Story I Hope to Turn Into a Novel

[Danneskjold]

Unforunately for me, I strive for perfection. What this means when I'm writing a story is that I can never get past the first two pages on Word because I spend all my time editing them instead of creating new material. So here is the first bit of a story I started and am hoping to someday further.

Then there were three. Just like that, one of our clique gone in the blink of an eye. I could hardly believe it was true as I saw her lying naked, dead, on the bed in the hotel room. Blood staining the linens, even splattered on the wall, result of a hard blow to the head. Cause of death: blunt force trauma. Those lifeless eyes were unceasingly staring at the ceiling, a look of fear and pain frozen onto the corpse's features. Pre-mortem bruising was showing itself all over her body. A pair of black and blue hands wrapped around her neck never loosing their grip. Here's the start:

The police circled her, taking DNA samples from her body, vying to find the fingerprint of the unseen aggressor. A strange mix of horror, wonder, and sorrow swirled through my head like a hurricane sweeping every other thought away. I could scarcely control my impulses. Every muscle, bone, and fiber in me wanted to cry out all at once. They wanted to go up and shake her, the figure who was once my friend, which lay on that bed in a futile attempt to bring back what was lost.

That figure had once been my best friend, once been my love. But now, it was a mass. A pile of flesh, it had no heart beat, no brain activity. The friend that I had held nearest my heart, the woman for which I desired, was no longer either of those. She had been reduced to a lifeless pile of skin, and bones.

Even in death she retained her beauty, her long brown hair straightened just past her shoulder blades, the feminine perfection of her face was still apparent through the horror that seemed so out of place on what I knew to be such a happy and loving face, the curvaceous beauty of her body remained in tact. But her soft, tan skin had long since grown cold.

What haunted me deepest was that I knew that all that was left of her were the memories. The now vivid recollections of her beautiful smile, unceasing wit, and gentle kindness, and a case number, had become all that was left behind to console her loved ones.

That's all I have right now. I would love input on what I can do to improve. I'm debating where to go with this story though. Whether I want to turn it into a chase or a mystery and how to transition into either.

[Brant Gaede]

Dan, try doing first drafts in longhand.

--Brant

[Chris Grieb]

I don't think the police would be checking for DNA. They would be getting bodily fulids and other samples. DNA would be tested for later.

[PalePower]

Unforunately for me, I strive for perfection. What this means when I'm writing a story is that I can never get past the first two pages on Word because I spend all my time editing them instead of creating new material. So here is the first bit of a story I started and am hoping to someday further.

Then there were three. Just like that, one of our clique gone in the blink of an eye. I could hardly believe it was true as I saw her lying naked, dead, on the bed in the hotel room. Blood staining the linens, even splattered on the wall, result of a hard blow to the head. Cause of death: blunt force trauma. Those lifeless eyes were unceasingly staring at the ceiling, a look of fear and pain frozen onto the corpse's features. Pre-mortem bruising was showing itself all over her body. A pair of black and blue hands wrapped around her neck never loosing their grip. Here's the start:

The police circled her, taking DNA samples from her body, vying to find the fingerprint of the unseen aggressor. A strange mix of horror, wonder, and sorrow swirled through my head like a hurricane sweeping every other thought away. I could scarcely control my impulses. Every muscle, bone, and fiber in me wanted to cry out all at once. They wanted to go up and shake her, the figure who was once my friend, which lay on that bed in a futile attempt to bring back what was lost.

That figure had once been my best friend, once been my love. But now, it was a mass. A pile of flesh, it had no heart beat, no brain activity. The friend that I had held nearest my heart, the woman for which I desired, was no longer either of those. She had been reduced to a lifeless pile of skin, and bones.

Even in death she retained her beauty, her long brown hair straightened just past her shoulder blades, the feminine perfection of her face was still apparent through the horror that seemed so out of place on what I knew to be such a happy and loving face, the curvaceous beauty of her body remained in tact. But her soft, tan skin had long since grown cold.

What haunted me deepest was that I knew that all that was left of her were the memories. The now vivid recollections of her beautiful smile, unceasing wit, and gentle kindness, and a case number, had become all that was left behind to console her loved ones.

That's all I have right now. I would love input on what I can do to improve. I'm debating where to go with this story though. Whether I want to turn it into a chase or a mystery and how to transition into either.

You've got writing talent, that's sure, but always keep in mind the axiom, "Show, don't tell." I would say, to make it super effective, use only a paragraph or two to describe her physical condition - and just that. Wrap it up with a one-sentence reaction, like, "She was on the bed, blah blah, her hair, blah, blah, (then): The only sensation stronger than my shock as I gazed at her naked, mutilated form, was the overwhelming urge to throw myself down on the floor and scream until I coughed blood." If you're describing your own personal mental state too much, it sounds forced: you're looking at your dead lover - you're in shock, you aren't CAPABLE of in-depth introspection.

Same thing with describing her character - don't make sweeping generalizations like "unceasing wit" and "gentle kindness" or use weak language like "beautiful smile." That doesn't impress readers whatsoever, lots of people they know are beautiful or witty or kind. . . give them examples to dwell upon, so they can feel the character's pain by themselves and not by command. Tell them instead, like, "All I could think of was her smile. . . how it always took her several moments, starting with her eyes. You could tell a smile was coming by a slow sparkle, a warm shimmer within the deep green, then an explosion of brilliance spreading down over her lashes, her cheeks, and finally to her lips, which would part in a gasp of uncontainable joy, spilling laughter all over the glimmering world."

Etc. etc. Good job!

[Danneskjold]

Lol, better advice than I've ever recieved from an english teacher. He has this bad habit of taking points off my grade then not telling me why. Anyways, I'll definitely try to apply that to my future writing.

Edit: Just realized that I posted that story wrong up there. That second paragraph is supposed to be the first of the story, I just didn't realize where I was putting that last sentence on there. It won't let me edit it for some reason.

Edited December 22, 2006 by Jeff Kremer