Serin
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My life is Movement, constant movement...like going downhill without brakes.
Posts: 97
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Post by Serin on Feb 2, 2009 23:18:59 GMT -5
Don't expect much. This was spur of the moment.
Posting here and at SODAS. Hope you enjoy.
Prologue
It was just another night. It started like any other night. Some sitcom was blaring on the television as I sat myself down in the recliner, my microwave dinner resting on my lap. One of the characters made some sort of crude joke, and the laugh track played out. Time to change the channel. I set it to one of the cable news networks, took a few bites out of my meal, and watched the helicopter footage of some building fire downtown. One of the larger asset banks this time, the third arson this week. It was right about then that I noticed that something was wrong with my dinner. One look was enough to tip me off. It needed some spice. I set the tray down, pushing myself off the recliner as I headed for the refrigerator for some hot sauce. Halfway there I had to stop and rub my knee a bit to get out the cramps. Ever since the surgery five years ago, it had never been the same. And that’s when they knocked on the door. I ignored the first few knocks and headed over to the refrigerator, reaching inside for a certain bottle. “Who is it?” “Open up, old man!” The shout came from someone young, brash and loud. I would have just shrugged it off, but there was a hiss in his voice that brought back old memories. I pointed at the lock, and the bolt slid away from the door. “Come on in.” I said, holding the bottle tight. The door slammed open, and the first one dashed into the room. He was wearing baggy pants, a New York Knicks Jersey and a stocking cap that framed his pale face. His eyes burned red as he spotted me, and I could see the fangs as he hissed. I let him charge for me. Right before he grabbed me, I swung the bottle of garlic sauce right at his eyes. The hit broke the lower end of the bottle, covering his face with mashed garlic. Nearly seven feet of muscle appeared in the doorway, tossing his friend aside as he slammed the door and came for me. As he reached out, I brought the broken glass up along both arms, raking deep hissing wounds before planting the bottle in his chest. The vampire fell back, gasping for air. His friend was rolling along the ground, clawing his way towards the doorway. Something was still wrong with the scenery. Why would they send two new bloods after me, unless… Right then the third vampire landed on my shoulders, slamming me to the ground with the drywall ceiling. I felt something drag me along the ground, then toss me. My door shattered on impact, and I went sprawling in the apartment hallway. I wiped the dust from my eyes to see a man in a black trench coat wiping the garlic from his friend’s face. Garlic doesn’t do any permanent damage to a vampire, but with their heightened senses it induces input overload. Trench coat left his friend to clean himself up as he came after me, walking with a slow, deliberate pace. I staggered up to my feet, and ducked under his first attack. I spun around as he pulled his hand from the wall. My foot slid back, touching a bit of the shattered door behind me, and I got my plan. He swung again, a right cross aimed at my throat. I caught the arm and spun him around, slamming him against the doorframe, where the jagged remains of my door were waiting. As he was impaled on the wooden splinters, I placed a hand on his chest. “Sein.” The force drove him further onto the door, the splinters hanging out of his chest. I could see his face twist in pain and frustration as his body refused to move. He hissed at me, his teeth bared. “No use in struggling, kid.” I said to him, walking in the door. “That’s ash wood. Kills werewolves right off, but works as a good paralyzing agent for other ethereal folk.” I stepped over the large one, removing the bottle from his chest. I tossed the bottle away, and reached up into my cabinet, bringing down an oak stake. “Now, we can be civil about this.” I said. “You tell me why you break into my house looking for blood, and I’ll let you go.” I walked over to trench coat, and placed the oak stake at his heart. “Or, I can use oak, and scatter your ashes with the morning sun.” “Your choice.” He talked. He told me his name, Althus, and his affiliation with the Red Banner Clan. He told me that the War was starting to get to the leaders of the clan, and that one of the old dukes had it out for me. I recognized Enisiel by name, a vampire that I had spared back in my youth, and looked at the two vampires that were currently picking themselves up from their defeat. I looked back at Althus, and backed away from him, taking a credit card from his pocket. “I’m charging you for the door.” I said, walking back towards my sofa. “And tell your Master that I’m retired. I have, and want, no part in this war.” By the time the one with the jersey pried his friend off the door, I had purchased a replacement door to be delivered tomorrow morning. I tossed him back his card, and sat down in my recliner, watching the three of them slink off into the night. “Not even the courtesy to clean up.” I said to myself, letting the sitcoms drown out the vibrations of war and struggle. “Kids these days…” -------------------------- “Note to self: Althus has failed. McGreggor still seems to hold some of his edge, even though the incident five years ago has placed him out of work. Tomorrow, I’ll see if he responds to diplomacy.” The woman pressed the stop button on her recorder, and looked in the window of the apartment from a perch nearly a mile away. She looked at the old man, watching as he returned to his seat, then walked away from the ledge. She began to head towards Manhattan, three hours away from sunrise. She had work to do. So much work to do.
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Post by Kristal Rose on Feb 3, 2009 0:42:48 GMT -5
Yay. It has risen.
A jar of garlic may be more breakable than a bottle. Either way, it's a memorable scene.
Your writing has somehow gained a more detached voice. Sure it's still first person POV with action, perspective, and some train of thought, but it has some out-of-body dissociation feel to it now, 3rd person just short of omniscient. It's the voice I tend to write in myself, where all the emotions are real and vivid enough, yet still over-ridden by a dreamy indifference to them, except though a connection of comfortable familiarity.
Actually this voice (1st person with 3rd person feel) fits in with that it's a scene documented on her recorder, but we don't know of that perspective till after we've read the scene.
I like all the dry comedy.
When she heads to Manhattan, I imagine her leaping off a ledge like Batman, but perhaps she calls a cab. I think she needs at least some minor representative hook, like a laptop, cape, horn-rimmed glasses, deep-smokers cough, poke-mon sneakers, or something. Enough sensory cue to suggest a vague archetype the reader can adjust without hitting cognitive dissonance later. - Of course that's unnecessary if that was to be the next chapter start anyhow.
Anyhow, good to see you back and writing.
~
The rule of threes is the basis of the Tao. You see it in Kaballah and the Trinity too. One is the unmanifest, the other two are active and passive, or manifestation and opposite manifestation. They refer to states of being, and sources of evolution. Wicca does have a 'sequential' state trinity of maiden, mother, crone though. With people in particular, their strengths will imply the domain of their hang-ups as well. Organization and order is a domain where I have great strengths and great flaws.
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Post by Nixie on Feb 3, 2009 4:16:14 GMT -5
Hmmm...
I hate to say it, but... Your old spark just isn't in this one... It's written as if the main character isn't even involved, as if the whole fight is another sitcom he's watching on TV... There's no sense of urgency. He brushes away his foes as if they were mosquitos, not vampires.
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Post by Tenjen on Feb 3, 2009 4:32:30 GMT -5
Instants do tend to create mary sue situations.
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Serin
Lurker
My life is Movement, constant movement...like going downhill without brakes.
Posts: 97
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Post by Serin on Feb 3, 2009 8:53:33 GMT -5
The characters haven't been fully established yet, neither has the story. I'll continue to work on it, and I hope that the other chapters will please you more than this one did.
But would you LIKE to see other chapters, is the question.
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Post by Kristal Rose on Feb 3, 2009 19:02:27 GMT -5
I'd like to see something. I think your writing reflects coming back from living what you wrote five years ago, and that while you're still a good writer, it's time to explore some new passions and genres you can find idealistic innocent enthusiasm in, or at least bring in some facets of that balanced with the perspectives of old-timers.
As to your writing technique/method itself, I think it's time you go a level deeper now, flesh out a bit of multiple personality in yourself, and portray the characters more directly with less of a feel of author present as 3rd person editor happening. Either that, or actually write in the 3rd person. Come to think of it, I think that's how you were writing a few years ago (that, and as much 1st person). To develop your craft, you should be working on all three though.
You have two choices, ditch the mood and perspective of the author, or integrate it. Attributing it to every character (the likely shortcoming of writing in 3rd person non-corporeal) lacks depth. The only depth that can be found in that style is when the depth of the 1st/3rd person narrator himself comes into play.
The other reason this chapter comes short to your old writing is that it lacks family endearment. The character here has one sentiment and one sentiment only with his guests; disdain. An old adversary amongst them could have brought out a more intriguing range of sentiment to fathom. Readers are more interested in unearthing the secrets (past and evolving future) of souls than mechanical plot events. You do have depth of character style. Attach that to a plot of inner soul plot, and spoon-feed that to the readers as events occur. Think of Batman. It's not so much how he combats villains, but why, and to know that we have to go into both his past and how events now are affecting his inner development. - This is the sort of writing I'm fully confident you are capable of if you gave it some depth of thought.
- There are fans of Superman and James Bond, above the depth of Batman though, where orders and the American way are sufficient motive for one's life.
One interesting subject of writing you might take to studying is that of rebirth. It can make for interesting reading as a character seems to be oblivious of or adverse to compelling forces of change, then goes through a brewing cocoon stage to become something different. Scrooge is an example, but you see it in half the romance flicks too. In gothic fantasy you see some characters reborn as evil. ..or the transition can be gradual, which may be more realistic, but not as exciting. It's not just the dramatic change, but the built up tension which makes this exciting. If a character changes disposition without explanation, who cares? We have to live each character from inside and out, and feel their forces in tension, otherwise they are just props and plot events.
After a few years hiatus, anything is a start.
Back to this story. You've presented a retiree. He strikes me as a James Bond sort of retiree, not the sort to have a thick film of coffee stains, straining to go on, nor with any sign of bitterness, fatigue, or regret, but one who lives diligently in mind-numbing apathy and meaninglessness, as characterized by channel surfing. As uninteresting as mind-numbing apathy is as a subject (except for the humorous contrast it provides for the battle scene), it can be made rich if it alludes to a past which was anything but mind-numbing apathy.
What you've got now is on the par with much sci-fi/fantasy drivel that does get published and read, but I know you can do better too.
..and don't take anything I say too seriously. I am after all prematurely critiquing a single short chapter produced spontaneously after years of not writing.
Depth can be subsequently expanded upon with what you have here, but if you were to publish it, I would rewrite this first chapter after you know more about it's depth, and what tensions you need to begin alluding to. - You appear to realize that this is the standing of this work-in-progress anyhow.
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Serin
Lurker
My life is Movement, constant movement...like going downhill without brakes.
Posts: 97
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Post by Serin on Feb 3, 2009 22:15:18 GMT -5
Some more of the work. A bit more about our main character comes to light.
Day One
Chapter 1
The boy that the contractors sent over sent the last screw into the new wooden door, swinging it open and shut a few times to view his work. I was back over by the t.v., trying to get a handle on these new baseball rules. “It’s done, Mr. McGreggor.” The boy called from the front of the apartment, putting his tools back in his bag. I ignored him the best I could, but looked at him when he coughed. He was holding his hand out, and his eyes seemed to beg for some loose change. “You want a tip, kid?” I said, turning my head towards the television. “Get a different job.” The kid tossed open the door, giving me the finger. “f**k off, old f**k!” He shouted, slamming the door behind him. Kids these days, thinking that cursing was just putting bad words together… My internal monologue was cut short when I heard another knock at the door. This one was louder, heavier than the boy who came earlier. It seemed to echo around the room, drowning out the game. “Give me a second.” I said. I began to limp my way over towards the nightstand as the visitor knocked again. Three solid strikes, the same amount of force. “God Damn it, I said wait!” “I’m afraid this cannot wait long, Jonas Mcgreggor.” The voice was a soft alto, with a slight Cornwall accent. It sounded like the person had been schooled by wealth. It didn’t match the knocking at the door one bit. I pulled what I was looking for out of the nightstand, and gestured the lock open again. “Come in.” As she stepped in the doorway, the room itself seemed to grow three shades darker. The figure was dressed in black from head to toe, and a solid veil covered her face. White armbands were around both her wrists, which were currently in the air. “I come in peace, Cleanser.” The figure said, pointing her finger at the window. The shades dropped, the room lit with the hallway lamp framing her from behind. The t.v. was behind me, the black and white picture giving me the same effect of the light. I lifted both of my hands, keeping them open as she did. “You are received in peace, Herald.” I could almost feel her smile behind that veil as she lowered her arms, shutting the door behind her with a sweep of her arm. “It’s refreshing to know someone retains the old ways.” I lowered my hands, and walked over towards the sofa again. “Don’t be too impressed, undead. Remember that the old ways were unkind to your species.” I said, looking at the game. “Though, things change.” The figure moved her hands back to her shoulders. I felt myself tense for an attack, the sofa helping me stand straight as I faced her. Her gentle laugh escaped past the veil. “As I said, I come in peace.” Her hands moved upwards, lifting the veil from her head. As the light from the t.v. outlined her features, I felt my heart stop. It was Mandy. Or, at least she looked like my dead wife. Everything from the sharp cheekbones to the slight slant in her eyes. Even the way she curled her mouth as she smiled, her body relaxing as she turned her gaze to me. I pulled the gun, aiming it dead center on her chest. The hammer on the .44 colt was cocked and ready, and I had her heart in my sights. “You aren’t very bright, are you?” She grinned, and I felt my finger squeeze on the trigger, barely holding myself back. The vampire spread her arms wide, almost as if she was waiting for the bullet. “It is a sign of respect, Cleanser. I meant no harm.” She said, and for the life of me I couldn’t detect a lie. “It’s a damned foolish one. Now put your veil back on, before I blast her memory from your vile head.” The gun remained level as my heart raced. The Revenant gave a nod, replacing the hood with a gesture. I kept the gun trained on her. “Why are you here, Herald? The clans don’t send messengers to humans without a damned good reason.” She just stood there as she spoke, her body deathly still. “I wished to apologize for the actions that my children tried to impart on you last night.” I lowered the barrel of the weapon, moving to sit down in the sofa. “Accepted.” The figure moved, but not towards the door. She moved closer to the sofa, her head turned towards the television. “Callows is using the designated hitter rule. Smart choice since his injury last week.” I looked up at the figure. “Wait. You understand what’s going on here?” I said, pointing the barrel of the gun at the t.v. “Don’t you?” She said, her gaze unmoving from the game. “No. I haven’t watched this thing since the Sixties.” I stood up again, moving towards the refrigerator. I felt the toe of my shoe scrape against something near one of the baseboards, and looked down to see a shard of glass from the bottle I broke last night. “The apology wasn’t the only reason I came here, you know.” She said. “I guessed as much. Usually a Revenant wouldn’t be this worried about a rogue vampire attack, unless it attacked another Revenant.” I grabbed a bottle of beer from the fridge, and looked at her. “And, as you see, I’m still alive.” I opened the top of the bottle on the counter, and took a drink, the gun still in my hand, the hammer still drawn back. “We need your help, Jonas McGreggor.” I sprayed beer across the room, coughing a fit as I leaned on the sink for support. She began to step towards me, and I felt her hands on my shoulders as I coughed up blood. Strong hands pulled me from the sink, setting me down on the couch as I continued to cough, a rough hand forcing two pills into my palm. I downed the medication on instinct, and took it with a gulp of beer, sighing as it took effect. “You have got to be s**ting me, girl.” “I am not in jest, and I am no girl.” She said, handing me a towel. I snatched it from her, wiping my lips as I looked up at her. She had taken my gun, and was dropping the bullets on the table at my side. “I was quite serious when I requested your help.” “Then you really are dense.” I said, gasping for air after the coughing fit. “Look at me. I retired out of the business for a reason, and I thought that the ethereal world would be happy about it.” She turned towards the door. “You retired, that much is true. But look at yourself.” she began to walk towards the door, and I noticed that her steps didn’t make a sound. “Sitting here in the dark, trying to force half a century of culture down your eyes. Sitting in your little world, rotting away as a perfectly treatable disease tears your body apart.” She then spun on me, her back against the door and her arms spread wide. “Nearly two hundred years of life, and you choose to end it like this? Why?” I staggered up from the sofa, palming one of the shells in my hand. “Everyone has to die sometime.” I said, looking at her. “I just want to die alone, and at peace.” Her shoulders lowered, as if the strength was drained from her. A sudden pressure filled the room as she began to chant. The t.v. crackled twice, then died, drenching the room in shadow. Her figure seemed to glow in the darkness, and I saw her true face as she raised her head, a shining rapier held in her hand. “I can’t allow that.” She said as she lunged.
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Post by Nixie on Feb 3, 2009 23:41:54 GMT -5
Huh. So there's some sort of war going on that this ancient man McGregor is NOT involved in, but apparently a bunch of vampires want to involve him? Odd. He fought pretty well in the last chapter for a dying man...
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Serin
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My life is Movement, constant movement...like going downhill without brakes.
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Post by Serin on Feb 4, 2009 13:03:17 GMT -5
I have to get this off my chest, because I believe that it's the biggest problem with my writing:
"If you make people think that they're thinking, they love you; if you make people think, they hate you." -- Harlan Ellison.
I think that's my biggest problem in writing is my pacing. I was raised around Asimov, Clarke, Heinlein and Sturgeon. Old sci-fi writers, back when a bit of mystery about your character was acceptable.
Back when you COULD wait until the later parts of the book to reveal your characters, when you could let their quirks play out over chapters of length.
I wanted to make Jonas McGreggor a character that withdrew himself for a reason that was his, and his alone. I wanted him to be pulled back into a world he left behind, on grounds he refused to comply with. I wanted his story to unfold at a parallel with the main story, revealing his character, making the reader look back and SEE why he acted the way he did.
Instead, to please my fans, I have to push him forward. I have to bring his story out to the front so they can read it.
That's why I don't have the motivation to write anymore. Because no one wants to sit down and actually piece together a character. They want it fresh, out of the box with an instruction manual to his past trauma, emotions and all.
All I ask is that you give it time. I won't leave a character with plot holes, but I would like to make sure I have time to mix the cement before I fill it up.
I wrote this story as a spur of the moment, to evaluate my literary technique as well as my story idea. My literary technique, as least in the grammar and structure area, has improved. That gives me some confidence.
But why should I even attempt if my characters are judged before all the pieces are assembled?
I leave you with the question. If you want to read more, let me know.
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Post by Nixie on Feb 4, 2009 14:00:34 GMT -5
Mmm, no, that really isn't the case at all. Everything it happening too fast in this story. This McGregor character isn't mysterious enough and you're rushing to explain things. I like piecing a character together, but you're throwing everything about him at me at once, so fast that it doesn't all sink in. I do wonder why he's called the Cleanser, and what this illness of his is, and why a sick old man can beat up vampires... But what I wonder about more is, what made him sink so low? DON'T TELL ME. Please, let me guess. The problem isn't structure or having character that's too mysterious. It's pacing as well as character developement. You're not going too slow to reveal characters. In fact, you're going too fast. We haven't gotten a chance to 'know' this character at all. I know it's good to start a story with a bang, but... You start by describing what this guy is watching on TV and having for dinner, and then you suddenly jump to a fight, and then you suddenly jump to having a mysterious visitor that looks like McGregor's wife. There's no preamble, no break from the action to actually contemplate what's going on, no way to see this character as anything but a guy trying to eat his dinner through multiple distractions. It would've been nice if, after being attacked by these three vampires, he had to clean up the mess in his apartment and stumbled on a photo of his wife. Something as small as showing his reaction to a picture of his wife would be great character development. Would he smash the picture frame? He seemed mighty offended by the strange visitor that looked like his wife, but we don't know why. Did he love his wife so much that anybody impersonating her is offensive, or did something so terrible happen between them that any reminder of her makes him want to kill people? A small glimpse into his past would clarify things a lot, but you don't have to go revealing plot twists from long ago. Small glimpses are a good thing. In my story, My Dear Supervillain, I'm very careful about pacing and not revealing too much about characters too quickly. When the supervillain is first introduced, she's watching television with her boyfriend. She's nervous around him, but I didn't tell the readers why; he speaks gruffly and callously to her, but I didn't explain why. This was not a time of intense action, just two characters interacting. I waited until about halfway through the chapter to reveal that she was a supervillain. I hinted that her boyfriend was abusive, and that she was trying very hard not to hurt him with her uncontrollable powers. While there was fighting and action in the story, it wasn't just action purely for the sake of action. Even in a fight, the characters were constantly evolving and being pieced together. And in between these actiony fights, there were cool-down times. Characters would do things like balance their checkbooks and worry that they won't be able to pay for school, or they'd be flipping burgers at work and trying not to slip to their coworkers that they're superheroes. Remember that there's a little formula for stories that makes them worth reading: rising action! While you want to start with a bang, you don't want that bang to just keep on banging throughout the whole story. You want to hear echoes of that bang, but the entire thing can't be action, action, action. I want to know what effects this new war will have on McGregor's daily life. he doesn't seem to be the type of guy to pick up a sword and embark on an epic adventure just because somebody tells him to. Giving characters time to think gives readers time to think. I would like to read more of this story. Really, I would. But slow down with the intense action, and let me get to know at least a little more about McGregor!
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Post by Kristal Rose on Feb 4, 2009 17:38:06 GMT -5
I have not read the latest chapter; I want to return from my appointment to read it with due care. Ceilidh said much the same sort of thing I would have said, especially about the 'glimpses'.
I read a lot of Heinlein, Clarke, and Asimov. Their timing is indeed good, but, as with Steven King even, their characters all suck, all lack depth, and all lack hooks for the reader to appreciate them from the inside out. They are perfect behavior actors lacking soul. Read Ceilidh's DSV. Her characters do have soul (term used loosely).
Don't take Ellison's quote too superficially. What you want to do is make people think, but rig the game so they think what you want them to think. You don't spell out that someone is sadistic, you give clues such that readers feel they figured this out on their own. The more they figure out on their own (without having to work at it), the more they have internalized and identify with the character. This sort of figuring out though should happen through atmosphere and body language and such, and not require rational deduction; Few readers appreciate that labor. You can work in an element that requires deduction, a puzzle for the reader to solve, but it should be somewhat clear that that is the puzzle, and you don't want to use that as a general approach to everything and everyone. If you're really on top of your game, you'll have decided which characters your readers want to trust but are having suspicions about.
To get back to character depth.. Too many authors, especially men, operate as if actions reveal the inner program. Know the actions and you know the program and thus know the person. They may feel this to be the case in real life as well. The program is not the person though. The interesting part of a person is the part which writes their program; not the part of their character which is lazy or hopeless, but the part which has reacted to life by becoming lazy and hopeless, and still wrestles to possibly break out of this and find something else. - In any good story the plot of this inner person is just as important as the outer actions which reflect this inner change. Readers don't identify with settings and events, they identify with characters. Settings and events exist to modify or reflect the characters. If we can't feel your character responding to or driving settings and events, there is no story; one event means no more than another.
There are exceptions, of course, for instance Indiana Jones movies. Indiana Jones movies however are not so much novels as they are roller-coaster rides, full of universal stimuli meant to affect the audience directly, even if the main character was C3P0. Physical stimulus isn't much of a story, even if it can be a rush. No one goes home to contemplate these movies or has their life changed by them.
The strength of Clarke, Heinlein, and Asimov is peddling concepts. Without powerful new concepts to intrigue readers, there isn't much to their writing.
Yet another avenue is that of the utopian/dystopian authors like Orwell and Huxley. In these books the zeitgeist of society is the main character, with the full depth of any character, such as how they got there, what makes them tick, and the reader is engaged in a philosophical debate with this character as they get to know them.
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Serin
Lurker
My life is Movement, constant movement...like going downhill without brakes.
Posts: 97
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Post by Serin on Feb 4, 2009 20:39:27 GMT -5
I'm going to air it out now: I like action. If you haven't learned already.
But a person's actions, like Jonas, can serve as a tip-off to a larger piece of the person. Yes, he was offended that a creature he never met before decided to use his dead wife's face. But why doesn't he have any pictures of her in the apartment? Why did he threaten her because of it? Was it because of a simple offense, because a creature killed her, because she betrayed him?
I've learned through my short time alive that a person's actions simply belie their true nature. If I made my character the suave, rich person dusting off creatures of the night, he wouldn't have much substance as a person. I made him someone who Wants to be forgotten, and let the actions and dialog of characters later on piece together WHY he wants to disappear.
And I found Heinlein's characters to have a disturbing amount of depth. Glory Road, for instance, asks the question of what you do with a retired hero. Only near the end of the book do you realize how much planning and preparation it took for that hero to be created, how everything had to be positioned in his life to get him to open up the right-hand door in Nice. you get to see something grand, decades long, in the eyes of a person who hasn't even hit 40. I find that his characters act like People: they lie, cheat, swindle, feel, and regret. I can't stand authors like Stephanie Meyer and Terry Goodkind who don't at least try to throw a curveball with their characters. With Heinlein, you could only venture as to what their outcome would be given a situation.
[Another one to read is Stranger in a Strange Land, and Starship Troopers. Both famous, both very emotive characters.]
What I want with my characters is similar to what you see in older fiction. You are presented a template [the retiree[, and a bit of what they were before [Cleanser]. Then you begin to trace from both ends, working your readers with bits from his past and the small nudges in the line of fate that led him down the road. You inspect his faults, his trips, his mistakes. And you make the character aware of what he done wrong, why he's in the state he is in.
Or, you read the character from a blank slate, and watch how he reacts when he discovers what he was, what he is destined to be.
You make your characters superhuman, and give them wholly human flaws. so when a reader hears about how one bad step brought a fall, they can connect to those times that it could have been different for them. They can connect with the character in an empathic way, whether it's sympathy or apathy.
The reason I gave away a lot of information in the first chapter was to try to answer enough questions for the crowd here. The reason he can dust away vampires? He's been doing it for 200 years, to the point of boredom. Three punks won't faze him. It's why I was detatched in the prologue, because it is how he feels about it in real life. A minor incident in a life of minor incidents.
His disease, his wife, his past. All of them were meant to spread over at least two chapters of dialog. I rushed it to make my fan base happy. It failed miserably, it seems.
As I stated in Confession, I worry that my dream is slipping past. Maybe it's because i'm setting it to too high of a standard.
I think I know my strength, but you tell ME what it is.
And, once again, I ask if you want to read more.
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Post by Nixie on Feb 5, 2009 1:00:16 GMT -5
I want to read more.
I just realized something. I can see why this story seems so rushed. These chapters are only a page long, and yet you try to cram as much content into them as another author would try to show in 20 pages. What you're writing right now will be a short story unless you do a few hundred chapters, but you write it as if it's meant to be a novel.
EDIT: I just realized something else. You're writing like a journalist, not an author. Instead of writing to intrigue, you're writing to get the point across as quickly and clearly as possibly, and you try to omit any sort of bias. You don't dwell on people's thoughts or feelings, you get straight to, "This is what happened at this place and time." That works for journalism, but in stories, it makes the entire thing dry and uninteresting, like reading a textbook about the subject matter.
When you write novels, you want to intrigue the reader, not just state what happened. When you're writing to intrigue, you WANT bias in your story, and you usually want to be biased in favor of the protagonist. Bias in a story doesn't just mean this character wins every fight; it means that you feel his pain when he suffers and laugh when he laughs, and you convey those feelings to the reader. When you write to intrigue, even in the action genre, it's not all about the actions. Would a story about a kid learning martial arts hold the same kind of appeal to you that this story does? There would be lots of kicking and punching and maybe practice matches against other students. That's pure action. Actions may drive a story, but actions themselves don't make a story. You could still make a story out of a kid learning martial arts, but it wouldn't be about the kicks and punches; it might be about how he's trying to follow in his father's footsteps and become a kung fu master, or perhaps he wants revenge against the school bully. These aren't the greatest plots in the world, but they could still easily become stories.
Does this story hold any interest to you at all? If it does, what interests you about it? Are you really just interested in crazy fighting moves that one can use against vampires, or are you interested in something about McGregor? Whatever interests you most about the story, THAT is what you should emphasize. You say you like action, but what is it about action that you like?
Even in action stories (and movies; you write this as if it should be a movie) there's always rising action. Things start slow and then they heat up. We only had a few paragraphs before a spontaneous fight erupted, and all we knew about McGregor was that he watches TV. You have to have a hook, something that gets people interested, before getting into mindless action.
My story is most definitely an action/drama/fantasy book. I spent a whole page developing my superhero character before I stated he was a superhero (at that time he was a sidekick, though). Nothing even remotely actiony happened for three pages, even though my story is action-based. You got to know a little bit about the characters before things got intense. The first intense action is a supervillain running from a superhero without even putting up a fight. The fact that she immediately ran away tells you something about her character, and is actually more intriguing than an outright fight. The next actiony thing is that same supervillain being kicked out of her home by her abusive boyfriend. The next conflict after that is the villain tearfully insisting to a superhero that she isn't being abused. The next conflict after that is her slipping up and revealing to this hero that she's actually a serial killer, which initiates a fight. Notice anything? Even in action stories, fights don't just happen because it's cool, and they usually do more than just initiate plot twists. Fights should be treated as a plot DEVICE, not the plot itself, and they should reveal something about the characters involved.
McGregor doesn't care about this war. Why should we?
... Again, I want to read more. Try to flesh out your chapters with something more than solid action, though. Give yourself a little more time and a little more paper to write on.
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Serin
Lurker
My life is Movement, constant movement...like going downhill without brakes.
Posts: 97
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Post by Serin on Feb 5, 2009 8:26:19 GMT -5
Honestly, between the way I believe that i'm writing and the way you describe it, I don't think we're talking about the same stories.
I'll see about writing more. But, honestly, my viewpoint is going to be confused anyway. Why bother?
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Post by Kristal Rose on Feb 5, 2009 8:38:40 GMT -5
I didn't say anything, but reading the prologue, it occurred to me too that you were writing as journalist.
Ok, I've read chapter one now, and not Kiwi's comments on it yet (or not much yet).
This chapter is better, I have no problem with the pacing. Not enough writing yet to make such a call. Waxing on more about setting or societal context would have been more comfortable a way to start than the cold starkness here, but that's a matter of taste more than good writing, which can go either way.
I wish I could explain what I was saying about characters. I enjoyed 'Stranger in a Strange Land', but in large part because Michael Valentine's life was an analogue for spiritual faculties I was going through at the time. He was a bit like Heinlein's other Michael, the computer in 'The Moon is a Harsh Mistress'. Even with those best of his characters (that I am familiar with), we never get in their heads, or at least not in any way that can be felt. In ways that can be thought, yes. His characters are intricately crafted such that we can deduce their thoughts and even their philosphies on matters, but even when we are in their heads, it's as if we are looking at them from the outside. Their thoughts and even decision processes feel no less like actions than their actions. We can never feel what it is like to feel through their eyes. Many many acclaimed authors are incapable of achieving this. It is for me the distinction between an author having the magical gift of writing, and merely the honed craftsmanship of writing. It s like the difference between two violinists, both playing note for note with the same technical mastery, but one playing from deep in the soul, and the other going through the motions of telling a story. A million barely measurable nuances in moving concordance make the difference between one performance being cold and dry, and the other breathing with a powerful life of it's own.
A really good author could describe a flower and get you so close to the core of it's essence that you see God there instead.
In the manner you, and excellent but not superb writers - write, we can only identify with characters we have already been ourselves, and the best we can do with others is recognize them as we recognize acquaintances we have not become deeply intimate with to some level of soul sharing. We can predict what they will think and do, but we still can't imagine what it would feel like to feel through their eyes.
I like drama and fiction which takes me to other worlds. People are other worlds. I don't want to see innocence or defiance, I want to experience it for myself. I don't want to just see a star-lit swamp, I want to see it though the eyes of someone who sees the bubbling mud as an orgy between faeries and ogres.
Folks like Heinlein won their awards not because they were superb writers, but because their concepts were on the frontier of possibilities people were considering at that point in history. With polished labor in character and plot development, and some original concepts of your own, you could write just as well Heinlein yourself. I don't think Heinlein would fare as well if he began his career today. I don't think King would have nearly as much readership either if he had not built up his fan base from back in the days when his material was innovative. - Honestly, I haven't read any recent fiction (unless Anne Rice counts), but I must imagine that the standards have heightened just as they have for movies since the 50-70's; That they too must now be well written not from one perspective or level of access, but from several.
Back to a moment of critique. You linger on nothing. No single action or object exudes a story. It's not like you didn't have a chance either; Something like the back-lighting of the hall lamp or TV could have been a living force, a mustering drone of static from the dark ether as he gazed, the uncontainable white crackle of cesium framing his hair and penetrating the walls, vivid relentless impeding Blitz-Krieg, and as he raised his hand buzzing hand, the silent swooping abyss in his wake; but no, just the same effect as the light in the hall, which might have been the effect of smoke stained bulbs which haven't been changed since Edison invented them. You treated your opportunity like a cheap post-production effect, or worse, like an archetypal costume prop.
Do not forget the most important rule of fiction writing of all, people read to be moved. Action is not life. A dead silence in the abyss can be more alive than the most dramatic war battle. You are writing in matter-of-fact style. That excuse may work for creating the ambience you want of him, but I hope not for her as well.
I think the practice you need most now is making things come alive: objects, actions, settings, events, anything. Alive. If a TV or tea-spoon helps tell the story, it should be the sort of tea-spoon that get's locked in an underground vault or taken to the Grammys, a tea-spoon you handle carefully lest you accidentally resurrect Queen Victoria.
When you're done writing a passage, you should want a shower to shake it off. You need to go way over the top, into the outer fringes of what you can sustain, and then compress that back into the physical and subconscious limitations of your world. Believable experiential amplification. I'd say intense, but intense is just one possibility. Your calm and serenity needs to be so over the top that you've imparted clarity of thought or an opium drift in your reader as well. Matter-of-fact is like watching an ant farm.
You've provided evidence that with some labor you could be an acceptable published author. If that's what you would like to do, than by all means go for it. It should be rewarding. It's my role, when confronted with anything, to make people reach higher.
If you wrote more here, I would read it, mostly because it's you writing, and it's not sufferable writing. As far as published books I would read, I only have time for the superb writers, and they are few and far between. Alas, sometimes it takes a few chapters to determine if they make up for a lack of good writing with good story, and by then it's too much of an investment to drop the book.
Of course this breathing soul thing applies mostly to fiction. Thomas Cahill is a superb author of another sort. He writes historical biographies of cultures and the people within them, for instance the disciples of Jesus in 'Desire of the Everlasting Hills'. His writing, though conveying philosophical and spiritual material, is of a sort so concrete, not at all over the top, yet plain spokenly addressed from every angle, that when he's told you something, you can have no doubt about it. Instead of bringing the mundane into a life which extends into the felt but unseen supernatural realms, he brings the supernatural to life by making it as plain and solid as a tree; and yet he does this not by expanding upon supernatural biblical material at all, but by showing the seeds of radically sensational ramifications and motivational implications of documented political and sociological facts of the disciples lives within the context of their age.
~ and now on to Kiwi's comments: Well, I agree with most all of that. It struck me that you were writing a movie too, and thus I forgave the immediate action as typical of the manner most any action movie begins. The reason you write in two pages rather than 20 is that you brush over everything as quick facts instead of breathing a single detail into life. At what point are we supposed to begin 'feeling' what's going on here? If it goes on like this indefinitely, the story will always be one thing, and our feelings 'about' the story another. We need feelings 'of', not 'deduced about'.
1970's James Bond movies are a poor analogy for your work because 'technically' your character has far more background depth and plot, but the feeling is still much the same. Recently though, in this age where audiences demand better, they made use of Bond's traditional emptiness, and made it a deep living emptiness rather than a shallow plastic emptiness. He has become more enigmatic rather than meaningless, and not because we know anything more about him, but because we can now feel his cold emptiness. With Roger Moore there simply wasn't any presence to contemplate. That's another term for the key factor missing in your writing, 'presence'. Everything should have a 'vibe'. I see just a hint of it in your main character. Vibe should be so thick that your reader lives it, and it should be intriguing, although really, most any vibe, even that of an insipid kid, should be intriguing if laid on thick enough for the reader to experience them self. Life is life. A good author (or any form of artist or musician for that matter) is in the business of delivering life energy. Craft of fabrication and conveyance alone can not make up for for an author not being tapped into or creating life energy them selves.
This is why my advice to you is, (and has been over the years, actually) to go out and learn to live. To get the most out of life you'll need to do it whether you write or not. Over your years in the service (quickly from the onset, unfortunately) I watched your zeal, hope, and connection fade, and tried coming up with exercises, either externally, connecting with people and setting, or internally, taking up harmonica, to keep your connection vivid and fascinating. I've lost it myself in various fashions and phases over the decades, and I can tell you it takes just as much time and energy to get back up as it did falling. Well, I'm not sure that's always so true. Sometimes one get's an instant rebirth here or there. I think you do need at least to recognize when you're in need of one and make it your desire instead of sleep-walking through the status-quo.
I'll be blunt with you, if I haven't been obvious enough already. What happened to your writing is what happened to you. You've become detached. It's the very thing I would expect to happen to most anyone serving in the military, especially in a war, and the reason I tried talking you out of going in the first place. Of course you had to live that life you had been writing about back then. There was no stopping you. Now that you are back, sort of, you have to regain what you lost there. Some things, like the idealism you had before then, you will probably never get back, I'm sorry to say. Other precious things you can rediscover in new places though. Life has still just begun for you. Question your attitudes of habit before they become permanent, and you'll find that you can sing and dance on a whim, inquisitively turn over rocks, or really become most any sort of experiencer of life you choose to be.
What you fear, you fear with good reason, and that is because you know you let yourself set course there. That you fear it is good. It means that all hope is not lost, and that you are conscious now that you have a choice to make.
Don't ask us to make that choice for you. Life and love will come to you if you grab it, be it, and make it happen. It's not about whether you are skilled or worthy of love, it's about the life you choose to live. {I have the strangest sense of déja-vu about saying this, as if one of us told the other this years ago, and the thought was buried for safe-keeping for a time of emergency.}
..and yes of course we care about you and want the fullest life for you, but the choice is still yours.
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As to your fresh comment, two of us, both readers and writers concur. There are two likely explanations. One, what is in your head and what you are conveying are not the same. For instance you might have vividly pictured that scene with the hall light and tv, but gave us no more description than just that. Two, not all readers and writers are on the same wavelength. Action and matter-of-fact plot may be the channel through which you absorb stories, and if so, it's understandable that you would only write through such mechanisms. If you do so though, you are missing readers who are looking for other ways into the heads of characters and the story told through the underlying vibes of actions, objects, and settings.
Keep in mind that I implied the same accusations of Heinlein's and Clarkes writing as well, where we are also most certainly talking about the same author styles, if not the same stories; and our opinions differed there as well. So either their writing style connects to you better than to us, we are familiar with writers who have more to offer, or at the minimum, there are writers who write to our faculties better than them. To me, Heinlein and Clarke don't convey much vibe or give us the feeling of being the characters even if we understand their thoughts well. Either their style does this for you, or your experience requirements from a story are different. To put it simpler, you may be looking for a story to occur in your mind rather than being felt, or it is different writing mechanisms which make you feel.
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