• Long Listed for the 2018 Wattys
• A Wattpad Featured Story
• Top 30 in the first ever Historical Awards
[ A "GREAT EXPECTATIONS" RETELLING ]
GENRE: historical fiction
London, 1884
"Sometimes, even messiahs can't bring back the dead."
Instead of ea...
First of all, I'm delighted that you all are taking precious time out for this.
While reading, please do keep in mind that this is a first draft that started in November 2017(during NaNoWriMo). So it may be extra messy, hehe.
However, I am looking forward to everyone's feedback here!
Also, I'd appreciate it immensely if everyone commented their Comment Topic (CT) here ➡️ Makes sorting out easier for me. XD
Questions:
1. Since this is the first chapter, do you find the premise intriguing?
2. Since this is in a male's POV, would you consider it done at least convincingly well? Please explain your opinion.
Further Explanation for Q2: I thought I'd explain this a bit more. Personally, I'm not a fan of male POVs seeming overly macho or masculine. Do you believe that is the case here or not?
3. For this book, I experimented by starting it with medias res. Do you find this method working with the narration?
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“No matter what, I'll always support you in your endeavours.”
Liar.
I have always been accused of cynicism over the years, that the results I think of are often more negative than positive. But, in my opinion, they consider both pros and cons before deciding on the type of subject. Though, not taking into account hopeless hope may be a factor as well.
Someone knocks on the door. Without thinking, I push my chair back and say, “Enter.”
The door unfastens-- a click resounding-- as two figures walk inside. A younger woman, of about my age, holds the arm of an elderly woman. The former's peacock blue cloak sweeps across the floor, along with the thin line of an old, forgotten memory. The sort of memory that seems like a monochromatic cloud, rather than an unfolded retelling.
When I slide around the wooden desk in front of me, the older woman shakes her head. “You needn't worry, Doctor. It's my daughter's hobby to fret over my health.” She chuckles, while her daughter sighs.
“It is not a very disagreeable hobby regarding one's parents, madam.” Smiling, I proceed to push two chairs before my desk back.
The older woman waves her hand, while younger remains pointedly silent. Though, her attention remains on me when I return to my seat. After a lingering moment, she turns to her mother and presses her fingertips against her cloak's opening.
My lips press into a straight line momentarily. “Good morning, Mrs…”
