Post by stonerninja on Aug 11, 2007 0:37:57 GMT -5
Sorry if I get all tutorial on you, but I thought it might be a fun exercise to see just what it takes to create a "quality" work of fiction. The following is an idea that's been bumping about my brain for a while now. Finally decided to fully flesh it out.
What follows is actually an exercise in shit; this is called the "vomit copy." That is, to vomit up the whole story on paper at once. See, the most important draft of a story (fact or fiction, I do both) is the FIRST draft. If you try to edit yourself along the whole way, you're bound to be stuck on the first paragraph for eight years. And, even if by some miracle of God you DO happen to finish it, it's still a first draft requiring endless revisions.
Which is what this thread will be about. The evolution of this story. After all, your own opinions are naturally important to your story, if not the most important, assuming you want to keep it your story. However, outside voices are vital as well, and that's where you can come in.
So here is the first copy. I think it's crap. Of course, I think all my work is crap. After I distance myself from my work, I can come to a point where I'll think something is "okay," but to date I've only written two things that I think are good. But that's another post.
Sword of Damocles
Sometimes, as I lay in a filthy bed in some unnumbered room in an anonymous motel room, I look at the shadows gathering on the ceiling. I don’t mean shadows in half lit corners; I leave the lights blazing all night. The electric company must love me.
Do you know what I mean? These are the shadows that can thrive in the light, be it the full hundred-watt bulb of a cheap hotel, or a roaring fire in a warehouse. And I know what they are...
BAM!
“Time to pay up Johnny.”
I sat shirtless in a wooden chair, my hands bound behind my back. This was Warehouse 31, a favorite place of business of the Montera brothers. “I swear, I’ll get the money.” I spoke through a set of rubber teeth.
“Money’s not good enough Johnny.”
BAM!
Miguel Montera slugged me across the mouth again. He was a big man. I was not. I fell out of the chair and tasted blood. I saw stars.
Tony’s brother Alex stepped forward and leaned into my face. Alex was just as big as his brother. You’d have thought there wasn’t a brain between them, but appearances can be deceiving. I know that.
I could feel Alex’s quiet rage, his satisfaction. “Sorry Johnny, you’ve had your chance.” He stood straight up. “Hell, you’ve had LOTS of chances. But Johnny, we can only be so nice.”
“But Alex, I,” I tried to wriggle over, but Tony kicked me in the gut. I choked, and flipped over. Alex spat at me.
“Finish him quick. I wanna get outta here...this place is givin’ me the creeps tonight.” A smile lit up his face, and he leaned over to his brother, whispered something. The smile spread to Miguel. Never borrow money from these guys, I know that. I REALLY know that.
Miguel reached down, grabbed my ankle and started dragging me across the floor. I tasted concrete. I smelled smoke.
“What was that?” Alex froze and looked around. “I thought you said this place was deserted?”
“It was, I...look!” Miguel dropped my leg and pointed to the corner. Shadows were gathering. Forming. A leg, another leg, a torso, an arm. A head. Eyes. “Let’s get outta here...”
They started backing out step by step, but it was too late. I thought I smelled smoke. “What the HELL?” The doorway was on fire. And it was spreading too fast up the veins of the building into the ceiling.
I had been totally forgotten, so when Alex turned to run in the other direction, it was no surprise when he tripped over me. Hurt though. Hurt him more. “SHIT!” Alex gave me a kick, and pushed himself up on his elbows. When he looked up, he screamed. The thing from the shadows was staring down at him. It had taken on the shape of a man, but a cold mockery of one. Wisps of black ether tugged at its arms and legs. Its eyes were a sharp, icy blue. Before Alex could react, it reached down with one arm and pulled him, by the neck, his toes a foot above the floor. I couldn’t quite see, but something tells me I didn’t want to. Alex screamed and screamed again. There was a wet snap, and he stopped screaming. His body fell to the floor.
Amazingly, it turned from me. Miguel had made his way to the other side of the warehouse, desperately trying to force open a window untouched by the flames. He saw it approaching, and pulled a gun from his pants. Cursing, he shot bullet after bullet after bullet into its body. There was no effect. It reached him, still shooting.
I didn’t bother watching. I started pulling myself up. There was another wet snap. I was on my feet. An inhuman roar echoed behind me.
I tried to set the events of the past couple of minutes in some kind of logical order; it was useless. I had one concern. I dashed to the door. No luck, it engulfed in flame, what was left of it. I hesitated for a second, wondering if I should try to jump through. Sweat poured from my brow. And then, I felt cold.
I turned around slowly. The shadow was before me. Was it bigger? Maybe, but maybe it was all in my head. Maybe it ALL was in my head. Maybe I could wake up, or maybe, maybe I had already been beaten to death, and this was hell.
I wanted to run, to scream, to beg for mercy, plead forgiveness from God, forsake Him, anything. But I couldn’t. I could only stare up into its eyes, a vacuum of cold. It was like gazing into a prehistoric past. The shadow raised its arm...
...and another shadow flew behind it. The thing shrieked in twisted pain; I swear, my hearing has been dulled ever since. Slowly, the raised arm dissolved into countless worms made of wisping black smoke. They scattered into the air, the shrill shriek dissipating with them.
Its gaze broken, the thing turned towards the other shadow, a decidedly more human shadow. It was a man, dressed in some kind of black outfit, like something they would have worn a long time ago in some other country. He was holding a sword, a short one, like a pirate sword.
The thing charged him. He sidestepped it, his sword arching across its back. It screamed again, but it was dull, angry scream this time.
By now, I had no idea of what to do. The fire was steadily eating up the room. Besides, what could do? Less than ten minutes ago, I was being beaten to a pulp by mobsters, now, I was watching a horror story unfold in front of me. So I just stood and watched.
I can hardly remember it now. I think it was a combination of things; the heat from the fire was growing, distorting the atmosphere. I was confused as hell. But mostly, it was the two fighters. They were stylized, not like real things, more like caricatures in a dance.
It must have lasted half a minute at most, and then my heart sank into my chest. The man in black was defeated. The shadow thing had torn his arm out, from the socket. I don’t know how it had the upper hand, I could have sworn he was winning, but now, it had grabbed his free hand and ripped it right out of its socket. Clean. It was almost beautiful.
He fell backwards, a fountain of blood soaking into his shirt. The sword clattered out of his hand. The thing took a step back, raised its head, and unleashed another deafening scream. A mocking scream.
Almost as if on cue, a rafter tore loose from the unsteady ceiling, and a flaming piece of timber clattered to the floor. I won’t say that it landed on the thing, forcing it to the ground, because that wasn’t exactly what happened. Instead, one minute it seemed like it was standing, and then the next, the rafter was on the ground, and the thing had dissolved and reappeared beneath it.
Woozy, the man in black forced himself up, lifted the sword and moved towards the thing. He hovered above it, then drove the blade into the back of its head. I was expecting a final, earth shattering death cry, but instead, it sounded like a thousand different squeals together forming a single dying voice. The thing dissolved one last time.
The man turned to me. Now, I had no idea what expect. He had just saved me, was he going to get me out of here, or was I next? He reached out his arm, loosening his grip on his sword, and spoke. “Help me.”
The next thing I knew, we were outside the building. The man had his good arm around my shoulder, limping along. The sword was in my hand. A cold wind was blowing from the north, freezing the sweat on my body. It was cold, but not as cold as that thing.
When we were far enough from Warehouse 31 not to feel the baking heat, he released his grip, and slumped onto the ground.
“Oh God. Oh God. What should I do? Do you...do you want me to call an ambulance?”
I started backing away. I highly doubted that, in that moment, I was going to call an ambulance, but I certainly wanted to leave, to put as much distance between myself and that place as physically possible.
“Stop. I need to tell you something.” His eyes drilled into me, as powerful as the eyes of that thing. For someone who had just had his arm torn out, he was surprisingly calm. And, as confused and gutless as I was, I did stop. More than that, I wanted to know. NEEDED to.
“What was that thing?”
He ignored me. “There is a Bind that links this world to all others. I am an agent of that Bind. Whenever there is a disturbance, something that tries to break through, I have to remove it. I...”
He coughed. It was a long, miserable cough. When he looked back up, I could tell that his body was weakening rapidly, but his eyes never betrayed it. If anything, they were stronger. “I need you to replace me.”
“...What?”
“I can’t say if it was chance or fate that led to this, there is much I do not understand. But I know that you need to replace me.”
I felt my stomach drop about three feet. “Okay, sure.” I giggled nervously. “Do I have to sign a contract or something?”
“No...” He struggled up raise himself up. “You have to take my head.”
I remembered the sword was in my hand. It took on a sudden weight. “No way, I can’t! I never could!” I tried to turn away, I had to. Turn away, drop the sword, and run. But...his eyes caught me again. They looked strangely familiar.
And then, without even being aware of it, I raised the sword. DO IT whispered a voice, deep inside my head, an old, forgotten voice. The blade went surprisingly easy through his neck.
So after that, of course, I ran. My mind flooded with...glimpses. Glimpses of who this man in black had been, what he had seen, strange places and times. Glimpses of the Bind. A glimpses into the shadow. I knew everything that I was supposed to do. But I knew I couldn’t do it.
I ran. I started moving east, across the country. Checking into hole in the wall hotels, making what fast money I could. When I hit the other coast, I turned around, and did it again. As soon as I’m back, I guess I’ll just turn around again, keep running. Of course, I still heard the voices, saw the glimpses of the things I had to do. I try my best to ignore them.
Every now and again, things would get too hairy, and I’d have to do something. Dispel some shadows, right? I must admit, even though I haven’t used that sword all that much, I have gotten good with it. Well, good enough. Maybe it is second nature.
I see the shadows clearer than I ever could. I think we can all see them, but I think that people who know about this Bind can see them clearer. But none of us can ever see them perfectly. I still don’t know where they’re from; I doubt I ever will. I think we’re not supposed to know. Just like we can’t really see them.
But I CAN see them, if only a little. That’s what I see on the walls and ceilings of motel rooms, no matter how bright the lights are.
And I know that I’m not doing what I supposed to. And I know that someone is paying for it. And that someday, I’ll pay for it. Big time. I know it.
What follows is actually an exercise in shit; this is called the "vomit copy." That is, to vomit up the whole story on paper at once. See, the most important draft of a story (fact or fiction, I do both) is the FIRST draft. If you try to edit yourself along the whole way, you're bound to be stuck on the first paragraph for eight years. And, even if by some miracle of God you DO happen to finish it, it's still a first draft requiring endless revisions.
Which is what this thread will be about. The evolution of this story. After all, your own opinions are naturally important to your story, if not the most important, assuming you want to keep it your story. However, outside voices are vital as well, and that's where you can come in.
So here is the first copy. I think it's crap. Of course, I think all my work is crap. After I distance myself from my work, I can come to a point where I'll think something is "okay," but to date I've only written two things that I think are good. But that's another post.
Sword of Damocles
Sometimes, as I lay in a filthy bed in some unnumbered room in an anonymous motel room, I look at the shadows gathering on the ceiling. I don’t mean shadows in half lit corners; I leave the lights blazing all night. The electric company must love me.
Do you know what I mean? These are the shadows that can thrive in the light, be it the full hundred-watt bulb of a cheap hotel, or a roaring fire in a warehouse. And I know what they are...
BAM!
“Time to pay up Johnny.”
I sat shirtless in a wooden chair, my hands bound behind my back. This was Warehouse 31, a favorite place of business of the Montera brothers. “I swear, I’ll get the money.” I spoke through a set of rubber teeth.
“Money’s not good enough Johnny.”
BAM!
Miguel Montera slugged me across the mouth again. He was a big man. I was not. I fell out of the chair and tasted blood. I saw stars.
Tony’s brother Alex stepped forward and leaned into my face. Alex was just as big as his brother. You’d have thought there wasn’t a brain between them, but appearances can be deceiving. I know that.
I could feel Alex’s quiet rage, his satisfaction. “Sorry Johnny, you’ve had your chance.” He stood straight up. “Hell, you’ve had LOTS of chances. But Johnny, we can only be so nice.”
“But Alex, I,” I tried to wriggle over, but Tony kicked me in the gut. I choked, and flipped over. Alex spat at me.
“Finish him quick. I wanna get outta here...this place is givin’ me the creeps tonight.” A smile lit up his face, and he leaned over to his brother, whispered something. The smile spread to Miguel. Never borrow money from these guys, I know that. I REALLY know that.
Miguel reached down, grabbed my ankle and started dragging me across the floor. I tasted concrete. I smelled smoke.
“What was that?” Alex froze and looked around. “I thought you said this place was deserted?”
“It was, I...look!” Miguel dropped my leg and pointed to the corner. Shadows were gathering. Forming. A leg, another leg, a torso, an arm. A head. Eyes. “Let’s get outta here...”
They started backing out step by step, but it was too late. I thought I smelled smoke. “What the HELL?” The doorway was on fire. And it was spreading too fast up the veins of the building into the ceiling.
I had been totally forgotten, so when Alex turned to run in the other direction, it was no surprise when he tripped over me. Hurt though. Hurt him more. “SHIT!” Alex gave me a kick, and pushed himself up on his elbows. When he looked up, he screamed. The thing from the shadows was staring down at him. It had taken on the shape of a man, but a cold mockery of one. Wisps of black ether tugged at its arms and legs. Its eyes were a sharp, icy blue. Before Alex could react, it reached down with one arm and pulled him, by the neck, his toes a foot above the floor. I couldn’t quite see, but something tells me I didn’t want to. Alex screamed and screamed again. There was a wet snap, and he stopped screaming. His body fell to the floor.
Amazingly, it turned from me. Miguel had made his way to the other side of the warehouse, desperately trying to force open a window untouched by the flames. He saw it approaching, and pulled a gun from his pants. Cursing, he shot bullet after bullet after bullet into its body. There was no effect. It reached him, still shooting.
I didn’t bother watching. I started pulling myself up. There was another wet snap. I was on my feet. An inhuman roar echoed behind me.
I tried to set the events of the past couple of minutes in some kind of logical order; it was useless. I had one concern. I dashed to the door. No luck, it engulfed in flame, what was left of it. I hesitated for a second, wondering if I should try to jump through. Sweat poured from my brow. And then, I felt cold.
I turned around slowly. The shadow was before me. Was it bigger? Maybe, but maybe it was all in my head. Maybe it ALL was in my head. Maybe I could wake up, or maybe, maybe I had already been beaten to death, and this was hell.
I wanted to run, to scream, to beg for mercy, plead forgiveness from God, forsake Him, anything. But I couldn’t. I could only stare up into its eyes, a vacuum of cold. It was like gazing into a prehistoric past. The shadow raised its arm...
...and another shadow flew behind it. The thing shrieked in twisted pain; I swear, my hearing has been dulled ever since. Slowly, the raised arm dissolved into countless worms made of wisping black smoke. They scattered into the air, the shrill shriek dissipating with them.
Its gaze broken, the thing turned towards the other shadow, a decidedly more human shadow. It was a man, dressed in some kind of black outfit, like something they would have worn a long time ago in some other country. He was holding a sword, a short one, like a pirate sword.
The thing charged him. He sidestepped it, his sword arching across its back. It screamed again, but it was dull, angry scream this time.
By now, I had no idea of what to do. The fire was steadily eating up the room. Besides, what could do? Less than ten minutes ago, I was being beaten to a pulp by mobsters, now, I was watching a horror story unfold in front of me. So I just stood and watched.
I can hardly remember it now. I think it was a combination of things; the heat from the fire was growing, distorting the atmosphere. I was confused as hell. But mostly, it was the two fighters. They were stylized, not like real things, more like caricatures in a dance.
It must have lasted half a minute at most, and then my heart sank into my chest. The man in black was defeated. The shadow thing had torn his arm out, from the socket. I don’t know how it had the upper hand, I could have sworn he was winning, but now, it had grabbed his free hand and ripped it right out of its socket. Clean. It was almost beautiful.
He fell backwards, a fountain of blood soaking into his shirt. The sword clattered out of his hand. The thing took a step back, raised its head, and unleashed another deafening scream. A mocking scream.
Almost as if on cue, a rafter tore loose from the unsteady ceiling, and a flaming piece of timber clattered to the floor. I won’t say that it landed on the thing, forcing it to the ground, because that wasn’t exactly what happened. Instead, one minute it seemed like it was standing, and then the next, the rafter was on the ground, and the thing had dissolved and reappeared beneath it.
Woozy, the man in black forced himself up, lifted the sword and moved towards the thing. He hovered above it, then drove the blade into the back of its head. I was expecting a final, earth shattering death cry, but instead, it sounded like a thousand different squeals together forming a single dying voice. The thing dissolved one last time.
The man turned to me. Now, I had no idea what expect. He had just saved me, was he going to get me out of here, or was I next? He reached out his arm, loosening his grip on his sword, and spoke. “Help me.”
The next thing I knew, we were outside the building. The man had his good arm around my shoulder, limping along. The sword was in my hand. A cold wind was blowing from the north, freezing the sweat on my body. It was cold, but not as cold as that thing.
When we were far enough from Warehouse 31 not to feel the baking heat, he released his grip, and slumped onto the ground.
“Oh God. Oh God. What should I do? Do you...do you want me to call an ambulance?”
I started backing away. I highly doubted that, in that moment, I was going to call an ambulance, but I certainly wanted to leave, to put as much distance between myself and that place as physically possible.
“Stop. I need to tell you something.” His eyes drilled into me, as powerful as the eyes of that thing. For someone who had just had his arm torn out, he was surprisingly calm. And, as confused and gutless as I was, I did stop. More than that, I wanted to know. NEEDED to.
“What was that thing?”
He ignored me. “There is a Bind that links this world to all others. I am an agent of that Bind. Whenever there is a disturbance, something that tries to break through, I have to remove it. I...”
He coughed. It was a long, miserable cough. When he looked back up, I could tell that his body was weakening rapidly, but his eyes never betrayed it. If anything, they were stronger. “I need you to replace me.”
“...What?”
“I can’t say if it was chance or fate that led to this, there is much I do not understand. But I know that you need to replace me.”
I felt my stomach drop about three feet. “Okay, sure.” I giggled nervously. “Do I have to sign a contract or something?”
“No...” He struggled up raise himself up. “You have to take my head.”
I remembered the sword was in my hand. It took on a sudden weight. “No way, I can’t! I never could!” I tried to turn away, I had to. Turn away, drop the sword, and run. But...his eyes caught me again. They looked strangely familiar.
And then, without even being aware of it, I raised the sword. DO IT whispered a voice, deep inside my head, an old, forgotten voice. The blade went surprisingly easy through his neck.
So after that, of course, I ran. My mind flooded with...glimpses. Glimpses of who this man in black had been, what he had seen, strange places and times. Glimpses of the Bind. A glimpses into the shadow. I knew everything that I was supposed to do. But I knew I couldn’t do it.
I ran. I started moving east, across the country. Checking into hole in the wall hotels, making what fast money I could. When I hit the other coast, I turned around, and did it again. As soon as I’m back, I guess I’ll just turn around again, keep running. Of course, I still heard the voices, saw the glimpses of the things I had to do. I try my best to ignore them.
Every now and again, things would get too hairy, and I’d have to do something. Dispel some shadows, right? I must admit, even though I haven’t used that sword all that much, I have gotten good with it. Well, good enough. Maybe it is second nature.
I see the shadows clearer than I ever could. I think we can all see them, but I think that people who know about this Bind can see them clearer. But none of us can ever see them perfectly. I still don’t know where they’re from; I doubt I ever will. I think we’re not supposed to know. Just like we can’t really see them.
But I CAN see them, if only a little. That’s what I see on the walls and ceilings of motel rooms, no matter how bright the lights are.
And I know that I’m not doing what I supposed to. And I know that someone is paying for it. And that someday, I’ll pay for it. Big time. I know it.