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Ofaloaf posted:I do a little work for local government and I just saw a play about zombies. I've not really written much before, I dunno what the hell I'm doing. I like your use of local speech, I can hear these people as I've dealt with enough of them in my small town. Perhaps some more physical depictions would express the frustration of Rider with Moore's insistance on a religious explaination and attempts at placating him on how the issue will be handled by the authorities. Though why is his left hand twitching? That's the only thing that really pulled me out of the scene. Riding is also some kind of lunatic (I like it). God save us all from such bureaucrats.
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Jul 22, 2015 17:40
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| # ¿ May 14, 2024 15:05 |
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I'm working on a horror short story set in Detroit. This is my first actual writing in many years, so I don't expect it to be very good. Let me know if I should keep going: Sarah Kester's day was turning out to be an object lesson in misery. It started off with her waking up unable to breathe through her nose, a hardened crust of mucus trailing to her ear. A note by the bedstand informed her that it was (as her boyfriend James put it) "Time to start looking for a job." Something by the way, that she is perfectly aware of, as she already has a 9am interview. Well...had an interview. The godawful directions given to her by the receptionist at Magnanimous Marketing Solutions, LLC neglected to mention whether it was North or South Tacoma Avenue she was heading to, resulting in the cabby dropping her off well shy of her destination. By the time she realized the mistake, the bastard had driven off already. Bleary eyed, stuffy nosed and cold in the October morning, she looked up and down the crumbling street she'd been delivered to in search of MMS's office, to no avail. The looming tower she thought was MMS’s office was actually an abandoned apartment building, judging by the rusted sign reading “Valley View Heights”. The strip mall she stood before had exactly one business in operation; A pawn shop called "Gold'E'Locks Gold Exchange," with a fearsome looking storefront. Bars over the blue and gold painted windowpane, and the excited depiction of the words: "Guns!, Guns!, Guns!," were not terribly reassuring. The remaining storefronts were the cold brick of late 70's architecture. Their wide display windows and doorways boarded over with the rain and snow soaked particleboards of the last decade, warped further by intricate graffiti tags. Fearing she'd miss the interview, she jams her hand into the pocket of her slacks to retrieve her smartphone. A quick glance at the cherished yellow and black display of Felix the cat is all she needs to see that she has no signal...and that her time is running short. "Fuuuck," she groans, turning annoyed to the window of Gold'E'Locks. Peering through the grime encrusted window, she can see an obese, middle aged man scowling at her with drooping, baggy eyes from behind a bulletproof glass kiosk. Sighing, she pulls open the heavy door to a reeking, garlic filled blast of heated air. Smiling, she says; “Hi, can I use your-“ “No. No phone, no bathroom. Company policy,” he grunts, wiping sweat from his comb-over with a balled up shirt. “You wanna buy somethin’, you let me know.” “Please? It’s kind of an emergency, and I’m not getting any bars on my phone. It would only take a second.” “Nope, sorry lady. Gotta follow policy or I get shitcanned,” he shrugs as he points a nicotine stained finger at a looming security camera. “poo poo,” she curses under her breath. “Fine. Thanks,” she turns on her heel and swiftly exits the foul smelling shop. Back outside, the frigid wind hits her immediately as she turns in the direction of downtown and starts to walk, already dreading the long, cold trip home.
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Jul 22, 2015 18:26
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epoch. posted:Setting a horror story in Detroit in this day and age should be as natural as a gothic horror set in London. You definitely have attempted to build the character of the city with some relative success, but literally nothing interesting happens here, at all. Even though this is a snippet of a (planned) larger piece, you've sort of, well, wasted the reader's time. You spend a lot of time on unnecessary detail. Detail in fiction is crucial. But it must serve a purpose. Every word you write should serve a purpose other than "I liked how it made me feel smart to write this." Thank you for taking the time to give it the business. I was afraid of much of this being the case. The one seemingly extra detail I want to keep at least, is the sickness and being unable to properly breathe, as it's an important detail later that will save her life. I'll see what I can do with this.
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Aug 10, 2015 13:59
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