I’m bandaging at the moment, I’ll get back to you on this. I can cancel my plans to visit the S&M bar in L.A. for now. Kisses.
Short Story / The Desperate and the Damned Chap. 1
It was two hours past dusk when the city surrendered to a merciless rainfall. Flickering neon mocked those who equate evenings indoors to sensory deprivation. The same people who take mornings with a beer chaser and leave the heat of the day to snakes. That song about California is true; it never rains, but oh how it pours. Southern California is the spoiled offspring of the American Dream and occasionally deserving of a good spanking, but five days of continuous, punishing showers was enough.
Every star struck traveler, every Realtor, every plastic surgeon, screenwriter, stripper and Salvadoran nanny was out of sight. Shopping malls, pool halls, convenience stores and restaurants were deserted. Anxiety reigned in the city of Angels. The town was built on drama but this most recent plague demanded analysis. Even the most narcissistic of pleasure seekers was asking questions. But the broken understood. The broken saw it coming. The broken waved it in for landing.
Just below Sunset Blvd. where the stories of rich, poor, homeless and soulless are permanently etched into the faded sidewalk, the sound of coffee brewing traded solos with the be-bop rhythm of the rain. For reasons unknown to the living and irrelevant to Johnny, the Holy Grounds coffee shop was open for business.
Smoky halos drifted from Johnny’s cigarette toward the sky in a ghostly processional. He held the next drag captive in his lungs and checked his watch. He liked to see how long he could go without air. In theory, a person could die this way but the body would usually veto the soul’s attempt to destroy it. He often said that when he died he’d go to heaven ‘cause he’d already done his time in hell, but the truth was he didn’t believe in either. If there was a God he’d have stopped the rain by now. Then again, if there was a God, the Hollywood Hills would have washed into the Pacific Ocean long ago, leaving a trail of gold from Vine St. to Ocean Avenue. Yeah, and he’d be first on the scene to collect his due.
The thought of it liberated the smoke from his chest in a choke of laughter. He loosened his grip from the cigarette filter and dropped it on the wet cement.
Beatrice tucked a renegade curl back into her hair net and turned to greet her first customer of the night. “
“Cats and dogs,” she said, “and no sign of letting up.”
Johnny didn’t respond. He hung his leather on the back of a chair and took a seat at the counter. Beatrice filled a glass of water from the tap—an excuse to glance at her distorted reflection in the chrome toaster—and made a mental note to pick up some Preparation H after work; she could pack for a two-week vacation with the bags under her eyes.
She handed Johnny a menu and asked if he wanted coffee. He pulled an ice cube from the water glass and crushed it between his teeth while he looked at the specials.
“The roast beef is good,” Beatrice offered. Her age-spotted index finger mapped it on the menu. He ordered a burger. Dry with sliced tomatoes on the side and steak fries. The smell of her loneliness clung to the peeling paint in the kitchen. Johnny wasn’t in the market for a needy chick. He just wanted a place to wait out the storm.
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crimsonarchon reviewed Version 1 -
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I like your writing style, and I understand that this is part one of an ongoing story, but I wish there was more substance here. It’s all lead-in with no story and very little character development (we can infer something about Johnny not being in the market for a “needy chick”).
A+ for writing style, points deducted for this being what basically amounts to a teaser.
Also, there are numerous sentence fragments here. Considering your writing style it can probably be overlooked but try to avoid them if you can. Example:
“Just below Sunset Blvd.”
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acdoyler reviewed Version 1 -
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i’d like to start off by saying you know i love you. but. it’s time to get at it sister, just bob and weave.
i know you live in california, but dynasty does not do. the title sounds like a soft porn soap opera. sorry but it does. subtle tangents that pull together the greater theme is what titles are for. don’t fuck your readers first impressions. unless this is a vampire short story.
you start out with the 3rd person narration making judgments. you can’t say
‘Flickering neon mocked those who equate evenings indoors to sensory deprivation.’ without telling the reader what to make of things. good description will take care of this. remember, you’re in an interactive experience. treat the reader like a sensitive boyfriend. if you’re convinced you want to paint the background as such then tell it from the first person. ‘the neon lights mocked me’ is acceptable. the third person doing this forces the narrators feelings about the scene onto the reader. the reader wants to make up their own minds.
‘That song about California is true; it never rains, but oh how it pours.’ first person fine. third person doesn’t work. third person would be like this:
There is a song about California: it never rains, but oh how it pours.
and immediately another judgment statement. cali is this. is it? i see it is what you make it. you can only convince me by telling a thought changing story. then i might agree. i might feel like i’ve learned something. and that is, at the bottom, why people read.
i move through good description but hear that telling voice. this is how it is. prove it.
‘Just below Sunset Blvd. where the stories of rich, poor, homeless and soulless are permanently etched into the faded sidewalk…’ good sentence, but doesn’t work. the narrator interjecting again. i hope you understand what i see. it’s the method of which you deliver that is a mistake. there is a good story here, but you’re simply telling it wrong.
‘He loosened his grip from the cigarette filter and dropped it on the wet cement.’ besides the choice of ‘from’, this is a good sentence.
she could pack for a two-week vacation with the bags under her eyes.
clever, but the narrator is now making jokes. besides, thirty minutes of exercise a day and some sleep would probably fix that shit quick.
maybe your former readers subconsciously knew that you were trying to interject yourself into the end of the story and it didn’t sit well. i thought it was fine. the dialog between them can make or break the story. my emotional wise woman of beauty it isn’t made. but as a point that’s an afterthought.
so try this: limit the narrator to description. no showing your own viewpoint. let the description and the dialog draw the picture. and let the reader make the conclusion. don’t explain things. there are shades of colors and descriptions of a night that set tone. that’s the trick, the work, the one hour stared at sentences. if you REALLY want to be a writer, you must be willing to wait on yourself and your stories.
if you didn’t want to totally change the format then have the narrator take on a third party first person viewpoint. most of the story works when you hear it from the viewpoint of someone who is dour and knocked out. then we feel for the narrator just like we do for the city and the circumstances. levels, onion.
hope i didn’t fuck you all up.
TheApostate reviewed Version 1 -
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I love the smell of puply noir in the morning. Smells like . . . hypermasculinity.
I’m very impressed with your use of language. The rythm and blunt style is perfect. I only have two complaints. First, hopping into Beatrice’s head is awkward and jarring. Second, there’s no apparent plot yet.
I’m sure that this has already been asked, but which band? If you aswered this, I’ll hunt it down.
wisedec4u reviewed Version 1 -
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I thought this was very well written. The character Johnny seems to one those mysteriously, intriguing loners that people love to read about. I also enjoyed suspense you built up with the unrelenting rain and a feeling of forboding from the people of Southern California. Definitely, a good start to your story and I actually made we want to read on to the next chapter. Good job. I look forwarding to reading more of your work.
jhmckeogh reviewed Version 1 -
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your imagery is powerful and your word choice often surprising and delightful. I have one major criitque with this piece. I would try to fine tune your narrative voice a bit. At one moment, we’re in the head of Johnny, and then all of a sudden we get the inner thoughts and machinations of beatrice. If you want to keep this dual natured perspective, thats great, but you may want to make it a little easier for the reader to follow. The effect, as is, comes off a little like someone with multiple personality disorder arguing with himself.
Cheers, this is a start to something good.
James
Marvin reviewed Version 1 -
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One man, one opinion.
Wow. Great first chapter. Tightly written, economical, fantastic imagery.
“Anxiety reigned”—enjoyed this. Nice play on “rain.”
“the sound of coffee brewing”—nice line but I wanted to read it as “brewing coffee.” Personal preference.
Great characterization.
Full with sprinkles of humor.
One thing that caught my eye was “he didn’t believe in either.” The following two lines offer entertaining thoughts on God but there wasn’t a mention of hell or the devil. Maybe consider slapping in a diabolical line here to complete the thought. Or not. Up to you.
Great first chapter. Keep rolling. M
Treatsa reviewed Version 1 -
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You said that the rain was relentless but also that his smoke rings drift up. The rain would have shot so many little holes in those rings. Just saying.
You’ve got some lonely quotation marks hanging out at the end of “first customer of the night”
The writing is strong. I can hear the rain, smell the smoke.
I hope to read more of this.
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