Sci Fi & Fantasy / First chapter of novel (Analysis)
The wanderer of the wastes aimlessly stirred the embers of the fire with a twig. Shivering in the faint light he pulled his over-coat tight around his gaunt shoulders. The old stone farmstead offered little protection from the biting wind outside. He smiled dryly thinking that every winter seemed to grow more and more bitter as the years passed. The wind rattled the rotten wooden doorframe as he glanced around, noting the weeds growing up through the rotting floorboards. They seemed to flourish in this damp place. His eyes fell upon the various old paintings, paintings of the surrounding countryside before the war, he guessed, which hung on the wall. How different the land looked now. As his gaze turned toward the narrow window he sighted the old decaying tree trunk outside that he had used to start the fire last night.
In several minutes he had cracked several of the large branches and soon had enough fuel for the bitterly cold night ahead.
As the logs cracked and spat in this long forgotten place the drifter warmed the palms of his hands and tried to make himself more comfortable in the remains of what had been a leather lounge chair. He ate some salted beef he had removed from his backpack. To occupy his time he checked and cleaned his revolver and checked his pocket watch. Survival out here on the ice plains depended on two things, lady luck and the ability to keep one’s mind occupied.
His family had kept the pistol for times of danger. The pistol he had failed to defend his wife and daughter with several months previous. Had it really been months? The days had blended into one long pursuit across the ice. And now this cumbersome weapon, this deadly burden of steel and iron was the only thing he had to remember his family by.
No! He must push such thoughts of his old life from his mind. To dwell upon them now, out here, would cause his mind to slip deeper into insanity. Focus. Soon the tempest would lessen. He could hear, no almost feel the wind howling outside like a wounded animal. The ways of the waste had become almost second nature to him.
Almost. When he had finished cleaning his pistol he checked each round, then, satisfied, slotted them back into the weapon. His revolver held eight rounds, something he had come to understand as a rare luxury in this type of weapon. Having holstered the weapon he unrolled his sleeping rug, an item he had become heir to since his father had passed many winters since past. Next he removed his boots, placing them on top of the log pile to ensure the heat of the fire would keep any unwanted insects from surprising him in the morning.
As he lay there absorbing the heat of the flames his thoughts relentlessly returned to the blaze that had razed his house, to his slaughtered family. If only he hadn’t travelled to the Frenos place for supplies. If only he hadn’t drank so much goddamn whiskey that night, if only he hadn’t spent that night away from home…if only, if only… They were gone now. That was all that mattered. And the bastards behind it would pay. He would chase them to the ends of earth.
The wanderer eventually fell into a fitful sleep. That night he dreamt of raiders, men with dark eyes and no souls.
When the wandering man awoke the fire had died down to a glow and after two dry logs were placed in the hearth the timeless process of combustion began anew. He was glad to have been able to locate these ramshackle lodgings while the storm passed. He would find the bastards tracks as soon as the winds yielded. Besides he contemplated, they could only be headed in one direction and wouldn’t get far in this raging blizzard. He ate his breakfast of dried bread and water in silence, listening to the whistle of the wind in the dead wastes. He imagined what this farm had looked like in the before-time. When he had finished his meal he inspected his backpack for any sign of wear which might cause him to lose his vital cargo of food, water, ammunition, flares and his sleeping pouch. Satisfied he left the fire to burn as he checked his map and verified the time. He would pass the storm in this warm, almost comfortable, room.
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For a 1st chapter this is good. It keeps you wondering what happened to his wife and daughter. It has the conflict of whomever did something to her. It has the storm brewing outside as well as inside him. You really make someone want to continue reading this which is what you want in the first chapter.
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I like this as a first chapter. It’s tantilizingly questioning, yet it gives you enough information to follow the storyline. I think that both you and this story (so far) have a lot of potential. There are a few grammatical errors (you left out some commas in certain lines; look it over a little bit more thoroughly while you add and edit), but overall a really great start. Keep it up!
This reminds me a lot of a book I just read, but I liked it. I must say though, the first sentence of a book is usually what grabs me, and yours didn’t do that. It’s a bit bland. It also feels a tad rushed to me, like maybe you could take more time to let us get to know the character before you tell us what happened to him; that way we’d have more of a reason to care. Great story though. Thanks for sharing.
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‘As his gaze turned toward the narrow window he sighted…’, ‘spotted’ or ‘saw’ seems like a better word for it. ‘Sighted’ sounds a little odd. Maybe it’s just me.
‘To occupy his time he checked and cleaned his revolver and checked his pocket watch.’, two checks sounds repetitive. Seems like an incomplete sentence. I was wondering why he was checking his pocket watch.
‘Survival out here on the ice plains depended on two things, lady luck…’, use a colon instead of a comma.
‘The pistol he had failed to defend his wife and daughter with several months previous.’ sounds a little awkward.
‘passed many winters since past’
‘and after two dry logs were placed in the hearth the timeless process of combustion began anew’, seems too extravagant for relighting a fire.
A clichéd story so far, but fairly well written I think. Good job! Do continue on this tale of revenge and bloodlust.
This is an interesting beginning. It reads more like a prologue then a first chapter.
The opening line is good, but I think it could be even better. Experiment a little bit trying it different ways.
It almost seems like something more should happen. You give us a lot of information with very little action. Maybe you could add something more exciting in the end to encourage the reader to read on. Give us something to wonder about. Otherwise the end is so concrete. He’s going to wait out the storm. It makes it easy to put the story down.
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