4,000th post (or thereabouts)

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Hex

Hex

Write, monkey, write
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This is a chunk of a collaboration I'm working on (sporadically) with a Writing God, the amazing @HareBrain.

It's not the first chapter; it comes a little way in, so a teeny bit of background:

Lyla has been sent to kill the Breaker, a boy who is able to open a gateway to Hell and let all the nasty things flood out and consume the world. She's almost on her own (her grandmother -- who brought her up -- is unconscious, trapped in the hell the boy is (possibly) threatening to unleash on the world). Mr Daniels is a member of The Free -- a group of good guys who want to stop hell being opened, and who are all the support Lyla has left.

She's had a tough few chapters, and killing people isn't straightforward for her. Her initial plan was to stab him.

[she's in a small village with a road running between her and the house that the Breaker is in -- that's all been established in the previous chapter, which I didn't write...]

#

She watched from the ditch across the road, the spiky crop prickling the back of her thighs. Lights came on in the front room, and Lyla dipped her head to the length of the long grass along the embankment in case anyone looked out. When the boy spun round to the window, she was curious enough to edge closer, to try to make out the features of the Breaker's face.

It wasn't easy, though, to see past the net curtains, across the road; not until he came out of the house, almost at a run, and stood in the small garden, gasping air. Then he was moving, hurrying along the road with huge, fast strides. Lyla stayed in the ditch on the field side and followed.

He was taller than she'd expected, wide across the shoulders, muscle cording down the length of his arms. She instantly reassessed the likelihood of getting a knife into him while he was watching. He could probably hold her off with one hand while she flailed like a cartoon character.

She'd need to be smart. He paused, glanced back, and pushed his brown hair away from his brow, looking so normal it made the anger rise inside her. How dare he be here, strolling along beside the golden corn while her grandmother was trapped in his hell. Her fingers twitched with the need to hurt. With his death, they'd be safe again, and Lyla wouldn't need to be a soldier any more. Her hand found the gun in her pocket. One shot. She could do it from here, even in the dodgy light. One shot in the back of the head and everything would be normal again.

She screwed on the silencer; didn't want anyone calling the police before she was long gone. Waited, waited for a car to pass so the noise would vanish in the engine's roar. Sighted.

He kept walking, unaware, marching down the road to Edinburgh. The pull of fate came over her, the tingling in her hands that spoke to her of something right. Now. Now was the time. It was as if the Free surrounded her, buoyed her up and directed her aim.

The car growled closer, her focus narrowed. One shot.

She inhaled, held her breath. And --

-- he turned, backing off the road to let the car pass him. She saw in an explosion of clarity that his eyes were mismatched -- one brown, the other green. Between the eyes. Come on, Lyla. She didn't know if the voice was her or Mr Daniels, or something else living in her head. Her finger tightened. One shot, between his oddly mismatched eyes. That way the bullet would go straight through the frontal lobe, tear through the parietal lobe, and out the back of his head. He'd get blood, she thought foolishly, in his hair.

The car had passed. The roar faded into the distance. Lyla was still poised, finger on trigger, ready to shoot. But she hadn't.

She lowered the gun, watched him hurry onward towards the lights. What the hell was wrong with her?
 
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Well it's good. But what is the crop? Its a great sentence - spiky crop prickling the back of her thighs... but is it corn, cacti, or what? Dipping her head to the length of the long grass... could, possibly, be changed to ..?*
gasping for air.. flailing like a cartoon character. Twitched with the need to hurt might suggest the fingers hurt.
All minor stuff, corngrats on 4 Thou****


.
 
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Congrats on the 4,000! And an intriguing read for me as I've seen some of the other side!

Anyway, a few nitpicks:
Hex said:
She watched from the ditch across the road [not clear if this is the opening of the scene where she first sees the place. If it is, perhaps add "from the Breaker's house" or something?], the spiky crop [eh? Perhaps better to say what kind of crop here, since spikiness alone's no help, and would full grown corn be spiky? Anyway, if she's in the ditch, why is there any crop there?**] prickling the back of her thighs. [as you've not said to the contrary, I'd assume she was lying in the ditch, the better to hide herself, so I can't see how the back of her thighs are being prickled** -- perhaps confirm earlier if she's sitting, crouching, lying, whatever] Lights came on in the front room, and Lyla dipped her head to the length of the long grass [confused by that I have to confess -- how can she see anything now?] along the embankment in case anyone looked out. When the boy spun round to the window, [if this is the first time we've seen him in her POV, shouldn't she tell us she can see his back? I take it you've explained how she knows it's him and not a friend of the family] she was curious enough to edge closer, [how? She's in a ditch looking over the embankment. Even if she crawls up the embankment, she won't see any better since she's already looking over it] to try to make out the features of the Breaker's face.

It wasn't easy, though, to see past the net curtains, across the road [suggest deleting "across the road" from here as it's there in the first line]; not until he came out of the house, [as written, this means that now he's come out, it's easy for her to see past the net curtains which isn't quite what you mean! Suggest you add at the end of this "could she see his face" or somesuch] almost at a run, and stood in the small garden, gasping air. Then he was moving, hurrying along the road with huge, fast [you've just told us he was hurrying so the "fast" adds nothing] strides. Lyla stayed in the ditch [so if she's still in the ditch, how did she get closer earlier?] on the field side and followed.

He was taller than she'd expected, wide across the shoulders, muscle cording down the length of his arms. She instantly reassessed the likelihood of getting a knife into him while he was watching. He could probably hold her off with one hand while she flailed like a cartoon character. [not sure if the comic image helps the tension which should be building, though I can see it's a very YA thing]

She'd need to be smart. He paused, glanced back, and pushed his brown hair away from his brow, looking so normal it made the anger rise inside her. [really like this!] How dare he be here, strolling along beside the golden corn while her grandmother was trapped in his hell. Her fingers twitched with the need to hurt. With his death, they'd be safe again, and Lyla wouldn't need to be a soldier any more. Her hand found the gun in her pocket. One shot. She could do it from here, even in the dodgy light. One shot in the back of the head and everything would be normal again. [I assume she's a very good shot? I think most professionals go for the body and use more than one shot]

She screwed on the silencer; [I think in reality silencers aren't at all like the movies and they hardly deaden the sound at all] didn't want anyone calling the police before she was long gone. [Um... surely the cops will be called when someone sees a dead body lying in the road, not because they'd heard something which might be a birdscarer or someone shooting pigeons] Waited, waited for a car to pass so the noise would vanish in the engine's roar. Sighted.

He kept walking, unaware, marching down the road to Edinburgh. The pull of fate came over her, the tingling in her hands that spoke to her of something right. Now. Now was the time. It was as if the Free surrounded her, buoyed her up and directed her aim.

The car growled closer, her focus narrowed. One shot.

She inhaled, held her breath. And --

-- he turned, backing off the road to let the car pass him. She saw in an explosion of clarity that his eyes were mismatched -- one brown, the other green. Between the eyes. Come on, Lyla. She didn't know if the voice was her or Mr Daniels, or something else living in her head. Her finger tightened. One shot, between his oddly mismatched eyes. That way the bullet would go straight through the frontal lobe, tear through the parietal lobe, and out the back of his head. [not just "out" it would leave a huge gaping hole - so perhaps add something of the kind to make it more gruesome? He'd get blood, she thought foolishly, in his hair.

The car had [suggest deleting "had" so we see it pass and feel the time wasting away] passed. The roar faded into the distance. Lyla was still poised, finger on trigger, ready to shoot. But she hadn't. [suggest "didn't" since patently she hadn't otherwise she wouldn't still be ready to so it]

She lowered the gun, watched him hurry onward towards the lights. What the hell was wrong with her?
Click to expand...
A good scene. Gripping and involving. All the purple is just nit-picky points. Well done.


** it occurs to me now that she's standing in the ditch, hence the corn on the back of her legs, and the embankment is as tall, or nearly, as she is. I know nothing about Scottish field ditches and boundaries, but this seems a very odd arrangement. Is the field much lower than the road? Or is the embankment a kind of protective wall for the field? Either way, might be worth checking what they do look like and the height etc if you've not done already.
 
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Thanks, you guys (woo! This is my actual 4,000th post).

My field and ditch clearly need a certain amount of clarification... :|
 
I thought this was very well-written and I don’t have anything much to say about it. There are questions and small things that arise reading the scene out of context here, but I think that, were I reading this in a novel, they would either be explained by the rest of the novel or would be so minor that they wouldn’t occur to me to bother about.

Only one thing slowed me down and made me think about the choice of words: the phrase “an explosion of clarity”. I know what you mean, but this feels too strong for the circumstances. I would have put something like “His eyes, she saw, were…” or maybe the clumsier “She was surprised to see…”. The phrase makes it seem as if this is a big, plot-changing revelation. I'm not wholly sure about "muscle cording": I had an image of him being extremely wiry and tough-looking at this point, rather than just healthy and quite strong. It depends on what you're aiming to depict, I suppose.

But otherwise I thought this was very good.
 
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Thank you, Toby. Excellent suggestions. I will steal them :)
 
Nothing to add, Hex, except, of course, congratulations on the 4000.
 
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Hi Hex,

A few things that I think a little word smithing could smooth out:

"the spiky crop prickling the back of her thighs" are they briars or just weeds?
"as if the Free surrounded her" I missed the image on this statement (maybe its just me)
"He'd get blood, she thought foolishly, in his hair." The foolishly didn't do anything for me here. I think I was looking for something like "sinically" or something evil, not fooloish.
"...But she hadn't." disappointment :( it sounded like she had a knife, and gun (with a silecer) an stalked her target but whimped out. Just a though, but how about shoot and miss or shoot and wound. I think it depends on how strong you want the character to be.
 
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Thanks, telford and AVS. Interesting point about the strength of the character, AVS. I'll have a think about that (and thank you for your other comments too).
 
Hex said:
screwed on the silencer
Click to expand...
They only muffle the shot so it's harder to tell direction and save the ears of the user. The "better" they are the lower the bullet velocity power. The Hollywood "Putt" sound instead of bang is totally fake!
But I'd not worry about it unless you want realism. :)

Interesting piece.
Avid Scifi Fan said:
the spiky crop
Click to expand...
Oddly that phrase made me think she was in jodhpers and had a horse nearby and was carrying an unapproved item.
"crop" isn't quite right, either stubble of cut wheat / barley etc (name crop) or weeds or brambles or briars rather than the word crop.
 
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Hex said:
She didn't know if the voice was her or Mr Daniels, or something else living in her head. Her finger tightened. One shot, between his oddly mismatched eyes. That way the bullet would go straight through the frontal lobe, tear through the parietal lobe, and out the back of his head. He'd get blood, she thought foolishly, in his hair.
Click to expand...
This seemed OK to me, as thinking like this is a bit foolish.

Hex said:
What the hell was wrong with her?
Click to expand...
This can have a double meaning:
1) Why was I thinking of shooting him. Is Mr Daniels messing up her mind
OR
2) I did want to shoot him really and I'm a wimp.

So depending on the rest of the story, she may have been strong, not a wimp, for NOT shooting him.
 
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Certainly enjoyable and certainly intriguing, and I was hoping she'd kill him... but that would be the end of the story wouldn't it? I think you could rein in some of the wordage:

Lights came on in the front room, and Lyla dipped her head to the length of the long grass along the embankment in case anyone looked out.

You don't need to tell us about the long grass, (and it's way too much detail, saying 'the length of the long grass') or that it ran along the embankment, or in case anyone looked out - her ducking shows it all...
Lights came on and Lyla ducked down.

When the boy spun round to the window, she was curious enough to edge closer, to try to make out the features of the Breaker's face.

She edged closer, to try and make out the features of the Breaker's face.

It wasn't easy, though, to see past the net curtains, across the road; not until he came out of the house, almost at a run, and stood in the small garden, gasping air.

This amount of detail is diluting the tension quite a bit. And a little confusing, because it's apparently easy to see past the net curtains, across the road, when he comes out of the house... and is it important at this juncture, that he's almost running and gasping air? It's not resolved, why he's doing this (at least in this piece) and I found it very distracting.

She saw his face when he hurried out of the house and stopped momentarily in the garden.

Then he was moving, hurrying along the road with huge, fast strides. Lyla stayed in the ditch on the field side and followed.

She's in a ditch, full of corn and he takes huge, fast strides and she keeps up with him? Try taking huge fast strides yourself, it's very difficult, the faster you stride, the less huge the strides become, because it slows you down. He'd look a right plonker taking huge and fast strides - he'd actually run, if that was what he wanted... And is there another ditch? You've told us where she is, you don't need to say it again, do you?

Then he was hurrying along the road. Lyla stayed in the ditch and followed.

Your narrator is a little hell-bent on giving a lot of detail, and I think I read somewhere that's de rigeur for YA?

He paused, glanced back, and pushed his brown hair away from his brow, looking so normal it made the anger rise inside her. How dare he be here, strolling along beside the golden corn while her grandmother was trapped in his hell.

But I think we've met the breaker in previous chapters, so why tell us his hair colour and the colour of the corn? Why even mention the corn at all?

He paused, glanced back, looking so normal it made the anger rise inside her. How dare he be here while her grandmother was trapped in his hell. (?)

Less is more?
 
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Hi Hex (and HB)

Congrats on the big 4K - do you get a 4K TV as a reward?
More importantly well done on what looks like a great piece of work.

Nothing much to add really, but here are two extreme bits of nitpicking...

"flailing like a cartoon character" seemed rather a facetious turn of phrase, and jarred with the overall tone of the scene.
"He'd get blood, she thought foolishly, in his hair." I agree with AVS. It might be that the adverb is doing the wrong job; it's making the act of thinking seem foolish rather than the thought itself. I'd remove it entirely or maybe have her admonish herself for thinking of something so banal at that point. Why is she even having that thought? Does she think him attractive in some way??

Still, it's a great scene, really engaging and exciting.
 
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Great comments, DG. I do have a problem with being facetious. I get told off for bits of it in first person, and maybe it doesn't work in third person at all (this is the first thing I've written that way, so it's interesting to find out what the differences are).
 
Congrats on the 4000! I like the snippet (and the plot info you gave us); sounds like it's going to be a great story.

I think the only thing that bothered me has already been more than covered; the crop-ditch-grass bits. :)
 
Thanks, you guys. I will reconsider the ditches and grass (or just include a picture).

Just to clarify in case it's not clear, this is All My Own Work. Lyla's all mine, and @HareBrain writes different chapters, from the POV of a different character.
 
Isn't he always the bad guy? It's a role that seemed to come quite naturally to him.
 
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