I’m writing a fantasy story in third person and I’m not that confident if I’m doing it right.
I noticed I’m using the word “he” so often (the character’s guy by the way) and I’m afraid that I’m “telling” more than “showing.”
Cold drops of water falling from the ceiling prevented Ian from
falling asleep. Each time his eyes were to droop, a single drop of
water would fall on his nape, the shivers pulling him back to reality.
And each time this happened, his eyes would always meet with the oil
lamp on top of a wooden table a good two meters away, its red-orange
and yellow flame casting funny looking shadows all around the dark and
damp cellar he was in.
He wouldâve done something about itâbut with his hands bound to a
chair and his mouth gagged with a cloth, he couldn’t do anything much.
It might have been hours already since he was brought here; he
couldnât tell exactly. But judging on how soaked his tunic was, it
could have been more. The room had no windows; he could’ve used
sunlight to tell the time.
Speaking of time, he had a pocket watch with him. Where could it be?
Did he dropped it? Or was it taken?
No windows. No sunlight. No watch. Great. At least the faint,
festive-like merriment from the outside passed through the thick
walls, making him feel he had some company.
How did I end up in this place again? He squinted at the flame of the oil lamp, as if it would spout some answers. He wanted to scream
for his captors to come down and answer his questionâand demand for
his release; the cloth was doing its job properly.
So, no other choice but to rely on good old memoryâeven if it was
currently a dud.
He closed his eyes and rummaged his memories for any possible clues.
Nothingâstill. What came about was a faint yet sharp throbbing pain
from the back of his head.
Maybe Ian should stop; he’d been doing the same thing since earlier
but always got the same result . . .
The pain made him wince. A concussion? Aside from the memory loss,
there was confusion. He also felt he was out for a swim in the ocean .
Hope itâs mild. He was urgent to remember everythingâand fast. He closed his eyes and focused on sleeping instead, ignoring the water
falling water on his nape, the sensation of his shirt sticking to his
skin. Maybe if he sleptâmaybe if he rested his mindâeverything would
But his plans of some shut-eye and relaxation got scrapped when the
door flew open.
âDamn it,â he cursed through gritted teeth after nearly falling off