Hoot08

Rough Draft but completed, still grammatical issues and what not.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------
I gently eased my foot on the accelerator, sending us down an empty street, save the old Victorian styled houses that looked more like shacks than actually homes. My eyes couldn't miss the for sale signs posted on each front lawn. Well at least it'll be quiet, I thought. We turned down Gray Street and slowed.

“Which one is it?” I asked, checking both sides of the street for our new home.

“Third on the left, the one with the red door,” Kelly said, pointing to my side.

I quickly cut the wheel and pulled onto the gravel driveway, the pebbles grinding softly beneath my tires. With a sigh I looked at Kelly. I knew she didn't want to be here, it wasn't home, and she was right, it wasn't. Not too long ago we were evicted from our apartment in the city so my agent helped us out by finding an old house to live in while I finished my novel.

“I promise it is only temporary, in a few months my novel will be finished and my check will come, enough to move back into a new apartment in the city,” I said, my fingers running along her cheek.

I put my arms around her and kissed her forehead gently. She gave up a lot for me. A job, her family, and I believe that even her miscarriage was on some parts my fault. The stress of not getting published is what caused the miscarriage. We both knew how hard it would be to have another mouth with only one of us bringing in any income. She said she just got sick and she lost the child, but the bruises on her head and body told me different.

She nodded hesitantly and opened her door. I got out and met her on the other side of the car. The slate pathway that led to the front door was overgrown with weeds and wildflowers. The yard, which looked a lot like the tall grasses of the Sahara, tickled your hands if you walked close enough. We reached the front door, which was the reddest red I had ever seen, and waited a moment.

“Now its already furnished so it won't feel like home, but all you need is me right?” I said, throwing on a cheesy grin that always made her smile.

Her lips began to turn up. Works every time.

I fumbled in my pocket for the key, finally coming to I slotted it in the lock and opened the door. We went through the house together, pointing out the things we liked and disliked. She said the bathroom smelled musky, I said it was just the rats. She laughed for a moment before I pointed out the large gray rodent sitting at the base of the toilet, where at which time she shoved my out of the way and ran from the room.

Slowly we began to settle in, I ordered pizza while she unpacked some of her belongings. I made my way up the rickety stairs and turned left to the study. A worn desk sat in the middle of the room, my loaned out laptop resting on top. A lone oval window sat behind the desk and off to the left was a door which led to attic space. With time to spare before the delivery guy showed up, I began my novel. You know many people have claimed to have writers block, but let me tell you, when you can't even think straight because you have so many different story combinations whizzing in your head and none of them seem to work, where your pushed past the point of speechlessness, that is writers block.

An hour later and the pizza was here and I hadn't typed a single sentence. I met the pizza guy at the door fished a twenty out of my pocket. The pizza was okay, better than the dinner time chatter. I could see the strain on her face, it was a bad idea to move out here. She wanted to stay with her parents, but I wouldn't do it.

We laid side by side in bed, my arm draped across her. I kissed her neck and whispered sweet nothings in her ear. I saw the corners of her mouth begin to turn up. “We will be out of her I promise,” I whispered.

3 A.M. And I'm still not asleep. With all the stressing about money I've turned myself into an insomniac, now I can't even escape financial issues in dreams. Rolling out of bed, my feet hit the cold hard wood floor, the creaking of aged wood echoing in the room. I checked over my shoulder to make sure I hadn't waked her.

I walked aimlessly through the house, my destination being my room, my study. I sat back in my swivel chair, my gaze never leaving the blinking cursor that had no letters behind or in front of it. I looked at the time, 5 A.M. I slammed my fists on the table, sending my laptop clattering to the floor.
My anger swelled. I could hear the thumping of my heart, my vision blurred then it happened, when everything changed. I picked the laptop from the floor and set it spinning to my side, I waited for the imminent crash, it came but later than anticipated. I looked to my left, to the attic door, it was open. I saw a cord laying on the steps. A chill came over me as the cord swayed. Creeping forward, I stole a peek of what lay up the stairs, my eyes following the cord to my laptop.

Taking a deep breathe I steadied myself then jumped forward, grabbed the laptop, but then something else caught my eye. What looked to be a hand clutched at the cable, but not an adult hand a child's or even an infant's. Hands tensing, I fell backwards and the cord easily came loose with no effort. I slammed the door shut with my foot. I never liked attics. Dawn's early orange glow came through the window, casting shadows along the floor. . I laughed a bit in an attempt to mask my own cowardice to see if the child was there. Just an illusion, if something really was holding that cord it wouldn't have given loose so easily. Tired droopy eyes often fool even the bravest man. I left the room and shut the door. On my way back to the room I decided not to tell Kelly. I mean no use upsetting her.



“David,” came a soft whisper besides me. I opened my eyes to the a hand gently drawing on my back. A smile came to my face. It had been so long since they last had relations. With all the trouble she had been through we hadn't the time for it. I guess maybe its a nice way to christen a house.
I turned over to face her, my eyes closed, lips puckered, awaiting her kiss. Her lips fell upon mine, but something was different. They were cold and wet. I licked my lips and cringed when an irony taste filled my mouth. Shuttering I opened my eyes and in doing so revealed a creature of grotesque looks. A naked woman, her mutilated and bloated spewing forth blood, laid where my wife should have been. She got off the bed and moved towards me, her body moving as if she were a marionette. I turned to the door but found it bolted shut. There was no where to go. I looked around the room. The window my only chance and a slim one at that. Shuffling along the wall I made my way to the window. With my elbow I shattered the glass and peeked my head to see the fall. Not so bad. My hands gripped the window pane as I dangled my self out. Count of three. 1. . . . 2. . . . 3. . . . Fall!

I woke up short of breathe and damp. Dreams like that are the worst, the ones that steal your very sense of reality. Kelly laid next to me now, the bloody corpse no longer staining my white sheets.I looked to the clock, 12 noon. With a stretch and a yawn I made my way downstairs and fried up some eggs. Making sure that there were leftovers for when Kelly woke, I hurried upstairs to my writing room.

A cold wall hit me as I passed on through door way. I left the door open in an attempt to left some warmer air in. My laptop was in it's right full spot and I began to wonder if maybe that whole episode was just another dream, but when my eyes fell upon the cable lying loose from the electrical outlet I knew it was real. The sunlight calmed my nerves a bit, light always did that. My writer's block had ceased to move, so I sat there for the day, staring at a blank screen.


Life remained uneventful over the next week, very uneventful. Kelly walked the house aimlessly, never so much as offering a good morning or an I love you. She walked around like a zombie, but I had more on my mind than her. My deadline was inching its way closer and I hadn't even written a single freaking word. Then one night my everything changed.

Slowly I rocked back and forth, the creaking of my roller chair becoming louder with each successive movement. My fingers hovered over the keyboard, poised to type with my first thought. I looked to the screen and nearly fell out of my chair. Words were being typed out, but not by me.
Hello David, I see you are having trouble, the Times New Roman size twelve font spelled out.

My jaw dropped. This was ridiculous, my insomnia had really taken it's toll on me, now I was seeing things other than baby hands. I hit the backspace bar several times before the words were gone.

Let me help solve your worries, the cursor blinked out.

I couldn't believe it. There was something wrong with me. Delirium had set in. I close my laptop, got up and walked downstairs. Thoughts were flying through my mind. Was what just happened real, or perhaps I was so tired that I didn't even realize typing those words myself. Sleep. Sleep was the answer, so I grabbed a blanket and a pillow and slept downstairs on a couch, Kelly needed her space.


Sunlight shining through the front window warmed my face. With much resistance I got up and dragged myself upstairs to write. Quietly I opened and closed the creaky door to my study and turned to my desk. The laptop was open and on. My heart raced, my eyes went to the attic door which swung slowly on hit's hinges. A cold chill coursed down my spine. I shut the attic door quickly then stopped before I approached my desk. Did I really want to see what was on what should have been the blank page of the word processor? In truth no, but as the saying goes curiosity killed the cat.

Slowly I sat down in my chair, my eyes closed. Then I opened them to see an entire novel typed out. My eyes widened and a smile came to my face. This was good, it was really good. Perhaps the best writing I had ever seen. It gripped my heart just as many other classics had done when I was a child; Tom Sawyer, The Old Man and the Sea, Slaughter House V.

I didn't care where it came from. I looked up, God gave this to me, quick simple answer, though if I would have thought about it, perhaps I would have found the true doaner of the story. I continued reading and found that I couldn't stop. Though it took me five hours I finished it. It was by far the best writing I had ever read. Hooking up the printer to my laptop I began to think how wrong it was, but with my marriage on the line I was willing to turn a blind eye. Sealing the story in a manila envelope, I wrote the mailing address and sent it off. I went up to my room but held off, after all Kelly needed her sleep.

Two weeks later my agent sent back a letter. Amazing, he wrote. I smiled but it was soon replaced with a grimace after all I hadn't truly written it. But then again I had no clue what wrote it.

The attic remained my room for most of the next few weeks. I stared into the blank page, hoping for the words to type themselves out. Nothing. Then as I began to shut my laptop and call it a night I heard the gentle tapping of it's keys. I lifted the screen back up to see a sentence, It is time to pay David.

I looked around the room. My vision darkened, I looked to the attic, a white light emitting from the threshold. Like a cat I jumped from my seat and ran to the hallway door, but its door knob was gone and it would not budge.
A wave of panic hit me. I fell to my knees, breathing in heavy pants, tears streaming down my cheeks. This is what I get, this is what I get for taking with out asking. The attic door swung open, a white light blinding me. I felt myself being pulled to the door. I called out for Kelly, but secretly knew she would not come. For it came to me then why she seemed as if she wasn't there, she wasn't, it body that is. Neglect is the worst kind of torture. Leaving someone you love, to live a life of loneliness is a much worse fate then a bullet through the head, or in her case a blade along the wrists.

I scratched at the old wood floors, splinters digging deep under my fingernails. It was hopeless. I submitted myself my fate and allowed the white light to pull me deep into the attic. It was the opposite of darkness, yet it was so bright I couldn't see the hands in front my face. The light flashed once then receded. I was left in darkness, my thoughts attacking me from all corners from my mind.

You killed her, and you killed your child, my head thumped. I continued the assault on myself until something caught my attention, a slow scraping noise. My vision began to adjust to the darkness and I could make out a small form crawling to me. I jumped up and felt up me for a cord of some sort to a light. My hand gripped the thin string and pulled down. I stopped, out of fear or something else I didn't know. Looking to my feet I saw what it was. A fetus, developed enough to tell what it was but not enough to make out it's eyes. I kicked it away and turned to the stairs, but the bloodied corpse from my dream stood in the way, which now I could see for what it was, Kelly. She crept closer as did the infant and I knew what was going to happen, for just as my neglect had killed them so too would it kill me. I screamed but knew it was of no use for no one lived on Gray Street except for those permanently placed.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------
I know the ending is a bit werid but I didn't know how to say that his negelect made his wife kill herself and made his wife have a miscarriage without coming out right and saying it, if anyone would like to help solve this please do.

gohn67

hey Hoot08,

Yeah the ending was really strange. I didn't get it really. First I did not understand the whole manscript being type up magically. I'm not sure what to make of it. Is the house haunted? Nothing in the previous sections made me think that that would happen or makes it seem plausible.

I definitely did not get the neglect thing. I noticed the tension between his wife. I thought it was because he could never get any writing done and that his wife had to work really hard to support them.

I can see that symbolized in the dream in a way. I also noticed that there was not much interaction between the wife. But there could have been many reasons for that. Maybe somehow give a few instances where the wife wants or needs something from him but he ignores her to work or something.

Though I notice now that you did show things like the wife walking around the zombie and totally ignoring him. But I thought that was because she hated the house. In a way the narrator's desire to live in the house and not listening to his wife is neglect. Yeah, I think if you added some more instances of the wife and her being ignored would help. Also show her gradual deterioration as she lives in the house, kind of like living in the house was the last straw for her in this neglectful relationship.

On a side note I liked the fetus that ran around. I thought that was cool. Surreal too. But something about a fetus running around makes for good dark humor.

__________________
The Frowning Dog Blog

christine l golden

lots of typos- some bits of incohernt writing- perhaps you missed it when you proofread your story (I confess, I am guilty of that myself, missing typos and bits of incoherent writing as well)
I'll point out a few sentences (not all)
for example-I gently eased my foot on the accelerator, sending us down an empty street-----in my mind easing my foot would be taking my foot away from the accelerator- not pressing down on it...that should be addressed.
---here you wrote---Not too long ago we were evicted from our apartment in the city so my agent helped us out by finding an old house to live in while I finished my novel.
---could you furnish the name of an agent that would do that---I mean--being evicted implies no money to pay rent, yet here you offer an explaination for why they are there....perhaps in this case- less is more--avoid too much explaining as to how or why...unless you say that the house was offered to them in a way ...such as a loaner, a temporary place to stay...something along that line.....
here-I fumbled in my pocket for the key, finally coming to I slotted it in the lock and opened the door.----doesn't read clearly----
here-Slowly we began to settle in, I ordered pizza while she unpacked some of ------they have no money, but he ordered pizza??? why not just say early on that they were living on limited funds, instead of implying total impoverishment....would explain the move to a rough neighborhood and still having some money....
here-I began my novel. You know many people have claimed to have writers block, but let me tell you, when you can't even think straight because you have so many different story combinations whizzing in your head and none of them seem to work, where your pushed past the point of speechlessness, that is writers block.......
okay- we all understand writers block- you are digressing from your story, this part does nothing to enhance the fact that you are blocked- say blocked and leave it at that....everyone is affected differently...trust me - you are preaching to the choir here........
anyhow- there's more- but you get the idea. You did say this was a rough draft, and so most of it's really excusable...important first rule in writing- get the story down on paper---the real writing comes next (the hard part, rewriting, editing, proofing...that's where the suffering comes in- having to cut words that you struggled to get there in the first place)
anyhow- no offense- but it's a bit predictable- guilty man causes death of wife and unborn child- can't live with self----
you want a twist to the old tale----and if your theme is writer's block-(which seemed to prevail throughout this story) then try this---
same basic thing that you have- they move, but from a house to a smaller apartment (makes more sense, you move down not up when cash flow is a major problem) He suffers from writers block...but doesn't come up with anything, and there is no miracle story that appears on his laptop, but he still gets a letter from his editor, asking how things are coming along...this puts even more pressure on him.......then he thinks he wrote something, he types madly for hours at a time, but nothing ever appears on the keyboard.....then, at the end, it's his wife who comes to see him- at an asylum, where he sits in a catatonic state in front of a defunct laptop....(cheesy, but workable)
he still has caused all the problems, but the story is all in his head......just a thought anyways......
and you can keep a lot of what you have-- the pizza delivery, the already furnished place...the long periods of insomnia....the crazy visions.....
probably doesn't help you much...sorry

__________________
Junebug61753

river-wind

There is a lot of Telling going on -
"This is what I get, this is what I get for taking with out asking. The attic door swung open, a white light blinding me. I felt myself being pulled to the door. I called out for Kelly, but secretly knew she would not come. For it came to me then why she seemed as if she wasn't there, she wasn't, it body that is."

It reads like a short bullet list of steps, as apposed to prose fiction.
1) this is what I get for taking w/o asking
2) Attic door opens
3) white light
4) pulled to the door
5) call for help
6) realize why Kelly was acting odd

The idea isn't bad, but it does need a lot of fleshing out - make the words flow, and the descriptions drive the narrative. I know that you've now moved into a Victorian house on a mostly abandoned street...but what does the street look like?
The house itself, what does it look like? How big is it? It is run-down, as my mind paints it? It seems that the door to the attic is in the "office" where the narrator sets up his desk, but then at times, it seems like the bed is in the same room.

It also seemed odd to me that the couple would be moving from an apartment to a full-sized home in a suburban neighborhood; either the old apartment was really swanky, or the new house is a real pit. The bit about all the other houses on the street having for sale signs is good – it suggests turmoil on this street….but why? Are all the house prices simply going up, so everyone is selling? Is it a violent neighborhood? Is the economy of the whole town dying? Is the entire block itself haunted?

The starkness of details after the first few paragraphs, combined with the "just moving in temporarily" theme makes me envision a stark house - nothing unpacked, most of the rooms empty. The bed is to me just a mattress on a wooden floor in an empty room; the office has nothing but a card table with an old bulky laptop and a chair. I know that the main character says that it is already furnished, but I just don't see that (also, back to the "they moved out of an apartment in the city to a fully-furnished victorian home in the suburbs because of financial troubles? huh?")

I'd say that it's a worthwhile start, and as christine|golden mentioned "the real writing comes next". It's interesting enough to put in the effort to build a more robust piece out of this.

__________________
"Life doesn't have to justify itself. Fiction does."

Hoot08

Thank you for the critiques especially christine who offered alot of good ideas to improve my story, because after rereading it I see it for what it is a mass of garbage with a bit of gold mixed in, so i guess I just have to clean it u

christine l golden

It's not garbage...it's a work in progress. Heck, you oughta read some of the crap I thought of...and while I was writing it I even believed it was pretty good. Funny how re-reading all that hard work only makes you want to do two things... and hit the delete button.-referring to my own work, not yours...... But don't do that...you have the beginnings of something here, and the fun (as well as frustration and work) will come with making it into the story that you intended when you started.....if you want some revenge...read my crappy entry and tell me what you think. It was too long for the whole story to go onto the site, so I was hoping to get a few suggestions and then maybe be able to trim it down and get the rest out...but so far not many takers...(guess it's my turn to hit the delete key, huh?)
anyhow, take a chance and work with the story.....see what you can do with it.....and for goodness sake have some fun....

__________________
Junebug61753