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Folcro
April 7th, 2013, 01:45 PM
Hello, everyone. I am very grateful to finally have the opportunity to produce my first posting of fiction here.

I have spent the last few years working on a post apocalyptic novel, and would love some feedback for my first chapter.

Here is a synopsis of the story (note that the first chapter does not involve any of the characters mentioned yet).

A virus stole fertility from many people long ago, ending society over several generations. The United States became the Seven Cities of America.

Chicago, cut off from the other cities, ruled in darkness, is home to the scientist who created the virus. Hateful of humanity, hateful of himself, the dying scientist passes his knowledge on to his apprentice, who he believes will use it to damn all life to everlasting misery.

The apprentice, Harold, his own past stained with unforgivable acts, does not share his master's hatred. But he wants this knowledge, and would shamelessly kill innocents to get it. But to what end, he struggles to realize--- all the while wondering if humanity, worthless as it seems, deserves compassion more than he deserves omniscience.

As Harold struggles with his future and his identity, Chicago's ruler, the host, learns of the knowledge he has. Harold is has to flee his home.

The host, Grakus, is on a journey of his own--- to prove that humanity should never have existed, to guide it to its destiny of self-destruction. He will not allow the apprentice to thwart his delicate plan to do so.

But the apprentice will not allow the host to steal his decision before he's had the chance to make it.

The Last City of America is a character-driven epic touching every corner of America, exposing every level of its beauty. The individual emulates humanity, and humanity's faults are written in the individual. The two walk with one another into the final decision. Cities fall one-by-one to man's ignorance. The world is ending. This time forever. Two hands reach out to save it: good and evil.

This is the story of how we will be remembered.

--------------------------------------------

MORGAN


He hated this, but he had no choice. His building needed it, and it was his turn.

'It could be worse,' his elders would tell him. 'We're not in Chicago.'

It was probably the most thrown-about expression Morgan knew. People said it to remind themselves how fortunate they were.

We're not in Chicago.

No one Morgan knew had ever been to that city, yet all seemed intimately familiar with the terrors of it. And these terrors got people through the day.
As did stories of the Western Government, whose young women were often terrorized by a man they called the Wizard of Seattle.

His mother would often note the irony-- that there was a time when people told stories about how wonderful a city called Heaven was, and that was
what got people through the day.

'Prayers have changed a lot,' she always said. 'But they're still about places no one's ever been.'

There was a time Morgan's mother believed in a man called “God” who ruled the city of Heaven. Now she didn't even think there was a Chicago. 'All we have
is here.'

Whether there truly was such a place as Heaven or Chicago, and whether they were as good or bad as legend told, it mattered nothing to Morgan that day.
He had to believe in something. He was scared. More than he ever was. It was time to go shopping.

Every person who was a part of the Seven Cities of America was either of two types of people: a skytaker or a shadowpastor. Skytakers took to the city proper,
shadowpastors earned their keep in the fields as farmers, factory workers or landowners. The two types never mixed. Not in this city, anyway.

The shadowpastors of Manhattan lived on Long Island, tilling and harvesting on the fertile ashes of Queens. Nobody was allowed east of the Cross Island Wall. The
shadowpastors had to be contained: not too close but certainly not too far. Long Island was a big place, so Morgan had been told.

In return for the food, Manhattan bestowed a very special gift on their shadowpastors-- the Long Island Market. The LIM. It sold none of what the farmers on Long
Island produced and a small portion of what the factories did. The selection was supplemented by old world salvage, making it very important to check the dates on
perishables. Some of it was newly made, some of it was half-a-century expired.

Manhattan was so particular about the output of every farm that the landowners could only take enough for their own families. Everything else had to be sent
immediately into the city. If inspectors were to catch a landowner giving an apple core away, or turning an unauthorized profit on a cornstalk, they would send him away.
Depriving a city of its food was a crime against humanity. While this restricted landowners a great deal, it also gave them a great deal of power. They needed only point
a finger and the worker they didn't like was gone. Usually forever. Morgan worked for a good landowner. People were either for better or worse as far as that went. But
everyone had to go to the LIM eventually.

Morgan had often been told how lucky he and his neighbors were to live within walking distance of the LIM; that people farther east had to plan the trip a day in advance.
One day, when Morgan was twelve, he spoke back. 'If the Market's so great, why are you afraid of it?'

The man with whom Morgan had been speaking then lowered his head and walked away.

Morgan Veil was a good-looking man of twenty-six, a strong but humble way about him. Some of the people in his building said that would make shopping easier. His mother
wasn't sure. She was very worried. She had him dress in dark clothes and gloves to blend in. It was said that the darkest thing about the LIM was its lights.

The closer to Manhattan, the more buildings stood untouched by the renovation that produced Manhattan's farms. Morgan held his hands in his pockets as he walked a
street just over a mile from his home, weaving through the long-forgotten buildings.

“We're not in Chicago...” he kept muttering. “We're not in Chicago...” He held his hands in his pockets like weights were pulling them inside. “We're not in Chicago... We're
not in Chicago...”

The streets were always filthy. But they seemed to get filthier as he approached his destination. Everything got darker too; the buildings, the streets, the water that flowed
into a sewer up ahead. And there was a smell. “The everything smell,” Morgan had heard it called. Everywhere smelled like something; farms smelled like dirt, houses smelled
like food, the streets smelled like sewage. The LIM smelled like all of that.

Every now and then, Morgan spotted a rat headed in the same direction as he.

Then he saw it. It sat between two rotten buildings and in not much better condition. But it was big. A large slab of road spread before it. Morgan crossed. Others were crossing
from different directions, from other filthy streets, from alleyways. They looked even more afraid than Morgan was.

A vehicle approached the building as he came close. A big vehicle. All those who approached the market alongside Morgan stopped. Two men came out. Armed. Then another
man. Unarmed. He wore black pants and a blue long-sleeved shirt with a black tie. Clean-shaven. Sunglasses. Morgan's age. He was an associate: a resident of Manhattan and
paid good money to keep the LIM in order. He looked out to the motionless, frightened band of filthy people. He did nothing to hide his amusement. He straightened his name tag
as two more armed men came out of the vehicle behind him. Then he turned and entered the building. The people outside proceeded behind him. Morgan after them.

The place was dark, but not as dark as he expected. He could see okay.

The few florescent lights that still worked were flickering in random spots across the ceiling of the store. There was more light coming in through the carelessly-patched holes in
the roof. There were counters by the front door with numbers on them. The numbers were bright and some of them were also flickering. Associates with their blue shirts were
standing at them, typing on computers as frightened shoppers passed through with their items. An old, discolored sign ran above the large front windows, overlapped by the dirt
that covered every wall. “THE ASSOCIATE AND YOU-- FRIENDS FOR LIFE!” Beyond the checkout lanes, the shelves towered up and obscured the depths of the LIM in a maze of
rusted metal.

Morgan looked around until he saw a sign that read “Courtesy.” Below that sign was a counter, where there was another blue-shirted associate. Morgan reached into his pocket as
he approached it. The money was still there. Only in the city proper were coins and paper still used as currency. The people of Long Island used real goods when trading amongst
themselves. But the farmers were paid in paper. Paper was only good at the LIM.

As he drew closer to the courtesy counter, Morgan passed a woman holding a toddler close to her. She was having a very quiet argument with a man.

“I don't have a choice,” the woman was in tears. “There's no one to watch him.”

Morgan reached deeper into his pocket as the counter came closer, pushing the money aside for something equally important. A piece of paper given to him by the state. Relieved it
hadn't fallen out, he grabbed it and stood before the man at the counter.

Don't look at them! Morgan heard his mother's whip of a tongue crack inside his head. His eyes shot to the floor. He held the paper up, prayed the associate would accept it. The
man in blue didn't look happy. Nothing happened for a long time, Morgan's gaze fixed all the while on the chipped linoleum floor. Finally, he felt the paper slide from his hand. He sighed quietly.

The associate reached under the counter and placed a basket on the surface. Morgan was shopping for his whole building, so he had special privilege to carry one. Those shopping
for themselves or single families could purchase no more than they could carry in their arms.

“Thank you, sir,” Morgan recited as he had rehearsed, took the basket and retreated into the maze, head down. He began his search for good food. This wasn't the kind of shopping
you needed a list for-- it was the kind where you were ecstatic over anything you walked out alive with.

It wasn't crowded in the LIM. From what Morgan could see, everyone seemed to have their own place to search. A web of beams spread just beneath the crumbling ceiling. Bits of
rotten plywood fell from it at random. The “everything smell” began to subside, dominated by the smell of something that must have been sitting around for a very long time. Morgan
didn't smell it often-- food was rarely left to spoil where he came from. His work boots hit the tile with an echo as the aisles passed him by on either side. He almost tripped over a
rusty can. The can rolled unevenly, hit the base of a shelf. A rat crawled out.

He searched carefully, as he had been taught. He stopped when he saw a sign that read “PHARMACY” with the C and the Y flickering. Having studied the old world, he knew what that
word meant. It was still in service. The heavier stuff was usually sold out-- rarely by the people who needed it. Even over-the-counter cough medicine was a good idea to grab if you
were lucky enough to come across a bottle. Fortunately, no one in Morgan's building was ill. But somewhere nearby, somebody was. Somebody always was.

Morgan didn't think about it. He didn't always handle anger well. Sometimes he just wanted to burst out of the shell his mother stuffed him in and die trying to change the world with
his bare hands. He couldn't let that happen. His building needed him.

He kept his head down as he found the canned goods aisle. He only knew where he was because “CANS” was spray-painted in black across the dirty floor. There were hardly any cans
there-- and most of those were empty. The ones that were full had grime on them. Grime could be washed. The important thing was to make sure the cans were sealed. He picked up
a can and checked it. It seemed okay. He put it in his basket.

He turned down the long aisle of empty containers and busted cans as a woman was shoved. She took a shelf with her as she fell to the floor. Two associates were standing over her.
A third was on the way.

“Maybe she has a permit for sneaking tuna in her pocket?” one of the associates asked the other.

“She doesn't seem to have it on her,” the other replied. “Maybe we should speak to the manager.”

The woman stumbled to her knees, begging. “I just wanted to see if it would fit when I went home...”

The closest associate struck her across the face with a closed fist. The associate last to arrive closed in on her. The others followed. “Let's find out if it fits.”

The basket fell from Morgan's hand. He grabbed his head and chanted to himself “We're not in Chicago, we're not in Chicago...” He held on tighter to his head and chanted louder and
faster as he heard something heavy fall. He couldn't get the woman's screaming out of his head. “We're not in Chicago we're not in Chicago we're not in Chicago we're not in Chicago...”
When he finally looked up, all of them were gone. Even the woman, a small puddle of blood in her place. An empty rack on its side.

It didn't take long for Morgan to finish his shopping-- he took any full container he could find, perishable or not. He fit what he could into his basket and found the checkout lanes, wondering
if he'd make it out alive... wondering if he'd survive the next ten steps.

He made it to the counter. There was no line. The cashier was staring at him. He looked down.

Wait until you are instructed... his mother had warned.

“Come on,” said the cashier.

Morgan took the items out of the basket and stacked them on the counter as fast and as orderly as he could.

“So I can see them all,” the cashier demanded.

Morgan spread them out at once. The cashier looked at them for a moment. Then he turned on his stool, looked at his computer. Morgan watched as he typed in the order.

BOXES: 12

CANS: 14

BAGS: 11

“One-twenty,” said the associate. Morgan handed him six twenty dollar bills. “Return your basket to the courtesy counter. You will then be permitted to place your purchases into your clothing.
Have a nice day.”

“Thank you, sir.”

Years ago, a man had told Morgan he was lucky. If that man had been with him today, he would have told Morgan as he stepped out of that market, his coat stuffed with groceries, that he was
once again very, very lucky.

His body trembled as he made his way home.

Cameron22123
April 8th, 2013, 04:21 AM
Great work. Keep it up!

twentysix26
April 12th, 2013, 08:51 AM
This is actually really good, no complaints from me at all. I also see that you have it out on kindle, congratulations on that. I would buy it if I had a kindle (and some extra money) just so I could read some more.

Folcro
April 16th, 2013, 07:31 PM
This is actually really good, no complaints from me at all. I also see that you have it out on kindle, congratulations on that. I would buy it if I had a kindle (and some extra money) just so I could read some more.

Hey thanks, I appreciate it. I'm gonna make it free as a promo at the beginning of next month, the first friday or something like that. You can download a "kindle for pc and mac" to be able to read it without the handheld (i dont have one either, lol).

Anyway, thanks again for the support.

Mat
April 24th, 2013, 02:31 AM
I'm going to buy this today...

Folcro
April 24th, 2013, 03:30 AM
I'm going to buy this today...

Wow, thanks man. I appreciate it. Write me a review when you're done!

Silthian
April 25th, 2013, 01:15 AM
I enjoyed this, great read.

Mat
April 28th, 2013, 11:10 AM
Just bought it, may take a bit of time to read due to a new baby but I'm looking forward to it!

Folcro
April 28th, 2013, 09:20 PM
Just bought it, may take a bit of time to read due to a new baby but I'm looking forward to it!

Be sure to keep in touch and critique me as you go through it. Can never have enough feedback. Or flattery, lol.

msherman94
May 6th, 2013, 08:37 PM
Excellent world building early on. The apparent decay of religion seems to match that of society, and grabs the reader quickly. I feel like "the host" should be capitalized. I really hope that at some point there's a firm description of what makes Chicago so awful, as it draws my curiosity immensely.

The transition between "...lowered his head and walked away." and "Morgan Veil was a good-looking man..." Seems abrupt, like the end and beginning of distinct chapters.

A description of what the men in the vehicle were armed with would have been welcome, as it would have provided a small window into whatever technology was or wasn't available, (e.g. men stepping out of a car with nothing but metal pipes as opposed to men with laser guns.)

"Then he turned and entered the building. The people outside proceeded behind him. Morgan after them." This phrase seems clumsy to me, and likely should have been revised to "The man turned and entered the building, followed closely by his guards and the street rabble." It's also a good spot for a quick glimpse of Morgan's thought process.

Good display of the populace's desperation at the LIM.

I find myself yearning for a slightly more detailed display of the regular person's clothing. It always helps build a mental image of culture, especially in a undefined time period.

It seems kind of strange that U.S. currency is still the norm.

It is difficult to care about a protagonist's safety when we know so little about them, particularly when the consequences for failure haven't been displayed. The worst thing we've seen is the woman being struck and taken (dragged?) away.

Overall an excellent piece of fiction. I hope I didn't seem too harsh, but I've always considered constructive criticism more beneficial than excessive praise. Thanks for the great read.

MS

Folcro
May 6th, 2013, 09:03 PM
msherman94...

Never be afraid to criticize anyone, especially me, especially when you take as much time as you do to help a person succeed.

I thought your critique was excellent: you have underlined all of what I agree to be my weaknesses and presented them in a manner by which I can address them, and will (thankfully, you can still edit a book post-publication on Kindle).

Yes, the Chicago become much, much more developed as the scope of this story expands beyond Morgan's problems. The reason I elected not to capitalize "host" (and trust me, it crossed my mind many times) is because, if you say "the king," king is usually not capitalized. However, were I to say "Host Grakus," then I would of course capitalize the title.

I thought the mystery of what happened to the woman, mixed with Morgan's fears, would provide a sense of peril mixed with uncertainty--- it puts the reader where Morgan is; afraid, but unknowing. Perhaps I will meditate on that part a bit.

Thank you very much for taking this time for me. I hope you'll stick around as I post more of my works here.

BobtailCon
June 21st, 2013, 09:53 AM
Love it

Folcro
June 21st, 2013, 10:24 PM
Love it

It loves you too. :lol:

chris-mac
June 22nd, 2013, 12:18 AM
Remarkable. Completely engrossed right from the first sentence. Love this line...'the darkest thing about the LIM was its lights'.I could almost smell the decay and the trepidation as Morgan made his way around the LIM nervously filling his basket. First class. My only real critique is the last line 'His body trembled as he made his way home'. One would have presumed his sense of relief after getting out in one piece would have stopped the trembling. But that's only a minor niggle. It is brilliant. Need to read more.

Folcro
June 22nd, 2013, 12:22 AM
Remarkable. Completely engrossed right from the first sentence. Love this line...'the darkest thing about the LIM was its lights'.I could almost smell the decay and the trepidation as Morgan made his way around the LIM nervously filling his basket. First class. My only real critique is the last line 'His body trembled as he made his way home'. One would have presumed his sense of relief after getting out in one piece would have stopped the trembling. But that's only a minor niggle. It is brilliant. Need to read more.

Thank you kindly. That last line came from my own experience being very relieved about something very intense. I find that, when the fear and adrenaline has left me, I feel shaky. Not sure if this is the experience of most people.

I'm not really posting anything more about it other than the "Barnabas" chapter, as it's already published and I don't want to give vibe that I'm only trying to market the book. I am very curious as to what people would think about the prologue chapter, whether it is or isn't necessary. That's been bothering me for a while. Probably leave it be for now.

chris-mac
June 22nd, 2013, 12:32 AM
Indeed Folcro. I am sure we all worry about the start of a book more than the middle or the ending. In retrospect you are probably right about the shaky feeling you can get after a particularly intense and/or fearful experience. Great work my friend. I will look it up.

Pelwrath
June 23rd, 2013, 02:10 PM
Nicely done. As for Morgan, a protagonist that you know little about yet develop an empathy with him. Another thought, is that if Manhattan is this bad (or good) what was Chicago like? Morgan did steal yet wasn't caught. Not a problem but it leads to a few questions about the store. Is LIM based on the GUM store in Moscow? Keep the good work up and add on please.

Folcro
June 23rd, 2013, 03:13 PM
Nicely done. As for Morgan, a protagonist that you know little about yet develop an empathy with him. Another thought, is that if Manhattan is this bad (or good) what was Chicago like? Morgan did steal yet wasn't caught. Not a problem but it leads to a few questions about the store. Is LIM based on the GUM store in Moscow? Keep the good work up and add on please.

Thanks, Pelwrah. Morgan actually didn't steal, he put the items in his pocket only after he paid for them. He would have been far too scared to steal, and had all the money he needed anyway. I get well into Chicago later in the book. Much of the story actually takes place there. The follow up to this chapter was Barnabas (that is chapter 2, this is chapter one). I decided for a bunch of reasons not to post anything more from this particular book, mostly because I just wanted insight into my opener, and didn't want to use the forums as my personal advertisement center. I got a short story coming soon though.

Pluralized
June 30th, 2013, 09:59 PM
Folcro -

I have just read and commented on the Barnabas companion to this, and I'm glad to have the opportunity to comment on this piece as well.

First, I think you have an interesting tale, you write well, and obvious care is shown to your prose. I found nits and things to pick on, but nothing that can't be edited and this can be a very strong story.

I start to read any post-apocalyptic virus-wiped American wasteland story with a bit of a glazed eye, and I have to keep shaking it off. So, my apologies for a mild cynicism that will bleed through this critique. It's all about society. With a drastically reduced population, and only seven centers for commerce, it will be difficult to have things in your story like flickering signs and ubiquitous commerce without my inner cynic running the numbers, checking to see if your electrical grid would require the input of several large-scale coal mines, likely run with diesel-powered equipment, which requires heavy refining and industry of its own. There are so many opportunities for the system to break down, I would guess that generators would be the only hope for this kind of civilization. Flickering signs would give way to refrigeration of food in the summer, and many societal niceties would be long gone. So that being said, you have to decide what to include and what to ignore. It's a tall order, as this sort of thing was hammered so forcefully with The Stand.

In the opening description to this piece, your scientist and his virus are painted as "stealing fertility" which is then driven forward as the principle evil. The loss of procreation being a significant event, one which would likely drive macroeconomic changes and certainly the propagation of a new and bizarre civilization, it doesn't have the immediacy to be all that evil. It's too delayed, too soft. You have an aging population, but less new taxation on the system. Therefore, it lightens the load for several years, possibly creating halcyon days of plenty. Not trying to overthink your premise, but it has cracks in the wall showing me daylight. That's my take, anyway.

I found some things to pick, and hope this helps you:



His mother would often note the irony-- that there was a time when people told stories about how wonderful a city called Heaven was, and that was
what got people through the day.
I read "that there" and I start to get too many words floating. My inner voice starts saying "them thar," and it all falls apart. But I like to overthink stuff. Calling Heaven a "city" threw me also, but I see what you're going for.

I liked the skytakers and shadowpastors. Very inventive.



factory workers
I didn't buy that there would be factories churning. What are they making? Again the disconnect shows between the post-industrial America and the land of forlorn survivors. I just don't get a real solid stasis and I think that is a problem with this piece. Needs to be more believable.



not too close but certainly not too far.
Cancels itself out.



If inspectors were to catch a landowner giving an apple core away, or turning an unauthorized profit on a cornstalk, they would send him away.
Again, I don't see this Big Brother having all the resources to "inspect" all these folk. Isn't the population decimated? Same vibe when you mentioned "landowners." There aren't any landowners any more, just a ton of squatters.



Depriving a city of its food was a crime against humanity. While this restricted landowners a great deal, it also gave them a great deal of power.
Okay, so was the crime against humanity just a figure of speech, or an actual crime? If so, how does this restrict anything? There's a logic bust going on here.



People were either for better or worse as far as that went.
There is a cliché wrapped inside a cliché here.



The man with whom Morgan had been speaking then lowered his head and walked away.
Using "then" feels unnecessary. :)




One day, when Morgan was twelve, he spoke back. 'If the Market's so great, why are you afraid of it?'

The man with whom Morgan had been speaking then lowered his head and walked away.

Morgan Veil was a good-looking man of twenty-six, a strong but humble way about him. Some of the people in his building said that would make shopping easier. His mother wasn't sure. She was very worried. She had him dress in dark clothes and gloves to blend in. It was said that the darkest thing about the LIM was its lights.

First he's twelve, but the pluperfect seems mismanaged, then he's twenty-six. Did the market exist for that long? Also, I didn't get what you meant about the LIM's lights. Why is it so blinding?




The streets were always filthy. But they seemed to get filthier as he approached his destination. Everything got darker too; the buildings, the streets, the water that flowed into a sewer up ahead.
I think the word "too" is unnecessary and confuses this paragraph. Also, you could link the first two sentences and hack away five or ten words to tighten it up.

florescent>>>fluorescent


A vehicle approached the building as he came close.

pocket as the counter came closer,

as the aisles passed him by on either side.
There are movement issues with the scenery and Morgan here.



Only in the city proper were coins and paper still used as currency. The people of Long Island used real goods when trading amongst themselves. But the farmers were paid in paper. Paper was only good at the LIM.

Take another look at these sentences.




He turned down the long aisle of empty containers and busted cans as a woman was shoved.
I don't know what it is, but as I read the "woman was shoved," I think "where?" She could be anywhere. I know you go on to show the scene with the shelves collapsing, but for a moment there is some hang time.



The closest associate struck her across the face with a closed fist. The associate last to arrive closed in on her.




“We're not in Chicago, we're not in Chicago...” He held on tighter to his head and chanted louder and faster as he heard something heavy fall. He couldn't get the woman's screaming out of his head. “We're not in Chicago we're not in Chicago we're not in Chicago we're not in Chicago...”
I get a very Wiz vibe from this. Might be better if he had a talisman in his pocket or a scar on his face he rubs or some other thing. The chanting pulls me out for some reason.

Okay, so I've marched in and stomped mud all over the clean carpet of your story. I did enjoy it, and there are many delightful turns of phrase that I liked. I hope that something here is useful to you, and thanks for the opportunity to comment and read this.

Folcro
June 30th, 2013, 10:11 PM
Okay, so I've marched in and stomped mud all over the clean carpet of your story. I did enjoy it, and there are many delightful turns of phrase that I liked. I hope that something here is useful to you, and thanks for the opportunity to comment and read this.

Whether I apply it all or not, each criticism you provide opens my mind a little wider. Once again, you leave me with gratitude. Rest assured, I will study your input diligently, and will consider all of your well-thought critiques. Always refreshing to find someone who can spot the holes in my genius :D

Thank you

BobtailCon
July 1st, 2013, 11:22 AM
Another thing, I like the tension you held in the story. I'm taking notes.

lightzonlycast
July 2nd, 2013, 12:11 PM
This was a really great sample to get people hooked on, congrats man!

I really like how sharp and quick your writing style is; the shortness of sentences is quite skillful in getting a reader hooked, but as an early poster said, sometimes that level of concise, quick writing can rub people the wrong way, especially when they feel like they want more description.

I'll definitely add this to my list of things to read when I am out of new books. I browsed your site and saw that I can purchase the complete edition on Amazon. Kudos to you for making it there sir!

Folcro
July 2nd, 2013, 06:44 PM
Thank you, lightz.

As anyone can get published on Amazon (a process I highly recommend and am willing to help anyone through should they require it), the question is whether one is worthy of it. Only the public can decide that. I've got a ways to go. But I wouldn't have it any other way.

And yes, not all agree with my style, but I find that in many places my love for shorter sentences can at times miss the mark. With each critique, my awareness expands. As I said, I have a ways to go. But I'll get there.

Light
July 4th, 2013, 03:57 AM
I have nothing but good words for this! I've never been so afraid while shopping. I can imagine his stress of not being able to do all he can to bring change. Your book will definitely be added to my queue. We'll see what I have to say then!

Folcro
July 4th, 2013, 04:06 AM
I have nothing but good words for this! I've never been so afraid while shopping. I can imagine his stress of not being able to do all he can to bring change. Your book will definitely be added to my queue. We'll see what I have to say then!

I appreciate that, thank you. I got the idea for that place while working in Kmart. I thought to myself... what if these sniveling reprobates were afraid of me? Yeah, I hated it there.

Anyway, thanks again. I'll be sure to have a look at some of your work when I get the chance.

MBNewman
July 5th, 2013, 08:01 PM
I thought it was a very good read. Brought me right into your world. Not many complaints to speak of in terms of writing.
I found a few amusing moments, such as I know someone with the main character's name, but more importantly I want to know how he fit 12 boxes 14 cans and 11 bags in his coat. I mean, I like to get all the groceries in one go, but that does seem a might much. I feel like even if he could carry all of it, wouldn't you notice the lumpy, heavy winter coated guy walking down the street and NOT know he had food on him? I mean, granted he might run into trouble or not in your next chapter but I felt it was something to ponder.

Past that, not much left to say but good job.

Folcro
July 5th, 2013, 09:07 PM
I appreciate your input MB, and glad you liked it.

You raise a good point. I had imagined Morgan wearing something of an overcoat. Smaller boxes, like pudding-pack size or slightly larger. Maybe I'll add a bit more detail.

And running into trouble was actually something I had not considered. Thank you for pointing that out.

Mat
December 21st, 2013, 07:29 AM
I know this is a very old post now, just thought I'd say I bought and read this from Amazon. It was brilliant! I obviously won't say too much in case of spoiling it for others, but I loved the sheer nastiness of it all. Towards the end, it's almost impossible to tell who is good and who is bad, they all start with good intentions and one by one those good intentions either morph into bad ones, or come out badly anyway. There's the odd spelling error here and there, but I think that's probably just kindle. Loved it!

The Tourist
December 21st, 2013, 07:34 AM
Chicago? The last city in America is going to be those football deprived, sausage guzzling, flatlanders?

Not a chance. Trust me, a Packer fan will drive a nuke down there so pockets of survivors can all live without the embarrassment.

Besides, do we want an Apocalyptic world of breeding Bear fans? Think about it, and shudder...