AnyaKimlin
Confuddled
I have a sneaking suspicion I have asked this question before but it has reared its ugly head for an assignment. This book has been written and completed for nearly five years but I have never decided which chapter is the first one. The book has two stories running parallel in the first act. Either chapter can go first and the story make sense. Both Ian and John are protagonists but Ian is the one I am using in the logline for the story: A retired police detective must accept that fairies exist in order to save his great-grandson.
But now I have to hand the first chapter in and a decision has to be made. I've posted the first approx five hundred words of each and opinions to help me decide are welcome:
Chapter One
Dr John Black sipped his whisky and stared at his laptop screen. The reports were three weeks late and his boss was in arse kicking mode. Next to him beetroot juice and salad cream bled from a half-eaten sandwich that was hardening on the plate. He couldn’t muster the interest in the case of PTSD from pimples, just one of the many complaints of those wealthy enough to be treated at St Dymphna’s. He was rapidly becoming a stereotype, a psychiatrist with more problems than his patients. To celebrate his moment of realisation and self-understanding, he drained his glass and poured himself another.
The beeper next to him on the desk vibrated. It was going wild and skating across the glass surface by the time he acknowledged it. He blinked and shook the boredom from his mind and body. He finished the glass of whisky, pulled down his sleeves, button them and picked up his suit jacket from the back of his chair. His paperwork was forgotten as he left his office. He put on his jacket on as he walked, no matter how much he spent on his clothes they always hung limp on his lean frame, almost like they were still on the hanger.
He strode along the maze of identical corridors. Thick carpets, paneled wood and heavy damask drapes all combined to create an unnaturally quiet ambience. The watercolours of the Pennshire Moors allowed the clients to experience the environment without ever having to don a pair of wellies. He turned right and the light lavender scents that wafted through the building, gave way to hospital cleaner and a faint smell of rotting burned popcorn. At the aluminium door he showed the panel his retina. The door opened with a shush that was so quiet you had to be listening for it. He took a deep breath and entered the space, his feet clanking on the metal stairs as he ran down them. As the smell of hospital grew stronger, adrenaline replaced the boredom that was his default emotion in the clinic above.
Ammonia, cleaner and the bad popcorn smell got stronger the further he went down into the bowls of the building. At the bottom of the stairs was one of those thick plastic curtains like you get in supermarket loading bays. He went through it into the generic hospital corridor. Down here it could be any normal NHS hospital – except for that weird undertone to the usual hospital smells. John pulled his tie open, removed it and rolled it up to stick in his pocket. He opened the door to the locker room.
“Hey, Dew.”
“John,” responded the fae who was changing into his peach scrubs. The colour was the choice of their boss who didn’t care that it made both the expensive hotel towel white John and, the so pale he was nearly blue Dew look like a pair of zombies coming to eat your brains.
CHAPTER TWO
Senility knocked on the door of Ian Erasmus Black’s mind. It happened at exactly eight thirty this morning. He invited it in and made it a cup of tea, so by two o’clock in the afternoon, it had made itself comfortable and had decided to stay. It was the only explanation he had for the sheer terror he had felt all day. If he hadn’t been babysitting his great-grandsons, he would have run home and hidden in a pillow fort until the fear went away.
He rearranged the sunshade over Tyke and tightened his grip on the pram handle. He checked yet another of Umber Bridge’s mediaeval closes for a demon of some kind. Holding four-year-old Beanie tight by the hand, he crossed the gap. Safe outside the artisan candlemakers, he let out a breath.
“Greatpa, look at this?” Beanie let go of Ian’s hand and ran to the window of chocolatiers.
Ian fought the panic with deep breaths, so he didn’t shout at the kid just for being a kid. By the time he reacted he was able to fake a smile. “Beanie, don’t run too far ahead.”
“I didn’t Greatpa, look.” He pointed at the chocolate replica of Umber Bridge’s park. “They’ve even got Mr Cob in the pond.” He directed Ian’s attention to the tiny white chocolate swan.
“Come on, kid. I want to be finished at the swings before the schools get out.” They continued until they came to another close and once more Ian was searching for Nessie, the Gruffalo or Smaug; all of whom were more real than Ian’s fear. It had all started at eight-thirty in the morning. He had been in the queue at the bakers, listening to the story of Mrs Arbuthnot’s daughter’s hysterectomy complications. The details would have struck fear into the heart of any man, but it didn’t explain his continued feelings of terror. Every lamppost, pillar box and hedge, felt like a creature from the deep was going to leap out from behind it.
He really did hope his mother didn’t gossip about him like Mrs Arbuthnot did her daughter. He adopted her old lady Highland accent, “Our Ian’s been castrated. The hospital was awfa’ good they even let him take his bits home in a jar.”
There was a tug on his t-shirt.
He bit his lip to stop himself swearing out loud.
The question he hoped wouldn’t come, came anyway. “Greatpa, what does castrated mean?” Beanie’s smile was innocent and full of question.
Ian swallowed and took a minute to think about how to answer the question. “Why don’t you ask your daddy? He’s a doctor.” With any luck by the time Harley picked up the boys this evening, Beanie would have forgotten the question.
As if an evil wizard had waved his wand over him, Beanie’s smile vanished. “Daddy is a pathologist not a doctor. He only deals with dead people.”
“He had to study to become a doctor of live people first.”
Misery wound round Beanie like a mythical beast eating him from the inside. “Daddy’s mad at me.” He hit his forehead with his palm three times. “I’m a really naughty boy.”
But now I have to hand the first chapter in and a decision has to be made. I've posted the first approx five hundred words of each and opinions to help me decide are welcome:
Chapter One
Dr John Black sipped his whisky and stared at his laptop screen. The reports were three weeks late and his boss was in arse kicking mode. Next to him beetroot juice and salad cream bled from a half-eaten sandwich that was hardening on the plate. He couldn’t muster the interest in the case of PTSD from pimples, just one of the many complaints of those wealthy enough to be treated at St Dymphna’s. He was rapidly becoming a stereotype, a psychiatrist with more problems than his patients. To celebrate his moment of realisation and self-understanding, he drained his glass and poured himself another.
The beeper next to him on the desk vibrated. It was going wild and skating across the glass surface by the time he acknowledged it. He blinked and shook the boredom from his mind and body. He finished the glass of whisky, pulled down his sleeves, button them and picked up his suit jacket from the back of his chair. His paperwork was forgotten as he left his office. He put on his jacket on as he walked, no matter how much he spent on his clothes they always hung limp on his lean frame, almost like they were still on the hanger.
He strode along the maze of identical corridors. Thick carpets, paneled wood and heavy damask drapes all combined to create an unnaturally quiet ambience. The watercolours of the Pennshire Moors allowed the clients to experience the environment without ever having to don a pair of wellies. He turned right and the light lavender scents that wafted through the building, gave way to hospital cleaner and a faint smell of rotting burned popcorn. At the aluminium door he showed the panel his retina. The door opened with a shush that was so quiet you had to be listening for it. He took a deep breath and entered the space, his feet clanking on the metal stairs as he ran down them. As the smell of hospital grew stronger, adrenaline replaced the boredom that was his default emotion in the clinic above.
Ammonia, cleaner and the bad popcorn smell got stronger the further he went down into the bowls of the building. At the bottom of the stairs was one of those thick plastic curtains like you get in supermarket loading bays. He went through it into the generic hospital corridor. Down here it could be any normal NHS hospital – except for that weird undertone to the usual hospital smells. John pulled his tie open, removed it and rolled it up to stick in his pocket. He opened the door to the locker room.
“Hey, Dew.”
“John,” responded the fae who was changing into his peach scrubs. The colour was the choice of their boss who didn’t care that it made both the expensive hotel towel white John and, the so pale he was nearly blue Dew look like a pair of zombies coming to eat your brains.
CHAPTER TWO
Senility knocked on the door of Ian Erasmus Black’s mind. It happened at exactly eight thirty this morning. He invited it in and made it a cup of tea, so by two o’clock in the afternoon, it had made itself comfortable and had decided to stay. It was the only explanation he had for the sheer terror he had felt all day. If he hadn’t been babysitting his great-grandsons, he would have run home and hidden in a pillow fort until the fear went away.
He rearranged the sunshade over Tyke and tightened his grip on the pram handle. He checked yet another of Umber Bridge’s mediaeval closes for a demon of some kind. Holding four-year-old Beanie tight by the hand, he crossed the gap. Safe outside the artisan candlemakers, he let out a breath.
“Greatpa, look at this?” Beanie let go of Ian’s hand and ran to the window of chocolatiers.
Ian fought the panic with deep breaths, so he didn’t shout at the kid just for being a kid. By the time he reacted he was able to fake a smile. “Beanie, don’t run too far ahead.”
“I didn’t Greatpa, look.” He pointed at the chocolate replica of Umber Bridge’s park. “They’ve even got Mr Cob in the pond.” He directed Ian’s attention to the tiny white chocolate swan.
“Come on, kid. I want to be finished at the swings before the schools get out.” They continued until they came to another close and once more Ian was searching for Nessie, the Gruffalo or Smaug; all of whom were more real than Ian’s fear. It had all started at eight-thirty in the morning. He had been in the queue at the bakers, listening to the story of Mrs Arbuthnot’s daughter’s hysterectomy complications. The details would have struck fear into the heart of any man, but it didn’t explain his continued feelings of terror. Every lamppost, pillar box and hedge, felt like a creature from the deep was going to leap out from behind it.
He really did hope his mother didn’t gossip about him like Mrs Arbuthnot did her daughter. He adopted her old lady Highland accent, “Our Ian’s been castrated. The hospital was awfa’ good they even let him take his bits home in a jar.”
There was a tug on his t-shirt.
He bit his lip to stop himself swearing out loud.
The question he hoped wouldn’t come, came anyway. “Greatpa, what does castrated mean?” Beanie’s smile was innocent and full of question.
Ian swallowed and took a minute to think about how to answer the question. “Why don’t you ask your daddy? He’s a doctor.” With any luck by the time Harley picked up the boys this evening, Beanie would have forgotten the question.
As if an evil wizard had waved his wand over him, Beanie’s smile vanished. “Daddy is a pathologist not a doctor. He only deals with dead people.”
“He had to study to become a doctor of live people first.”
Misery wound round Beanie like a mythical beast eating him from the inside. “Daddy’s mad at me.” He hit his forehead with his palm three times. “I’m a really naughty boy.”
