Sinema

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roddglenn

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I have now finished the second draft of my second novel, Sinema. It's a bit lengthy at 86,000 or so to post on here, but I am looking for one or two EXTREMELY helpful souls to agree to have a read through and let me know their comments. I can email it to anyone who is interested.

Sinema is a dark modern day thriller with a bitter vein of black comedy running through its core.

The main character is an anti-hero; a fantasist and a movie fanatic who decides to try to beat the record for the number of murders committed by a single individual serial killer. He chooses a remote village in the heart of Northumberland as his target and sets about planning the systematic murders of the entire village of 392 inhabitants.


Posing as a writer researching a new book, he settles into a local B&B and begins his surveillance and planning.


The small village of Haydon is populated by an array of strange and unique characters, and many have significant problems of their own. They are oblivious of the killer who walks among them and, behind the quiet and quaint walls, infidelity, voyeurism, drug and alcohol abuse and theft are rife, to name but a few. And, in amongst the boiling undercurrent, someone else is planning the perfect untraceable murder of his adulterous wife.

The short prologue is below to give people a taster.


PROLOGUE

Sculpting each tree to fit your ghostly form.
Cascading snowflakes settle in the pines,
Swaying in unison beneath the snow,
Calling me to you with wild gesturings,
Homeward into the howling woods, although,
Thinking of your abiding spirit brings,
Only a whiter absence to my mind,
Only whirled snow heaped up by whirled snow,
Only a fox whose den I cannot find.

Whoo-ee! This is better than a hog-killing!
Saturday 23rd December

The blizzard had reached a writhing frenzy of gusting, icy winds and driving snow, pierced only by a small shape low in the black sky being buffeted by the raw Northumberland winter. Angry nimbostratus clouds filled the sky, blocking moon and stars completely. The tops of the thick forest of pines below were laden with a heavy coating of snow that whipped and swirled amongst the treetops. Not a single light could be seen to pierce the night for miles around.

The windscreen wipers of the Northumbria Police helicopter whipped frantically from side to side to improve the struggling pilot’s view. Beads of sweat clung to his furrowed forehead as he fought to maintain control. But despite his arduous task, he still managed to whistle a cheery festive tune.
Good King Wenceslas looked out
On the feast of Stephen,
When the snow lay round about,
Deep and crisp and even.

His passengers, two plain clothed policemen in the back, had remained sullen for the best part of the journey from Newcastle Airport, but now, as they neared their destination, the older of the two, finally spoke up with an irritated glance toward the pilot. “I don’t think that’s particularly appropriate, given the circumstances.”

The whistling stopped immediately, but the pilot offered no apology.

His younger colleague, looking decidedly pale, rather hesitantly, said, “How could this happen, Super?”

“We don’t know the hows or the whys yet, son, we just have the facts,” Chief Superintendent Hewitt said flatly. 3.15am…phone ringing. “We’ve got a major situation, Sir…” He needed strong black coffee and a cigarette, and a lot of answers. The tall, almost skeletal man looked swamped in the thick overcoat, scarf and woolly hat. His features were gaunt, the grey skin drawn tight across bony cheekbones and sunken around the eyes and temples.
Switching his attention to the pilot, leaning forward in his seat, he asked, “Any news of Wright or Mitchell yet?”

The frail spec of a helicopter rattled with a renewed assault from the elements, delaying the pilot’s reply. Without taking his eyes away from the swirling snowstorm materialising out of the darkness beyond the windscreen, the veteran pilot said, “No, Sir. No further updates.”

“Don’t you think calling in the Army was a bit excessive?” Sergeant Wilkinson was saying. The twenty five year old Geordie was only two months into his promotion to the rank and, for the first time, was feeling decidedly out of his depth.

Hewitt turned to stare at the younger man. “A bit excessive?” he repeated incredulously. “We’ve got multiple murders, a crime scene the size of a dozen St James’s Parks and suspect or suspects still at large. I’m going to use every damn resource I can, Sergeant.”

In a lighter tone, he added, “You’re the local, Wilks; Division told me that you were born and bred in Rothbury, so that’s not a kick in the arse off where we’re headed. I’m going to need you on this.”

Wilkinson took a deep breath and ran a hand across his bristly crew-cut.

The helicopter swung low over the twisted nightmarish shapes of thick woodland, and suddenly the village materialized out of the storm. The small cluster of stone houses and shops were in darkness, apart from the illumination of flashing lights from emergency vehicles on the ground and dozens of bobbing beams from handheld flashlights. The figures on the ground appeared distorted and elongated, moving quickly from building to building.

“Looks like the power’s still out,” Wilkinson said, grimacing at the prospect of leaving the cosy confines of the helicopter.

Hewitt grunted, but otherwise fixed his attention on the chaotic scene below. Was the nightmare over or was it yet to begin?
 
The blizzard had reached a writhing frenzy of gusting, icy winds and driving snow, pierced only by a small shape low in the black sky being buffeted by the raw Northumberland winter.
Quibble; but it's not the "black sky" that's being buffeted. Perhaps commas round the phrase "low in the dark sky" would make this clearer.

The tops of the thick forest of pines below were laden with a heavy coating of snow that whipped and swirled amongst the treetops.
The "coating" doesn't swirl. Perhap "of the snow that whipped?

The frail spec of a helicopter rattled with a renewed assault from the elements, delaying the pilot’s reply.
"Spec" is a contraction of "specification, "Speck".

Division told me that you were born and bred in Rothbury, so that’s not a kick in the arse off where we’re headed
Just a question about the causitive relation indicated by the "so". Maybe just "and"

The small cluster of stone houses and shops were in darkness,
the "cluster" is singular, so it's "was"
Do helicopters have windscreen wipers? I've never flown in one in conditions that require them, but it seems somewhat aerodynamically questionable.
I'm not going to do the poem; there are two lines slightly questionable in rhythm, and I don't think there's a comma after "although".

Oops, this was merely for our delectation, not for comments. Oh, and I'd cheerfully read it for you, (assuming there's a certain amount of time) but I fear I'm only any good at grammar and punctuation, no help with style.
 
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The synposis that you give really piques my interest (mass murder, woot! Sorry, I'm a ghoul, I love things like that!) but alas, I'm stuck at university where I'm actually expected to work (where's the sense in that? :p) so unfortunately I doubt I'll have the time. Perhaps I'll pick up a copy of it when I see it in my local Waterstones in a few months time :D

Oh dear...*shakes head* I am so stupid sometimes...I've only just worked out the title...Sinema...nice! *wanders away, muttering to herself*
 
Thanks for the help, chrispenycate. It really helps to have some fresh eyes over the work. Much appreciated. Can't believe I missed the K off speck! Doh! Helicopters do have windscreen wipers, by the way.

And thanks too for your comments, HoopyFrood. Glad it grabbed your interest. That is at least encouraging that I'm not too far off base with this.
 
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I reset my password for the 4th time to reply to this. Somehow it is too far beyond me to remember the name of my own novel as a password!

Moving right along, I wish to say that the premise of your story intrigues me a great deal; that is definitely a novel I would consider reading!

However, I could not help dreaming up one kind of scenario that may or may not have crossed your mind; maybe you have actually already nailed this. ;) I have found from experience that extremely small towns (villages, perhaps is the more appropriate term) are much more attentive to the community as a whole than big cities are. People tend to know when Uncle Buck buys a new truck or when Peggy Sue finds the "right" man this time around.

Ultimately what I am arriving at is the treatment of murder.

When a person is killed or even goes missing in a small town, I am certain the town gossips, then becomes quite worried. All the sudden a few more bodies go missing and sooner or later, you will have the entire town in an uproar down at the town hall. At this point, people very much crave taking the law into their own hands, and they probably do all own guns. These people will probably also stick together in large packs and watch each others' backs like noone's business.

I suppose my long-winded point is this: I have not read your novel, but I am just wondering how you plan to treat the town's reaction to an already small population--grow even smaller. Surely, someone will notice?

cheers,
dcs
 
Hi there. Great questions!

Without giving too much away, there are two cases before the killer then gets the opportunity to kill en mass. The first is treated as a missing persons and the second as an accident. But yes you are right, in such a small community there would still be a lot of mistrust, especially for the new guy and that is exactly what happens. There are certain characters that build up a friendship with the killer and some who start off with mild doubt, which then grows into out and out suspicion. You are also right that some of the community, as farmers etc, own guns - this too becomes a major issue. And as the few remaining survivors come across each other they do band together (although there are some meaty conflicts between the group).

So, to answer your question, there is a missing person and then an accidental death which arouses suspicion from villagers and the authorities, but is not enough for anyone to take out and out action. Then, over an extended weekend in December when the area is hit by the worst snowstorm in years (effectively completely isolating the community), the killer then starts the 'proper' killing spree.

Does that answer your questions? Is is something you would still like to read?
 
Switching his attention to the pilot, leaning forward in his seat, he asked, “Any news of Wright or Mitchell yet?”

The frail spec of a helicopter rattled with a renewed assault from the elements, delaying the pilot’s reply. Without taking his eyes away from the swirling snowstorm materialising out of the darkness beyond the windscreen, the veteran pilot said, “No, Sir. No further updates.”
Just two minot points - the first sentence above should read "Switching his attention to the pilot and leaning forward ...

The penultimate sentence might be better with ... the veteran pilot replied.

It's always best to try and get away from the word "said".

But I've read the other comments and, like them, think the story sounds extremely promising. Go for it mate.
 
Thanks for that, Spaceship. Totally agree with your first point - I'll get that changed right away.

On the whole 'said' thing though I've always been taught not to stray away from said too often because if you do keep using different options like 'replied', 'responded', 'muttered' or whatever that it gives it too much emphasis whereas the emphasis should be on what is being said.
 
Point taken - I agree that sometimes "said" is the only possible word to use. Keep going!
 
Thanks for that, Spaceship. Totally agree with your first point - I'll get that changed right away.

On the whole 'said' thing though I've always been taught not to stray away from said too often because if you do keep using different options like 'replied', 'responded', 'muttered' or whatever that it gives it too much emphasis whereas the emphasis should be on what is being said.

There are ways round using anything at all. This sentence:

His younger colleague, looking decidedly pale, rather hesitantly, said, “How could this happen, Super?”

Works just as well as

His younger colleague, looked decidedly pale. “Er.. how could this happen, Super?”

Referencing a character followed by some speech ties them together.
 
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