Opening chapter critique

[December88]

Hello,

I recently re-wrote my entire first draft in first person, changing up a lot of stuff including the style.
I am worried that the opening is too weak, and might confused people/not make any sense. If someone could take a look at this and comment on what doesn't work and what works I'd be much obliged.

Thanks!


ONE

A month ago, when the revolution had only really just begun, Jorak Franks had told me that democracy is like two wolves and a sheep voting on what’s for dinner. I had laughed and agreed. But when Jorak shared his little joke with Simariel Tratsky, she didn’t laugh at all. Simariel and her gang beat poor Jorak to a pulp right there in the middle of the class.

“If any of you don’t want democracy!” she had screamed, her knuckles bruised and bloody, “If any of you still support the king, get the hell out of Capitol city or we’ll hunt you down!”

I remember the snarl on her pretty face. I remember her dark eyes singling me out amidst the crowd of cheering students.

But I am still in Capitol city, and I stillsecretly support king Karrad, and despite everything, I still have the biggest crush on Simariel Tratsky. Now don’t get me wrong, I am fully aware that my chances of actually getting with her are about as likely as king Karrad ever getting a positive approval rating again (99.9% of those surveyed wanted him hung as of yesterday’s poll, and the other 0.01% were themselves hung when they answered otherwise).I am technically part of that tiny percentage as well, but I’m not stupid enough to go around putting my allegiance to the throne down on public surveys. As Jorak had put it – I am a sheep, and Simariel is a wolf. To avoid his fate, and to somehow win her heart, I’ve got to dress in a wolf’s clothing and run with her pack.

I wiggle into torn up blue jeans and pull the hood of my black sweat shirt down. I slip a red handkerchief around my neck which I can pull up against tear gas and I grab a bicycle helmet for protection in case bullets start flying. Of course they’d only be rubber, but if one nails me in the head I’ll be knocked out cold and trampled by thousands of angry feet. I slip my feet into boots – black hobnailed ones that are good for kicking away flash bang grenades or stomping in riot shields.

In the faint morning light I transform from a tall, skinny kid, shivering in the cold, into a mean, bad ass looking punk that could’ve stepped right out of the propaganda poster ofthe anonymous revolutionary hero that’s plastered all over the city.

I strike the pose, one gloved hand raised in the air, my fist curled into a ball. “Democrazy or death!” I mouth. Then chortle at my pun. Democrazy. Crazy! Get it? Hah! Oh Jorak would’ve been proud of me for that one alright! Crazy! The whole lot of them! The wolves.

The bus is packed with them.

It skids around the bend of our quiet suburban street, Mr. Halbert’s big yellow bus, driven as if it were a beast; sounding like one; grinding to a halt right in front of my white picket fenced, two story home and hissing as the doors open and the hydraulics cool off. Mr. Halbert blares the horn.

“Crap! Crap!” I can’t be late. Not today, not when the whole class is going on a field trip downtown to join in the riots – an opportunity, as principal Vladoff put it in his letter to our parents, to ‘help storm the royal palace and put an end to the king’s tyrannical reign once and for all’

I can’t miss the bus, I can’t not show up – they’d notice, Simariel would notice, and I can’t afford any more suspicion, not after last week when we burned down the royal library, and she had seen me slip the last unburned book into my pocket.

The book itself turned out to be of little interest – King Karrad’s family tree – and I’ve got it hidden at the back of my closet because just last week, we had cleared out the house of any royal paraphernalia and tossed it into the big bonfire that the neighbors had gathered around in the park and –

Mr. Halbert blares his horn again.

“Mum!” I cry, bounding down the steps. “Mum!”

“Varrin!” she jumps up from the dining table, arms outstretched. She’s got dark hair like me - and unlike Jorge - and large, deep set eyes like me - and unlike Jorge - and basically, I got nothing from Jorge because he’s my stepdad, not my dad. “Look at you! We’re so proud –“

I bat her hands away and wag a slip of paper in her face, “I need the permission slip signed! Quick the bus is –“

Mr. Halbert blares his horn again.

“What the devil –“exclaims Jorge, who’s eyes are glued to the television, and who’s blobby behind is glued to his chair. “Ah Varrin. Varrin m’boy!” He’s spinning around, and getting up too, to waddle over to me while the chair is still stuck to him, and I’ve really got to go but mum is reading the slip even though she had read it last night and I totally understand because there’s a line on there that needs reading twice, or thrice, and it reads ‘The Academy will not be responsible for any injuries your child might suffer, minor or potentially fatal, on the trip’ – but I’ve really got to go.

The bus horn blasts even louder than the T.V which is turned all the way up, and has ten thousand people chanting for democracy in downtown Capitol.

“Mum!”

“Okay! Okay!” she says, scribbling on the dotted line and passing it to me like a baton as I duck under Jorge’s enormous arm as he tries to give me a hug – the first he’d ever have given me – and calls me son even though I’m only his stepson. I dash toward the door, and skid to a stop, just for a second because the hot news anchor, who’s proudly proclaiming that the king’s days are numbered,is sticking her chest all the way out and I’m a boy and I’m sixteen.

The bus engine roars to life.

“Wait!”

I sprint out into the crisp morning, over the lawn and the flicking sprinklers, past the gate, and to the bus. There’s only a dozen students in there because our class is the only one going on the trip, and they scream as one, “Hurry up Varrin!”

Mr. Halbert, dark and bald and muscled up, yells something at me as I step on.

“What?”

“You got your permission slip son? For the trip?”

“Yes!” I fumble with the slip and hand it to him. He takes a look, a close look. He nods.

“Alright, Lets go!”

The bus doors hiss shut, mum and Jorge wave madly at me from the front door. I raise a hand to them.

“Go Mr. Halbert! Go!” chants everyone as one.

Mr. Halbert floors it and I tumble back, smacking into Oscar Dreyfus’ barreled chest. He looms over me like an ogre even though I’m a good two inches over six feet. “Varrin Locke!” he booms, silencing the rabble. “I was worried you might now show up! Thought you might be a king’s man after all.” He cocks his head over his shoulder. “Me and the boys were just about to come in there and sort you out!”

His gang of punks – Simariel Tratsky’s gang of punks(and im sure glad she’s not on this bus route) - leer in from the sides, their grins dangerous and hungry. They’re all dressed in sweatshirts and jeans like me, with chains hanging out of pockets, bandanas slung around necks and helmets cradled under arms.

I catch the glint of steel. Gloved hands clutch metal rods. A golf club, a sledgehammer and a .22 pellet gun lean against the side. Tessel Luv slouches by a window twirling a butterfly knife in her keen hands. She catches my eyes and winks at me.

“But here I am.” I say, drawing myself up, sticking my neck up at Oscar so that we’re almost chin to chin. Dressing up like a wolf is easy, but acting isn’t, especially in front of Oscar, because he’s Simariel’s boyfriend and he knows I’m always sneaking glances at her. He wants any excuse to wreck me, to damn me as a king’s man and set his pack on me. I clench my jaws. I can take the ******* if need be, and by that I mean kick him in the groin, bound down the aisle and jump out through the back window. Or maybe not, I’d seen what Tessel could do with that knife of hers when Jorak had tried to scamper away.

Only one way to do this.

Oscar’s hard eyes glare into mine, challenging me, daring me to falter, to hesitate. “And here you are.” He says, real quiet, leaning in closer even though we’re practically kissing. The whole bus leans in. “Why?”

 

[Brian G Turner]

I've cut the entry down to under 1500 words to keep with our rules.

As for the piece - it's not bad, but it's lacking immediacy - everything remains abstract at first and dependent upon telling.

Yet when you do finally get to an immediate situation - "Mr. Halbert blares his horn again." - it's the narrator apparently as a child catching a school bus. I presume you're aiming for teen here, but after talking about flash grenades and rubber bullets, and then loving his mum then catching a school bus, it feels like two very different ages.

In fact, it feels like two completely different scenes tacked together. Though you do go back to what you've mentioned earlier it feels somewhat forced - why is Varrin singled out when only he knows he's a royalist? The bus section also feels a little chatty and long-winded to me. It's as if you want to create a sense of tension, but aren't quite sure how to go about it.

Overall, there's something interesting here, but your narrator remains distant and underdeveloped, which makes it harder to engage. Think about emotional development arcs - what does he want and why?

Also, be careful with your capitalisation - Capitol City, King Karrad.

And don't laugh at your own jokes.

EDIT: Actually, it's possible you've started in the wrong place - instead of trying to explain the story, then show us going somewhere - why not simply have us in whatever develops after at the opening? Presumably if something is going to happen, and Varrin faces danger, you can start the piece there and shove in your characters and commentary with a sense of immediacy and something actually happening?

 

[Nick B]

I like the premise, and the fact you don't try to explain the world or the political make-up too much. The thing I don't like is the seeming frivolity of it all, it just doesn't seem serious yet clearly isn't a comedy.
If it sat in a more serious frame, I would like to continue reading.

 

[Zoe Mackay]

Unlike Quellist, I don't object to the frivolity necessarily.

I am a little confused about what tone you're going for here, but the combination of a horrific situation and dead-pan, absurd, humour is a good one - Catch-22 being a classic example.

What I have issue with is the execution, and quite a lot of the detail. Here's an example:

“Okay! Okay!” she says, scribbling on the dotted line and passing it to me like a baton as I duck under Jorge’s enormous arm as he tries to give me a hug – the first he’d ever have given me – and calls me son even though I’m only his stepson. I dash toward the door, and skid to a stop, just for a second because the hot news anchor, who’s proudly proclaiming that the king’s days are numbered,is sticking her chest all the way out and I’m a boy and I’m sixteen.

There's a whole load of things going on in those two sentences. The fact that you've got two "as" clauses in the first sentence, and then a sub-clause... it's collapsing under a tonne of simultaneity and trying to do too much, and the net result is that it's difficult to understand and even more difficult to perceive what the main character is experiencing.

His gang of punks – Simariel Tratsky’s gang of punks(and im sure glad she’s not on this bus route) - leer in from the sides, their grins dangerous and hungry.

The fact that you felt you had to use italics in the middle of this sentence is indicative of how close to collapse it is.

Slow down: you're trying to get pace by cramming action into sentences, and like too much duvet in your duvet case, it's splitting the seams. Get closer to the action. Really look at your sentence structure. Try reading it out loud, as well, and you might feel where the prose doesn't work.

"Capitol City" feels like lazy naming, by the way, and like Brian I'm struggling to get a handle on the world. It's a monarchy that's undergoing a revolution? Mass demonstrations? But the establishment is kind of on board with that, so much so that there are school trips? It seems odd, and I'm unsure whether it's supposed to be odd or not.

I quite like this kind of thing, but it's difficult to pull off, and to have a hope of it being successful you've got to get your basic writing technique up to scratch and establish and demonstrate a good grip on your world.

 

[December88]

Thanks for all the comments guys,

As for the piece - it's not bad, but it's lacking immediacy - everything remains abstract at first and dependent upon telling.

Actually, it's possible you've started in the wrong place - instead of trying to explain the story, then show us going somewhere - why not simply have us in whatever develops after at the opening?

This was what I've always been worried about, that I started in the wrong place and it quickly gets muddled as I try and explain too many things at once.

If it sat in a more serious frame, I would like to continue reading.

I am a little confused about what tone you're going for here, but the combination of a horrific situation and dead-pan, absurd, humour is a good one - Catch-22 being a classic example.

This is a style i've sort of tried to adopt after reading 'The chaos walking trilogy' by Patrick Ness. I loved his writing, and probably ended up trying to copy him too much which has resulted in an overall, weaker style as i'm not anywhere as skilled as he is.

As Robert said, I do have to slow down quite a bit and shorten up sentences - again something I've copied from Patrick Ness' style.

"Capitol City" feels like lazy naming, by the way, and like Brian I'm struggling to get a handle on the world. It's a monarchy that's undergoing a revolution? Mass demonstrations? But the establishment is kind of on board with that, so much so that there are school trips? It seems odd, and I'm unsure whether it's supposed to be odd or not.

The entire city has turned against the monarchy which has been all but defeated. I wanted to make it seem as if the entire city has been swept up by this idea of democracy and have turned against their king, spurred on by a whole lot of fervor and propaganda. They're pretty much a blinded, brainless mob that are ready and eager to commit violence without really taking a step back to really think about why they're actually revolting in the first place.

So i guess it is supposed to be odd, and I want the protagonist to seem like one of the few sane people left.

Its basically like 1984 (if you've read it), except its flipped on its head, because instead of the government/monarchy/establishment turning the people into mindless drones, its the people themselves, manipulated by as of now, an unknown player, who are being riled up against a largely fair monarch.

its sort of complicated, and as you said, it'll take a considerable amount of expertise to be able to make it engaging.



I'll definitely re-write this taking into account everyone's invaluable feedback. Might go back to third person past since thats what I'm actually comfortable in.

Thank you all!

 

[cyberpunkdreams]

I thought it was pretty good (although the names are a bit cheesy and the past participle of hang is hanged, not hung, when you're talking about people). There was one inconsistency that I noticed -- Simariel is both on the bus and not on the bus.

 

[tinkerdan]

I like what you're doing--if in fact I understand it.

Trying to show the confused conflicted nature of this person who is trying to unravel his own loyalty and some other feelings that are trying to emerge.

It lacks some teeth, though. And I think that could be remedied by less of telling us things like he has a crush on Simariel; instead show it.

What I mean is something like this::

Jorak Franks told me democracy is like two wolves and a sheep voting on what’s for dinner. I laughed and agreed. When Jorak shared the same with Simariel Tratsky, she didn’t laugh; she and her gang beat poor Jorak to a pulp in the middle of the class, like some poor sod. I stood and watched; not because I was afraid or that I enjoyed watching a friend get pummeled.

'If you don’t want democracy!' she screamed, her knuckles bruised and bloody, 'If any of you still support the king, get the hell out of Capitol city or we’ll hunt you down!' It certainly wasn't that I agreed with her; no it was something else that I didn't understand at the very moment of frozen treacherous inaction.

Months later I still remember her facial snarl; her belligerent tone; the dark eyed gaze that cast across the cheering crowd of students to rest on me: challenging, accusing, and daring, while so focused that my own gaze became fixed upon the in-congruent beauty that was her.

:: so yes, maybe a bit purple at the end there.
I don't know your characters well enough to have done them justice; but that's the point: with some tightening and bit more feeling the reader could know them and wouldn't need to be told that he had a crush on her, nor would there be a lot of necessity for explaining the conflict in so many words.

 

[TXO]

Hey, I'm new here trying to make my proverbial bones.

I enjoyed reading your chapter. The piece is good but still needs a few edits. The immersive effect you create when the boy is about to leave the house is very gripping; there is a clear motivation to act and the scene and characters respond great to it.

The intro is a bit soft because the characters have not had a good buildup yet. The joke about democracy is funny but becomes muddled with the need to introduce Simariel. I think you could pull the two apart and create a better base to build your themes of democracy and love. An issue with introducing characters is that too many characters gets a bit confusing.

This is a latenight response, if it's too brief or out of form; I'll delve into the forum's culture a bit to make it fit better for the next one.

 

[J Riff]

1st person is difficult. The word 'had' in the 1st paragraph is perhaps overused, yes? Just a bit. But, it's difficult, and best avoided unless the story screams out for it.

 

[December88]

Thanks again for the responses guys. Will be re writing this!