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I've been threatening to inflict myself upon this thread for weeks. Here's my reworked Thunderdome entry, though it's slightly over the word limit now. Tensegrity Kasey’s glance shot from his ruined bike to his watch and back. He was doing his best to keep it together but the plan was falling apart before it had even unfurled. All his thoughts ran together as he tried to cope. The minute hand moved forward a half-circle; he could see Claire’s train pulling in, the Customs officers hauling her off the platform. He’d be running, sweaty, covered in grit but still blocks away from where he had to be. Or maybe he’d be stuck in a crowded bus or getting maced by a cabbie after he stiffed the bill. There was no time to cut the locks on the other bikes. He didn’t even own a grinder. There was no time, period. He tightened the duffel bag across his shoulders, breathed in, and broke into a run. Claire tightened her grip on her handbag, hands clammy with sweat. Her molars ached: she’d been grinding her teeth. Her heel tapped the cardboard box beneath the seat. No. Can't draw attention to the box, can't even think about it. They'd see it in her face, they could see these things. Kasey’s words ran through her head as the train’s clatter slowed with every passing moment. “There are three parts to any good plan: the Ruse, the Swindle and the Exit.” Kasey had seemed so sure of himself. She would never have agreed otherwise. “They’ll never suspect you’re up to somethin’. You wear one of those sundresses a’yours, you get all nervous when they ask for your passport and you’ll be golden. You’re like so low on the watch list you’d get away with murder.” For the most part, he’d been right. No one at the station gave her any trouble. No one really seemed to care. Now, outside, the suburbs grew denser. The streets were getting busier, there was less green. They were cutting towards the heart of the city. She checked her watch. Kasey was four blocks in, still running. No more time for dicking around. He scanned the sidewalk trying to tie things together. Someone was plugging a parking meter, a beggar plucked at a guitar, a lady with a stroller looked into a boutique, some guy was about to chain his bike to a pole. Kasey could almost felt a plan fall into place. “Hey! That guy stole my wallet!” Heads turned; Kasey was already moving, using those few seconds of confusion to tackle the guy with the bike. Before the guy could pick himself up Kasey was already weaving through traffic. Everything was a blur now. He kept his eyes on the thin strip of pavement between the parked cars and the moving traffic. A rusted out Toyota veered in too close; he could feel the heat coming off the hood. He kicked at the fender and flipped them the bird; a costly mistake. Some old guy took the moment to open the door of his Lincoln just up ahead. Kasey pressed on the brakes. Nothing, they were shot. He’d never scrub enough speed. The old guy was leaning on the door, pulling himself out, his pace was glacial. There was nowhere to go. No free ‘crete anywhere but the sidewalks. Or maybe… “gently caress it!” Kasey pulled across the lane, hoping the Toyota was keeping back. Car horns went off all around as he hauled rear end down the median, bent over his bars like he was winning the Tour de gently caress. He blew through a fresh red at the next lights, car horns going off again. He counted blocks now, redrawing the route in his head. No time to check his watch, but he knew it was going to be close. Claire pressed herself against the window. He was supposed to be waiting on the other end of the bridge, and the locomotive was already disappearing into the arching steel latticework. Her mouth was dry, her heart was pounding. It had to work. She slid the window open and fished the yellow kerchief from her purse. He ditched the bike behind the sickly shrubs at the embankment’s base. The scream of steel on steel let him know the train had cleared the bridge and was pulling into the final curve that would bring it into the station. Claire had said her car was somewhere near the middle. He bolted up the grassy slope. Hanging onto a girder with one hand, he leaned in as close to the train as he could. The smell of hot grease and diesel made it hard to breathe. He tensed as the cars passed, each pocket of air almost knocking him off balance. There - a flash of yellow at the other end of the bridge. He blinked and it was gone. He fixated on that car. It was coming up fast. Everything seemed to stop as he kept his eyes locked on the one open window. Close now. So close. He leaned over as far as he could, one hand outstretched. He could touch the endless stream of steel and rivets if he wanted. There she was, leaning out, the box in her hands and an uncertain look on her face. His fingers connected with the box, sliding across its surface and missing the twine that kept it shut. She’d already let go. The box was in free fall, the heavy end making it tumble towards the tracks. Her hands reached down, swatting the empty air as the train took her away. He was still on it. He kicked off the girder, eyes locked on the small brown parcel. Arms outstretched, he grazed the sides of the box with his palms. He brought it in close, pressing it to his chest and taking the fall with his shoulder. The roar of steel on steel was deafening, his shoulder ached where he’d connected with the rail tie. He rolled off the bridge and slid down the embankment, the box tucked away in his duffel. He left the bike where it lay and started the walk home without a second glance. Back at his apartment Kasey cracked a cold one. Claire was asleep in his bed, and Mr. Whiskers had finally shaken off the sedatives. Well, enough to pull himself out of the box and over to a bowl of food, anyway.
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Feb 18, 2013 18:04
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| # ¿ May 14, 2024 02:12 |
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Jeza posted:I have one big point instead. You. are. too. fast. Like Stone pointed out in the 'dome with your latest story, your prose is white-hot and hard to handle. You aren't so much spoon feeding me the plot as ramming it down my throat at a thousand miles-per-hour. Chill. This is like the nicest thing anyone's ever said 'bout my writing : ) A few things - the repetition is intentional, I was kind of trying to mimic the way panicked thoughts work. Kind of like a circular thinking thing. Not sure if it worked. I know the sweating is repetitive, but I wanted to show them reacting the same way to the situation. Where the fender-kicking happens and you say the transition doesn't work, I'm kind of in a tight spot. I was trying to imply that taking his eyes off the road and losing his focus are what caused him to miss the old guy. The "he stole my wallet" thing was supposed to show that the bike-locking guy turned around, giving Kasey enough time to tackle him. And the tour de gently caress thing is a Critical Mass joke http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hgCqz3l33kU The cat thing (and the terrible name) I added because I kind of want all the effort to seem pointless, almost trivial. The story spawned from a short story competition held by a band called Broken Social Scene. Their album 'You forgot it in the people' has a kind of weird serious-but-not-really vibe to it. Thanks so much for the time and crits, I'll be reworking this until it works. edit: would you prefer the cat to be awake through the ordeal? I'm fixing all the stuff you highlighted then giving it some more time. autism ZX spectrum fucked around with this message at 23:06 on Feb 18, 2013 |
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Feb 18, 2013 22:47
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I think one of the biggest issues I'm having now is one of context. I used to be way too wordy, now it seems I expect everyone to know all the things I know, all the time. I'd really like my work to be accessible to, well, most people. It seems I can't find a good middle ground. Either I'm all exposition, all the time, or just enough nouns to convey an idea. I feel that since you don't have all the context, you're finding things other people wouldn't find. My reaction to a lot of the bolded stuff goes something like "What! You can't possibly have a bone to pick with that sentence/construction/turn of phrase" *waits five minutes, re-reads* "oh."
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Feb 18, 2013 23:12
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The input really helps. I'm having major, major issues with that last paragraph. I can't make the scene work like I want it. You're bang on with that. You are missing a few cycling references, and the prot is definitely a dick  The sedatives part is twofold, I guess. One it implies they can get ketamine, and two...would you transport an animal like that if it was awake? I like that it made sense on first pass, though. It's kind of loose ends everywhere so you might be reading too much into it. I was trying to use Claire as a way to change scenes and push the plot/action forward in as few words as possible, but I'm not sure it worked. I'm really disappointed my attempt at introducing the box fell short, though. It's either way too ham-fisted or it's not there at all. I thought I was onto something with Customs Officers and what have you. Where you're saying it seems backwards also worries me. Could you possibly rearrange that in a way that makes sense to you? I'm not seeing it. oh snap! I forgot I did a thing. Check this: quote:Hand over hand, he pulled himself onto the bridge. Hanging off a girder, he leaned in as close to the train as he could. The smell of hot grease and diesel made it hard to breathe. He tensed as the cars passed, each pocket of air almost knocking him off balance. autism ZX spectrum fucked around with this message at 06:15 on Feb 20, 2013 |
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Feb 20, 2013 06:11
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quote:Nothing wrong with that, and having already established that she might be pulled by Customs, you're doing well. Thank God 'cause that'd be a hell of a rework. So it's okay if I focus on keeping this action-oriented and keep the character stuff for another time? I understand the need for background information, but I lifted the setting from something entirely unrelated. I'm really more concerned with the clarity in the transitions and that the action makes sense. If it's any consolation I'll post the larger work when it's not a train wreck.
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Feb 20, 2013 13:52
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Hey, I really dig this but it's a little rough. I'm not following all of it and there are some sentences that could use a rework. Hope you don't mind if I do this: Mike Works posted:
It's all I've got time for right now, but if you want I can keep going once I'm at the computer again. In the meantime if you could rework it so that all your dialogue seems more like dialogue, I think it'd be a more solid starting point. Take everything with a grain of salt of course.
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Feb 22, 2013 00:41
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Alright Mike Works, I have some time to sit down with your story. I agree with Honey Badger on your piece feeling really genuine, there are a few things you do that I really like. Your really specific capitalization and use of brand names is used really well for the most part. The biggest issue I have is a lack of frame of reference. It's all a series of dreamlike scenes (to me, at least) and I have real trouble getting a sort of continuity from it. I know it's a huge case of calling the kettle black, but I kind of get what you're trying to do (I think). Some ideas slid out of my brainus, and I'll smear them across your work. First off, what if you did something like opening it like this: quote:Sharpened steel and the crack of a stick hitting ice: the puck's heading for his face at fifty-five miles an hour. He's out cold. edit: I wanna say that I'm equal parts jealous and impressed at what you did with so few words. If you ditched some of the clumsy similes and added words to parts that count (like where you're describing the workshop and the robot), I feel you'd have a much stronger piece. Basically just tighten up! autism ZX spectrum fucked around with this message at 05:19 on Feb 22, 2013 |
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Feb 22, 2013 05:02
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I really disliked the General at first because of the trembling under covers in a storm thing. What a wuss. It made me think of him way differently than what the rest of the story would have be believe. I know he's supposed to be scared, but it's really hard to see him as a scared man in the first bit. He seems kind of like an old codger or a bumbling fool. Maybe something like showing us his reactions to things going on instead of telling us he's scared? I feel really bad ripping into it, 'cause the more I read it the more I like it. It really comes into itself in the second half, and it gets really good. As a hook? I'd rework it. If it's any help, whatever you did in your latest TD entry worked wonders. Edge of my seat the whole way through.
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Feb 27, 2013 05:44
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Jeza posted:Prologue - MARK TWO? The rest of it I can't really find fault with, but my fine-toothed comb isn't as fine as some others.
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Feb 28, 2013 00:49
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| # ¿ May 14, 2024 02:12 |
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The 'cool' part of 'his fingers were twitching on the cool glass' really bugs me. If it's his third, the glass wouldn't be cool. I'd be more inclined to something like "his fingers still twitching against the tumbler's glass"
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Feb 28, 2013 02:33
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