Be vicious (or viscous)

This story is set in the present (or very near past) and is an intro to the two main characters. I apologise for the length.

It is tentatively titled "Dragons and Unicorns" and is essentially about relationships. In this excerpt there are no dragons and no unicorns nor sex neither (though the sex may or may not appear later when the question of unicorns only being ridden by virgins crops up)

The blurb on the 'best selling' cover (I wish) will include the fact that it is a fantasy about dragons and unicorns being inimical and the various trials and tribulations that the two protags have to endure in order that they can be together.

So, you're in the bookshop; Waterstone's, Blackwells, the local car boot sale and you've read the blurb and these first few pages. The question is: Would you part with your money to read the rest of it?

(any and all other advice/criticism is very welcome)


“It isn’t the cost,” Ruth explained “because I could have gone to the local state school, which incidentally has been recorded as the top achieving school in the entire county for the last seven years.” And now she knew that the rather severe woman across the desk from her (hiding behind her own authority and those awful rimless spectacles) would have her pegged as an elitist snob but this couldn’t be helped and so she continued “which rules out any question of quality of education which could have been gained at a private or public establishment.”

Rimless spectacles sniffed and waited for Ruth to continue.

“However, if I am to obtain a degree I shall require pieces of paper attesting the fact that my education has been both broad and thorough.”

“By ‘pieces of paper’ I assume that you mean A levels” sniffed Rimless spectacles.

“Yes” said Ruth and clamped her teeth together before she could further embitter herself in the eyes of the Headshrew… Headmistress.

“Then let us be clear on this,” Began Rimless spectacles, inserting a sniff as comma “You wish to join my upper sixth “ sniff “ in February of exam year” sniff, and enunciating the ‘r’ in February “and sit no less “ sniff “than seven A level subjects.”

Ruth nodded and drew breath to answer, but Rimless spectacles hadn’t finished (she mentally chided herself for assuming that the pause without a sniff was a full stop)

“In” sniff, she continued “ Maths, English; language and literature, German, physics, chemistry and” sniff “Latin no less.”

“Oxford are keen I’m given to understand.”

“Oxford are keen.” Repeated Rimless spectacles.

“Yes.” Explained Ruth. “There seems to be some kind of political upheaval about females and classics. Internal politics.”

“I see.” Sniffed Rimless spectacles, although as Ruth knew, she had not the faintest inkling because the head.. mistress’s degree was in business studies which she gained at Didsbury College of Further Education.

‘I think she’s probably got me pegged about right.’ Ruth admitted to herself.

“And these GCSE grades…”

Ruth heard the ellipses and kept her mouth closed.

“You gained these where?”

She’s calling me a liar. Ruth plowed on. “Five at the college night school and the others at Wensleydale High.” She explained.

“I see. Yes, well, they are… exceptional. And except for the exams you were taught at home?”

I knew I should have said private tuition instead of taught at home. Ruth reflected.

‘sniff’, ‘cough’ went Rimless spectacles pushing Ruth for an answer.

“Yes.” But now Ruth was upset, about the situation and her own management of it. Now she wouldn’t be able to give the headmistress the push that she required: kudos for the school for the excellent grades she would acquire, renown for an Oxbridge candidate. All the things that this stupid college and this stupid woman prize and at no cost, had been swept away along with Ruth’s confidence.

“Monday morning then. 8.45 bright and early.”

Ruth stared in amazement. Partly at the unexpected offer and partly at the fact that Rimless spectacles had more nous than Ruth had given her credit for.

“We shall expect you tomorrow afternoon of course to work out a timetable.”

This, at least, was one thing for which Ruth had been prepared, although it was supposed to have been a back-up to prove her earnest and diligence. So she dipped into her leather briefcase (a present from aunt Harriet for her exam success) using the action to surreptitiously wipe away her imminent tears and handed a sheet of foolscap across the polished expanse of Rimless spectacles’ desk.

The headmistress crinkled her eyes in something approaching a smile as she noted the contents and rather obviously patted her own back for her own foresight. “Yes.” She managed to incorporate the sniff into the single word. “We’ll go over this tomorrow.” And then she rose from her seat and proffered her hand which Ruth took and did not shake but merely clasped lightly in her fingers

After the fourth week of term Ruth was taking the shortcut from Latin Grammar to Physics, which passed through the performing arts building. Having fifteen minutes before the next class, in a fit of uncustomary daring and this being the very first opportunity to be alone with a real, honest to goodness Grand (not a baby, not an upright on which she had learned) she stole into a practice room.

Placing her textbooks and ringbinders on an empty seat Ruth approached the instrument on tip toe as if the beast might bolt at any sudden movement or sound. She ran her fingers along the dark surface seeming as if to calm the piano from nervous flight and when she had satisfied herself that it would stay, Ruth placed herself at the bench there.

The deep polished tones emanating from the deep polished wood betrayed a skittishness in the form of the D and F above and the D# below middle being slightly out as Ruth ran arpeggios across the keyboard, exercising her wrists and finger joints.

* * *

Being naturally gifted was not something that Nils Broadman thought too much about, balance and timing would make anyone good at sport. Speed and stamina could be trained but captaincy was not something that sat well with him.

To the games master’s disgust, his father’s disappointment and his mother’s deep respect besides black tags in the Wing Chun style of gungfu he also held several blue and gold ribbons in ballroom dancing. The thighs that pounded towards the crease to deliver medium pace off spins which would turn through almost 30 degrees of angle towards wicket were owed, not only to rigorous weights sessions in the gym, but also to grand jetes and entrechat scrupulously practised in ballet class. Nils was that most admired and most envied in schools the world over, he was an all rounder. He was also of that kind that is almost destined to garner hatred.

On this day Nils was taking his usual short cut from Trig. (at which he excelled) to a practice match to take place on the lower pitch. The short cut (as so many did, much to the caretaker’s dismay) led through the performing arts building.

As he sauntered along the corridor he smiled his secret smile. Not the smile he showed his parents when returning home, not the winning smile he affected for the ladies of his acquaintance not even that gently warm smile of surprise when being introduced to those unmet. And definitely not the embarrassed grin he could never hide when being presented with various cups, shields and congratulations, accompanied by those unctuous revelations of uneven teeth from the bearer of such awards. This was his secret smile, the one he kept for himself alone and that he was completely unaware that he wore. The secret smile of furtive pleasure.

Without even a glance through the inset glass panel Nils spread the fingers of his left hand on the warm veneer to push through into the practice room.

“BROADMAN” came the unwanted shout, cutting through the silence of the corridor and the pleasant glow of Nils’ anticipation.

“Yes Sir?” He replied easily, turning on his heel to face the games master striding purposefully down the carpeted floor.

“I understand you’re trying for Caius.” Stated Jones the games in his usual stentorian tones.

“Kayuss sir?” he asked with a puzzled frown. “OH keys.” Then quickly added “Yes sir, Cambridge.” Unconsciously covering the fact that he had corrected the master’s pronunciation.

“Kayuss, keys, whatever.” Said Jones brushing aside the correction “Look, I’m not supposed to tell you this, so keep it under your hat ok?”

“Sir?”

“I’ve had a tentative approach from a certain club about your availability.” Explained the games master. “A club that would be able to pay you more in a month than you could earn in a year researching periodic cycles of standing waves for Philips, Sony and CalTech combined.”

Nils was impressed that Jones the Games knew even the words for his own very specialised interest. “Periodic cycle of standing waves sir? There’s no such thing is there sir?” Nils smiled his charming smile to indicate that he was playing the fool to the master’s king.

“Broadman,” began Jones, wiping the grin from Nils’ face with his lowered tone “this is a serious matter and yes I’m more than a little excited about it. But it is serious and I’d like you to consider it seriously. Quite apart from the feather in my personal cap it is an opportunity you might do well to mull over. In your own time of course.”

“Thank you sir, I will.” Nils replied earnestly.

“Good good.” Finished Jones returning to Stentor “you may go and indulge yourself.” He called over his shoulder as he swaggered purposefully down the muffled carpet.

For the second time in as many minutes Nils was sobered, this time by the fact that Jones the Games apparently knew about his secret vice. He smiled as he recognised his own naivety, then turned again to the door which led into the practice room.

The shouted name of “STAN” belayed Nils’ progress once again, he turned once more resigning himself to jollity.

“Pacman. Why do you call me Stan?” he enquired of the approaching hulk.

“Stan.” Explained Parkinson AKA Pacman. “Stan Broadman. Boardman. Stan Boardman”

Nils stared blankly at the complexity of the argument.

“Stan Boardman.” Pacman repeated. “The jairmans bombed our chippy.”

The dawning light of seventies comedy lit Nils’ face. “Ah.” He said by way of non-commitment.

“The jairmans bombed our chippy wid dere Fokkers.” Pacman went on, in a scouse caricature, sounding more like Ringo than Stan Boardman.

“Erm… more likely to have been Heinkels Pac.”

“But Heinkel doesn’t sound like a swear word Stan.”

“Good point. So Pacman, what can I do for you?”

“What? Oh. Nothing. Just saying hello etc. You coming down for first practice?”

“Naturellement.”

“I’ll see you there then yeah? In like, about quarter of an hour?”

“Yep. See you down there.” Said Nils in an effort of kindly au revoir.

Pacman turned and strode off but before he was halfway down the corridor he turned back “Don’t forget your box Stan, I’ll be testing your googlies. Wey hey.”

Nils smiled at Pac’s unceasing levity. He liked Pac and enjoyed his company, always amazed at his gentle ways for someone so absolutely huge in stature, voice and bearing. And a damn fine middle order batsman to boot. But now he’d been delayed from his ‘indulgence’ and didn’t have time for even a twelve bar blues. Besides, twelve bar blues is not meant to be played on a grand and so he followed Pacman and Jones’ path towards the outer door and the lower pitch.

* * *

March blustered its way through spring bringing with it a very soggy April hinting at a fine cricket season in the offing

No.

What pushed me away was the tone of the narrator, arch and superior. I realize I am referring to something abstract, not even a phrase or phrases, but the impression given me by them. I felt invited to be amused, and I felt uncomfortable to be invited, because people I was just meeting were being mocked.

I state it more forcefully than it actually struck me, but I feel obligated to express what put me off as clearly as I can. The actual effect was much more subtle. Still, it lifted me off the page, out of the story a bit, made me look at the bulk of the book and decide not to spend that length of time in the hands of this narrator.

cantdog

The story exerpt was a little hard to read. I don't think I would part with my money to read the rest of it but I'll offer you some advice on how you might improve it:

1) The structure of your language needs to be simplfied some. Reading some of the passages it got a little confusing to keep up with the different descriptions you offered. When describing characters, don't offer so much detail about them at once. Let it come little by little. Trying to list every trait a person has right at the beginning becomes a grocery list that the reader has to try and keep up with for the rest of the story.

2) Simplify character actions. As an example:

Without even a glance through the inset glass panel Nils spread the fingers of his left hand on the warm veneer to push through into the practice room.

Click to expand...

Instead you might try something like:

Without even looking through the glass panel, Nils stepped into the practice room.

Click to expand...

You don't have to describe every action like you're watching the movie. By saying that Nils used his left hand and had his fingers spread open when he opened the door, you give more detail than is necessary. This can slow down the pace of the reading.

3) I'm an American and from what I've read I'm guessing this story takes place in Great Britian. So maybe someone local would get some of the cultural references, but I couldn't understand them. You might consider giving brief explanations about cultural jokes made so that the readers who don't live in that culture can understand it better.

Just a few pieces of advice. I hope they help and good luck with your story.

I disagree with nearly every point you make, Lee. I loved the veneer.

I was all set with the cricket, too.

Your idea about an explanation of the terminology of cricket, but at the same time not telling us so much about the two main characters is just silly.

cantdog said:

I disagree with nearly every point you make, Lee. I loved the veneer.

I was all set with the cricket, too.

Your idea about an explanation of the terminology of cricket, but at the same time not telling us so much about the two main characters is just silly.

Click to expand...

I don't see how it's silly. Especially considering that I had no idea they were talking about cricket. Which, as I said before, is because I'm an American and am unfamiliar with the game.

And I didn't say not to tell so much about the characters, simply don't tell it all at once. Reveal it in small bits as the story progresses. At least that's the method that I prefer.

gauchecritic said:

This story is set in the present (or very near past) and is an intro to the two main characters. I apologise for the length.

It is tentatively titled "Dragons and Unicorns" and is essentially about relationships. In this excerpt there are no dragons and no unicorns nor sex neither (though the sex may or may not appear later when the question of unicorns only being ridden by virgins crops up)

The blurb on the 'best selling' cover (I wish) will include the fact that it is a fantasy about dragons and unicorns being inimical and the various trials and tribulations that the two protags have to endure in order that they can be together.

So, you're in the bookshop; Waterstone's, Blackwells, the local car boot sale and you've read the blurb and these first few pages. The question is: Would you part with your money to read the rest of it?

Click to expand...

I'm really sorry, but no I wouldn't buy the book.

I'm one of those people who hang about in bookshops for ages, and I really have to be grabbed by the first few pages to part with my money.

And having said that, it's rare that I buy a book and don't become absorbed in it when I get home.

I found your excerpt difficult to read and my mind kept wandering. I know what you were trying to achieve with all the "sniffs" but that made me want to stop reading immediately. I actually hate people sniffing so to read about it was almost as bad as listening to it.

I agree with Lee Chambers with regard to simplifying the sentences and cutting out some of the superfluous detail (or maybe dropping that information in later in smaller snippets).

I'm not very good at giving a critique as I sometimes find it difficult to put into words what I like or don't like. It's a sort of gut feeling I suppose, but if I picked up your book, (and I really hope that dream comes true for you) as it stands at the moment, I would not be making my way to the till to buy.

janiexx

Lee Chambers said:

I don't see how it's silly. Especially considering that I had no idea they were talking about cricket. Which, as I said before, is because I'm an American and am unfamiliar with the game.

And I didn't say not to tell so much about the characters, simply don't tell it all at once. Reveal it in small bits as the story progresses. At least that's the method that I prefer.

Click to expand...

Well, then, let the cricket talk emerge slowly, justify itself, explain itself gently and in small pieces.

When you read A Clockwork Orange, for instance, you don't insist on a dry glossary of its terminology.

And I deny that any inordinate amount, in these vignettes, has been revealed about anyone. You perceive it as excessive because we are given it and asked to be amused by some of it and sympathetic to some of it, all at once. The portrait of the batsman is overwhelmed by the narrator's amusement at his expense, and it breaks up the flow. That section is choppy and you see it as offering too much and at the same time concealing too much, because you don't speak cricket.

There are difficulties, but they are not the difficulties you are writing your homilies about.

The sniffing is a problem. I think you may have to kill your child, here, gauche.

Thankyou, thankyou, thankyou one and all for even reading it.

Overboard on the sniffing. Yes. I can see that. (note: cut down sniffs)

Too wordy. I know I'm too damn wordy. I'm not trying to be defensive here (I hate defensive critiquees, why ask if you're not going to listen?)
But the part you picked out about opening the door Lee means that in your simplification it leaves out the implied information: that he's left handed, gentle using fingers rather than palm or fist and that the inside of the bulding is warm enough to heat up a heavy door. I'm not saying your crit isn't sincerely held because I am indeed far too wordy even Janie agrees that I'm difficult to read. But being unreadable is indeed a factor I need to work on.

And really, honestly I can't for the life of me see where there is too much information about the characters. They are both very sure of themselves and their abilities and I'm nearly certain (hopefully) this is why Cant isn't enamoured of the tone.

But there isn't an ounce of description about either of them. No height, no weight, no colouring, no mirror scenes, no emotional history, no parental information. How is there too much? Or what is it that there is too much of?

OK, it's not a grabber, it's not a beginning. Would it work later on? Or is it still too much?

Thankyou all again.

You are nearly always a better writer than I am, gauche, and it was actually for that reaon that I decided to come over here and put my oar in. Maybe that doesn't make sense to an observer, but it was exigent for me.

Imagine being thrown off a riverboat in full gambler regalia, your pepperbox wet and useless, your expensive handmade hat lost forever. The real problem, though, is the paddles, which are driven by a gigantic boiler and shod with iron. Those puppies are whirling through the turgid water somewhere very close!

To read one of yours, one needs to be an experienced reader. It's not hard, but one can't just be casual and listen to Archie Goodwin or David Sedaris, for instance; one has to get oriented, be alert, send out the antennae, read the nuances. It's like hitting that Mississippi. The water is confused, turbid, disorienting at first, but something one senses as very significant is occurring. Like those paddle blades. So one mustn't flounder and let the flow take one, one must take steps, as I said.

By the time I'm half a page into it, I'm oriented, and I'm paying attention. That's when I find I am in the hands of a writer I can trust. This one was perhaps not a long enough sample for the full effect? But no, I thought, it's the arch tone, the judging tone. Then the excerpt ended, and I wasn't sure. But the parts which were solidest, for me, were things exactly like the hand on the veneer. That was the good part, the part that gave me a handhold, to continue the metaphor beyond its useful life.

gauchecritic said:

... being unreadable is indeed a factor I need to work on.

Click to expand...

You are certainly not "unreadable".

I just think the first few pages of your novel need to grab the reader totally and hook them into the story. As an example, I picked up a book by Douglas Kennedy at the airport recently, started reading and couldn't stop. I just had to carry on reading and felt a real sense of loss when I came to the end.

But one thing to remember is that just three of us (as far as I know) have responded to your plea and everyone is different. Just because it didn't hook me (as it is) doesn't mean that someone else will feel the same. I think you're a very good writer and I'm going to go and read your other stories on here.

Keep at it,
janiexx

This is all just before they meet, isn't it? Chance meeting, with grand piano?

It'll work, as a collection of scenes, anytime, but why not in the beginning? With sniffs pared down and the dialogues set free a little to read along as dialogue, with more fluidity, this can be the grabber. People settling to read do, after all, want to know where they are and with whom they have to deal.

The impact of all these encounters is to the effect that these young people are both at cusp. Decisions taken now, in their lives, will swing a big lever in their futures. She seems to have largely made her mind up, where he is still discovering many new options. Meanwhile, we have the expository smile of secret pleasure, with the added fillip that his secret is known, because he is too forthright a man to have taken any pains to really hide it ("Indulge yourself...").

By the time a reader has this, she will know enough about events and personae to care whether the two of them meet, and to be interested in what form that meeting takes. All this is great, as a beginning, and doubtless essential in any case.

The thing to do is to polish the surface, to make it smooth enough to slide right into the reader's head. I have an idea how I would do it. But really, that's not the point, is it?


I plump for keeping it as the lead, but then, I don't have a clear idea what else you may have going on, which could take the place of it.