Getting back at Mean Dean

[H Dean]

Some of the best things that I have learned about writing have come from abusing the writings of others. Yes, reviewing stories has helped my writing...or so I think. But that could just be my ego talking. It talks a lot and it is always right.

At any rate, I figured that it might be fun for you all to critisize a piece of my work; to tear it apart like I do your work. Don't hesitate to be rough, you won't hurt my feelings and I think it may improve your skills to properly tear something apart. Also, since this is a first draft (written today and spell checked once) there must be some big time problems with it. I am sure Muse will find a laundry list of punctuation errors.

Who knows, I may learn something from your comments too. So, without further adieu, here it is...



The O’Connell Chronicles: The Dinner Party


Chapter 1


Francis directed his guests into his study, introducing them to his artwork. All were properly impressed and filled with questions as to how this magnificence was achieved.

"Are they all real?" a voice asked.

"Of course. I've a friend who…he is the...um...director of a facility that creates these masterpieces,” he told them. “I have another piece in the works, as a matter of fact."

His guests milled around first one piece and then another, touching the objects and mumbling to their comrades.

A tall woman of an older generation stood over what appeared to be a marble statue depicting a nymph pleasuring two satyrs. Smiling she bent down and peered into the nymphs closed eyes and whispered something. The eyes opened, startling the woman.

"So hideous," she whispered. "Francis, I'm curious, how do you...well, how does she eat or..."

Francis smiled as he strode towards the older woman. "As you can see, one satyr has his cock in her mouth and the other in her ass. I won't go into all the plumbing, but there is a small machine that pumps food into her stomach and another that cleans her out."

"I must have one!" she exclaimed.

"Perhaps that can be arranged, Beatrice," Francis said, a broad grin of satisfaction on his face.

"How did you manage this one?" asked a tall, dark haired man.

"Ah, this one...my most recent piece," Francis said, striding over to the man. "I had to have this adjusted somewhat. The spider webbing originally fed into her fingers, but that proved to be a bit problematic. They feed into through the back of her hand now. I'm rather partial to the change: It allows her fingers to move now."

“It’s quite exquisite,” the man replied.

“Thank you. I wanted her to appear much like a painting,” Francis said. “My initial thought was of Fay Ray in the clutches of King Kong. Then I settled on an image from an old pulp fiction fantasy novel I read as a young man. I can’t recall the name of the book but the image of a nearly naked girl trapped in a huge spider web was rather…well, it stayed with me.”

As if on command the girl's fingers wiggled, garnering a smile from her captor. Reaching out, the man stroked the girl's leg, prompting her from her state of slumber. Her steel gray eyes blinked open, taking in the rare sight of strangers.

"Please, help me," whispered the girl, suddenly hopeful for freedom.

A chuckle of sadistic satisfaction rose from the gallery of people.

"Marvelous!" Beatrice issued. "Such hideous beauty. Such sadistic pleasures you must find in this beauty."

"More than I can express," Francis related. "Many is the night that I have taken my seat across from her, enjoying her exquisite suffering while my dutiful Desk brought me to full satisfaction."

"Desk? Who or what is Desk?" asked the woman.

Francis turned his gaze to the small desk at the far end of the room. It was made of dark oak and appeared well crafted and sturdy. From the center top of the desk, just beneath the desk’s top piece could be seen the lower portions of a woman. Her bottom jutted out slightly and her feet spread wide and disappeared into the desk's thick legs.

"She has relative freedom until lock into her place," Francis told the small crowd. "When not in use for my sexual pleasures or cleaning, she is there. When unattended she has a pump attached to her bottom to clean out her wastes."

"I assume that her upper half is useful when she is ensconced by the desk?" chuckled one of the guests.

"Please, feel free to look," Francis told the man.

One by one Francis' guests made their path to the other side of the desk to admire its most impressive attributes.

"It appears you have modified the girl quite severely," the older woman said.

"Ah, yes. She is, in fact, a Christ-like figure," Francis retorted, smiling. "Her hands and feet have rather large holes through them, titanium tubing filling the holes so they remain open and useful. Her breasts have been greatly enlarged and are, in fact, still growing thanks to an implant her creator calls ‘silly string’. Her lips have been shaped and enlarged, and her teeth have been replaced with a synthetic material."

"You said she has duties other than being a desk," Beatrice said. "Which means she can be removed from it. It also means that you trust her to be free in the house. That's a bit risky, if you ask me."

"Her mind is not what it once was. In fact, she has little recollection of the girl she was before she became what she is now," Francis told her. "Her only want in life is to be a pleasure toy. She has actually stated that she envies the other pieces I have here - wishes she were one of them."

"Interesting", the woman said.

"Well, I think it's time for the party to get started," Francis exclaimed. "So, if you don't mind, I will free Desk from her bondage and have her get to serving. Please, follow me to the dining room."

Over dinner, Francis' guests spoke in grand words about his living furnishings. All were in awe and most were in a quest to discover how they might acquire their own pieces. Amidst the excitement and revelry, none noticed the one man who sat quietly observing the actions of all in attendance. It was only after dinner had completed that he was introduced.

"It seems that you are all in agreement," Francis announced. "You all want what I have. Well, I have news for you. The man responsible for these creations is here.”

Their attention was immediate, as was the sudden silence filling the room. Anticipatory, each guest awaited the words that were to follow.

“He has been made fully aware of the status of each individual here,” Francis continued. “He knows your base interests and the truth about your, or our, illegal activities. However, as careful a man as he is, he wished to observe each of you before allowing me to compromise his identity.”

Francis paused for a moment, enjoying the sudden tension. He cast his eyes from one guest to another, enjoying their wide-eyed attention. Finally, Beatrice rose from her seat, her eyes burning into Francis.

“Damn it, man! You’re going to give us all heart attacks, you sadistic bastard!” she exclaimed, a smile playing across her lips.

Francis returned the smile, raising his arm in an open handed gesture. “Friends, I want you to meet Jerry O’Connell.”

All eyes turned towards the man at the far end of the table and watched the man ease himself from his seat. He raised his fist to his mouth and coughed before smiling at the guests.

“It’s been awhile since I have been away from my playground for a night like this,” he began. “I admit to having a very enjoyable time. Your company and adoration of my works has been quite enjoyable. Were I a more easily influenced man my head would be swelled beyond the ridiculous. Francis?”

“Thank you, Jerry,” Francis responded as Jerry returned to his seat. “Now, let’s retire to my study. I am sure you have many questions, hopes and fantasies you wish to discuss with my esteemed friend.”

[Satan_Klaus]

Even though it's more extreme than my usual tastes, I liked this story in all its dark, twisted glory.

To the nits:

I liked the introduction but this sentence seemed to break the flow too early in the story. I don't know exactly how it should be improved but it feels somewhat awkward.

"Of course. I've a friend who…he is the...um...director of a facility that creates these masterpieces,”

second:
A tall woman of an older generation stood over what appeared to be a marble statue depicting a nymph pleasuring two satyrs. Smiling she bent down and peered into the nymph's closed eyes and whispered something.

And last one that I found:
"She has relative freedom until lock into her place,"

Something is definitely wrong here...


All in all a good story with high literary value and questionable content, like I expected from you.

Satan_Klaus

[H Dean]

Even though it's more extreme than my usual tastes, I liked this story in all its dark, twisted glory.

I do tend towards dark shit. Believe it or not, I've a fantasy comedy working its way through my head.

To the nits:

I liked the introduction but this sentence seemed to break the flow too early in the story. I don't know exactly how it should be improved but it feels somewhat awkward.

"Of course. I've a friend who…he is the...um...director of a facility that creates these masterpieces,”

Not only is it awkward, it doesn't fit with Francis' manner at all. I definately have to fix this.

second:
A tall woman of an older generation stood over what appeared to be a marble statue depicting a nymph pleasuring two satyrs. Smiling she bent down and peered into the nymph's closed eyes and whispered something.

I struggled with this little bit, trying to get the structure and description right. Being the first draft I decided to leave it and return later.

And last one that I found:
"She has relative freedom until lock into her place,"

Something is definitely wrong here...

This made me chuckle. I wrote that sentence with a typo and then corrected it immediately. After correcting it I noticed that my correction was screwed up. I corrected that mistake too...corrected it to this mistake. This part of my story must be haunted.

All in all a good story with high literary value and questionable content, like I expected from you.

Satan_Klaus

Questionable content? Hmmm...I think I like that.

Well, Satan Klaus, I appreciate you going over the first chapter of my new story...or maybe this new chapter to an old story. I haven't decided which. You know how it is.

Now, where are all the other kids in here?

[Rhabbi]

*drools and pulls out my decoder ring*

You have a few sentence fragments, need a couple of commas, and some use passive voice. Not sure that most of them are wrong, but ruby scarred me so much about passive voice that I avoid it unless I can justify it as part of the story.

The O’Connell Chronicles: The Dinner Party


Chapter 1


Francis directed his guests into his study, introducing them to his artwork. All were properly impressed and filled with questions as to how this magnificence was achieved.

"Are they all real?" a voice asked.

"Of course. I've a friend who…he is the...um...director of a facility that creates these masterpieces,” he told them. “I have another piece in the works, as a matter of fact."

His guests milled around first one piece and then another, touching the objects and mumbling to their comrades.

A tall woman of an older generation stood over what appeared to be a marble statue depicting a nymph pleasuring two satyrs. Smiling she bent down and peered into the nymphs closed eyes and whispered something.

This sentence has a couple of things wrong with it. Here is the way it should be: Smiling she bent down, peered into the nymph’s closed eyes, and whispered something.

The eyes opened, startling the woman.
"So hideous," she whispered. "Francis, I'm curious, how do you...well, how does she eat or..."

Another comment her. Can you find another way to show hesitation in speech? the ...makes me think there is an escerpt, and I have to edit my thinking as I read.

Francis smiled as he strode towards the older woman. "As you can see, one satyr has his cock in her mouth and the other in her ass. I won't go into all the plumbing, but there is a small machine that pumps food into her stomach and another that cleans her out."

"I must have one!" she exclaimed.

"Perhaps that can be arranged, Beatrice," Francis said, a broad grin of satisfaction on his face.

"How did you manage this one?" asked a tall, dark haired man.

"Ah, this one...my most recent piece," Francis said, striding over to the man. "I had to have this adjusted somewhat. The spider webbing originally fed into her fingers, but that proved to be a bit problematic. They feed into through the back of her hand now. I'm rather partial to the change: It allows her fingers to move now."

“It’s quite exquisite,” the man replied.

“Thank you. I wanted her to appear much like a painting,” Francis said. “My initial thought was of Fay Ray in the clutches of King Kong. Then I settled on an image from an old pulp fiction fantasy novel I read as a young man. I can’t recall the name of the book but the image of a nearly naked girl trapped in a huge spider web was rather…well, it stayed with me.”

As if on command the girl's fingers wiggled, garnering a smile from her captor. Reaching out, the man stroked the girl's leg, prompting her from her state of slumber. Her steel gray eyes blinked open, taking in the rare sight of strangers.

"Please, help me," whispered the girl, suddenly hopeful for freedom.

A chuckle of sadistic satisfaction rose from the gallery of people.

"Marvelous!" Beatrice issued. "Such hideous beauty. Such sadistic pleasures you must find in this beauty."

"More than I can express," Francis related. "Many is the night that I have

This part of the sentence is phrased awkwardly. I am hesitant to actually criticize it because it is a dialogue piece, but it just sets my teeth on edge. Switching from plural to singular in 2 words does that to me. Why not just say, "Many nights I have"?

taken my seat across from her, enjoying her exquisite suffering while my dutiful Desk brought me to full satisfaction."

"Desk? Who or what is Desk?" asked the woman.

Francis turned his gaze to the small desk at the far end of the room. It was made of dark oak and appeared well crafted and sturdy. From the center top of the desk, just beneath the desk’s top piece could be seen the lower portions of a woman. Her bottom jutted out slightly and her feet spread wide and disappeared into the desk's thick legs.

"She has relative freedom until lock into her place,"

This sentence needs one of two things. An I befoere lock, or an ed after it.

Francis told the small crowd. "When not in use for my sexual pleasures or cleaning, she is there. When unattended she has a pump attached to her bottom to clean out her wastes."

"I assume that her upper half is useful when she is ensconced by the desk?" chuckled one of the guests.

"Please, feel free to look," Francis told the man.

One by one Francis' guests made their path to the other side of the desk to admire its most impressive attributes.

"It appears you have modified the girl quite severely," the older woman said.

"Ah, yes. She is, in fact, a Christ-like figure," Francis retorted, smiling. "Her hands and feet have rather large holes through them, titanium tubing filling the holes so they remain open and useful. Her breasts have been greatly enlarged and are, in fact, still growing thanks to an implant her creator calls ‘silly string’. Her lips have been shaped and enlarged, and her teeth have been replaced with a synthetic material."

"You said she has duties other than being a desk," Beatrice said. "Which means she can be removed from it.

Is this a question? If not, start the sectnce with a word that does not indicate one.

It also means that you trust her to be free in the house. That's a bit risky, if you ask me."

"Her mind is not what it once was. In fact, she has little recollection of the girl she was before she became what she is now," Francis told her. "Her only want in life is to be a pleasure toy. She has actually stated that she envies the other pieces I have here - wishes she were one of them."

"Interesting", the woman said.

"Well, I think it's time for the party to get started," Francis exclaimed. "So, if you don't mind, I will free Desk from her bondage and have her get to serving. Please, follow me to the dining room."

Over dinner, Francis' guests spoke in grand words about his living furnishings. All were in awe and most were in a quest to discover how they might acquire their own pieces. Amidst the excitement and revelry, none noticed the one man who sat quietly observing the actions of all in attendance. It was only after dinner had completed that he was introduced.

"It seems that you are all in agreement," Francis announced. "You all want what I have. Well, I have news for you. The man responsible for these creations is here.”

Their attention was immediate, as was the sudden silence filling the room. Anticipatory, each guest awaited the words that were to follow.

“He has been made fully aware of the status of each individual here,” Francis continued. “He knows your base interests and the truth about your, or our, illegal activities. However, as careful a man as he is, he wished to observe each of you before allowing me to compromise his identity.”

Francis paused for a moment, enjoying the sudden tension. He cast his eyes from one guest to another, enjoying their wide-eyed attention. Finally, Beatrice rose from her seat, her eyes burning into Francis.

“Damn it, man! You’re going to give us all heart attacks, you sadistic bastard!” she exclaimed, a smile playing across her lips.

Francis returned the smile, raising his arm in an open handed

One word here.

gesture. “Friends, I want you to meet Jerry O’Connell.”

All eyes turned towards the man at the far end of the table and watched the man ease himself from his seat. He raised his fist to his mouth and coughed before smiling at the guests.

“It’s been awhile since I have been away from my playground for a night like this,” he began. “I admit to having a very enjoyable time. Your company and adoration of my works has been quite enjoyable. Were I a more easily influenced man my head would be swelled beyond the ridiculous. Francis?”

“Thank you, Jerry,” Francis responded as Jerry returned to his seat. “Now, let’s retire to my study. I am sure you have many questions, hopes and fantasies you wish to discuss with my esteemed friend.”

Over all, a very nice story. I thank you for the opportunity to see a first draft of one of your works.

The sentence fragments all occur in dialogue, and are thus permissible under the rules. Just thought I would show them for the practice, and in case you decide that a coule of them should be changed.

One thing, I kept wondering how all this was done. It bugged me through the whole story. I know this is the first chapter, and that you probably plan to cover this later, but could you help a little. I am sure Jerry would have at least a rudimentary understanding of the process, why not have him explain it to his guests, telling them that he does not really understand all the details.

Also, I believe that it is impossible to actually have a utile hand or foot if you have a large hole in it. The tendons and nerves necessary to move the fingers have to go somewhere. Very large gap in my ability to suspend disbelief. Not good

[H Dean]

Rhabbi, I sure hope it felt good to rip my bits to pieces. Heh.

I do agree that there are sentence fragments and that some of the language needs to be revised. The "..." is largely (not always) used in areas where I am having difficulties with dialogue. I tend to leave these things for later, so as not to disturb my flow. I highly recommend it when you are having troubles getting an idea to sit right on the page. I also go back and correct my punctuation several times. I am afraid it is my weak spot. Consequently, I tend to need several reviews in that area.

As for the descriptions of how things are done to these women - fret not. Those things are already taken care of. For referrence, see my "Object" series and the first story in "The O'Connell Chronicles: One Man's Art". This will be a very close tie-in with those, and it will be obviously so before this is posted as a story.

What I found interesting about both of the reviews I have had so far is that my main fear was not realized. I won't disclose that fear just yet, I want to see if anyone else manages to find any problems with what I was worried about.

At any rate, I think you for taking the time to nit-pick this chapter. To be frank, I was expecting far more to be wrong than what has turned up thus far. Then again, there have only been two nitpickers to grace me with their talons. Where is the rest of our cadre of nitpickers?

[tessa]

I don't have a super-duper decoder ring, so I won't dare nit-pick your story.

What I will say is this: You left something out. Some basic element. I'll re-read and re-read, just to see if I can figure out what it is. I may not, but I'll try.

Nice to know that ol' Jerry is still alive and umm, modifying?

tessa

[H Dean]

You left something out. Some basic element.

Yeah...horror. Everything was nice.

[tessa]

Yeah...horror. Everything was nice.

Sadistic horror, maybe? There was that one yummy glimpse of it when spidey-girl asked for help. Got a buzz out of that.

But it is your story. Nice away, Mr. Dean.

[H Dean]

But no nits to pick? Come on, it's a first draft...it's gotta have something to bitch about.

[tessa]

But no nits to pick? Come on, it's a first draft...it's gotta have something to bitch about.

If those questions are directed at me, let me say that 1) Satan Klaus and Mr. Super-Decoder Ring up there picked all the nits already, and 2) I don't bitch about other people's stories. Or much else for that matter. But definitely not stories. I made my comment (that you were so kind to elaborate on, thanks) and other than saying that it is yet another H Dean work of art, there's not much else for me to add.

If those questions weren't directed at me, please pardon all my typing.

tessa

[H Dean]

I so wanna do you!

[tessa]

I so wanna do you!

Mr. Dean, I'm going to go tuck myself up in bed and dream that the "you" you wanna "do" is me. And I'm using my definition of "do you". It'll be a sure fire way to work through a few fantasies of mine.

This time if your comment isn't directed at me, well fiddle-faddle! That will just be disappointing. I mean, I'll still get to use the words and all, but it'll be slightly anti-climactic.

And when one is aiming for climactic only, adding the 'anti' is a real pisser.

tessa

[H Dean]

Mr. Dean, I'm going to go tuck myself up in bed and dream that the "you" you wanna "do" is me. And I'm using my definition of "do you". It'll be a sure fire way to work through a few fantasies of mine.

This time if your comment isn't directed at me, well fiddle-faddle! That will just be disappointing. I mean, I'll still get to use the words and all, but it'll be slightly anti-climactic.

And when one is aiming for climactic only, adding the 'anti' is a real pisser.

tessa

Of course I meant you, Tessa.

[moptop]

I thought I'd join in the fun, here. Thanks for offering us the opportunity to tear you to shreds!

"Of course. I've a friend who…he is the...um...director of a facility that creates these masterpieces,” he told them. “I have another piece in the works, as a matter of fact."

Agree, it doesn't work.

A tall woman of an older generation stood over what appeared to be a marble statue depicting a nymph pleasuring two satyrs. Smiling she bent down and peered into the nymphs closed eyes and whispered something.

I think you need a few more commas in both of these sentences. 'of an older generation' is a sub-clause that could be removed from sentence without damaging its make-up: one of the things I was taught long ago is, capture those gramatically unnecessary sub-clauses between commas.

You have a possesive apostrophe missing.

I see it as:

A tall woman, of an older generation, stood over what appeared to be a marble statue depicting a nymph pleasuring two satyrs. Smiling, she bent down and peered into the nymph's closed eyes and whispered something.

I also don't like 'and peered (...) and whispered'. I would prefer 'and peered (...) whispering or '...eyes. She whispered...'

Admittedly, that would give you a repetition with the next phrase, but I'm sure you can fix that!

"So hideous," she whispered. "Francis, I'm curious, how do you...well, how does she eat or..."

She is whispering, then she is talking to Francis, obviously out loud. I just feel you need a transition between the two - say, she turns, she stands up, she raises her head, some activity that allows the change in volume to be natural from the beginning of her sentence, as opposed to the reader having to realise it. I recognise that the fact that she says 'Francis' first does this - but I don't know, I would prefer

'Francis,' she called,

or something like that.

"How did you manage this one?" asked a tall, dark haired man.

"Ah, this one...my most recent piece," Francis said, striding over to the man.

Repetition of 'this one' and 'man'. Prefer

"Ah... that is my most recent piece," Francis said, striding over to him.

Or such.

"I had to have this adjusted somewhat. The spider webbing originally fed into her fingers, but that proved to be a bit problematic. They feed into through the back of her hand now. I'm rather partial to the change: It allows her fingers to move now."

Mix of singular/plural.

I can’t recall the name of the book, but the image of a nearly naked girl trapped in a huge spider web was rather…well, it stayed with me.”

Yes, I know - there is debate about the use of commas with 'but' and 'and'. Personally, I believe this has now become normal usage, and it makes the sentence read better.

There's a space missing in "rather...well"

As if on command the girl's fingers wiggled, garnering a smile from her captor. Reaching out, the man stroked the girl's leg, prompting her from her state of slumber. Her steel gray eyes blinked open, taking in the rare sight of strangers.

It doesn't really matter, but is 'the man' Francis - her captor - or the guest?

A chuckle of sadistic satisfaction rose from the gallery of people.

'gallery of people' seems overkill. How about just 'the room'. I know rooms don't laugh, but it's a well-known form of speech!

"More than I can express," Francis related.

"related"? Really?

"Many is the night that I have taken my seat across from her, enjoying her exquisite suffering while my dutiful Desk brought me to full satisfaction."

Minor nit-pick - she's his latest creation, is it really 'many a night'? I like the phrase, it is perfectly Francis. It just may not be true.

Francis turned his gaze to the small desk at the far end of the room. It was made of dark oak and appeared well crafted and sturdy. From the center top of the desk, just beneath the desk’s top piece could be seen the lower portions of a woman. Her bottom jutted out slightly and her feet spread wide and disappeared into the desk's thick legs.

OK, I have real problems with this. This is a normal height desk, yes? How does he get his knees under the desk, given that desks are designed to be just the right height, but now he's got a body in the way? Does he? Is he going to kneel on the floor behind her - doesn't sound comfy enough for him!! - how does this work? I find it very confusing, I can't picture it properly.

Maybe it doesn't matter, after all, I get the idea - but I think the idea has to work, and I'm not sure it does.

But I'm not gifted at visualising things, so it may just be me!!

"She has relative freedom until I lock into her place,"

When unattended she has a pump attached to her bottom to clean out her wastes."

For some reason, 'bottom' just doesn't sound right in Francis' mouth here (if you see what I mean!!). I feel he would use a colder, more medical term, anus, probably.

"I assume that her upper half is useful when she is ensconced by the desk?" chuckled one of the guests.

'ensconced' takes 'in', I think?

One by one Francis' guests made their path to the other side of the desk to admire its most impressive attributes.

'make your way' is more usual than 'make your path'

"Ah, yes. She is, in fact, a Christ-like figure," Francis retorted, smiling.

'retort' is the wrong word. As per dictionnary.com, retort means:

1. to reply to, usually in a sharp or retaliatory way; reply in kind to.
2. to return (an accusation, epithet, etc.) upon the person uttering it.
3. to answer (an argument or the like) by another to the contrary.

"Her hands and feet have rather large holes through them,

Get rid of 'rather'? Or use a more Francis-like word - e.g. 'adequately' - a sense of tittering relish and innuendo being brought in...

Her breasts have been greatly enlarged and are, in fact, still growing, thanks to an implant her creator calls ‘silly string’.

her teeth have been replaced with a synthetic material."

Why? What is special about this synthetic material? Either this needs expanding, or removing.

"Interesting", the woman said.

"Interesting,"

"Well, I think it's time for the party to get started," Francis exclaimed.

Should there be an exclamation mark, then?

"So, if you don't mind, I will free Desk from her bondage and have her get to serving.

'if you don't mind' isn't quite Francis, either - he's not the sort to be apologetic, even when being a polite host, is he?

'if you are ready', maybe?

and 'get to serving' - especially so soon after 'get started' - don't like that. How about 'so she can start serving us.'

Over dinner, Francis' guests spoke in grand words about his living furnishings.

'in grand words' - well, I think I know what you wish to convey, but I'm not convinced you are conveying it. They are being effusive, complimentary, are they not? 'grand words' just means they're a load of intellectual pedantic pricks discussing art-work; which of course is also an aspect.

Oh, woops, did I sound like I didn't like them there for a minute?

All were in awe and most were in a quest to discover how they might acquire their own pieces.

in a quest to discover... no... don't like that... 'eager to discover' I would prefer, or such.

And - careful - here you say 'most' - see notes later re the creator.

Amidst the excitement and revelry, no-one noticed the one man who sat quietly observing the actions of all in attendance. It was only after dinner had completed that he was introduced.

OK, the introduction and 'un-noticed' presence of the artist, these really bother me. He is obviously a twisted genius, and wishes to remain private. It doesn't strike me that he would sit in the room with them, have dinner with them, if he wished to retain the right not to be introduced to them. I would have thought it sat far more in the vein of things that he should be observing them unseen. He should communicate with Francis in some way or another before the introduction, to indicate to Francis that he is willing to be introduced. This communication should be discrete enough to be unobserved by the guests, or at least, it should not raise their interest particularly. Otherwise, Francis is quite possibly introducing the artist when he actually has not gained the confidence in these people that he wishes.

Could someone be expulsed, on his request? Anyone who wasn't actively asking how they could get such a piece, for example? (ref. 'most')

Anticipatory, each guest awaited the words that were to follow.

This could be more descriptive of the eager tension they are feeling.

Francis paused for a moment, enjoying the sudden tension. He cast his eyes from one guest to another, enjoying their wide-eyed attention.

repetition of enjoying

All eyes turned towards the man at the far end of the table and watched the man ease himself from his seat.

repetition of the man

He raised his fist to his mouth and coughed before smiling at the guests.

For some reason, 'fist' sounds wrong

“It’s been awhile since I have been away from my playground for a night like this,” he began. “I admit to having a very enjoyable time. Your company and adoration of my works has been quite enjoyable. Were I a more easily influenced man my head would be swelled beyond the ridiculous. Francis?”

Sounds too much like Francis. I think he ought to sound more like a boffin; shy mad professory type, obsessed by the methods he uses and his research; or, like a pretentious artist, waffling on about the intrinsic symbolic significance of his works and the message they bring to the world. Either one would give him the capacity to be enthused by what he does, in a way that avoids the actuality of his own sadism. His clients are sadists; he is a creator.

There! I have been unashamed in voicing my opinion, to the point where I'm shoving my nose in where it's not my business, I think - not just points of style or nit-picks. But I did enjoy doing it, and you're right, doing this helps one to think more consciously about one's own writing.

So thanks again for the opportunity.

[Rhabbi]

Dean, there is one thing that has been nagging at me that I did not mention the first time. Older than who or what?

[H Dean]

Moptop, you heartless, no good so-and-so!

First, your nit-picks were very much right on. In fact, while editing this chapter I have made a few changes that are right along the lines of your picked nits. I have not completed my editing, nor will I until I have a few more chapters under my belt. I like to let my stories gestate a bit so I can give them a fresh look. I think your review of this draft will aid in this chapter's eventual outcome.

But I did enjoy doing it, and you're right, doing this helps one to think more consciously about one's own writing.

It's amazing how much it can help one's work when you begin to look at other works with a critical eye. Of course, it also helps to look at the works of writers who are better than most. No, you silly person, I wasn't talking about me. I was talking about writers like Mad Lews, Lex Ludite, Aussiegirl, Benfan and a bunch of other people who's names I can't remember.

Anyhow, I am off....must get to earning my paycheck, after all.

Oh, thank you for your critical analysis of my chapter. It was quite well done.

Dean, the Great

[moptop]

Moptop, you heartless, no good so-and-so!

Why, thank you!!


I'll get on to your re-write and your next chapter in just a bit - after I've worked on my own assignment some!

Surprisingly enough, I have quite a lot to say... but do agree with Tessa - the spider-web girl - ooohhhhhhhh

[Ruby]

Dear Dean the Great,

Since the students are doing such a great job of editing and offering suggestions, I'll not nitpick any further.

I do have questions.

Is this story set in the past, present or future?

How are the body parts of the living artwork stimulated in such a manner to avoid cramps, atrophy of the limbs, and poor circulation?

The creator of the living artwork is Jerry O’Connell -- as in the famous actor from Stand by Me, Crossing Jordan and a host of other movies like Kangaroo Jack?

http://www.imdb.com/name/nm0005278/

If you want to keep this name, you may want to add a middle initial or name to distinguish him from his famous counterpart.

Looking forward to seeing the next version of this chapter,

Ruby

[H Dean]

Dear Dean the Great,

Since the students are doing such a great job of editing and offering suggestions, I'll not nitpick any further.

You mean they got it all?

I do have questions.

The answer is YES!

Is this story set in the past, present or future?

Present.

[

How are the body parts of the living artwork stimulated in such a manner to avoid cramps, atrophy of the limbs, and poor circulation?

That's pretty much explained in previous entries of the story, though it will be touched on again.

The creator of the living artwork is Jerry O’Connell -- as in the famous actor from Stand by Me, Crossing Jordan and a host of other movies like Kangaroo Jack?

Yes. He is a child actor gone bad. How Typical.

Actually, the name is an homage to one of my favorite authors. To quote my authors notes from "One Man's Art":
"Before I continue, I must pay honors to Michael Moorcock, one of my favorite fantasy authors. It was from a series of books called “The Cornelius Chronicles” that I got the odd doctor’s name and the inspiration for the banner under which these stories will fit."

http://www.imdb.com/name/nm0005278/

If you want to keep this name, you may want to add a middle initial or name to distinguish him from his famous counterpart.

It's actually a common Irish name. The Irish keep it that way so as to avoid confusion.

Yes, I realize that makes no sense. But I am Irish.

Looking forward to seeing the next version of this chapter,

Ruby

As always, you leave me wanting more, Ruby...Rose...ah, such soft petals. Ouch! You pricked me! No, wait, that was me. My bad.

An edited version of chapter 1 - expanded, chopped, channelled and louvered will be posted some time soon. The abuse I have received has been of such quality that I can hardly resist. To be quite ernest, I have also been having more trouble with this story than I have in the past, and I find that my tolerance for my own shoddy work has diminished since I began helping out in the Writer's Block.

I should thank you all now. The shortcomings you all have told me about are things I usually don't see until the third draft, or so. By then I am usually well into my tale, trying to forget the early parts so it is fresh when next I edit. Your helpful nit-picking, rib kicking and eye poking has speeded up the editing process a lot.

Thank you all for aiding this hopeless endeavor.

[H Dean]

First of all, I wish to say that your helpful comments were all considered for my first edit of this story. No comments were ignored and all were appreciated. Now, since you were all so helpful, willing and kind, I am posting my first edit of this tale.

I don't know when I will get to my next edit. I do prefer to let my stories sit a bit before the third edit - don't want it to be too fresh or I miss all sorts of crap. Now, here is the first edit of chapter 1...





Chapter 1


Francis’ guests arrived at precisely six o’clock in the evening. Failure to do so would have been a breach of etiquette and was severely frowned upon by the members of this special fraternity. Each guest was dressed in proper evening attire, as if attending a ball. Greeting them in the main foyer was Francis. At his side was a tall man, studious in appearance and dressed in the same fashion as the newly arrived guests. Few took particular note of the man, except to shake hands upon introduction.

“Friends,” Francis began, “It is my pleasure to welcome you into my home. I do hope you find this night as enjoyable as I believe you will. Now, if you will, follow me into my study. I’ve some artwork I think you will find quite stunning.”

As the group entered the study, each was properly impressed. Antique rugs hung from all four walls, as did masterful paintings. Rich reds, offset by intricate patters, populated the thick carpeting on the room’s floor. Six heavy wooden chairs, padded in red velvet, and two matching sofas were among the simpler comforts the room had to offer. These were the least stunning of his decorations.

"These are amazingly realistic," a voice commented.

"I've a friend who is the director of a facility that creates these masterpieces,” he told them. “I have another piece in the works, as a matter of fact."

His guests milled around first one piece and then another, mumbling to their comrades.

A tall woman in her mid-fifties stood over a marble statue depicting a nymph pleasuring two satyrs. Smiling, she bent down to better appreciate the lifelike appearance of the statue. A whisper of approval brought the nymph's eyes open, sending chills down the woman’s spine.

”No!” she exclaimed. “Francis! She can’t be real. Is she?”

Francis laughed as he strode towards the older woman. "As you can see, one satyr has his cock in her mouth and the other in her ass. I won't go into all the plumbing, but there is a small machine that pumps food into her and another that cleans her out. You have noticed, I am sure, that her skin is not her own. It has, in fact, been covered with a permanent synthetic material. I won’t go into details about it now, but you will learn of its nature later."

“How is this possible?” she asked. “Can she move?”

”She is frozen in time, Beatrice,” Francis explained. “Forever a statue in service of monsters.”

“I must have one,” she said, a hopeful look on her face.

"Perhaps that can be arranged," Francis said, a broad grin of satisfaction crossing his face.

"What about this one, is it real, too?" asked a tall, dark haired man.

"Ah, this one...my most recent piece," Francis said, striding over to the man. "I had to have this adjusted somewhat. The spider webbing originally fed into her fingers, but that proved to be a bit problematic. It feeds into the back of her hands now. I'm rather partial to the change: It allows her fingers to move."

Reaching out, the man stroked the girl's leg, prompting her from her state of slumber. Her steel gray eyes blinked open, taking in the rare sight of strangers.

“It’s beautiful,” the man replied.

“Thank you. I wanted her to appear much like a painting,” Francis said. “My initial thought was of Fay Ray in the clutches of King Kong. Then I settled on an image from an old pulp fiction fantasy novel I read as a young man. I can’t recall the name of the book, but the image of a nearly naked girl trapped in a huge spider web was rather well imprinted.”

"Please, help me," whispered the girl, suddenly hopeful for freedom.

A chuckle of sadistic satisfaction rose from the crowd. They watched, entranced, as the naked girl swayed within her web of metal, fingers reaching out in a desperate attempt for help.

"Marvelous!" Beatrice issued. "Such hideous beauty. Such sadistic pleasures you must find in this beauty."

"More than I can express," Francis related. "There have been many nights when I have taken my seat across from her, enjoying her exquisite suffering, while Desk brought me to satisfaction."

"Desk? Who or what is Desk?" asked the woman.

Francis turned his gaze to the small desk at the far end of the room. It was made of dark oak and appeared well crafted and sturdy. From the center top of the desk, just beneath the desk’s top piece, could be seen the lower portions of a woman. Her bottom jutted out slightly and her feet spread wide and disappeared into the desk's thick legs. Had one not known better, one would swear that she was carved from the same wood as the desk

"She has relative freedom until locked into place," Francis told the small crowd. "When not in use for my sexual pleasures or cleaning, she is there. When unattended she has a pump attached to her posterior opening to clean out her wastes. Everything is handled through a synthetic colon, even her urinary functions."

"I assume that her upper half is useful when she is ensconced by the desk?" chuckled one of the guests.

"Please, feel free to look," Francis told the man.

One by one Francis' guests made their path to the other side of the desk to admire its most impressive attributes.

“She must be a bit distracting when you are trying to work,” chuckled Frank, a tall gray haired man. “And I imagine her tits get in the way a bit, too.”

“It can be a bit trying, I’ll admit. Truly, it is not terribly practical. To be frank, if I may,” Francis said, smiling, “her position is merely to fulfill a fantasy of mine.”

"It appears you have modified the girl quite severely," the older woman said. “How is she secured in place?”

"Ah, yes. She is, in fact, a Christ-like figure," Francis said, smiling. "Her hands and feet have small holes through them. Titanium tubing fills the holes so they remain open and useful. She is held steady through steel pins that feed through the holes in her hands and feet. Her breasts have been greatly enlarged and are, in fact, still growing thanks to an implant her creator calls ‘silly string’. Her lips have been shaped and enlarged, her teeth have been replaced with a synthetic material and her skin, save for her head and breasts, has been permanently covered with the same synthetic material as my statue.”

"You said she has duties other than being a desk," Beatrice said. "That indicates that you trust her to be free in the house. That's a bit risky, if you ask me."

"Her mind is not what it once was. In fact, she has little recollection of the girl she was," Beatrice was informed. "Her only want in life is to be a pleasure toy. She has actually stated that she envies the other pieces I have here - wishes she were one of them."

"Interesting", the woman said.

“Ah, this is quite lovely as well,” issued another guest.

“That is my coat rack,” Francis informed the man. “She has been coated in the same synthetic skin as Desk and Statue, though her modifications are a bit different.”

“I assume her wastes are handled through the same means as your statue?” asked the man.

“The post running between her legs is for just that,” Francis said. “That and to aid in keeping her steady. Also, her rib cage has been re-enforced to support the coat hooks that jut out from her breasts. You may note, if you touch her breasts, that they are quite solid. This was, unfortunately, a must for her design.”

“Fascinating,” Beatrice said, a sadistic smile playing on her lips.

"Well, I think it's time for the party to get started," Francis exclaimed. "So, if there are no objections, I will free Desk from her place and have her get to her duties. Please, the dining room is down the hall and to the left."

Over dinner, Francis' guests spoke in grandly complementary words about his living furnishings. So fascinated and curious was his company, as to how they could acquire such things, that they barely noticed the man who had been so briefly introduced upon their arrival.

"It seems that you are all in agreement," Francis announced. "You all want what I have and you all want to know how it is done. Well, I have news for you. The man responsible for these creations is here.”

Their attention was immediate, as was the sudden silence filling the room. Anticipatory, each guest awaited the words that were to follow.

“He has been made fully aware of the status of each individual here,” Francis continued. “He knows your base interests and the truth about your, or our, illegal activities. However, as careful a man as he is, he wished to observe each of you before allowing me to compromise his profession.”

Francis paused for a moment, enjoying the sudden tension. He cast his eyes from one guest to another, enjoying their wide-eyed attention. Finally, Beatrice rose from her seat, her eyes burning into Francis.

“Damn it, man! You’re going to give us all heart attacks, you sadistic bastard!” she exclaimed, smiling.

Francis returned the smile, raising his arm in an open gesture to the man beside him. “Friends, let me re-introduce to you the director of the Chimera Foundation, Jerry O’Connell.”

All eyes turned towards the man sitting nearest to Francis. Smiling slightly, he raised his hand to his mouth and cleared his throat.

“It’s been awhile since I have been away from my facility for a night like this,” he began. “I admit to having a very enjoyable time. Your company and adoration of my works has been quite enjoyable. Were I a more easily influenced man my head would be swelled beyond the ridiculous. Francis?”

“Thank you, Jerry,” Francis said, regaining the attention of his guests. “Now, let’s retire to my study. I have an amusement planned; one I am sure you will all enjoy.”

[tessa]

Well, Mr. Dean, I finished the story with a smile on my face. Wicked delight. I cannot wait to read of the planned "amusement".

(Spidey girl still did it for me in this read. Thanks for that!)

tessa

[H Dean]

Well, Mr. Dean, I finished the story with a smile on my face. Wicked delight. I cannot wait to read of the planned "amusement".

(Spidey girl still did it for me in this read. Thanks for that!)

tessa

Well, I really only planned to post the first chapter here and the edits here. But maybe, if you are nice, I will go ahead and post the whole thing here.

Who knows, you mightfind it fun to be an objective observer, watching an awful story manages to reach the apex of mediocrity.

Hell, I might even learn how to write.

[tessa]

Well, I really only planned to post the first chapter here and the edits here. But maybe, if you are nice, I will go ahead and post the whole thing here.

For that, I'll be extra special nice, Mr. Dean.

Who knows, you mightfind it fun to be an objective observer, watching an awful story manages to reach the apex of mediocrity.

Hell, I might even learn how to write.

You're good at so many things, but humble ain't one of them. Good try though.

Please, please? More?

[H Dean]

[QUOTE=tessa;351027]For that, I'll be extra special nice, Mr. Dean. [QUOTE]Hmm, define "extra nice".

You're good at so many things, but humble ain't one of them. Good try though.

I am aghast that you might say such a thing. Not good at humble? I will have you know that I majored in humble at the university. I was the best student in class. Why, people would from far and wide to see just how humble I could be. I am famous for being humble and none makes a better humble pie than I!

Please, please? More?

I likes it when they begs!

[Rhabbi]

Francis’ guests arrived at precisely six o’clock in the evening. Failure to do so would have been a breach of etiquette and was severely frowned upon by the members of this special fraternity.

This sentence is just wrong. These people are pretentious, that is obvious. But the way you are saying this just does not work. I wish I could be specific about why I know it is wrong, but I can't.

Each guest was dressed in proper evening attire, as if attending a ball. Greeting them in the main foyer was Francis. At his side was a tall man, studious in appearance and dressed in the same fashion as the newly arrived guests. Few took particular note of the man, except to shake hands upon introduction.

The sentences give me pause also. The first is structured wrong according to word, and when I read it in cunjunction with the second, it feels off. I think you should use him in place of the man in the second sentence. As for the first sentence, delete the and and insert a comma. It reads better.

“Friends,” Francis began, “It is my pleasure to welcome you into my home. I do hope you find this night as enjoyable as I believe you will. Now, if you will, follow me into my study. I’ve some artwork I think you will find quite stunning.”

As the group entered the study, each was properly impressed. Antique rugs hung from all four walls, as did masterful paintings. Rich reds, offset by intricate patters, populated the thick carpeting on the room’s floor. Six heavy wooden chairs, padded in red velvet, and two matching sofas were among the simpler comforts the room had to offer. These were the least stunning of his decorations.

"These are amazingly realistic," a voice commented.

"I've a friend who is the director of a facility that creates these masterpieces,” he told them. “I have another piece in the works, as a matter of fact."

His guests milled around first one piece and then another, mumbling to their comrades.

A tall woman in her mid-fifties stood over a marble statue depicting a nymph pleasuring two satyrs. Smiling, she bent down to better appreciate the lifelike appearance of the statue. A whisper of approval brought the nymph's eyes open, sending chills down the woman’s spine.

”No!” she exclaimed. “Francis! She can’t be real. Is she?”

Francis laughed as he strode towards the older woman. "As you can see, one satyr has his cock in her mouth and the other in her ass. I won't go into all the plumbing, but there is a small machine that pumps food into her and another that cleans her out. You have noticed, I am sure, that her skin is not her own. It has, in fact, been covered with a permanent synthetic material.

I would restructure the start of the second sentence. I am beggining to see these people as the pretentios type who would always be conscious of proper use of the Queen's English. That makes dialogue an extra challenge as you can get away with less. Might even consider doing away with contractions to intensify this aura.

I would definately have some questions about this material. Skin needs to breathe, It also needs to be clean. It sheds. I know this because I was in the Navy. We spent weeks far from land, yet the floor kept getting dirty. Swab the deck 2x a day everyday, and the water was always black. this was shed skin.

This material, how does it deal with waste? Irritation? etc.

I won’t go into details about it now, but you will learn of its nature later."

“How is this possible?” she asked. “Can she move?”

”She is frozen in time, Beatrice,” Francis explained. “Forever a statue in service of monsters.”

This seems to me to totally throw off the flow. Saying frozen in time gives me the wrong idea here. My first thought was some type of time stop, but I do not believe that was your ultimate intention, else her eyes woul not open. Plus, if she is aware of her plight, it adds to the sadistic pleasure. Might want to redo this whole thing. Plus, the last part is a fragment, see my argument about prtension that I can feel through this whole party.

“I must have one,” she said, a hopeful look on her face.

"Perhaps that can be arranged," Francis said, a broad grin of satisfaction crossing his face.

"What about this one, is it real, too?" asked a tall, dark haired man.

"Ah, this one...my most recent piece," Francis said, striding over to the man. "I had to have this adjusted somewhat. The spider webbing originally fed into her fingers, but that proved to be a bit problematic. It feeds into the back of her hands now. I'm rather partial to the change: It allows her fingers to move."

Reaching out, the man stroked the girl's leg, prompting her from her state of slumber. Her steel gray eyes blinked open, taking in the rare sight of strangers.

“It’s beautiful,” the man replied.

“Thank you. I wanted her to appear much like a painting,” Francis said. “My initial thought was of Fay Ray in the clutches of King Kong. Then I settled on an image from an old pulp fiction fantasy novel I read as a young man. I can’t recall the name of the book, but the image of a nearly naked girl trapped in a huge spider web was rather well imprinted.”

"Please, help me," whispered the girl, suddenly hopeful for freedom.

A chuckle of sadistic satisfaction rose from the crowd. They watched, entranced, as the naked girl swayed within her web of metal, fingers reaching out in a desperate attempt for help.

"Marvelous!" Beatrice issued. "Such hideous beauty. Such sadistic pleasures you must find in this beauty."

If you combine these sentences you eliminate the fragment and continue the air of pretension.

"More than I can express," Francis related. "There have been many nights when I have taken my seat across from her, enjoying her exquisite suffering, while Desk brought me to satisfaction."

"Desk? Who or what is Desk?" asked the woman.

Again, combing these sentences has a better effect. Also, I would change it to she asked.

Francis turned his gaze to the small desk at the far end of the room. It was made of dark oak and appeared well crafted and sturdy. From the center top of the desk, just beneath the desk’s top piece, could be seen the lower portions of a woman. Her bottom jutted out slightly and her feet spread wide and disappeared into the desk's thick legs. Had one not known better, one would swear that she was carved from the same wood as the desk

"She has relative freedom until locked into place," Francis told the small crowd. "When not in use for my sexual pleasures or cleaning, she is there. When unattended she has a pump attached to her posterior opening to clean out her wastes. Everything is handled through a synthetic colon, even her urinary functions."

"I assume that her upper half is useful when she is ensconced by the desk?" chuckled one of the guests.

"Please, feel free to look," Francis told the man.

One by one, Francis' guests made their path to the other side of the desk to admire its most impressive attributes.

“She must be a bit distracting when you are trying to work,” chuckled Frank, a tall gray haired man. “And I imagine her tits get in the way a bit, too.”

“It can be a bit trying, I’ll admit. Truly, it is not terribly practical. To be frank, if I may,” Francis said, smiling, “her position is merely to fulfill a fantasy of mine.”

"It appears you have modified the girl quite severely," the older woman said. “How is she secured in place?”

"Ah, yes. She is, in fact, a Christ-like figure," Francis said, smiling. "Her hands and feet have small holes through them. Titanium tubing fills the holes so they remain open and useful. She is held steady through steel pins that feed through the holes in her hands and feet. Her breasts have been greatly enlarged and are, in fact, still growing thanks to an implant her creator calls ‘silly string’. Her lips have been shaped and enlarged, her teeth have been replaced with a synthetic material and her skin, save for her head and breasts, has been permanently covered with the same synthetic material as my statue.”

"You said she has duties other than being a desk," Beatrice said. "That indicates that you trust her to be free in the house. That's a bit risky, if you ask me."

"Her mind is not what it once was. In fact, she has little recollection of the girl she was," Beatrice was informed. "Her only want in life is to be a pleasure toy. She has actually stated that she envies the other pieces I have here - wishes she were one of them."

"Interesting", the woman said.

“Ah, this is quite lovely as well,” issued another guest.

“That is my coat rack,” Francis informed the man. “She has been coated in the same synthetic skin as Desk and Statue, though her modifications are a bit different.”

“I assume her wastes are handled through the same means as your statue?” asked the man.

“The post running between her legs is for just that,” Francis said. “That and to aid in keeping her steady. Also, her rib cage has been re-enforced to support the coat hooks that jut out from her breasts. You may note, if you touch her breasts, that they are quite solid. This was, unfortunately, a must for her design.”

“Fascinating,” Beatrice said, a sadistic smile playing on her lips.

"Well, I think it's time for the party to get started," Francis exclaimed. "So, if there are no objections, I will free Desk from her place and have her get to her duties. Please, the dining room is down the hall and to the left."

Over dinner, Francis' guests spoke in grandly complementary words about his living furnishings. So fascinated and curious was his company, as to how they could acquire such things, that they barely noticed the man who had been so briefly introduced upon their arrival.

"It seems that you are all in agreement," Francis announced. "You all want what I have and you all want to know how it is done. Well, I have news for you. The man responsible for these creations is here.”

Their attention was immediate, as was the sudden silence filling the room. Anticipatory, each guest awaited the words that were to follow.

“He has been made fully aware of the status of each individual here,” Francis continued. “He knows your base interests and the truth about your, or our, illegal activities. However, as careful a man as he is, he wished to observe each of you before allowing me to compromise his profession.”

Francis paused for a moment, enjoying the sudden tension. He cast his eyes from one guest to another, enjoying their wide-eyed attention. Finally, Beatrice rose from her seat, her eyes burning into Francis.

“Damn it, man! You’re going to give us all heart attacks, you sadistic bastard!” she exclaimed, smiling.

Francis returned the smile, raising his arm in an open gesture to the man beside him. “Friends, let me re-introduce to you the director of the Chimera Foundation, Jerry O’Connell.”

All eyes turned towards the man sitting nearest to Francis. Smiling slightly, he raised his hand to his mouth and cleared his throat.

“It’s been awhile since I have been away from my facility for a night like this,” he began. “I admit to having a very enjoyable time. Your company and adoration of my works has been quite enjoyable. Were I a more easily influenced man my head would be swelled beyond the ridiculous. Francis?”

“Thank you, Jerry,” Francis said, regaining the attention of his guests. “Now, let’s retire to my study. I have an amusement planned; one I am sure you will all enjoy.”

As I said, a much better feel to this story, thus the feel of it comes across better. I hope my nits will be something that you see as working for the story, but you may have a different feel for the prtensious aura I see. I do get the feeling that they would consider themselves superior to the "art" on dispay, and that is why i would suggest going for the proper use of english. As Carrie Fisher once said, "Some things can only be said with an English accent."

[Ruby]

First of all, I wish to say that your helpful comments were all considered for my first edit of this story. No comments were ignored and all were appreciated. Now, since you were all so helpful, willing and kind, I am posting my first edit of this tale.

I don't know when I will get to my next edit. I do prefer to let my stories sit a bit before the third edit - don't want it to be too fresh or I miss all sorts of crap. Now, here is the first edit of chapter 1...

Very nice changes. I, too, usually let my stories sit for awhile before editing. Rhabbi made some excellent suggestions. I'll just tackle a few that might be handled a bit differently. Then when you go back you can take what you like and ditch the rest.

Chapter 1

Francis’ guests arrived at precisely six o’clock in the evening. Failure to do so would have been a breach of etiquette severely frowned upon by the members of this special fraternity. Each guest had dressed in proper evening attire, as if attending a ball. Francis greeted them in the main foyer. At his side stood a tall man, studious in appearance and dressed in the same fashion as the newly arrived guests. Few took particular note of the stranger, except to shake hands upon introduction.

“Friends,” Francis began, “It is my pleasure to welcome you into my home. I do hope you find this night as enjoyable as I believe you will. Please, follow me into my study. I’ve some artwork I think you may find quite stunning.”

The repetitive use of the word "will" is distracting.
Shortening the dialogue and using a bit more proper English could help the tone you want to set for Francis and his entourage.

“How is this possible?” she asked. “Can she move?”

”I like to think she is frozen in place, Beatrice,” Francis explained. “Her role is to be forever a statue in service of monsters.”

or

"Her role is a statue in service of monsters, forever."

By moving the word "forever" to the end of the sentence, it adds more emphsasis that this lovely creature isn't going to escape.

"Ah, this one...my most recent piece," Francis said, striding over to the man. "I had to have this adjusted somewhat. The spider webbing originally fed into her fingers, but that proved to be a bit problematic. It feeds into the back of her hands now. I'm rather partial to the change, it allows her fingers to move."

...

"Marvelous!" Beatrice [COLOR="yellow"]issued - this one made me laugh. I think exclaimed works better.[/COLOR]. "Such hideous beauty. Such sadistic pleasures you must find in this beauty."

...

Francis turned his gaze to the small desk at the far end of the room. Made of dark oak, it appeared well crafted and sturdy. From the center top of the desk, just beneath the desk’s top piece, could be seen the lower portions of a woman. Her bottom jutted out slightly and her feet spread wide disappearing into the desk's thick legs. Had one not known better, one would swear that she was carved from the same wood as the desk.

...

"Her mind is not what it once was. In fact, she has little recollection of the girl she was," Francis informed Beatrice. "Her only want in life is to be a pleasure toy. She has actually stated that she envies the other pieces I have here - wishes she were one of them."

"Interesting," the woman said.

“Ah, this is quite lovely as well,” said another guest.

Sometimes it's less distracting to use the word "said".

Their immediate attention filled the room with sudden silence. Anticipatory, each guest awaited the words that were to follow.

...

Francis paused for a moment, enjoying the sudden tension. He cast his eyes from one guest to another, enjoying their wide-eyed attention. Finally, Beatrice rose from her seat, her eyes burning into Francis.

Perhaps one of the enjoying can be changed to savoring or another word.

---

Mr. Dean, I must agree with Tessa who wrote:

This, Mr. Dean, is brilliant. The sadistic fervor, the abject fear, the incredible perversity of it all leap from the story and attack a mind. Well, it attacks my mind.

Yes, it does attack the mind. And it's wickedly delightful!

Thank you for sharing this masterpiece in progress.

Ruby

[Rhabbi]

Wow Dean, on first read all I can say is that the story is mich more believable. I will give it more attention later and see if I find anything else that I want to comment on.

[H Dean]

Wow Dean, on first read all I can say is that the story is mich more believable. I will give it more attention later and see if I find anything else that I want to comment on.

I shall await that flail you call a pen, cruel sir!

Wow, talk about over acting! This is what happens when I start reading Sophoclese.


I meant to say that I'm looking forward to seeing what you think.

[H Dean]

Tessa,

It's about a quarter til midnight here on the left coast on the US. I imagine it is the same time on the left coast of Canada and Mekico, as well. Hmm, the same in Peru and Argentina, probably. Though, they might be on mountain time. But that's not important right now. What is important is that I have finished (almost) chapter 2 and I am on chapter 3 of this tale. I was on chapter 3 before, but the division was bad. So, chapter 3 became chapter 2. It's a long and convoluted mess. Anyhow, since you asked so nicely, I decided to give you the first draft of Chapter 2. Feel free to rip it apart...yeah, that means the gallery, too. You all can rip and tear and brutalize chapter 2.

Well, here it is...


Chapter 2


“Jerry,” Beatrice began, cozying into a large, velvet padded chair, “how is it that you came to creating such masterpieces as these?”

“It’s a long story, my dear,” Jerry replied.

“Jerry, allow me to introduce myself. My name is Ted Dunhill. I must say that I am as curious as Beatrice about your skills, education and how you came to do what you do. Couldn’t you entreat us with a bit about yourself?”

Jerry smiled, seeing the curiosity in the eyes of all the attendees. “I am afraid that my past, indeed my beginnings and education are of little consequence. More importantly, I wish to leave the past where it is; in the firm grasp of historians and scholars.”

“A man of mystery, I see,” Beatrice mused. “I think we can all respect that. After all, we all have some rather dark secrets of our own.”

Chuckles and nodded agreements filled the room. Finally, as the moment died down, Francis stood up to gather the attention of his guests.

“Friends,” Francis began, “I’ve a surprise for you. One I think you will find quite interesting, especially as it pertains to a new form of entertainment.”

“Do tell, Francis,” said Eric, a middle aged man with close-cropped hair. “Your entertainments are always quite enjoyable, but I find it hard to believe it could be any more entertaining than any of your previous entertainments.”

“Desk,” Francis said, “Please bring in the girl.”

Desk immediately scampered to action. A few moments of anticipatory silence passed before Desk returned, pushing a rolling platform on which rested an “X” shaped crucifix adorned with a gagged and naked girl.

“Exquisite,” Beatrice exclaimed. “What tortures have you planned for her? Or are we free to torture her as we like?”

“Ah, I have something far different in mind,” Francis replied. “You see, this creature is to be my next piece of living art. My trouble is that my imagination is a bit lacking. I thought you all might provide me with some ideas.”

The girl was clearly frightened. Tears, long dried, stained her perfect, white skin. Her breathing was quick and shallow, occasionally shuddering within the throws of her recent crying.

“Let me introduce you to everyone, my dear,” Francis said to the girl. Then, gesturing to each guest, he introduced the girl to his company. “First, our guest of honor. His name is Jerry O’Connell. You will come to know him quite well. To your immediate left is Benjamin, and sitting beside him is Beatrice. To her right is Ted, Frank, Roger, Mia, Donald, Terrence, James and, finally, Eric.”

The girl’s eyes met each of his guest’s eyes, fearing their intent, yet hopeful one might aid in her release. When, finally, the introductions were complete, her eyes came to rest on the creature trapped within the web of metal on Francis’ wall. Eyes wide, she stared, wondering if the creature was real.

“Ah, so you admire her too?” Francis said, noticing her fascination. “She was once a girl, just as you are now.. Her name is ‘Art’, though it was once Lindsey.”

Turning her to the left, he introduced her to the apparent statue. “The nymph was once a girl named Adriana. She is now called ‘Statue’. Quite beautiful, isn’t she?”

Turning the girl again, he pointed to a tall marble colored girl. “That is ‘Coatrack’. You may notice the hooks jutting from her breasts. Otherwise she would just be another statue.”

Tears began anew as Francis turned the frightened girl to face the crowd again.

“Sweetheart, I am going to remove your gag, I know it is uncomfortable. I do hope you will have the courtesy not to scream,” Francis said. “I don’t want to gag you again.”

“They aren’t real are they?” the girl asked, after the gag’s removal. “It isn’t possible. Is it?”

“Desk,” Francis commanded. “Secure the door, please.

Again, Desk scampered to fulfill her orders, locking the heavy door before bringing the key to Francis.

“I will let you see for yourself,” he said to the crucified girl, releasing her from her bondage.

Upon release the girl bolted for the door. Finding it locked, she struggled; refusing to believe it was so. Finally, understanding the futility of her situation, she stopped and looked back at the on looking crowd. Her blue eyes burned out beneath her jet black hair as she stared, terrible fear apparent to all.

All eyes were upon the girl, intently studying her every motion, waiting for her to discover what she must. Finally, after crossing eyes, once again, with each member of the sadistic crowd, she approached the coat rack. Briefly, her hands moved to cover her suddenly remembered nakedness; only to reach out as she neared the terrible object before her.

“It’s not real,” she said, refusing to believe the truth of Francis’ words. “It’s not.”

None replied to the girl, entranced in the moment. Instead, they merely watched the girl as she came to stand before the living coat rack.

“I don’t know what you’re trying to pull, but it’s not real!” she exclaimed, her voice nasal from her crying.

Turning back to the thing before her, she reached out to touch it. It was warm, not cold as she imagined it would be. A quick glance back at her captor brought more defiant words.

“I told you,” she said, before looking back to see the coat racks bright green eyes staring back at her.

“Oh God,” she muttered, backing away from the coat rack. “No, no, no, no no.”

Eyes wide and mouth agape, she turned to Francis’ guests, unable to voice more than she had. Her breath became ragged and shallow and she sank to the floor, staring at nothing. Finally, she quieted and pulled her knees to her chest, silently rocking back and forth. For the next several minutes she sat, oblivious to all, rocking and crying. Finally, she looked up, wet faced and frightened.

“They’re real…all of them, aren’t they?” she said. “You weren’t lying, were you?”

Francis smiled, walking slowly to where she sat. He knelt down and stroked her long hair. She looked at him, still dazed.

“Why?” she asked. “Why would you do that?”

“Your name is Monique, isn’t it?” Francis asked the girl. “Come with me, Monique. Let me show you true beauty.”

Taking her hand, Francis helped her gain her feet. Weak of knee, she allowed him to guide her to where the girl hung on the wall.

“Please,” Monique whispered, pulling weakly, to free herself from Francis’ grasp.

“You see, this is more than she would ever be,” Francis whispered. “Touch her.”

“She looks like a painting,” Monique breathed, her eyes taking in the entirety of the piece before her.

“So she is,” Francis said. “She is a painting. Now, touch her.”

Monique looked to Francis and then to the girl on the wall. Nodding her head, she whispered, “I can’t.”

“That’s all right, Monique. Watch,” he told her.

Francis reached out to the girl on the wall and quickly trailed his finger along her rib cage. She jerked from the startling stimulation, a whispered scream escaping her lips.

“Oh God!” Monique cried out. “Please, please, please. Let me go. Just let me go. I won’t tell anyone. Please…”

The eyes of the on looking crowd never wavered. The terror and emotional strain on the girl was far too great to pry their eyes from. So they sat, silent and watchful, breathing in shallow and controlled breaths, not wanting to disturb the fascinating scene that played out before them.

“It’s all right, Monique,” Francis cooed. “You’ll pass out if you keep this up. Take a breath. Don’t worry, sweetheart, there is only one more piece to show you.

She screamed, suddenly, begging and struggling against Francis as he pulled her towards the statue. He pulled the girl against him, holding her small form pressed to his chest, cooing into her ear. Finally, she calmed enough to see what he wished to show her. So, kneeling down with his charge, he displayed to her the statue.

“You see, I wanted a statue that was hideous and beautiful, pornographic and erotic,” he told her. “I wanted it to be a study in contrasts. What could fit those better than a nymph making love to monstrous creatures?”

Monique said nothing, her eyes locked unknowingly on the contrasting textures of the statue. The nymph, lovely and pleasing to the eye, appeared to be of polished marble, while the satyrs ghastly appearance seemed more roughly hewn. So, while Francis’ spoke, she remained steady on the transfixing contrast between the beauty and the beasts.

“Finally,” Francis continued, “I wanted to find a contrast between the fanciful and the horrifying. I think I have accomplished that here.”

As his last word left his lips, he leaned towards the nymph’s ear. Expected as it was, Monique recoiled at the statue’s opened eyes. After a moment of speechless fright, she passed out.

“It seems she is a bit of a delicate sort,” Francis muttered, as he lifted the small girl into his arms.

“Astonishingly awful.”

“I assume you meant that in a positive way, Mia,” Francis said as he placed his charge at the room’s center.

“Beyond positive, Francis,” Mia responded, her voice breathy. “Already, you have surpassed…I’ve never seen suffering quite like this.”

Francis winked at the woman, pleased to have her approval. Then, looking around the room, he observed his comrades discussing the events they had just witnessed, listening as best he could, hearing only positive comments.

Hideous. Wonderful, Erotic, Sadist. Those are just some of the words I can describe this night with, Francis,” Beatrice gushed. “I know you have more planned, my boy. Don’t keep us waiting too long.”

“Worry not. The night’s activities have just begun,” he told her.



Edit – Find suitable transition.


Monique had finally regained her senses and now sat in the center of the room, arms wrapped around her knees and staring into unfocussed space. Around her, Francis and his guests were seated, awaiting the announcement of what was to come. Each of his guests, while slightly impatient, was still engaged in one discussion or another about the events of the night. Finally, as Desk had completed serving drinks, Francis clicked his fingernail against his glass, gaining their attention.

“Friends,” he started. “The night is still young. At least younger than we are, and I have a plan that veers from the beaten path.

“We do like to beat the path,” Eric chuckled, gaining the approved laughter of all.

“Our standard procedures are different than what I have planned,” Francis continued. “Usually, we act. Tonight, we plan.”

“I’m not sure we follow you,” Beatrice interjected.

“This girl, Monique, is to be the next piece in my collection,” he said. “Unfortunately, I have run a bit dry on ideas. Tonight, in the presence of the man who will create art from clay, and in front of the clay that is soon to be art, we will discuss what the clay is to become.”

Beatrice clapped her hands together, excitedly. “You are an evil one, my boy! How wonderful this will be!”

[tessa]

I'm not so good with division and numbers and time zones, so I'll leave that for you to work out. Convoluted messes, however, are my specialty. Let me know if you ever need any help with those.

You know that language that people become fluent in when the pleasure takes over and rational thought flees? That "Oh godddddddddddd yessssssssss mmmmmmmm" mixed with moans and whimpers dialect? Yeah, that's me right now. Oh, your story!

This, Mr. Dean, is brilliant. The sadistic fervor, the abject fear, the incredible perversity of it all leap from the story and attack a mind. Well, it attacks my mind. Due to the primal forces that have decided to lead my thoughts at the moment, the "me" part of it is all I'm really focused on right now.

No ripping and tearing from me. At least none to do on your story. No decoder ring and all. Besides, there are other things I'd rather rip and tear.

I see that little thing huddled up in the corner, frightened beyond comprehension, listening to the horrors that await her...

More, more, more! Significant supplication available if necessary.

~hugs Mr. Dean for sharing...and because I'm all worked up~
tessa