More of my nonsense [about 800 words]

[Fishbowl Helmet]

Okay, so here's another snippet of Puck & Ashbury, my never-ending WIP. I can't seem to get away from this piece. I keep working on other stuff, but still keep chugging away at this one too.

A bit of setup, this scene takes place immediately after a bit of an argument between the two main characters (Puck & Ashbury) is interrupted by an ominous knock on their office door (I know, I know).

What I'm mostly wondering about is engagement, interest, any funny bits, and obvious mistakes my idiot-brain missed. But, as always, any constructive criticism is welcome.

Please. Thank you.

---------------

The rap echoed louder through the office.

Puck said, “I wouldn’t…”

Ashbury’s throat tightened, his palms slick with sweat. He rubbed the dampness on his pants and swallowed hard. “It’s fine,” he said at last.

With a trembling hand Ashbury reached for the knob, he turned it slowly, and letting out a breath he didn’t realize he held, he swung open the door.

Puck screamed like a little girl. In pigtails. Who dropped her ice cream. And whose brother still had his.

#

Old Mrs. Whitaker jumped back. The heel of her shoe caught the rug, causing her to fall back against the far hallway wall. She clutched at her chest, her eyes wide with horror at the shout.

Ashbury ran to help, his red tie loose and flapping over his shoulder. “Are you all right, Mrs. Whitaker?”

The old woman moaned feebly. Her lips quivered as she opened her mouth. Ashbury couldn’t tell if she was gasping for air or trying to speak.

“It’s okay, Mrs. Whitaker. I’m here. Just relax.”

Puck tapped Ashbury on the shoulder.

Ashbury pulled his shoulder forward sharply, ignoring Puck.

Puck tapped his shoulder again.

Ashbury kicked out blindly behind him, connected with something solid, and heard a satisfying “Ow” from Puck.

Puck tapped again.

Ashbury stood and turned to demand “What? What’s so damned important?” but all he managed to get out was a feeble “Whu—” as he turned.

Standing before him was either a seven-foot-tall snarling werewolf or a really impressive cosplayer. What settled Ashbury’s mind was the smell and the drool. Though in retrospect, that could have easily applied to either one.

Ashbury was frozen in place. He couldn’t think and he couldn’t move. He saw Puck out of the corner of his eye kneeling next to Old Mrs. Whitaker, who had passed out. The monster stepped closer, towering over Ashbury. Drops of spittle fell onto Ashbury’s suit, staining the already dark fabric. The beast’s teeth were yellowed with age and stained brownish in spots from what he imagined was conspicuous consumption of private detectives. Ashbury leaned away and closed his eyes to what he knew was the end.

Instead of vicious fangs tearing into his flesh, Ashbury felt a heavy head plop down onto his shoulder. The fur tickled his face, like hugging a shaggy dog. The werewolf wrapped its arms around him and started to sob. Ashbury knew this was preferable to being eaten alive, but he wasn’t sure how much better. Maybe three or four minutes tops of a sobbing werewolf and he’d prefer the tearing of flesh.

Ashbury risked a glance over to Puck. The sprite was staring back, his mouth agape, clearly just as confused as he was. Ashbury raised his arms in a mock shrug and silently mouthed, “What the hell?”

Puck shook his head and shrugged back. “I don’t know,” he mouthed.

The sobbing intensified, the beasts shoulders shook with each heavy sob, which in turn jostled Ashbury wildly back and forth. It reminded him of his short stay in California. After a minute or so, his credulity had reached its limit. Ashbury tried to stand firm and take ahold of the situation, vis a vis the crying werewolf on his shoulder.

He straightened his back and squared his shoulders, reached up and took hold of the werewolf’s arms. “Now see here,” he said in a stern voice.

Which only elicited stronger sobs and a more violent shaking of his person.

Ashbury turned to Puck and mouthed, “Seriously, help me.”

Puck was in Full Grin. That peculiar state of mind Ashbury recognized as Puck’s simultaneous unwillingness to help and loving Ashbury’s misery. Puck sat back against the wall and pointed to the unconscious Mrs. Whitaker. “Can’t help. Busy,” he mouthed.

Ashbury gave Puck the finger.

Puck tried to stifle his laugh, but failed. The sound broke the werewolf’s stride and brought it back to the conversation.

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” it said in a rather feminine voice.

“You’re a girl?” Ashbury asked.

Puck slapped his forehead.

The werewolf stood tall, pushing back her shoulders. Raising her gravely voice an octave she said, “Of course I am.”

“I’m sorry, it’s just that I’m not used to werewolves. Haven’t had the opportunity, you see. But it’s not that I dislike werewolves, I’m sure they’re… you’re some lovely people, it’s just that they’re… you’re not the type of people I usually run with. Oh, what I mean is—”

“Please forgive my partner, he’s in shock. And a bit of an idiot,” Puck interrupted. “I couldn’t help but noticing you’re distraught, ma’am. Why don’t you come inside the office and have a sit down. Maybe a cuppa?”

The werewolf dabbed at the wet, matted fur around her eyes with a tissue produced from her purse and said, “Oh, thank you. That would be lovely.”

 

[Brian G Turner]

The rap echoed louder through the office.

Puck said, “I wouldn’t…”

Ashbury’s throat tightened, his palms slick with sweat. He rubbed the dampness on his pants and swallowed hard. “It’s fine,” he said at last.

With a trembling hand Ashbury reached for the knob, he turned it slowly, and letting out a breath he didn’t realize he held, he swung open the door.

^ IMO these two sections say the same thing - set up Ashbury as nervous at opening the door - resulting in repetition.

Puck screamed like a little girl. In pigtails. Who dropped her ice cream. And whose brother still had his.

#

Old Mrs. Whitaker jumped back. The heel of her shoe caught the rug, causing her to fall back against the far - can she fall against a wall that's "far" from her? hallway wall. She clutched at her chest, her eyes wide with horror at the shout - possibly don't need this, as it's the fall that surprises her, and we won't have a shout described?

Ashbury ran to help, his red tie loose and flapping - you probably don't need to mention that it's "loose", because if it's flapping over his shoulder then this can be presumed over his shoulder. “Are you all right, Mrs. Whitaker?”

The old woman moaned feebly. Her lips quivered as she opened her mouth. Ashbury couldn’t tell if she was gasping for air or trying to speak.

“It’s okay, Mrs. Whitaker. I’m here. Just relax.”

Puck tapped Ashbury on the shoulder.

Ashbury pulled his shoulder forward sharply, ignoring Puck.

Puck tapped his shoulder again.

Ashbury kicked out blindly behind him, connected with something solid, and heard a satisfying “Ow” from Puck.

Puck tapped again.

Ashbury stood and turned to demand “What? What’s so damned important?” but all he managed to get out was a feeble “Whu—” as he turned.

^ This is all very visual, but too visual for a novel, IMO - it reads too much like a film or screenplay to me. I'd suggest you experiment with summarising this in a short paragraph to see what happens. Because as it stands, it kills the pacing for me. In a film, it could be convayed in seconds - in this excerpt, it takes over 60 words, which takes longer than a couple of seconds to read - so the effect is drawn out rather than instantaneous. IMO

Standing before him was either a seven-foot-tall snarling werewolf [full stop here, for effect to underline the disparate presumptions?] or a really impressive cosplayer. What settled Ashbury’s mind was the smell and the drool. Though in retrospect, that could have easily applied to either one. [Could possibly be stronger - Ashbury was convinced by that the smell and drool only allowed one possibility. Then retrospectively allows for both, setting up a contradiction. I appreciate you're going for absurdity, but IMO for this humour to work, Ashbury cannot be convinced by either possibility. But this has the problem of killing your tension, if you want any, especially with what happens next (I know, I'm nit-picking here). Or - perhaps, have your retrospection appear in the next paragraph?]

Sorry, out of time now.

 

[tinkerdan]

I really like this.

There are a couple of spots where you repeat yourself in side by side sentences using different words. It's alright to repeat yourself I guess for emphasis but I just thought you should know that the words say the same thing: pretty much.
here::
Ashbury’s throat tightened, his palms slick with sweat. He rubbed the dampness on his pants and swallowed hard.
and here::
Ashbury was frozen in place. He couldn’t think and he couldn’t move.

I realize the words look different but they really don't add much to the picture.

 

[john11]

Hi. I did like it, the way you kept it a character experience, but it did seem to be deliberately stretched out that is it kept going for longer than it should. I think lowering the word count and going for shorter more punchier sentences would help immensely .

There was not enough tension in the first paragraph and I don’t know if they were supposed to be just plain worried, or terrified, was it a debt collector at the door or the devil himself, I think go for more active words to bring home the message, make it clearer.

This paragraph is too fragmented: “[FONT=&quot]Puck screamed like a little girl. In pigtails. Who dropped her ice cream. And whose brother still had his.”[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]The last sentence made little sense and did not go very well with the flow of the previous sentences. Use commas, fragmenting it did not help in bringing the message across, instead it made it worse.[/FONT]

[FONT=&quot]The next sentences do seem repetitive and slow.[/FONT]

[FONT=&quot]Now reading the sobbing werewolf bit, and this is better, more interesting.[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]There seems no description of the relief they must have felt after the situation had been defused, were they happy things were not as bad as they seemed, unhappy? Not very smooth at this point and not believable as they just jump from one extreme to another.[/FONT]

[FONT=&quot]As I finish reading: good breaking of stereotypes, all in all a nice piece of work.[/FONT]

 

[Bowler1]

There are 725 (2nd section) words of a crying Ware Wolf and even by the end of the 725 words, we still don't know why there was crying involved. For me it was mildly entertaining, but not much more.

The 1st little section was very fragmented for me, but may have been taken out of context so I didn't worry too much about it.

I appreciate that you were going for a laugh and a giggle in this section, but there's not much else in terms of substance that I saw, if humour fails. For me, it wasn't funny as such, and when the joke didn't work there wasn't anything else to engage me. The risk you run when going for a laugh, you may not always get it. If you had other stands of plot etc. running along side the joke then you'd be less dependant on jokes carrying the day.

Anyway, this is me and what I think. Someone else could read the same and love it - I might just be a grumpy old git.

 

[Mark R]

I focused on the jokes, overall my reaction to the piece was ambivalent. There are some nice touches of humour but nothing has made me care about the characters or the situation. If the werewolf being female is supposed to be intriguing or funny then it didn't work for me, and if it's incidental then too many words are devoted to it.

Puck screamed like a little girl. In pigtails. Who dropped her ice cream. And whose brother still had his.

This doesn't work, and the reason it doesn't work is that you're actually conflating several emotions. We want a scream of fear. "Screamed like a little girl" might be a cliche but it does work to undermine the gravitas of the character, so that's ok. However, next we learn that she's dropped her ice cream, which is more regret/anger than it is fear, and then we find out that her brother has his so we're more dealing with jealousy. I'd abandon the deconstruction of the "screamed like a little girl" trope and just go for something more creative.

Standing before him was either a seven-foot-tall snarling werewolf or a really impressive cosplayer. What settled Ashbury’s mind was the smell and the drool. Though in retrospect, that could have easily applied to either one.

I quite like this but wonder if it could be repackaged like this:

What settled Ashbury's mind was the smell and the drool. It wasn't bad enough to be a cosplayer.

The beast’s teeth were yellowed with age and stained brownish in spots from what he imagined was conspicuous consumption of private detectives.

This is funny, but to be a pedant, "conspicuous consumption" most commonly refers to people flaunting their wealth by buying flashy things. The following might work better:

habitual consumption
regular consumption
enthusiastic consumption

The werewolf wrapped its arms around him and started to sob. Ashbury knew this was preferable to being eaten alive, but he wasn’t sure how much better. Maybe three or four minutes tops of a sobbing werewolf and he’d prefer the tearing of flesh.

This would be better if you lost the last sentence, you've already done the joke with "how much better." No need to labour it.

 

[Kerrybuchanan]

I liked it, it made me laugh and I could relate to Puck and the werewolf as characters. I had a little more trouble relating to Ashbury.

Agreeing with some of the above about the first paragraph not being punchy enough and labouring a point at the same time; also the fragmented part about the girl in pigtails (although between you and I, it still seemed funny to me).

Conspicuous consumption leapt out at me too, but I thought excessive consumption sounded better.

I think you need to tighten up the whole thing and maybe a little less heavy handedness with the humour. There's scope to reduce the word count, shedding some excess baggage on the way, but I will stress again that I really enjoyed reading it and it did make me laugh.