Whisper My Name
- Thread starter reiver33
- Start date
- Status
Hi all,
Well, I'm not quite sure how to take some of this. The grammatical 'onslaught' is fine - if I actually took some time to review what I write I'd 'probably' have picked them up as well. I don't write from notes or a composed plot line, more a 'need to get the story arc from here to there' kind of approach. As I purposely limit each segment to 2-3 screens of text within Word I frequently have to hack out or avoid a lot of extranious detail, so I realise that I can come across a bit fast-paced.
Incidently I'll have to steal the Alfa not starting line if/when I get round to revising this as it made me laugh, although it may be lost on non-petrolheads (I don't drive but I'm a fan of Top Gear).
In terms of addressing a few points; this is a 'near future' piece, hence the synthetic bodies you can rent to enjoy a night out from the safety of your own home. The DS boozing on duty?, well let me just say I know a couple of ex-Policemen...I've always called potted plants 'pot plants', must just be the local idiom.
As I said to Boneman, I'm not sure what to do now as I lack faith in my own self-critiquing (is that a word?) to conciously write for publication. And anyway, you haven't met Nikky yet (slashed-up ex-prostitute ex-girlfriend), Ryan (full-blown vampire with a nice line in motors) or even Father Rembrant (you can trust him, honestly)...
Well, I'm not quite sure how to take some of this. The grammatical 'onslaught' is fine - if I actually took some time to review what I write I'd 'probably' have picked them up as well. I don't write from notes or a composed plot line, more a 'need to get the story arc from here to there' kind of approach. As I purposely limit each segment to 2-3 screens of text within Word I frequently have to hack out or avoid a lot of extranious detail, so I realise that I can come across a bit fast-paced.
Incidently I'll have to steal the Alfa not starting line if/when I get round to revising this as it made me laugh, although it may be lost on non-petrolheads (I don't drive but I'm a fan of Top Gear).
In terms of addressing a few points; this is a 'near future' piece, hence the synthetic bodies you can rent to enjoy a night out from the safety of your own home. The DS boozing on duty?, well let me just say I know a couple of ex-Policemen...I've always called potted plants 'pot plants', must just be the local idiom.
As I said to Boneman, I'm not sure what to do now as I lack faith in my own self-critiquing (is that a word?) to conciously write for publication. And anyway, you haven't met Nikky yet (slashed-up ex-prostitute ex-girlfriend), Ryan (full-blown vampire with a nice line in motors) or even Father Rembrant (you can trust him, honestly)...
sloweye
Lord Shaman.
ah, i see. just when i think of drinking on duty i think 70's. and its alittle unusual to see a plain clothed officer in a stabvest.
Three
I think it’s the side-effects of the inhaler, or the aversion therapy or maybe just plain old Catholic guilt, but I have real problems focusing on the very idea of human blood. Even when I do, it’s like a mental dead-end and I seem unable to make the right connections, intuitive or otherwise. Of course I knew those two clowns had been throwing blood-bags about, it’s just I’d blanked that part of the episode and done nothing to get the stains cleaned up.
Tricky.
“Ah, well, officer, of course I’ve given it some thought, given the unusual nature of the attack. Not your usual mugging, I grant you, not that I’ve ever been mugged though, no criminal record either. Well, anyway, I’ve though about it, as I said, and actually I think I brought this on myself.”
“Oh, how so, sir?”
“Ah, I’ve been wearing a fur coat, a gent’s coat, to work recently. That really cold spell we had recently and my car heater is on the blink again. I don’t flaunt it or anything like that but my guess is my two attackers were animal rights activists out to trash the coat and teach me a lesson. Little better than eco-terrorists if you ask me.”
I could see the scepticism in Loudon’s eyes as his gaze took in my cheap suit and cheaper shoes whereas Perry, who up to this point had been pecking away industriously at his hand-held, looked up with a frown.
“I’m sorry sir, but I don’t see anything of that nature in your Additions file. Are you admitting to the ownership of an unlicensed garment which falls under the Immoral Trade Act? If so we’ll have to continue the rest of this conversation under Caution.”
“No, no, constable, it’s OK, really. It’s an old coat, vintage, my great-grandfather brought it back from Russia, the Soviet Union as was. There was a matching hat but some dog trashed it years ago – it’s like a family heirloom, not really my thing at all.”
The DS looked at me hard for a moment, but it was the early hours and he was obviously tired. He pulled at his nose and rubbed his eyes, stirring himself from the soft depths of the armchair.
“Right, sir, leave it with us. If there are any development someone will be in touch, and thanks for your cooperation. Perry?”
The hand-held spewed out a small chit which the DC handed it to me.
“Our contact numbers and case reference. If you think of anything else which might be of use then please let us know directly or though the Police website.”
I murmured some inane pleasantries and ushered them back to the lifts, then sloped off to my uterine cubby-hole. Once back in the blue I loaded up the network patch which allowed access to the internet without leaving any trace – it’s not exactly a recognised perk but if there were a trade union just for night shift support it would be number one on our list of conditions. I mean, HanaMed has a T7 link capacity that’s just begging for abuse, and it would be a shame to see it go underused.
Although I’m not a hacker, cracker or internet woodentop I’ve managed to ‘acquire’ some software that allows me to surf with a fair degree of anonymity; nothing that would cause GovNet or the military any problems but enough to blank Mr Average. I tried to chase down some Hunter websites to see if my name had popped up on any watch lists, but those guys are right up there with pedos when it comes to closed-shop security and all I got was some warnings about my search being tagged.
Basically I had to assume a worst case scenario and that I was now a ‘person of interest’ for those nut-jobs who hunt vampires for fun and profit. OK, so I’m being a bit harsh and I know most of those they take down are abominations in the Sight of God, but I really didn’t need the extra grief just at the moment. Nikky walking out on me like that had left me feeling initially numb, and now that I was starting to think, to hurt, I had come to the unpleasant conclusion that it was her who had shopped me.
Nikky, well Nikky was just – wonderful; a curvy brunette who looked like a young Stephanie Beacham and I was hooked from the first time I saw her at Café Berlin. She worked as a lap dancer there with a sideline in escorting until some punter left half her face in the gutter. The Police ‘investigation’ went nowhere and although I was known as a friend and one of her regulars the other girls couldn’t help me find the guy responsible. The facial scarring put paid to her career in ‘entertainment’ as she wasn’t prepared to go down-market or get into fetish work, so she accepted my offer of support when eventually discharged from hospital. She moved into my flat and I made the classic error of mistaking gratitude for genuine affection, and assumed the sex meant more to her than just a convenient way of paying me rent.
You can convince yourself of just about anything, if you want it bad enough.
Not an original tale, but I managed to add my own unique twist by telling her, showing her, what I really was. I was drunk and convinced that we could have a future together, just like my own mum and dad, and, yes, OK, her new face meant she wouldn’t be marrying any pretty-boy footballers anytime soon. Maybe I even said something along those lines but it all made perfect sense at the time.
Just to me though, as it turned out.
When she grabbed her coat and turned to leave there was this little voice whispering in my head; bite her, taste her blood – become as nature intended - turn her as well and you can spend eternity together. I stared into The Abyss and on that occasion had the strength not to leap, but I’m not sure I could do so again.
Back in the real world, time passed.
Slowly.
My headache subsided to a background throb that reminded me of the Punk soundtrack that used to emanate from the squat above my flat. They cleared out after one of their number took a header out the window wrapped in tinfoil and since then it had been home to two intense looking young men I thought might be Mormons. They always wore shiny suits and looked at me a bit askance when we passed on the stairs – plus they had treated Nikky like the proverbial Whore of Babylon.
Maybe not such a bad judge of character after all.
Eventually the Saturday morning day shift dragged themselves in; Billy Bones was plainly off his face on recreational pharmaceuticals and Big Paul was still pissed, so no change there then. Still, it wasn’t my problem and I signed over with a feeling of relief before plodding down the stairs to the car park as the lifts were down for maintenance.
The irregular lighting down there mainly serves to define the shadows rather than provide any consistent illumination, and although you might think this would be my natural environment it just felt wrong from the moment I stepped through the firedoor. I had my gun out, held down by my side, as I moved from pillar to pillar, pausing at each one to check for something out of place. I have exceptional night vision and really good hearing but all I was aware of were innocuous street sounds filtering down the access ramp. Eventually I sidled up to the bay where the Alfa Romeo was parked, switching the gun to my left hand while fumbling for the keys in my jacket pocket.
My car was trashed.
I think it’s the side-effects of the inhaler, or the aversion therapy or maybe just plain old Catholic guilt, but I have real problems focusing on the very idea of human blood. Even when I do, it’s like a mental dead-end and I seem unable to make the right connections, intuitive or otherwise. Of course I knew those two clowns had been throwing blood-bags about, it’s just I’d blanked that part of the episode and done nothing to get the stains cleaned up.
Tricky.
“Ah, well, officer, of course I’ve given it some thought, given the unusual nature of the attack. Not your usual mugging, I grant you, not that I’ve ever been mugged though, no criminal record either. Well, anyway, I’ve though about it, as I said, and actually I think I brought this on myself.”
“Oh, how so, sir?”
“Ah, I’ve been wearing a fur coat, a gent’s coat, to work recently. That really cold spell we had recently and my car heater is on the blink again. I don’t flaunt it or anything like that but my guess is my two attackers were animal rights activists out to trash the coat and teach me a lesson. Little better than eco-terrorists if you ask me.”
I could see the scepticism in Loudon’s eyes as his gaze took in my cheap suit and cheaper shoes whereas Perry, who up to this point had been pecking away industriously at his hand-held, looked up with a frown.
“I’m sorry sir, but I don’t see anything of that nature in your Additions file. Are you admitting to the ownership of an unlicensed garment which falls under the Immoral Trade Act? If so we’ll have to continue the rest of this conversation under Caution.”
“No, no, constable, it’s OK, really. It’s an old coat, vintage, my great-grandfather brought it back from Russia, the Soviet Union as was. There was a matching hat but some dog trashed it years ago – it’s like a family heirloom, not really my thing at all.”
The DS looked at me hard for a moment, but it was the early hours and he was obviously tired. He pulled at his nose and rubbed his eyes, stirring himself from the soft depths of the armchair.
“Right, sir, leave it with us. If there are any development someone will be in touch, and thanks for your cooperation. Perry?”
The hand-held spewed out a small chit which the DC handed it to me.
“Our contact numbers and case reference. If you think of anything else which might be of use then please let us know directly or though the Police website.”
I murmured some inane pleasantries and ushered them back to the lifts, then sloped off to my uterine cubby-hole. Once back in the blue I loaded up the network patch which allowed access to the internet without leaving any trace – it’s not exactly a recognised perk but if there were a trade union just for night shift support it would be number one on our list of conditions. I mean, HanaMed has a T7 link capacity that’s just begging for abuse, and it would be a shame to see it go underused.
Although I’m not a hacker, cracker or internet woodentop I’ve managed to ‘acquire’ some software that allows me to surf with a fair degree of anonymity; nothing that would cause GovNet or the military any problems but enough to blank Mr Average. I tried to chase down some Hunter websites to see if my name had popped up on any watch lists, but those guys are right up there with pedos when it comes to closed-shop security and all I got was some warnings about my search being tagged.
Basically I had to assume a worst case scenario and that I was now a ‘person of interest’ for those nut-jobs who hunt vampires for fun and profit. OK, so I’m being a bit harsh and I know most of those they take down are abominations in the Sight of God, but I really didn’t need the extra grief just at the moment. Nikky walking out on me like that had left me feeling initially numb, and now that I was starting to think, to hurt, I had come to the unpleasant conclusion that it was her who had shopped me.
Nikky, well Nikky was just – wonderful; a curvy brunette who looked like a young Stephanie Beacham and I was hooked from the first time I saw her at Café Berlin. She worked as a lap dancer there with a sideline in escorting until some punter left half her face in the gutter. The Police ‘investigation’ went nowhere and although I was known as a friend and one of her regulars the other girls couldn’t help me find the guy responsible. The facial scarring put paid to her career in ‘entertainment’ as she wasn’t prepared to go down-market or get into fetish work, so she accepted my offer of support when eventually discharged from hospital. She moved into my flat and I made the classic error of mistaking gratitude for genuine affection, and assumed the sex meant more to her than just a convenient way of paying me rent.
You can convince yourself of just about anything, if you want it bad enough.
Not an original tale, but I managed to add my own unique twist by telling her, showing her, what I really was. I was drunk and convinced that we could have a future together, just like my own mum and dad, and, yes, OK, her new face meant she wouldn’t be marrying any pretty-boy footballers anytime soon. Maybe I even said something along those lines but it all made perfect sense at the time.
Just to me though, as it turned out.
When she grabbed her coat and turned to leave there was this little voice whispering in my head; bite her, taste her blood – become as nature intended - turn her as well and you can spend eternity together. I stared into The Abyss and on that occasion had the strength not to leap, but I’m not sure I could do so again.
- - - - -
Back in the real world, time passed.
Slowly.
My headache subsided to a background throb that reminded me of the Punk soundtrack that used to emanate from the squat above my flat. They cleared out after one of their number took a header out the window wrapped in tinfoil and since then it had been home to two intense looking young men I thought might be Mormons. They always wore shiny suits and looked at me a bit askance when we passed on the stairs – plus they had treated Nikky like the proverbial Whore of Babylon.
Maybe not such a bad judge of character after all.
Eventually the Saturday morning day shift dragged themselves in; Billy Bones was plainly off his face on recreational pharmaceuticals and Big Paul was still pissed, so no change there then. Still, it wasn’t my problem and I signed over with a feeling of relief before plodding down the stairs to the car park as the lifts were down for maintenance.
The irregular lighting down there mainly serves to define the shadows rather than provide any consistent illumination, and although you might think this would be my natural environment it just felt wrong from the moment I stepped through the firedoor. I had my gun out, held down by my side, as I moved from pillar to pillar, pausing at each one to check for something out of place. I have exceptional night vision and really good hearing but all I was aware of were innocuous street sounds filtering down the access ramp. Eventually I sidled up to the bay where the Alfa Romeo was parked, switching the gun to my left hand while fumbling for the keys in my jacket pocket.
My car was trashed.
Michael01
Coven of the Worm
Good. I like it enough to do a line-by-line, but I'm tired - and now my mouse is acting up, even though I cleaned it. I'll just leave with how much I enjoyed it, which was very much. Keep it up!
Boneman
Well-Known Member
By Blackrook
Blackrook, you need to come to England....... there are loads of them on the streets.....rotting mostly, or waiting for the breakdown van. You're not anywhere near Carson City are you?
So, Reiver.......you're at it again, not leaving us much to do. but:
I do this all the time as well: it's 'thought'........
Also, if they're just eco-terrorists, isn't it a bit over the top to shoot them? Or did he realise they were meat heads straight away? Maybe he could mention the sharpened pick axes and say he didn't want to take a chance?? Nah, better if he knew straight off that they were meat heads, than it's allowable to use extreme force, I guess.
Looks like you've got loads more planned in this story. Whilst I can't wait, I still feel I should, and you should stop posting...... you know that by now, anyway.
Blackrook, you need to come to England....... there are loads of them on the streets.....rotting mostly, or waiting for the breakdown van. You're not anywhere near Carson City are you?
So, Reiver.......you're at it again, not leaving us much to do. but:
I do this all the time as well: it's 'thought'........
Also, if they're just eco-terrorists, isn't it a bit over the top to shoot them? Or did he realise they were meat heads straight away? Maybe he could mention the sharpened pick axes and say he didn't want to take a chance?? Nah, better if he knew straight off that they were meat heads, than it's allowable to use extreme force, I guess.
Looks like you've got loads more planned in this story. Whilst I can't wait, I still feel I should, and you should stop posting...... you know that by now, anyway.
dreir
Flamer of Udun
- Joined
- Jun 1, 2008
- Messages
- 215
Send the first few bits of this story (or any of yours, really) to some agents, along with an outline of the story arc, and ask them in the letter if they'd like to represent you. A similar forum to this one, called Absolute Write (or usually just called AW) have quite a number of agents and editors trawling it, I think, so you can try your luck over there. Just admit to them that you're not very good at self-critiquing/editing so that they know what they're in for (i.e. so they can help you in that department), but apart from that little problem, I'm sure many of them would love to be working with you. You're fresh and different, and that's what they all really want.
I'm no expert at publishing here, but I think all your stories need is exposure to the right people.
- Dreir -
I agree your stuff should be published, but I think maybe a bit more caution. I wouldn't approach anyone until you've finished a novel, put it aside for a bit, reread it, made sure you're happy with it, had the first chapter read by a good proofreader, etc - there are so few SFF agents around that you don't want to waste your shots lighting the powder while the ball's still halfway down the muzzle.
But as for consciously writing for publication, don't. Just write with the same attitude you've shown with the work you've posted on here.
But as for consciously writing for publication, don't. Just write with the same attitude you've shown with the work you've posted on here.
The Procrastinator
1 Candlepower Brain
You might try snaffling a beta-reader or two, if you aren't too confident about your own editing/critiquing skills. I'm sure you could get some quite experienced volunteers around here, to give you a bit of a different perspective on things - and then you wouldn't need to post much in public, because that could all be done via email. Your stuff is very good and worth pursuing.
Right then, I'm going to go away and have a think about all this, and thanks (big thanks) to you all for both the rabidly obsessive nit-picking (joke!) and encouragement....
Cheers!
Martin
PS Damn - this means you'll miss the full English breakfast and gunfire combination!
Cheers!
Martin
PS Damn - this means you'll miss the full English breakfast and gunfire combination!
Michael01
Coven of the Worm
Not if we can buy the book! Which would just be ... well ... awesome.
I'm in Las Vegas, which is 11 hours away from Carson City by car. But no one drives, they fly. A flight to Reno takes one hour, and then it's only a short drive to Carson City after that.
The reason I ask about the Alfa Romeo is that it seems, from an American point of view, out of place for the hero of this story, who presumably has modest means. I looked on the internet and learned that this car sells for $166,000 in the U.S. The kind of car a tech support guy would drive would cost $10,000 or less.
When I read the words "Alfa Romeo" the first thing that came to mind was James Bond. To Americans, the Alfa Romeo is a "spy car" and we will unconsciously assume any hero driving one has all the latest weapons and equipment provided by Her Majesty's Secret Service: machine guns, oil slick weapon, rocket launchers, etc.
Which really leads into my second point, which is that this story is the best I've seen on this site so far, but would not make a good export to other English speaking countries. A reader in the United States, Canada or Australia is going to have a very difficult time slugging through all the slang words unique to Britain. I understand all these words, but many readers will not.
On top of that, there are many things the author assumes the reader knows, like the fact that London has a tight network of police cameras. I know this because I read British newspapers, but most readers outside Britain will have a hard time understanding what's going on. Or even worse, readers will assume that this story is set in some sort of Big Brother dystopia, which is not what the author intended.
But I do want to emphasize that I believe the author is a very talented storyteller, and of all the stories here, his is probably the most likely to be published. If the author is satisfied with publishing only in Britain, he need not concern himself with the above comments.
The 8C sells for that much. I saw nothing in the story to hint that the hero had bought their limited edition supercar, rather than a second-hand 156.
Stylus
Easily blunted.
I'm no expert, but I'd assume that, if an English language book is sold to another English speaking country (divided by a common language and all that), the publisher of that country will go through the text and highlight any words that should be changed for clarity/slang/pop culture etc.
Specifically, I'm thinking of an article I read about Harry Potter: the traditional Christmas jumper given to Ron Weasley was apparently changed for U.S. readers (where 'jumper' is not a woollen sweater, but a dress). I don't think the sanctity of the text matters so much that you have to make people wonder why a schoolboy's mother would send them girl's clothing every year!
And I'll add my praise for reiver33's writing – it's not my favourite genre, but I really enjoyed reading this story. Hope you stick at it and make something from it.
Boneman
Well-Known Member
Yeah, I'd agree with Blackrook, now I think about it - an alfa romeo used to be a real status symbol, it's just that here in the UK it has dropped and dropped in status in our minds, so we don't give them a second glance....So there's a market in buying crappy alfas, doing them up and shipping them to the US?
I was standing in a car park in Tennessee, (The trip started in Carson City, went down through Las vegas and out toward Florida and then back......) and a kid admired my bike, and when I spoke he said "You're from Britain." I asked how he knew (normally they say Australia) and he said "The Harry Potter Films."
I was standing in a car park in Tennessee, (The trip started in Carson City, went down through Las vegas and out toward Florida and then back......) and a kid admired my bike, and when I spoke he said "You're from Britain." I asked how he knew (normally they say Australia) and he said "The Harry Potter Films."
The Procrastinator
1 Candlepower Brain
Well, not the Aussies so much. We are still rather attached to Mother England in a way. We like to maintain close ties so we can keep thrashing the Pommies at the Cricket.
I take your point, but my opinion is any reader worth their salt will make the effort to understand. I think its healthy for people to know a bit about how English is used in other countries, and I think the "translating" of words like jumper just promotes mental or even cultural laziness. I don't expect American slang or spelling to be "Australianised" when its an American book, and the same goes for the Pommy stuff.
Michael01
Coven of the Worm
I agree. I always thought it was odd one of the titles was changed for American readers. No, I wouldn't know what a jumper is in Britian, but I do know what a Philosopher's Stone is. We can be more open to that. Besides, if the story takes place in England, wouldn't British slang be more believable?
Stylus
Easily blunted.
To a certain extent, I agree with this, and personally I don't mind having cultural references that are beyond my ken. If the writing is good, you can usually work out what the reference means; it might even be interesting enough to explore further. Even with domestic film/television/books, you may encounter unfamiliar jargon (When I was younger, I remember watching a lot of 'grown-up' T.V. programmes – nothing particularly adult, just not pitched at kids – and having to make the jump over all the pop culture jokes that went over my head – there's quite a few in Fawlty Towers alone), and I think your brain just gets trained to it.
However, to return to the jumper/dress point. I still think it is valid to switch words that cause needless confusion and would just break up the reader's immersion in the story, in the same way that colour/color gets changed.
For example, I wouldn't translate something like 'Marmite' in a text, because that is specific to a culture, but it would be silly not the change around something like chips/fries (or American audiences may wonder why anyone would enjoy eating a bag of deep-fried cod and crisps ... actually, that sounds quite tasty
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