posted
Alixiander watched the man on the headland for a moment, before resuming his hunt in the rockpool. Using the stick-end of his net, he prodded a likely looking cluster of loose, barnacle-festooned rocks. A small brown crab scuttled out and dashed to another bunch of stones, raising a cloud of silt in its wake. “Ah, lunch--there you are.” He smiled. Well, it would be soon. Leaning down, he hooked his net over the rock pile and, with his other hand, shoved the rocks, the crab and everything in it. He glanced to the headland; the man was still there--watching. Of course, people had been to his beach before. There’d been the young man--a German pilot--who’d floated in about sixty years ago, injured. And before that, three Spanish sailors gripping a spar--half-drowned--but that’d been years before. Centuries even.
Is there a compelling reason why the name can't just be Alexander? I stumbled on the first word of your story because of the different spelling.
For not having seen another soul in sixty years, he's awfully casual about seeing the guy. I would think that if he'd been alone that long he would have a pretty strong reaction. He seems fairly indifferent, which makes me indifferent, and blunts your hook.
posted
Both valid points. I will revise accordingly. I am not so concerned about the blunted hook (as long as the desire to read on is established) as the story starts slow and kind of small scale, yet quickly develops. That said, I can sharpen the hook a little.
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posted
Sounds good. My only nit is that i wouldn't mention the man on the headland up first.
maybe something like this would be a stronger hook:
quote: Alixiander prodded a rockpool with the stick-end of his net. He poked a likely looking cluster of loose, barnacled rocks. A small brown crab scuttled out and dashed to another bunch of stones, raising a cloud of silt in its wake. “Ah, lunch--there you are.” He smiled. Well, it would be soon. Leaning down, he hooked his net over the rock pile and, with his other hand, shoved the rocks, the crab and everything in it. He glanced to the headland; there was a man there--watching. Of course, people had been to his beach before. There’d been the young man--a German pilot--who’d floated in about sixty years ago, injured. And before that, three Spanish sailors gripping a spar--half-drowned--but that’d been years before. Centuries even.
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