Zyphial

I've written this at least three separate times (this being the first in first person) and I think I've finally gotten something that's at least tolerable and sets the mood for the rest of the work. I'd appreciate any feedback, including anything negative, as I'd like to improve my character, introduction and exposition altogether. Thanks for taking the time to read it, and again, I'd appreciate anything you have to say.


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“I swear to God, Buddha, Odin and whoever else is listening,” I growled as I stuffed another of the library's novels on the shell, “I'm going to kill the next guy who writes a pill of cess like this! Six hundred pages... and for what? Where's the character, where's the art? Bah!” This was nothing new. I'd already read half the library over my years of incarceration, and all of it was either meant for someone who was either six or seriously ill in the head. This last novel was so awful, I wanted to personally strangle the author to spare his future readers, not to mention shoot the sadist who had the nerve to stock the Prison House's library with such trash. Sadly, the only thing that as in my power was to grab another from the garbage heap and pray that this one was a little better. With a title like 'The Big Bad Awful'–a tittle probably more fitting than the author ever intended–my hopes weren't high.
I missed the old public library, that sacred refuge for wayward literary connoisseurs, that banquet for minds starved of intellectual stimulation, that facility that was some two hundred miles away... The foster care system tended to separate one from things they loved. Like me from old Ms. Yadra and her fantastic assortment of books from all the best writers on either side of the pond. Or from my mom, for that matter. It was a hard learned lesson not to get too attached to anything; it was impossible to know when the time would come that everything I cared about would be taken away... again.
The sad part was, that wasn't even all of it. I might have been able to handle being dislodged like that, if the one thing I wanted out of my life were finally shaken free of the death grip he seemed to have on my leg. It was a simple, inescapable fact that I was the younger brother of the foulest monstrosity ever labeled a human being, and considering how much experience I'd had with monstrosities, that was saying something. Benjamin was in a class of his own, perhaps even worse than those sadistic librarians.
He was an idiot through and through. Our relation by blood was a clerical error I was just waiting for them to clear up: two such polar opposites simply couldn't come from the same stock, no matter what the circumstance. He was pathologically incapable of seeing reason and he can't agree on anything; even when he blunders into something logical, his mind changed the moment he realized I might see things the same way. I was a lover of books, the arts, and most importantly peace and quiet. That human wrecking ball was more akin to Mike Tyson than he ever was to a seventeen year old boy. Given the choice of company, I'd take The Willow and the fiction any day of the week.
“More books? Don't you think it's better to go play like your brother instead of staying all by yourself with nothing but a few moldy books?” The woman intercepted me on my way across the common room and out the front door. It was presumably one of the volunteers from Greensview – I made it a point never to dignify their presence by remembering their faces, let alone their names. Any sign of recognition just made them more pompous.
“No,” The simple answer seemed to suffice, and I made my way towards the door.
“Don't get smart with me!” This I had to stop for. This was one of those things I hated about adults. They said such stupid things, all the time – perhaps because they avoided getting smart with each other all the time. Before I'd even thought about what I was doing, I gave in to one of my knee-jerk reactions.
“Funny, I thought as a kid and all, it was my job to get as smart as possible?” She looked taken aback–definitely someone new then, as I'd pissed off all the older ones too often for anything I did to surprise them – then took a moment to phrase a reply.
“Ha, ha. You know, it isn't good for a child to spend so much time alone. It's probably why you find it so hard to get yourself adopted.” Cheap shot, way below the belt. I wondered if the volunteer staff was allowed to use the a-word in such a context. “And it is possible to be too smart, you know.”
“Really? Well, if I ever need a bit of dumbing down, I'll talk to you some more, okay?” Satisfied that I wasn't going to get a better exit line, I left before she could hit me with a parting shot of her own. I'd probably pay for it later, but I didn't care. It was all incredibly stupid, and I was tired of it. The worst they could do would be to throw me out, and honestly, I was ready for the change. Unfortunately, the only change I had to look forward to was the number of torture cessions I'd endured. I really, really wanted to shoot that sadist.
I escaped Greensview's Rehabilitation Center for the Young and Troubled–aptly dubbed The Prison House by it's often unwilling inhabitants, most of whom were only 'troubled' by the center itself–with no further incident. Nothing about that place was at all welcoming, and it was a far cry from the pristine institutions I'd been thrown in back in the big city. Apparently people in the country weren't concerned about excessive dust inhalation, good ventilation, or 'fancy' machinery like a much needed air conditioner. It was either that, or the locals were just cheap with their donations.
Greensview itself–a town so small it didn't qualify as anything more than a rustic village and certainly too small for it's name to appear on any map–was about five miles out from the center of nowhere and existed as a paradise for anyone who found themselves either displeased by the slightest change in status quo or extremely fond of startling regularity. To emphasize it's isolation from all that was good and holy, the city was surrounded on all sides but one by fields that seemingly went on for all eternity. Only the dense woodlands to the northeast broke the unbelievably smooth rim of the distant horizon and such isolation made Greensview the perfect cradle for some of the oddest characters to stand beneath the sky.

SparkyLT

Both my nits come from this line. It's 'title', not 'tittle', and you need spaces around your dashes - fix the rest of those, and it'll be pretty good. Easy to read and well-structured, good MC.

Der Teufel-Wolf

Interesting. Definitely a good view of an orphanage from the perspective of a disappointed tenant.

Someone made this suggestion to me on my postings, and I'm gonna pass it to you. Put a break between your paragraphs and your dialogue. It makes it easier to read and/or come back to if you have to stop/ want to find a detail again.

Sparky already beat me to the spelling thing, but there was a sentence or two that caught my attention:

This might read easier with a colon: " ...things they loved, like old Ms. Yadra's fantastic assortment of books ... pond, or from my mom, for that matter."

Other than that, a good read

__________________
"I prefer to think of myself as 'pre-published.'"

Vivid_dreamer

Hi Zyphial -
just thought I'd post a few comments here on your story. Ignore them if you don't feel they've helped any.

Comments in between text...


Your opening line doesn't grab me as a reader, unfortunately. Maybe take one of your other lines from the same paragraph and start off with that, just to see how it feels. Example:

I wanted to strangle whomever had the nerve to stock the Prison House's library with this trash trying to pass for literary work.

“I swear to God, Buddha, Odin and whoever else is listening,” I growled as I stuffed another of the library's novels on the shell [shelf], “I'm going to kill the next guy who writes a pill of cess like this! Six hundred pages... and for what? Where's the character, where's the art? Bah!” This was nothing new. I'd already read half the library over my years of incarceration, and all of it was either meant for someone who was either six or seriously ill in the head.

*Try to avoid starting with dialogue. Yes, I know a lot of published authors use it, but because they do use it so much, the device is cliche. Better to start with a stronger, more active bit of narrative first (preferably one showing emotion, like the sentence I selected from your para above, showing anger).*

This portion is good, gives lots of insight into your main character...

OK - one problem I see here is that your dialogue is too brief and sparse, sounding too much like one-liners people speak in everyday life. Sounds like you listened to some other writer online who told you your dialogue was too 'expository.' All fiction dialogue is there for a purpose and thus by its nature, expository. You can go overboard with exposition, so part of the balancing act a writer has to do is know the right amount of exposition for that situation. Real-life conversations with one or two-word answers do not work well in fiction. Fiction is NOT real life. Dialogue needs *some* exposition and a little emotion injected into it in order to help the story along. In your writing, above, you have plenty of supporting narrative to go along with each line of dialogue, but it's too 'telling' in nature. Let your dialogue and an action tag say it instead (for more of a sense of realism).

For example, you could rewrite the above portions of dialogue in a more 'showing' narrative with a few lines of character action added for emphasis on what's being said [again, just an example]:

“More books? Don't you think it's better to go play like your brother instead of staying all by yourself with nothing but a few moldy books?” The woman said as she intercepted me on my way across the common room, heading towards the front door. She had to be one of the volunteers from Greensview. I made a point never to dignify their presence by remembering their faces, let alone their names. Any sign of recognition just made them more pompous.
“No,” I snapped in reply, and continued towards the door.
“Don't get smart with me!”
This I had to stop for. I turned to face her. The woman's piggy little eyes glinted darkly as they locked onto mine. I squelched the urge to laugh at what was obviously intended to be a withering stare. This was one of those things I hated about adults. They said such stupid things, all the time – perhaps because they avoided getting smart with each other all the time. Before I'd even thought about what I was doing, I gave in to one of my knee-jerk reactions...

Note that there's a little more added about the woman [in active form] and a few other words removed to cut down on wordiness in the narrative.

I'd cut the 'ha ha' and say instead [using a loaded, more 'showing' verb]:

She smirked. "It isn't good for a child to spend so much time alone. That's probably why you haven't been adopted."

Also, rather than 'telling' us her statement was a 'low blow,' you could show it by having your character react physically, thus showing us her remark hurt him:

I clenched my fist and bit down on the inside of my lip. After a microsecond, I forced myself to smile. [dialogue then picks up, as below...]

Good story so far. I like the tension and angst in this. But then suddenly, you jump forward in time:

The story of how your MC got out of Greenview Rehab would be very interesting to the reader. How did he get out? Perhaps you should go into that, because you used it as your opening scene.

Good paragraph, but it feels 'tacked on' to the chapter. If you added a chapter or two about how your character gets out of the rehab facility, it would give the reader A., more info about this character you've introduced us to & what motivates him and B., provide more obstacles and Conflict that will force the reader to read on. Give him a goal the reader can identify with. In other words, what is it that your MC 'wants' most in life? Just to get out? To be adopted? To have a normal life? Tell us his goals and hint at what lies in the way between him and what it is he really, really wants.

Also, end each chapter by putting a question into the reader's mind. Your ending para was good, but it didn't have a strong 'hook,' which is the question you're forcing the reader to ask themselves that can only be answered by reading on to the next chapter.

Good work overall, and sounds like it will be a great story when you're done with it.

Hope this helped,

happy writing----

JKSC

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Vivid_dreamer

On further thought...

Perhaps you could expand with a couple of chapters on why you've introduced this woman who confronted your MC on his way out the door. Rather than simply jumping over 'how' he got out of rehab, maybe play the 'what if' game here a little:

What if the woman who confronted him wasn't in fact a simple volunteer but is actually a new administrator for the facility - a person who he will ultimately face before he can be let go. You have an opportunity for some juicy conflict here, once he realizes that he's just pissed off the one person who carries his ticket out of rehab. What does he have to do now to convince her he's ready to leave?

Anyway, just my two cents' worth...

- JKSC

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Zyphial

Thanks for the comments, I gave it a few days to mull over and I agree with just about everything. I should point out, though, that there isn't much of a time leap - about the time it takes to walk to a door and open it. I meant to imply that the center had a somewhat open door policy (the children enter and leave at will, having nowhere else to go but the tiny town and miles of uninviting wilderness). The terrain acts like the prison barriers, but the MC has a tendency for hyperbole.

I'm adding a smoother transition, however. Rereading it in the light of someone experiencing the description for the first time, it seems like an abrupt switch between describing the Prison House and Greensview.

If you're curious, the woman does have a little more to do in the story later. She's partially to blame for all the trouble the MC is going to have to face later. I was simply trying to keep the exposition short and get the story moving, as I tend to spend far, far to long describing things (these all felt extremely brief, if that suggests anything).