Novel Treatments / Chapter 1 (The Great Being) (Analysis)
He was standing on a mountain range.
Indicott Norrington gazed over the incredible scenery that stretched beyond the eye’s ability to see. The scent of fresh pine, and the sounds of countless living things assaulted his senses. The gentle breeze, combined with shade, made the lightly forested area ideal for resting. Standing underneath a tree on the mountain’s peak, Indicott pulled a banana from his interior coat pocket, peeled it, and took a bite.
The moment he swallowed the bit of fruit, the ground began to shake. Indicott, in a bout of irrationality, took this to be a sign that the fruit gods disliked his partaking in the slender, yellow extension of their realm, and tossed the banana aside. Unsuccessful in his attempts to regurgitate the fruit, he began to shout at the sky.
“I’m sorry! Please forgive me, I had no idea!”
Indicott watched in horror as the lowland under the mountain’s view began to sink like the edge of a great waterfall. It continued coming towards him with ferocious speed—he panicked. Dumping all of the bananas from his coat pockets, Indicott ran swiftly in the opposite direction of the destruction.
It was no use.
The collapse was on him in seconds. Indicott turned in fear to see a black nothingness where the beautiful view had once been. Indicott lay on the mountain top, contemplating life, and the fact that he would die with the taste of half regurgitated banana in his mouth.
The peak where Indicott sat moments before tumbled away into oblivion, leaving only the rest of the ground, where he now sat in a fetal position.
The dirt supporting him gave way to gravity.
Indicott was falling.
The sensation was strangely unfamiliar. Nothing in Indicott’s mind told him he was falling down. He could have been falling up, or to the right, for all he knew.
He did see the large slab of mountain coming, and it’s impact was just as hard as expected.
The sensation of being face first against ground turned into a pillow, and the oblivion turned into a musty bed. Indicott took in the smell of his headrest and found the scent of sweat, and strawberry shampoo.
Jumping from his bed, and pulling a legal pad from his lamp table, Indicott began to write his vision.
At the main door of the Tinsley apartment building, Indicott burst from inside, onto the wet street below. Several people trudged on with their days activities. Indicott walked further out and into the crowd, his demeanor slightly odd.
No one noticed the behavior, though. All the people moving along the block were very focused on not noticing, for fear of becoming involved in something inconvenient.
Indicott moved about the block and onto another. Strangers moved subtly to allow him passage, those with children placed the child between themselves and Indicott.
He persisted on, looking very determined.
Then he saw it.
With a meaningful stride, Indicott approached a suited man, who eyed him with suspicion. Indicott looked from the man, to the half eaten banana in the man’s hand, then back to the man’s face.
The suited man mimicked Indicott’s motion, trying to find a reason.
Without warning, Indicott slapped the fruit from the man’s hand, then smiled.
“Don’t worry, it’s all going to be okay,” Indicott said.
“Fuck okay, you’ve just ruined my banana,” responded the man.
Indicott seemed taken aback.
The Asbrey Mental Health Institution was not nice. It smelled of something undefinable in existence. And so when anyone asked Conrad Fox, the chief psychologist, what the smell was, he had to tell them, “I don’t know.”
Conrad sat before a miniscule desk. A larger one once stood in it’s place, however the city management determined that the larger desk would serve the taxpayers better if it held the bottoms of unfaithful town managers, and their secretaries.
One of the many nameless orderlies stopped at the office door, which was constantly ajar to keep the horrid air from becoming stagnate.
“The cops brought another guy, here’s his processing file,” said the young man, tossing the file at the desk.
Picking it up, Conrad asked,
“Indicott Norrington, where’s the guy from?”
“The city,” said the orderly.
“What’s his behavior like now?”
“Well, he’s pretty calm now,” said the young man. “But he did scream and toss a bowl of banana’s from a third floor window.”
“Well he would have to do that, wouldn’t he,” Conrad said.
Shrugging, the young orderly placed a pair of headphones on his head, playing loud music.
Conrad sat in a soft chair, across from Indicott Norrington, who sat in an equally mushy seat, with more awkwardness than Conrad.
“So, Mr. Norrington, in this vision you were attacked by a banana?” Conrad asked.
Indicott shifted in the doughy chair, causing him to lean dramatically.
“No. I told the gentleman when I came in—I was eating a banana, which brought forth wrath, and created something which made the world collapse,” he said. “Call me Indicott.”
“Okay then, Indicott. This eating, who’s wrath did it bring forth?”
Indicott contemplated.
“I don’t really know that, it’s not usually part of my visions,” he said.
Conrad glanced up from from his notepad, studying Indicott.
“Visions? You mean you’ve had more than one?”
“Yes, three-hundred and forty to be exact,” replied Indicott
Conrad rubbed his temple.
This one’s going to be a long termer, he thought.
“Lets go back to the banana. I’m going to be direct, Indicott. What part of this vision would compel you to approach a man—in a suit no less—and throw his fruit to the ground?”
Indicott pulled himself from the hole his body made in the chair.
“Because bananas will cause the destruction of the planet.”
“Bananas,” said Conrad.
“Will destroy the planet, yes.”
Conrad tore the top sheet from his pad.
“Would you excuse me Indicott.”
“Of course, Doctor.”
The door to the observation room closed behind Conrad, he turned left, and then immediately left again, into the room which held the other side of the two-way mirror.
Standing with arms folded tight was Tobias Jovik, the assistant chief psychologist.
“He’s got a screw loose,” said Jovik.
Tossing the crumbled paper into a wastebasket, Conrad looked at Indicott through the mirror.
“Well, he is in a mental hospital,” Conrad said.
“Look at the guy, he looks like he could use a freaking banana,” Jovik said.
Jovik was right. Indicott’s limbs were gifted with little muscle. His brown hair was shaggy, though clean. His clothes were thin and stretched from too many washes. His face covered with stubble, threatening to become a full beard.
Jovik said, “He must be homeless. They didn’t find a wallet on him.”
“Maybe that’s why he’s a bit off,” replied Conrad.
“And why he believes fruit will end the world,” Jovik affirmed.
“Because he’s hungry?”
“No, that’s because he’s crazy,” said Jovik.
Conrad’s gaze remained on Indicott, who sat in the observation room as if he were waiting for an important appointment.
“I wonder how he would react if I brought him a banana? Confronting the issue might help him. Don’t you think?”
Offering an expression of concurrence, Jovik pulled off his pager.
“It might. It could also give him a panic attack and cause him to go into a self induced coma,” said Jovik. “I need to go, my patient on five has entered epic battle with the water people.”
Patting Conrad on the shoulder, Tobias Jovik left.
Back inside the observation room, Conrad sat drumming his fingers on the notepad.
“Indicott, can you tell me about your other visions?”
Indicott, looking troubled, found a safe position in the chair.
“No,” he said.
Conrad stopped the musical composition.
“No? Why not?”
Indicott replied, “I can’t remember them all. Three-hundred and forty visions are a lot as far as visions go. I lost track after sixty-five.”
Setting the notepad down entirely, Conrad considered Indicott with a frustrated expression.
“Then how do you know how many you’ve had?”
Indicott pointed towards the notepad.
“I write them all down, and keep them in my apartment.”
“Apartment? I thought you were homeless.”
“Why would you think I’m homeless?” asked Indicott.
“Well, you—I mean, you haven’t even got a wallet,” Conrad exclaimed.
“Why would not having a wallet make me homeless?”
Conrad thought about it.
“I don’t know—where is your apartment?” he said.
“The Tinsley Apartment building. Why? Do you want to visit?”
“Yes,” Conrad said. “I do.”
A kind faced woman sat across from Wynona Van Buren. The meeting had been arranged the previous day. The woman, calling herself Ally Norrington, had practically begged Wynona for it.
Wynona worked for the Asbrey Chronicle newspaper, the primary source of print news in the massive city. Norrington believed Wynona could be of assistance. Wynona had nothing better to do.
They met at a pizza place, and sat outside on steel chairs, at a steel table, on a concrete walkway. The Asbrey city street carried on, the buildings standing tall, disappearing in a fog.
“What can I do for you, Ms. Norrington?” Wynona asked the woman.
“My husband,” she said. “He’s gone. He’s been gone. It’s been a week, and I don’t know what to do.”
She appeared nervous, almost guilty to be making a request.
“Have you told the Police?” Wynona asked.
“No. They really are out of the question. My husband—his name is Indicott—he is very sensitive right now, he has been for a while,” She said. “Can I speak freely?”
“Um…Sure” Wynona said, feeling she was in between a waste of time, and a potentially intriguing story.
“Indicott is an extremely intelligent person,” said Mrs. Norrington. “We’ve been documenting everything on his mind for a while now, and I always suspected it was very valuable, what came from his mind. Valuable in ways difficult to understand. I woke up, a week ago, and Indicott, along with all of the documentation, were gone. Poof! My worst fear, I think, has come true. I think he has been kidnapped for his mind. I don’t know who found out. I don’t want to think about the evil that would steal away a mind as great as my husband’s. We have to find him, you have to help me. My Indicott and I, we’ve always read you in the paper. We trust you more than anyone else in this city.”
Wynona didn’t know what to think. Most of her articles in the Chronicle simply reported details of an event. No effort to build trust was put forth, because she didn’t feel it necessary. That part surprised her. The kidnapping theory hadn’t. That sort of thing just happened.
“What exactly can I do to help?” Wynona queried. “My only real resource would be the paper. I just don’t see--”
Mrs. Norrington interrupted, “You could do something.”
“Something? What something?”
“Any something. I trust you. I trust you, and I know you can do something to save my Indicott. What’s your favorite pizza?”
“What?”
“Your favorite pizza, the kind?”
“I don’t see…” She paused. “Pepperoni.”
“Excellent taste!” exclaimed Mrs. Norrington. “Taste as in taste, and taste as in sense of pizza culture. We were right in trusting you, all this time!”
They were at a pizza place, so it was somewhat logical, right? Wynona thought.
“Isn’t it just delightful how each pepperoni adds that little extra crustiness to the piece?”
Wynona nodded. Mrs. Norrington continued.
“Share a bit about yourself. How’d you get to be a talented, trustworthy journalist?”
Clearing her throat, Wynona said, “Oh. Well I…I attended college here in the city. I was always interested in research and writing, and over time I was just sure of what I was going to become. It felt right, like my purpose. I interned with the Chronicle, and the chief editor held a job for me at graduation. So…That’s it.”
Mrs. Norrington smiled sweetly, and placed her hands flat together, as if praying.
“That is so interesting.” Standing up, she went to Wynona’s side of the table, and wrapped around for a hug. “I trust you so much,” she said. “Indicott stands millions of chances because of you.”
She broke the hug, and pulled a card from her pocket. On the back, a hand written phone number.
“If you find anything at all, you can always reach me at that number. Thank you so so much. We are always grateful.”
Wynona did a lot of smiling, nodding, and feeling good about herself. She didn’t meet enough people like Mrs. Norrington. People were going downhill, she thought.
As Mrs. Norrington left, with many a smiling glance back, Wynona noticed that only fifteen minutes of her valuable, journalistic time had been wasted. There’s hope for people yet, she thought.
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This 71 word review has not been unlocked.
It works pretty well as an opening chapter. I like the humor. There are some good quirky scenes that bring out the character’s personality. The delivery and action sequences could be smoothed over and clarified for a more enjoyable read.
Here are some critical notes I took:
(He was standing on a mountain range.)
The reader doesn’t care or know who “he” is. Start with an exciting first line that goes straight into the plot.
(beyond the eye’s ability to see.)
Beyond the eye’s ability to see, or his ability?
(“I’m sorry! Please forgive me, I had no idea!”)
Great indication of the character’s persona.
(It continued coming towards him)
Passive- It came towards him.
(sat in a fetal position)
Is there more than one?
(Indicott was falling.)
Passive- Indicott fell.
(Nothing in Indicott’s mind told him he was falling down)
This doesn’t make sense. It’s more something your body tells you.
(He did see)
Passive- He saw
(The sensation of)
The word “sensation” is repeated in too close a proximity.
His name is repeated to often, especially since he is the only character thus far. It may become less blaring if you can come up with a good shorthand for this polysyllabic name.
(Several people trudged on with their days activities.)
This doesn’t work. Several people ignored him? Mentioning that he was ignored will alleviate the need for the next several sentences.
(Indicott moved about the block and onto another.)
This needs adjustment.
His actions of running through the street and into the man are sloppy. The language here needs succinct adjustments. Simple actions are happening and the reader should be able to see it. In this action based scene be extremely concise. This will make the line cut even better. I like the immediate statement about the institution, it works really well. It’s going to have even more of a humorous impact if the scene leading up to it is precise in conveying it’s serious absurdity.
(smelled of something undefinable in existence)
missed opportunity for description and humor- exe. the smell was somewhere between sauerkraut and airbags.
(if it held the bottoms)
That’s the function of the chair.
(Conrad sat …than Conrad.)
This sentence is cumbersome run-on. Find a way to say this with precision.
(visions,” he said.)
This tag isn’t necessary, the reader knows who’s talking. There are a couple others as well. In this back and forth dialog it’s pretty easy to follow who’s speaking. I wanted to see more nervous habits from Indicott. The awkwardness is mentioned before the scene but it isn’t shown within the scene- which would help the already strong dialog.
(“He’s got a screw loose,” said Jovik. “Well, he is in a mental hospital,”)
This doesn’t sound like a conversation Doctors may have in a mental institution. They see crazy people every day, so the likelihood that they will even mention in passing that he is crazy is slim.
I like the comment about the wallet.
(The Asbrey city street carried on)
This is one of a few times in which you mention people on the street are not doing much of anything. If you want to mention these people you might as well throw in some common activity rather than just state that it’s common.
(Wynona queried.) (Mrs. Norrington continued.)
Lame, unnecessary dialog tags. Find these and get rid of them.
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