Thank you. This was an extremely helpful review.
Dave
Query Letter / The Song of Lazarus
September 19, 2008
David Anderson
2547 Kents Court
West Sacramento, CA 95691
dave.anderson@wavecable.com
707-290-7238 Cell
Ms: Susanna Einstein
LJK Literary Management, LLC.
708 Third Ave, 16th Floor
New York, NY 10017
Dear Ms. Einstein;
“The Song of Lazarus” is a character and plot driven romance set against the underbelly of Chicago high-society. It is roughly 130,000 words. The main character is a hard-edged, sensitive, and highly intelligent young man named Dave Massinger. Massinger has already suffered a lifetime’s worth of hardship and there is a gaping void within him. He is paired with Claire Nathan, a deeply religious young woman of significant means. In spite of being insulated her entire life from boys like Dave, she is profoundly attracted to him. Together, over the course of two summers, they are passionately drawn together like split-aparts separated for one too many lifetimes. Since her family has planned for her to join the cloister, the two must keep their romance under wraps while they secretly plan to marry.
Those plans vaporize when Claire is raped and murdered on the eve of their elopement. All the evidence points to Dave, and, in the midst of his loss, he has to deal with the police who suspect him, with her family who are shouting his guilt from the rooftops, and with the remorse he feels at not having done enough to save her. Under the weight of this loss, he sinks into drug use, and, as he hopelessly struggles to pick up the shattered pieces of his life, he latches onto that one glorious thing he thinks will somehow make everything alright. “The Song of Lazarus” is this year’s must-read, gritty love-story of insurmountable loss, tested faith and redemption that will leave readers weeping over a love that speaks from beyond the grave.
“Lazarus” is not my fist effort. I have over twenty-two years of technical writing experience and have authored such favorites as “The Productive Utilization of 504th Army Security Agency Linguistic Resources” and “Decommissioning and Dismantlement of the Material Storage Area at the IBM Cottle Road Facility”. In addition to these page-turners, I have written hundreds of reports and successful multi-million dollar technical proposals.
I am eager to work with LJK and the publishing team to make this venture as successful as possible. To further this end, I have over 1,000 contacts on MySpace and belong to religious and spiritual groups where I can reach several million likely readers. Near the time of publication, I can dedicate two people to sparking interest in and churning controversy over this work through participation in religious groups, daily internet bulletins, and postings to popular blogs.
In addition to “Lazarus”, there are two other books in the works; one is a memoir of my experience as a heart transplant recipient that chronicles my journey from being told I only had three weeks to live to my upcoming participation in the Transplant World Games in Australia. The text is 50% complete. The second is a novel on capital punishment which is about 20% complete. I look forward to meeting and working with you on these projects.
All the very best,
David Anderson
Attachments;
“The Song of Lazarus” Chapter 1 - Hagar
The Song of Lazarus
Chapter 1: Hagar
I was already stowing away the pieces deep inside me. Like so many of the things I’d done, this was something I wouldn’t care to look at too closely. I was halfway down the stairs when I heard someone behind me shout.
“Stop…stop, goddamned it.”
But I didn’t even slow down. I just kept sprinting down the courthouse steps trying to put as much distance between me and the shouting as I could.
I felt it first—like someone hit me in the arm with a sledgehammer, but it was only when the sound caught up with me that I knew for certain that I’d been shot.
. . .
As we crashed through the double-doors into St. Anthony’s, the charge nurse was already shouting instructions.
“Put him in seven,” she hollered. “No…put him in four...yeah, put him in four.”
My bandage leaked, and, as they wheeled me in, I could feel the blood drip down my finger and onto the floor tracing my bloody Hansel and Gretel progress into the Emergency Room. I didn’t do anything to stop it. I just sat there—fascinated—watching the life run right out of me. Remarkably, I didn’t feel much pain. Odder still, for the first time in a long time, I may have even been happy.
“Come on people,” the charge nurse shouted, “let’s move. Someone put pressure on that bandage.”
“You,” she roared, pointing to a nurse’s aid that apparently hadn’t moved near quick enough.
“Clean up that blood before someone slips and falls.”
The staff surrounded me, and, on the count of three, I was transferred from the ambulance gurney and onto a hospital bed.
It was quiet in the ER that morning. The only other patients were a small boy with a broken arm in station two and a loudmouthed drunk in station seven. I could have definitely lived without the drunk. He was a screamer—the type of shit-head who tries to intimidate you by walking up to you on the street and screaming in your face. It pissed me off just looking at him. Endearing him even further, he ran his mouth the whole time I was there, and if I were given even half a chance, I’d have gladly knocked him senseless.
It wasn’t hard for me to see the other patients. Both of them did their best to get a look at me.
‘So much for privacy,’ I thought.
It figured, though. Anytime someone walks into a room and shouts “Gunshot” everyone—no matter how shy or in how much pain—they all turn around and sneak a nervous peek. I saw the little boy peering around the curtain with his unsigned virgin white cast. One of the nurses caught him gawking and told him to scoot. With an eyeful of a guy with a bullet in him, he wasted no time in getting back to his mom. The drunk was a different story. He stood outside my bay like a menace until a nurse shuffled him back to his own. I liked him even less for screwing with me. Had he pulled that crap on the street with me, I definitely would have dropped him.
Once the doctor got around to me, he pulled back the light blue not-so-private privacy curtain that separated mine from the other treatment bays.
“I’m Doctor Morris,” he said quietly.
By habit, I sized him up. He was in his mid to late thirties, good-looking, but not overly…neither small…nor particularly large—but definitely someone I could take. He was just an average guy with blond hair and a mustache, but he was a doctor, and women would have liked him. He wore no ring so he probably wasn’t married. I bet he either had a great-looking girlfriend or several on a string. We had nothing in common, absolutely nothing, and it seemed that the more time I spent with people like him, the bigger a problem I had with them.
He looked at the larger of my two paramedics and asked,
“What we got here, Stanley?”
“Gunshot”, Stanley said in a voice loud enough to be heard all the way over in Wrigley Field.
Always having to dodge the cops, made me leery of drawing so much attention. Since Stanley couldn’t keep his voice down, I didn’t care much for him, either.
Dr. Morris looked at the charge nurse and said, “Screen and type him for blood. Have a couple units of O-negative standing by, and get an IV started.”
“What’s your name?” Doctor Morris asked.
“Dave…Dave Massinger,” I said.
“So, Mr. Massinger, how do you feel?”
“You know I’ve been shot, don’t you, doc?” I said.
“Yes” he smiled, and a couple of the nurses laughed.
“Thanks for pointing that out, but, if you don’t mind, I’ll do the jokes around here.”
He smiled and asked, “How’s the pain, my friend?”
“I don’t feel a thing,” I said.
I wasn’t just being brave, I didn’t feel a thing.
“That’s the shock,” he said nodding his head. “Once that wears off, it’s really gonna hurt.”
As Doctor Morris was asking how this happened, my escort from the Chicago Police Department stepped forward from where he’d been standing.
“Sorry, Officer” Dr. Morris said, “I didn’t see you. What’s the story, here?”
“This guy shot and killed a guy at the Criminal Courthouse. When he ran, one of our guys shot him.”
The room went quiet, and I could feel the sympathy that the Emergency Room staff felt toward me vaporize the moment they realized that I was the shooter, and not the victim.”
“He’s a bad one,” my patrolman said. “Shot and killed that guy and didn’t even blink.”
Once my policeman escort finished his assessment, he shook his head and looked at the floor.
“Fucking junkies,” he muttered.
Looking up and seeing Dr. Morris’s look of mild concern, he added.
“Don’t worry Doc—I’ve got him handcuffed to the bed. If he gives you any trouble, just whack him on the arm.”
“Thank you,” Dr. Morris said tightly, “but there won’t be any of that.”
“One of my buddies said he’d call and fill me in on what happened. I’ll pass it on when he does.”
I looked at Dr. Morris and then back at my cop.
“You don’t have to wait,” I said. “I’ll tell you exactly what happened. I shot and killed that son-of-a-bitch, and he deserved it, too.”
The room went deathly still, and I didn’t think anyone was even breathing.
Dr. Morris was pissed. He looked at me, face flushed, with a look that spoke of his own brand of fierceness.
“I don’t want to get caught up in any of your bullshit, buddy so just knock it off.”
“You already are, doc.” my patrolman said as he pulled out his notepad and carefully wrote down everything I said along with the names and addresses of everyone who was there in the treatment bay.
A young and remarkably dull-looking nurse stepped up to the head of my bed and gave me the evil-eye.
“Nothing,” she bleated, “gives you the right take a life.”
The charge nurse gave her a withering look, but the younger nurse didn’t budge and wouldn’t shut the hell up.
“Think of what you did to that family,” She continued. “You should be ashamed.”
“Fuck you bitch,” I snarled. “If I had my way, I’d still be killing him. The only thing I did wrong was let him die too quickly.”
I tried to scare her with the angriest look I could muster, and it must have worked because she instantly backed away and hid behind the blue-shirted safety of my patrolman escort.
‘Fuck her.’ I thought.
The room went silent again, and I could almost hear the mental gears turning.
“Was anyone else hurt?” Dr, Morris asked.
“Naw.” the patrolman said. “The guy he shot was dead at the scene. He’s over at the morgue.”
Doctor Morris averted his eyes and looked me over for other wounds. Once he finished, he unwrapped the bandage on my arm, and examined the .38 caliber hole in my arm. It wasn’t bleeding.
He knitted his brow in a practiced manner and looked me in the eye.
“From what I can see, it’s just a flesh wound. We’re gonna x-ray it to make sure there’s no bone damage. If everything checks out, we’ll clean and sew you up, give you some antibiotics and pain meds, and send you on your way.”
I nodded, and Dr. Morris continued.
“Aside from being shot, how do you feel, Mr. Massinger?”
I turned away from the dull looking nurse I’d been glaring at, swallowed the bile in my throat, and looked him in the eye.
“I have pain in my chest,” I said. “I think I broke a rib or something when I fell down the stairs.”
He examined my chest.
“Your sternum seems fine,” he said, “but I can’t tell much without an x-ray.”
He looked back over his shoulder and said “Nurse, have X-ray take an anterior and lateral view of his arm. While they’re at it, have them take post anterior and lateral shots of his chest.”
“Yes, Doctor,” she said, as she walked over to the Nurses Station where she placed the order.
The X-ray technician wheeled his mobile x-ray unit into position and placed an ice-cold x-ray plate behind my back. As it made contact with my skin, I flinched, and was overcome with wave after wave of dull burning pain. It felt like my chest was being crushed.
With my free hand, I clasped my chest and squeaked, “Oh shit that hurts.”
I rolled away from him and curled up into a fetal position with my handcuffed hand trailing across the bed behind me. The tech backed away in alarm.
“What happened?” he said. “What’s the matter?”
“It’s my chest.” I croaked, “It really hurts.”
The commotion brought Doctor Morris back on the double.
“Are you alright, Mr. Massinger?” he asked.
There was sweat on the bridge of my nose and forehead. I squinted at the doctor and clasped my chest.
“It’s my chest.” I said. “Do you have any antacids?”
“What kind of pain?” Dr. Morris asked. “Is it a sharp or a dull pain?”
“It’s a dull, achy pain,” I said. “I feel like an elephant sat on me.”
“On a scale of one to ten, with one being no pain, and 10 being the worst pain you’ve ever felt.”
“It’s at least a seven,” I said, “but I’ve broken a lot of bones.”
“Nurse, get a monitor on this guy and take an EKG.”
He stood upright and addressed the room.
“Come on people,” Dr. Morris said, “this should have been done when he first came in.”
He scowled as he moved aside to let one of the nurses attend to it.
“Follow the rules people,” he admonished. “Let’s get this handled.”
When the last lead was attached, my heart rate and rhythm were displayed on the monitor.
To the charge nurse he said, “He’s presenting arrhythmia.”
And to me, he asked, “Mr. Massinger, do you feel light-headed?”
“I need an antacid,” I said.
“Mr. Massinger, I need you to focus. You have an irregular heart beat, and I think you may have just had a heart attack.
Interrupting him, I mumbled,
“Huh…what…what are you talking about? I’m here for a gunshot. Why is this happening? I…I’ve been shot.”
“I have no idea.” Dr. Morris said. “You’re at least thirty years too young for any of this. You have some sort of heart problem...we’ll get you a cardiologist.”
“I’m here for a gunshot.” I complained.
“Mr. Massinger, I know,” he said, “but that’s not a problem, anymore. This is much more serious. Can you see on the monitor how your heart is skipping beats?”
He paused so I could see what he was talking about. When I looked where he was pointing, I nodded. The little green line looked like a saw blade with broken teeth.
“Instead of a regular one, two, three, four rhythm, your heart is beating one, two… four, or one………four. Are you following me Mr. Massinger? It’s skipping beats”
“Uh huh.” I groaned.
“We can fix this, Mr. Massinger. We have to pass an electrical current through your chest to make your heart beat normally again. Do you understand what I just said, Mr. Massinger?”
I was dumbfounded by the news, and, for several seconds, I just sat there with my mouth agape staring blankly off into space until my patrolman escort snapped me out of it.
“Why do you even bother, Doc?” he asked. “This guy won’t live long enough to ever see the streets again. We’ll just have to feed and house him in the meantime.”
Doctor Morris sighed and said, “It’s what we do here. Once we’re done, he’s all yours.”
“Makes no difference to me, Doc,” the patrolman said. “It all pays the same.”
“Mr. Massinger,” Dr. Morris said, “It’s going to be a few minutes before the cardiologist can get here. Relax…take a nap if you can.”
With my heart skipping every other beat, I felt like I was on the brink of passing out. I decided to take the doctor’s good advice and settled back on the bed. With all the talk about shocking my heart, I imagined myself a few months or years hence, a convicted murderer, awaiting my long over-due ride in the electric chair. I was not amused—not in the least.
I heard my escort cop talking with a woman in the hallway behind me, and I started coming back around.
“How are you related to him?” I heard the patrolman say.
“I’m his sister,” she said.
Even though I was pretty out of it, I wasn’t so far gone that I didn’t realize the she wasn’t my sister. But still, I knew that voice…I just couldn’t put couldn’t put my finger on it.
“Mr. Massinger.” the charge nurse said as she gently touched me on the shoulder, “There’s someone here to see you.”
I looked over her shoulder and saw a beautiful and familiar face. One I hadn’t seen in years.
“Becky,” I beamed, feeling genuinely happy to see her, “I’ve missed you so much. What are you doing here?”
Becky walked to the head of my bed, leaned over, and whispered in my ear. “I was at the courthouse when it happened. Erik told me what you did. God, I love you for that. I just had to bring you this.”
She moved close—inches from my face—and said, “This is from Claire.”
She planted the most passionate un-sister like kiss on me I’d ever received. Eventually, after she’d finished and stood upright, she gently held my hand, and spoke to me in a more normal voice.
“You couldn’t save them both,” she said.
“Miss, you’ll have to wait outside,” the charge nurse said. “You can see him once they put him on a ward.”
Becky gave my hand a squeeze.
“Get better, David,” she said. “And, don’t you worry about a thing.”
As Becky, with her sultry Greek goddess face and stunning body sashayed out the door, I heard my patrolman mutter, “Sister, my ass.”
“Mr. Massinger?” the doctor said. “The cardiologist has been delayed, but he’s on his way to treat you.”
As I waited for the cardiologist to arrive, I came to appreciate how the condemned must feel as they wait inside the death chamber for the signal from the warden that puts an end to all their suffering. It was funny. I always wanted to be the one to throw that switch. I wanted to be their executioner. Now I was in the same boat with them. It almost made me laugh. I took a few deep breaths and tried to clear my head.
I was hallucinating. I saw Death standing with his scythe behind the nurse’s station—calm and casual like he was waiting for an appointment. He wasn’t riding a pale horse like I half expected him to, but I knew who he was. We had history, and for the last five years, whenever you saw me, he was never very far behind. He was every much a part of me as being left-handed. But he was never my friend. Hell no. He was more like an end-stage alcoholic drinking-buddy who took whatever he wanted from me and never once failed to pull me down to his lowest low and his meanest level. And, just as sure as a child will love a terrible parent, I embraced Death and became his most devoted disciple.
The first time we met was a quick and casual thing. It was like brushing up against a stranger on the el. But, it was also the darkest of dreams made flesh. With thoughts of him, I stank of fear and slipped into unconsciousness.
. . .
It was just after dark, and every kid within six blocks was with us elbows deep in a life-and-death game of Hide and Seek. The second my sister, who was it at the time, looked elsewhere, Peanut—my friend from across the street—and I, bolted from our hiding place in Mr. and Mrs. Johnson’s lilac bushes four houses down in our run through the backyards for home. Only ten feet from where we started, we were stopped dead in our tracks by the most unnatural thing that either of us had ever experienced. Half of our bodies were sweating in the warm syrupy-sweet embrace of a humid summer evening while the other was gripped in what seemed to be an arctic preternatural chill. When I felt that wicked cold, the tiny little hairs on my back all stood on end, my heart raced, and there was no place I longed for more than the safety and comfort of my Nana’s warm, soft lap.
It scared me stupid and froze me into place like a statue. Peanut, who was just a little bit younger than me, felt it to, froze like I did, and together, almost as if on cue, we started bawling.
Mr. Johnson saw us standing frozen in his side yard screaming our heads off looking like wee rusted tin-men waiting for Dorothy.
“What on earth’s gotten into you boys?” Mr. Johnson said from his perch on the porch. “Did you see a ghost or something?”
Mr. Johnson couldn’t have imagined how helpful that comment was since it mirrored exactly what Peanut and I were both already thinking. Holy shit—ghosts—that’s the last thing we needed. It seemed to take forever, but when he finally walked down the steps and over to us, he felt what we felt and smiled.
“Oh, it’s a cold spot,” Mr. Johnson chuckled. “That’s what’s got you boys. You come away from there, now. And, don’t you worry about it. It’s just a cold front marrying up with a warm one. Sometimes, there’s variations in tempature, but they ain’t no cause for alarm.”
Though Mr. Johnson explained it to us, and both of us understood it well enough, we were both still scared to death, and reckoned between the two of us that there were some things in this world—like God— that we just couldn’t help but be afraid of.
Peanut took off at a sprint and beat feet home.
When the older kids found out what happened, they teased me.
“Look at the big ol’ bawl baby—he’s afraid of a “cold spot.”
“Hain’t neither,” I said.
The biggest kid took a hold of my shoulders, gave me a single tooth-rattling shake to get my attention—which it did—and sized me up head to foot.
“Well you should be, you stupid little twerp,” he said. “Those things is dangerous. They’s the spirits of dead people and they hate us.”
The hairs all over my body stood on end, and my eyes got big.
“They hate us ‘cause we’re livin and they ain’t. You walk through one, and they’ll complain to the devil.”
“Mmmmmm” I whined with eyes the size of silver dollars.
“Shut up you big ol’ bawl baby. You hear me and you hear me good. If you walk through one of them spirits, you best make the sign of the cross, say a prayer or spit in your palm, ‘cause if they complain—the devil will snatch you straight down to hell.”
“Mmmmmm” I croaked and just as quick as he released me, I flew straight home fearing that the devil, hungry to snatch me straight down to hell, was already hot on my trail.
I raced through the door letting it slam behind me and flew into Nana’s arms.
“Nana…” I whined just exactly like the big ol’ bawl baby the older kids accused me of being, “those kids are…are…scaring me…with all their talk about dead people...and I don’t know what to do.”
“Sweetheart,” she said stroking my sweat-soaked hair out of my face.
“I’ve known those kids since they was babies and not one of ‘em’s got the sense God gave little chickens. Don’t you pay ‘em no mind. I know you’re scared, but there really ain’t no cause.”
She pulled my face up from where I’d buried it in her torso and looked into my eyes.
“Whenever you’re afraid, say the “Prayer of Protection” and no matter what, God will watch over you.”
“Really?” I asked—already feeling more hopeful than logic would allow.
“Absolutely,” she said, “it’s one of the few things in this world you can count on.”
Since I knew she loved me enough to bake cookies every time I came to visit, I believed her with every ounce of my little-boy heart. That night, she taught me the whole prayer, and the moment I could recite every single line, I wasn’t afraid no more, but, of course, I was always ten times braver in my Nana’s kitchen with the lights on.
As it turned out, to ward off ghosts and the assorted spooks and goblins, all you really needed were the last few lines. That was such a relief, because try as I might, whenever I got facing-the-firing-squad scared, those were the only ones I could ever remember.
“La…la…la…la.” I’d stammer, trying to remember the lines and finally giving up. “The power of God protects me…The presence of God watches over me…Wherever I am, God is…And, all is well.”
When I met death for the first time, it was exactly like that. I was the kind of scared you get when you cough up blood or when the doctor mentions cancer. I desperately needed God to protect me so I said the “Prayer of Protection” from morning ‘till night, but he wasn’t listening ‘cause He just wasn’t there.
. . .
“Mr. Massinger…Mr. Massinger, wake up.” Dr. Morris said, “This is Doctor Bhanami—your cardiologist.”
“Mr. Masseenger” Dr. Bhanami said, “I’m here to treat you, sir. I veel give you an injection, and then I will treat you. Most assuredly, you will be alright. You won’t feel or remember ah ting.”
I didn’t feel too confident, so I reached for my wallet and my lucky talisman. Since I’d already lost my pants when I surrendered my clothing, I called,
“Someone, please—I need to get my wallet.”
“Don’t worry, Mr. Massinger,” one of the nurses said, “your wallet is safe.”
“It’s not that. Please, hand me my wallet. There’s something inside it.”
A white-haired Pollack nurse named Tobinski retrieved it for me. She had a kind, loving immigrant face that reminded me of my Nana Cora, and, as she handed me the wallet, I thought to myself, Dziekuja Babcia, then, I smiled at her and said.
“Thank you, Ma’am.”
I took a moment to remove the lock of hair that I’d taken from Claire the night before her funeral. Once it was free, I clasped it in my hand.
I told nurse Tobinski, “This is important. Wherever I go, it goes.”
She looked at me, but said nothing.
“Please,” I said, “promise me.”
“There’s no…” she said.
“Promise me.” I pleaded.
She could see the curly blond hair tied with a powder-blue ribbon that I held in my hand, and I think it touched her because she took my hand as gently as a mother and smiled reassuringly.
“Okay, Mr. Massinger. I promise. I’ll make sure.”
“If I drop it?”
“Don’t worry about that, Mr. Massinger. Here, let me tie it to your finger. That way, you’ll never be without it.”
I could see that Dr. Bhanami wanted to move things along so I glared at him. When she tied to my finger I thought I was finally ready.
“I’m ready,” I told Dr. Bhanami.
“What ees wrong with hees hand?” Dr. Bhanami asked.
“He’s handcuffed to the bed Doctor,” the nurse said. “There was a problem.”
“No. No. Theese will not do. Please take those off heem at once. It cree-ates a preferential pathway. Please, at once.”
My patrolman escort walked over to the side of the hospital bed and removed the cuffs.
At 12:03 in the afternoon, the IV was flushed with saline solution and Dr. Bhanami injected the drug through my IV. By then, fear was just a pleasant memory. The whole idea of stopping my heart totally spooked me. With every beat of my heart, panic shot through me, and I had a bitter taste in my mouth.
The drug entered me like a violation. There was a warm, mildly burning sensation at the IV site just an inch or two above my wrist. I knew that warmth was my enemy so I tried to use my mind as a styptic to staunch its flow. It was no use, and I tracked its terrible progress as it made its way from my forearm to my elbow, from my elbow to my shoulder, and, finally, from my shoulder to my body core. While the drug tried to claim me, the hairs on the back of my neck stood on end, and, even though it was relatively cold in the room, sweat rolled freely down my sides.
I felt like I’d just shot up, but I knew it had been at least half a day, and I was in the habit of keeping track. Still, like always, I wanted to curl up on that bed, close my eyes, and enjoy that warm sense of love and protection I was so familiar with. More than anything, I wanted to surrender and slide fast and deep beneath that looming veil of slumber, but my body had different ideas. It didn’t see it as a source of solace and comfort. No. It saw a slippery path to perdition and countered with an assault of its own consisting of cortisols, endorphins, and adrenaline. I spent that time in “bullet-time” and everything around me slowed to a pace much slower than a crawl. In real time, everything must have happened fairly quickly, but in that rarified, profoundly crystalline moment, time seemed to have gone on a long and totally unexpected holiday.
During those exquisitely terrifying moments, I felt more alive than I had in my entire life. Sounds and sights weren’t just sounds and sights. I could feel their texture. I could smell them. Hell, I could even taste them. With my hyper-attuned senses, I could have told you the date and time when the bottle of rubbing alcohol that I smelled had first been opened. And, just as easily, I could have discerned a limp in the six-legged gait of a cockroach as it skittered across the linoleum. I missed nothing.
The thump, thump, thump of my heart was ringing in my ears, and I could feel it pulsing all the way down to my toes. Since Death was waiting for me, the small part of me that still wanted to live, came desperately screeching to the surface. With all the adrenalin, my heart should have been pounding like a sprinter’s at the end of a hundred yard dash, but it had already begun to slow, and, as the time between each beat grew longer, I felt light-headed and struggled to catch my breath. The monitor showed 60 beats per minute, and I started to panic. I wanted to get up off that bed and run, but since I couldn’t even blink my eyes in a simple sign of acknowledgement, I knew I could forget about that.
I couldn’t focus my eyes...not on my body...not on the monitor…not even on the faces of the doctors and nurses who were there in the room with me. Everything was blurred. If that wasn’t enough to spook me already, then realizing that I was bound for a place that I could neither avoid, nor likely to return from, was enough to send me completely over the top. I was beside myself, and, as I helplessly watched the scene unfold, I felt like an errant child awaiting punishment.
When the drug finally overcame me, my eyelids fluttered and my eyes rolled up into the back of my head, color faded to darkness, and I saw little sparkling white lghts. My tunnel-vision closed to darkness, and I felt like I was falling.
Dr. Bhanami was mistaken about not feeling or remembering a thing. I knew what was happening and I felt everything. No matter what drugs he gave me, they didn’t seem to work and this experience was something that I’d never forget much less ever get over. As I lay in the mist, I heard him say “clear”, and, almost instantly, I felt an incredibly strong contraction. Every muscle in my body—my arms, my legs, my fingers, my face, contracted, and, the force of it, lifted me clear up off the bed. I felt like I’d been struck by lightening and it hurt like hell...then I heard the alarm go off on the heart monitor.
I was amazed at how screwed I felt. Neither life, nor consciousness had the decency to leave me the instant my heart stopped. I had to sit there stupidly waiting for something else to happen and wonder why the hell it hadn’t. I’d never thought about death, before. It never occurred to me that anything like this could happen. I’d always thought it would be neat and clean like punching out at the end of a shift. Your heart stopped—you died—simple as that, but things aren’t the way they are in movies.
Sitting there, waiting for the final curtain made me realize exactly how despicable my situation was. I fully appreciated how completely and irrevocably my heart had betrayed me. It took quite a while, and it wasn’t done willingly, only grudgingly. I fought for every breath, every instant, and even though I was terrified…somewhere along the way…that terror faded and death became desirable—somehow strangely comforting—instead of another long-overdue fix, it was what I needed most.
That incredibly beautiful, warm, and comforting white light—held me and I realized how foolish I’d been. I felt that finally, after spending so much of my life running away from cold spots, that I’d finally made it home to the comfort and safety or my Nana’s warm, soft lap. I remembered how I felt as an innocent young boy—the boy that died when she did—the one I never thought I’d see.
Even though I refused to pray to Him, with my last consciousness, I was overwhelmed by the desire to confess my sins and ask forgiveness—from Him, from the doctors, from the nurses, from anyone who might listen. I couldn’t confess all my sins. There were far too many for that. The best I could manage was to confess a squandered wasted life—and hope that that would be enough.
As I lay conscious, but unseeing, I waited for the next awful thing to happen. I thought about all the things that led up to the murder and all the things that followed. With each image, I was gripped by the realization—the unsettling realization—that some things just have to happen in pairs like pride before a fall and atonement before forgiveness. Sadly, I also came to realize that some things, like forgiveness, may have been beyond me because I simply could not forget my past.
You need to log in to urbis or create an urbis account to review this writing.
Reviews
Sort Reviews by Newest | Oldest | Highest Quality | Lowest Quality | Newest Comments |
Eboneezer reviewed Version 1 -
Read 100% of the Item
Paragraph one: split-aparts (choose a word that is more interestign)
“Stop…stop, goddamned it.” (I would change this to “Stop! Stop goddamned it”
People don’t usually feel it when they get shot. They don’t notice it until they see blood.
bloody Hansel and Gretel progress (get rid of hansel and gretel)
Once the character enters the ER he takes us through his journy, and stops midway to tell us about two of the others in the er as if they’re important now. But, it breask us from the story and messes with the flow. Don’t introduce the other patients until after we’ve settled down a bit from this scene.
I would make the nurse who scolded him not so predictable. Make her interesting by having her just completely ignore the fact or tell him that everybody’s got to be treated and a patient’ sa patient. something like that
\
How could he be 30 years too young for this. When you get shot your body goes through all kinds of strange reactions. I heart atack is believable on its own.
brushing up against a stranger on the el… What’s the el? If it’s a regional thing you have to explain it to the reader.
every ounce of my little-boy heart (way too cheesy and oversued)
“What ees wrong with hees hand?” (instead of trying to write in a funny way to show soembody’s accent, which can be very distracting to the reader, simply type out what he’s saying and mention that he has a strong indian accent)
You’ve done a good job of creating interesting and vibrant scenes. I can see what’s happening the whole time. You’ve made the protagonist interesting and you’ve left us with a bit of a cliffhanger at the end of this chapter that does make me want to read more. Great job setting up the scenes. Your descriptions are just great except for the few things I mentioned above.
- add/view comments (0)
KarmaSutra reviewed Version 1 -
Read 100% of the Item
This wealth of detail could only come from first hand experience and it’s appreciated by your readers more than you know. Having been through similar tribulations with my Father, I’ve come to know the despair and the feeling of helplessness which comes with this ordeal.
I loved the theme and the integrity of this story. It left an impression of solidity and hope in my heart when the end came.
What grabbed more than anything was the technical proficiency and attention to detail you own as a writer. NO GRAMATICAL ERRORS! This is worth the reading on it’s own.
I gave you a ten overall because this story struck a personal chord and kept me rivetted.
lear_the_strong reviewed Version 1 -
Read 100% of the Item
It was a well written piece. The Query letter was very convincing and introduced the plot and character well enough. But the story, what a story! At one point I felt like I was going to cry. He had her hair? That was some intense plot lines. A story is great in my eyes when it evokes strong emotions. Bravo!
oknapp reviewed Version 1 -
Read 14% of the Item
Comma after remorse
Colon after Dear Ms. Einstein:
All Right instead of alright
entire life from boys like You might change this. Young men would be better.
“they are passionately drawn together like split-aparts.” This is not a good analogy. Maybe, They are passionately drawn together by their similsr interests. “Split aparts” needs to defintely be replaced.
“separated for one too many lifetimes”. this is not concrete. Since this is a synopsis of your book you need to be concrete not fancifil.
“Those plans vaporize.” I would take “vaporize” Maybe,Those plans were shattered. ..
,
“with her family who are shouting his guilt from the rooftops” Make it more sophisticated. This is too dramatic.
“latches onto that one glorious….Maybe, He clings to the glorious thing
The Song of Lazarus” is this year’s must-read, gritty love-story of insurmountable loss, tested faith and redemption that will leave readers weeping over. Take out this years must read. It sounds to pompus.
“tested faith and redemption that will leave readers weeping over” I wouldn’t use this either. Let the agent decide what it will do.
MySpace and belong to religious and spiritual groups where I can reach several million likely readers. Near the time of publication, I can dedicate two people to sparking interest in and churning controversy over this work through participation in religious groups, daily internet bulletins, and postings to popular blogs.”
I don’t think the above should be included. They will wonder why, with these kind of contacts, that you haven’t already successful.
“am eager to work with LJK and the publishing team to make this venture as successful as possible. To further this end, I have over 1,000 contacts on
What constitutes Hansel and Gretal progress?
EAnonymous reviewed Version 1 -
Read 100% of the Item
QUERY LETTER:
The letter gets off to a slow start, but ends up being interesting.
“character and plot driven” is a little vague. You could be more descriptive: suspenseful, with fun characters, etc.
I also wouldn’t call it a romance. From the first chapter, it doesn’t seem like a romance at all.
“He is paired with Claire Nathan,” – paired by whom, or what circumstances? Be specific.
““The Song of Lazarus” is this year’s must-read, gritty…” Okay, this is what you should start with!
The part about the technical writing is funny and sarcastic. I don’t know how appropriate it is, but if I were a literary agent, I think I’d like it. :)
CHAPTER ONE:
The first two sentences are vague and confusing – also unnecessary. I’d cut them.
Why not use an exclamation point, if they’re shouting?
”...ran his mouth the whole time I was there, and…” lose the ‘and’; start a new sentence.
”...but he was a doctor, and women would have liked him.” – I’d split this up into two sentences.
”...having to dodge the cops, made me…” no comma necessary.
“The room went deathly still, and I…” – again, new sentence.
“stood upright” – redundant
“escort cop” – we know who he is by now; you only need one word or the other.
“couldn’t put couldn’t put” – obviously
“whenever you saw me,” – instead of addressing the reader unnecessarily, I’d find another way to phrase that.
“every much a part of me as” as much a part…
“—my friend from across the street—” I think the explanation is unnecessary, and interrupts the flow of the sentence.
“felt it to, froze like I did,” -> too then I’d start a new sentence.
“afraid no more, but, of course,” – again, new sentence. cut “but”
“I veel give you an injection, and then I will treat you.” – if you’re going to spell the accent, do it consistently. I don’t think you need to, though.
“that I could neither avoid, nor likely to return from,” -> that I could not avoid, and wouldn’t be likely to…
“lghts” – obviously
“I’d never thought about death, before.” – no comma. And that’s just not true- hes been thinking a lot about death. You mean he hadn’t thought about his OWN death?
“white light—held me” – what’s with the dash?
“the realization—the unsettling realization—” why not just say it the first time?
You set the scene very well. Action, dialogue… all very engaging. Even the flashback was handled well. I take it the story you described in the query letter is not unfolding chronologically? You might want to say so in the letter. Well written story – it definitely grabbed my attention. Good luck! :)
seriousfem reviewed Version 1 -
Read 67% of the Item
Watch for redundancies (gaping void). An agent’s time is precious, so you don’t also need to be precious, don’t waste time. I’d say, very briefly, if at all, what your writing experience is and leave it at that. That will show industry, show tight writing in your query letter.
Give some clue as to the complexity of the characters. A lifetime of hardship can be said of almost everybody, it isn’t descriptive enough. What kind of hardship? What has it made him?
I’m not sure 1000 Myspace friends is relevant. Leave the marketing to the agent unless you want to self-publish (you don’t). I know bands with 12,000 friends who can’t sell enough records to pay recording costs.
Use all the space in the query letter to give an example of your writing. You could insert a paragraph from the piece to pique her interest. Make sure it’s a really good paragraph or may not read any more than the query.
Good luck
The story:
The opening is confusing. Show us where the action took place, tell us in broad strokes who the characters are.
Everything on the first few pages should be perfect: “Goddamned it”? Try reading your piece out loud, you’d be surprised how funny some things sound.
“Virgin” with “unsigned” is redundant. Be more economical with words. Make each one count. “Peanut TOOK OFF AT A SPRINT AND BEAT FEET HOME, each says the same thing.
There are punctuation problems that spell check would have picked up. Might run it through.
I’d try to add move vivid imagery to better engage the reader, and beware of uneven tone. I’d give us strong clues to the character of the narrator first off and stick to that pattern or it won’t seem authentic.
Have fun.
concarolinags reviewed Version 1 -
Read 100% of the Item
I saw the little boy peering around the curtain with his unsigned virgin white cast (Nice touch)
“Why do you even bother, Doc?” he asked. “This guy won’t live long enough to ever see the streets again. We’ll just have to feed and house him in the meantime.” (Would a cop say this in front of a doctor? They first part troubles me, it sounds like a death threat and I’d hope a peace officer would be smart enough to not say something like that in fron of witnesses.) :)
The drug entered me like a violation. (very nice)
OK, why did he do it? That’s a really great reaction to get, incidentally. I’m hooked. I worked for Baker & Taylor and Barnes and Noble, and I’ve sold a lot of books. A lot of books like this. You have something here, You are an excellent writer and I could sell your books. IN fact, would. So, tell them a seasoned bookseller is among your fans. :)
I won’t critique your query. It’s perfectly in format, and though it isn’t different enough to jump off the page, it isn’t boring (I like the humor – did either of the works you mentioned get to the best seller list?) and heck, your a genius!
Now, seriously, why did he shoot the guy?
Showing 1 - 7 of 7
Review item
Add to favesCreator
Relevant Links
Item Stats
GENERAL
7 Reviews 3 Comments
Version 1
Latest Activity: about 1 year ago
REVIEW QUEUE
Appeared in Queue: 243 Times
Skipped: 11 Times
Ratings & Rankings
OpportunitiesVersions
| Version 2 (Deleted) |
| Version 1 |