New Project.

[trentm32]

[Random Name]

[trentm32]

I haven't really decided yet how many parts there'll be... but I do pretty much know where it's going. As far as the overall arc (as to say), this is pretty much just laying the characters and the framework; and in the rest of it I'm going to play with these characters, and basically screw their lives up a LOT. lol

I will say that the overall dilemma and climax of the story will be Jake trying to save Chris...and that's all I'm gonna say

There'll be more soon; I'm going back over the next few days and doing rewrites and tweaks over all these first eight chapters. Once I wind that down, I'm gonna start focusing on the next parts of the story.

w00t!

BTW, still shopping my first novel to publishers, and haven't had any luck yet. If all else fails, I may just man up and self-publish to at least get it out there (I would of course expect all of you to buy at least, like... 100 copies )

[Random Name]

Hahaha that would be fun.

Ok, basically I heard once someone talking about the best way to write. They said basically you create your main character, and then you throw them into the worst situation imaginable and see what happens.
And thats sort of what you did. So thats kind of cool.

Also, as something constructive for any rewrites your doing, my suggestion is to keep in mind that with this story imparticular, less is more.
Try to keep things as simple and straightforward as possible. Don't try to hide things from the audience. If the character knows it, we should know it. The best suspence is always in the situation that you've already created, not in the slow reveal of it. And good metaphors and themes arise out of subtly. If you mention it, it will be there, and it will be understood. Its about interpreting what you've already written.

Still, you've done a fantastic job with this. I can see a lot of improvement from the novel.

Really good and interesting stuff.

[trentm32]

Sar,

thanks a lot! That's basically what I'm going for with this--to try to write a little more...for lack of a better word... "mature". To use literary devices, a dash of subtlety, suspense, and themes--and of course an added level of complexity.

The novel was something I just kind of had to do--to learn how to write, ya know. It isn't great; but it taught me a ton on how to develop characters, etc. Plus I learned the valuable less that characters drive a story--not the other way around.

That's kind of where I'm going with this. It basically started in my head as a mental image of the opening chapter; it just seemed creepy and intriguing. THEN I sat down and tried to figure out what could drive a person to that point, etc.; it's been more fun to write than anything I've ever written. Plus I LOOOOVE writing in chapter format; it give you quite a bit of options in how to deal with things.

as always, immeasurable thanks for the feedback ole' pal!

[trentm32]

[christa lynn]

much creepier, I like

[trentm32]

a new chapter! the story continues!

Chapter Nine

“The Beginning of the Beginning of the End”

From above it must have looked like an ocean of black umbrellas drowning in a sea of granite stones. But, from my eyes, all I saw was the freezing rain pouring like torrents all around, but never actually hitting me. I looked around me and wondered why all of these people insisted on keeping the rain from their faces while they all had tears already streaming down their cheeks.
I was staring at a woman standing beside me—she looked familiar but I couldn’t quite recognize her—when Cassandra squeezed my hand in hers. She gently leaned her head on my shoulder and whispered ‘I love you’ in my ear.
I tried to smile at her and kissed her on the forehead. She had said that to me twice before; I had never been comfortable enough to say it back to her, and it didn’t seem to be changing for the time being, either. We got along well, and I enjoyed being with her…but that type of commitment was still a bit more than I could muster.
I was burying my brother now. That was more than enough to focus on for the time being.
It had been an hour and a half since I had shattered my cell phone on the hard stone floor of the empty church hallway. I just left it there—it was likely still lying there—and shakily stumbled my way back to my seat in the church hall to finish out the service.
I didn’t know what to do; I didn’t know what to think. I was trying to convince myself that I had just imagined it out of grief and sleep deprivation—but even that was a hard pill to swallow. It had seemed so…real.
I looked off in the distance and saw a mountainous skyline of black clouds choking out the blue sky. The rain just seemed to pour harder as the day drew on. In the back of my mind I could still almost hear the ringing, and I could still almost hear his voice.
Almost.
The same short, old man who had been droning on in the church was leading the ceremonies outside, as well.
You could tell he was trying to hurry to get everyone out of the rain. He was talking much faster than he had on the inside, and he kept shifting his feet to try and keep from getting his shoes muddy. In a way, it made me mad.
The words he was saying just sounded so routine. Like they were the same words he had used a hundred times before at a hundred different funerals. Chris didn’t deserve that; he deserved better.
Before I even knew it the man was leading one quick, final prayer; and after that everyone began to trickle away almost immediately. A few stray people dropped a few stray flowers; and that was it.
He was gone.
“We can stay as long as you want,” Cassandra whispered in my ear. I barely even noticed her. I handed her the umbrella, and began slowly making my way toward the six-foot deep hole in the ground where my brother would soon be resting. I walked up to the heavy, dark wooden casket and laid my hand gently upon its lid.
My tears began mixing with the rain, as I stood there; stooped alone on the muddy ground.
“I’m going to miss you, big brother.” It struck me then that he was the only real family that I had. I’d never looked at it that way before. I started thinking about our parents; I wondered what it would be like to not even know that your son had died.
What it would be like to abandon your children.
I almost wanted to just lay down there with him. He’d only been gone a few days and I missed him more than I had ever imagined I could. My big brother was right here, in the ground; lying in his sepulcher without a sea.
I couldn’t stop crying. I didn’t want to get up with tears in my eyes—even though they were more than masked by the pouring rain. My suit was soaked through, and I could feel the fabric clinging tightly to my skin. It felt claustrophobic, yet somehow comforting.
Before I even knew what was happening I found myself bending down close to the thick, wooden lid. I placed my ear lightly on the cool, wet surface. I could hear the water beating hard down on it. It tickled my ear as the water trickled off in every direction. I was straining to hear, and listening hard for…anything.
The sound of thumping water and crackling thunder echoing in the distance were all I heard. I slowly raised my head and looked behind me to find Cassandra still standing a few feet behind me, waiting patiently. She smiled a warm, glowing smile.
After a few long moments I finally gave up.
As I rose up I noticed for the first time how cold I was. I took a few steps back toward Cassandra and the safety of my open umbrella. A thick shiver shot through my body as I looked back one last time before my brother was lowered into the ground. As I stood there I just looked at Cassandra and smiled.
She was there for me, she seemed to always be there for me.
It was in that moment that I realized I might love her.

[trentm32]

[trentm32]

[crustine]

i need to read this again.

[trentm32]

[crustine]

[trentm32]

The story continues...

Chapter Twelve

“A Stained Glass Masterpiece”

Cassandra had drug me to this place a handful of times, but for the first time I had come of my own free will. It had been three days since the last call came through in my bedroom apartment. It had been three days since my dead brother had asked for my help.
It had been a long three days.
I told Cassandra that I had to work today—truth be told I was probably fired by now. My thread-thin part-time position at the local paper had likely already passed on to a new, unassuming intern.
Cassandra would have wanted to come with me if she knew that I was coming here. It was on the other side of town, and I still couldn’t even figure out why this, of all places, was the venue I chose to come to.
Every memory I had of this large, open space was one of boredom and lethargy. But still, it felt like the place to be.
I craned my head around the room to find that I was completely alone. I thought that I had heard someone in the balcony when I walked in, but a close inspection of the seats and rows high above me proved fruitless.
The sun was trickling weakly through the impossibly large stained glass windows hanging haunted above my head. The likeness of unnamed saints glared and smiled down upon me from their eternal homes; etched in fragile color, and detail. Every wall surrounding me was a stained glass masterpiece, extending to the ceilings that were already reaching toward the heavens.
I wanted to know what to do. I wanted to know how to help him.
I was looking for a sign, something—anything that would show me. I had gotten tired of watching the phone, so with a new cell in my pocket the idea to look elsewhere had finally risen to the forefront of my clouded mind.
Since I didn’t know how to ask, or who to ask for help; I figured I might as well just start talking, and maybe someone—something—up there might hear me. My eyes slowly rose to the massive chandelier dangling heavily at what could have easily been a mile above my head.
I had never been a praying man, so I wasn’t actually sure how to begin. I figured I should at least be in a church—maybe that way he would have a better chance at hearing me—so that’s why I was here.
I ran my hands through my hair and tried to piece together what I wanted to say.
Suddenly I heard a loud “clap” coming from far behind me. I jumped slightly, and quickly turned my head to find a man taking the final step off of the stairs from the balcony, onto the stone floor on which my feet rested.
It was dark, but I could make out that the man was tall and slender. His hair was dark; dark as night—and he had a pair of skinny jeans tied around his waist. He had an old, grey t-shirt that seemed to hang loosely off of his shoulders. He just stood there for a few moments, I felt like he was watching me. I couldn’t see his eyes, but I could feel them. Once a few more seconds had passed he slowly began walking towards me.
He finally passed underneath a light reflecting in from the back of the hall, and I got a look at his face. His features were plain, and his eyes seemed to sink back, deep into his head. He had a light layer of unkempt, scraggly stubble filling his cheeks, and climbing down onto his neck.
I couldn’t make out what color his eyes were, but I could tell definitively now that he was watching me. After a few more moments, and a few more steps, he was standing almost right beside me. Through the corner of my eye I could see him really well now. He looked to be in his early thirties, and seemed to have an air of unassuming madness and congeniality surrounding him incessantly.
I raised my head to find him smiling down on me.
“Hi,” he nonchalantly said.
“My name’s Jack.” His accent seemed Northern, but confused and not quite. A dash of Southern, a bit of Californian; and a hint of Mexican were all there, too. It was like a mish-mash of lives, and a mish-mash of places, was co-existing happily in this man’s spoken diction.
I hadn’t slept in a while, so before I answered him I haphazardly shook my head and searched around the large spacious room for, well; nothing, really. When I looked back up again, he was still there.
“Hello,” I finally replied, somewhat confusedly.
“I’m Jake.”
He smiled a wider smile at that, and reached his hand out to shake mine.
“Pleasure to meet you, Jake,” he said, as he bowed half-jokingly—yet with just enough seriousness to be believable, and sincere. After a couple of moments, he politely asked,
“Mind if I sit down?” I shrugged my shoulders as I looked around the empty room, filled to the brim with empty pews, and finally slid over to give him space on mine.
He just kept staring at me and smiling. Suddenly he spoke:
“So, how you doin’, pal?” He had a warm, content smile on his face. The sincerity and sheer curiousness of his question couldn’t help but bring a smile to my face. I laughed a bit. After a moment to think, I replied:
“I’ll be alright, I suppose.” At my answer he smiled one of those toothy, happy smiles and said:
“You’re ‘Alright’, aye? Well, pal, that doesn’t sound too good to begin with, now does it? What’s going on with you?” I didn’t really know what to say, so I replied with,
“Have you got all day, Jack?” I jokingly replied. At that he just nodded, and made himself a bit more comfortable in his seat.
“As a matter of fact, I do, pal—go ahead, hit me with it.” The way his voice bounced to an indefinable rhythm when he spoke just made me feel so comfortable talking with him. He was like a good friend that I’d always had, but never met before. I breathed in a deep breath, and decided to tell him—or at least to tell him some of it.
“Well Jack, here’s the short version: my brother died—“
“I’m sorry, mate,” he sullenly shot back. I just nodded back to him slightly, and continued on:
“—a little while back…and he was the only family I had. The only family.” It hurt to hear it said aloud. It always did.
Jack tried to smile, but I could see the sadness and sympathy in his eyes.
“It’ll be alright, pal. It always is,” was all he seemed to be able to think to say.
“You must have some friends, though, pal. A girlfriend; something like that?” I looked over at him and shrugged my shoulders.
“Yeah, yeah I do. Her name’s Cassandra. She’s great, she really is. But, she’s not…” I just shook my head and tried to rattle that train of thought off it’s tracks.
“She’s not what, Jake?” Jack was leaning in now, waiting for me to answer. But his voice was never forceful. His pale hands were resting in his lap as he patiently waited for me to continue.
“She’s not Faith.” The words came out so defeated; I could tell in Jack’s eyes that he could tell this was something I’d been trying not to deal with for a long while.
“Who is Faith?” he finally asked. I breathed in a deep breath, and finally started.
“We met in high school, and by our freshman year of college we were engaged. She was; she was perfect. We had the same sense of humor; we loved the same cheesy songs, the same bad movies. We got along ideally, and I loved spending time with her…I wanted to spend the rest of my time with her.”
At that I swallowed hard. Jack just lowered his eyes to his hands, still resting in his lap. I could tell he’d figured out the rest of the story. I finally finished,
“But fate saw it differently, I guess.” He just slowly nodded.
After a few more moments of sitting there--in that large, echoing room or rooms—Jack finally rose to his feet, and patted me on the shoulder.
“I’ll be seeing you soon, pal.”

[trentm32]

[trentm32]

[AnnieDreams]