1000th Post critiqueishness

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TheDustyZebra

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It only took me two and a half years, but here I am. I decided on a collection of tries that I made to expand one of my 75-word challenge stories. I never liked any of them, which is why there are so many starts and no finishes, so it won't break my heart if you rip them to shreds. :D

At first, I tried for the after-the-fact angle of my original story, but that didn't seem to be working, so I tried starting at the beginning of the episode in question, but never got anywhere with that, either. I hope it's ok that I left them color-coded to distinguish between separate tries.

*****
Here's the 75-word challenge story, to refresh your memory or to provide a starting point if you weren't here then:

The Breakfast Club


“[FONT=Arial, sans-serif]He was a quiet guy,” I told the reporter, “Never any trouble.”


[FONT=Arial, sans-serif]Across the fence, police excavated his backyard. They would find only bones, and not all of those.[/FONT]


[FONT=Arial, sans-serif]It was true, he always killed quietly, and it never troubled him when I took the blood, the zombies took the brains and the werewolves polished off the bodies.[/FONT]


[FONT=Arial, sans-serif]He helped us survive undetected, and we disposed of nearly all his evidence.[/FONT]


[FONT=Arial, sans-serif]What are neighbors for?[/FONT]

*****

And here are the later efforts:
[/FONT]
#1:


“He was a quiet guy,” I told the reporter, “Never any trouble.”


I spun a tale of suburban domesticity for the benefit of the viewing audience, all neighborly puzzlement on the outside while inwardly I worried for the safety of my co-conspirators.


Admittedly, the controlled chaos of official activity surrounding the house next door served to cast more than a little doubt on my story.

The television cameras looking over our shoulders recorded the colorful tableau of modern man's inhumanity to man: flashing lights atop police vehicles of a dozen styles and colors, yellow crime scene tape forming a barrier more psychic than tangible between decent society and horrors unknown. A clean white tent provided a focus for speculation as it swallowed and disgorged crime scene techs in equally clean white Tyvek bodysuits, a surreal, sanitary cover for the gruesome excavations within.


I was the only logical choice for spokesman among our bunch, the only one who could put on a respectable, public face; when John was taken off to jail and the investigations started, the rest of our friends had gone deep into hiding. I was the only one who was known in the neighborhood anyway, so here I was in front of the cameras, doing my bit.

#2:

“He was a quiet guy,” I told the reporter, “Never any trouble.”

I spun my tale of suburban bliss for the TV audience, painting a picture of neighborly bewilderment while I secretly worried for the safety of my fellow conspirators.


The scene behind us cast more than a little doubt on my peaceful story. Police cars filled my neighbor's front lawn, lighting the windows with alternating strobes of red and blue; the white crime scene canopy hid forensic proceedings from the news helicopters buzzing the area like so many bees. If I hadn't seen it all a dozen times before, I might have gotten rattled.


It was only logical that I should be the spokesman of our bunch; I was the only one known in the neighborhood and the only one who could put on a respectable, public face. The others went into hiding as soon as John was taken from the house next door in handcuffs.



#3:


The smell, that intoxicating perfume of fear that is distilled only by humans, told me that we had found a new neighborhood. It was perfect timing, since we needed a new house anyway. I abandoned my walk home from work and looped around the block to sniff out the exact location of our next neighbor, the serial killer.


A week later, paperwork done and boxes moved, we were all settled into a two-tone brown split-level with a neat front lawn and a big backyard surrounded by a six-foot “good neighbor” fence. It wasn't the best house we'd had in the last hundred years, but it was far from the worst, and it shared its back fence with the man who didn't know yet that he was going to be the new best friend to a werewolf, two vampires and a zombie.


We were an unlikely combination, I reflected, as I stepped onto our neighbor's front porch. But we'd been together for a long time, and centuries of watching friends die from unsafe hunting practices had honed our survival skills to perfection. Now we just let someone else take the risks while we shared the rewards.


The newest someone else didn't seem inclined to answer his doorbell, and of course I knew why: though his victim made no noise, her terror called out to my senses like a beacon in the darkness, and it was all I could do not to tear the door off its hinges. By the third chime, he had apparently decided I wasn't going to go away on my own, and the door opened a crack to reveal one brown eye under one thick, furrowed eyebrow.


“Yes?”


Unlikely as we four were, I was nevertheless the obvious public face of the bunch, and to anyone watching I was an ordinary, respectable visitor who would never be suspected of eating human flesh and howling at the moon. However, this man was not the general public, and he was about to find out who his new friends were, so I put up no pretense. I stuck my foot in the crack of the door, stepping up to shoulder through the gap, and before he could react I was inside with the door closed behind me.


#4:

It was his smell, that intoxicating aroma of human terror distilled only in the darkest midnight of the soul, that told me I had found a new relationship. It was time to move anyway, so I cancelled my flight and followed him home.


We've made it a rule, over the years, not to live too close to them; this time I found a house two blocks down that looked like it would do nicely, signed the papers and paid the property managers. I called the others, told them to pack and how to get there, and after dark I went to scout the territory. His house was a two-tone brown split-level with a nicely fenced backyard and neighbors on either side who either went to bed early or went out at night without leaving any lights on.
 
Congratulations on 1000 posts TDZ!

#1:


“He was a quiet guy,” I told the reporter, “Never any trouble.”


I spun a tale of suburban domesticity for the benefit of the viewing audience, all neighborly puzzlement on the outside while inwardly I worried for the safety of my co-conspirators.

-ok, to start with, I'd have preferred to hear the tale he spun, rather than be told about it afterwards. I'd actually take the above paragraph out entirely-

Admittedly, the controlled chaos of official activity surrounding the house next door served to cast more than a little doubt on my story.

The television cameras looking over our shoulders recorded the colorful tableau of modern man's inhumanity to man: flashing lights atop police vehicles of a dozen styles and colors, yellow crime scene tape forming a barrier more psychic than tangible between decent society and horrors unknown. A clean white tent provided a focus for speculation as it swallowed and disgorged crime scene techs in equally clean white Tyvek bodysuits, a surreal, sanitary cover for the gruesome excavations within.


I was the only logical choice for spokesman among our bunch, the only one who could put on a respectable, public face; when John was taken off to jail and the investigations started, the rest of our friends had gone deep into hiding. I was the only one who was known in the neighborhood anyway, so here I was in front of the cameras, doing my bit.

-The spinning of the tale should be here, not at the beginning, and as I said above, have it as dialogue. don't cheat us :p

Other than that I didn't find anything wrong with it, and I liked the descriptions.



#2:

“He was a quiet guy,” I told the reporter, “Never any trouble.”

I spun my tale of suburban bliss for the TV audience, painting a picture of neighborly bewilderment while I secretly worried for the safety of my fellow conspirators.

-Same comment applies as the previous one-

The scene behind us cast more than a little doubt on my peaceful story. Police cars filled my neighbor's front lawn, lighting the windows with alternating strobes of red and blue; the white crime scene canopy hid forensic proceedings from the news helicopters buzzing the area like so many bees. If I hadn't seen it all a dozen times before, I might have gotten rattled.

-eww, I hate 'gotten', evil word. I felt your descriptions were better in the first version-

It was only logical that I should be the spokesman of our bunch; I was the only one known in the neighborhood and the only one who could put on a respectable, public face. The others went into hiding as soon as John was taken from the house next door in handcuffs.

-I'm wondering why he is freely walking around if his co-conspirator, John, is in cuffs?-

#3:


The smell, that intoxicating perfume of fear that is distilled only by humans, told me that we had found a new neighborhood. It was perfect timing, since we needed a new house anyway. I abandoned my walk home from work and looped around the block to sniff out the exact location of our next neighbor, the serial killer.

-Quite vague on the meaning of the above paragraph, I would have liked to know why they had to move, and how they knew to come here. At first I thought the first two sentences were contradiction each other. When I first read it I though you were saying they just moved in, and then on the next sentence that they had to leave again-

A week later, paperwork done and boxes moved, we were all settled into a two-tone brown split-level with a neat front lawn and a big backyard surrounded by a six-foot “good neighbor” fence. It wasn't the best house we'd had in the last hundred years, but it was far from the worst, and it shared its back fence with the man who didn't know yet that he was going to be the new best friend to a werewolf, two vampires and a zombie.

-Something goes wrong around the middle of the above paragraph, the way 'It wasn't the best house we'd had in the last hundred years'. A bit strangely written, might think the 'n't' on the end of 'wasn't' was a spelling mistake. I don't like the end of the paragraph, letting too much out of the bag too quick maybe. Interesting combination though.

We were an unlikely combination, I reflected, as I stepped onto our neighbor's front porch. But we'd been together for a long time, and centuries of watching friends die from unsafe hunting practices had honed our survival skills to perfection. Now we just let someone else take the risks while we shared the rewards.

-By this point I'm feeling quite info-dumped, a bit too much information to digest without some more action-

The newest someone else didn't seem inclined to answer his doorbell, and of course I knew why: though his victim made no noise, her terror called out to my senses like a beacon in the darkness, and it was all I could do not to tear the door off its hinges. By the third chime, he had apparently decided I wasn't going to go away on my own, and the door opened a crack to reveal one brown eye under one thick, furrowed eyebrow.


“Yes?”

-Could have PoV character's first impression of the man here-

Unlikely as we four were, I was nevertheless the obvious public face of the bunch, and to anyone watching I was an ordinary, respectable visitor who would never be suspected of eating human flesh and howling at the moon. However, this man was not the general public, and he was about to find out who his new friends were, so I put up no pretense. I stuck my foot in the crack of the door, stepping up to shoulder through the gap, and before he could react I was inside with the door closed behind me.

-This one provided a lot more information about what was going on, perhaps a little too much all at once, but it paints a better picture of what is going on than the first two did. Although I preferred the ambiguity of the second one, the hint that something was suspicious about the PoV without really knowing what-

#4:

It was his smell, that intoxicating aroma of human terror distilled only in the darkest midnight of the soul, that told me I had found a new relationship. It was time to move anyway, so I cancelled my flight and followed him home.

-new relationship? don't like that terminology. The last sentence didn't work for me, the cancelling the flight bit-

We've made it a rule, over the years, not to live too close to them; this time I found a house two blocks down that looked like it would do nicely, signed the papers and paid the property managers. I called the others, told them to pack and how to get there, and after dark I went to scout the territory. His house was a two-tone brown split-level with a nicely fenced backyard and neighbors on either side who either went to bed early or went out at night without leaving any lights on.

-Infodumpy, could be made into a nice eerie moving in scene instead-

You writing looked rather flawless to me, I couldn't pick up anything grammar or spelling wise.

Overall I think the first one was your best attempt, hinting at the possibility the PoV is up to mischief without letting the cat out of the bag. How I'd handle it is start with the reporter scene as you did, but instead of saying he wove a tale, flashback to the scene and run us through it, catching back up to present time. You could weave some of these attempts together. I've done a little mishmash of what I think are some of your best elements.

“He was a quiet guy,” I told the reporter, “Never any trouble.”

Admittedly, the controlled chaos of official activity surrounding the house next door served to cast more than a little doubt on my story.

The television cameras looking over our shoulders recorded the colorful tableau of modern man's inhumanity to man: flashing lights atop police vehicles of a dozen styles and colors, yellow crime scene tape forming a barrier more psychic than tangible between decent society and horrors unknown. A clean white tent provided a focus for speculation as it swallowed and disgorged crime scene techs in equally clean white Tyvek bodysuits, a surreal, sanitary cover for the gruesome excavations within.

I spun a tale of suburban domesticity for the benefit of the viewing audience, all neighborly puzzlement on the outside while inwardly I worried for the safety of my co-conspirators.

-Flashback here-

We've made it a rule, over the years, not to live too close to them; this time I found a house two blocks down that looked like it would do nicely, signed the papers and paid the property managers. I called the others, told them to pack and how to get there, and after dark I went to scout the territory. His house was a two-tone brown split-level with a nicely fenced backyard and neighbors on either side who either went to bed early or went out at night without leaving any lights on.

continue this on with him going to visit the neighbour...
 
Yeah, some of the trouble, if not all of it, stems from trying to be clever about the premise of the story and string it out a bit. That's where I got bogged down in the first angle, and again in a different way in the next one. When I only had 75 words, I couldn't stall too much about what was going on, but when I went to expand it, I didn't want to throw it all out there at the start. It's a tricky concept.
 
Yeah, some of the trouble, if not all of it, stems from trying to be clever about the premise of the story and string it out a bit. That's where I got bogged down in the first angle, and again in a different way in the next one. When I only had 75 words, I couldn't stall too much about what was going on, but when I went to expand it, I didn't want to throw it all out there at the start. It's a tricky concept.

Yes, it's a fine line. We need to be teased with little details along the way. If we know everything at the beginning there is almost no point in reading the story.
 
Congratulations on the 1,000th!! And Well Done for adhering to Ancient And Noble Tradition!

I can't now recall if I voted for The Breakfast Club, but I do know I loved it, and still do. But... as a 75 worder it was perfect, but I don't think it's working as a longer piece, perhaps because there's not enough there to justify the extra.

If you are going to run with it, though, to my mind you have to keep back all mention of their pact until the final paragraph. To me, the story turns on the disconnect and this is a sting in the tail story when the reveal makes it. In effect the final para will be the 75 word story separated from the first line by a lot of description of the scene and what the neighbour has been accused of etc. Within it you'd have to have ambiguous statements such as the narrator saying "We'll be giving up the lease. We can't stay here after this" which a first sight seems because he's disgusted at what has happened but in reality, of course, is because they've lost their meal ticket.

Your writing, of course, is as good as we've come to expect, though I did think you were verging a bit on purple prose with the crime scene description in the first version!
 
Oh, I've been known to be exceedingly purple! :D It's what happens when I try description, I'm afraid.

That might be a good possibility, but it seems like it would still be a very short story. I just never found a way to keep it sneaky and tell enough to be a story at the same time.
 
Wow! I'm new here, in fact this is my first post, and I am awed by the quality of writing displayed in some of the threads I've been reading trough in this section.
I loved the idea of this odd group of creatures living together to increase the chances of their survival. I could easily see how this could be expanded on. I would love to know how they ended up like this. They must have some interesting group dynamics. I can see how it might be a lot of fun, if a bit macabre, to spend a week with these guys.

-
 
Thanks, Michael -- I'm honored that your very first post here was for me! :D

Stick around, because it only gets better and better. Be sure and check out the 75-word and 300-word story challenges, but be careful -- they're very addictive.
 
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