Risen, First Ever First Draft... 770 Words

[lonewolfwanderer]

Hello Ladies and Gents,

LoneWolfWanderer is back. My first ever completed first draft has been sitting gathering dust for a few months, and I'm going to start working on the second draft. It is short and requires a lot of work, as is expected, and I would like to call upon you Chroniclers to guide me to where I need to be to get this thing up to its full potential, as well as my full potential as a writer.

Below is the first segment of my first draft (the opening segment), and I would love to hear your criticisms. I hope that I am able to convey the idea of this segment across, with the aim of gaining advice, input and ideas, on how to convey the idea stronger and clearer than what it is now. I will be doing it step by step, so as to learn through experience and practice, the skills necessary to complete it.

One main request i would like to ask when you critique the various bits of the segment, is to please analyse it if you have time. What is your perspective on what I'm trying to do, and what would YOU do to get its edges a little smoother? What are the things you look for when improving a first draft, and what methods do you use?

I can't help but feel this whole time, i've been trying to reinvent the wheel, when i could just be asking here what you successful writers do, and modeling my own techniques based on yours.

Here it goes...

Start:

The year twenty-twenty seven, that when it all began.

A war that had plunged the world into the fiery depths of hell, and had given birth to a new age, haunted by the remnants of what came before it. No one knew what started it, what brought those things to life, nor what caused the lights to fill the skies. But on that day, everything changed.

"Four year, huh?" Gabriel said softly. A short chuckle escaped his lips and echoed in the small room during the brief moment of silence. A ray of the rising sun shone in through a single small window, high off from the ground, painting the only door with a distinct mix of blood and gold. "I'm surprised I lasted this long."

He allowed his mind to drift back to a time before it all began; to when peace still existed. It had been a long time since he last thought about it, and the though was calming, even though it did little to block out the memories that followed that dreadful day. He would never forget; he couldn't, even if he...

Bang!

The door struggled under the pressure as those things tried to break in. Gabriel's back was against the wall, his breath heavy, rapid. His heart raced while the soft ticking of his old watch carried on to a different rhythm, long forgotten, and his hands shook, not from fear but exhaustion, while he desperately clung to his old rifle.

Bang!

The hinges of the door started to break loos. He looked from corner toe corner, hoping to find a way out, but there was no escape. He was cornered, with no choice but to face what lay beyond the door, and he was running out of ammo.

He unclipped the magazine from his rifle, and stared at the single copper round that occupied it. He sighed deeply, finally realizing the full extent of the predicament he was in.

"Just one left, huh?" There was no way he'd make it out with just one bullet against all of them. Even if he used the rifle itself as a weapon, it would only be a matter of time before he was overrun. Besides that, he looked down at his leg, where his trousers were torn in a jagged shape, revealing a bloody mess where he'd snagged his leg trying escape an earlier situation. That was three days ago, and now it was badly infected.

Thoughts raced through his mind while he clipped the magazine back in and cocked the rifle before laying it down beside him. A stiff rumble came from his belly and he rubbed it, longing for a decent place of home cooked food. He tried to lick his chapped lips, wetting them only slightly. How long had it been since he had something to eat or to drink?

A loud clatter echoed, and he looked up. The door had lost its upper hings and began to buckle under the sheer weight of those things. It wasn't going to be long before they broke through.

He reached for his left breast pocket and worked the button loose. He took out an old, worn photograph of a young child with sparkling blue eyes staring back at him, and behind her, an older woman with the same blue eyes he loved so much. He smiled with tearful eyes and a single tear ran down his cheek, dropped onto the photograph and gave it the illusion that his wife and daughter were crying with him. His heart ached as he missed them deeply, but he would be reunited with them soon. That, at the very least, is what he hoped.

"I'm sorry!" he said softly. He put the photo back in the pocket and reached for his rifle. He looked up at the door, which was now bent over almost half way, and allowed the smell of rotting flesh to seep into the room. His hands shook while place the barrel of the rifle against his chin. With his thumb on the trigger, he recited a short prayer, watching while those walking corpses shuffled in, hungry for his flesh and blood.

He finished the last line of the prayer, and slowly released the safety catch. With his eyes closed, he took a deep breath and let the weight of his thumb pull the trigger. The grumbling of those stiffs faded away into the distance, replaced by memories that were incomplete and distorted. The memories disappeared almost a fast as they had come.

The light turned to darkness, and somewhere in the distant emptiness a gunshot echoed.

End (Word Count: 770 words)

 

[chrispenycate]

The year twenty-twenty seven, that when it all began.

that's? Otherwise there's no verb.

A war that had plunged the world into the fiery depths of hell, and had given birth to a new age, haunted by the remnants of what came before it.

Fragment

No one knew what started it, what brought those things to life, nor what caused the lights to fill the skies. But on that day, everything changed.

"Four year, huh?" Gabriel said softly. A short chuckle escaped his lips and echoed in the small room during the brief moment of silence.

If it's echoing there's no silence.

A ray of the rising sun shone in through a single small window, high off from the ground, painting the only door with a distinct mix of blood and gold. "I'm surprised I lasted this long."

He allowed his mind to drift back to a time before it all began; to when peace still existed. It had been a long time since he last thought about it, and the though

thought

was calming, even though it did little to block out the memories that followed that dreadful day. He would never forget; he couldn't, even if he...

Bang!

The door struggled under the pressure as those things tried to break in. Gabriel's back was against the wall, his breath heavy, rapid. His heart raced while the soft ticking of his old watch carried on to a different rhythm, long forgotten, and his hands shook, not from fear but exhaustion, while he desperately clung to his old rifle.

Bang!

The hinges of the door started to break loos

loose

. He looked from corner toe

to

corner, hoping to find a way out, but there was no escape. He was cornered, with no choice but to face what lay beyond the door, and he was running out of ammo.

He unclipped the magazine from his rifle, and stared at the single copper round that occupied it. He sighed deeply, finally realizing the full extent of the predicament he was in.

"Just one left, huh?" There was no way he'd make it out with just one bullet against all of them. Even if he used the rifle itself as a weapon, it would only be a matter of time before he was overrun. Besides that, he looked down at his leg, where his trousers were torn in a jagged shape, revealing a bloody mess where he'd snagged his leg trying escape an earlier situation. That was three days ago, and now it was badly infected.

Thoughts raced through his mind while he clipped the magazine back in and cocked the rifle before laying it down beside him. A stiff rumble came from his belly and he rubbed it, longing for a decent place

plate?

of home cooked food. He tried to lick his chapped lips, wetting them only slightly. How long had it been since he had something to eat or to drink?

A loud clatter echoed, and he looked up. The door had lost its upper hings

hinge

and began to buckle under the sheer weight of those things. It wasn't going to be long before they broke through.

He reached for his left breast pocket and worked the button loose. He took out an old, worn photograph of a young child with sparkling blue eyes staring back at him, and behind her, an older woman with the same blue eyes he loved so much. He smiled with tearful eyes and a single tear ran down his cheek, dropped onto the photograph and gave it the illusion that his wife and daughter were crying with him. His heart ached as he missed them deeply, but he would be reunited with them soon. That, at the very least, is

present tense

what he hoped.

"I'm sorry!" he said softly. He put the photo back in the pocket and reached for his rifle. He looked up at the door, which was now bent over almost half way, and allowed the smell of rotting flesh to seep into the room. His hands shook while place

placing

the barrel of the rifle against his chin. With his thumb on the trigger, he recited a short prayer, watching while those walking corpses shuffled in, hungry for his flesh and blood.

He finished the last line of the prayer, and slowly released the safety catch. With his eyes closed, he took a deep breath and let the weight of his thumb pull the trigger. The grumbling of those stiffs faded away into the distance, replaced by memories that were incomplete and distorted. The memories disappeared almost a fast as they had come.

The light turned to darkness, and somewhere in the distant emptiness a gunshot echoed.

End (Word Count: 770 words)

 

[Brian G Turner]

I think you're lacking a load of immediacy and focus with this piece. The opening is supposed to be tense, but you immediately attempt to kill that tension by trying to present back story from the first word. And when we are in Gabriel's character experience, he's not focused on the danger of the current situation, but instead keeps getting distracted with ideas about food and loved ones. I know you're trying to bring in some physical sensation to this experience, and also provide an emotional layer - but it just comes across as unfocused.

IMO you'd be better off just writing about Gabriel's immediate situation, and forget everything else. Put us in the mind of someone in fear, who'll do anything to stay alive, and keep thoughts to a bare minimum - this is a primitive and visceral circumstance - appeal to that in the reader for immediacy, and you could have a strong beginning.

As you have it, it comes across as the writer not yet engaged with the character, and lacking confidence in how to introduce them. Just do it - readers don't need explanations. Terror is a universal - but rarely experienced - emotion. Tap it, without labouring the point. Be quick, concise. If you succeed with that, you've have the reader hooked - line and sinker.

Simply my personal stylistic opinion.

 

[lonewolfwanderer]

I think you're lacking a load of immediacy and focus with this piece. The opening is supposed to be tense, but you immediately attempt to kill that tension by trying to present back story from the first word. And when we are in Gabriel's character experience, he's not focused on the danger of the current situation, but instead keeps getting distracted with ideas about food and loved ones. I know you're trying to bring in some physical sensation to this experience, and also provide an emotional layer - but it just comes across as unfocused.

IMO you'd be better off just writing about Gabriel's immediate situation, and forget everything else. Put us in the mind of someone in fear, who'll do anything to stay alive, and keep thoughts to a bare minimum - this is a primitive and visceral circumstance - appeal to that in the reader for immediacy, and you could have a strong beginning.

As you have it, it comes across as the writer not yet engaged with the character, and lacking confidence in how to introduce them. Just do it - readers don't need explanations. Terror is a universal - but rarely experienced - emotion. Tap it, without labouring the point. Be quick, concise. If you succeed with that, you've have the reader hooked - line and sinker.

Simply my personal stylistic opinion.

Thanks Brian that clears things up a little bit. So i'm wanting to be a little more immediate, and remain present and focused on the immediate situation my character is facing?

 

[The Judge]

I have to confess I have a list of dislikes for openings. Heading the list is anything that begins with a philosophical issue or a question that's pretty much unanswerable, but not far below it is a beginning which contains a vague reference to an unspecified apocalypse. So for me the opening two paragraphs are wasted. I also have limited tolerance for people talking to themselves, and telling themselves things they already know, so that kind of knocked para 3 on its head, too, I'm afraid. Then you start on backstory, but again it's all vague and unspecified. So after nearly 200 words I've learned virtually nothing save the man is called Gabriel and things aren't good, but I've no idea why or what, and I've got no reason to care. So to my mind you can excise pretty much all the opening 4 paragraphs without any loss.

The physical actions/emotions you've got for him as the crashes come on the door are good, but to my mind they're buried in irrelevancies or time-fillers eg talking to himself, eg thinking about his leg, eg digging out the photo. I can see what you're doing -- trying to humanise him, make it seem this is the end to try and make us sympathise with him as he's about to be killed, but I really don't think it's working like this. These things are cluttering up the page without being strong and specific enough -- you don't even give his wife and daughter names, which is pulling us out of POV and making it appear we're just watching over his shoulder like in a film, instead of being inside his head. Even the end of the section is vague -- I can't work out if he's shot himself or one of the zombies.

To my mind you need to sharpen the pace here -- this is meant to be an exciting moment, so don't waste a word, and you have to loose all the vagueness and hints.

As for your writing, I like your images, but I think they're probably out of place here. There were a few typos which pulled me out of the story eg the "loos" and "toe" (loose and to), and also some infelicities eg He looked up at the door, which was now bent over almost half way, and allowed the smell of rotting flesh to seep into the room As written that means he allowed the smell into the room -- far better would be ... the door, which was now bent over almost half way allowing the smell ... which ties the smell to the door. That line also suggests you're not thinking hard about word choice -- "smell" is very neutral, but you want a word that summons disgust like "stench" or "reek" or "miasma", and "seep" is also fairly neutral and calming, whereas this should be horrendous.


I don't know if it helps, but if I were writing this, I'd do something along these lines (very rough as I'm writing this quickly):

Gabriel tightened the bandage around the bloody mess that was his thigh. The reek of infection was growing worse. Until a week before, he’d thought lack of food would eventually claim him, but gangrene was now going to kill him before the stabbing pains of hunger ever could. After three years riding his luck against the undead, his luck had run out.

Dawn’s rays shone in through a single window of the small office, gilding the blood-stained door. He leaned back against the wall and closed his eyes.

The crash woke him. The door vibrating as undead hands banged against it. His heart thudded in time to the crashes. His hands shook as he picked up his rifle. Just one copper round left.

The door buckled. Its upper hinges broken. The stench of rotting flesh burst into the office, sickening him. Another crash and the door fell. The undead shuffled into the room, hungrier even than he was.

He raised the rifle. A last prayer. Thoughts of Mary and Alice.

Closed eyes. A final breath.

He pulled the trigger.


OK, as I say, very rough, and it needs more emotional content, more description (particularly of the zombies) and more tension, but that's about 180 words compared to your 770 so I've got plenty of room to play with, and I've already got most of the substance of your story in there, albeit obliquely with regard to his family. As you'll see, there's only the briefest of intros before the zombies bang on the door, and in that I've tried to show his peril but made it concrete -- gangrene, hunger and the undead. Instead of long sentences, I've pared them down, especially at the end, to help it read faster, though probably that's too much and on revising I'd add bits in. As for emotions, I'm hinting at a kind of frightened resignation rather than outright terror, since he's convinced he's going to die and he almost wants to get it over with, but he's not my character so I don't know how he actually would react.

Anyway, I hope that's of some help.

 

[lonewolfwanderer]

Thanks @The Judge I appreciate you taking your time to post your thoughts.... I liked what you did there, and i can sense that immediacy. I will post a gain later going into more detail, as i'm work now LOL... but one thing I would like to mention... with the end bit, he isn't wanting to die. But, he sees death at his own hands as being better than becoming one of those "monsters". Being cornered he sees no other way out, other than a quick shot to his own head.
But, that segment is only supposed to imply that he killed himself, because he actually fails. His rifle jams, and the gunshot is not his. The build up and everything will lead the reader to believe he has killed himself, but later on, you'll meet him again, and it'll be explained how he survived.

 

[willwallace]

I also feel the piece needs to focus more on Gabriel's peril, and not the backstory. Perhaps begin with his trying to escape the presumed zombies, and you can describe some of the ruined city or town he is in. Then he makes it to the building, and from there proceed with the rest of the scene. The grammar also needs work, as it gets a bit distracting, as noted already.

 

[Avid Scifi Fan]

As a reader, I thought the story came across fine.

I was a little confused by this was post apocolypse world. Was it a war zone or zombie infestation or both? Maybe more backstory would help.

They seemed to be banging on the door for a little too long before it failed, seemed to drag on (more boredom than suspense). maybe you can give the impression the hoard is getting larger as they keep trying to get in or have him spot the from a distance and slowly aproaching before they start banging (just my thoughts here).

You may want to consider replacing the rifle with a pistol (unless it's a short rifle or he has long arms).

 

[Bowler1]

The year twenty-twenty seven, that’s when it all began.

A war that had plunged the world into the fiery depths of hell (no comma I’d say), and had given birth to a new age, haunted by the remnants of what came before it. No one knew what started it, what brought those things to life, nor what caused the lights to fill the skies. But on that day, everything changed.

I’ll see what other people say later, but for me author narrated openings are not a great way to start. I’d go straight to the characters.

Gone back and checked, as per Judge and Brian for me too.

"Four year, huh?" Gabriel said softly. A short chuckle escaped his lips and echoed in the small room during the brief moment of silence. A ray of the rising sun shone in through a single small window, high off from the ground, painting the only door with a distinct mix of blood and gold. "I'm surprised I lasted this long."

"Four years, huh?" A short chuckle escaped Gabriel’s lips and echoed in the small room during a brief moment of silence. A rising sun shone through a single small window high off the ground, painting the only door the colour of a blood and gold. "I'm surprised I lasted this long."

He allowed his mind to drift back to a time before it all began; to when peace still existed. It had been a long time since he last thought about it, and the though was calming, even though it did little to block out the memories that followed that dreadful day. He would never forget; he couldn't, even if he...

His mind drifted back to a time before it all began; to when peace still existed. He would never forget; he couldn't, even if he...

Bang! – Describe the sound and tell the reader clearly what is happening. This was more confusing than dramatic, which I suspect you were aiming for.

"Just one left, huh?" There was no way he'd make it out with just one bullet against all of them. Even if he used the rifle itself as a weapon, it would only be a matter of time before he was overrun. Besides that, he looked down at his leg, where his trousers were torn in a jagged shape, revealing a bloody mess where he'd snagged his leg trying escape an earlier situation. That was three days ago, and now it was badly infected. – All of this back story about his leg is distracting in the middle of your high drama. His situation should be explained in full before starting you exciting action, or cut it out I’d say. Some set up issues for me.

Thoughts raced through his mind while he clipped the magazine back in and cocked the rifle before laying it down beside him. A stiff rumble came from his belly and he rubbed it, longing for a decent place of home cooked food. He tried to lick his chapped lips, wetting them only slightly. How long had it been since he had something to eat or to drink?

Same for the food, out of place here, but done earlier it would have made me wonder why the character was hiding etc. – building suspense.

He reached for his left breast pocket and out an old, worn photograph of his child, with sparkling blue eyes he loved so much. He smiled and a single tear ran down his cheek and dropped onto the photograph. His heart ached and he missed her deeply, but they would be reunited soon. – The mother could have stayed in, but you get the idea.

As per Brian, get with the character and let the reader work to keep up with you. We read to engage our brains, entertain ourselves and use our imagination – so don’t be afraid to make the reader use their gray matter.

I would have set up the character in the room first, leaving the reader wondering why someone was hungry and thirsty, but desperate not to leave a locked room. Then bring in the hungry zombies and keep the action going once started.

Technical issues need fixing and there is no way around these if you’re taking your writing serious. You’ll always have errors in your writing, but work to reduce them right down.

Keep it much tighter and don’t over work/repeat your images, which you did a little here. Over all I liked the idea, it has legs, dead rotten and smelly legs in this case, but legs all the same. Keep at it lad.