Discussing: Desperately Seeing Beta!
Desperately Seeing Beta!
19 May 06 7:42 AM
I’m desperately seeking a beta for a new story I’ve just completed entitled "Lady of the Shield-arm" and features—as you can guess, Eowyn. It is a fairly angsty, introspective piece dealing with the motivations behind Eowyn's decision to ride to war and how she copes with the fact that she survives, when she clearly had hoped—dare I say, counted on otherwise. As I never quite bought how easily Eowyn fell in love with Faramir, this story also attempts to illustrate her long road back from the darkness. While it is on the angsty side I promise the story does not wallow in itself and there is some levity as Eowyn “gets her groove back”.
The story is approximately 62 pages / 20,000 words long and is ready to beta. What I’m looking for chiefly is help with grammar but I am open to suggestions all around. I’m specifically looking for someone skilled at offering, considerate as well as constructive criticism. A long term relationship would be ideal (as I have other works in process) or at least someone willing to beta this piece in its entirety. I would prefer to work via email rather than through this site. Following is a brief sample:
From: “Lady of the Shield-arm”
Éowyn, the White Lady of Rohan, paced the length of her cold chamber; fear clenching her heart in a fist of ice. Ever faster she paced, her hands slick with sweat traveling restlessly to her side seeking a blade that was not there.
Her breath rasped harshly from her lungs as she struggled for control when all she felt was growing panic. How she longed to lash out, to rail against the bars of the cage swiftly closing in about her.
“You would do wise to speak me fair, Éowyn, Éomund-daughter.” Wormtongue’s words hissed again through her mind.
“Speak you fair? Snake! Get thee from my sight and take your poisonous tongue with you!” She had cried, spitting on him full in the face.
Gríma Wormtongue’s eyes had narrowed dangerously at that and for the first time she felt true fear as he raised a pale hand to his cheek to wipe away the spittle. “That was ill done, Lady. Be not so spiteful, I warn you. Your brother will not come to your aid for he is locked in irons and held in your uncle’s deepest dungeon.”
“For treason! He is a rebel and a traitor to the King and to the Mark. He gainsaid your uncle’s commands.”
“Nay, never—you lie!”
“Does it matter?” Gríma laughed, a chilling sound. “Théoden King believes it sooth for I tell him it is so. Because the king believes, none dare gainsay; and so, it is truth.”
“My Uncle will never agree to this!”
Wormtongue’s laughter sounded once again, harsh and grating. “Will he not? I think so. With his son and heir dead and newly buried, his sister-son revealed for the rebel he is; Théoden King needs sorely to rejoice in something—anything, as do all the good folk of the Mark; what better than to rejoice in a wedding?”
Éowyn shivered with revulsion. “Say whatever you will, worm, you shall never have me. Sooner would I fall on my own blade than suffer your touch.”
Gríma reached out to caress her cheek. When she jerked her head away, cruel fingers gripped her jaw, bruising flesh as he forced her eyes to his. “No blade of steel shall pierce such tender flesh, on that you may count.”
Wormtongue’s head snapped back as Éowyn’s hand connected with his face in a ringing slap. Turning she fled down the corridor as fast as her legs would carry her. And now she waited, pacing the floor of her ever-shrinking bower, waiting for the guards to come for her. For come they would, as all now did Wormtongue’s bidding—in the name of Théoden King.
“My Lady, the King requires your presence.”
Éowyn froze, ‘so it comes’ she mused bitterly. Squaring her shoulders, she turned to face the guard…
If you are interested and have the time please email me at: firstname.lastname@example.org