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Member
Join Date: Nov 2003
Location: Austin, Texas
Posts: 4
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Critique please.
Hi all,
This is Chapter One of a novel I'm working on. Since the beginning is so important I'd like some feedback. This is my first post so thanks in advance to any that can help.
Jerry
“The Monument”
He sat motionlessly for almost an hour, his eyes closed, head resting against the leather headrest on his desk chair. The last of the snow had melted over two weeks before and the air was warming.
The first of the spring thundershowers approached from the west, nipping away at the crystal blue sky. The building cumulus clouds generated a brisk breeze filled with the sweet scent that comes only in spring.
The breeze perked through the open window, gently shifting the papers on his desk and occasionally snapping the empty sheet of paper rising from the top of his typewriter.
“Perfect,” he thought as Daydream came on the radio. He began to sing along;
What a day for a daydream...weeoo
What a day for a daydreamin boyeeoy,
The phone rang.
Shit, he thought as he reached for the phone. “Hello,” he answered slowly.
“John, Vince here.” Vince Sanderson was John’s editor and one of his closest friends. They had known each other for fifteen years.
“You pick the worst times,” John answered.
“Sorry, a Lady?”
“No...it was the moment. It’s just an incredible day outside.”
“Ah...sounds like a touch of spring fever,” Sanderson replied.
“Real bad.” John sat up straight. “But I’m back, what’s going on?”
“I have a story you might be interested in.”
“Vince, I’m in the middle of the veteran’s piece and...”
CALM DOWN, I didn’t say you HAD to do it and I didn’t say when. I just thought you’d be interested in taking a look at it.” Sanderson didn’t want to come off too pushy. He had to let the information out at just the right times and let John sell himself on the story.
John thought for a moment. He’d been alone for three days, working at his typewriter for hours. He could use a break. “You have plans for tonight?” he asked his editor.
Vince was confused, “PLANS! What are you talking...plans. What about the story?”
“Now YOU calm down,” John popped, “I was going to invite you over for a couple of steaks, smothered in mushrooms. You can lay the story on me then.” He threw in the part about the steaks at the last moment but now that he mentioned it, a nice filet sounded good.
“Well,” Vince stalled as he raced through his mental notebook. “I’d like that. How about seven?”
“Great,” John said. “I’ll get everything and wait tell you get there to put the steaks on.
“Fine, see you at seven,” his boss said.
After hanging up, Vince leafed through his address book until he found the number. He dialed it and upon hearing the first ring, leaned back, swiveled around to face the window that overlooked Michigan Avenue. He was about to hang up when someone answered.
“Hello,” Her voice was raspy.
“Hello,” Vince said. “Is Sandy there?”
“Speaking.”
“Sandy? This is Vince...from Chicago.”
“Oh, Hi, Sorry about my voice, I’ve had a cold for a few days.”
“I didn’t think you could get colds in Yuma,” Vince laughed. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to poke fun.”
“That’s OK, this comes every spring, lasts about a week and I’m good for another year.”
“Well, I talked to John today.”
“Is he coming?” she said after a short pause.
“I was only able to mention it briefly this afternoon, but, I’m having dinner with him tonight at his house, I’ll work on him then. That’ll give me a bit more time to come up with a plan.”
Vince waited for a reply but none came.
“Sandy? Can you hear me?”
Sandy Wheeler heard. She was crying.
“Sandy...are you OK?” There was genuine concern in Vince’s voice.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Sorenson. It’s just...”
“I know, Sandy. But it will all turn out fine, I promise you. And call me Vince, please.” He wanted to keep the promise, he just didn’t know how.
“Will you call me tomorrow?” she asked.
“I’ll call the minute I know more, OK?”
“Thank you, Mr...Vince. I will never be able to repay you.”
“There’s nothing to repay. I’ll call you soon.”
He pressed the On Hook button and held on to the phone. A particle of doubt shot through his conscience. He quickly dismissed it, certain he was doing the right thing.
Looking up from the phone and out over Lake Michigan Sorenson noticed a container ship about five miles out that didn’t seem to be moving. He picked a mark on the window and lazily lined it up between the ship and his right eye. He was going to find out if the ship was moving or not. His mind began to wander. He had always loved the sea and dreamed of working on a ship. Being free from the world most people lived and died in. No rent, no phone calls, no icy roads or flat tires or mosquitoes or horns. It never happened, though. He was recruited right out of college by Parson Publishing, this year would be his twenty-third.
“Mr. Sorenson, you have a call on line 2,” came the voice over the intercom.
Vince snapped back to the present and without acknowledging his secretary’s page, pressed line 2 and release the On Hook button. “This is Mr. Sorenson.”
“I’m calling with reference to the Yuma story.” The voice was cold and mechanical.
“Who is this?” Vince shot back.
“Who I am is not important, the information I have is.”
Vince pulled up to the desk and reached for a pen. “Excuse me, sir, but I don’t have any...”
“Listen,” the voice broke in. “If Mr. Jamison goes to Yuma, he will die.”
Before Vince could respond the line went dead. Holy Shit? he mumbled. He quickly paged his secretary. “Judy, did that last caller leave a name or number?”
“No, Sir. He just said he needed to talk with you and that it was very important. He mentioned Yuma so I thought...”
“That’s Ok, Judy. Did you think there was anything strange about his voice?”
“Funny you should ask. The voice sounded real familiar at first, but I couldn’t place it. But I just realized where I’ve heard it.”
“Where?” Vince asked, impatiently.
“You’re not going to believe this, but he sounded just like a game my son has.”
“What?”
“It’s a talking game, you know, a computer game where the computer talks back.”
That’s it. The voice was digitized. That’s why it sounded so mechanical. But why? Who? Someone who’s voice I Knew? But nobody I know knew about the Yuma story except... “Judy, did you tell anyone about the Yuma story?”
“Of course not, Mr. Sorenson.”
“I’m sorry, Judy...didn’t mean it,” he said sincerely. Numbed by the call, he didn’t know what he meant. He needed time. He needed to get out of the building. “Tell you what, let’s take the rest of the day off.”
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