”
Yuri lays his stare fully upon the tennente. “His weapon Ahbrego. Get it. Give it to him.”
“How do I know which one is his, sir?” The tennente tries to make his query sound as reasonable as possible.
“Are all of the Moldav weapons gathered and stored Ahbrego?” Yuri speaks calmly and slowly.
“Yes Cahpitan.”
Then take this bastard to where the weapons are and have him find his own.”
The tennente pushes and guides the Moldav rogue over towards the weapons cache.
“Move damn you! Over there! By the horse pickets!” The tennente draws his sword threateningly as the Moldav stops and gives him a challenging stare. “Go ahead damn you–save me the trouble of bothering with you, you filthy, murdering scum...”
Stolov immediately recognizes that the officer is not making hollow threats. It is obvious in the way he holds his weapon, his hand repeatedly clenching the leather-bound handle of the sword restlessly; in the way his face betrays no emotion; and, in the way his voice is totally calm and monotone. Best to remain poised and see what becomes of his being armed than to be hacked apart by an Alturran officer who obviously believes butchering a Moldav criminal is easier work than finding a sword from the large cache of confiscated weapons.
Stolov is allowed to dig through the confiscated Moldav weapons and finds his own sword.
Escorting the captive back to where the officers stand, Ahbrego bows to Yuri and Antonio, then moves back to his position helping guard the other prisoners.
Standing to Antonio’s right, Yuri Danzink shifts his weight from foot-to-foot, not liking the direction the events are taking.
Antonio keeps his eyes locked onto Stolov’s as he unfastens his sword belt then calls out to one of his aides, “DiGarro.”
Antonio hands his sword, its sheath and belt to his aide without ever looking at him. “Go and fetch my axes.”
The aide gathers the Crown Prince’s sword and rig into his arms, takes a large step backward head still bowed, then turns and hurries off to get the Crown Prince’s axes.
Yuri clears his throat gruffly then addresses his leader. “Principi..?”
Before Yuri can question his intentions any further Antonio addresses the Moldav so that all can hear him clearly. “I offer you an honor you do not deserve you filthy, murdering coward.” Antonio’s eyes burn into Stolov’s, his face contorting with anger. “I challenge you to single combat.”
Unsure how to procede, Stolov remains silent, his eyes shifting from the Son of Diego, over to the tall Serstian at his side and back again. Then he nods his head once in acceptance of the challenge.
“Now hear me! All of you!” Antonio shouts as loud as he possibly can, his eyes never leaving Stolov’s. “Should this filthy murdering pig best me in single combat, I command that he–along with 5 men of his choosing–be escorted North to the border and set free.”
A rumble of disbelief and astonishment emanates from the Alturran soldiers.
The sounds of disgruntlement quickly die out as Antonio turns his gaze away from the Moldav prisoner standing before him to seek out anyone voicing disagreement with his orders. The men, sensing their leader’s current mood, quickly fall silent and lower their eyes whenever the Crown Prince’s gaze falls upon them.
“The men are to be escorted North! Provisioned with food and water along the way! And given their weapons at the border before they are released!”
Antonio looks to his second standing beside him, then moves his gaze around to his men. “I command this!”
Every Alturran bows his head slightly at the invocation of the Crown Prince’s authority, something he rarely ever did.
Antonio’s aide, Paolo DiGarro, comes running. He pulls to a sliding stop before the Crown Prince, bows his head slightly and offers up two battle axes. Antonio takes hold of the axes and studies them briefly. Waves them before him, goes through slow windmilling motions with his right arm, left, right, left–reacquainting himself with the weapons’ hefts and balances. His movements are fluid. The axes cut slow, circular swaths before him.
What I am trying to do is make the story as close to "real time" as possible. Does this make any sense?
Depending on the amount of work I put into this, could this work?
I would really appreciate some input on a question I have.
In writing, I find it much easier to write in a present tense--at least I think it's present. I'm sure it's not past.
Here is an example:
Off to one side a number of Moldavs are becoming more and more angry. More and more emboldened. A young soldier begins to speak softly, but emphatically, to his comrades closest to him.
Craning his neck from side to side, Antonio searches out the trouble maker and sizes him up. He turns his head to the left and gives his Cahpitan an order only the two of them can hear.
“Bring that one to me.”
Yuri bows his head in obeisance and begins making his way towards the Moldav ruffian, harshly pushing aside anyone in his path. Right hand crossing his body to grasp his sword’s hilt he points out the Moldav from a few paces away and shouts at him.
“You there! ... YOU! Get your filthy ass up here! ... NOW!”
Doing his best to maintain an air of bravado, the young Moldav soldier makes his way to the front of the group and slowly walks over to where his captor points, as the tall Serstian follows closely alongside, his hand ever upon his sword–ready to draw it and strike him down.
A few paces away from the one who is obviously the leader, Stolov hears the tall Serstian’s sword slowly leave its sheath menacingly, tsssssssssssssssssssssssssshink. Taking the action as a warning, he stops and faces the man outfitted in the fine, shiny armor and exotic wolf’s head helmet.
Removing his helmet and calmly handing it aside to one of his soldiers, Antonio Corrent eyes the captive standing before him.
After only a few seconds of searching the leader’s eye’s an eerie feeling of foreboding claws at Stolov’s insides causing goosebumps to rise upon his skin. He hopes nobody notices.
The leader speaks to him using the common tongue, heavily-accented with Alturran.
“Why have you come to this land, Moldav?”
Unsure of exactly how he should answer, Stolov hesitates slightly, then finds his voice.
“It is the land of my ancestors. I can come and–“
“ THIS land is Alturran land. Belonging to the Alturran peoples,” the words come out from between the Crown Prince’s teeth as little more than a hiss. Taking a steadying breath he gathers himself then continues. “ The only right your ancestors have here is that they sleep peacefully and silently while the living go about living. And you, pig, you have no claim and no right to anything within these borders.”
A silent snarl curls his lips and wrinkles Stolov’s nose. He unconsciously stands straighter and taller as he clenches and unclenches his fists at his sides. But sensing the anxiousness within the Serstian standing to his left and slightly behind him, he bites his tongue until he is sure he can answer calmly.
“Arrogant Alturran bastard...” Stolov’s courage builds and he eyes the pompous leader standing before him from head to toe derisively.
“Bastard I am not, pig. I am the son of Diego Corrent.” Antonio’s words are delivered calmly and evenly, his anger and disgust in check.
Stolov’s eyes bulge out of their sockets at the words. Could it really be? The son of that bastard Diego Corrent? Here?
Sneering, Antonio chuckles at the Moldav’s inability to conceal his surpirse.
“Why do you find this so hard to believe... pig?” His disdain and the emphasis on the word pig contort the Moldav’s dirty face and Antonio laughs heartily.
“After your father was killed and his head stabbed onto a spike at Zeddaya, no Moldav ever thought to see you here.” Stolov’s tiny sense of victory and the sneer at the corner of his mouth evaporate under the Alturran’s scorching glare.
Antonio straightens himself as he prepares to speak and the Moldav flinches slightly.
“Remove my armor.” Antonio Corrent’s order is spoken calmly. Evenly. Menacingly. His eyes stay firmly fixed upon Stolov’s as he speaks. Two aides de camp rush forward and begin frantically working at the buckles of his back and breastplates while he holds his arms up slightly. The aides kneel and tear at the leather straps holding together the cuisses, greaves and sabatons at his thighs, shins and feet.
Stolov stands transfixed, his mind racing, as the Alturran’s armor is practically ripped from his body. He is unsettled by the hard, unwavering stare of the Alturran.
“Cahpitan Danzink.” Antonio's eyes never leave the eyes of the Moldav captive.
Yuri moves a few paces nearer, stopping to one side of the leader and bowing his head slightly “Principi.”
“The pig’s weapon.”
At the words Yuri uncomfortably looks over at one of the officer’s standing nearby. The officer gives him an unsure look of his own in return. He stands straight and addresses him firmly. “Tennente Ahbrego.”
The tennente hurries over to stand before the tall Serstian, snaps to attention, then bows his head slightly. “Sir.”
“Give the Moldav his weapon.”
The tennente nervously looks off to one side for a split second, unsure of how to procede, then speaks, “Sir?”
Yuri lays his stare fully upon the tennente. “His weapon Ahbrego. Get it. Give it to him.”
“How do I know which one is his, sir?” The tennente tries to make his query sound as reasonable as possible.
“Are all of the Moldav weapons gathered and stored Ahbrego?” Yuri speaks calmly and slowly.
“Yes Cahpitan.”
Then take this bastard to where the weapons are and have him find his own.”
The tennente pushes and guides the Moldav rogue over towards the weapons cache.
“Move damn you! Over there! By the horse pickets!” The tennente draws his sword threateningly as the Moldav stops and gives him a challenging stare. “Go ahead damn you–save me the trouble of bothering with you, you filthy, murdering scum...”
Stolov immediately recognizes that the officer is not making hollow threats. It is obvious in the way he holds his weapon, his hand repeatedly clenching the leather-bound handle of the sword restlessly; in the way his face betrays no emotion; and, in the way his voice is totally calm and monotone. Best to remain poised and see what becomes of his being armed than to be hacked apart by an Alturran officer who obviously believes butchering a Moldav criminal is easier work than finding a sword from the large cache of confiscated weapons.
Stolov is allowed to dig through the confiscated Moldav weapons and finds his own sword.
Escorting the captive back to where the officers stand, Ahbrego bows to Yuri and Antonio, then moves back to his position helping guard the other prisoners.
Standing to Antonio’s right, Yuri Danzink shifts his weight from foot-to-foot, not liking the direction the events are taking.
Antonio keeps his eyes locked onto Stolov’s as he unfastens his sword belt then calls out to one of his aides, “DiGarro.”
Antonio hands his sword, its sheath and belt to his aide without ever looking at him. “Go and fetch my axes.”
The aide gathers the Crown Prince’s sword and rig into his arms, takes a large step backward head still bowed, then turns and hurries off to get the Crown Prince’s axes.
Yuri clears his throat gruffly then addresses his leader. “Principi..?”
Before Yuri can question his intentions any further Antonio addresses the Moldav so that all can hear him clearly. “I offer you an honor you do not deserve you filthy, murdering coward.” Antonio’s eyes burn into Stolov’s, his face contorting with anger. “I challenge you to single combat.”
Unsure how to procede, Stolov remains silent, his eyes shifting from the Son of Diego, over to the tall Serstian at his side and back again. Then he nods his head once in acceptance of the challenge.
“Now hear me! All of you!” Antonio shouts as loud as he possibly can, his eyes never leaving Stolov’s. “Should this filthy murdering pig best me in single combat, I command that he–along with 5 men of his choosing–be escorted North to the border and set free.”
A rumble of disbelief and astonishment emanates from the Alturran soldiers.
The sounds of disgruntlement quickly die out as Antonio turns his gaze away from the Moldav prisoner standing before him to seek out anyone voicing disagreement with his orders. The men, sensing their leader’s current mood, quickly fall silent and lower their eyes whenever the Crown Prince’s gaze falls upon them.
“The men are to be escorted North! Provisioned with food and water along the way! And given their weapons at the border before they are released!”
Antonio looks to his second standing beside him, then moves his gaze around to his men. “I command this!”
Every Alturran bows his head slightly at the invocation of the Crown Prince’s authority, something he rarely ever did.
Antonio’s aide, Paolo DiGarro, comes running. He pulls to a sliding stop before the Crown Prince, bows his head slightly and offers up two battle axes. Antonio takes hold of the axes and studies them briefly. Waves them before him, goes through slow windmilling motions with his right arm, left, right, left–reacquainting himself with the weapons’ hefts and balances. His movements are fluid. The axes cut slow, circular swaths before him.
What I am trying to do is make the story as close to "real time" as possible. Does this make any sense?
Depending on the amount of work I put into this, could this work?