Vampires

[Serin]

Thank you, Krystal. I'll get to writing.

But one thing that bothers me is that Nothing is simple here. I never get just a simple word of appreciation. I have to sift through paragraph upon paragraph of explanation and revision, then have to infer it from the person's desire to read. It's mentally tiring enough to work, come back, write, then have to slog through paragraphs just to get to the reason WHY I write.

I write to please other people. I'm not doing it, and it seems that I never have.

One of the few people that read my works regularly is currently going through rough times in the economy, not to mention her own feelings. With that gone, i'm left to post it up here. Where it's constantly revised under an electron microscope.

I will admit now, I don't like MDS. I'm finishing reading the first chapter now, and I have a list of things that irk me about it.

Now, for my response. Do I flesh out ever single thing, try to change her style of writing because it irks me? Or do I look at it for the good parts, and congratulate her on doing well?

I congratulate her. Because she IS doing well, because her idea isn't something i've read before.

And because my views on composition, pacing, and character development differ from hers. I understand this, and accept it. I could scan over every line, pointing out every time it becomes redundant, unclear or silly.

But I won't. Because she is doing what everyone does when they engage in something they enjoy: Her best.

So i'll praise her for it. She deserves it.

I'll get to writing, my way, when something new pops up in my head.

[Kristal Rose]

No things aren't simple here. We, especially myself, tend to make much intricately complicated.

Doing anything to please other people is a real sticky business. I was just writing about this a week ago to Kiwi. Doing things for your own love of them is great. Chances are that your love of you work will be contagious and result in better writing. Doing things for others out of pure love with no desire for yourself, including even the desire to be gratified by their delight can work out well. Laboring for others however, especially when you feel entitled to a change in outcome for your efforts, is a very subtle form of martyrdom or passive-aggression, and the universe tends to punish this form prideful expectation more than reward it.

My son committed suicide, two major companies released the musical product I had spent two years and great cost developing, a building inspection has taken months out of my life moving belongings and being forced to remodel, and I am now in the urgent midst of filling out a 74 page (plus accompanying tables) bankruptcy form of the sort which requires studies of law to fill out; all this within the last six months. I am familiar with rough times.

We are very critical here. Positive criticism, meaning that of the sort which can leave to improvement. That which is left alone is implied to be useful, and we do cheer each other on over particularly enjoyable, clever, or innovative content or technique. You won't find so much of in DSV critiques, because DSV finally meets my particular writing standards, but before that Ceilidh endured ten solid years of critiques like the ones you are complaining about now.

Accentuating only the positive, while feel-good, is insufficient for gaining knowledge about craft, and leaves one stabbing in the dark. This is only a fan site when we're in the mood for entertainment.

Your key words here are revealing: 'idea', 'composition', 'pacing', 'character development'. Unquestionably all of these are important to her, and frankly they suit my tastes almost perfectly. ..However, none of these concerns are the concerns which we found in need of considerable development in your work (well, maybe Ceilidh had different tastes fora couple of those). If they are your primary concerns, then you are reading on a different level than us, and missing out on what we consider to be the content here. Clearly hers is another genre, and we don't have any need to find things like irony, silly wit, supernatural parallelism, or any of the specific character traits like angst or frustration in your stuff as well, but what we do hope for is that in reading a story, there is a sense of it being lived, and not just witnessed.

I rather doubt it, after the decade of deep discussions on creating and portraying content, but it is remotely possible that her and I are self deluded, and have this sense of living her work and only witnessing yours because we relate to the characters more.

She was generally adverse to my advice every time it was offered, and eventually grew to adopt it, coming up with her own content (always hers), awareness, and techniques the whole time too, of course. Many times I had to tell her the same thing I am telling you now. Advice is only advice, and every opinion is different; consider it all with an open mind, adopt what you like and see value in, and disregard the rest without ever taking personal offense.

Whether you choose to adopt an opinion or advice or not, anytime you fail to understand why someone felt the way they felt and said what they said, you have missed a chance to expand your own knowledge, wisdom, and insight. A writers craft much involves understanding multiple perspectives. - Everyone lives in their own slightly or vastly different universe. You have little hope of translating and conveying your universe of perspective to others if you are unable to grok theirs.

We said we are unable to feel your story. That is not a condemnation of you, nor are we lying to you about our experience. You have two choices, not write for audiences of our type, or figure out what it is that we aren't getting from your writing. You have more to learn from the latter choice.

You might also consider that we are both witches or mystics of varying degrees of experience, and even within regular life have awareness of that which lies beyond the mortal domain. We are what you might call a tough audience.

I'm really overdue for sleep to make another appt today, but I can rush over some highlights of your work from memory: the interaction with the TV, watching from a distant building, - I'll have to get back to this when I can give it proper time.

Let me tell you one important thing about your audience though. I leave movies to go make coffee during fight scenes, not so much because I don't care for fights, but because they rarely contain anything I consider to be story content, same goes for the lovemaking scenes to a lessor degree.

[Nixie]

Much wisdom in that last post.

We are a tough audience. We like you, Serin, and this is why we're trying so hard to give a deep critique, but we look for deeper meaning in writing. MDS was the best thing I had to compare your work to, not only because it's an actiony sort of thing, but because we both write for similar reasons.

I write to please people. Primarily others, but I also write to please myself.

If you aren't happy about your writing, it shows.

You used to enjoy writing and we used to enjoy your works. Don't forget that! We know what words have been tapped out of your keyboard. Until you enjoy writing again, I don't know if you'll find us writing good things about your works.

Kristal likes MDS. If you actually look in any of the threads about it, you'll see pages upon pages of complaints of about style and pacing and scientific errors, and even posts about how my story's horribly unrealistic because they should all be living in a Utopian society by that time... I've even gotten complaints about the materials used in the story (Why is it concrete? It should be plastic!). Don't think we're singling you out or picking on your works. WE ARE HARSH CRITICS HERE. Even in stories we like, we always find things that need improved. There's only one story thread where you won't find critique like this: The Bada Bing Stories. I've got the phrase "If you can't say somethin' nice, don't say nothin' at all" in mind. I'd say about five or six posts in that entire thread are from people other than the author, and I don't think anyone here has read more than one chapter of his works... There are good things about your writing, which is why you're getting critique.

We miss your old work. It had more soul.

I hate saying this because I always hated hearing it, myself...

You need to do writing exercises to get back in your groove. I know you like action, but action really only means that intense things happen. Try writing something intense about something without fighting. it doesn't have to be a story. Find something you feel strongly about and amplify it in words. Do you like tomato soup? Write about tomato soup so that it sounds like an edible orgasm. Do you hate powdered milk? Exaggerate that hatred like the Aquabats did in the form of a song!

Right now, there's no emotion in your works. Find emotion and put it back in there, and your words will be much more palatable.

[Kristal Rose]

As you see, Kiwi found abundant criticism even in the threads where I perceived myself as just letting her coast along.

This is your thread, but since you bring up DSV, it's timely for me to say..

I don't care if you like DSV or not; we all have our tastes, and you seem to find her genre a touch insipid, which is just fine. - Since you are a writer though, I don't want you walking away from her writing without also recognizing what sort of remarkably ground breaking achievement it is though. What she set out to do as experiment, and I believe wholly succeeded in, is incorporating genuine serious angsty introspective drama in a light-hearted supernatural comic realm of light witty comedy. The Kings of the seed of that genre had been Kurt Vonnegut, Douglas Adams, and Philip K. Dick, and she has pushed the boundaries of all of them without reading any of them.

I suggested the concept as an experiment, as I already saw the seeds of it in her prior work, but I wasn't even sure it could be done; The accomplishment is all hers.

I can do the same or you, if you're up for labor and deep criticism with an open mind. Not the exact same of course. You will have different seeds which lead to your own great unique strength as a writer. You would need to do an array of creative exploration first though, and catch up on some lost territory. Off the top of my head, the way you've been heading, I'd say your field will be more closely related to crime mystery drama, the sort told more with a cold clinical portrayal of facts than immersion in passions. There are audiences who prefer not to escape into the feelings of others, but rather to escape into not feeling. That doesn't mean any style or technique of content creation and conveyance should escape your arsenal of tools in development.

I suggest you come back to the content threads here when you have a variety of new stuff to try out and are up for harsh constructive criticism. Further chapters of Vampires would probably necessarily be locked into the same story-telling voice, and elicit the same quality of criticism. We could go on critiquing your 'story' and your techniques for unfolding it, but it's your emotional content and style of writing delivery where you could use some exercise in improvement.

If you're going to continue writing it anyhow, by all means keep posting it here. Better to keep writing it than to write no fiction at all. What I think would be most useful to you though for now is to 'find yourself'. Experimentation in writing can be a good means of doing that.

Whatever you do, I encourage you to stay active and welcome here, with or without further writing. Don't get bogged down with notions of esteem or worthy contribution. We would be happy just to hear that you made pancakes or came face to face with a black squirrel when climbing a tree.

Oh, here's a sudden awareness for you to play with. Your comment written today 2/5/09 at 6:11am is far better writing, in the respect we have been concerned with, than your story. When you drop in a line like 'revised under an electron-microscope', your words have deep-seated significance. The symbolic archetype is unleashed with a feeling that has presence. You just need to get back to doing the same thing in your story writing, believing in and living your story, and not just crafting it as a distant day-dream. If you can't believe in your story down to your bones, you need to be writing about something else.

[Serin]

Chapter 2

Time slowed as she lunged, bringing her arm up in riposte before extending forward with calm precision. I felt my own arm move upwards, the discarded shell tucked in my palm as she moved forward with impressive speed. As the tip shot past my warm, I let the spell words loose.
Too late. I felt the rapier sink into my chest as the spell went active. At once, time roared back to normal as the shock from the bursting shell flung me against the wall. I felt the rapier sink in deeper as I struck.
This is what death feels like, I thought to myself as a strange warm sensation began to move from my chest, through my body. It felt strange, as if the sword was lulling me to my final rest, filling my limbs with warmth before the Grim Reaper took me.
I looked up, over at the woman who had killed me. The gold bullet had only stuck her arm, turning it into dust upon contact. I could see her face, twisted with pain as she held the side where her arm had once existed.
“I told you I’d wipe her image from your face…” I said, the warmth reaching my fingers and toes. The weight on my chest began to grow lighter, and the rapier seemed to become even lighter. I looked down at where she had struck.
The rapier was gone. All that was left to mark it’s blow was a hole in my shirt.
She laughed from across the room, looking at me as she gripped her side “Well, that takes care of step one.” She said, standing on her feet. Her arm dropped to her side, and she flashed a smile at me.
From here, I could see the transformation clearly. Her face had flattened out, losing Mandy’s cheekbones and eyes. Instead of eyes, darkness filled the slots. Against her pale face, they looked like black marbles.
I gasped for air, though not sure whether it was out of surprise at my well being, or her alien beauty. My hand felt at the hole where she had pierced my heart earlier, finding nothing but skin, ripped cotton, and even more questions.
She held out her hand, and in it was a black sphere. In it’s baseball sized shape, swirls of brown and indescribable colors stirred, disappearing beneath the surface of black before reappearing.
“I was wondering.” She said. “A Cleanser usually lives a lot longer than a simple two centuries. So why were you so desperately ill from a disease that you couldn’t contract?” Her hand tossed the ball up into the air, and caught it again.
I looked at her, walking over to my gun. “And I guess you figured it out all on your own, right?”
She watched me reload the shells in the gun. “Only after your coughing fit did it all fall into place. The attack last night was my first clue.”
“I knew you didn’t come to apologize, Revenant. It was probably you that ordered the hit.” I said, spinning the chamber into place.
“It wasn’t a hit.” I could hear the nails scratching on the chalkboard as she spoke. “Give me more credit than that, Cleanser. It was a test, to see if you really were capable of aiding me.”
I felt the weight in my hand, dropping the pistol to my side as I faced her. “You still haven’t told me why I should help you. You come in here, after your ‘children’ attacked me, to ask for my help. Then, you try to kill me.”
“Oh, I didn’t mean to kill you.” She looked at the ball in her hand. “But this did, didn’t it?”
She was smart. I could give her that, at least. “That isn’t just the curse you removed.”
Her smile seemed to cut the tension between us. I gripped my pistol tighter. “This? This is your death.” She said, looking at the ball. “And until our business is finished, I’m keeping it.”
I struck her in the face, sending her reeling backwards. My knee came up, lifting her off the ground as another blow knocked her to the floor. I moved over her body, striking her over and over with the pistol, until the floor beneath her head cracked. I struck in anger until the anger was gone. All that remained was calm as I placed the gun against her head.
“Give it back, or I’ll blow your goddamned head off.”
She laughed, and I struck her again. She didn’t move a muscle as I placed the barrel against her head again. “Not until you agree to help me, Cleanser.” She said.
I cocked the hammer back, trying my best to keep from shaking, and failing miserably.
“I fear no death. And if you kill me, your own mortality disappears with me.” She said, her head stuck firmly into my floorboards. I felt my finger moving from the trigger as I moved off of her form.
“First, you use my wife…” I said, the words flowing past clenched teeth. “Now you take my one last right from me.”
She lifted herself off the ground, bending forwards to stand up again. Her face was unmarked from the struggle, bits of wood stuck in her jet black hair. “As I said, I need your help. Only you can help me, Cleanser, and I will not stop until I get what I want.”
I moved back over towards the sofa. By now, it seemed my only link to reality. “And what do you want, Revenant? Why steal my mortality?”
She smiled again, moving to turn on the lights. “I need you to find someone for me, and to bring them to justice.”
That was the final straw. I began to laugh out loud, holding onto the sofa as I laughed my lungs out. I laughed for what seemed like an eternity. I was finally able to calm myself to a polite chuckle as I looked at her.
“If you want…heheheh…the detective’s upstairs!” I shouted, laughing again. This time I noticed I wasn’t coughing blood, and I felt myself crash back into reality.
“Are you finished yet, or should I leave you for a few years to get my point across?”
I looked at her, the idea still bringing a smile to my face. “Do you know what I did for a living, at all?”
“You were a Cleanser.” She said. “You were given an area, and you purified it of anything ‘unnatural’ to the Hunters. From the smallest root of aceras to werewolves and ghouls.”
“Right.” I said. “Now, ask yourself where ‘detective’ fits into my resume.”
“It was not meant to, however….”
I cut her off. “You’re damn right, it wasn’t meant to! I went, I searched, I scorched anything that could have posed a threat to humanity. Not once was I expected to solve a mystery or find a killer. I was…”
It was her turn to cut me off. “You were the last effort of the Hunters, only to be called in for an infestation.” She said. “But you have solved murders, you have searched and hunted down fugitives, though you weren’t meant to.”
“And who fed you that pack of lies?” I said, but the confidence had left my voice.
“Your mentor. Dr. Sanjaya.”
“I was afraid of that.” I groaned, looking over to the window. On a shelf, by the window, and old black and white photo was framed, wrinkled and yellow behind the glass. In it stood two men smiling around what seemed to be the results of a wolf hunt.
I was one of the men in the photo. The other was a man nearly seven feet tall in height, his brown skin tone nearly black in the old photograph. The photo was nearly a century old, back during my first hunt with Hakim Sanjaya, Head Exalt of the Hunters.
I smiled as I looked at the photo, thinking back to old times. “I should have known he would have tracked me down, sooner or later. How is the old man?”
“He’s dead.” Her voice was detached, her emotions gone as she said it. “He’s dead.”
The room was silent, or I had simply lost my hearing. My vision began to swim, and I could hear her calling me from the edge of my consciousness.
“Jonas, are you alright? Jonas…Jonas…

“Jonas!” He said, shouting across the fields to me. I looked up from the corpse of the Werewolf I had just killed, the Ash stake still in my hand. He was nearly seven feet tall and as skinny as a telegram pole, his white cummerbund stained with dark red. He held a stake in his right hand, and was waving to me with his left. “Hurry up, you lolligag! We still have a whole coven to clean out!”
I stood up, discarding the corpse behind me in the full moonlight, and walked towards him. I had hardly noticed the movement in the tall grass behind him, but he seemed to pay it no mind, so it was probably nothing.
“I’m here, Boss.” I said, wading through the grass to get to him. I was only five feet ten, so even in the moonlight he cast a shadow as he looked at me. “Is there anything wrong.”
He was about to speak when the werewolf lunged from the tall grass behind him, it’s blood-soaked fangs black against the moon. It howled as it lunged at him, it’s leap high enough to reach his long neck.
Boss didn’t even move his feet. His body swung, his right arm coming up at a perfect arc, catching the beast squarely in the side of it’s head. The ash stake slammed through it’s skull with little to no effort, stopping the wolf in mid-air. He held it out at arm’s length as the beast thrashed and struggled.
I felt my dinner rise up in my chest, and I turned away from the spectacle to deposit my stomach in the tall grass. As my stomach finally stopped churning, I felt a hand pat me on the back.
“You need to have a strong will as well as a strong arm here, Jonas. The enemy won’t hesitate. You should respond in kind.”
I moved to my feet as a strong arm picked me up, looking around in the stillness. “I thought you were going to die.”
The tall man laughed, his echoes shaking the sea of grass around us. “A man can die only when he allows it. Either through inaction, stupidity, or by his own choice. You would do well to remember it, Jonas.” His hand clasped onto my shoulder, and I felt him shaking me in confidence…

I felt her shaking my shoulder in worry as I returned to reality.
“Are you alright?” She asked, her voice higher than usual.
“Who did it?”
“What?” She asked, her hand leaving my shoulder.
“Who killed him? And why?”
She stepped away from me, looking at the picture on the shelf. “If I am correct…the same person I am asking you to hunt.”
“You know, a name would help.” I said, looking at the picture with her.
“It has no name. The spirit world is calling it Mortis.” She walked towards the television. “It has killed the representatives of Summer and Winter in the human realm. I believe it is what killed Dr. Sanjaya.“ She turned to me, and I could almost swear I saw a tear in the darkness.
“And if I can’t stop it, I believe it’s next target is me.”

----------------

I'll keep posting, but i'm doing it because I'm hoping that you'll enjoy it, for it's flaws.

[Kristal Rose]

You're warming up finally. You write much better in first person.

" her head stuck firmly into my floorboards" - Well now there's a phrase you don't see often.

Your writing seems to have made a miraculous sudden recovery.

Jonas is a bit erratic and volatile, but I suppose that's who he is. Monitoring the pressure of his trigger finger could have been substituted with a mechanism more qualitative. If Jonas does in fact get into a mode where life is reduced to a simple life or death decision, then that too is something you might explore the depths of.

I've noticed 'dust' has become part of your personal iconography. One of my better writing teachers would have assigned you to quickly writing a burst of poems, songs, and such about 'dust' until it's true nature is revealed to you. I had a conceptual art teacher who had us do the same thing, working over the semesters to explore our personal vocabulary of 7-21 key symbolic affinities in various visual and performance media. It's a worthwhile ongoing exercise which can lead to your most powerful unique works.

[Nixie]

Hey, that IS better. Little glimpses into McGregor's past, we get to see some emotions, a few little things explained... It says a lot about McGregor that he values his mortality so much when other people would kill to live forever. Yes, that is a vast improvement. Keep it up!

Critique time. Yes, you knew it was coming.

Things are still happening a bit fast. The first big fight is now over. This would be a good time to cool down. If McGregor's going back into detective mode (I say back into, because you thankfully implied that in the past he had to do that sort of thing) then cooling down is necessary at this point. I'm sure he'll have to talk to her more to learn more about his new task, and I bet he'll be going to the place where his mentor died to learn the truth.

I just realized a problem. McGregor's the only name I really know. You seem to be using a lot of titles for characters-- Cleanser, Revenant, representatives of Summer and Winter... Somehow these things don't really stick in your mind. I don't know what this female character is called and it took me a moment to remember that he calls her Revenant. Pronouns like "he" and "she" are very useful, but if you don't throw in their names or titles every once in a while, airheads like me will forget what the character's names are. In fact, if I hadn't been critiquing this so much, I might've forgotten McGregor's name because you only say it once per chapter. So please, reuse their names! And since you focus so much on physical things, it might be a good idea to occasionally remind us of what the characters look like. Describing them once and then only ever focusing on what they're saying or doing is just like the name thing... Some things you have to say more than once or people will forget, with all the other things going on in your writing. You don't have to re-describe the people all the time... Even a little action like "he brushed his slightly grey hair out of his face" is enough to remind readers.

Actually, if all the content thus far were combined to become the first chapter, it probably would've felt like a better pace. This whole scene here feels like the bang that starts off a story, but breaking this part into three chapters gives the impression that the entire story will be this hectic and rushed.

Again, keep it up, the story's getting better!

[Serin]

May rewrite later.

Chapter 3

Nearly every creature in existence fears death. And their reasons usually narrow down into a few key points.
Some fear it because it is inevitable. To many humans, death is merely a clock on the wall, starting from zero and moving forward until the spring runs out. After that, it’s over.
For others, it is the ultimate loss of personal freedom, taking away every great and small passion that living entails.
But in her eyes, I could see why she feared death.
To a revenant, their existence is a constant growth of power and knowledge. For eons, they toil within both worlds, sowing the seeds for greatness sometimes millennia in advance. They work on a scale that makes humans appear to be ants.
Death was the one thing she knew nothing about. There were no revenant ghosts or spirits. Only those that they replace, and those that replace them. Nothing was known about what happened to their kind when they died completely, losing both body and soul.
And it was easy to see that it shook her, hard.
I walked past her, heading over to the fridge. “How did you get into contact with Hakim, anyways?” I asked. “He wasn’t the most social of people to begin with. Add the fact that he hunts your ‘children’, and you have someone completely unlikable.”
I heard her open the tray to the media player on my tv set as I pulled a beer from the fridge. “I have my methods, if I am pressed enough.” She said, the tray closing. I walked over to the tv, and offered her a drink.
She declined. “More for me, then.” I said, taking another drink as the picture turned to static, then cleared.
Dr. Sanjaya was sitting down across a desk from the camera, wearing the robes of the Hunter order. I glaned at his collar, and noticed something was off. I pulled my attention away from it as he began to speak.
“Miss Fihena, I think I’ve found something about the case that you may be interested in.” He said. “However, I think that you may have to continue the investigation without me. What I’ve found has jeopardized my position…”
A loud knock drowned out his words, and he looked up at the door. “Listen, find a man called Jonas Mcgreggor. He was a Cleanser, and a friend of mine a while back.” He moved close to the camera, the knocking turning into a booming noise. “Find him, and get him to help you. He’s the only one that can, now.”
The door broke off-screen, and his eyes went wide. “Grab that camera!” A thick, gravelly voice shouted. Then the video cut out.
She opened the media player, and took the small disc. “I found the disc in an adjacent apartment. He was able to toss it away before they could…” She choked on her words, looking at the closed window. “I couldn’t do anything but find you.”
I continued to look at the blue screen in shock, pieces coming together in my head. “His rank was wrong.”
She turned towards me. “Excuse me?”
“His rank was wrong.” I repeated. “He was the head executor of the hunters, but he had on ensign stripes and the novice uniform.”
“I believe you are mistaken, Jonas. He was not the head executor when I spoke to him.” She looked at me, offended.
“Like hell he wasn’t.” I replied, staring at her in return. “Unless a majority votes you out, or you die, the Head ex is a lifetime position.”
“He was an interim hunter when I first contacted him.” She said. “Also, others of his station chided him routinely, like a new recruit.”
I looked at the picture on the shelf. “Who is the head ex of the Hunters now?”
“I do not know.” She replied, continuing to stare at me.
I sat down on the arm of the sofa, had another drink, and released a belch. “Something isn’t fitting together, here.” I said. “One minute the world is in balance, next the reps for the two highest courts are dead. One minute Hakim leads the hunters, the next he’s an ensign.” I clenched the bottle in my hand. “We’re missing something.”
“Then you agree to help me?” She said.
I looked back at her. “He said I would help you. We may have fell out of favor years ago, but I respect the man for what he’s done. If he asked me to help you, then I’ll help you.”
I could almost feel the tension on the room disappear. “Thank you, Jonas. I shall be in your debt.” Her tone was lighter, brightening the room somewhat.
“Don’t thank me yet. We still have a murderer on the loose.” I said. “Can you tell me where the crime scene is?”
She gave a nod. “I can take you there now, if you wish.”
“No time like the present.” I replied, moving over to the cupboard above the sink. I reached up behind the coffee cups and plastic bowls, and pulled out an old leather belt covered in pouches.
I heard her laugh from across the hall, brightening the room some more. “So, you were secretly Batman in a previous life?” She chided.
Everything was in order with the belt, and I strapped it on my waist. “Old hunter motto: You can never be over-prepared.” I said, moving to the closet. “I have to warn you, though, that the Mustang has a bad suspension.”
“My children are waiting downstairs for us.” She said. “Please, don’t try to humiliate them this time. The young one likes to hold grudges.”
I found my coat and torc, then walked to the door, opening it up for her. “Ladies first.” I said, grinning wide. She glided past, flashing me a twisted smile before she replaced her hood. I followed her out the door, and down the stairs to the parking garage.
There was a large s.u.v. waiting for us as we entered the garage. Three figures were standing outside of it, all of them dressed in black and carrying automatic weaponry. I recognized them as the three that had attacked me last night.
They recognized me, as well. The young, short one’s eyes went wide, and his weapon began to move up. I began to draw my weapon from underneath my coat, my speed matching his as we pointed at each other simultaneously.
The woman stepped between us, holding her one arm out. “He will aid us, and you will not hurt him.” She said, looking at the young one. He looked at us, scowling a bit. He lowered his weapon and turned to get into the s.u.v.
“Excuse Timothy.” She said. “He has not yet fed enough times to become a true vampire. So, he is impatient with the world.” She moved towards the s.u.v., following him inside. I followed behind her, walking into the open door and taking a seat.
The inside was redone, leaving only the seat in the far back in place. The middle seats hand been turned around, limo style, and the young one faced us as Althus stepped into the car.
She spoke to him. “Downtown. Corner of Brooks and mulholland.”
He turned around, relaying the directions to the driver. The car lurched forward, and I felt it go up the ramp and onto the street. Towards the place where my friend, my mentor, was killed.

[Nixie]

Hmmm...

It took me a few paragraphs before I was aware that we were still seeing the story from McGregor's point of view. Somehow, stating "he picture turned to static, then cleared" didn't work as a transition from being in a room and talking to watching something on TV. It didn't click in my mind that they were watching TV, I thought some other new person had magically appeared in the apartment and began talking about McGregor as if he wasn't even there.

So Revenants apparently live for milennia? I think it would be difficult for someone so old to stay in touch with ever-changing media and technology....

[Kristal Rose]

Intriguing concept, if I have it right (which I intentionally do not). The course of human souls are known (by some, at least), but the course of Revenant souls remains a deeper layer of mystery.

A bit abrupt jumping to 'But in her eyes' - not because of the change in voice, which works, but simply due to word pacing mechanics.

Typo: I glaned at his collar

"He’s the only one that can, now.” - "Help me Obi Wan Kenobi, you're my only hope" is a bit too cliché today.

Oh, this was a 'recording' of a video call. Even with the clue of her playing with the media player, that was too much of a jump to deduce.

“Then you agree to help me?” She said. - Real conversations are rarely so blatant and concrete. Such scenes are typically grokked intuitively in real life and taken for granted with unspoken doubt. Better writing would reveal the clues by which the characters presume arrangements to be of one sort or another, and leave us sharing their own doubts.

"to get into the s.u.v." - I wish this were proper form, to have the expresive option of going lower case for acronyms. I have a few rational expressive rules of grammer myself which I consider superior to those in conventional style books, and put them out there as a pioneering example for people to follow. You could try doing the same. Your rule seems reasonable, but would have failed without the initials you had to add.

The writing is more personal now, and thus more believable. Your writing sure is concrete and action based still though.
There are different types of people: auditory, visual, kinesthetic. You seem to be the latter. Perhaps you could invent a new level/form of expresive writing, and take action writing to the same level of subjective expression the better visual writers use. Until that day though, you really don't have that much subjective saturation to offer.

Wow, on closer examination it turns out that almost every sentence expresses action. Only about 15% of people are primarily kinesthetic. For the rest of your readers two things are going on you should be aware of. One, the visual cues they seek are mostly absent. Two, the method of conveying story which matters most to you is for others like a foreign radio talk show which has been turned down as background noise.

Mostly all I ever recall extracting from the kinesthetic track of a book or movie is "Where are we now?"; I see that in your story it is also meant to convey "What is happening now?", and goes even further to express personal feelings and interpersonal communications. You suddenly have me wondering if I've been missing a layer of content in some books and movies.

You also have me wondering if one can express deep abstract symbolic content through kinesthetic activity as well as through visual iconography and texture.

That said, it should be evident to you now that you are writing kinesthetically to the kinestheticaly deaf. My being aware now of what you are doing won't help much; I don't think kinesthetically, and still have to slowly translate actions you describe into visuals which mean something to me.

You have me wondering if deep epic tales can be told kinesthetically, but fortunately, except for the body sensations part, any tale told symbolically with jagged mountains, dark nights, young trees, usually has components of expression for every sense. There is no analogy for the language of motion though.

###########

It was only a month ago that I even began deep introspection on the relationship between feelings and physical sensations. Until this, I had believed feelings existed only as thoughts in the mind. Here'ssome recent writing of mine on the subject. It may be of use to you to further your kinethetic vocabulary.

Biological (chakra/nadis) model of emotions.
Dude, in meditation last night I had a revelation about the human psyche. Feelings/emotions are not in the mind, they are in the body.
I came to this by considering how it is that even meditation clear of thought still has a flavor or feeling. I came to realize that this feeling was dependant on how one configured their chi/shakti (including varieties of halos), or at least where their focus of body awareness was.
After hearing 5000 hours of metaphysical/spiritual/meditation lectures, I only recall once hearing a couple sentences addressing this, in which it was pointed out that emotions are only attributes of the nervous system. I had dubiously put investigation of this on hold, as I was still using the (seemingly more spiritual at the time) loftier conceptual model of feelings being cosmic archetypes, all derivative from love (union), or fear & indifference (separation). This more biological understanding of emotions explains why feelings are not present in remote vision / astral flights, where no body is present.
The biological understanding is consistent with the aruvedic yoga notions of chakras and nadis (the 1000's of distinct nodes of body awareness), and perhaps with acupuncture as well.
Chi or shakti can typically be experienced as a force-field of magnetic pressure, but can also take forms like burning, prickling, or the sensation of squishiness.
~
Like your class in genetic anthropology (which I take to be of a C.S.I. nature, and useful for plots), I think this biological understanding of emotion could assist you in accurately depicting characters.
I believe the understanding is intuitively recognized by culture at a sub-conscious level, and forms the basis of both ancient medicine systems and old-wife-tales supernatural wisdom.
You may be more attuned to this phenomenon than myself, being physically centered in far more ways than myself. I have always lived in my head, not my body, with only a detached regard for the body as it served tool purposes.You have been able to do things like relax which I could not, as I only now recognize that relaxation is something to be found in the body, not the mind. I have yet to figure out how this relates to emotional memory of events, a faculty I barely have. For myself, such memory relies on visual memory in tandem with the phenomenon of the (external world) macrocosm mirroring the (internal world) microcosm; If I can recall the prominent visual setting, I can deduce the feelings I had at the time, much like deriving the feelings of paintings. I have two theories on how emotional memory might work. One is that persons with such a faculty log memories of their physical sensations in their mind to accompany event memory. The other (less likely, I imagine, or really just amounting to the same thing wih inverse look-up tables), more new-age, theory, is based on the concept of cellular memory.
My neighbor was non-plussed with my fascinating discovery, with sort of a 'Yeah, so?' reaction. I'm not sure if that indicates common knowledge, or just something that becomes apparent if one gives it just a moments thought. Obviously it's not at all new to me either, except for the conscious recognition, otherwise I could not have compiled this list.
Anyhow, give this understanding a try, see where you concur with me. There are two ways to go about it, by seeing what emotions come to mind when focusing on a body part, and the way I find easier, recalling emotions and identifying where you feel it.
Except that once one gets the premise, there's really no need to get into detail, it is the very sort of topic which new-age self-help fad books are written about, the type of thing to be on Oprah's best-seller list for a week.

~ ~ ~


EMOTIONS OF THE BODY

HEAD
EYES
wonder - outer upper eye sockets
tired - in eyeballs
delight - eyelids
terror - behind eyes
BROWS
Concentration below brows
Puzzled - inner brows
FOREHEAD
Fondness - upper center forehead
Military thinking - rt high forehead
Consideration - lt high forehead
Astonishment - wrinkles of forehead.
Grace - outer temples
Suffering - inner temples
Angst - above eyelids
NOSE
relaxation,
Innocent fun, discovery - tip of nose
Righteousness - spine of nose
Nostrils
Hmphh, haughty - outer nostril flares
Renewal - outer high sides (of inner nostril)
Depth of undertanding - inner upper
MOUTH
LIPS
Disappointment - inner flats
Deliberation - front of lips
Quiet investigation - tip of lips
Perky Happiness - upper smile creases
Content Happiness, thankfulness - lower smile creases
TONGUE
Boisterousness - back of tongue
Lust - front top of tongue
Intrepidation - tip of tongue
Distaste - center of tongue
EARS
Alert, Active scrutiny listening - inner flap of lt ear
Passive, ambient listening - inner flap of rt ear
Wary - behind left ear
CHEEKS
Embarassment - upper cheeks
Glee - cheek centers
Helpless sorrow - lower outer cheeks
Sullenness, impoverihment - cheek bones
CHIN
Reticence
Dubiousness - behind under chin
SKULL/HEADSPACE
falling into oblivion - back of upper skull
pausing to recall - top center of head
NECK
Relaxation - Sides above nape
Humblenes, humility, shame - center of nape
Compelled - below neck
Anger - sides of lower jaw
TORSO/CHEST
Power - between shoulder blades
Tense unsettled business - solar plexus
Restful waiting - below breasts
Forlorn - lower shoulder blades
Disdain - left shoulder blade
Surrender - rt shoulder blade
Smug - front folds of arm pits
Tittilation - teats
ARMS
isolation, letting go, detachment - top of shoulders
barging in, intent - outer uper arms
bewilderment, caution - inner upper arms
justice - under forearm
care - above elbow pit
retaliation - below elbow pit
HANDS
Panic - blades of parms
Perverse will - lower knuckles
Agression - upper knuckles
Exerting force - balls of thumbs
Building force - lower palms
Attachment - center of palms
Luxury - webbing of fingers
Decision - tip of middle finger
Finality - pad of rt middle finger
Irritation - pad of lt middle finger
Indigtaion - pinky
Excitement - tips of index fingers
LEGS
Arrogance - upper inner thigh
Casual, composed - front of thighs
Insecurity, hunting instinct - back of thighs
Preparedness - calves
FEET
Anticipation - pad of big toe
OOh-Ahh - webbing of toes
Waiting - top front of feet
Stubborness - pad of heel
Sterness - ball of foot front pad
Defensivenes - sides of heel
KNEES
Overworked - below knee cap
Nervousness - knee pit
OTHER
Squeamishness - anus
Jovial - buttocks
Satiation - pubis
Authority - hip
Warmth - back of lungs


HALOS
Cheerful cheek halo
Creepy eye halo
Alien aquarium halo
Compassionate lions mane halo
Saintly crown halo


EXTENDED EMOTIONAL BODY SENSATIONS
In addition to feelings simply associated with parts of the body, there are additional sets of feelings for all these body parts differentiated by qualities of warmth or cold, heaviness or lightness, and vector directions of chi/shakti force.

[Serin]

Will probably post the next chapter tomorrow. It's a bit longer that I thought it would be.

[Kristal Rose]

Reading the most recent MDS is first on my agenda anyhow. Vampires got first shot last time.

[Nixie]

Longer chapters are a GOOD thing.

[Kristal Rose]

Oh, it's not here yet. I was just getting around to reading the recent chapter tonight. Apparently not.

[Serin]

Chapter 5

The back of the car was filled with flourescent light as it pulled into traffic, lacking windows of any kind. A solid steel plate separated the driver’s compartment from the backseat, adding a splash of grey to the black side walls.
Althus, the tall one in the trench coat, simply glowered at the two of us from across the seats. He was holding a compact assault rifle in his arms, finger over the trigger guard in classic ready stance. The young one, Timothy, was dressed in black pants and black long-sleeve shirt, gloved hands typing on a keyboard.
“That’s strange,” I commented. “You usually don’t see vampires and technology in the same place.”
“Times change, old man.” Timothy said, keeping his eyes connected to the monitor. “If you want an edge on the competition, you have to keep up with the trends.”
Fihena gave a nod. “For what it is worth, humans learn at a much faster rate than the other races. The internet, especially, has made our jobs in this realm much easier.” She said.
I looked over at her. “You can’t be serious.”
She returned my gaze with her own, red eyes glittering as she grinned. “How do you think we found your address, Jonas?”
“You’re bluffing.” I replied. “I haven’t listed my address with anyone aside from the Hunters.”
Timothy chuckled a bit, pressing a button on his keyboard. A monitor descended from the ceiling, my apartment pinpointed on the web browser’s map. “From the Hunter’s personnel page, under special assignments.” He said. “Their web security is nuts, really. I got through it with a simple hypertext bypass.”
I looked at the information. “Could you repeat that in English, kid?”
He laughed, and I almost reached for my gun in frustration. “Not unless you want to talk about web terms for a half-hour. I’ll spare you the headache.”
Close you eyes, remember your stress control. Don’t blow his head off, I thought to myself. Even if he is a pest. “Where did you find this kid, anyways? A Star Trek convention?”
I heard the kid growl at me from across the seats. “Charlie, the driver found him.” Fihena said. “He is a recent addition to our family, as I stated before.”
“New blood was turned last year.” Althus said, an audible sneer in his voice.
“Hey, you guys needed people like me,” He replied, his fingers hitting the keys with more force than before. “The werewolves and elves were wiping the floor with you in IO terms before you got people like me.”
“IO?” I said, holding my head. “Great…monsters with websites.”
“Madame Fihena, should I show him your Macebook?” Timothy asked.
“Wait, you put your information out on the internet?” I asked. “What if someone finds it out there, and publishes it somewhere else?”
“The aether uses it’s own service, separate from the average internet.” He replied. “Besides, her info is locked up like a nun’s chastity belt.”
“I would prefer the good Cleanser see it on his own time.” She said. “Timothy, bring up the building plans for Dr. Sanjaya’s apartment, as well as the surveillance photos.”
“You’re no fun, miss.” He chided, the monitor changing to show a set of blueprints and still photos.
“Sanjaya lived on the third floor of the building, five floors in total.” Timothy said. “Room above him belongs to the landlord, one Ms. Chesterton. Room below was vacant.”
“What about across the alley?” I asked.
“Huh?”
“The building across the alley. Where he tossed the tape.” I asked, looking at the map. “Why would he toss it out to the other building, unless he knew the person on the other end?”
“We had a shadow set up there at his request.” He said, the monitor shifting to show a second set of blueprints. “Room 312, right across from his.”
“Check that building. If you were spying on him, someone else was, too.” I said, going over the floor plan in my head. Three floors, low enough to survive a fall, but high enough to keep people from scaling the wall effectively. His room was on a corner of the building, beside the stairwell, as well. Which meant thicker walls, harder to plant a bug or drill through for cameras.
Fihena touched my shoulder. “We are almost there. Timothy, is his gift ready?” She said.
He gave a nod, reaching behind the seat, and pulling a small, black box from underneath him. “All set.” He said, tossing the box across the seats. “Here.”
I caught it, looking at it for a bit. “What is it?”
“It’s a box. You know, for storing stuff?” He replied.
“Smart-ass.” I said, opening the box. Inside was a small black rectangle with a screen, nearly the size of my wallet. Under that was one of those new earpieces you saw on late night ads. “So…what is it?”
“That, my fortunate friend, is your lifeline.” He smiled, looking at the box with adoration. “I designed it myself using a popular model base, and added a few mods to it.”
I took the thing out of the box, looking at it. It was no more than half an inch thick, fitting in my palm. “Should I really ask one more time?”
Fihena giggled a bit, reaching over to touch the screen. As she touched it, the device came to life, an assortment of symbols appearing on the face. “It’s a cell phone.”
“More than a cell phone.” Timothy said, tension in his voice. “That thing will be your map, your phone…hell, it even makes good cole slaw if you use the right function.”
I took the belt case from the box, placing it at my side. The screen faded as I put it in it’s place. “Alright, so it’s a phone. So, what’s the earpiece for?”
“It’s not a phone.” Timothy said indignantly. “And the earpiece links back to the car, and to us. Go ahead, try it on.”
I placed it over my right ear, the earbud fitting in snugly. “Like this?”
A voice came through the ear piece, this time raspy. It sounded like a man whose had too many cigarettes. “Perfect. Signal is good, amp is good, and we have video feed. Base one is up.”
Timothy turned back to the monitor. “Trojan horse is up.” He said, his voice echoing in my ear. “And we’re ready to go.”
I gave a nod when the car began to slow down. “We’re here” She said.
I stepped out into another parking garage, checking myself over once more. Stakes were in place, garlic and holy water were in place. I felt the revolver on my left side, it’s weight giving me a bit of confidence.
The aches in my knees were gone, as was the cramp in my back. The door opened into the lobby, and I heard voices upstairs. They were incoherent from here, but deep. Almost like guards.
“Then this’ll be interesting.” I said, making my way up the stairs.

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