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Hi Robert, as I read through, I annotated a few things in bold, brackets and with underlining. These are really my reactions as a reader so you are free to discard them as my impressions. This is the second incarnation of your work that I have commented on and I think the structure is pretty good here compared to the previous version. There’s quite a bit of tension, lots of drama and you leave some questions unanswered which is good for reader engagement. One piece of advice I got about writing that I found very valuable was to think of the novel (and chapters of your book) as a series of scenes that work together. I found this really helped me plot the action and choreography of the novel and understand the structure. To answer some of your concerns, I don’t think you lose the hook of Scots history-there’s still plenty in there and you do well to bring out the atmosphere of the place. Most people ‘know’ Culloden and what went on there so you can focus down on detail which I think you do, and just skirt around the broad-brush stuff. I would concur with comments from other writers about too much advice and it being your Novel and your story, all the rest is opinion and reaction. I’ve made quite a few comments early on as I think your early scenes could do with as much polishing as you can stand to do. Could I also assure you that it doesn’t rain all the time in Scotland and we occasionally do have some good weather here! I hope you will reflect this somewhere later down the line! You must do what suits you best-but good luck and thanks for posting.JoSONS OF GODSChapter 1As the wind stiffened and the light rain became icy, Tony tugged at Angus’s sleeve again. Bruce had already grabbed the detecting gear and headed for the parking lot.(What about getting Angus to speak some of this, bring out his voice a bit more and lose some of the telling?) Visiting Culloden Battlefield was Angus’s lifelong dream. A chance to understand the place his ancestors fought and died. Tony, his academic godfather, and Bruce, one of his students, had walked out onto the field with him. The conditions miserable: a tangle of slush, heather, and bracken. His forefathers had charged through this shit; mud covered legs raked with bloody scratches.The reality differed from Angus's imaginings. (You could lose the previous sentence it’s telling something that you have already shown the previous paragraph And now, his enthusiasm shattered, they headed away. He kicked at the sodden soil—so different from his last tour (try replacing ‘last tour’ with ‘dry earth’-would seem to make more sense) in Afghanistan. From sand and sun to mud and rain. The hint of a snigger tugging at his lips.Then he abruptly halted; turned his head and pointed. Tony poked his shoulder before following Angus’s stare.“Young Lord.”A voice? Startled, Angus twisted ten degrees left, checked Tony, and assumed he had missed it.(A bit of telling here, you could just show this with something like ‘Tony’s face remained impassive or whatever)Goosebumps erupted over his skin, but not from the wind that tore at his clothes and slithered cold tendrils under his collar. He’d seen plenty of death, though something about this battlefield caused shudders. A terror that stood hairs up on the back of his neck.“Young Lord!” He spun, glaring to where his boots stuck in the mud earlier, where he almost passed out. It is a voice, and this time louder.“A voice. Did… did you…?”“Here, young Lord MacDonald,” it spoke again.Angus jerked his arm from Tony’s grip, peering around… nothing. “The voice, it asked me to return and called me young Lord MacDonald.”“I don’t care if it calls you the lord almighty, we’re not staying. Before, when you got dizzy and tumbled, you frightened shit out of us, enough already. Come, it’ll be dark in an hour,” he said, pushing Angus’s back.“There’s a story unfolding, so I’ll stay.”“A story?” (Good scene here, I like the way you weave the falling over scene in here and also show a bit of the relationship with Tony)“Yes. When I fell, dizzy, my dreams of the battle are still vivid. My clan, Tony, wearing MacDonald of Keppoch tartans and charging with damn huge broadswords into the staccato of British (I think you should say English here, or possibly enemy BRITS are a much later concept) much musket fire. And now the voices! If I get disorientated again, just go with it unless I froth from the mouth or some other bullshit.”Tony lifted a finger to respond, but only listened as Angus spoke again.“Let’s check around the spot my boots got stuck, where I toppled.” Tony shook his head. “You… you’ve got me worried. We’re out on this field and far from help if you collapse.”“I’ve gotta know what it all means. The younger guy’s name is Stuart, and the older man, Lord MacDonald I guess, spoke to him and used his name. I saw it! Heard the words! Stuart pleaded with him to use the power in the silver box. (For me, this would work better if you broke this up and had more interaction with Tony-perhaps shorter exchanges with him-the silver box with its power is quite a key thing so I think you need to spell it out a bit) with The lord refused, said the gift from the devil is evil and they’d crush the English by their own mettle. Stuart struggled. Mud gripped his boots, too. From my reckoning, near where I was bogged (bogged down?) and fell.”“I… I’m not sticking around for that weather or to watch you having another fit. We’re out of here, now! Maybe we’ll return in the morning,” Tony said, grasping his elbow.“Goddamnit! I’m a US Marine lieutenant, for Christ’s sake. Your panicking about my dizziness and a few dreams, neither of which compare with the shit in Afghanistan. It took me too long to get here, only to retreat.”Tony persisted, Angus dragged his feet, but Tony hurried him along. They reached the van just when the rain poured. While Bruce drove to their Inverness hotel, he said to a grumbling Angus, “Professor Tony mentioned you’re related to Lord Duncan MacDonald, who died in that horror. I studied him and other clan members online. Portraits exist, and I googled them. One painted when Lord MacDonald was a young man and two others after he became a father. But the younger lord’s portrait—you look just like him.” (You asked about clunky sentences-this is one of them IMO- why don’t you try to cut right back-say they drove back in silence with Bruce on his phone (you need to switch drivers obvs) and have Bruce present him with the Lord MacDonald image on the phone and ask Angus if he recognises it-build a bit of intrigue-Angus can react and then Bruce can tell him ‘it’s your gggggggrandfather’)* * *On entering the Inverness hotel lobby, Bruce headed to his room. Tony left Angus for five minutes, then returned.“The receptionist told me our rental car is ready. After Culloden tomorrow, if everything is okay, Bruce will take the van to Edinburgh. How are you doing now?”“I’m okay,” Angus said. “Let’s go to our suite and freshen up before dinner.”The shower revitalized Angus’s spirit, and after dressing, he strolled into the suite’s living area.Tony headed from his room to find Angus shuffling around. “Are you talking to yourself?”“Yeah. Pissed we didn’t stay on the battlefield, but I’ve settled down.”“Voices?”“None now. Once at the Culloden parking lot and in the van.”“You didn’t react?”“After leaving the battlefield, my weird feelings and dreams slackened, but I still can’t get them out of my head. I’m unsure… it’s weird, I… I mean, it sounds crazy… did I lose consciousness for a minute, or hallucinate? I could have sworn blue mist gripped my ankles before I fell. Anyway, all’s good now.” (I like the way you are leaving unanswered questions here and introducing a note of ambiguity)“We’d best go downstairs.”Bruce waited in the foyer, and they entered the dining room together. Roast lamb accompanied by plum pudding and custard. The others tucked in, but Angus prodded food around his plate. Conversation slowed; Angus drumming his fingers on the table as he sipped a whiskey.“Assuming decent weather, what time do we leave for the battlefield?” Angus asked.“Nine, straight after breakfast.”“Okay. See you in our suite. I’ll read and have an early night. See ya, Bruce.”“Wonderful idea. I’ll check on you when I come up,” Tony said.Angus walked off, nothing spritely about his steps.* * *“Professor, he served in Afghanistan,” Bruce said. “Forgive me for asking, does he have problems from his military days?”“During his tour, he led a squad the Taliban attacked. Five men he commanded died, so his father told me.”Time slowed as Bruce gazed, waiting. Tony appreciated his fear. This kid can’t imagine the horror, I’m not much better. “Trapped and wounded in a flaming Humvee, we almost lost him.”“Does he suffer from PS… PTD… um… battle fatigue?”“Some nightmares. Doctors cleared him, and before we came to Culloden, he exhibited no problems. A brave soldier, decorated, and a respected lieutenant.”Bruce fidgeted, almost speaking, but remained silent.”“Come on, Bruce, out with it!”“When he recovered, after his boots stuck, he mumbled that a blue mist floated near and gripped his feet. I saw nothing, though.”“Hmm. It’s difficult for me to think you’re crazy. It’s been a big day, so thanks for your help. Catch you in the morning.”After ordering a gin, Tony flopped into a foyer armchair. I didn’t talk with Angus about that blue misty stuff he mentioned; his weird state concerned me. Thirty minutes later, his ear pressed against Angus’s bedroom door, music played, so he put on the kettle and checked the time. What a day. Only nine o’clock and I’m worn outHot chocolate ended his evening. No light shone under Angus’s door, and quiet ruled the staid old suite. He turned back the bedclothes, sighing as his head nestled into the pillow. Then moans emanated from the next room. God, what now? His quandary deepened. How much space do I give Angus? He decided not to go check, knowing a doctor would arrive in minutes if needed, but on edge, he tossed and failed to sleep.“Stop! Stop talking!” Angus yelled an hour later. Tony jumped up and hurried, testing the knob. It opened, so he shuffled to the bedside. Lathered in sweat, Angus kept repeating the same thing. “I’m not the young lord. Leave me alone.”For fifty minutes Tony sat, waiting as Angus calmed. He gazed at his godson twitching. Angus sprung up, Tony stiffened, gawking as Angus stared wide-eyed, but spoke without panic or tension.“Stuart told his father to use the energy in a box to save Scotland. The lord pulled a chain from around his neck and a silver box hung on the end, then he replaced it under his tunic. A musket ball tore through the lord’s arm, and another through his chest, killing him. Stuart took the box from his dead father… but… fum… fumbled with its latch.”Angus sweated, his head low as Tony felt his brow and exhaled in relief. He rushed to the bathroom, dampened a towel, and returned to wipe Angus’s forehead. Five minutes more of this and I’m calling a doctor. At the first touch, Angus snapped his head back and spoke again.“An English prick smashed his musket butt between Stuart’s shoulder blades, then bayonetted him. He crashed forward. The treasure jolted from his grip! Stuart screamed, then his gaze shifted and mine followed. We saw fleeing Highlanders trampling the silver box into the mud. Then… head plonking on the grass… he was dying.” (I think this scene works well-I like that you are keeping an air of mystery over the box, but it has me guessing)He lay back on the pillow, appeared to relax as if the words had lightened his anxiety, Tony continued with the towel. Whoa. This is not good.While Angus slept, Tony reflected on the story and all the emotions embedded. On removing these and the history, he focused on the dream’s essence. It all fines (comes down?) down to one major issue. The lord and Stuart believed a power associated with the silver box would give Scotland a victory at Culloden.Worrying did not help with his big issue, Angus’s state of mind. How can I accuse Angus of cracking up? I, a non-believer in mystic bullshit, didn’t see the blue thing, but his boots weren’t so deep in the mud they’d get stuck.Angus lay in peace, so Tony stepped to the door but pivoted when Angus spoke from his dream.“A deep voice… I… I don’t know whose, but Stuart listened before he died. ‘Fear not, Stuart. We have planted a seed. The MacDonalds will rise again.’” (Good ending)CHAPTER 2“Professor Baker, it’s the night manager, Alex. I’m sorry for waking you, but we’re concerned, your van drove out fifteen minutes ago. You said three for breakfast at 7 a.m., and you’d leave at nine.” (Thinking about this would it not make more sense for receptionist to say he thought the van had been stolen and he was checking the room to see if Tony was in situ? If he thought Tony had left in the van, would he phone him re breakfast-people are free to come and go in hotels at all hours)Heart still thumping from the shrill 4 a.m. ring, Tony rubbed his eyes.“Thank you, Alex. Please, have my rental near the front door in ten minutes along with a coffee thermos and a blanket.”God, what’s he done now? In Angus’s room the bed sheets lay scattered, and rumpled. The bed, empty. Christ!Hands shook as he dragged on clothes and headed for the corridor. A light knock, and soon he peeped through a gap.“Bruce, hurry and dress. Angus has gone from the hotel.”On a bend in the wet road, Tony almost lost the rear, sighed and slowed a little; Bruce's fingers leaving dents in the upholstery. Tony explained all the details of Angus’s dreams. Bruce’s eyes white and riveted on the road.Please, please, let him be okay. The headlights swept over a desolate moor while Tony maneuvered to park. “Shit, our van with its doors open.” Fear hit home, he trembled and stood staring at the van and over his shoulder out to the dark, miserable field.“Professor?” Bruce said, snapping Tony’s mind from rampant worries.“Grab the rubber boots, two flashlights, and... um...”“Yes, Professor. You carry the thermos and a blanket. I’ll bring the backpack.”“Oh, thank you.”* * *(Think this order of scenes works better)(don’t forget you can just switch right to the action and put Angus right there on the battlefield without describing the journey there and accounting for every minute of his time)Earlier, the air chilled Angus as he walked barefooted to his window. Toward Culloden he peered, muttering. The feeling persisted. A nagging in his soul. It grew until he almost screamed… or scratched his skin raw to make it stop. And… the voice… whispered always. Dressed in warm clothes, he snatched Tony’s van keys and left without a sound.No cars traveled the road, but eyes reflected in his headlights, eerie. A fox, deer, whatever, he didn’t care, the battlefield parking lot a short twenty minutes away. But from the lot to where his feet got trapped yesterday proved difficult. He labored through ensnaring grasses and plants, Damn it! I left the walkway too early. The small flashlight barely lit the way, and wet ferns soaked his trousers.Two footprints embedded in the damp earth, water topping their rims, (Nice image) he knelt. His head thumped, and he collapsed forward onto his outstretched hands, then fell to his side with a groan. Crazy figures wearing tartans danced around in his brain to the sound of a kettledrum. Helpless, he lay until the pain eased, then took a small trowel and dug.Now no voices, only the cold as his hands numbed. Grass he shifted with ease, but the shrubs and roots weren’t so easy. The soil loosened as he scraped, inches gained, and then problems. Six inches down, water flowed back into his dig, bringing with it some dirt he had removed. With no container to bail the water and mud, his fingers stiffened, skin reddened, and scratches stung as he bailed. No amount of rubbing under his jacket warmed for long. His head slumping as slush took back three of his six inches. (nice showing here-I like the image you create with the holes filling up)* * *After 150 yards in the boots, (you need to describe what the deal is with these boots here, I presume they are heavy) Tony panted. Another hundred, and he raised a hand, his aching legs begged for mercy.“We’ll walk now, and keep your flashlight low. It’s important not to scare him.”A voice yelled. Angus’s cry wailed across the moor. Tony’s legs almost buckled as, with little other than Angus’s weak torch light as a guide, he squinted through the darkness. A form, on its knees, dug and scraped.“God. What do we do now?” he said, whispering to Bruce.“We go get him,” he said, patting Tony’s shoulder.“It’s not so easy. We must not startle him. If he’s in a trance, and we snap him from it too fast, God help us if he reacts in surprise.”Bruce frowned, stared as Tony turned away, mumbling as the conversation paused. Tony’s eyes low as concerns racked his brain.“You… you said he had no problems. I asked you at dinner last night.”“I thought he was through all that. The current situation boggles my mind as I’ve never seen him this way. Always strong, confident, and a man you’d trust with your life and money. Anyway, we must do something now, the situation demands we help. He’s highly trained and not just any soldier. My worry is he’ll overreact through confusion, we won’t stand a chance if he sees us as a threat.” (I like this scene-but I would cut down some of the detail and repetition around their intentions- some clunkiness)Bruce surprised Tony, and said, “He’s your godson, we need to get to him. Let’s backtrack over to the path, walk along with our flashlights on, talking as normal. Later, let’s head in a circular pattern and shine our light in his direction sometimes. He’ll be aware of our presence, recognize your voice, and I’ll stay behind a few steps so he sees only your familiar face.”Tony rubbed his chin, a smile lifting the corners of his mouth but a fraction. “Yes… yes, that may work.”Their stroll (I would lose this word it gives the impression of an afternoon walk) along the path wasn’t difficult, and Tony’s now recovered legs twitched, demanded to run. He forced them to amble until they reached boggy puddles where they slowed, chatting as planned. Flashes from their lights provided an unobstructed view of Angus twenty yards away. How stressful is this? Tony exhaled, and Angus never acknowledged their presence, still digging.(The following scene also reads well for me) At thirty feet, Tony paused. Good god. Angus’s hands bailed from a hole. They glared; Bruce gave Tony a push forward. Angus focused straight up at them, his eyes flared, but resumed his task before slumping on the ground.Tony ran, risks ignored, and flung the blanket over Angus’s soaked body before wrapping him tight. Bruce arrived, poured coffee from the thermos into its cup lid, and handed it down.“The voices told me to dig here. Somewhere is a silver box, b… but I can’t find it.” Angus whimpered as Tony’s eyes moistened and his heart sank at the almost childlike behaviour.“It’s alright. Here, drink this for warmth.”Bruce and Tony stared at what appeared an eighteen-inch-deep hole. Tony squinted, the dig circular, and three feet in diameter. The task impossible as more muddy water would gravitate into the hole faster than he could bail. Angus rubbed at his dirty cheeks and sipped coffee. Bruce shone his light around.“Come on, buddy. Let’s get you on your feet,” Tony said, his voice calm as he patted Angus’s shoulder.The face, looking up into his eyes, piteous with a tear. Tony felt his gut tighten, he reached down, but Angus drew back.“No! No, I can’t. You don’t understand, the voice won’t let me. Somewhere here is the Mac… MacDonald’s silver box, and I must find it.”No quick thoughts aided as Tony’s brain fought to find a way forward, then his sleeve pulled left. Bruce tugged, and pointed to where a reflection bounced from his light beam. Two inches above the dig’s waterline, exposed and metallic. Tony’s finger indicated for Bruce to check out the reflection. Angus wrapped his hands around the warm cup and blew on his fingers. A forced smile as he handed the empty mug up and nodded. As Tony poured more coffee, Angus’s eyes glanced away to Bruce, and he shifted the cup. Hot coffee spilled onto his trousers, but he never flinched. (I would choreograph this scene differently-once the box is spotted I think the focus should be on retrieving that-pouring a cup of coffee at this point seems superfluous and breaks the suspense)As Bruce poked wet dirt from beneath the glimpse of metal, water and a silver object plopped into the puddle. And some other object followed with a slight splash.Angus jumped to his feet, and glared at the dig, muttering. “Yes… Yes… I’ll find you.”Tony gaped as Angus kneeled, hand groping in the frigid water. “Who… who is he talking to, Bruce?”Darkness covered the moor, but not as much as Tony’s soul. No experience as a professor of history, of handling people and their emotions, provided a clue. He couldn’t leave him there, nor drag him away with force. Eyes peeking through fingers over his face, he turned to Bruce. This time, no voice of wisdom as he also stared, helpless.Angus yelled, jumped up, and lifted the relic high as a drop of mud fell, splattered on his forehead and dribbled down his cheeks. His smile almost lit the night, but Tony, face blank, peered in stunned silence. Not knowing whether to grin or cry as he took a handkerchief from his pocket.“I have it, Stuart.” Three times Angus repeated the same words as he hugged the box to his chest. A brief but wide grin as he lifted it again, then clutched it back, firm against his body.Tony, agog. What the hell? The damn silver box is real!“Is that St… Stuart from the battle, Professor? The guy who died in Angus’s dream?” Bruce said, voice low and quivering.Tony nodded. “God help me for saying this, but it must be, and we appreciate now that it wasn’t a dream. What other explanations? Find out about the second splash.”Angus had not shifted from the spot, still he held the box tight and faced Bruce as he shuffled his hand in the puddle. Lifting a mud-covered clump, Bruce handed it to Tony. Slush dripped through his fingers while gold glistened in the torchlight. After swishing it in water, Tony kept an eye on Angus, and with Bruce directing the flashlight, studied the object with a glass.“You’ll be a happy man, Angus. This is the MacDonald of Keppoch golden clan brooch. It has a motto written below an etching. By land and by sea.”The relic, still clutched to his chest, Angus offered a weak smile before looking down at the box again. He seemed disinterested in the clan brooch, held the silver out in front of his body, then smiled and brought the relic to his lips before hugging it again.His hands under Angus’s shoulder, Tony signaled to Bruce and they both lifted him to his feet, the walk to the car, slow. Tony almost wept at his godson’s sorry emotional state. He suspected confusion and unanswered questions as the reason for Angus’s blank expression, but concentrated on getting him back to the hotel. Such a drama. I suspected a dream besotted him, but no, he was correct, a story is unfolding. Goodness me… I… I’m believing this stuff. What professor would accept this mystic bullshit, but?(If you want to finish the chapter on a cliffhanger, cut it off shortly after finding the box and save Tony’s reaction for later) ................
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