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  • #114183
    Kimmi
    @kimlikesart

    @eitan

    Hello, how are you doing?

    Jominkreesa

    Passion = A Willingness To Suffer

    #114232
    Kimmi
    @kimlikesart

    @eitan

    When, and if you have time…

    I read your critique of Beth’s chapter one. Honest indeed, but not quite brutal.

    What I really need is honesty about my book. (i.e. My grandma, mother, and a family friend are probably purposefully not mentioning where it needs work, or they’re just blind to it because they don’t want to offend me.)

    (It’s grammar definitely needs work though, I’m saving up for an editor for that.)

    But, since it’s set in Israel, and the main character is a Jew, maybe you could tell me when I make her do something that orthodox Jews wouldn’t. Or, if you really don’t get something.

    I understand if you can’t, but I’d be grateful if you just read it! I hope you enjoy it…

     

    Chena’s Story

    Six year old Chena Batjehoshaphat’s chest steadily rose and fell, her coarse sheets just barely brushing her closed, dark lashes. Her lips turning upward, and face smooth, she dreamed of their goat, and clouds.

    That was cut short as her arm was grabbed, and Chena’s small form was yanked from her bed.

    “Chena!” Her mother’s voice cut like a knife, “Get under your bed. Hurry girl!”

    Chena began crawling beneath her bed, her mother shoved her the rest of the way. A mass of straw, old rags, and creepy crawlies followed her less than a second later. “Stay here Little Bee. And under no circumstances; no matter what you hear, do not leave this spot.” Her mother raced to the door, then turned around to say, “I love you.”

    Chena sucked in quick, dusty breathes, eyes wide in the darkness. Screams and crashes resounded just a room away. The floor trembled. Tears rolled down her soft cheeks as the little girl heard her mother’s sobs. Chena sucked in gulping breaths. Straw flew into her throat, and Chena muffled her coughs into some dirty rags.

    “YHWH help us!” she whispered with trembling lips.

    There were more crashes, more tremors. The Romans were there. Chena knew it as much as she could tell bugs shared the hiding place with her.

    The child’s ears tingled, at the sound of her father begging someone. His usually diplomatic voice was despairing, and frantic. “Merenda, sir, please I beg you in your Roman wisdom don, don’t hurt my wife!? She, she is with,” those were the last words Chena heard her father speak.

    Chena bit her tongue to keep from joining in the resounding screech her mother let shake the night. Had they hurt her mommy? Daddy or Malachi? (Her elder brother) What would happen to Ruth, or Jaden? (Their pet goat and cow)

    “Please YHWH?” she quaked, crying more, and more. Crashes resounded, her life breaking apart. Jehovah will they burn our home? Will they make us all slaves? Will they burn mommy, or poppy? Is Malachi safe?

    Chena wrapped herself into the rags until she couldn’t move her arms, and the fabric squeezed her from all sides, crying harder. Then she froze. The dirt floor she was on vibrated as heavy footsteps battered her room.

    Chena heard the clay jar mama, and papa had given her last Purim smash. The blankets covering Chena’s bed were chucked out the doorway. Then the bed-frame flung against the side wall with a resounding CRACK!!! Chena jumped, and would’ve screamed, if Fear hadn’t clutched her throat so tight it cut off her air. She clenched her eyes shut, Oh, L-rd Jehovah? I love You! Help us! Help Your children!? Please?…

    The strips of rags, and hay laying beside her were lifted and sifted through. The man grunted, and one large foot stomped beside her head, shuffling through the mess. Chena’s eyes popped open. Large toes in the issued sandal ‘boot’ greaves, and cleaves. Three-inch spikes glaring at her.

    Couldn’t he see her? Why hadn’t his foot crushed her face yet? Or kicked her?

    He whispered something in Latin, grabbed Chena’s only piece of jewelry from a stand, and stuffed it among his clothes. He abandoned the pile of filth which had been stuffed under Chena’s bed, and proceeded to destroy everything else in her room.

    After he left several other soldiers came in and searched as well.

    Why were the Romans doing this? More tears snaked down Chena’s cheeks. She kept her small hands cupped over her mouth as she watched men move about her room as if she were invisible.

    Her papa was just a simple farmer? He paid his taxes. He wasn’t outspoken. Chena loved him, and trusted him, and couldn’t understand why anyone would want to hurt him?

    The men casting glances over their shoulders drifted her room, their sounds fading. All the marauders had moved outside, where there were a growing amount of curses and her mother’s screams.

    Get out. The words beat inside her brain and chest. Run now! Leave! Hurry! Get up and flee!

    “But what if they kill me?” she whispered in a blub.

    More curses railed outside their mud house.

    She didn’t wait for the whisper to come again, Chena just obeyed. She got up from the bower, legs working like blocks of wood beneath her as she scampered into the main room where her mother mended clothes, and cooked. It was their living space, where their family would play games late into the night with laughter, looking out the door to the stars. It was silent now, and dark outside. Aside that is, from the glow of torches, and curses still railing in the side yard.

    Had they found her brother? Or had YHWH spared him as well? What of her mommy, and daddy? This all flashed through her mind in just seconds.

    Then one question was answered as something sticky, and wet splashed onto her running foot, and leg. Chena may have screamed, she may have not. She could never recall, but in any case none of the men came in to get her as she knelt by her father and touched his stricken face. His stomach had been cut open, entrails and blood covering the floor.

    Her foot had splashed a puddle of his blood as she ran. She swung about; eyes wide, and hands clapping to her face as she stared at her daddy. Then crying, muttering words she could never she knelt down beside him, her knees leaning into the pool of his blood as she cupped her father’s cheeks in her hands. His dark eyes stared up at her unseeing. Forever frozen in pain.

    “Papa.” She whispered, her whole body convulsing over and over. “Oh Papa!”

    Then her brother was there, lifting, then pushing her in course whispers to run into the tall grass surrounding the property; to wait there for him. When she couldn’t move Malachi spanked her hard, and she ran. She ran, and ran.

    At some point she fell down, and couldn’t get up. She sobbed, whole body convulsing, pushing her face into the dirt. Two foot blades of grass surrounding her in all directions. Her father’s image haunting her un-blemished mind. She convulsed, wishing her mother’s arms were around her. Or even Malachi’s. She didn’t know when but she finally no more tears would come, so she lay a while hiccupping, using her arm as a pillow, and fell into a besieged dream.

    If she had been awake Chena would have heard a cry in the late night. She might have known it was her brothers, she might have not. Malachi had bolted out of the house when the smoke from the fire the Roman’s had lit got too thick. One of the officers had chased the youth but a minute before he was grabbed, and taken him away.

    Truly only YHWH could save His people.

    • This reply was modified 1 year, 3 months ago by Kimmi.

    Jominkreesa

    Passion = A Willingness To Suffer

    #114266
    Eitan
    @eitan

    @kimlikesart

    I’m flattered 😅

    I have no problem to help you!

    Hmm, you deceived me, I was sure the story is about modern orthodox Jews until you mentioned the Romans!! 😉

    I can be so brutal that I pray for the right approach before critiquing. Maybe it’s because I’m an INTJ?… Anyway, the border between brutality and honesty is very thin.

     

    Before the critique itself: I’m so sorry if I will sound like an insensitive, merciless, arrogant snob. I’m not better or smarter in any way than you. If I offended you in any way, I ask your forgiveness.

     

    First and most important, I very admire your will to encourage other Christians about the faithfulness of God to his children. Keep writing for this goal! 😀

    Now, to the critique…

     

    The character of Chena felt flat. She isn’t much more than the afraid little girl, with some Jewishness for the flavor. Who is she? What are the complexities in her personality?

    It’s sad, but even little children are sinful – in some cases they are even more sinful, since they have less experience in life and with God. Does she quarrels a lot with her brother? Is she a disobedient, too brave tomboy? Those are just examples for options – you know your characters the best 🙂

    To be fair, you did presented her positive points pretty well – she’s courageous when needed, loves her family and wants to protect it. You’ve done a good job in this point!

    I recommend you to write the personality of Chena first. What is her personality type, and how does it expressed in her actions, thoughts and personality traits? For example, maybe she’s an INTJ (I;m talking about what I know ; ) ) and so…

    • On one hand, she’s smart and rational, even as a little girl. She thinks with a childishly logic when acting – is it more safe to hide, or to ran away right now? They can see me if I get out. But if I’ll stay there, they might find me and who knows what have they done to Mummy…
    • On the other hand, she’s arrogant, lonely and egoistic. In such case, it’s possible that she will be more afraid for her own safety, then for her family’s safety (not to say she will not care about them, but they will be less important). Or, maybe in her grief, she will think something like, ”I lost them all… I miss even Malachi”.

    In fact Chena doesn’t sound like an INTJ, but it was just an example. You can apply it to any personality type. Anyway, spend time building her character, before writing about her – or, if you’re a pantser, just write while keeping this all in mind.

    Remember also that Chena’s personality is heavily influenced by her environment. How is her parents’ marriage? How is her relationship with her sibling(s?), cousins, friends?

     

    It… seems that you didn’t researched a lot about the Roman period in Israel.

    Most people didn’t build roomed houses until the last few centuries, and many still don’t. Farmers from this time lived in huts with one room, that served for sleeping (on simple straw mattresses, maybe even sleeping bags if the family didn’t have enough mattresses – beds were a luxury), eating, and cooking (on a fire in the center of the house). In fact, people back then didn’t really have the sense of privacy we have today.

    It’s unclear when exactly does the story occur. On one hand, Chena’s father pays his taxes, thus – it’s a peaceful time. On the other hand, Roman soldiers didn’t just loot villages – such marauders would be executed. The Romans were interested in ruling Judea, not burning it to ashes, and they razed villages only in the times of the major Jewish rebellions (there were two, in 66-70 and 132-136 AD). They were by no means kind to the locals in peaceful times, but they wouldn’t burn villages.

    The Jews hated the Romans, and they raised their children this way. The people rejected Jesus when they understood that he doesn’t going to be the kind of Messiah they wanted – one that will burn the Roman empire to ashes and restore the Jewish national pride.

    (Later in history the Jews revolted under the leadership of such a ”Messiah” – a cruel guerrilla leader called Bar Kochva, a kind of a Che Guevara, that was supported by the greatest rabbi of all times, Rabbi Akiva. Those two lead us to 2000 years of exile, but surprisingly, they’re considered national heroes today. Rabbi Akiva is actually on of the fathers of the Jewish orthodox religion).

    Some rabbis even taught that the Romans weren’t real humans, but lower than the Kosher beasts – even though I’m not quite sure whether this teaching existed in this time, or was it invented later.

    Chena wouldn’t ponder why are the Romans cruel. She would look at them with murder in her eyes, hardly stopping herself from cursing them with every curse word known. Gentiles. Uncircumcised. Pagans. Pigs. Dogs.

    Last historical note – I’m not sure if it’s correct to use the name YHWH in this context. When Jesus prayed he usually said Abba (father) or Eloha (God), and since no Pharisee accused him for it, it was probably common. The name YHWH is used in the orthodox prayers in synagogues, but no orthodox Jew will ever pronounce it, but instead say ”The Name” (Hashem) or ”My Lord” (Adonai) as a name for God.

     

    I really admire your will to encourage Christians by using the excellent example of the persecuted believers, but theologically, it doesn’t work the same with the people of Israel. While God promised persecution to the church and encouraged it to stay faithful, in Deuteronomy 28, he promised that he will bless and protect the Israelites as long as they’re faithful, and punish them when not. When we, the Jews, suffer, it’s not because of our faithfulness to God, it’s the ultimate sign of our rebellion and isolation from Him.

    (I feel kinda bad for accusing my people in the face of gentiles – I’m very sorry if the word offends you, I by no means use it as a curse word – but, well, it’s the truth. The Jewish people are currently an adulteress, not to say a prostitute, not The Virgin of Israel. Pray for us.)

    If the story occurs in the time of the rebellions, so Chena is most likely coming from a Pharisee background, and thus – knows God only from liturgical prayers, those that Jesus publicly condemned in the sermon in the mount. She doesn’t even know the OT, but only through the (mis)interpretations of the rabbis and their so called ”oral law”. If you want to encourage believers, maybe you should use the persecuted church in the first three centuries.

     

    Oh. I should’ve been in bed before an hour (my restrictions for myself, not my parents’). Anyway, I’ll pray it’ll be helpful for you. I’m sorry if I was too aggressive at some points. Good night!

    • This reply was modified 1 year, 3 months ago by Eitan.

    You don't need to see the wind itself in order to hear the rustling leaves.

    #114269
    Kimmi
    @kimlikesart

    @eitan

    Thank you so much! I will ponder, and change things. Thank you for taking so much time and thought!

    Thank yuo for your honesty. (:

    Jominkreesa

    Passion = A Willingness To Suffer

    #114270
    Kimmi
    @kimlikesart

    @eitan

    Oh, and it starts in 8 bc.

    Jominkreesa

    Passion = A Willingness To Suffer

    #114277
    Kimmi
    @kimlikesart

    @eitan

    Here’s a pre-prologue. (I’ll change that) (:

    Six year old Chena Batjehoshaphat laughed as she and her two brothers chased a plump frog.

    “Hurry! Hurry! Before he reaches the stream!” Nine-year-old Malachi rushed ahead, shoving his little sister aside.

    Far behind them Levi, his chin only reaching a finger over the tall grass began to cry. Chena glanced back, her shoulders lowering, but the urge to catch the frog before her elder brother was strong. Malachi grinned, and lunged, sliding into mud as his hands closed on the smooth body of the reptile.

    Just when Chena was about to growl in fury the thing slipped from the boy’s grasp and plopped into the stream at the edge of their farm.

    She resisted the urge to mock him or gloat.  Instead, she turned with a lifted chin, and marched back to Levi. Hugging the toddler to her chest, “Don’t worry, you’re not alone.”

    His grubby hands touched Chena’s face, “I want mommy Keena!”

    His sister nodded, and then glanced back with narrowed eyes on their brother. Malachi had risen. His tunic was caked with mud, and he swiped mud off his arms with a curled nose as he stepped toward them. His feet slid around in his gooey sandals.

    “We can’t go back until Malachi gets clean. If mama saw him like that?” Chena’s own nose crinkled, and Malachi paused to stare at them, lips parting, and eyes widening slightly.

    Then he lifted his chin, and pointed at Chena’s face, “You don’t look too good yourself. Wait till mama sees the tear in your skirt.”

    Chena looked away as his mouth lectured her. But it was short.

    “We need to beat daddy home.” She whispered, then pushed to her feet. The sister then held down her soft hand for Levi to clasp.

    The little boy complied, and with Malachi stalking behind they pushed through the grass. It didn’t take long for Malachi to start babbling again. “Do you think we can talk papa into going into town tomorrow?”

    “You just want to see Ruben.” Chena brushed her long sweaty locks out of her face, and glanced back to him.

    Malachi’s shoulders slumped, and then he ran to where he and Chena walked beside each other. “You like Rachel, do you not?”

    Chena smiled weakly while helping Levi’s little feet over a large rock. “Yes, but I like home more.”

    Malachi just smiled and stared off in the distance where their single-roomed house let out a tendril of smoke. “Race you.”

    Chena’s jaw tightened, and her eyes grew serious. “No!” Her sharp tone stopped him in his tracks. She cocked her hip, placing the hand that wasn’t clutching Levi’s on her waist, “We can’t leave him again.”

    “Hmm,” He nodded, opening his mouth to say something, before clamping it shut, and keeping it that way.

    Good. Chena sighed and looked about. The sun was just lowering on the horizon. Spirals of purples, and pinks flaking out. A subtle smile spread over her face. Papa called it Eloha’s painting. He would make a new one every morning and evening. Every one beautiful and a testament to His grandeur.

     

    On their entrance to home Jaden jumped to her feet, and pointed to the door, “Malachi ben Jehosaphat, you know better than to come in here like that. Go wash yourself now. Chena,” The woman’s voice was hard, but not mean. “Go clean up Levi, and,” Her head cocked, and the mother shook her head. “Milk the goats, then come in here. You can sew up your dress tomorrow.”

    “Yes mam.” The children instantly moved to obey.

    “Oh! and Malachi?” The youth turned about, “When you’re done washing, please bring me some water,” He nodded.

    Levi squealed when Chena began cleaning his little arms and legs, then became silent as Malachi chattered. The toddler’s brown eyes wide as he surveyed the elder boy, he then laughed, and began chattering as well. Chena just smiled, and finished her task.

    As she and Levi headed back to the home, her eyes caught on a form approaching. Tall, with broad shoulders, and an empty seed bag over his shoulder, her papa’s pace picked up when he saw people were out of the house.

    The six year old released her brother, and raced to her daddy. Malachi also forsook his washing, and charged to his papa.

    The man laughed, and lifted his young daughter in the air, twirling her once, before letting her sandaled feet touch the ground. Chena’s giggling as her father’s long black beard tickled her olive-toned face. Then he ruffled Malachi’s dark hair, and bent down.

    Then they all walked back to the house. When they reached Levi, Jehosaphat gave his youngest son the same greeting. The little child giving a peal of laughter as he was thrown into the air, then caught safely in his father’s callused, yet gentle hands.

    Mama then came out, wiping her hands on her apron. She smiled more with her eyes, than lips, but the joy flushing her cheeks was clear as her husband set their child on the ground and hugged her.

    She stood on her tip toes, for she was quite short and he tall, to kiss Jehoshaphat’s hairy cheek. “How was the planting?” She asked while taking the bag off his shoulder.

    “It was well,” He whispered before sucking a deep breath, and closing his eyes in delight, “What is that?”

    Mama looked down a second, her eyes sparkling like Eloha’s stars. “Leek soup, with chicken.” After a short pause she bent down and hefted her baby, “Why don’t you go make sure your son washes up?”

    As the father and son walked back to the well, Chena heard papa ask, “How did you get yourself so dirty?”

    Malachi grinned, “We were chasing a frog papa…”

    “And don’t forget the water Malachi!” Jaden called after the pair, and Chena smiled.

    “Wash your feet Bee,” The mother ordered while going back to their fire. A large pot was hung over it, boiling and steaming nicely as a hot bath.

    Chena sucked in a deep breath, then let it out with a slight groan of bliss as she obeyed.

    “Wait!” The mother turned around, “Sorry Bee, but Ruth and Naamah need to be milked,”

    Chena nodded, then fetched their pail fro a corner.

    The family enjoyed their night together. The food was good, and the boys didn’t speak of anything boring.

    Once on her pallet once more, Chena was tucked in tightly as a caterpillar by her mother. A soft kiss brushed her forehead, and whispered ‘I love you’s’ were exchanged. As the child fell into a peaceful sleep she had no thought of the marrow…and what it would bring. As it should be, for she was just a child.

     

    (It will probably take more time to edit the other part…(The part you edited)) (:

    Thanks again!

    Jominkreesa

    Passion = A Willingness To Suffer

    #114363
    Kimmi
    @kimlikesart

    @eitan

    (I’m not sure if you like music very much or not.)

    Jominkreesa

    Passion = A Willingness To Suffer

    #114370
    Eitan
    @eitan

    @kimlikesart

    Ooh, Arab music is very beautiful! Thank you! I’ll check them 🙂

    You don't need to see the wind itself in order to hear the rustling leaves.

    #114446
    Kimmi
    @kimlikesart

    @eitan (Revised original prologue). I get what you said about the Romans burning homes, but I explain why this happened later, and why it could happen.

     

    The little girl’s chest steadily rose and fell, her coarse sheets just barely brushing her closed, dark lashes. Her lips turning upward, and face smooth, she dreamed of their goats, and clouds.

    That was cut short as her arm was grasped, and her body was jerked from her bed.

    “Chena!” Her mother’s voice was urgent, “Get under your bed. Hurry girl!”

    Chena began crawling beneath her pallet, her mother shoved her the rest of the way. A mass of straw, old rags, and creepy crawlies followed her less than a second later. “Stay here Little Bee. Lay flat, I know it’s hot but bear with me. And under no circumstances; no matter what you hear, do not move or make a sound.” Her mother then let the mattress fall over her daughter. Chena then felt the pad getting heavier and heavier.

    Chena sucked in quick, dusty breathes, eyes wide in the darkness. Screams and crashes vibrated through the floor. Tears rolled down her soft cheeks as the little girl heard her mother’s sobs. Chena sucked in gulping breaths. Straw flew into her throat, and Chena muffled her coughs into some dirty rags.

    Eloha help us! she screamed in her mind as sweat plastered her dark brown hair to her neck.

    There were more crashes, more tremors. The Roman dogs were there. Chena knew it as much as she could tell bugs shared the hiding place with her.

    The child’s ears tingled, at the sound of her father begging someone. His usually diplomatic voice was despairing, and frantic. “Merenda, sir, please I beg you in your Roman wisdom don, don’t hurt my wife!? She, she is with,” those were the last words Chena heard her father speak.

    Chena bit her tongue to keep from joining in the resounding screech her mother let shake the night. Had they hurt her mommy? Daddy, Levi, or Malachi? What would happen to Ruth, or Naamah?

    Please Eloha? she quaked, crying more, and more. Crashes resounded, her life breaking apart. Jehovah will they burn our home? Will they make us all slaves? Will they burn mommy, or poppy? Are brothers safe?

    Chena hugged the dusty ground, trembling, and finding it hard to breathe under the weight, and with the hot air. Tears ran from her eyes like hot springs. Then she froze.

    Chena heard the clay jar mama, and papa had given her last Purim smash. The baskets, mending, rags, and jars covering Chena’s bed were chucked aside. Then the pallet was flung aside. Chena jumped, eyes widening like saucers. Her lips parted to scream but Fear clutched her throat so tight it cut off her air. She clenched her eyes shut, Oh, L-rd Jehovah? I love You! Help us! Help Your children!? Please?…

    The strips of rags, and hay laying beside her were lifted and sifted through. The man grunted, and one large foot stomped beside her head, shuffling through the mess. Chena’s eyes popped open. Large toes in the issued sandal ‘boot’ greaves, and cleaves. Three inch spikes glaring at her.

    Couldn’t he see her? Why hadn’t his foot crushed her face yet? Or kicked her?

    He abandoned the pile of filth which had been stuffed under Chena’s bed. After he left several other soldiers to the pile of debris and searched as well.

    The cur of Rome! More tears snaked down Chena’s cheeks. She kept her small hands cupped over her mouth as she watched men move about as if she were invisible.

    Her papa was just a simple farmer?  He wasn’t outspoken. Chena loved him, and trusted him, and couldn’t understand why anyone would want to hurt him? Because the Romans were vile, and needed no reason.

    What if her parents hadn’t paid their taxes? What if they were going to murder them all?

    The men casting glances over their shoulders drifted her home, their sounds fading. All the marauders had moved outside, where there were a growing amount of curses and her mother’s screams.

    Get out. The words beat inside her brain and chest. Run now! Leave! Hurry! Get up and flee!

    “But what if they kill me?” she whispered in a blub.

    More curses railed outside their mud house.

    She didn’t wait for the whisper to come again, Chena just obeyed. She got up from the bower, legs working like blocks of wood beneath her as she scampered to her feet. The room was silent now, and dark outside. Aside that is, from the glow of torches, and curses still railing in the side yard.

    Had they found her brothers? Or had Eloha spared them as well? What of her mommy, and daddy? This all flashed through her mind in just seconds.

    Then one question was answered as something sticky, and wet splashed onto her running foot, and leg at their threshold. Chena may have screamed, she may have not. She could never recall, but in any case none of the men came back to get her. His stomach had been cut open, entrails and blood covering the floor.

    Her forehead wrinkled, eyes wide, trembling hands clapping to her face as she stared at her daddy. Then crying, muttering words she could never remember she knelt down beside him, her knees leaning into the pool of his blood as she cupped her father’s stricken cheeks in her hands. His dark eyes stared up at her unseeing. Forever frozen in pain.

    “Papa.” She whispered, her whole body convulsing over and over. “Oh Papa!”

    Then Malachi was there, lifting, then pushing her in course whispers to run into the tall grass surrounding the property; to wait there for him. When she couldn’t move Malachi spanked her hard, and she ran. She ran, and ran.

    At some point she fell down, and couldn’t get up. She sobbed, whole body shaking, pushing her face into the dirt. Cubit high blades of grass surrounding her in all directions. Her father’s image haunting her un-blemished mind. She convulsed, wishing her mother’s arms were around her. Or even Malachi’s. She didn’t know when, but finally no more tears would come, so she lay a while hiccupping, using her arm as a pillow, and fell into a besieged dream.

    If she had been awake Chena would have heard a cry in the late night. She might have known it was her brothers, she might have not. Malachi had bolted out of the house when the smoke from the fire the Roman’s had lit got too thick. One of the officers had chased the youth but a minute before he was grabbed, and taken him away.

    Truly only Eloha could save His people.

    Jominkreesa

    Passion = A Willingness To Suffer

    #114447
    Kimmi
    @kimlikesart

    Hi @olivia, how are you?

     

    Jominkreesa

    Passion = A Willingness To Suffer

    #114449
    Beth Darlene
    @beth20

    @kimlikesart

    I just realized I never read the thing you tagged me in! So sorry, I will read that right now!!

    Jominkreesa! For the weirdos who know what it means! 😉 I love you guys!

    #114451
    Beth Darlene
    @beth20

    I suppose I should read the one you posted yesterday?

    Jominkreesa! For the weirdos who know what it means! 😉 I love you guys!

    #114455
    Beth Darlene
    @beth20

    Chena heard the clay jar mama, and papa had given her last Purim smash.  This was extremely confusing I had to reread it like three times before I figured it out lol! More punctuation girl, more punctuation! XD 

    There were a few parts that might have had better punctuation, but for the most part the punctuation was good! I can see how much it improved from the first version! Good job, you put a lot of emotion into it!! Can’t wait to read more, if you post chapters make sure to tag me!! 

    It reminded me of a Rosemary Sutcliffe book! 

     

     

    Jominkreesa! For the weirdos who know what it means! 😉 I love you guys!

    #114472
    Kimmi
    @kimlikesart

    @beth20

    Thanks!…. Who’s Rosemary Sutcliffe?

    Jominkreesa

    Passion = A Willingness To Suffer

    #114473
    Beth Darlene
    @beth20

    She’s a historical fiction author.  Look her up she’s amazing! And I might be spelling her name wrong lol…

    Jominkreesa! For the weirdos who know what it means! 😉 I love you guys!

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