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laboi_22

New Member
This is my first attempt at a mystery novel. Let me know what you think. Thanks:

*************************************
PROLOUGE

Ville Platte, Louisiana

Outside he could hear the howl of violent wind and the fierce roar of the thunder. The night sky was brought to light by extreme bursts of bloodcurdling lightning bolts, and Brandon Conner stood gravely in front of the mirror as he passed his hands through his thick locks of brunette hair. He could feel the crimson painful scratches from across his chest. His brown eyes were slightly blood-shot filled with fear and resentment as he thought about the job at hand.

“Mother, I have to go. I will be back as soon as I can” He shouted as he swallowed his panic, and moved towards the living room.

Peggy Conner was just finishing up with her last customer in the shop attached to the house. The smell of stifling fresh perm solution filled the air.

“Where are you off to Brandon?”

“Mom, I told you I had to finish some school work at the library in Opelousas. It’s for my World History class. It’s due in three weeks.”

“Can’t you wait until later? At least until this storm passes?”
“No, I have to go. I’ll be alright.” He planted a kiss on his mother’s cheek.

Peggy could almost feel the anxious shake that rattled at the core of his body. She wasn’t sure what caused him so much apprehension, but she had to let him go. After all, he was twenty years old.

He climbed into his green Isuzu and took off. Thick layers of rain continued to hammer across his wind shield making it hard for him to see. He tuned into the local radio station to take his mind off the pain. As he drove, images of his current girlfriend and someday fiancé danced in front of his eyes. He stared down at the brown envelope that sat next to him on the passenger side. The only writing on it said “Please deliver to 112 South Union Street, Opelousas, Louisiana” in messy cursive handwriting.

As he turned on highway 167 South to Opelousas, he noticed how desolate the highway seemed. The town had emptied out as soon as the local weather man announced impending severe thunderstorms with possible flash flooding. The radio interrupted his thoughts with a loud emergency broadcast signal followed by the words of Don Goldman, the local TV 10 weather man. He warned every one of the tornados that touched down in several areas North of Ville Platte, Tornado Alley, as everyone called it.
A slow steady beam of headlights filled the view of his rear view mirror. The beam approached his truck slowly, moving closer by the second. At first he couldn’t tell what type of vehicle followed behind him. As it slowly approached, he was able to make out the emblem on the front of the car. It was a champagne colored Honda Accord. He remembered what the mirror said as he took a deep breath “objects in mirror are closer than they appear.”

Suddenly he felt the vehicle behind move closer, and signaled to pass him up. As the vehicle passed him it slowed, and blew the horn. Brandon’s eyes were filled with terror, and the driver waved just before he side swiped Brandon’s truck. Brandon knew he was going to loose a fight that he no longer had the strength to struggle for anymore. He slowly caught his breath and picked up his cell phone. The signal faded in and out as it always did that in this area. He managed to place one call. He dialed Eric Doucet’s cell phone, and before the first ring the face of the phone flashed a message that read “signal faded”. At that moment, the driver next to him side swiped him again. Brandon felt his hand let go of the wheel as his head spun out of control. The loud screech of the tires from below slowly began to stop as he flew off the road. His airbag deployed and his sight went black. Was it over? Had he died? He could still smell the stench of burned rubber and smoke. He could hear the rain. He was able to visualize his sister, fiancé, and mother. Their images flashed in front of his face as they cried out his name. Warm drops of liquid filled his mouth as the dark red blood fell from the top of his head.

His door swung open. Rain began pouring in washing off some of the blood that clouded his view. The sinister voice of the familiar face brought his cheek near Brandon’s.

“I’m doing this to protect you and others. Sorry!”

The tire iron smashed into his head, and before he could move it was over. The loud sound of the tire iron turned the man’s stomach while it flew across the street. As it skid by it formed sparks until it made its way to a halt in the ditch. The man pulled out a Camel and lit it. As he took a long drag, he made his way through the now light rain back into his vehicle.
 
I'm going to try something below; I won't add any words (well, maybe a couple of conjunctions), but I'm going to take some away, just as an experiment. I think you write well, but in my opinion not all of the adjectives/articles/words are necessary and it might flow better with less of them.

laboi_22 said:
PROLOGUE

Ville Platte, Louisiana

Outside he could hear the howl of violent wind and the fierce roar of thunder. The night sky was brought to light by bursts of bloodcurdling lightning bolts, and Brandon Conner stood gravely in front of the mirror as he passed his hands through his thick locks of brunette hair. He could feel the crimson painful scratches from across his chest, and his brown eyes were slightly blood shot, filled with fear and resentment as he thought about the job at hand.
“Mother, I have to go. I will be back as soon as I can,” he shouted as he swallowed his panic and moved towards the living room. Peggy Conner was just finishing up with her last customer in the shop attached to the house. The smell of stifling fresh perm filled the air. “Where are you off to Brandon?” “Mom, I told you I had to finish some school work at the library in Opelousas. It’s for my World History class. It’s due in three weeks.” “Can’t you wait until later? At least until this storm passes?” “No, I have to go. I’ll be alright.” He planted a kiss on his mother’s cheek. She could almost feel the anxious shake that rattled the core of his body. She wasn’t sure what caused him so much apprehension, but she had to let him go. After all, he was twenty years old.
He climbed into his green Isuzu and took off. Thick layers of rain continued to hammer across his wind shield making it hard for him to see. He tuned into the local radio station to take his mind off the pain. As he drove, images of his current girlfriend and someday fiancé danced in front of his eyes. He stared down at the brown envelope that sat next to him on the passenger side. The only writing on it said “Please deliver to 112 South Union Street, Opelousas, Louisiana” in messy cursive handwriting.
As he turned on highway 167 South to Opelousas, he noticed how desolate the highway seemed. The town had emptied out as soon as the local weather man announced impending severe thunderstorms with possible flash flooding. The radio interrupted his thoughts with a loud emergency broadcast signal followed by the words of Don Goldman, the local TV 10 weather man. He warned every one of the tornados that touched down in several areas North of Ville Platte, Tornado Alley, as everyone called it.
A slow steady beam of headlights filled his rear view mirror. The beam approached his truck slowly, moving closer by the second. At first he couldn’t tell what type of vehicle followed behind him. As it slowly approached he was able to make out the emblem on the front of the car. It was a champagne colored Honda Accord. He remembered what the mirror said as he took a deep breath, “objects in mirror are closer than they appear.”
Click to expand...
Okay, break time. Most of what I took out was in the first few sentences; I feel those adjectives were redundant with the strength of the verbs used (roar, bursts) and noun (howl), plus I left some adjectives (violent, fierce, bloodcurdling), so any more are extraneous. Also, I combined a couple sentences because (IMHO) it reads smoother, less choppy.

One problem I'm having with the story in the next section is that Brandon identified the car behind him (champagne Honda), and then it says he can't make out what type of vehicle it is..? Also, you can't really feel the vehicle signal, so I changed that. But back to the action...

Suddenly he felt the vehicle behind move closer, and it signaled to pass him up. He couldn’t see very well and could not make out what type of vehicle was following him. (?) As the vehicle passed him it slowed and blew the horn. Brandon’s eyes were filled with terror, and the driver waved just before he sideswiped Brandon’s truck. Brandon knew he was going to lose a fight that he no longer had the strength for. He slowly caught his breath and picked up his cell phone. The signal faded in and out as it always did in that area, but he managed to place one call. He dialed Eric Doucet’s cell phone and before the first ring the face of the phone flashed a message that read “signal faded”. When he looked up, the driver next to him sideswiped him again. Brandon felt his hand let go of the wheel as his head spun out of control. His airbag deployed and his sight went black. Was it over? Had he died? He could still smell the stench of burned rubber and smoke. He could hear the rain and the cry of his sister, fiancé, and mother. Warm drops of liquid filled his mouth as the dark red blood fell from the top of his head.
His door swung open. Rain began pouring in washing off some of the blood that clouded his view. The sinister voice of the familiar face brought his check(?) near Brandon’s. “I’m doing this to protect you and others. Sorry!”
The tire wrench smashed into his head, and before he could move it was over. The loud sound of the tire wrench flew across the street and formed sparks as it made its way to a halt in the ditch across the street. He pulled out a Camel and lit it. As he took a long drag he made his way through the rain back into his vehicle.
Click to expand...

Some notes: A passenger can't sideswipe the truck (so I changed it to driver). I removed the "chills up and down the spine" because it's cliche and redundant after "his eyes were filled with terror." "no longer...anymore" is redundant so I removed the "anymore".

There's too abrupt a jump from his cell phone dropping the call to looking up and seeing the sideswipe. Perhaps you should have him sideswiped without looking up, because it's more likely it would catch him off guard if he's trying to make a call. Example: instead of "When he looked up, the driver sideswiped him again" you could say "At that moment, the driver," or "Suddenly the driver," or "Immediately the driver."

One sentence I didn't really understand was the screech of the tires slowly stopping as the car went off the pavement. There might be a better way to phrase it if you're trying to imply that the screech echoed in his head after it stopped, or maybe you meant something else...

"The loud sound of the tire wrench flew across the street and formed sparks..." Now, a sound CAN fly across the street, but it can't form sparks, although I think you meant the wrench to do both the flying and the sparking, so I'd just erase the "loud sound of the," but if you want to work in the sound of the wrench scraping across pavement, I'd say that's a good idea, it's just up to you how. Also, you have "across the street" twice in that sentence, so eliminate one of them.

Finally, a bit of confusion with the fiance and the mother suddenly appearing in one of the cars? Also, the POV changes in the last two sentences so that "He" becomes the murderer, but it's too abrupt; you need to demarcate that change more clearly.

Overall, it's well written. You do a good job of creating both atmosphere and action, and it piques my interest which may ultimately be the entire point to writing.
 
When posting long passages can you please use a space between paragraphs? It's easier on the eye. Thanks.
 
:cool: I agree with Nathan's changes. Much tighter. Flows easier.

A few things, however; you need to combine some words: blood shot = bloodshot, weather man = weatherman, wind shield = windshield, every one = everyone.

Other than that, you may only need a few changes with your comma usage.
 
Lovely, sounds like home, neighbor!! I have just a few suggestions (opinions)concerning adjectives and prepositions.

...He could feel the crimson painful scratches from across his chest. His brown eyes were slightly blood-shot filled with fear and resentment as he thought about the job at hand.
Click to expand...
"...painful crimson scratches..." sounds better, and a comma between blood-shot and filled
The smell of stifling fresh perm solution filled the air.
Click to expand...
Try "The stifling smell of fresh perm solution..."

Otherwise, good. I can't wait to read some more!
 
Thanks

Thanks so much cajun momma! Glad to know there are more of us out there. Where are you from. I live in Abbeville but I'm orignally from Ville Platte. I'm a nurse over at Our Lady of Lourdes. I am in the process of reconstructing my novel Gifts of Lethal Exchange. Read on below and tell me what you think about the new Prolouge. Thanks again!!
 
New Prolouge

The night was dark and dreary. Not a single star in the sky. No moonlight to guide his path. The killer, dressed in his black hooded robe, made his way down the streets of the oaks. The Oaks was a quiet residential neighborhood, filled with middle classed residents, of Ville Platte, Louisiana. The lightning illuminated the night sky casting beautiful shadows of the hooded bandit. He always admired the immense power of severe thunder storms. He pulled his hood fully over his head, as the rain began to make its way down. He pulled out, from his cloak pocket, a compact digital camera, and attempted to capture a photo of the lightning bolts that blasted through the sky. He was a natural photographer. “I’ll add this to my collection at home.” He said to himself. Proud of the natural wonder he just captured through his lens.

He propped himself up against the stop sign at the corner of Norward and Sue Streets. He thought about the victims. About the pictures that filled his cork board on the wall in his basement. He only attacked after midnight, and as a general rule it had to be a stormy night. March was the perfect month for attacks in the Deep South. Thunder storms were frequent and violent. He used a photo shop style program to make collages of his victims. The background of the collage was pictures of stormy weather captured before the time of attack. Each particular background reminded him of every unique innocent victim. He wasn’t doing anything wrong. He was cleaning the city out of messengers for the horrible ring he was once a part of.

It was a shame that innocent people had to die, and that his art work was a result of their pain. As an artist, his main goal was to combine photos of human pain, with the pain that Mother Nature inflicted upon her people. Many times the background of his photos was of damage caused by the storm. Other times they were of the actual storm in all its force, the lightning, the clouds, the wind in the trees, the fallen signs on the side of the road. How beautiful he thought.

The boy’s name was Brandon Conner. As with all the victims, he was not technically a boy, he was in his early twenties. The killer watched his every move for close to a month. He knew when his mother left on business. He knew what time he got home from class. He also knew that Brandon had been a starting quarterback for his high school football team before he graduated. A stunning good looking young fellow thought the killer. He knew Brandon worked at the grocery store a block away from his home. He knew he was making only minimum wage to sweep floors, and clean up after closing time. Most of the boys caught up in the ring did what they did for the money. Usually five hundred dollars cash per run.

Each delivery was accurate, and timed according to the mail carriers schedule. The leader, whose face was never seen, by the messenger had everything planned out. The documents to be delivered were in a thin yellow envelope with specific instructions of date, time, and location of delivery. The messenger didn’t receive payment, until he picked up the conformation slip placed inside of the mail box of the delivery location. It was all innocent. The messenger didn’t even know what was being delivered, or what type of work he was doing. The five hundred dollar cash prize was all that mattered.

Being an ex-member, and at one time assistant to the leader, the killer knew what kind of danger the messenger was getting himself into. The boy would be killed eventually, if not by him, then by the leader. The messenger was also not aware of the people he placed in grave danger, after he delivered the documents.

The rain continued to bear down on his back. The back pack, swung over his shoulder, was getting increasingly heavy. He glanced at his watch, and prepared to make his move. It didn’t matter that this was his fourth victim, his stomach still turned with nervousness, every time another victim was taken. He calmed his thoughts with the fact that his cork board would have another addition to it, another masterpiece, another work of grand art.

He peeled himself away from the cold wet stop sign, and proceeded towards the home of Brandon Conner. He watched as the light from his bedroom went completely black. He knew just what door had trouble locking, and how far that door was from Brandon’s room. When his parents were away, he slept in his mother and father’s bedroom. He pulled the leather mask from out of his shoulder bag and placed it over his face, and slipped on the bulky leather gloves. As he walked, his shoes swished, as a result of the rain that accumulated in them. Deep breath lets do it he told himself.

He jumped the fence leading into the back yard, being careful not to make any noise. He slowly and quietly approached the back door, and pushed it open. The loud sound of the thunder above created a mask to the sound the door made when he entered. He crept down the hall looking in every corner taking in everything the nice house had to offer. Finally he arrived at Brandon’s door. He placed the knife in his right hand, and pulled the door open with his left. Brandon didn’t move when the killer entered the room. The killer’s breathe now became labored. The sounds could be heard a mile away coming from under the mask. He pulled out his camera again and said “Ahh a deep sleeper” almost to himself. Brandon still without movement, he managed to capture of few pictures of the young good looking broad in front of him.

Suddenly, due to the flash of the camera, which is what the killer wanted, Brandon awoke.

“Who are you and what do you want from me?”

The killer remained quiet. and Brandon asked louder this time, the same question.

“Don’t worry little guy. You won’t remember a thing that happened this night.” The killer was now approaching him with extreme force.

Before Brandon could move he jabbed the sharp knife into his stomach. Brandon sat straight up in his bed. Blood now pouring out like a fountain in Italy. His hands fell across his stomach in effort to stop the constant pouring of blood. He yelled into the silent stormy night.

“Why!”

The killer, thrilled with Brandon’s pain, pulled out his camera again snapping several shots of the slain boy in bed with blood gushing out violently.

The killer pulled him down by his thick hair, and placed his bag on the floor. He stooped to pull out yet another mask along with leather restraints. He placed the mask over Brandon’s head. Brandon did not put up much of a fight. His face now pale, and skin quickly turning clammy and cold. He tied Brandon’s feet up to the footboard of his bed, followed by his hands in the same fashion. He paused for a moment capturing even more pictures of Brandon’s misery. He cut the rest of Brandon’s clothing off of him, with is blood covered knife, and used that same knife to split his penis down the middle of his shaft. Another jolt of pain sent up Brandon’s lifeless spine. He managed a slight whimper. He applied a leather covering over the now split penis, and used the long leather stings attached to the cover, to tie it up to the ceiling fan. Again more pictures.

Job well done he thought, as he created the last piece of his majestic art work. He laid a gift box on the top of his chest. The box was purple and blue with a red bow around it. No words. Not even a message tag. A few more pictures then he left the room, after packing up the remaining items he needed, and flipped the switch to the ceiling fan turning it on. The last whimper of pain Brandon would ever make was released.
 
My immedite thoughts are that this would be a definite favourite for the Bulwer-Lytton Fiction Contest, going one better than the novel Paul Clifford.

I'm still amazed at your inability to spell Prologue and have already suggested, in another thread, that you use a spellchecker.

Referring to a character as 'the killer', in my opinion, sounds childish.

I suggest you learn how to properly characterise somebody; this killer sounds like a joke. He's neither frightening nor worthy of dread.

It's probably your choice of words - they don't, in my opinion, create any sort of atmosphere although it is evident that you are trying. Unless you are writing for children then I don't expect you can get away by using words evocative of atmosphere without actually using them in the context of the character's perceptions. Words such as thunder, lightning, dark, rain, etc. may help to create an atmosphere but when the narrative doesn't work with these words then nothing is created other than another clichéd dark and stormy night.

There is reference to the oaks and then the next sentence it has changed to the Oaks. Which is it?

Why is a question and not an exclamation.


I agree with sirmyk in that words need to be combined since, for some reason, you insist on splitting them. Thunderstorm, for example, is one word as is backpack. The software Photoshop, likewise, is one word.

The dialogue is terribly wooden. Who are you and what do you want from me? Maybe he did say this but how did he say it? There's no emotion in the speech. Also, when describing someone's thoughts, place the thoughts in italics and use a comma to separate the thoughts from he thought.

I don't agree with Nathan with respect to the style of your writing. My opinion is that it is very weak and riddled with jarring choices of words, bad characters and dialogue, and a lack of any real atmosphere or style.

At lot of this is showing and not telling. Take the first sentence as an example:

The night was dark and dreary. Not a single star in the sky. No moonlight to guide his path.
Click to expand...

Aprt from the obvious cliché this is a perfect example of telling which should be avoided at all times. Have a character's persepctive mention the sky in passing; let it all be implicit rather than explcitly telling the reader.
 
I think we have to consider the possibility that laboi is taking the piss.

"Blood now pouring out like a fountain in Italy."

"He yelled into the silent stormy night."

"The sounds could be heard from a mile away coming from under the mask."

These are just beyond funny.

Stewart's suggestion about Bulwer-Lytton should be taken seriously.
 
Thanks guys

Taking a piss?

Thanks once again everyone for your professional sound advice.

Prolouge Prolouge Prolouge Prolouge Prolouge Prolouge!! Sorry for the mispell its truly just a finger slip.

Stew your advice means alot and thanks for it. I can tell your good at what you do. I understand now what you mean by allowing the character to explain his surroundings. One question though ,what is the point of the narrartor? Just asking. What is the narrator's role in telling the story? Please elloborate and provide example of the narrator and the primary character in a particular scence. Thanks again!
 
laboi_22 said:
Thanks so much cajun momma! Glad to know there are more of us out there. Where are you from. I live in Abbeville but I'm orignally from Ville Platte. I'm a nurse over at Our Lady of Lourdes. I am in the process of reconstructing my novel Gifts of Lethal Exchange. Read on below and tell me what you think about the new Prolouge. Thanks again!!
Click to expand...

I'm in Franklin! Only about a half hour from Abbeville. I have a friend who occaissionally works at Lourdes.

The revision is good. Stewart and Novella are on to some good points. The reader should experience the environment as the characters do, not be told what the environment is like. I also think that maybe you are relying on having a Narrator instead of narration. Let the story tell itself instead of having the Narrator tell the story. Other than that, just minor typos and such.
 
Cool Thanks again cajunmomma

Its cool that your not that far from. Very cool. I have worked some agency shifts before at the hospital in Franklin in the ICU. Very small. Anyway thanks for the pointers I will try to make it better. Hopefully everyone one day will approve. One day I'll do it all right. LOL

Justin
 
laboi_22 said:
Its cool that your not that far from. Very cool. I have worked some agency shifts before at the hospital in Franklin in the ICU. Very small. Anyway thanks for the pointers I will try to make it better. Hopefully everyone one day will approve. One day I'll do it all right. LOL

Justin
Click to expand...

Yup, way cool. I've been to our little hospital a few times myself.

Keep working at it. You'll get it right, if you keep at it.
 
Some further input

:cool: I agree with using narration instead of a narrator. Narrators are for cheesy "Lifetime Channel" dramas. Definitely switch to narration to speak your voice.

I would start your prologue here:

"The lightning illuminated the night sky casting beautiful shadows of the hooded bandit"

...but would lose the words "beautiful" (change to dancing?) and "bandit" (change to something more mysterious and less cliche?) ...and would ditch every line before it.

When I write, I usually ditch the first page or two, which usually tightens things up and gets rid of useless narration.

Work more on showing the reader what you are conveying in your writings.
 
Thanks so much for the advice

I actually got the same advice from someone else but she said to cut off a lot of the first part and start with

"The rain continued to bear down on his back. The back pack, swung over his shoulder, was getting increasingly heavy. He glanced at his watch, and prepared to make his move. It didn’t matter that this was his fourth victim, his stomach still turned with nervousness, every time another victim was taken. He calmed his thoughts with the fact that his cork board would have another addition to it, another masterpiece, another work of grand art."

I think that would work better with some rewording. Thanks again for your valued input!

Justin
 
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