A first draft of half of chapter one of a new novel.

[TonyHarmsworth]

It is a shame the chapter is too long to be put here in full, but I've put half a chapter below.

This is a story I've had in mind since about 1980 and is based close to where we live as a friend said I should write a novel about a place I knew really well.

I haven't done any 'word loss' editing on this yet.

This is a type of post-apocalyptic story, but has a serious difference which I believe to be unique to this type of storyline. There is no explanation of what has happened. That comes later.

**** CHAPTER 1a ****


Mark levered himself upwards over the vertical chassis of the Ford Transit van which blocked the road.

Nothing.

"All quiet?"

"Since yesterday, Mark. They could be trying to make their way up and over the top of the hill, though."

"Yes, we've warned the MacKenzies and they'll keep alert. I'll pop in to see them on the way back. There were only one or two, you think?"

The older man eased himself downwards until he could drop to the road. "Yes. Come see," he grunted as he fell the last fifteen inches onto the tarmac.

Mark, in the prime of life, scrambled more agilely to the tarmac and waited while Calum MacKintosh, straightened up his aging body, pushing a hand into the small of his back as if to help his spine remember the time when it was once young and straight. Nevertheless, he was patently a once fearsome individual, excelling at the 'heavy' events in the Highland Games in the past. There was a time when he could lift a tree and toss it cartwheeling across the games field. Long ago, now, but the essence of his steadfastness still emanated from him. One shovel-like hand retrieved his .22 rifle from the ground while the other gripped a sturdy staff he had lent against the barricade. He used it to steady himself as he limped towards the pastel green and white touring caravan parked hard against the rock face.

The younger man overtook Calum and opened the door. Inside they sat either side of the table, almost salivating to the aroma and crackle of cooking sausages. Mrs. MacKintosh's bulk filled the narrow passage to the right as she fussed over the bangers, skilfully cracking five eggs into the second pan, wiping spilled albumen on the apron which protected an old-fashioned tweed skirt.

"You'll take a bite with us, Mark?" she queried.

"Aye, Mrs. MacKintosh. It'd be very welcome."

"Keep your voices down. Jim's asleep at the back," she said.

Calum turned the laptop so that they could both see the screen. The image showed the view along the road from the barricade. The time-code showed 10:12am. A light coloured pick-up truck appeared from around a distant bend in the road. When the driver saw the barricade he must have slammed on the brakes. It came to a halt, smoke rising from the rear wheels.

At 10:15am two men emerged from the vehicle, each carrying a police riot shield.

"Is there any sound?"

"No lad, but it is about now I shouted for them to say who they were, what they wanted and where they were from."

A puff of smoke was visible from a rifle pulled to the shoulder of the passenger. A second shot was fired and they ran back to the vehicle and reversed it beyond the bend.

"You didn't fire back?"

"No, they just vamoosed."

"Nothing else on the video?"

"Yes, keep watching." The two men peered at the screen.

"There, d'you see that? They're both peeking around the cliff face. I shouted to them to come forward and explain who they were and what they wanted, but they disappeared from view and we've not seen hide nor hair of them since."

"Here y'are. Get that inside you," said Mrs. MacKintosh, placing two steaming plates of egg, sausages and fried potatoes in front of the men. Calum shuffled along the seat to give her space to join them and they both needed a lot of space compared with their more athletic looking guest.

The video returned to a live view from the barricade, showing the road at the centre running into the distance until it disappeared around the jutting cliff. The rock face was about eighty or a hundred feet high. Above that was a forest of larch and spruce which extended several hundred feet up the hillside. To the left the precipitous rock face continued downwards to the surface of the loch, covered in birch, hazel, rowan and ash. The barricade had been well placed to stop anyone from coming from the direction of Fort Augustus or Skye.

Lunch finished, Mark stood to go, Mrs. MacKintosh got up and took the plates to the other end of the caravan and Calum eased himself out from the confinement between the table and seat.

"I'll be sending half a dozen men along this afternoon, Calum."

"Nah, we don't really need them. I'm enough with young Will and Jim."

The aforementioned Will, a twenty year-old well-built man was sitting atop a mechanical digger, watching the road over the barrier.

"We can always blow the rock face if needs be."

"Rather safe than sorry, Calum. We don't want to permanently block the road yet in case we want to raid the Fort again, so last resort. Anything you need from Drum Mrs MacKintosh?"

She thrust a small sheet of paper into Mark's hand. "That's a list. Thanks."

The younger man scanned it briefly then left the caravan, stopping in the doorway to say his goodbyes and to remind them to call if there were any further sign of the strangers.

Mark mounted his 50cc motorbike, kick-started it and headed along the A82 road away from the barricade and towards Drumnadrochit. Loch Ness was moody today, its surface gunmetal grey and with low cloud skimming the tops of the southern hills. Mark enjoyed the wind in his face, but his hands were cold. Autumn would soon deepen into a Highland winter.

He'd barely travelled a mile when he turned up a steep, narrow single-track road to the left. The barely standing wooden sign at the bottom said 'MacKenzie Boglashin'.

****

Sorry, no hook to read on here as it is only half way through the chapter.

 

[VinceK]

My personal opinion(s) In red.

**** CHAPTER 1a ****


Mark levered himself upwards over the vertical chassis of the Ford Transit van which blocked the road. Don't understand this setting.

Nothing.

"All quiet?"

"Since yesterday, Mark. < Attribution sounds forced. They could be trying to make their way up and over the top of the hill, though."

"Yes, we've warned the MacKenzies and they'll keep alert. I'll pop in to see them on the way back. There were only one or two, you think?"

The older man eased himself downwards until he could drop to the road. "Yes. Come see," he grunted as he fell the last fifteen inches < Did he have a tape measure? onto the tarmac. Losing track of who's speaking. Is this omniscient POV?

Mark, in the prime of life, scrambled more agilely to the tarmac and waited while Calum MacKintosh, straightened up his aging body, pushing a hand into the small of his back as if to help his spine remember the time when it was once young and straight. Nevertheless, he was patently a once fearsome individual, excelling at the 'heavy' events in the Highland Games in the past. There was a time when he could lift a tree and toss it cartwheeling across the games field. Long ago, now, but the essence of his steadfastness still emanated from him. One shovel-like hand retrieved his .22 rifle from the ground while the other gripped a sturdy staff he had lent against the barricade. He used it to steady himself as he limped towards the pastel green and white touring caravan parked hard against the rock face. Too much back story. Too much detail.

The younger man overtook Calum and opened the door. Inside they sat either side of the table, almost salivating to the aroma and crackle of cooking sausages. Mrs. MacKintosh's bulk filled the narrow passage to the right as she fussed over the bangers, skilfully cracking five eggs into the second pan, wiping spilled albumen on the apron which protected an old-fashioned tweed skirt. Seems rather over indulgent prose. Albumen?

"You'll take a bite with us, Mark?" she queried.

"Aye, Mrs. MacKintosh. It'd be very welcome."

"Keep your voices down. Jim's asleep at the back," she said.

Calum turned the laptop so that they could both see the screen. The image showed the view along the road from the barricade. The time-code showed 10:12am. A light coloured pick-up truck appeared from around a distant bend in the road. When the driver saw the barricade he must have slammed on the brakes. It came to a halt, smoke rising from the rear wheels. I think it's safe to say the pick-up skidded to a halt.

At 10:15am two men emerged from the vehicle, each carrying a police riot shield. Is this vehicle the pick-up?

"Is there any sound?"

"No lad, but it is about now I shouted for them to say who they were, what they wanted and where they were from."

A puff of smoke was visible from a rifle pulled to the shoulder of the passenger. A second shot was fired and they ran back to the vehicle and reversed it beyond the bend. I'm not sure who's firing and from where?

"You didn't fire back?"

"No, they just vamoosed."

"Nothing else on the video?" < You don't need this. Just say, "Keep watching." on the next line.

"Yes, keep watching." The two men peered at the screen. < You don't need to explain.

"There, d'you see that? They're both peeking around the cliff face. I shouted to them to come forward and explain who they were and what they wanted, but they disappeared from view and we've not seen hide nor hair of them since." Who's peeking? No description?

"Here y'are. Get that inside you," said Mrs. MacKintosh, placing two steaming plates of egg, sausages and fried potatoes in front of the men. Calum shuffled along the seat to give her space to join them and they both needed a lot of space compared with their more athletic looking guest. < Who's the guest?

The video returned to a live view from the barricade, showing the road at the centre running into the distance until it disappeared around the jutting cliff. The rock face was about eighty or a hundred feet high. Above that was a forest of larch and spruce which extended several hundred feet up the hillside. To the left the precipitous rock face continued downwards to the surface of the loch, covered in birch, hazel, rowan and ash. The barricade had been well placed to stop anyone from coming from the direction of Fort Augustus or Skye. < I'm sure this would be of interest to an arborist, but I think the description could be tighter.

Lunch finished, Mark stood to go, Mrs. MacKintosh got up and took the plates to the other end of the caravan and Calum eased himself out from the confinement between the table and seat. < Too many words.

"I'll be sending half a dozen men along this afternoon, Calum." < Position Mark so we know it's him speaking.

"Nah, we don't really need them. I'm enough with young Will and Jim."

The aforementioned Will, a twenty year-old well-built man was sitting atop a mechanical digger, watching the road over the barrier.

"We can always blow the rock face if needs be."

"Rather safe than sorry, Calum. We don't want to permanently block the road yet in case we want to raid the Fort again, so last resort. Anything you need from Drum Mrs MacKintosh?" < Sounds contrived to introduce back story.

She thrust a small sheet of paper into Mark's hand. "That's a list. Thanks."

The younger man scanned it briefly then left the caravan, stopping in the doorway to say his goodbyes and to remind them to call if there were any further sign of the strangers. < He could have just spoken.

Mark mounted his 50cc motorbike, kick-started it and headed along the A82 road away from the barricade and towards Drumnadrochit. Loch Ness was moody today, its surface gunmetal grey and with low cloud skimming the tops of the southern hills. Mark enjoyed the wind in his face, but his hands were cold. Autumn would soon deepen into a Highland winter. < Ignoring the kick-start this is a nice description.

He'd barely travelled a mile when he turned up a steep, narrow single-track road to the left. The barely standing wooden sign at the bottom said 'MacKenzie Boglashin'. < barely, barely.

****

Sorry, no hook to read on here as it is only half way through the chapter.

Firstly, congratulations for posting. I'm sorry I couldn't be more positive, but I became confused as to who was speaking and who was doing what. I understand there is a barricade, but there doesn't seem to much urgency in the scene. I appreciate it's only half the scene, but I didn't feel any tension. It came across as rather pedestrian.

 

[Brian G Turner]

Well, you clearly have a strong sense of setting and character and a developing plot - but unfortunately it seems as though you're making the basic mistake of writing this as if we're watching a film, and you're narrating it.

But the strength of a novel comes from being able to share in other peoples' thoughts and experiences, and you're not doing that at the moment - we hear the dialogue, and see the physical descriptions of the characters - but we have no idea of what they're thinking about, what concerns they have, what goals and drives and motives they might have.

The result is that the internal tension that a film would give us through so many cues - lighting, angle, movement, music, body language and close-ups of expressions - is missing.

What you really need to do if you want to bring this up to commercial standards is to read up on some of the technicalities of writing. Point Of View (POV) use is a key area, and this covers the different methods for bringing the reader close to the characters. I strongly recommend reading Wonderbook by Jeff Vandermeyer, as it covers this and all the other technicalities of writing - from basic to advanced - in a concise manner. Trust me, if you're serious about writing, you'll get a lot from it.

That's the bad news.

The good news is that POV issues can be relatively easy to fix - heck, I was pulled up on that in my first ever Crit piece. Fixing POV issues can be nothing more than a few well-placed sentences in the text. The challenge is to be able to get under a character's skin enough to be able to honestly convey their thoughts, emotions, and experiences - and that's a lot harder than it sounds.

2c.

 

[Hex]

Mark levered himself upwards over the vertical chassis of the Ford Transit van which blocked the road. [I can't visualise this. It might be because I have to think quite hard about what a chassis is, or it might be I can't visualise a Transit van blocking the road while its chassis is vertical, or it might just be because I don't have a visual imagination, but for me it's a frown-at-the-page moment]

Nothing.

"All quiet?" [says who? Mark? and who's he talking to?]

"Since yesterday, Mark. They could be trying to make their way up and over the top of the hill, though." [I have no idea what's going on]

"Yes, we've warned the MacKenzies and they'll keep alert. I'll pop in to see them on the way back. There were only one or two, you think?" [zombies..? but I still don't know and it's frustrating]

The older man [probably name him before you refer to him this way -- you might also say he's following Mark across the chassis] eased himself downwards until he could drop to the road. "Yes. Come see," he grunted as he fell the last fifteen inches onto the tarmac.

Mark, in the prime of life, scrambled more agilely to the tarmac and waited while Calum MacKintosh, [<-- kill the comma] straightened up his aging body, pushing a hand into the small of his back as if to help his spine remember the time when it was once young and straight. [I like that bit of description but I would prefer to get some idea of what's going on, and I still don't know, so now steam has started to seep out of my ears] Nevertheless, he was patently a once fearsome individual, excelling at the 'heavy' events in the Highland Games in the past. There was a time when he could lift a tree and toss it cartwheeling across the games field. Long ago, now, but the essence of his steadfastness still emanated from him. One shovel-like hand retrieved his .22 rifle from the ground while the other gripped a sturdy staff he had lent against the barricade. He used it to steady himself as he limped towards the pastel green and white touring caravan parked hard against the rock face. [<-- too much backstory and description and I don't know whose head we're in. Does Mark know this? and it's distracting me from the main story, which is two guys peering up a road]

The younger man overtook Calum and opened the door. [the van door...? I thought it was on its end?] Inside they sat either side of the table [odd thing to have in a van], almost salivating to the aroma and crackle of cooking sausages. Mrs. MacKintosh's bulk filled the narrow passage to the right [not the van...] as she fussed over the bangers, skilfully cracking five eggs into the second pan, wiping spilled albumen on the apron which protected an old-fashioned tweed skirt.

"You'll take a bite with us, Mark?" she queried.

"Aye, Mrs. MacKintosh. It'd be very welcome."

"Keep your voices down. Jim's asleep at the back," she said.

I don't think I've ever said this to anyone before, but I think you need more placing and maybe the teensiest bit of information -- I don't know what's happening or where it's happening and it makes me twitchy. There's a leap from their climbing over the van to their being in the house at the table as well and I was confused by that too.

I know it's a tricky balance to get right but I think you're erring on the side of not-enough-information, and it would be so easy to get some more in here. For example, while they're having the conversation, they could give a bit more detail about who they're talking about. Like: "They could be trying to make their way up and over the top of the hill, like they did in [somewhere]." The older man shuddered. "I read about that. No one left alive. They ate them."

 

[tinkerdan]

I liked this enough that I might continue onto see what is going on; but there are a few road bumps.

This seems to tend toward omniscient, and that isn't bad in and of itself. But if you want to pull it off well you might want to look into your choice of which omniscient you are using. This seems to be more objective where it might work better to have some subjectivity to give it life; to get closer to the characters and input more of their feelings and senses.
For instancel; this sentence has two effects on me when I read it.

Calum shuffled along the seat to give her space to join them and they both needed a lot of space compared with their more athletic looking guest.

There is distancing created by the dropping of Marks name so you can go into my next point.

There is some extra telling us that Mark is athletic; even after previous paragraphs might have made that clear for us already.

I might even add to this that it almost looks like this could be from both Calum and the Mrs. point of view rather than just omniscient.

Though there is flexibility of POV in omniscient; sometimes it might work better to couple that with a narrative that follows one character through the scene and perhaps going subjectively into it.

It would be very easy to confuse what you have here for head-hopping.

 

[TonyHarmsworth]

The younger man overtook Calum and opened the door. [the van door...? I thought it was on its end?] Inside they sat either side of the table [odd thing to have in a van], almost salivating to the aroma and crackle of cooking sausages. Mrs. MacKintosh's bulk filled the narrow passage to the right [not the van...] as she fussed over the bangers, skilfully cracking five eggs into the second pan, wiping spilled albumen on the apron which protected an old-fashioned tweed skirt.

Thanks for all of that. There is a slight international misunderstanding here. A caravan is a towed vehicle - you might call it a trailer. They haven't moved to a house, they are in the caravan - the trailer if you will. In the UK a van is an empty vehicle for carrying goods. A caravan is something you live in while on holiday and you tow it with your car. I need to be thinking more internationally when writing, obviously.

 

[Jo Zebedee]

Thanks for all of that. There is a slight international misunderstanding here. A caravan is a towed vehicle - you might call it a trailer. They haven't moved to a house, they are in the caravan - the trailer if you will. In the UK a van is an empty vehicle for carrying goods. A caravan is something you live in while on holiday and you tow it with your car. I need to be thinking more internationally when writing, obviously.

It is difficult, but the key is in the context of the description. I wrote a book in the Northern Irish venacular which is beyond confusing for many people and each time I used a local word to describe something I took time to examine that I had something within the scene to tell people what it was (eg in the Lough - which can be a sea inlet or a large lake here and doesn't translate well - I put a passenger ferry. Which at least tells people it's a big body of water. Later, I mention it's a coastal city.) so, for here, I'd look to add something into that initial description - crashed, the contents would be all screwed up and no longer resemble a mobile home, something like that - to ground people.

For me, this didn't have enough character experience. What are they thinking? How are they feeling? Don't tell me the back story - make me care about them. Then i'll be happy to read their history.

 

[Hex]

Ah sorry. I missed the mention of the caravan because I stopped reading the paragraph when the Highland Games were mentioned. My fault.

 

[TonyHarmsworth]

Ah sorry. I missed the mention of the caravan because I stopped reading the paragraph when the Highland Games were mentioned. My fault.

Not at all your fault. My fault for not keeping your interest!

 

[tinkerdan]

Just for the record:

He used it to steady himself as he limped towards the pastel green and white touring caravan parked hard against the rock face.

It seemed pretty clear to me.
Later the sliding along the seat to make room helped envision the booth like tables and seats in the RV's I've seen.

 

[Stuart Suffel]

Confined to mobile, so comments have to be brief. I think the comments so far hit the nail on the head. For me, I'm going to repeat what seens to have become my mantras re critiques. 1/Less is More. and 2/ Trust your Reader. I think some authors are fiightened that readers will stop reading, so that cram as much as possible into a small space, ie the beginning of a story. There really is no need. Here, you need to concentrate on ONE character only, and as others have said, make him/her 'sing'. Either through POV close or preferably, at first, POV single person omni. Best of luck with it. S.

 

[TonyHarmsworth]

Confined to mobile, so comments have to be brief. I think the comments so far hit the nail on the head. For me, I'm going to repeat what seens to have become my mantras re critiques. 1/Less is More. and 2/ Trust your Reader. I think some authors are fiightened that readers will stop reading, so that cram as much as possible into a small space, ie the beginning of a story. There really is no need. Here, you need to concentrate on ONE character only, and as others have said, make him/her 'sing'. Either through POV close or preferably, at first, POV single person omni. Best of luck with it. S.

Thank you. Some useful pointers there.

I think putting up something this raw was not a good idea as the main things picked up are the ones I would pick up myself. If I use SSFC again I will wait until I'm happy with the text myself. I put this up having only read it through once. Not a good idea.