New Story (Repost)
Malcolm McLean
Dark is right! But I'd put aside any doubts about it being boring, if I
were you. I found it easy to read, and interesting. I'd guess you have had
some contact with Vietnamese culture; if not, you faked it well.
I never heard of that thing with the lemon juice before. Far as I know,
it's done with plain water. Sometimes a torn shred of cigarette filter is
dropped into the solution in the spoon, and the needle point pressed on it
when the fix is drawn up. Kind of like hoping a handkerchief over your
mouth will protect you from gas.
I didn't find any mechanical problems. I got pretty wrapped up in it. One
sentence near the beginning, "I peeled off the notes...." had to be read
twice, maybe it could be rearranged, but that's all.
Good. Real good. I'd like to see how you're going to turn it into comedy,
though.
Malcolm
Anopheles wrote in message <7kjt37$lo2$1...@m2.c2.telstra-mm.net.au>...
>
>This is the opening of the first chapter of my latest book. Although it
>starts darkly, it is does develop into a comedy/satire. Due to my serious
>lack of experience as a drug addict, some of you may see holes in the
>narrative. Some might comment on the Vietnamese culture. Others my like to
>critique the story. All comment is welcome.
>
>
>Spanner
>copyright
>Barry Aitchison
>
>Chapter One
>
>
> "You look like shit!" Harry Tran croaked, his smile exposing teeth like
>stands of dying gums. "Where you been anyway? In tank? Ha! You say you too
>clever, never get caught. Wrong, mate, dead wrong."
> I peeled off the notes he waited on like a vulture over dying flesh then
>took the rock in its dull, plastic bag, with a hand that was noticeable in
>its tremble. I couldn't remember it this bad for a long time.
> "Where you get dis money?" Tran quizzed, counting crumpled notes before
>thrusting them deep into a pocket. "You push job already? Shit, Alex, you
>only out today. Where you do this?"
> "Collingwood," I spat, "now shut the fuck up, Harry. I'm not here for
>socialising."
> "Collingwood? Near Bat Ear's, I bet. He no like, Alex," he crooned. His
>laugh kicked in again, sounding like a feral cat in a trap.
> "Bat can stick his head up your tight Vietnamese arse, Harry. He's a
>fucking fence, for fuck's sake. Just like you're a greedy fucking dealer."
> Tran frowned. "No talk like that, Alex. I good to you. Give good price,
you
>never buy bad shit. I good friend!" He swept one palm across the other for
>emphasis.
> He was right, of course. The price for heroin had crashed since I went in
>and the stuff was getting purer. It was a problem for junkies. When you're
>used to shooting 5% smack up your vein, even 30% will dissolve your brain.
>It's important to know your dealer.
> The room was so filthy a rat wouldn't shit in it, cluttered with leavings,
>remains of junkie's dreams. It was the place the few Tran trusted whacked
>up, when the need was urgent. For me, the need was definitively urgent.
> I caught sight of myself in the crazed wall-mirror and it caught me by
>surprise. It was a stranger's face. How could it be me? So much older! And
>so thin! A face impossible to recognise, impossible to love, cynical,
>untrusting, hard. What happened to my twenties, I looked closer to forty.
> Dropping the rock in a blackened spoon, I squeezed the last few drops from
>a wizened browning lemon. Tran's eyes ran over me as I flicked impatiently
>at the cigarette lighter. Malignant things lighters, picking times like
this
>to play up. It flared and the rock melted. The brown fluid sucked into the
>syringe, hitting the water to spread out in an agitated swirl.
> "Always Mr. Perfect, yeah," Tran smirked, "own fit, own needle, never
>share. I think you sell mother first."
> I threw a look at Harry as I tightened the tourniquet with my teeth. "You
>better believe it, Harry. I've been on this shit nearly six years and I'm
>still clean. No AIDs. No Hep C. My mother was never worth that much to me."
> "Fuckin' bastard," Tran hissed, through gaps in his teeth. "Say no bad
>about mother."
> He went out, slamming the door behind him. Tran's experience with mothers
>must have been more traditional than mine. I didn't give a shit what Harry
>thought. I had the ache.
> I found an old track that had almost disappeared. Seconds later, the fire
>flared in my gut and began spreading its welcome tendrils to the rest of my
>body. I can never quite explain it. I've heard it called peace, a calm.
>That's doesn't quite touch it. To me, it's like being tucked up safe in a
>womb, while all around you, the tempest rages, unable to get at you.
> The rain drummed the iron roof and hail beat a staccato on scum-smeared
>windows. I packed the doings away to walk the narrow corridor to the shop
at
>the front. The Dau Xanh smelled of cooking vegetables and spicy Asian
foods.
>Over in a corner, several Viets played tam cuc while Harry poured fresh
>water into a steamer.
> "You more better now?" he asked, mouth spreading in a trademark grin. I
was
>no expert but I bet he'd been a betel-nut addict, back in Saigon, back in
>his old killing days when he flew recon aircraft for the South Vietnamese
>army. His teeth looked darker than decay or age could credit. I leant
>against the postered wall, advertising Vietnamese movies at a hall in
>Richmond, beginning to feel normal. Normal for me that is, after a hit.
> "You old bastard, Harry," I crooned through the gathering smog in my head,
>"you get people coming every way here, don't you. You feed them and you fix
>them. Why don't you put some slant-eyed tarts upstairs, then you could fuck
>them as well?"
> "As water rises, so goes boat!" Harry laughed. "We Kinh make money best we
>can. You want some bahn pho? You should eat. Too much thin. No charge?"
>Outside, the light had long gone and the hail turned to slush. Only the
>driving rain persisted, coming in almost horizontally against the
>plate-glass window, making the image of street lights blur and run. The
last
>thing I wanted was food. I was higher than that storm outside. I threw a
"no
>thanks" at Harry, waiting for a break in the rain.
> "Thanks for looking after my stuff," I grunted to Harry, "it wouldn't have
>lasted ten minutes at the squat. Can I leave it a bit longer? I want to
>check the house before I move back in."
> Harry waved a pudgy hand in the direction of the kitchen. "Put it over
>there," he said. "No one here touch."
>I pulled a folded exercise book out of my back pocket. "Can I add this to
>the pile?"
> "You still writing?" He sucked air through his teeth to give me a
>disapproving look. "Here, give me. I keep for you. One day soon you be dead
>and I sell."
> "Why you so good to me, Tran?" I mused. "No other dealer worried over my
>health."
> Tran dropped the lid back on the steamer and took coffee to the card
>players. He came back, wiping his hands with a chequered cloth.
> "I Kinh," he said, staring into my eyes as if trying to see into my brain.
>"We Kinh respect two things: age and learning, these important. You still
>young," he grimaced, "maybe you never get old. But you good scholar, you
>achieve much. Why you throw all away just to fill body with fucking drugs?
>If I could stop you, Alex, I would, but I only poor peasant."
> "That was all a life time ago, Harry."
> I could never take Harry's predictable lectures. Predictable? A drug
dealer
>urging you to give up drugs? Still, that was Harry Tran. A little man with
a
>giant heart and a lousy sense of marketing.
> "It's a pity the Chinese didn't thrash you Kinh a thousand years ago and
>civilise you," I laughed, knowing well what that would do to him.
> He seemed to grow even shorter, body compressing in on itself. "Fucking
>Chinese not smart enough for that!" he snorted. "I ever tell you 'bout
>Chinese buffalo?"
> Harry and his stories! Few people in this country know about the old
>Vietnam and their constant struggle against the Chinese. The Vietnamese, or
>Kinh, as they call themselves, detested the Chinese, priding themselves on
a
>superior intelligence. Consequently, many of Harry's stories were of Kinh
>outsmarting their larger neighbour.
> "Vietnam once have great emperor name Le Loi," spouted Harry, waving an
>artistic hand through odorous air. "One day, Chinese emperor tell Le Loi he
>must give much gold to China as tribute. But China say if Kinh buffalo can
>whip China buffalo then Le Loi not give gold. Le Loi sad as Kinh buffalo
>small and China buffalo big and strong. He think Vietnam lose and China
make
>him poor."
> I'd heard it all before. I edged towards the door but Harry was ready,
>blocking my path. In the meantime, the tam cuc players had ceased their
>playing, listening enthusiastically. These stories were their equivalent of
>our soap operas.
> "Le Loi," Harry continued, with idiotic grin, "summon wise scholar, name
>Cong Quynh. Emperor not like this man much because he is rude, impolite
man,
>but he is clever. Le Loi tell him problem and Quynh tell Emperor not worry,
>he will fix this problem.
> "Quynh build big ring inside palace with only one door in wall. On day of
>fight, important people come to watch and China ambassador sit next to
>Emperor with big smile. He think he win, Alex, he so sure."
> The card-playing Kinh laughed in anticipation, one wide-mouthed,
displaying
>vacant gums. Smoke rose in columns from cigarettes, up to the stained
>ceiling where a fly-specked fluorescent flickered.
> "China buffalo come in, big, very strong, stamp ground with much anger.
>Everyone say this is biggest, strongest buffalo ever see in Vietnam.
>Emperor, he worry much but Quynh, he still smile.
> "Now, Kinh buffalo come and Chinese ambassador laugh much. You see, Alex,
>Kinh buffalo little baby who still suck mother's tit. He very small, not
yet
>tall as China buffalo legs. This is true story, Alex, really! Understand?"
> I smiled, impatiently. I was high anyway, far and away, his words
ice-cream
>bricks hitting marshmallow walls. "Da," I sighed, the Kinh word that does
>not always mean agreement but that one has heard and understands what you
>meant.
> "Chinese ambassador laugh hard at baby buffalo and say Vietnam must get
>gold ready to take to China. Quynh say, wait and see first. You see, Alex,
>little baby not see mama for three days. He have only water to drink and he
>very, very hungry!"
> He emphasised the very hungry with exaggerated voice capped with high
>pitched giggle. As an echo, the tam cuc players giggled. Harry was in his
>element.
> "Kinh let baby buffalo go and he runs in ring to see big buffalo waiting.
>Baby very hungry for much milk and only buffalo he ever see before was
mama.
>He see bull buffalo and think maybe this is mama and he can get drink from
>mama, so he runs over and grabs giant buffalo cock in mouth. He... he think
>this is tit and he get much milk if he suck hard. Ha, ha! Giant buffalo...
>he let out biggest roar, run through gate as fast as he can, and they never
>see this buffalo no more. China ambassador leave with much anger and never
>mention gold again."
> Tran spread his arms wide, a smile on his face as wide as the China Sea.
>The tam cuc players cheered and clapped then noisily resumed their cards.
> "You could have been scholar, Alex," Harry said flatly, suddenly changing
>tack. "You could have been writer. You could have been priest!"
> He remembered. He remembered all the mumblings of a half-crazed brain.
>Could have been a priest! I wanted to laugh but all I got was a taste of
>bile. I pulled the coat around my neck and opened the door to the swish of
>traffic noise.
> "I like myself much more as the devil, Harry. Go poison another customer."
>"Duma," yelled Harry Tran, as the door closed behind me.
> That night, I went out of the Dau Xanh, out into the storm, never caring
>that it was teeming. I was saturated in seconds but I was walking on the
>clouds themselves, feeling nothing, caring nothing.
> They say in the last few moments before you die, your life flashes before
>you like some badly-edited video. Well, it never happened to me that way.
>True, I didn't die but there's no doubting I came close.
> It was the dog I blame, and that pathetic instinct I still had from
>childhood. A small half-drowned puppy shivered in the rain. I stooped to
>pick it up, shoving it, protectively, behind my coat, then stepped into the
>light. The light hit me, ran me down, and all I could feel was a bitter
>taste of death in my mouth. In a way that light did take my life for it
>changed it so dramatically, I was never ever the same again.
>
>
>Thank you for reading this far.
>Anopheles
>
>
>Anopheles
>
>
>
>
>
Malcolm McLean
I guess it is an Oz thing. Kind of a junkies 'shandy', huh?
You got Hells Angels down there? I worked with a couple of those guys now
and then. One's called 'Twitch', the other 'T-Bone'. Don't ask me why.
They've moved away from their roots here. They're businessmen now; they
just about run the cocaine traffic, own a couple stripper agencies and some
hotels, a bike dealership, and a big chunk of land over on Vancouver Island
called 'Angel Acres'. There's a major party there every summer; beer, bands
and bikers.
Malcolm
Anopheles wrote in message <7kkksf$8au$1...@m2.c2.telstra-mm.net.au>...
>Thanks for your comments, Malcolm.
>A previous book I did was heavily centred on Vietnamese culture so I
>borrowed from that. This one is based on the drug problem and is about how
>people try and work out a solution. That's why I thought satire/comedy
would
>lighten it up. I put in a fair amount of research (reading only) and the
>lemon thing was certainly one of the tricks used. Maybe it is just
>idiosyncratic to Australia?
>Don't worry about the comedy, when the "main" character, a Hell's Angel,
>gets involved, the story goes from dark to gross.
>
>Anopheles
Anopheles
Neale Talbot
comments, on the whole.
> Chapter One
>
> "You look like shit!" Harry Tran croaked, his smile exposing teeth like
> stands of dying gums.
I knew what you meant to say, but don't think you said it correctly. Maybe
"stands" could be replaced?
> "Where you been anyway? In tank? Ha! You say you too
> clever, never get caught. Wrong, mate, dead wrong."
> I peeled off the notes he waited on like a vulture over dying flesh then
> took the rock in its dull, plastic bag, with a hand that was noticeable in
> its tremble.
He waited on the notes I peeled like a vulture over dying flesh. I took the
rock, in it's dull, plastic bag, with a hand that was noticeable in its
tremble.
> I couldn't remember it this bad for a long time.
it (being?) this bad
> "Where you get dis money?" Tran quizzed, counting crumpled notes before
> thrusting them deep into a pocket. "You push job already? Shit, Alex, you
> only out today. Where you do this?"
> "Collingwood," I spat, "now shut the fuck up, Harry. I'm not here for
> socialising."
> "Collingwood? Near Bat Ear's, I bet. He no like, Alex," he crooned. His
> laugh kicked in again, sounding like a feral cat in a trap.
> "Bat can stick his head up your tight Vietnamese arse, Harry. He's a
> fucking fence, for fuck's sake. Just like you're a greedy fucking dealer."
> Tran frowned. "No talk like that, Alex. I good to you. Give good price, you
> never buy bad shit. I good friend!" He swept one palm across the other for
> emphasis.
> He was right, of course. The price for heroin had crashed since I went in
> and the stuff was getting purer. It was a problem for junkies. When you're
> used to shooting 5% smack up your vein, even 30% will dissolve your brain.
> It's important to know your dealer.
Wow! A bit technical for a guy who's badly in need of a high and probably
sweating his arse off. Dumb it down a little, maybe...(When you're used to
shooting cut-down smack, pure shit will dissolve your brain, maybe?).
> The room was so filthy a rat wouldn't shit in it, cluttered with leavings,
> remains of junkie's dreams. It was the place the few Tran trusted whacked
> up, when the need was urgent. For me, the need was definitively urgent.
> I caught sight of myself in the crazed wall-mirror and it caught me by
> surprise. It was a stranger's face. How could it be me? So much older! And
> so thin! A face impossible to recognise, impossible to love, cynical,
> untrusting, hard. What happened to my twenties, I looked closer to forty.
"How could it be me... ...so thin" cut if possible.
> Dropping the rock in a blackened spoon, I squeezed the last few drops from
> a wizened browning lemon. Tran's eyes ran over me as I flicked impatiently
> at the cigarette lighter. Malignant things lighters, picking times like this
> to play up. It flared and the rock melted. The brown fluid sucked into the
> syringe, hitting the water to spread out in an agitated swirl.
> "Always Mr. Perfect, yeah," Tran smirked, "own fit, own needle, never
> share. I think you sell mother first."
> I threw a look at Harry as I tightened the tourniquet with my teeth. "You
> better believe it, Harry. I've been on this shit nearly six years and I'm
> still clean. No AIDs. No Hep C. My mother was never worth that much to me."
> "Fuckin' bastard," Tran hissed, through gaps in his teeth. "Say no bad
> about mother."
> He went out, slamming the door behind him. Tran's experience with mothers
> must have been more traditional than mine. I didn't give a shit what Harry
> thought. I had the ache.
> I found an old track that had almost disappeared. Seconds later, the fire
> flared in my gut and began spreading its welcome tendrils to the rest of my
> body. I can never quite explain it. I've heard it called peace, a calm.
> That's doesn't quite touch it. To me, it's like being tucked up safe in a
> womb, while all around you, the tempest rages, unable to get at you.
> The rain drummed the iron roof and hail beat a staccato on scum-smeared
> windows. I packed the doings away to walk the narrow corridor to the shop at
> the front.
Please rephrase last sentence.
> The Dau Xanh smelled of cooking vegetables and spicy Asian foods.
> Over in a corner, several Viets played tam cuc while Harry poured fresh
> water into a steamer.
> "You more better now?" he asked, mouth spreading in a trademark grin. I was
> no expert but I bet he'd been a betel-nut addict, back in Saigon, back in
> his old killing days when he flew recon aircraft for the South Vietnamese
> army. His teeth looked darker than decay or age could credit. I leant
> against the postered wall, advertising Vietnamese movies at a hall in
> Richmond, beginning to feel normal. Normal for me that is, after a hit.
"Normal for me that is, after a hit" redundant - cut.
> "You old bastard, Harry," I crooned through the gathering smog in my head,
> "you get people coming every way here, don't you. You feed them and you fix
> them. Why don't you put some slant-eyed tarts upstairs, then you could fuck
> them as well?"
> "As water rises, so goes boat!" Harry laughed. "We Kinh make money best we
> can. You want some bahn pho? You should eat. Too much thin. No charge?"
> Outside, the light had long gone and the hail turned to slush.
hail (had?) turned
> Only the
> driving rain persisted, coming in almost horizontally against the
> plate-glass window, making the image of street lights blur and run.
No need for "almost", ruins run of sentence and lessens impact of horizontally.
Cut both predictables.
> "It's a pity the Chinese didn't thrash you Kinh a thousand years ago and
> civilise you," I laughed, knowing well what that would do to him.
> He seemed to grow even shorter, body compressing in on itself. "Fucking
> Chinese not smart enough for that!" he snorted. "I ever tell you 'bout
> Chinese buffalo?"
> Harry and his stories! Few people in this country know about the old
> Vietnam and their constant struggle against the Chinese. The Vietnamese, or
> Kinh, as they call themselves, detested the Chinese, priding themselves on a
> superior intelligence. Consequently, many of Harry's stories were of Kinh
> outsmarting their larger neighbour.
Maybe this can be revealed elsewhere. Bit historical for a guy wacked out on
heroin. Maybe" The Vietnamese, the Kinh, detested the Chinese. The Kinh were
smarter, in Harry's stories." You can probably do better.
> "Vietnam once have great emperor name Le Loi," spouted Harry, waving an
> artistic hand through odorous air. "One day, Chinese emperor tell Le Loi he
> must give much gold to China as tribute. But China say if Kinh buffalo can
> whip China buffalo then Le Loi not give gold. Le Loi sad as Kinh buffalo
> small and China buffalo big and strong. He think Vietnam lose and China make
> him poor."
> I'd heard it all before. I edged towards the door but Harry was ready,
> blocking my path. In the meantime, the tam cuc players had ceased their
> playing, listening enthusiastically. These stories were their equivalent of
> our soap operas.
cut "equivalent of our"
This last paragrapg is awkward... maybe nuke the who thing, or at least the last
line.
> It was the dog I blame, and that pathetic instinct I still had from
> childhood. A small half-drowned puppy shivered in the rain. I stooped to
> pick it up, shoving it, protectively, behind my coat, then stepped into the
> light. The light hit me, ran me down, and all I could feel was a bitter
> taste of death in my mouth.
Cliche alert.
> In a way that light did take my life for it
> changed it so dramatically, I was never ever the same again.
Stop at "did take my life", though this might not make sense if earlier
paragraph is nuked as suggested. Try re-working this entire little bit.
>
>
> Thank you for reading this far.
No, thanks you.
> Anopheles
-Neale
Anopheles
Thanks for your input, Neale. I may not agree with all your suggestions but
I certainly welcome the input and will consider all your recommendations.
Anopheles
Anopheles
A previous book I did was heavily centred on Vietnamese culture so I
borrowed from that. This one is based on the drug problem and is about how
people try and work out a solution. That's why I thought satire/comedy would
lighten it up. I put in a fair amount of research (reading only) and the
lemon thing was certainly one of the tricks used. Maybe it is just
idiosyncratic to Australia?
Don't worry about the comedy, when the "main" character, a Hell's Angel,
gets involved, the story goes from dark to gross.
Anopheles
Anopheles
based my character on him. My character is Spanner. Hey, weren't they always
business men?
Anopheles
Malcolm McLean wrote:
>
> I guess it is an Oz thing. Kind of a junkies 'shandy', huh?
> You got Hells Angels down there? I worked with a couple of those guys now
> and then. One's called 'Twitch', the other 'T-Bone'. Don't ask me why.
> They've moved away from their roots here. They're businessmen now; they
> just about run the cocaine traffic, own a couple stripper agencies and
some
> hotels, a bike dealership, and a big chunk of land over on Vancouver
Island
> called 'Angel Acres'. There's a major party there every summer; beer,
bands
> and bikers.
>
> Malcolm
>
> Anopheles wrote in message <7kkksf$8au$1...@m2.c2.telstra-mm.net.au>...
Pamela Mitchell
remembered this, even if I hadn't read it through all the way.
Like you said, it is very dark. I feel like I need to change my clothes and
wash my hair to get rid of the stench in them, just like after I visit a
bar. Sorry, I can't help with either the drug addiction or the Vietnamese
culture, but I feel I can comment on the setting and characterization. The
places in the chapter are very dense, and close-feeling, and I know I
wouldn't want to touch anything in them. Your description keeps pace with
the story very well. I am intrigued as to why the main character has gotten
to this point, so I guess you'd say I'm hooked. If chapter two had been
below, I would have continued on happily. The drug dealer seems a little
cliche to me, but then again, I'm no addict, so he may indeed be unique.
I'm not sure I like the dialect.
Nice work, Skeeter. How much of it have you written?
Pamela Mitchell
my writing: http://pamelam.cjb.net
In article <7kjt37$lo2$1...@m2.c2.telstra-mm.net.au> , "Anopheles"
<hi...@rabbit.com.au> wrote:
>
>This is the opening of the first chapter of my latest book. Although it
>starts darkly, it is does develop into a comedy/satire. Due to my serious
>lack of experience as a drug addict, some of you may see holes in the
>narrative. Some might comment on the Vietnamese culture. Others my like to
>critique the story. All comment is welcome.
>
>
>Spanner
>copyright
>Barry Aitchison
>
>Chapter One
>Thank you for reading this far.
>Anopheles
>
>
>Anopheles
>
>
>
>
>
Mark Anderson
I'm not too proud to admit I chased the dragon myself as a kid. Wouldn't the
citric acid tear you up? Even tap water has a bad record: Folks who are
chippers or care about their health use distilled water.
Good mention about him using his own works; folks who don't want diseases
are very particular about sanitation.
Anopheles wrote in message <7kjt37$lo2$1...@m2.c2.telstra-mm.net.au>...
>
Alan Hope
Anopheles <hi...@rabbit.com.au> wrote in article
<7kjt37$lo2$1...@m2.c2.telstra-mm.net.au>...
> This is the opening of the first chapter of my latest book.
Although it
> starts darkly, it is does develop into a comedy/satire. Due to my
serious
> lack of experience as a drug addict, some of you may see holes in
the
> narrative. Some might comment on the Vietnamese culture. Others my
like to
> critique the story. All comment is welcome.
This isn't boring at all, Skeeter, not by any stretch. So put your
mind at ease. I found it to be full of colour and rich in foreboding.
You've successfully established quite a bit of back-story in this
short extract, as well as a strong sense of place and mood. I'll stop
there before I get too sycophantic, and move on to one or two
specific points. I'll snip the parts I'm not referring to, by your
leave.
> Spanner
> copyright
> Barry Aitchison
> Chapter One
> "You look like shit!" Harry Tran croaked, his smile exposing teeth
like
> stands of dying gums.
I don't understand this. Stands of dying trees or something, but not
gums.
> "Where you been anyway? In tank? Ha! You say you too
> clever, never get caught. Wrong, mate, dead wrong."
> I peeled off the notes he waited on like a vulture over dying
flesh then
> took the rock in its dull, plastic bag, with a hand that was
noticeable in
> its tremble. I couldn't remember it this bad for a long time.
One or two sentences loop around themselves somewhat, as here. My
advice would always be to split them if the meaning is starting to
bog down. So: As I peeled off the notes he waited like a vulture.
Then I took the rock ... my hand noticeably trembling."
[snip]
> The room was so filthy a rat wouldn't shit in it, cluttered with
leavings,
> remains of junkie's dreams. It was the place the few Tran trusted
whacked
> up, when the need was urgent.
Again here. The few people Tran trusted would whack up here when the
need was urgent.
[snip]
Dropping the rock in a blackened spoon, I squeezed the last few
drops from
a wizened browning lemon. Tran's eyes ran over me as I flicked
impatiently
at the cigarette lighter. Malignant things lighters, picking times
like this
to play up. It flared and the rock melted. The brown fluid sucked
into the
syringe, hitting the water to spread out in an agitated swirl.
Good detail, I'm ready to assume. I wouldn't worry if it's not 100%
authentic. Who's going to correct your description? Some junkies? If
they get round to it, maybe.
[snip]
> I pulled a folded exercise book out of my back pocket. "Can I add
this to
> the pile?"
> "You still writing?" He sucked air through his teeth to give me a
> disapproving look. "Here, give me. I keep for you. One day soon you
be dead
> and I sell."
I don't know if this guy has to be a writer (couldn't he be a
stone-mason?) but stories about writers always make my heart sink.
[snip]
> I could never take Harry's predictable lectures. Predictable? A
drug dealer
> urging you to give up drugs? Still, that was Harry Tran. A little
man with a
> giant heart and a lousy sense of marketing.
Harry is a little gem of a character, and I hope you plan to make
more of him than just a prop here. He has the potential, with the
different aspects you've shown of him already, to be an interesting
minor character, helping to move your story around and provide a
reflection of your hero's thoughts.
You've taken up quite a lot of space here with this anecdote, which
doesn't seem at this point to move things forward very much. I'm sure
the way you present its telling is authentic - it seems believable to
one who doesn't know - but all it really does is provide a bit of
local colour and show us a bit of Harry. This might not be the place
for it, at least at such length.
> They say in the last few moments before you die, your life flashes
before
> you like some badly-edited video. Well, it never happened to me
that way.
> True, I didn't die but there's no doubting I came close.
> It was the dog I blame, and that pathetic instinct I still had
from
> childhood. A small half-drowned puppy shivered in the rain. I
stooped to
> pick it up, shoving it, protectively, behind my coat, then stepped
into the
> light. The light hit me, ran me down, and all I could feel was a
bitter
> taste of death in my mouth. In a way that light did take my life
for it
> changed it so dramatically, I was never ever the same again.
This last sentence alone I would cut. It seems so archaic to me, like
a 19th century novel based on magazine serials. This being a book,
we're presumably going to go straight into the story of how his life
changed dramatically. I don't see the need for this portentous
scene-setting in those circumstances.
> Thank you for reading this far.
You're more than welcome. As I say, this is a promising start to your
story, letting drop some tantalising information to be picked up
later, establishing some character, putting us in a time and place,
and laying down a mood. Like others who have commented, I'll be
intrigued to see how you move your story from here to comedy. Good
work.
AH
Anopheles
some months. The beginning is dark because I wanted something that evolved
from heavy to light, becoming gradually more satirical and humorous I might
post some of the later stuff to see if it has made the transition. What I
need is the muse to kick me back to work.
Anopheles
125K
Pamela Mitchell wrote:
> This post didn't go through before; now I'm sure of it. I would have
> remembered this, even if I hadn't read it through all the way.
>
> Like you said, it is very dark. I feel like I need to change my clothes
and
> wash my hair to get rid of the stench in them, just like after I visit a
> bar. Sorry, I can't help with either the drug addiction or the Vietnamese
> culture, but I feel I can comment on the setting and characterization.
The
> places in the chapter are very dense, and close-feeling, and I know I
> wouldn't want to touch anything in them. Your description keeps pace with
> the story very well. I am intrigued as to why the main character has
gotten
> to this point, so I guess you'd say I'm hooked. If chapter two had been
> below, I would have continued on happily. The drug dealer seems a little
> cliche to me, but then again, I'm no addict, so he may indeed be unique.
> I'm not sure I like the dialect.
>
> Nice work, Skeeter. How much of it have you written?
>
> Pamela Mitchell
> my writing: http://pamelam.cjb.net
>
>
> In article <7kjt37$lo2$1...@m2.c2.telstra-mm.net.au> , "Anopheles"
> <hi...@rabbit.com.au> wrote:
>
> >
> >This is the opening of the first chapter of my latest book. Although it
> >starts darkly, it is does develop into a comedy/satire. Due to my serious
> >lack of experience as a drug addict, some of you may see holes in the
> >narrative. Some might comment on the Vietnamese culture. Others my like
to
> >critique the story. All comment is welcome.
> >
> >
> >Spanner
> >copyright
> >Barry Aitchison
> >
> >Chapter One
>
Anopheles
Thanks for your input, Mark. I don't remember where I gleaned the lemon
thing but it's beginning to look dubious. If so, I'd rather delete it.
Anopheles
Mark Anderson wrote:
> Just a comment about the lemon juice thing. I've never heard of it, and
> I'm not too proud to admit I chased the dragon myself as a kid. Wouldn't
the
> citric acid tear you up? Even tap water has a bad record: Folks who are
> chippers or care about their health use distilled water.
> Good mention about him using his own works; folks who don't want
diseases
> are very particular about sanitation.
>
> Anopheles wrote in message <7kjt37$lo2$1...@m2.c2.telstra-mm.net.au>...
> >
Anopheles
Alan Hope wrote:
>
>
> Anopheles <hi...@rabbit.com.au> wrote in article
> <7kjt37$lo2$1...@m2.c2.telstra-mm.net.au>...
>
> > This is the opening of the first chapter of my latest book.
> Although it
> > starts darkly, it is does develop into a comedy/satire. Due to my
> serious
> > lack of experience as a drug addict, some of you may see holes in
> the
> > narrative. Some might comment on the Vietnamese culture. Others my
> like to
> > critique the story. All comment is welcome.
>
> This isn't boring at all, Skeeter, not by any stretch. So put your
> mind at ease. I found it to be full of colour and rich in foreboding.
> You've successfully established quite a bit of back-story in this
> short extract, as well as a strong sense of place and mood. I'll stop
> there before I get too sycophantic, and move on to one or two
> specific points. I'll snip the parts I'm not referring to, by your
> leave.
Thank you for the encouragement
> > Spanner
> > copyright
> > Barry Aitchison
>
> > Chapter One
>
> > "You look like shit!" Harry Tran croaked, his smile exposing teeth
> like
> > stands of dying gums.
>
> I don't understand this. Stands of dying trees or something, but not
> gums.
I guess this would be more understandable to Australians yet I did worry
over the ambiguity of gums and teeth. We have ghosts gums that drop bark at
times of the year and these can seem eerie on moonlit nights. It was this
image I was trying to evoke but lost it.
>
> > "Where you been anyway? In tank? Ha! You say you too
> > clever, never get caught. Wrong, mate, dead wrong."
> > I peeled off the notes he waited on like a vulture over dying
> flesh then
> > took the rock in its dull, plastic bag, with a hand that was
> noticeable in
> > its tremble. I couldn't remember it this bad for a long time.
>
> One or two sentences loop around themselves somewhat, as here. My
> advice would always be to split them if the meaning is starting to
> bog down. So: As I peeled off the notes he waited like a vulture.
> Then I took the rock ... my hand noticeably trembling."
Point taken.
The writer part is irrevelant to the story. More important is the failed
priest aspect. The image of going from good to bad and back again as the
story progresses.
> [snip]
>
> > I could never take Harry's predictable lectures. Predictable? A
> drug dealer
> > urging you to give up drugs? Still, that was Harry Tran. A little
> man with a
> > giant heart and a lousy sense of marketing.
>
> Harry is a little gem of a character, and I hope you plan to make
> more of him than just a prop here. He has the potential, with the
> different aspects you've shown of him already, to be an interesting
> minor character, helping to move your story around and provide a
> reflection of your hero's thoughts.
Harry resurfaces from time to time. Most of the other characters have the
same colour. Only the protagonist would be considered normal, if you can
consider this guy normal. It's a strange thing because I see the protagonist
as colourist, almost without personality. I haven't been able to correct
this, yet.
I don't disagree with your comment. I guess the intent was to lighten it a
bit and introduce the comedy against the darker side. It is too long but it
is a genuine Kinh "myth". I'll work on it.
> > They say in the last few moments before you die, your life flashes
> before
> > you like some badly-edited video. Well, it never happened to me
> that way.
> > True, I didn't die but there's no doubting I came close.
> > It was the dog I blame, and that pathetic instinct I still had
> from
> > childhood. A small half-drowned puppy shivered in the rain. I
> stooped to
> > pick it up, shoving it, protectively, behind my coat, then stepped
> into the
> > light. The light hit me, ran me down, and all I could feel was a
> bitter
> > taste of death in my mouth. In a way that light did take my life
> for it
> > changed it so dramatically, I was never ever the same again.
>
> This last sentence alone I would cut. It seems so archaic to me, like
> a 19th century novel based on magazine serials. This being a book,
> we're presumably going to go straight into the story of how his life
> changed dramatically. I don't see the need for this portentous
> scene-setting in those circumstances.
Strangely, when I began the book, this was the opening. I felt it lacked
something and introduced the drug scene. I liked Harry so much after that, I
put him in at other intervals. Maybe your right about the last sentence.
>
> > Thank you for reading this far.
>
> You're more than welcome. As I say, this is a promising start to your
> story, letting drop some tantalising information to be picked up
> later, establishing some character, putting us in a time and place,
> and laying down a mood. Like others who have commented, I'll be
> intrigued to see how you move your story from here to comedy. Good
> work.
>
>
Many thanks for your input.
Anopheles
>
Joyseymour
>Spanner
>copyright
>Barry Aitchison
>
>Chapter One
>
>
> "You look like shit!" Harry Tran croaked, his smile exposing teeth like
>stands of dying gums.
Dying gums? You mean the gums in his mouth, or gum trees?
(snip)
> I peeled off the notes he waited on like a vulture over dying flesh then
>took the rock in its dull, plastic bag, with a hand that was noticeable in
>its tremble. I couldn't remember it this bad for a long time.
Like the vulture. Would add "being" to the last sentence. I couldn't remember
it being this ...
(snip)
>
>Thank you for reading this far.
>Anopheles
No problem, really enjoyed this. I can't see it becoming a comedy though. It
is very good, great descriptions, good dialogue.
joy
If man evolved from monkeys and apes, why do we still have monkeys and
apes? (George Carlin)
Anopheles
Joyseymour <joyse...@aol.com> wrote in message
news:19990621203848...@ng-fw1.aol.com...
> Anopheles wrote:
>
> >Spanner
> >copyright
> >Barry Aitchison
> >
> >Chapter One
> >
> >
> > "You look like shit!" Harry Tran croaked, his smile exposing teeth like
> >stands of dying gums.
>
> Dying gums? You mean the gums in his mouth, or gum trees?
> (snip)
>
> > I peeled off the notes he waited on like a vulture over dying flesh then
> >took the rock in its dull, plastic bag, with a hand that was noticeable
in
> >its tremble. I couldn't remember it this bad for a long time.
>
> Like the vulture. Would add "being" to the last sentence. I couldn't
remember
> it being this ...
>
> (snip)
> >
> >Thank you for reading this far.
> >Anopheles
>
Pamela Mitchell
<hi...@rabbit.com.au> wrote:
>Thanks Pam. I'm 125K into it but have not been able to make progress for
>some months.
Good God, how long is it going to be? Is it a series?
Joyseymour
>In article <7kmgs7$cu6$1...@m2.c2.telstra-mm.net.au> , "Anopheles"
><hi...@rabbit.com.au> wrote:
>
>>Thanks Pam. I'm 125K into it but have not been able to make progress for
>>some months.
>
>Good God, how long is it going to be? Is it a series?
>
>Pamela Mitchell
I had the same reaction. That seems a bit long. Is this your first novel,
Anopheles?
I thought the average length of a first novel was about 80,000 words, but it
might vary by genre. I've also heard 100,000 as the top end.
Sharon, how long are your novels?
CynMob
>I thought the average length of a first novel was about 80,000 words, but it
>might vary by genre. I've also heard 100,000 as the top end.
You always hear that 80K figure. Mine run around 95-120K words.
There's leeway for the right ms, but 125K is getting on up there.
Cyn
Johinsa
>
> Pamela Mitchell wrote:
>
> >In article <7kmgs7$cu6$1...@m2.c2.telstra-mm.net.au> , "Anopheles"
> ><hi...@rabbit.com.au> wrote:
> >
> >>Thanks Pam. I'm 125K into it but have not been able to make progress for
> >>some months.
> >
> >Good God, how long is it going to be? Is it a series?
> >
> >Pamela Mitchell
>
> I had the same reaction. That seems a bit long. Is this your first novel,
> Anopheles?
> might vary by genre. I've also heard 100,000 as the top end.
When I read the original post, I thought he meant a 125K file size
(25 000 words, more or less). I never measure my stories in words
because the word processor I use doesn't do word counts and I hate doing
it by hand.
Jo
twi...@worldnet.att.net
>Pamela Mitchell wrote:
>
>>In article <7kmgs7$cu6$1...@m2.c2.telstra-mm.net.au> , "Anopheles"
>><hi...@rabbit.com.au> wrote:
>>
>>>Thanks Pam. I'm 125K into it but have not been able to make progress for
>>>some months.
>>
>>Good God, how long is it going to be? Is it a series?
>>
>>Pamela Mitchell
>
>
>I had the same reaction. That seems a bit long. Is this your first novel,
>Anopheles?
>I thought the average length of a first novel was about 80,000 words, but it
>might vary by genre. I've also heard 100,000 as the top end.
>
>Sharon, how long are your novels?
>
Mine run around 100,000 words. But that's because I already
know what length editors are buying in my particular genre.
The best thing for Anopholes to do is see if the publisher
he's aiming at has a set of guidelines. If I recall
correctly, he's also a Brit. Therefore, he should check out
the local equivalent of Writer's Market, whose name escapes
my memory at the moment (Writer's and Artist's Yearbook?).
Publishers will normally list what lengths they're looking
for in that kind of listing.
One other thing, though. I normally tend to add when I'm
doing the rewrite. Therefore, I try to make the rough draft
way short. Like around 90,000 words. I know I'll stick in
another eight thousand words minimum in the polishing
process and quite possibly more. So it helps to not be too
close to the final word count.
If Anopholes is one of those writers whose edit/rewrite
style is slash and burn, he may find he need 125,000 to
150,000 words in order to come out with a 100,000 word
novel.
Sharon
It may be that the race is not always to the swift
nor the battle to the strong - but that is the
way to bet.
Damon Runyon
PButler111
>imposrtant. I have wriiten 8 books so far and only one is a novella, the
>rest much larger. The shortest novel would be 80,000. When I see the
>printout, this does not seem large. Anyway, a book is as long as the story.
>You put in what is required and there it is. Was Manet limited to only four
>colours?
>
>Anopheles
The word count isn't important unless you want to be published. Your Manet
example isn't relevant. Manet could have fit 100 colors onto one canvas. A
publisher, however, can't fit all the words you feel like using into the number
of pages that will make printing your book economically feasible. Any story
that can be told in 125,000 could probably be told better in 100,000 or much
less. You may think all those words are indispensible, but you'd be wrong.
You'd do well to edit and tighten, not only to make your work more publishable
from an economic standpoint, but also from a readability standpoint.
PButler111
>around 175K. I reckon that is only one third done.
>
>Anopheles
You say this with such pride, as though volume is the same thing as quality --
it's not. You need to tighten things up. This is simply too long.
CynMob
Umm, well, excuses first -- are we talking about the UK market? Don't know
anything about it. And as a relative newbie to this board, I don't know if
Anopheles is already published in novel-length fiction. So maybe none of this
applies. For those who might be lurking and have a US market in mind:
>No, 125,000 words it is. I don't understand why an upper limit is
>imposrtant. I have wriiten 8 books so far and only one is a novella, the
>rest much larger.
In the US, first time novelists should pay attention to upper and lower limits.
Production costs play a part in the decision to buy an mss. 125K words is a
relatively nice-sized book. Much longer and you'll get asked to cut parts of
it by many publishers. 80K also looks nice. Font fraud.
Novellas -- difficult to sell, usually. 80-100K words is a good aim point for
first novelists. Not that there aren't exceptions -- there are. Clan of the
Cave Bears springs to mind, as well as the Gear's Indian saga books. And once
you've sold the first one, things get different. But for first timers, if
you're in the 80-100K word range, that's one less reason for someone to say no.
>The shortest novel would be 80,000. When I see the printout, this does not
seem large.
This is why I ask whether you've been through the mill with a novel before.
Printouts don't matter. Publishers ask for word count. They then commit font
fraud as necessary to tinker with production costs.
In the US market, for instance, it would be downright foolish to send a 125K
word ms to certain houses. Walker, for instance. They simply do not do books
that long. If you're Clancy or King, you can do what you want. Those of us
lower on the food chain usually pay attention to house guidelines.
The story is what it is, but there're a million different ways to tell each
one. I'm not advocating slavish rigidity to word count guidelines at the
expense of story, but I think it's wise to know what the perspective is from
the other side of the editorial desk.
Cyn
CynMob
>I have another unfinished book that is
>around 175K. I reckon that is only one third done.
175K WORDS? And one-third DONE?
Yowsa. That's going to be a real marketing challenge unless you've already got
an idea of where you want to break it to serialize it.
Cyn
Anopheles
Pamela Mitchell wrote
> In article <7kmgs7$cu6$1...@m2.c2.telstra-mm.net.au> , "Anopheles"
> <hi...@rabbit.com.au> wrote:
>
> >Thanks Pam. I'm 125K into it but have not been able to make progress for
> >some months.
>
> Good God, how long is it going to be? Is it a series?
Are you insinuating that I'm verbose? I have another unfinished book that is
around 175K. I reckon that is only one third done.
Anopheles
Anopheles
Johinsa wrote:
> Joyseymour wrote:
> >
> > Pamela Mitchell wrote:
> >
> > >In article <7kmgs7$cu6$1...@m2.c2.telstra-mm.net.au> , "Anopheles"
> > ><hi...@rabbit.com.au> wrote:
> > >
> > >>Thanks Pam. I'm 125K into it but have not been able to make progress
for
> > >>some months.
> > >
> > >Good God, how long is it going to be? Is it a series?
> > >
> >
> > I had the same reaction. That seems a bit long. Is this your first
novel,
> > Anopheles?
> > I thought the average length of a first novel was about 80,000 words,
but it
> > might vary by genre. I've also heard 100,000 as the top end.
>
> (25 000 words, more or less). I never measure my stories in words
> because the word processor I use doesn't do word counts and I hate doing
> it by hand.
No, 125,000 words it is. I don't understand why an upper limit is
imposrtant. I have wriiten 8 books so far and only one is a novella, the
Animeg3282
>Are you insinuating that I'm verbose? I have another unfinished book that is
>around 175K. I reckon that is only one third done.
>
OUCH! You're Robert Jordan, aren't you? :P
Chisa Tori
Co-defender of the Scouts, AOL, and Relm
AGFF Goddess and Guru of Cute, Diminutive Mistress of Leather and Lace, and of
Small Words
Yaoi Brigade Member
Pledged to the Way of the Wimp
Anopheles
guide lines.
Anopheles
CynMob wrote:
> Anopheles writes:
>
> Umm, well, excuses first -- are we talking about the UK market? Don't
know
> anything about it. And as a relative newbie to this board, I don't know
if
> Anopheles is already published in novel-length fiction. So maybe none of
this
> applies. For those who might be lurking and have a US market in mind:
>
> >No, 125,000 words it is. I don't understand why an upper limit is
> >imposrtant. I have wriiten 8 books so far and only one is a novella, the
> >rest much larger.
>
> In the US, first time novelists should pay attention to upper and lower
limits.
> Production costs play a part in the decision to buy an mss. 125K words
is a
> relatively nice-sized book. Much longer and you'll get asked to cut parts
of
> it by many publishers. 80K also looks nice. Font fraud.
> Novellas -- difficult to sell, usually. 80-100K words is a good aim
point for
> first novelists. Not that there aren't exceptions -- there are. Clan of
the
> Cave Bears springs to mind, as well as the Gear's Indian saga books. And
once
> you've sold the first one, things get different. But for first timers, if
> you're in the 80-100K word range, that's one less reason for someone to
say no.
>
> >The shortest novel would be 80,000. When I see the printout, this does
not
> seem large.
twi...@worldnet.att.net
>
>Johinsa wrote:
>> Joyseymour wrote:
>> >
>> > Pamela Mitchell wrote:
>> >
>> > >In article <7kmgs7$cu6$1...@m2.c2.telstra-mm.net.au> , "Anopheles"
>> > ><hi...@rabbit.com.au> wrote:
>> > >
>> > >>Thanks Pam. I'm 125K into it but have not been able to make progress
>for
>> > >>some months.
>> > >
>> > >Good God, how long is it going to be? Is it a series?
>> > >
>> > >Pamela Mitchell
>> >
>> > I had the same reaction. That seems a bit long. Is this your first
>novel,
>> > Anopheles?
>> > I thought the average length of a first novel was about 80,000 words,
>but it
>> > might vary by genre. I've also heard 100,000 as the top end.
>>
>> When I read the original post, I thought he meant a 125K file size
>> (25 000 words, more or less). I never measure my stories in words
>> because the word processor I use doesn't do word counts and I hate doing
>> it by hand.
>
>No, 125,000 words it is. I don't understand why an upper limit is
>imposrtant. I have wriiten 8 books so far and only one is a novella, the
>rest much larger. The shortest novel would be 80,000. When I see the
>printout, this does not seem large. Anyway, a book is as long as the story.
>You put in what is required and there it is. Was Manet limited to only four
>colours?
>
>Anopheles
>
>
>
No, but publishing companies are limited by the cost of
paper and the expected market for a first time novelist. An
editor I've known for 16 years told me in a conversation on
another topic that she would have to turn down a book that
was significantly over her word limit no matter how much she
liked it unless she could see a way the author could either
cut it or turn it into two books. She's editorial director
or a major North American publisher and must okay all
purchases for the company.
The costs of publishing are just as important to the buying
decision as the quality of the work.
Manky Mumble
<hi...@rabbit.com.au> writes:
>Are you insinuating that I'm verbose? I have another unfinished book that is
>around 175K. I reckon that is only one third done.
>
I'm following this thread with interest - how long is right, how long is too
short / long.
I aim for around the 100,000 as I understand I'm more likely to get published
at that length for a first novel. Maybe it's only established writers who can
sell massive tomes of 200,000 words or more? Ignoting Tolkien's Lord of the
Rings (really a trilogy and often sold in three separate volumes), I just
scanned my shelves to see what a "long" novel contained. James Clavell's Noble
House runs 1440 ppages at around 400 words a page - 575,000 in total. Other
big selling 'popular' authors like Wilbur Smith, Clive Cussler and Raymond
Feist run to 300,000 words in several of their books. Just curious.
Meg
Scourge of young children and neighbourhood cats
Unpublished author of 16 best sellers
Bumbly Mumble, a force to be reckoned with. Possibly.