writtenfelicity
Virgin
- Joined
- Jan 21, 2011
- Posts
- 6
Hello Lit people. Given the volume of posts about how important a hook is in the introduction of a story, I wanted to ask for feedback on the one below before I go too much further with the story. I'm looking for showy rather than telly (that's right, I'm making up words now!) and intriguing without melodrama.
Does this give enough of a hook? Should anything be expanded upon or toned down? I'm also uncertain if I should include more of a character description in this first section, or if the next section will be early enough.
For genre, it'll fall somewhere near Erotic Couplings when it's done.
==============================================
My back hurt, my arms were numb, and when I reached up to adjust my disheveled chestnut ponytail, I realized I'd touched my hair at some point and left a now-dried clump of paint. I stood there musing over the amount of shampoo needed to get semi-gloss out when cloud cover outside changed and I saw my entire afternoon's hard work in better light.
The paint swatch taped to the door frame looked like a soothing gray blue that reminded me of the beach. Maybe it looked like the sky, or maybe clear water from somewhere tropical; I don't know, it was beachy. It did not look like the baby blue crap covering half my guest bedroom walls, though.
“Annie!”
My brother's voice bellowed through the house a second before the kitchen's screen door screeched open then slammed shut again with a heavy crack.
“Easy on the door!” I called back, hoping the hinges held to the door frame in sore need of replacement. That was another project on my ever-growing “to do” list.
Matt's heavy footsteps stomped up the stairs, sounding not unlike a drunken elephant. As soon as he poked his head around the corner, found me, and stepped inside, he surveyed the new wall color. “Are you pregnant?”
“No,” I snapped, and jabbed a finger at the paint swatch. “It's supposed to look like that.”
He dutifully consulted the color cube and then back at the wall color. “It looks like you're decorating a nursery.”
“Did you need something?” I dropped my paint brush in the empty paint pan and glared at baby blue. Maybe it'll darken when it dries. Some of it was already dry, though. The jackass at the paint counter in Home Depot assured me it would dry darker than it looked in the can, but he talked to the front of my t-shirt, so maybe he hadn't noticed it looked like an Easter egg after he mixed it. If I had to go back, I resolved to wear a turtleneck. A loose one.
Matt moved over to the curtain-less window and glanced out at the wide expanse of yard that came with the three-storey old farmhouse I fell in love with last year and bought on a whim. The yard needed a lot of work too, but that was the last priority. Long before I started gardening, the roof needed replacement, ancient plumbing and electrical needed to go, and the entire place needed updating from the classic nineteen-fifties Cat Lady décor it came with.
“How did those appointments go with the prospective contractors?”
I only shifted my glare his direction for a second before returning to the paint. “One won't take on this large a project and wanted me to piece it out a bit at a time. The second one wanted twice my budget, twice as much time to complete it, and when I asked about license and references, he suddenly had another appointment. The last guy spent half the appointment talking on his cell phone and let his dog run through the house without asking.”
Matt scrubbed his fingers through his short, dark hair but did not bother subduing the chuckle at my expense. “You're screwed, Sis. What are you going to do?”
I wiped my hands on my paint-splattered jeans, then tugged the end of my ponytail around so I could see how bad the glob was. “I'll either go with the first guy or do it myself,” I said with an absent nod towards the room while studying my hair. “This is the only room upstairs I don't plan on having gutted, so until I decide, I'm painting and moving my junk in here to have one space I can go in the house without being annoyed.”
“Well, would you be open to one more appointment?” He turned around and leaned against the window sill with a cryptic smile.
“With who? I think I've met with everyone in the greater Southeast.”
I had. When our grandfather passed away a year and a half ago, Matt and I were his only two grandchildren. When my grandparents married all those years ago, they started a savings account to leave their future grandkids, and when my grandfather passed and they read the will, my brother and I both nearly fainted. We were not independently wealthy, but Grandpa left us much more than we expected. I bought the house with a small part of my half, and had the rest set aside to fix the place up. Unfortunately, after months of meeting too many general contractors, I had yet to find one with both credentials and a sane grasp of budget and timeline.
“I found someone that I think can do the job, but he's not licensed. Yet,” he added when I inhaled to object. “He's new to the area, and he's experienced, and I think you'll hire him if you'll meet with him.”
“Who is it?”
I was dubious, but I'd done a lot of research. I knew absolutely nothing about home improvement other than what I'd seen on television, so I needed someone trustworthy. Everything I read said licensing and references were critical to avoid a scam artist.
Matt's smile widened. “Remember Jason Carver, my old roommate? He got caught in a mortar attack a few months ago and was given a medical discharge. He's making rounds to visit the guys, then he's using his severance pay to reopen his Dad's old business somewhere down this direction. His dad was a contractor for years before he got too sick and sold the business not long after Jason got deployed, but Jason used to help him when he was a kid, and this is the stuff he studied for in school. You'd be a big help to him if you brought him in here; it would give him something to do while the business becomes official and he could use a reference to find other clients. And you could use the help.”
Matt was rambling but I did not hear much after the name. I tried to keep the shock off my face until he wound down. “Matt, I know you want to help him, but doing business with friends is just behind doing business with family on the 'bad idea' scale.”
“He'll be in the area next week to visit. Just meet with him and if you don't want to go ahead, it'll be fine.” Matt pushed away from the wall and glanced out the window. The afternoon sun dipped low in the short time we we talked. “He mentioned something about wanting to see you, anyway, before I mentioned you had a shitty house you needed to renovate.”
I was grateful for the almost evening lighting so he could not see me pale. “Maybe. We'll see.” The hell we would. I needed to schedule a business trip out of town. Or hop a freight train. Or something equally cowardly.
“Great,” he grinned, certain the contract was already signed. Then the bastard gave the wall color a thoughtful nod. “You know, in this light the paint almost looks like the swatch.”
I sighed and gave him a bland smile he ignored. “Did you need anything else?” I inquired with a sugary tone and started collecting the brushes, roller, and pan.
Matt laughed and stepped around me and headed out the door. “Nope. I'll call you and let you know when Jason's in the neighborhood.”
“Looking forward to it!” I faked cheerful and listened to his elephant steps clomp down the stairs and out the kitchen's screen door again. Then sat in the middle of the baby blue guest room and stared at the paint.
What else could I say? Matt had no idea Jason was my first. Not my first crush. Not my first kiss. My First. They were best friends in college, especially their senior year when he met me as Matt's little freshman sister he was far too protective of; Matt might have killed us both back then if he knew. And while it was not said outright, the understanding was that I was never supposed to see him again after that night.
I cooked some dinner but didn't taste it, then spent far too long in the shower trying to get the baby blue streak out of my hair.
Does this give enough of a hook? Should anything be expanded upon or toned down? I'm also uncertain if I should include more of a character description in this first section, or if the next section will be early enough.
For genre, it'll fall somewhere near Erotic Couplings when it's done.
==============================================
My back hurt, my arms were numb, and when I reached up to adjust my disheveled chestnut ponytail, I realized I'd touched my hair at some point and left a now-dried clump of paint. I stood there musing over the amount of shampoo needed to get semi-gloss out when cloud cover outside changed and I saw my entire afternoon's hard work in better light.
The paint swatch taped to the door frame looked like a soothing gray blue that reminded me of the beach. Maybe it looked like the sky, or maybe clear water from somewhere tropical; I don't know, it was beachy. It did not look like the baby blue crap covering half my guest bedroom walls, though.
“Annie!”
My brother's voice bellowed through the house a second before the kitchen's screen door screeched open then slammed shut again with a heavy crack.
“Easy on the door!” I called back, hoping the hinges held to the door frame in sore need of replacement. That was another project on my ever-growing “to do” list.
Matt's heavy footsteps stomped up the stairs, sounding not unlike a drunken elephant. As soon as he poked his head around the corner, found me, and stepped inside, he surveyed the new wall color. “Are you pregnant?”
“No,” I snapped, and jabbed a finger at the paint swatch. “It's supposed to look like that.”
He dutifully consulted the color cube and then back at the wall color. “It looks like you're decorating a nursery.”
“Did you need something?” I dropped my paint brush in the empty paint pan and glared at baby blue. Maybe it'll darken when it dries. Some of it was already dry, though. The jackass at the paint counter in Home Depot assured me it would dry darker than it looked in the can, but he talked to the front of my t-shirt, so maybe he hadn't noticed it looked like an Easter egg after he mixed it. If I had to go back, I resolved to wear a turtleneck. A loose one.
Matt moved over to the curtain-less window and glanced out at the wide expanse of yard that came with the three-storey old farmhouse I fell in love with last year and bought on a whim. The yard needed a lot of work too, but that was the last priority. Long before I started gardening, the roof needed replacement, ancient plumbing and electrical needed to go, and the entire place needed updating from the classic nineteen-fifties Cat Lady décor it came with.
“How did those appointments go with the prospective contractors?”
I only shifted my glare his direction for a second before returning to the paint. “One won't take on this large a project and wanted me to piece it out a bit at a time. The second one wanted twice my budget, twice as much time to complete it, and when I asked about license and references, he suddenly had another appointment. The last guy spent half the appointment talking on his cell phone and let his dog run through the house without asking.”
Matt scrubbed his fingers through his short, dark hair but did not bother subduing the chuckle at my expense. “You're screwed, Sis. What are you going to do?”
I wiped my hands on my paint-splattered jeans, then tugged the end of my ponytail around so I could see how bad the glob was. “I'll either go with the first guy or do it myself,” I said with an absent nod towards the room while studying my hair. “This is the only room upstairs I don't plan on having gutted, so until I decide, I'm painting and moving my junk in here to have one space I can go in the house without being annoyed.”
“Well, would you be open to one more appointment?” He turned around and leaned against the window sill with a cryptic smile.
“With who? I think I've met with everyone in the greater Southeast.”
I had. When our grandfather passed away a year and a half ago, Matt and I were his only two grandchildren. When my grandparents married all those years ago, they started a savings account to leave their future grandkids, and when my grandfather passed and they read the will, my brother and I both nearly fainted. We were not independently wealthy, but Grandpa left us much more than we expected. I bought the house with a small part of my half, and had the rest set aside to fix the place up. Unfortunately, after months of meeting too many general contractors, I had yet to find one with both credentials and a sane grasp of budget and timeline.
“I found someone that I think can do the job, but he's not licensed. Yet,” he added when I inhaled to object. “He's new to the area, and he's experienced, and I think you'll hire him if you'll meet with him.”
“Who is it?”
I was dubious, but I'd done a lot of research. I knew absolutely nothing about home improvement other than what I'd seen on television, so I needed someone trustworthy. Everything I read said licensing and references were critical to avoid a scam artist.
Matt's smile widened. “Remember Jason Carver, my old roommate? He got caught in a mortar attack a few months ago and was given a medical discharge. He's making rounds to visit the guys, then he's using his severance pay to reopen his Dad's old business somewhere down this direction. His dad was a contractor for years before he got too sick and sold the business not long after Jason got deployed, but Jason used to help him when he was a kid, and this is the stuff he studied for in school. You'd be a big help to him if you brought him in here; it would give him something to do while the business becomes official and he could use a reference to find other clients. And you could use the help.”
Matt was rambling but I did not hear much after the name. I tried to keep the shock off my face until he wound down. “Matt, I know you want to help him, but doing business with friends is just behind doing business with family on the 'bad idea' scale.”
“He'll be in the area next week to visit. Just meet with him and if you don't want to go ahead, it'll be fine.” Matt pushed away from the wall and glanced out the window. The afternoon sun dipped low in the short time we we talked. “He mentioned something about wanting to see you, anyway, before I mentioned you had a shitty house you needed to renovate.”
I was grateful for the almost evening lighting so he could not see me pale. “Maybe. We'll see.” The hell we would. I needed to schedule a business trip out of town. Or hop a freight train. Or something equally cowardly.
“Great,” he grinned, certain the contract was already signed. Then the bastard gave the wall color a thoughtful nod. “You know, in this light the paint almost looks like the swatch.”
I sighed and gave him a bland smile he ignored. “Did you need anything else?” I inquired with a sugary tone and started collecting the brushes, roller, and pan.
Matt laughed and stepped around me and headed out the door. “Nope. I'll call you and let you know when Jason's in the neighborhood.”
“Looking forward to it!” I faked cheerful and listened to his elephant steps clomp down the stairs and out the kitchen's screen door again. Then sat in the middle of the baby blue guest room and stared at the paint.
What else could I say? Matt had no idea Jason was my first. Not my first crush. Not my first kiss. My First. They were best friends in college, especially their senior year when he met me as Matt's little freshman sister he was far too protective of; Matt might have killed us both back then if he knew. And while it was not said outright, the understanding was that I was never supposed to see him again after that night.
I cooked some dinner but didn't taste it, then spent far too long in the shower trying to get the baby blue streak out of my hair.
I see what you and others mean, though. I've still got some spare parts to trim to do away with the "telly." Thank you for the helpful suggestions!
