Chapter Three: Part One
I'm enjoying this probably more than the rest of you, but here's Chapter Three of my magnum opus. If you want to catch up, the Prologue is here, here's Chapter One, and here's Chapter Two.
Right now, Chapter Three is over 12,000 words long. I need to break it into pieces, but I'm not quite sure how. This part at the beginning is only 2355 words, and it fits together as a piece, but I'm not sure if it's long enough to sustain itself as an entire chapter.
I'll post more pieces of the chapter in coming days.
In the meantime, read and enjoy. Even if you don't enjoy, read and comment.
_________________
At least I can still bleed.
David Chakiris found unlikely comfort in this thought as twilight fell on the ornate rock garden by the swimming pool. He looked over the Bel Air estate that had been torn down and rebuilt to replace the home in which he’d grown up. He’d been reluctant to throw a party in his father’s absence, but his girlfriend seemed to think it was the thing to do, and it may very well have been. All these cheerleaders scurrying around the halls made him feel awkward, and then angry. This is my house, he thought. Why should I feel awkward? Despite his father’s social standing, he had never been able to master the obligatory social graces, and he took some pleasure in the thought that it wasn’t going to matter anymore.
As he listened to the man-made stream trickling over the stones, he relished the warm, red gush pouring down the length of his forearm, even though it all began to seem strangely innocuous.
He was starting to get woozy.
Although he was entirely stationery, the sounds of the party raging in the house behind him grew more distant, and David found himself of two minds as to what he should do next. Do I stop the bleeding, wash up, and go back to playing the good host? Or do I let nature take its course?
He had to do something. He almost wanted to do the right thing. He just wasn’t quite sure what it was.
Twelve people who were alive yesterday were dead today. I did that.
I killed them.
He had seen death before, and it had unsettled him. Unnerved him. But this was the first time the blood was on his hands.
I killed them.
He wasn’t sure if his conscience would ever let him think about anything else. He hadn’t meant to do that, he told himself over and over again. Surely that counts for something. He kept repeating that, mantra-like, for his conscience’s sake, but his conscience was still at war with the fevered rush of pleasure that had enveloped him the moment those cars came plunging off the overpass. Guilt washed over him in waves, cresting and falling, but each wave was stronger than the last, and the perverse delight of killing was still burning too brightly to ever be fully extinguished.
No. This isn’t me, he thought. I never wanted to be a killer.
Anyway, it was all moot, wasn’t it? He had no idea how he’d done it before. So why did he want to do it again? These questions were the impetus behind his decision, made over the course of the evening, to proceed with a simple, elegant solution. Since he had already killed twelve people, all he had to do to end it was kill one more.
That way, everyone’s happy.
This was the perfect place for it, too. He staggered toward the diving board at the far end of the pool, trying not to imagine what someone would think if they found him, bloodless, lying at the bottom, but he knew it would be better that way. He tried not to think of the dreams that would haunt the one to discover him. And anyway, there’d be less mess to clean up.
His mantra was lost. He was definitely on the edge of consciousness now, and it was getting harder and harder to remain standing. He barely noticed the sliding glass door opening behind him, or the slender, heavily decorated brunette who stepped out on to the patio. He caught a glimpse of her out of the corner of his eye, and he thought, vaguely, that she looked very much like his new girlfriend. What would she think if she knew he’d taken the bus today? Pretty girls don’t date bus riders, and, if nothing else, she was such a pretty girl. Pretty stupid, too, but you can’t have everything, which was really the whole problem in a nutshell, now wasn’t it?
That might have been his final thought if she hadn’t opened her mouth.
“David?”
From where she was standing, the shadow prevented her from seeing the stained knife dangling precariously from the end of his non-sliced arm, or the pastiche of blood that smeared the front of his shirt. You’d think, David thought, that she’d at least be able to smell something, some kind of blood musk…
“There you are!” she squealed, oblivious. “You are, like, so in trouble. Everyone’s looking for you, and I’m all…”
Her voice trailed off when he collapsed into a heap and dropped the knife, which rang out against the cold stone patio.
“DAVID!” She ran to him and stopped short. “What’s wrong? You’re, like, all bloody!”
“Careful,” David mumbled, “you might soil your miniskirt.” It was a clever line, but David knew the moment was ruined. Why did she have to spoil this? No, it’s not her fault. It’s mine. Can’t I get anything right?
“What are you doing?”
“Doesn’t matter,” David answered. “I’m not doing it anymore.”
His dreams of a fashionable death dashed, he hobbled over to the fountain and plunged his arm into the stream, applying pressure to the wound with his good hand. Blood and water ran together until everything was clear, and within moments, David found himself newly focused and alert. His girlfriend just stood planted, blinking, her mouth hanging wide open.
She’d be prettier, David thought, if she learned to breathe through her nose.
“It’s only a flesh wound,” he quipped with his best Monty Python accent, trying to keep things light but knowing full well she’d miss the reference. He watched her kneel down to examine the discarded weapon. She was shivering with revulsion.
“This is, like, a knife!” she winced, holding the offending instrument by the blade with her thumb and forefinger as if it were the tail of a dead mouse.
“Nope. Not ‘like a knife.’ It’s the real thing, lady,” said David, all the while toweling off his arm with the dry part of his shirt. Then he examined the place where the wound was supposed to be. The bleeding had stopped, and there were only a trace outline of where he’d broken the skin, like a long-healed scar.
Right now, Chapter Three is over 12,000 words long. I need to break it into pieces, but I'm not quite sure how. This part at the beginning is only 2355 words, and it fits together as a piece, but I'm not sure if it's long enough to sustain itself as an entire chapter.
I'll post more pieces of the chapter in coming days.
In the meantime, read and enjoy. Even if you don't enjoy, read and comment.
_________________
At least I can still bleed.
David Chakiris found unlikely comfort in this thought as twilight fell on the ornate rock garden by the swimming pool. He looked over the Bel Air estate that had been torn down and rebuilt to replace the home in which he’d grown up. He’d been reluctant to throw a party in his father’s absence, but his girlfriend seemed to think it was the thing to do, and it may very well have been. All these cheerleaders scurrying around the halls made him feel awkward, and then angry. This is my house, he thought. Why should I feel awkward? Despite his father’s social standing, he had never been able to master the obligatory social graces, and he took some pleasure in the thought that it wasn’t going to matter anymore.
As he listened to the man-made stream trickling over the stones, he relished the warm, red gush pouring down the length of his forearm, even though it all began to seem strangely innocuous.
He was starting to get woozy.
Although he was entirely stationery, the sounds of the party raging in the house behind him grew more distant, and David found himself of two minds as to what he should do next. Do I stop the bleeding, wash up, and go back to playing the good host? Or do I let nature take its course?
He had to do something. He almost wanted to do the right thing. He just wasn’t quite sure what it was.
Twelve people who were alive yesterday were dead today. I did that.
I killed them.
He had seen death before, and it had unsettled him. Unnerved him. But this was the first time the blood was on his hands.
I killed them.
He wasn’t sure if his conscience would ever let him think about anything else. He hadn’t meant to do that, he told himself over and over again. Surely that counts for something. He kept repeating that, mantra-like, for his conscience’s sake, but his conscience was still at war with the fevered rush of pleasure that had enveloped him the moment those cars came plunging off the overpass. Guilt washed over him in waves, cresting and falling, but each wave was stronger than the last, and the perverse delight of killing was still burning too brightly to ever be fully extinguished.
No. This isn’t me, he thought. I never wanted to be a killer.
Anyway, it was all moot, wasn’t it? He had no idea how he’d done it before. So why did he want to do it again? These questions were the impetus behind his decision, made over the course of the evening, to proceed with a simple, elegant solution. Since he had already killed twelve people, all he had to do to end it was kill one more.
That way, everyone’s happy.
This was the perfect place for it, too. He staggered toward the diving board at the far end of the pool, trying not to imagine what someone would think if they found him, bloodless, lying at the bottom, but he knew it would be better that way. He tried not to think of the dreams that would haunt the one to discover him. And anyway, there’d be less mess to clean up.
His mantra was lost. He was definitely on the edge of consciousness now, and it was getting harder and harder to remain standing. He barely noticed the sliding glass door opening behind him, or the slender, heavily decorated brunette who stepped out on to the patio. He caught a glimpse of her out of the corner of his eye, and he thought, vaguely, that she looked very much like his new girlfriend. What would she think if she knew he’d taken the bus today? Pretty girls don’t date bus riders, and, if nothing else, she was such a pretty girl. Pretty stupid, too, but you can’t have everything, which was really the whole problem in a nutshell, now wasn’t it?
That might have been his final thought if she hadn’t opened her mouth.
“David?”
From where she was standing, the shadow prevented her from seeing the stained knife dangling precariously from the end of his non-sliced arm, or the pastiche of blood that smeared the front of his shirt. You’d think, David thought, that she’d at least be able to smell something, some kind of blood musk…
“There you are!” she squealed, oblivious. “You are, like, so in trouble. Everyone’s looking for you, and I’m all…”
Her voice trailed off when he collapsed into a heap and dropped the knife, which rang out against the cold stone patio.
“DAVID!” She ran to him and stopped short. “What’s wrong? You’re, like, all bloody!”
“Careful,” David mumbled, “you might soil your miniskirt.” It was a clever line, but David knew the moment was ruined. Why did she have to spoil this? No, it’s not her fault. It’s mine. Can’t I get anything right?
“What are you doing?”
“Doesn’t matter,” David answered. “I’m not doing it anymore.”
His dreams of a fashionable death dashed, he hobbled over to the fountain and plunged his arm into the stream, applying pressure to the wound with his good hand. Blood and water ran together until everything was clear, and within moments, David found himself newly focused and alert. His girlfriend just stood planted, blinking, her mouth hanging wide open.
She’d be prettier, David thought, if she learned to breathe through her nose.
“It’s only a flesh wound,” he quipped with his best Monty Python accent, trying to keep things light but knowing full well she’d miss the reference. He watched her kneel down to examine the discarded weapon. She was shivering with revulsion.
“This is, like, a knife!” she winced, holding the offending instrument by the blade with her thumb and forefinger as if it were the tail of a dead mouse.
“Nope. Not ‘like a knife.’ It’s the real thing, lady,” said David, all the while toweling off his arm with the dry part of his shirt. Then he examined the place where the wound was supposed to be. The bleeding had stopped, and there were only a trace outline of where he’d broken the skin, like a long-healed scar.
He had recovered completely in just a few seconds.
Maybe I can’t bleed after all, he thought.
“I really can’t do anything right,” he muttered.
“Seriously, what are you doing?” she asked again.
“Seriously?” David answered back. “You mean it? You’re serious this time?”
No, that’s not right. Why am I taunting her? What is this? What’s happening to me?
At the same time his head was clearing, the pretty girlfriend was descending into the throes of panic. “Help!” she screamed back to the house. “We need help out here!”
“No, we really don’t,” David said, and instantly, he was down on his knees and right upon her, slapping his hand over her mouth before she could shout again. He was sure he had been too forceful and had hurt her, and was disgusted with himself for not caring. “That’s enough of that,” he hissed with more than a hint of a threat. Ignoring her resistance, he, a little too roughly, raised them both up to their feet.
She wasn’t trying to resist. She was merely whimpering now, weak and afraid. David had no use for her.
Oh, how I hate this, David thought, and then realized that it wasn’t true. No, he didn’t hate this. He hated himself for how much he was enjoying this.
Yet she was absolutely terrified. And so was David. It took everything he had to keep from breaking her neck. He felt his hand start to swell, a fresh but familiar bloodlust engorging him, consuming him. She’s too pretty, David told himself. Much too pretty. I’ll bet her blood is pretty, too.
Enough. Enough! He took in a deep breath and exhaled slowly, and he told her to do the same. And then they breathed together, and he felt his conscience awake, and it incrementally overcame his murderous impulses. He spoke to her in a very slow, deliberate voice, as if he were calming a young child after a tantrum.
“Now you listen to me. Are you listening? Blink twice for yes.”
She blinked twice. Then she sort of nodded.
“Good. Nobody else has to know about this. Right?”
Another two blinks. This was too silly for David, so he loosened his grip just enough to allow her to nod properly.
“In fact, nobody else is ever going to know about this. Because you’re not going to say one word about what you saw out here. Do you understand me?”
Her eyes welled with tears as she nodded, slowly. He nodded along with her.
“That’s right,” he said in his most patronizing tone. “Because we both know how bad it would be if you couldn’t keep that pretty little mouth of yours shut. So as soon as my hand comes off of your mouth, this will never have happened, and we’re both going to go back in there and have a few laughs at our fun little party.”
Her eyes seemed to brighten a bit. Was she trying to smile? David thought. I can salvage this. Maybe this won’t be such a disaster after all.
“Now I’m going to take my hand off of your mouth, and you’re not going to make a sound. Are we clear on this?”
She nodded once more time.
“What’s going on out here?” asked a sharp, female voice from behind them.
David wheeled around to find himself facing a petite blonde who he recognized as one of those other high school cheerleaders. Startled, he dropped his hand from his girlfriend’s mouth, and she took advantage of the moment.
“He’s hurting me, Lisa!” she shrieked. “He’s hurting me!”
“I told you,” David seethed, “ to keep your stupid mouth shut!” He yanked her by the arm and then hurled her to the ground with enough force to make a sickening crunch as she hit the floor.
“Vikki!” Lisa scrambled to her side and stumbled over the bloody knife. She looked down and gasped in horror. “He stabbed you?!” she said to Vikki, picking up the knife with a firm grasp on the handle.
Not so dainty, this one, David thought. Might take a bit more to bring her to tears.
Vikki tried to answer, but she was incoherent. She was cradling what looked like a broken arm, wailing hysterically.
“For your information,” David intoned with an eerie calmness, “Nobody has been stabbed, least of all, her. I know you’re both just high school girls, but I’d appreciate a little perspective.”
Lisa shot him a withering glance before she gently eased Vikki to her feet, cradling her elbows in the palms of her hands. “You need a doctor, honey,” she said soothingly. Vikki nodded, still shaking, trying to get her tears under control.
“Sorry,” David said, taking a series of small but deliberate steps in their direction. No sudden moves, he told himself. This can still be salvaged. “That’s not going to happen. And I’m afraid, Vikki, this means I won’t be able to accompany you to your homecoming dance Saturday night.”
“Keep him away from me!” Vikki howled. Arm and arm with Lisa, she started limping back toward the door.
David wasn’t pleased. “No!” he shouted. “You’re not going anywhere!” They ignored him.
“Hey!” No response.
David was in no mood to be ignored.
Without thinking, he reached over and grabbed one of the huge, molded boulders that made up one of the foundations of the fountain. It seemed perfectly natural to him that his hand and his arm were now about five times their normal size, and with the strength to match. He lobbed the boulder over the girl’s heads and it hit the glass door, shattering the nearby windows and destroying most of the back wall of the house.
Vikki forgot about her dramatic limp and, while still trying to cradle her arm, tore off toward the gate to the front yard. Lisa trailed close behind. David, finished with the warning shots, grabbed another boulder and heaved it directly at them, only to have it blocked by the fully-grown maple tree near the neighbor’s fence. The tree cracked on impact and fell directly on the roof of the house, collapsing the whole northern wing, which was, thankfully, far from the center of the party’s action. Had he thrown in the other direction, who knows how many guests would have been crushed?
Who knows how many more I just killed? I didn’t want to do this. So why do I keep doing it?
David looked at his arm after the throw. The pangs of conscience had begun to deflate it, the same way it had the day before. But this was not over. His heart was still racing. He had tried to kill again, this time in his own father’s house. Soon all the other cheerleaders would be out here. They’d know what he did.
So he’d have to kill them, too. Most of him didn’t want to do that. But there was too much of him that did.
No. There was another option. Not entirely bloodless, but less bloody, surely.
He dashed around the side of the house just in time to see Vikki’s car racing out of sight. He opened the side door to the garage and saw that Dad’s good car was gone, but the big old Buick was still there, and David knew where the extra keys were hidden.
Dad will kill me if I hurt his car, David thought instantly and then almost laughed at the absurdity of it.
Within seconds, David was out on the street, winding his way down Stradella Road toward the south Bel Air entrance. He could see Vikki’s car just up ahead. He imagined what it might look like after it was grabbed, tossed like a shot put, and splattered all over the nearest hillside.
He cursed himself as his hand throbbed with pleasure at the thought of it.
“I really can’t do anything right,” he muttered.
“Seriously, what are you doing?” she asked again.
“Seriously?” David answered back. “You mean it? You’re serious this time?”
No, that’s not right. Why am I taunting her? What is this? What’s happening to me?
At the same time his head was clearing, the pretty girlfriend was descending into the throes of panic. “Help!” she screamed back to the house. “We need help out here!”
“No, we really don’t,” David said, and instantly, he was down on his knees and right upon her, slapping his hand over her mouth before she could shout again. He was sure he had been too forceful and had hurt her, and was disgusted with himself for not caring. “That’s enough of that,” he hissed with more than a hint of a threat. Ignoring her resistance, he, a little too roughly, raised them both up to their feet.
She wasn’t trying to resist. She was merely whimpering now, weak and afraid. David had no use for her.
Oh, how I hate this, David thought, and then realized that it wasn’t true. No, he didn’t hate this. He hated himself for how much he was enjoying this.
Yet she was absolutely terrified. And so was David. It took everything he had to keep from breaking her neck. He felt his hand start to swell, a fresh but familiar bloodlust engorging him, consuming him. She’s too pretty, David told himself. Much too pretty. I’ll bet her blood is pretty, too.
Enough. Enough! He took in a deep breath and exhaled slowly, and he told her to do the same. And then they breathed together, and he felt his conscience awake, and it incrementally overcame his murderous impulses. He spoke to her in a very slow, deliberate voice, as if he were calming a young child after a tantrum.
“Now you listen to me. Are you listening? Blink twice for yes.”
She blinked twice. Then she sort of nodded.
“Good. Nobody else has to know about this. Right?”
Another two blinks. This was too silly for David, so he loosened his grip just enough to allow her to nod properly.
“In fact, nobody else is ever going to know about this. Because you’re not going to say one word about what you saw out here. Do you understand me?”
Her eyes welled with tears as she nodded, slowly. He nodded along with her.
“That’s right,” he said in his most patronizing tone. “Because we both know how bad it would be if you couldn’t keep that pretty little mouth of yours shut. So as soon as my hand comes off of your mouth, this will never have happened, and we’re both going to go back in there and have a few laughs at our fun little party.”
Her eyes seemed to brighten a bit. Was she trying to smile? David thought. I can salvage this. Maybe this won’t be such a disaster after all.
“Now I’m going to take my hand off of your mouth, and you’re not going to make a sound. Are we clear on this?”
She nodded once more time.
“What’s going on out here?” asked a sharp, female voice from behind them.
David wheeled around to find himself facing a petite blonde who he recognized as one of those other high school cheerleaders. Startled, he dropped his hand from his girlfriend’s mouth, and she took advantage of the moment.
“He’s hurting me, Lisa!” she shrieked. “He’s hurting me!”
“I told you,” David seethed, “ to keep your stupid mouth shut!” He yanked her by the arm and then hurled her to the ground with enough force to make a sickening crunch as she hit the floor.
“Vikki!” Lisa scrambled to her side and stumbled over the bloody knife. She looked down and gasped in horror. “He stabbed you?!” she said to Vikki, picking up the knife with a firm grasp on the handle.
Not so dainty, this one, David thought. Might take a bit more to bring her to tears.
Vikki tried to answer, but she was incoherent. She was cradling what looked like a broken arm, wailing hysterically.
“For your information,” David intoned with an eerie calmness, “Nobody has been stabbed, least of all, her. I know you’re both just high school girls, but I’d appreciate a little perspective.”
Lisa shot him a withering glance before she gently eased Vikki to her feet, cradling her elbows in the palms of her hands. “You need a doctor, honey,” she said soothingly. Vikki nodded, still shaking, trying to get her tears under control.
“Sorry,” David said, taking a series of small but deliberate steps in their direction. No sudden moves, he told himself. This can still be salvaged. “That’s not going to happen. And I’m afraid, Vikki, this means I won’t be able to accompany you to your homecoming dance Saturday night.”
“Keep him away from me!” Vikki howled. Arm and arm with Lisa, she started limping back toward the door.
David wasn’t pleased. “No!” he shouted. “You’re not going anywhere!” They ignored him.
“Hey!” No response.
David was in no mood to be ignored.
Without thinking, he reached over and grabbed one of the huge, molded boulders that made up one of the foundations of the fountain. It seemed perfectly natural to him that his hand and his arm were now about five times their normal size, and with the strength to match. He lobbed the boulder over the girl’s heads and it hit the glass door, shattering the nearby windows and destroying most of the back wall of the house.
Vikki forgot about her dramatic limp and, while still trying to cradle her arm, tore off toward the gate to the front yard. Lisa trailed close behind. David, finished with the warning shots, grabbed another boulder and heaved it directly at them, only to have it blocked by the fully-grown maple tree near the neighbor’s fence. The tree cracked on impact and fell directly on the roof of the house, collapsing the whole northern wing, which was, thankfully, far from the center of the party’s action. Had he thrown in the other direction, who knows how many guests would have been crushed?
Who knows how many more I just killed? I didn’t want to do this. So why do I keep doing it?
David looked at his arm after the throw. The pangs of conscience had begun to deflate it, the same way it had the day before. But this was not over. His heart was still racing. He had tried to kill again, this time in his own father’s house. Soon all the other cheerleaders would be out here. They’d know what he did.
So he’d have to kill them, too. Most of him didn’t want to do that. But there was too much of him that did.
No. There was another option. Not entirely bloodless, but less bloody, surely.
He dashed around the side of the house just in time to see Vikki’s car racing out of sight. He opened the side door to the garage and saw that Dad’s good car was gone, but the big old Buick was still there, and David knew where the extra keys were hidden.
Dad will kill me if I hurt his car, David thought instantly and then almost laughed at the absurdity of it.
Within seconds, David was out on the street, winding his way down Stradella Road toward the south Bel Air entrance. He could see Vikki’s car just up ahead. He imagined what it might look like after it was grabbed, tossed like a shot put, and splattered all over the nearest hillside.
He cursed himself as his hand throbbed with pleasure at the thought of it.
posted by Elder Samuel Bennett | 10:30 AM
22 Comments:
12k+ words. Oh dear lord.
I think that it totally works as a chapter, and it leaves you with a nice cliff hanger. It's very engaging and well written.
Seems like he lives in a very grand house... in the prologue you talk about how David's father sacrificed for his son (financially?), and that his son was lucky to have a job. At this point in the story it doesn't seem like the father sacrificed very much living in a Bel Air estate.
That thing has too many cliche's, by the time i got to the throbbing hand, i had a throbbing head. Thanks for that by the way.
Other than that, just spiffy!!!!
SM
You're right, dh. I don't know why that's in the prologue. It needs to go.
Stuntman Mike, which cliches bugged you? (You're not allowed to say "all of them." Give me examples.)
Taking place at HBA's house, is it?
The whole 'healing quickly' thing calls to mind Jacob Black in the Twilight series - you might get called on for ripping that off, although I'm sure Stephenie Meyer wasn't the first to make it up. (I do believe there was an OSC book that had genetically quick healers, and she does say he was one of her influences....) But with Twilight being a recent best seller and all, people are going to remember that. (kind of like the Heroes thing)
It's very obvious that you identify more with Jeff than you do with David. We get inside Jeff's head much easier. With this one, David's inner dialogue doesn't feel as authentic. I know you don't think like a killer, but David does, and it doesn't feel very 'real'. I don't know how to fix that - maybe research serial killers or something?
Bring on the rest! Let's see what happens!
Haven't read beyond the first Twilight, although quick healing is a pretty standard comic book convention - or cliche, as Stuntman Mike might say - so I think I'm on pretty solid ground there.
It's ironic that you'd say that I'm more in tune with Jeff than David, as I found David far more interesting to write, and I even became concerned that I was more sympathetic to him than I was to Jeff, who I have to work to keep from becoming a fairly conventional, cookie-cutter hero.
I wasn't thinking HBA's actual house - I wanted something more conspicuously consumptual - although the geography fits nicely, doesn't it?
Great!
Don't worry about chapter length. It's fine as a stand-alone chapter.
As for the writing, no concerns other than the quick-healing thing which actually had me thinking immediately of Clair Bennett and Peter Petrelli in "Heroes." Immediately.
But hey, this isn't a TV show, it's a book, and, as you pointed out in a previous comment, this is a common conceit in comic books.
Overall, I'm very much enjoying this book.
Since we're talking about quick healing, it's a little bit weird that he only started to heal quickly once he was interrupted in his attempt at suicide. Why didn't he heal quickly right after he cut himself with the knife in the first place? Was it something about washing the wound in water that made his wound heal instantly?
Good question. It's sloppy writing, is what it is.
Ok. You're losing me with this chapter. You know when you go back and reread Harry Potter 1 and it feels a little slow because it has to explain every little detail of him and his world and you already know everything there is to know about him and his world? I feel like you've already skipped that part.I kept going back and rereading to see if I missed stuff. Like where did the knife come from. When did suicide thoughts start? Does he feel guilty about killing or worried about the lack of guilt? Isn't he sort of invisible in the prologue - why is Vikki his girlfriend if he's working on the movie and she's a cheerleader? Why does he turn on her so quickly instead of trying to get out of his situation violently? It seems like he could come up with an excuse about why he's bleeding, unless the knife thing is more prominent. Why does Lisa think Vikki needs a doctor? why does he suddenly have the need to hurt people in the house?
It seems like a few well placed sentences could clear up some of the ambiguity I'm feeling - unless you want me confused - then never mind. I just feel like I need to be let into your head just a little more. Then I think the chapter would work.
Also I need David and Jeff to be a little more distinguishable from each other - their both so ANGRY. Should I send you some pills?
Was I too harsh? Keep it coming.
Sorry, I meant why does he turn on her so violently and so quickly when he could easily get out of it with some lame excuse.
She needs a doctor because of her broken arm. The rest, I don't know.
Definately all of them, you people are enough to give a screenwriter an embolism.
embolisms count,i looked it up.
SM
Ok. I missed the broken arm. Maybe I just have reading comprehension problems.
No, wbpraw, you're right on all counts (except the part about the broken arm.) I had all of the same questions. I kept wondering, "Does he want to do this, or doesn't he?" I know that conflict is what you are trying to establish, that he wants to kill himself because he has this attact of conscience, but then the bloodlust wins out, but you left us in the prologue with him feeling excited about killing, so jumping back in with him with suicidal thoughts doesn't quite fit, especially with your writing trick of showing us details and them zooming back to show us what we are looking at. When it first started, I thought he had already killed somebody else, and it took me a re-read to figure out he was talking about suicide. Making your reader go back to try and figure out what you are talking about isn't always bad, but this chapter had too much of that, and I thought, 'Wait, what are we talking about?' too much in this chapter to really get into it. Also, DUDE cut those adjectives. Seriously.
And yes, I thought of HBA's house, too.
I was okay with the healing quickly part, and of course, I thought of Buffy, not Twilight. So yeah, pretty standard superhero stuff. I just figured it took a while for him to figure out that he had healed--otherwise he would have been dead faster, no? I don't know why the water cleared his head suddenly, though.
I think this chapter needs the most work of anything you've given us so far, but I definitely want to see what happens. Why is he going after Vikki? Is he going to kill her? Is he going to push her off a cliff? Is he going to imprison her? I want to know more. And I want Lisa to kick his butt.
Jumping from bloodlust to regret doesn't bother me at all. I think it's good. Leave it like that.
I agree with wbpraw about the whole girlfriend thing, though. He's kind of this invisible dude nobody cares about in the beginning, and now he's the one Vikki's dating? Did I miss something?
Also, is he the hulk or something, without the green? Is it just his hand that can expand, or does his whole body? Is that explained later?
AARGH! Never mind. This is what happens when you read chapters far apart. Vikki's dating him because his father's funding the movie, no? And he's 19 - so she probably loves that he's not in high school anymore either. Had to go re-read the prologue and the first chapter. I really think a reader reading this in succession (without debate commentary inbetween) wouldn't have a problem putting that together. Sorry. Carry on.
Yes, it all gets explained. The point is that the characters don't know what's happening to them, so the reader shouldn't, yet, either. There's a risk here, in that readers - wbpraw is a case in point - may feel like they don't really understand what's happening. In my estimation, this is the biggest challenge in writing a novel and making it engaging.
Believe me, I have boatloads of exposition that explain EVERYTHING that's going on. But if I unload it on you in big, dry chunks at the outset, it would bore you out of your mind. It would also stop everyone from reading, because they have no emotional investment in these people, so why should they care about the details of the world they live in?
The goal here is to get you interested and give you enough details to keep you interested, with enough of a hint of mystery that you WANT to know what happens next. Remember, Harry Potter Chapter One didn't tell you that Harry was a wizard, or about Hogwarts or Death Eaters or any of the meaty stuff that constitute the next seven books. All you learn is that the Dursleys are awful people and embarrassed by the Potters, that Voldemort - whoever or whatever he is - has been vanquished and weirdos and owls are happy about it, and that magical people, upon the death of Harry's parents, leave him in the care of these Dursley relatives who loathe him. It's enough to keep the story going, but it doesn't even begin to fill in all the blanks.
I think - or hope, anyway -that the Wiz is right in that these things are a lot clearer when the chapters are read within a tighter time frame. The movie, Vikki's boyfriend, and the party at the Bel Air house all come up in Chapter One, which directly follows David's announcement of who his important father is on the set of the horror movie in the Prologue. Is it not clear that the Prologue movie is the same as the one being filmed at the high school? If it's not, I need to fix that.
I'm glad Wiz is OK with the shift from bloodlust to regret, as that's an important part of this character and the plot going forward. It's supposed to be like a junkie, who knows what he's doing is wrong but can't resist the craving. Or maybe like Gollum, who loves and hates the ring as he loves and hates himself. If that's confusing in the context of the story, though, I need to clarify.
I hadn't thought about where the knife came from, as he begins the chapter with it, and he could easily have just gotten it out of the kitchen a few minutes earlier. I think explaining that kind of stuff slows down the story with excessive exposition, when the reader can fill in the gaps without much effort.
The last time we saw David, he'd just leveled a freeway. You're now seeing, for the first time, the emotional consequences of that decision. At the end of the prologue, he was both thrilled and horrified by what he had done, and I thought this suicidal self-loathing was the logical extension of that. I haven't mentally pinpointed the moment the suicidal thoughts began, and I'm not sure if doing so would be dramatically interesting.
Vikki's need for a doctor arises from her wounded arm, which I hope is clear from this chapter's context.
David's supposed to be an angry dude, but it's interesting that everyone sees Jeff as being a really angry dude, too. From my perspective, he's only angry when he's stuck in traffic, which provides a dramatic catalyst for him to discover his strength. Before that, he's geeky and embarrassed and sheepish and kind of stalkeresque re: Vikki, but not particularly angry. And after the traffic, he's giddy with excitement. If all you're getting from him is angry Harry from Order of the Phoenix, I need to find someplace to tone that down.
This section was well written (not that I didn't enjoy the other chapters). The only note-worthy comment I have is why in the world didn't anyone else at the party hear the shattering windows or Vikki's arm as it snaps? Was the music that loud or did no one care that the house they were in was crumbling because of a monster posing to be the host. It's fine how it is, but I would add something about the oblivious high school cheerleaders and jocks inside. Perhaps it will be in the next section? I can't wait to read more!
It didn't bother me that Jeff got angry while sitting in traffic, really who doesn't.... the problem that I had in chapeter 2 is that a person who thinks that geeky anonymity can come in handy probably wouldn't express anger in a way that would force him to be the center of attention. I wouldn't have expected him to purposely honk his horn in an attempt to annoy those around him. I think that it would have been more effective if he tried to release anger by just pounding on his dashboard. His dashboard could implode and cause the horn to get stuck on. He could still run away from tattoo man, but he'd be heavily motivated from escaping the unwanted attention from his stuck horn.
I think I am definitely reading these chapters too far apart. I will go back and reread for better context. Write on, Man, write on!
Oh, one more thing. I didn't expect David to be suicidal after accidentally destroying the freeway bridge with a single blow. I think that it would fit better if the freeway disaster was less of an accident i.e. maybe the bridge fell after he purposely destroyed a second pylon.
Post a Comment
Subscribe to Post Comments [Atom]
<< Home