Here's the latest writing prompt from Writer's Digest:
Write 10 sentences using a different cliché in each. Now, rewrite the
sentence to eliminate the cliché and find a more clever and creative way
to convey its meaning.
Lots of folks have taken this and made a whole 500-word story out of it, but I simply took the instructions at face value, wrote out ten clichés, and modified them. It can be tricky, but I find value in the exercise because clichés are indeed something to avoid, and this can help take an old phrase and make something new or smart out of it. These could even be whole new clichés for the future, who knows?
So here are my responses. I might have to use some of these invented lines in my own works someday. If you're attempting this and need more cliches, try ClicheSite.com, or run a search.
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Absolute power corrupts absolutely.
When you give a baby all the toys in the world, he grows up to be a brat.
Back to square one.
We got to do this on New Game mode.
Damned if you do and damned if you don’t
It doesn’t matter what you do, you’re f*&ked.
Different strokes for different folks.
Different stats for different cats.
Drink the Kool-Aid.
Follow the rest of the lemmings over the cliff.
Get the ball rolling.
It’s time to get this primed.
Jump on the bandwagon.
The hype train is pulling up and I’m getting on it.
There is more than one way to skin a cat.
This is a road with a thousand lanes.
Watching grass grow.
This is as exciting as watching the universe expanding.
You have to break a few eggs to make an omlelette.
You can’t go ice fishing without cutting a hole.
January 30, 2016
January 20, 2016
Film Review: The Revenant
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A revenant is another word for a reanimated corpse, or a specter, that haunts or terrifies the living. The film The Revenant shows that, and much more.
The film wastes little time in plunging the viewers into the heart of the American frontier, 1823. The grueling action starts off hard with a massive skirmish between trappers and Arikawa Indians, which is a dizzying sequence of death and mayhem as it is. From then on, the film maintains a grim and desperate tone, as the characters struggle against the elements, more natives, and eventually each other. Inevitably, it builds up to a simple revenge story - one man crawls his way across the harsh wilderness and defies death, until he comes face-to-face with his enemy, and a showdown is inevitable.
This is as much of a hellish journey as films like Apocalypto or Children of Men. These are all grim tales that underscores savagery, but they are also experiences that have to be witnessed to be fully understood. The Revenant is as powerful of an experience, thanks to its slick combination of style and substance. The style is a sight to behold - as gray and dark as the films looks, it is ordained with beautiful natural landscapes. It is all captured with the most impressive photography, with a camera that moves organically with each scene and often gets really close and personal with each character and object. It's a similar cinematic style to Valhalla Rising, complete with the occasional dream sequence or flashback that feels like a spiritual vision rather than part of the gritty reality the film is set in.
As far as the substance goes, it's pretty easy to follow Hugh Glass' journey. The camera sticks close enough to him that we can all the pain and suffering he endures, emotionally and physically. The distance is so intimate, you can almost feel the coldness of the snow or the texture of the dirt in his face - one can't help but to develop some kind of empathy for him. Through the man's figurative death and rebirth, strong themes are repeated, almost like a chant in some scenes - strength of the human body and spirit resonate through Leonardo DiCaprio's achingly-convincing performance. Tom Hardy is a guy so cruel, he becomes a loathsome villain we love to hate, which provides the materialistic and selfish counterbalance to the hero. As their conflict and pursuits continue through a living, breathing natural world, themes of vengeance are explored, and ultimately twisted in ways that highlight a greater spiritual truth. Like any good western, the film suggests a very thin line between civilization and savagery. In The Revenant, it may seem that everybody is a savage, but there may be some hope in the end that there is more to a human soul.
This film was crafted with exquisite digital photography, across multiple continents in real locations. Most of the lighting was natural. The actors trudged through real snow and dirt for nine months of shooting. DiCaprio, despite being a vegetarian, ate real bison liver in one scene, and crawled into a real horse carcass in another. That's how real and dedicated this whole production was. All of the props and costumes look so vivid and real, they could put Weta Workshop to shame. Few CGI effects are used, and they take little away from the film's immersion - one particular scene with a grizzly bear maintains incredible tension despite the effects. Performances are great, writing is not bad, and Ryuichi Sakamoto's music score is beautiful.
The Revenant may be long and pretty simple in its plot, and it bears nothing in common with the real-life events that inspired it. But it is a powerful, evocative experience the likes of which I've seen in few other films. It's just as intense as I imagined it would be, but I wasn't prepared for how beautiful it is, and how deep its themes and tone resonate. If you can handle the length and brutality of it, the film must be experienced.
5/5
January 18, 2016
Film Review: Breaking the Waves
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This is a film that will creep under your skin and stay with you long after the credits roll. It elicits a vast number of different emotions, thoughts, and questions. The top two questions at the core of this film are: How far are you willing to go in your relationship with a loved one? How far will you go with your relationship with God? These themes are encapsulated in this intriguing and thought-provoking tale of one woman's commitment to her paralyzed husband's odd demands, and what may be the command of God. And of all things, these two powers drive her to physically make love with other men. Pretty weird, isn't it?
This is a film that hinges entirely on its premise, but it is a real doozy of a situation. The film outright questions and challenges the notions of love and faith, ultimately suggesting that such things aren't necessarily defined by fundamentalist religion or social norms, but by pure human spirit. The nature of the story (and the director's work overall) flies in the face of all convention and perhaps even morality. In the end though, the film underscores the base characteristics of a true martyr: one who passes the tests of God and endures suffering for the sake of other people's happiness.
This film is close to three hours - pacing is methodically slow, to the point where some scenes drag. However, the editing is sharp and snappy, so each scene is packed with detail, movement, and character. Character is ultimately what makes this whole thing work - one can't help but to sympathize with Bess through all the best and worst of scenes, and it makes the whole ordeal rather heartbreaking and grim.
Complementing the disquieting nature of the story, the film is made to be rough around the edges. Crafted in the spirit of (but not necessarily adhering to) the rules of the Dogme '95 movement, the film looks very natural most of the time with handheld cameramanship, real-looking locations and settings, and a firm focus on the performances. Parts of the film appear out-of-focus and parts of it can be disorientating - combined with the bronze color scheme, it's far from pretty. Acting feels very authentic and heartfelt from the cast. Emily Watson is especially endearing in her role, and Stellan Skarsgård is decent. Writing is decent. Musical chapter transitions are an interesting style choice.
This film will make some waves, which do successfully make you stop and question the true nature of one's faith. The film boldly expresses that the best solution is to break the rules - break the waves and make a big splash - all for what you love and believe in. So long as you can stand the rough style and some rough content, the film is worth seeing.
4/5
January 11, 2016
Music: All About David Bowie
I don't know if this is fate or coincidence. Shortly after New Year's day 2016, I learned that David Bowie had a new album up for preorder, entitled Blackstar. Then I saw a massive box set available - Five Years, containing his first six studio albums, two live albums, two discs of singles and B-sides, and a massive booklet. Having earned a performance bonus at work, I decided to splurge on the set. No sooner did the awesome new music arrive, than I saw the news that Bowie passed away at the age of 69. It happened just two days after his latest album released, which was also his birthday. The timing of this is nuts, but it made me realize that the man had a greater impact on me than I realized.
To me, David Bowie has always been a rockstar in the same league (or perhaps above and beyond) as the classics. You'd have to be living under a rock to have never heard of "Space Oddity," "Ziggy Stardust," "Let's Dance," or any number of other hits. Over the course of a forty year career, the man's made a broad array of music - from the gentle roots of classic rock to more hard-hitting industrial, noisy electronica, groovy jazz, and stranger ethnic combinations. On top of that, he's been the star of various films, such as The Man Who Fell To Earth, The Hunger, The Last Temptation of Christ, Labyrinth, The Prestige, and he even shows up for an amusing cameo in Zoolander.
More than the music and the movies, Bowie always exuded style and class. His mere image varied from the otherworldly to the hip, serving as the epitome of "glam rock." He did things on and off the stage that could only be described as pure expressionism.
David Bowie's music was always just there as I was growing up. "Let's Dance" was one of the primary staples in my parents' collection of 80s rock. It wasn't until high school that I really started to take a notice, as I used the newfangled Internets and MP3 technology to look for and discover songs like "Fame" and "Under Pressure" (mostly under my mother's request). "Fame" became one of those songs I listened to repeatedly in those years, becoming part of my own personal high school soundtrack (and it sounds fabulous next to Beck's "Mixed Bizness," among other songs I listened to). One of my first-ever CDs that I collected was the film soundtrack to 1997's The Saint, which featured Bowie's song "Dead Man Walking." I always thought it was noisy, but it proved to be rather catchy. "Golden Years" was also essential listening throughout my adolescence.
As the years went on, I wound up collecting more and more of Bowie's songs, until I finally grabbed some Greatest Hits compilations, and just now got around to digging deeper into his discography. I ran across his songs often from various film soundtracks - "Cat People (Putting Out the Fire)," "(She Can) Do That," "The Pretty Things Are Going To Hell," and "Bring Me the Disco King" are all favorites of mine to this day. There was also a time when I kept hearing "New Killer Star" on the radio, and I really vied for it.
David Bowie's accomplishments have been huge, and after all this time I've come to look up to the man for all his talent, imagination, and class. Knowing that he's suddenly absent from the world, it feels like a vibrant part of our culture, and of human life overall, is missing. I know that I will miss him.
More than the music and the movies, Bowie always exuded style and class. His mere image varied from the otherworldly to the hip, serving as the epitome of "glam rock." He did things on and off the stage that could only be described as pure expressionism.
David Bowie's music was always just there as I was growing up. "Let's Dance" was one of the primary staples in my parents' collection of 80s rock. It wasn't until high school that I really started to take a notice, as I used the newfangled Internets and MP3 technology to look for and discover songs like "Fame" and "Under Pressure" (mostly under my mother's request). "Fame" became one of those songs I listened to repeatedly in those years, becoming part of my own personal high school soundtrack (and it sounds fabulous next to Beck's "Mixed Bizness," among other songs I listened to). One of my first-ever CDs that I collected was the film soundtrack to 1997's The Saint, which featured Bowie's song "Dead Man Walking." I always thought it was noisy, but it proved to be rather catchy. "Golden Years" was also essential listening throughout my adolescence.
As the years went on, I wound up collecting more and more of Bowie's songs, until I finally grabbed some Greatest Hits compilations, and just now got around to digging deeper into his discography. I ran across his songs often from various film soundtracks - "Cat People (Putting Out the Fire)," "(She Can) Do That," "The Pretty Things Are Going To Hell," and "Bring Me the Disco King" are all favorites of mine to this day. There was also a time when I kept hearing "New Killer Star" on the radio, and I really vied for it.
David Bowie's accomplishments have been huge, and after all this time I've come to look up to the man for all his talent, imagination, and class. Knowing that he's suddenly absent from the world, it feels like a vibrant part of our culture, and of human life overall, is missing. I know that I will miss him.
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AL'S FAVORITE SONGS
January 10, 2016
Writing Prompt: What the heck happened here?
I decided to try and get back into the groove of doing writing prompts. Found one from Writer's Digest, and it is as follows:
To get the story straight, Dave, we think, has become a chicken. Just
the worst of luck with that guy. Tom is claiming he married the futon that’s
now covered in yogurt, Carl is on the chandelier with the dog and you just
walked in after getting groceries. What the heck happened here?
...uh.....ooooookaaay...well, here goes something...
--------------------
When I stepped
inside with my groceries, I stopped short at the doorway when I saw Carl sitting
on the chandelier. Something about this didn’t register correctly in my mind as
a natural or normal occurrence. I
watched him dangling his legs and cradling his pet Chihuahua in his hands.
With a nod of his
head, Carl greeted, “Sup?”
A number of
specific questions materialized in my mind: how did he get up there with his
dog? Why did he get up there? And when? It all came out of my mouth in a big
hustle of words, “When what how did you why are you with your dog what the fff—“
“It’s no big deal,
I get a good view from up here.”
“A view of what?”
“The wedding.”
“What wedding?”
“The one that
happened just now while you were gone.”
“What? Right here
in the entrance-way? Who got married?”
“Tom. Can you
believe it finally happened?”
“I didn’t know Tom
was engaged to anyone. Still, how…” I gestured up at him, still struggling to
ascertain the line of thinking that would lead Carl to hoist himself on the
chandelier.
Looking around,
Carl wondered aloud, “How did I get up here? Hey, do you mind taking my dog for
me?”
Holding up my
hands, I showed off the big bag of groceries and said, “My hands are a little—“
Without much
forethought, Carl beamed and said, “Here, yo quiero Taco Bell.” He then let the
poor mutt go, yipping all the way down.
I had no choice
but to abandon the groceries and catch the dog. With an agitated sigh, I let
the dog down on the floor and snapped at Carl, “Come on, that commercial’s like
fifteen years old now. Do you even know what that phrase means?”
“Nope. Thanks for
catching Ricky Martin for me.”
As much as I
wanted to chide Carl for the naming conventions of his dog and his seeming
obsession with everything from the late 90s, I stared at the spilled groceries on
the floor with even more distress. With a sigh, I started gathering up the
food.
In the midst of
gathering everything up, I questioned Carl on even more pressing matters, “So,
who did Tom marry…just now?”
“Well…”
Carl’s hesitation
didn’t help make this any less weird, so I just asked, “Is Tom here?”
“Yep.”
“Good, I’ll just
ask him.” Carl never was a good source of critical information anyway.
Once I got all the
groceries back into their bags, I carried them to the kitchen and started the
tedious task of transferring it all into the fridge. I opened the fridge and
was shocked to find it stuffed with beer. I had to take fifty bottles out to
fit in the food with actual nutritional value.
When I pulled out
some packets of chicken breast to put in, I heard Dave clearing his throat
behind me. I turned and beheld a live chicken staring at me. Defying all the
commonly-held beliefs I had regarding chickens, this one opened its beak and
spoke in Dave’s voice, “So...was that chicken parts I saw you put in the
fridge?”
“Yeah.” Realizing
that I was addressing a talking chicken, I sputtered, “What…what…how…what?”
“Oh yeah, about my
body. Total freak accident at the lab today. Remember that mutagen I was
writing my paper on? Well, I decided to go through the procedure to see what
would happen. One thing kinda led to the other…”
“So, what, you
mutated into a chicken?”
“Unfortunately,
yes. It’s nothing like the original formula, which was supposed to make me
shoot fire out of my eyes. So, now that I’m a chicken, there has to be some
changes. I can’t abide by us eating…that. I mean, that’s a piece of breast from
one of my kind. What kind of sick f*cker eats dead breasts?”
“Look, just
because you’re a chicken now doesn’t mean the rest of us humans can’t enjoy
chicken!”
“You don’t see me
eating a dead human!”
“Well, no, that’s
murder.”
“So is that!” Dave
pecked his head in the direction of the fridge. “This is so offensive in so
many ways.”
“Dave, you’re an
animal now. Humans eat animals. You of all people should understand the finer
details of how the food chain works. It’s nature.”
“Oh no, we live in
a manmade world now, and I’m living proof that we can play God. If I can become
a chicken, we can find alternate forms of sustenance. I’m campaigning for
everyone to become a total vegan, and no more chickens are to be killed!” Dave
suddenly darted out of the kitchen in a flurry of flapping wings and feathers.
Once the groceries
were properly stowed in the fridge, I sought out Tom to ascertain what was
really going on with him. I found him in one of the rooms, lying on a futon
covered completely in a thick white mess. It took me a moment to realize that
it was all yogurt, and not the other kind of white material that suddenly came
to mind.
Once again, a
myriad of questions manifested in my mouth and came out in a jumbled mess, “So…what…who…I
heard, what?”
“It’s true, all of
it,” Tom said.
“So, who is the
lucky gal?”
“Dude, you’re
looking at her,” Tom gestured at the mess around him. “Say hello to the lovely
lady Futonco.”
“Futo…what? You
married the mattress?”
“Hey, she’s a
futon, and don’t you forget about it!”
“It’s not even a
real person!”
“Oh no, she’s more
than that to me. She’s so soft, and she understands me,” Tom started swirling
the yogurt in gentle circles all over the futon…or his wife, rather.
I had the sudden
image of having Tom and the futon standing at the doorway with a priest. I had
my doubts that the state would make this a legal marriage, but then again, this
is California. With a sigh, I decided to just accept it all, and focus on the
one last mystery in front of me. “What’s with all the yogurt?”
“Oh…it’s a thing
between us. I guess you could call it a fetish. Futonco loves it. Oh yes, you
like it when I do this, don’t you, my little cotton wonder…” Tom started
smearing the yogurt all over the place. It felt too awkward to linger.
At that moment, I
made the conscious decision to ditch Omega-Mu-Gamma and find a new fraternity.
January 9, 2016
Thoughtless: Excerpt Chapter 1
Last November, I started on this dystopian sci-fi project, which I call Thoughtless. It is set in a distant future, in which an omnipresent A.I. runs the country and uses mind implants in citizens to give them guidance on how to live their lives. This story specifically follows an elite police officer who goes on an undercover assignment to find a group of terrorists and stop their plans - a mission that would require the officer to operate without an implant, and actually use his mind for the first time, leading to first time experiences and awakenings that makes him realize just how perverse society really is.
Most of the story is drafted, but a few huge plot holes exist, and the ending still needs to be wrapped up. After seeking out some criticism, it was brought to my attention that my first chapter may need work (and this might affect other aspects throughout the whole thing). The biggest thing that worries me is that the character might not grab a reader's attention right away to make them care - this is especially tricky since everybody in the book is an automaton by default. I've been told this chapter moves too fast. One thing that perplexes me is that I've been told some parts do a great job of showing and not telling, but then I also hear that I need to tell some things more - I'm not sure if that's warranted or not. There are probably other issues that I need to fix, but as of now, this excerpt represents the best I currently have. I've revised it to try and emphasize more to the character, but more work may be required.
My biggest hope is that this chapter catches your interest, keeps you reading, and keeps you intrigued enough to see what happens next. And I hope it all makes sense as-is. Enjoy, and feel free to leave critiques of your own in the comments.
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Something was wrong. The stray thought manifested suddenly in Tom Guilding’s mind, giving him pause. When he received his assignment, a rush came over him. He was all too happy to tear away from his administrative duties at the station. He always relished the thrill of being a D-40 officer, always responding to emergencies and distresses. Catching deviants and saving citizens rejuvenated the rush that Tom always yearned for. Why then did he feel so disturbed?
Guided by NORA, the van drove itself down the ultraway at over 200 miles per hour, its red and blue lights flashing urgently. Other cars crossed lanes to clear a straight path. As always, Tom trusted that NORA* would take him safely and efficiently the crime scene, and her voice would guide him through the next steps. He couldn’t articulate the reason for the anxiety, but the sensation grew worse as he watched the monolithic buildings passing by.
There was nothing in his morning routine that suggested anything was wrong. He woke up on time, as prompted by NORA’s invisible alarm. His wife cooked them both oatmeal, before he conducted his daily workout and training sessions at the station. After a fast shower, he groomed his black hair, brushed his immaculately-white teeth, and donned his clean uniform. Like every morning, these actions were silent and mundane.
The order to deploy came through Tom’s head immediately when he entered the station. The only thing NORA told him was that there was a hostage situation in the outskirts of Lansing. Deviants put lives in danger and demanded ten million units. Tom went through the motions of strapping his body armor on his body, checking out his firearm, and meeting with the rest of the team in the motorpool.
It took half an hour for the van to reach its destination: a park nestled between a pair of tall glass buildings. The van parked itself – Tom and five other officers jumped out wordlessly. One of the men pulled out a case from the van’s back and opened it. Everybody grabbed their assault rifles – the scope on Tom’s weapon lit up as he hefted it against his chest.
He heard NORA’s voice speaking to him softly in his mind: go left and take cover behind that parked car. Dutifully, Tom trotted across the parking lot and ducked behind a silver sedan. The other officers followed their individual instructions, taking position all around the area.
Calmly, NORA commanded, The area is safe. Proceed into the building with caution.
Tom stood and rushed forward, keeping his gun pointed ahead. His body was conditioned to shoot all threats he saw, with or without NORA’s voice. He took position by the building’s entrance, and waited for the others. Two more officers stood with him, while the other two aimed their rifles at the door.
All at once, the four officers kicked the door open and hustled into the lobby. At the far end of the room, they beheld a woman tied to a chair with a gag covering her mouth. Wires were strewn all around the chair, connecting to plastic explosives by her feet.
The officers looked all over the lobby, scanning it with their eyes and sweeping their guns back and forth. Once they determined that the area was clear, they approached the woman. She whimpered, and her face was wet with tears. One of the officers bent down and started to examine the explosives. He went through the motions of defusing it.
Once again, the intrusive thought floated through Tom’s mind – something was wrong. He couldn’t understand the basis for his random, deviant thoughts. It intensified the rush he felt. He looked around the lobby – he didn’t know what to expect and he couldn’t even imagine what could go wrong. The anxiety guided his focus away from the situation.
He wasn’t sure if NORA detected his rogue thoughts, but her command was a constant, soothing song in his ear – he had to cover his partners and the civilian and protect them from threats. The culprit was surely lurking somewhere in the building.
Tom suddenly had another strange, random thought: what if he wasn’t? The building was completely empty – the woman’s crying were the only sounds in the area. Some inexplicable urge made Tom look closer. He started walking past the desk, and he continued deeper into the building.
The other officers didn’t look up, but NORA’s voice sounded firmly in his mind: Tom, return to your position. The team needs protection.
He blatantly ignored the command. It felt wrong to disobey NORA, but Tom couldn’t stop himself. He instinctively knew that there was a reason behind his apprehension, and he had to find it.
Down the main corridor, Tom passed by several empty offices and a pair of elevators. Seeing nothing, he started back. A part of him felt foolish for ignoring NORA.
Suddenly, her voice sounded in his mind: Stop. Look at the elevator.
Tom moved his eyes to the elevators. One of the doors was wide open, revealing the empty shaft. The edges of the door jamb were bent. Looking down, he saw the elevator car a hundred feet below. He didn’t need NORA’s input to know this was unusual. His anxiety spiked, compelling him to look closer.
When Tom pressed the button to call the elevator, nothing happened. He carefully moved along the ledge of the shaft and reached a maintenance ladder. Sliding down it, he reached the bottom.
When he passed through a maintenance hatch, he came out in a wide, open corridor beneath the building. Fresh air touched his face, and he heard the city traffic from topside.
A hundred feet ahead, he saw a glow against the concrete walls. He approached the light with his gun raised, and he found an alcove in the wall with electrical panels open. A computer was lying on the ground, with wires connecting it to the panels. Its screen gave off the telltale light, and it showed grids and patterns on it.
Tom’s eyes darted among the electronics, and his pulse raced. What is this? Tom asked himself.
NORA responded, I detect variances in the electrical grid. Somebody is sabotaging it. Tom, investigate with caution.
Tom ran down the corridor, until he came out next to a squat, blank-looking building. Two roads led in and out of it, continuing beneath the city blocks and the layers of civilian roads. One of the doors was wide open.
NORA told him, That door should not be open. Somebody hacked into it, and tricked us into believing it was closed.
What is this place? Tom wondered.
That’s not important now, NORA said.
Creeping around the corner of the door, Tom peered into the building and saw a loading dock. There were dozens of black vans parked inside. He also saw three strange vehicles, the likes of which he never saw before. They were small motorcycles, haphazardly welded together from scrap materials. Pieces of metal plates, tubes, pipes, and random parts made their bodies appear jagged and rough. If it wasn’t for the thick welds holding every piece in place, the bikes looked like they could fall apart.
Near the makeshift motorcycles, Tom saw three figures standing in front of a wall. One of them was a black man with dreadlocks and a leather coat. He had a computer connected to the wall panels, and was typing furiously on the keys.
A panel opened along the wall, and another man appeared with a satchel. His skinny body crawled out of the shaft, and he threw the bag at the third person. Even though the third person faced away from Tom, he could make out locks of black hair and an undeniably feminine shape.
NORA informed Tom, This is a robbery.
“That means the bomb is a diversion,” Tom muttered to himself.
NORA told him, Yes. You always were astute. Tom, you are authorized to intervene. Arrest the deviants.
Holding up his weapon, Tom approached the figures and shouted, “Freeze!”
Cursing, the three robbers immediately rushed to their vehicles. Tom opened fire, spraying a burst of nonlethal rounds across the chamber. One shot hit the skinny man in the leg, and he stumbled to the ground. The other two hopped onto their bikes and took off. The vehicles roared loudly as they sped out of the loading dock and onto the sublevel roads. Tom shot at them, but his bullets ricocheted uselessly off of the motorcycles’ metal armor.
Approaching the fallen criminal, Tom bent down and handcuffed him. Lifting the man up, Tom proceeded to walk him out of the building.
As they walked, the man remarked, “This wasn’t supposed to happen this way. How did you find us?”
Tom didn’t answer as they continued down the maintenance corridor. Halfway down the passage, a man’s voice sounded from the deviant’s body. “Renard, talk to me buddy. What’s happening?”
In an instant, Tom realized that the culprit had a radio. He stopped, unsure about how to proceed, and intrigued to hear more from the other voice.
Renard stood still. Holding his skinny arms up, he showed off his handcuffs and said, “I can’t exactly answer him with these on.”
NORA told Tom, The handcuffs remain on.
In his mind, Tom argued, If we get them to talk, they could give us more information. If there’s more deviants, we have to find them.
That is for us to determine. With NORA’s affirmation, Tom knew that the department was already processing new information and issuing new commands. The oligarchy would run the investigation, and give officers direction.
The voice erupted from the radio again, “Renard? Hello? Is this thing on? Ah hell, you got caught, didn’t you? I knew you were a good-for-nothing piece of sh*t. Didn’t I tell you this would happen if you didn’t shape up?”
Renard rolled his eyes and muttered to himself, “This can’t be happening.”
“Hey, are there any zombies out there listening? Any cops around you? If there are, listen to this: Lucy is going to take NORA down. If you think you have a chance, you got to think fast.”
Tom felt alarmed – even though the stranger’s message didn’t say it outright, Tom’s gut instinct told him that his unit was in danger. Before NORA could instruct him, Renard’s jacket started beeping.
Wide-eyed, the man looked around frantically and patted his clothes. He murmured, “No, no, this can’t be happening. I didn’t think he’d go through doing this to me! This can’t be real!”
Tom didn’t need any more confirmation – the alarm surging through his body spurred him to run. As he turned, the beeping sound became more and more rapid. The man struggled to yank the jacket off.
With no more time to speculate or observe, Tom bolted away from him. Gaining distance was his only thought and concern. He cleared a hundred feet, before the beeping stopped.
A deafening boom erupted. Tom was knocked ten feet forward, his body tumbling on the ground. All he heard was a high-pitched ring. Looking back, he saw a cloud of dust and fire wafting all over the loading bay. Pieces of shrapnel and rubble clattered on the ground – there was nothing left of the suspect.
It took Tom a matter of minutes to return to the lobby. When he climbed up the elevator’s maintenance ladder, he stopped short in the hallway. The walls were charred. When he continued into the lobby, dismay overwhelmed him when he saw the entire area in ruin. The floor was blackened, with debris strewn in all directions. The bodies of three officers were thrown across the floor, partially mutilated. The only sign of the victim in the chair were scattered body parts.
Tom’s hands shook and his feet felt weak. His first thought was that the officers failed to defuse the bomb. Then he wondered if that was true, or if it was remotely triggered. What if it was set off by the same signal that set off Renard’s bomb? The thought that Tom caused all this death and mayhem made him sick.
Firemen already responded to the explosion, and rushed into the lobby to collect evidence. One of them guided Tom outside, where a paramedic tended to his ears. Tom shook the whole time, unnerved by the blast and disturbed that the mission failed. What bothered him the most was the fear that his own deviations were to blame.
* = NORA is short for the Neurological Oligarchy of the Reformed America. I did define this acronym in the original draft, but somebody told me "don't give too much at the beginning." I still don't know if I agree with witholding this definition, but I'm looking for alternate ways to reveal this.
Copyright 2016.
Most of the story is drafted, but a few huge plot holes exist, and the ending still needs to be wrapped up. After seeking out some criticism, it was brought to my attention that my first chapter may need work (and this might affect other aspects throughout the whole thing). The biggest thing that worries me is that the character might not grab a reader's attention right away to make them care - this is especially tricky since everybody in the book is an automaton by default. I've been told this chapter moves too fast. One thing that perplexes me is that I've been told some parts do a great job of showing and not telling, but then I also hear that I need to tell some things more - I'm not sure if that's warranted or not. There are probably other issues that I need to fix, but as of now, this excerpt represents the best I currently have. I've revised it to try and emphasize more to the character, but more work may be required.
My biggest hope is that this chapter catches your interest, keeps you reading, and keeps you intrigued enough to see what happens next. And I hope it all makes sense as-is. Enjoy, and feel free to leave critiques of your own in the comments.
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Something was wrong. The stray thought manifested suddenly in Tom Guilding’s mind, giving him pause. When he received his assignment, a rush came over him. He was all too happy to tear away from his administrative duties at the station. He always relished the thrill of being a D-40 officer, always responding to emergencies and distresses. Catching deviants and saving citizens rejuvenated the rush that Tom always yearned for. Why then did he feel so disturbed?
Guided by NORA, the van drove itself down the ultraway at over 200 miles per hour, its red and blue lights flashing urgently. Other cars crossed lanes to clear a straight path. As always, Tom trusted that NORA* would take him safely and efficiently the crime scene, and her voice would guide him through the next steps. He couldn’t articulate the reason for the anxiety, but the sensation grew worse as he watched the monolithic buildings passing by.
There was nothing in his morning routine that suggested anything was wrong. He woke up on time, as prompted by NORA’s invisible alarm. His wife cooked them both oatmeal, before he conducted his daily workout and training sessions at the station. After a fast shower, he groomed his black hair, brushed his immaculately-white teeth, and donned his clean uniform. Like every morning, these actions were silent and mundane.
The order to deploy came through Tom’s head immediately when he entered the station. The only thing NORA told him was that there was a hostage situation in the outskirts of Lansing. Deviants put lives in danger and demanded ten million units. Tom went through the motions of strapping his body armor on his body, checking out his firearm, and meeting with the rest of the team in the motorpool.
It took half an hour for the van to reach its destination: a park nestled between a pair of tall glass buildings. The van parked itself – Tom and five other officers jumped out wordlessly. One of the men pulled out a case from the van’s back and opened it. Everybody grabbed their assault rifles – the scope on Tom’s weapon lit up as he hefted it against his chest.
He heard NORA’s voice speaking to him softly in his mind: go left and take cover behind that parked car. Dutifully, Tom trotted across the parking lot and ducked behind a silver sedan. The other officers followed their individual instructions, taking position all around the area.
Calmly, NORA commanded, The area is safe. Proceed into the building with caution.
Tom stood and rushed forward, keeping his gun pointed ahead. His body was conditioned to shoot all threats he saw, with or without NORA’s voice. He took position by the building’s entrance, and waited for the others. Two more officers stood with him, while the other two aimed their rifles at the door.
All at once, the four officers kicked the door open and hustled into the lobby. At the far end of the room, they beheld a woman tied to a chair with a gag covering her mouth. Wires were strewn all around the chair, connecting to plastic explosives by her feet.
The officers looked all over the lobby, scanning it with their eyes and sweeping their guns back and forth. Once they determined that the area was clear, they approached the woman. She whimpered, and her face was wet with tears. One of the officers bent down and started to examine the explosives. He went through the motions of defusing it.
Once again, the intrusive thought floated through Tom’s mind – something was wrong. He couldn’t understand the basis for his random, deviant thoughts. It intensified the rush he felt. He looked around the lobby – he didn’t know what to expect and he couldn’t even imagine what could go wrong. The anxiety guided his focus away from the situation.
He wasn’t sure if NORA detected his rogue thoughts, but her command was a constant, soothing song in his ear – he had to cover his partners and the civilian and protect them from threats. The culprit was surely lurking somewhere in the building.
Tom suddenly had another strange, random thought: what if he wasn’t? The building was completely empty – the woman’s crying were the only sounds in the area. Some inexplicable urge made Tom look closer. He started walking past the desk, and he continued deeper into the building.
The other officers didn’t look up, but NORA’s voice sounded firmly in his mind: Tom, return to your position. The team needs protection.
He blatantly ignored the command. It felt wrong to disobey NORA, but Tom couldn’t stop himself. He instinctively knew that there was a reason behind his apprehension, and he had to find it.
Down the main corridor, Tom passed by several empty offices and a pair of elevators. Seeing nothing, he started back. A part of him felt foolish for ignoring NORA.
Suddenly, her voice sounded in his mind: Stop. Look at the elevator.
Tom moved his eyes to the elevators. One of the doors was wide open, revealing the empty shaft. The edges of the door jamb were bent. Looking down, he saw the elevator car a hundred feet below. He didn’t need NORA’s input to know this was unusual. His anxiety spiked, compelling him to look closer.
When Tom pressed the button to call the elevator, nothing happened. He carefully moved along the ledge of the shaft and reached a maintenance ladder. Sliding down it, he reached the bottom.
When he passed through a maintenance hatch, he came out in a wide, open corridor beneath the building. Fresh air touched his face, and he heard the city traffic from topside.
A hundred feet ahead, he saw a glow against the concrete walls. He approached the light with his gun raised, and he found an alcove in the wall with electrical panels open. A computer was lying on the ground, with wires connecting it to the panels. Its screen gave off the telltale light, and it showed grids and patterns on it.
Tom’s eyes darted among the electronics, and his pulse raced. What is this? Tom asked himself.
NORA responded, I detect variances in the electrical grid. Somebody is sabotaging it. Tom, investigate with caution.
Tom ran down the corridor, until he came out next to a squat, blank-looking building. Two roads led in and out of it, continuing beneath the city blocks and the layers of civilian roads. One of the doors was wide open.
NORA told him, That door should not be open. Somebody hacked into it, and tricked us into believing it was closed.
What is this place? Tom wondered.
That’s not important now, NORA said.
Creeping around the corner of the door, Tom peered into the building and saw a loading dock. There were dozens of black vans parked inside. He also saw three strange vehicles, the likes of which he never saw before. They were small motorcycles, haphazardly welded together from scrap materials. Pieces of metal plates, tubes, pipes, and random parts made their bodies appear jagged and rough. If it wasn’t for the thick welds holding every piece in place, the bikes looked like they could fall apart.
Near the makeshift motorcycles, Tom saw three figures standing in front of a wall. One of them was a black man with dreadlocks and a leather coat. He had a computer connected to the wall panels, and was typing furiously on the keys.
A panel opened along the wall, and another man appeared with a satchel. His skinny body crawled out of the shaft, and he threw the bag at the third person. Even though the third person faced away from Tom, he could make out locks of black hair and an undeniably feminine shape.
NORA informed Tom, This is a robbery.
“That means the bomb is a diversion,” Tom muttered to himself.
NORA told him, Yes. You always were astute. Tom, you are authorized to intervene. Arrest the deviants.
Holding up his weapon, Tom approached the figures and shouted, “Freeze!”
Cursing, the three robbers immediately rushed to their vehicles. Tom opened fire, spraying a burst of nonlethal rounds across the chamber. One shot hit the skinny man in the leg, and he stumbled to the ground. The other two hopped onto their bikes and took off. The vehicles roared loudly as they sped out of the loading dock and onto the sublevel roads. Tom shot at them, but his bullets ricocheted uselessly off of the motorcycles’ metal armor.
Approaching the fallen criminal, Tom bent down and handcuffed him. Lifting the man up, Tom proceeded to walk him out of the building.
As they walked, the man remarked, “This wasn’t supposed to happen this way. How did you find us?”
Tom didn’t answer as they continued down the maintenance corridor. Halfway down the passage, a man’s voice sounded from the deviant’s body. “Renard, talk to me buddy. What’s happening?”
In an instant, Tom realized that the culprit had a radio. He stopped, unsure about how to proceed, and intrigued to hear more from the other voice.
Renard stood still. Holding his skinny arms up, he showed off his handcuffs and said, “I can’t exactly answer him with these on.”
NORA told Tom, The handcuffs remain on.
In his mind, Tom argued, If we get them to talk, they could give us more information. If there’s more deviants, we have to find them.
That is for us to determine. With NORA’s affirmation, Tom knew that the department was already processing new information and issuing new commands. The oligarchy would run the investigation, and give officers direction.
The voice erupted from the radio again, “Renard? Hello? Is this thing on? Ah hell, you got caught, didn’t you? I knew you were a good-for-nothing piece of sh*t. Didn’t I tell you this would happen if you didn’t shape up?”
Renard rolled his eyes and muttered to himself, “This can’t be happening.”
“Hey, are there any zombies out there listening? Any cops around you? If there are, listen to this: Lucy is going to take NORA down. If you think you have a chance, you got to think fast.”
Tom felt alarmed – even though the stranger’s message didn’t say it outright, Tom’s gut instinct told him that his unit was in danger. Before NORA could instruct him, Renard’s jacket started beeping.
Wide-eyed, the man looked around frantically and patted his clothes. He murmured, “No, no, this can’t be happening. I didn’t think he’d go through doing this to me! This can’t be real!”
Tom didn’t need any more confirmation – the alarm surging through his body spurred him to run. As he turned, the beeping sound became more and more rapid. The man struggled to yank the jacket off.
With no more time to speculate or observe, Tom bolted away from him. Gaining distance was his only thought and concern. He cleared a hundred feet, before the beeping stopped.
A deafening boom erupted. Tom was knocked ten feet forward, his body tumbling on the ground. All he heard was a high-pitched ring. Looking back, he saw a cloud of dust and fire wafting all over the loading bay. Pieces of shrapnel and rubble clattered on the ground – there was nothing left of the suspect.
It took Tom a matter of minutes to return to the lobby. When he climbed up the elevator’s maintenance ladder, he stopped short in the hallway. The walls were charred. When he continued into the lobby, dismay overwhelmed him when he saw the entire area in ruin. The floor was blackened, with debris strewn in all directions. The bodies of three officers were thrown across the floor, partially mutilated. The only sign of the victim in the chair were scattered body parts.
Tom’s hands shook and his feet felt weak. His first thought was that the officers failed to defuse the bomb. Then he wondered if that was true, or if it was remotely triggered. What if it was set off by the same signal that set off Renard’s bomb? The thought that Tom caused all this death and mayhem made him sick.
Firemen already responded to the explosion, and rushed into the lobby to collect evidence. One of them guided Tom outside, where a paramedic tended to his ears. Tom shook the whole time, unnerved by the blast and disturbed that the mission failed. What bothered him the most was the fear that his own deviations were to blame.
* = NORA is short for the Neurological Oligarchy of the Reformed America. I did define this acronym in the original draft, but somebody told me "don't give too much at the beginning." I still don't know if I agree with witholding this definition, but I'm looking for alternate ways to reveal this.
Copyright 2016.
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