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View Full Version : Novel Exceprt (900 words) [Language, Sexual content]



wainscottbl
August 23rd, 2015, 11:03 PM
She felt low. Treacherous. Whoring, especially her high paid form, had an honor. You offered yourself for money. You were what you said you were. But this, this was had no honor. She was a coward. Robert would not think her one, even though she was tempting him; for he would kill Chris, if it came down to it. Robert would understand her place, Chris forcing her hand. Robert would say no to her advances, but he would not lay the stain of the sin of betrayal upon her.

Somehow she had let slip the planned dinner for Robert, and Chris had seized on it. She had actually thought about killing him. Not just a thought coming to her mind passively, but one she was willing to act out. The linoleum knife in the kitchen drawer seemed the most pleasant though, or rat poisoning in a drink. There was some in the laundry room.

She hated herself for how she sold her body, not just for money, but for pride—for spite. Spite at her mother. But that had an honor to it; that she would not be a part of her mother’s self-aggrandizing on her father, by asking for her money to pay for school. She chose prostitution before being complicit her mother’s treason, her mother’s civil war on their family. But this, this seduction, was a treachery against friendship.

She remembered how Tommy Margo talking about Brutus’s betrayal of Caesar, and remembered reading the history in class. Plutarch, she remembered, said Brutus had sincerely done it for the liberty of the Republic, while the others committed their treason for self-serving reasons. Perhaps some committed it merely from fear, fear of being on the wrong side after Caesar was murdered. Like her.
[I]Et tu, Brute? And you, my son? She stopped for a minute and looked at Chris. She sat there in a chair, posed like something out of Playboy, and Chris was jacking off. Et tu, Maggie? And you, my friend…no, she thought. My sister, because, despite myself, he considers me a sister in the Lord. Chris had climaxed and let out an orgasm. And you, my sister?

“You get him drunk up first. I know your little angel won’t get drunk,” Chris said, putting his pants back on. His smile was devious and greedy when he called her he called Robert “her angel”. “But you can still loosen him up. You can come on slow. And if you try and he resists, but show me that you really tried on this iron virgin, I won’t punish you. I mean you can’t necessarily break Fort Knox, but you’ve got to try.”

She did not answer, but simply went into the kitchen to finish cooking dinner. She had cooked the boeuf bourguignon the day before and it now lay on the stove ready to be reheated.

Robert would be there in thirty minutes. She opened the wine and poured herself a glass. She took a drink and looked into the living room at Chris, watching a movie on the TV—The Hunt for Red October. The Russians were singing the Soviet national anthem. The screen switched to an American vessel. A black sailor was saying that he thought he heard singing on the [sonar]. He looked familiar, but Maggie could not place him. Law and Order! The DA! she said. And the captain looked familiar, too. Mr. Crawford in Silence of the Lambs, she finally surmised.

Dr. Lecter. He would eat Chris. She looked at the stew coming to a boil and laughed. She imagined it was Chris in there, and that she was serving him to Robert. It made her smile. “You know, I should have made fava means,” she called to Chris.

“What?” he called, perplexed, half paying attention.

“Fava beans. You know “’I ate his liver with some fava beans and a nice Chianti.’”

“Oh yeah. Great movie.”

“The American captain on that movie in there plays Mr. Crawford on there. And the black guy that is all into sonar plays the district attorney on Law and Order: Criminal Intent.

“Oh yeah, the gay nigger.”

“What?”

“He sounds gay. The black guy you’re talking about. By the way, I think they’ll be dropping the sex charge. Speaking of that, those two detectives that are on me about the rape thing remind me of those two detectives on SVU. That son of a bitch tricked me into admitting outright that I smacked that waitress on the ass. But it’s taken care of.”

“What? Did you kill her?”

“What?” Chris said, confused. “Oh, ha. No, no. She’s just not pressing charges.”

What. Did you threaten her?

“I gave her five thousand dollars for her school. She took it, too. I saw that look in her eye though. She hated me. Stupid whore,” Chris said. “Like you. Selling yourself out.”

Fuck you.

“I want you to smack that Robert guy’s ass.”

Maggie did not respond.

“Did you hear me?”

“Yes.” She turned the beef down to a simmer and put the cover on.

Harper J. Cole
September 5th, 2015, 03:36 PM
Wainscottbl,

Without knowing the full context, it's hard to judge, but it looks like a nice bit of storytelling as you build up to Maggie's decision. I did spot a few typos which sabotage the flow somewhat ...


complicit her mother’s treason

Missing an 'in'.


She remembered how Tommy Margo talking about Brutus’s betrayal of Caesar

Either the 'how' has to be dropped or 'talking' should be 'talked'


when he called her he called Robert “her angel”

Here 'he called her' has to be dropped.


And if you try and he resists, but show me that you really tried on this iron virgin, I won’t punish you.

I had a bit of trouble understanding this line ... perhaps a word missing somewhere?

HC

wainscottbl
September 6th, 2015, 04:25 AM
And if you try and he resists, but show me that you really tried on this iron virgin, I won’t punish you.




I had a bit of trouble understanding this line ... perhaps a word missing somewhere?

No missing word. It's natural speech, but sometimes you have to be a BIT formal where people speak casually to make it clear. I see what you mean. I'll clear it up. Thanks. It's right, but confusing. A problem we writers have. We want natural speech, but as an example, we don't feel out speech full of "ums"

Thanks. I'll make the changes!

Guy Faukes
September 10th, 2015, 05:01 PM
Hey wainscottbl,

Been meaning to get to this one for a bit.

She felt low. Treacherous. Whoring, especially her high paid form, had an honor. You offered yourself for money. [the transaction is simple, but it always seems like some desire or role is being fulfilled with the act] You were what you said you were. But this, this was had no honor. She was a coward. Robert would not think her one, even though she was tempting him; for he would kill Chris, if it came down to it [awkwardly phrasing, feels a bit disjointed]. Robert would understand her place, Chris forcing her hand. Robert would say no to her advances, but he would not lay the stain of the sin of betrayal upon her.

[I think this paragraph goes for a loose sort of voice, but comes off as a bit clunky. I would iron it out a bit, elaborate on their relationships to make it more accessible]

Somehow she had let slip the planned dinner for Robert, and Chris had seized on it. She had actually thought about killing him. Not just a thought coming to her mind passively, but one she was willing to act out [bit explain-y here, would dress it up a bit]. The linoleum knife in the kitchen drawer seemed the most pleasant though, or rat poisoning in a drink. There was some in the laundry room.

She hated herself for how she sold her body, not just for money, but for pride—for spite. Spite at her mother. But that had an honor to it; that she would not be a part of her mother’s self-aggrandizing on her father, by asking for her money to pay for school. She chose prostitution before being complicit her mother’s treason, her mother’s civil war on their family. But this, this seduction, was a treachery against friendship.

She remembered how Tommy Margo talking about Brutus’s betrayal of Caesar, and remembered reading the history in class. Plutarch, she remembered, said Brutus had sincerely done it for the liberty of the Republic, while the others committed their treason for self-serving reasons. Perhaps some committed it merely from fear, fear of being on the wrong side after Caesar was murdered. Like her.
[I]Et tu, Brute? And you, my son? She stopped for a minute and looked at Chris. She sat there in a chair, posed like something out of Playboy, and Chris was jacking off. Et tu, Maggie? And you, my friend…no, she thought. My sister, because, despite myself, he considers me a sister in the Lord. Chris had climaxed and let out an orgasm. And you, my sister? [who doesn't appreciate company while self-pleasuring? Nice touch]

“You get him drunk up first. I know your little angel won’t get drunk,” Chris said, putting his pants back on. His smile was devious and greedy when he called her he called Robert “her angel” [he called Robert "her angel" to her?]. “But you can still loosen him up. You can come on slow. And if you try and he resists, but show me that you really tried on this iron virgin, I won’t punish you. I mean you can’t necessarily break Fort Knox, but you’ve got to try.”

She did not answer, but simply went into the kitchen to finish cooking dinner. She had cooked the boeuf bourguignon the day before and it now lay on the stove ready to be reheated.

Robert would be there in thirty minutes. She opened the wine and poured herself a glass. She took a drink and looked into the living room at Chris, watching a movie on the TV—The Hunt for Red October. The Russians were singing the Soviet national anthem. The screen switched to an American vessel. A black sailor was saying that he thought he heard singing on the [sonar]. He looked familiar, but Maggie could not place him. Law and Order! The DA! she said. And the captain looked familiar, too. Mr. Crawford in Silence of the Lambs, she finally surmised.

Dr. Lecter. He would eat Chris. She looked at the stew coming to a boil and laughed. She imagined it was Chris in there, and that she was serving him to Robert. It made her smile. “You know, I should have made fava [b]eans, (unless there's some pun here I didn't get)” she called to Chris.

“What?” he called, perplexed, half paying attention.

“Fava beans. You know “’I ate his liver with some fava beans and a nice Chianti.’”

“Oh yeah. Great movie.”

“The American captain on that movie in there plays Mr. Crawford on there. And the black guy that is all into sonar plays the district attorney on Law and Order: Criminal Intent.

“Oh yeah, the gay nigger.”

“What?”

“He sounds gay. The black guy you’re talking about. By the way, I think they’ll be dropping the sex charge. Speaking of that, those two detectives that are on me about the rape thing remind me of those two detectives on SVU. That son of a bitch tricked me into admitting outright that I smacked that waitress on the ass. But it’s taken care of.”

“What? Did you kill her?”

“What?” Chris said, confused. “Oh, ha. No, no. She’s just not pressing charges.”

What. Did you threaten her?

“I gave her five thousand dollars for her school. She took it, too. I saw that look in her eye though. She hated me. Stupid whore,” Chris said. “Like you. Selling yourself out.”

Fuck you.

“I want you to smack that Robert guy’s ass.” [her angel?]

Maggie did not respond.

“Did you hear me?”

“Yes.” She turned the beef down to a simmer and put the cover on. [good finish]

The first half introduces a lot of little things and I think you should expound on them a little bit more, otherwise we're accounting for details and feeling strung on. The second half is cleaner, especially the dialogue, and there were some nice touches and flourishes. I liked the gritty characterization (and how well you depicted the passive nature of Maggie) and the threeway tension of the group. There were probably a few things that went over my head, but all and all, a decent introduction.

wainscottbl
September 12th, 2015, 04:47 AM
Hey wainscottbl,

Been meaning to get to this one for a bit.

She felt low. Treacherous. Whoring, especially her high paid form, had an honor. You offered yourself for money. [the transaction is simple, but it always seems like some desire or role is being fulfilled with the act] You were what you said you were. But this, this was had no honor. She was a coward. Robert would not think her one, even though she was tempting him; for he would kill Chris, if it came down to it [awkwardly phrasing, feels a bit disjointed]. Robert would understand her place, Chris forcing her hand. Robert would say no to her advances, but he would not lay the stain of the sin of betrayal upon her.

[I think this paragraph goes for a loose sort of voice, but comes off as a bit clunky. I would iron it out a bit, elaborate on their relationships to make it more accessible]

Somehow she had let slip the planned dinner for Robert, and Chris had seized on it. She had actually thought about killing him. Not just a thought coming to her mind passively, but one she was willing to act out [bit explain-y here, would dress it up a bit]. The linoleum knife in the kitchen drawer seemed the most pleasant though, or rat poisoning in a drink. There was some in the laundry room.

She hated herself for how she sold her body, not just for money, but for pride—for spite. Spite at her mother. But that had an honor to it; that she would not be a part of her mother’s self-aggrandizing on her father, by asking for her money to pay for school. She chose prostitution before being complicit her mother’s treason, her mother’s civil war on their family. But this, this seduction, was a treachery against friendship.

She remembered how Tommy Margo talking about Brutus’s betrayal of Caesar, and remembered reading the history in class. Plutarch, she remembered, said Brutus had sincerely done it for the liberty of the Republic, while the others committed their treason for self-serving reasons. Perhaps some committed it merely from fear, fear of being on the wrong side after Caesar was murdered. Like her.
[I]Et tu, Brute? And you, my son? She stopped for a minute and looked at Chris. She sat there in a chair, posed like something out of Playboy, and Chris was jacking off. Et tu, Maggie? And you, my friend…no, she thought. My sister, because, despite myself, he considers me a sister in the Lord. Chris had climaxed and let out an orgasm. And you, my sister? [who doesn't appreciate company while self-pleasuring? Nice touch]

“You get him drunk up first. I know your little angel won’t get drunk,” Chris said, putting his pants back on. His smile was devious and greedy when he called her he called Robert “her angel” [he called Robert "her angel" to her?]. “But you can still loosen him up. You can come on slow. And if you try and he resists, but show me that you really tried on this iron virgin, I won’t punish you. I mean you can’t necessarily break Fort Knox, but you’ve got to try.”

She did not answer, but simply went into the kitchen to finish cooking dinner. She had cooked the boeuf bourguignon the day before and it now lay on the stove ready to be reheated.

Robert would be there in thirty minutes. She opened the wine and poured herself a glass. She took a drink and looked into the living room at Chris, watching a movie on the TV—The Hunt for Red October. The Russians were singing the Soviet national anthem. The screen switched to an American vessel. A black sailor was saying that he thought he heard singing on the [sonar]. He looked familiar, but Maggie could not place him. Law and Order! The DA! she said. And the captain looked familiar, too. Mr. Crawford in Silence of the Lambs, she finally surmised.

Dr. Lecter. He would eat Chris. She looked at the stew coming to a boil and laughed. She imagined it was Chris in there, and that she was serving him to Robert. It made her smile. “You know, I should have made fava [b]eans, (unless there's some pun here I didn't get)” she called to Chris.

“What?” he called, perplexed, half paying attention.

“Fava beans. You know “’I ate his liver with some fava beans and a nice Chianti.’”

“Oh yeah. Great movie.”

“The American captain on that movie in there plays Mr. Crawford on there. And the black guy that is all into sonar plays the district attorney on Law and Order: Criminal Intent.

“Oh yeah, the gay nigger.”

“What?”

“He sounds gay. The black guy you’re talking about. By the way, I think they’ll be dropping the sex charge. Speaking of that, those two detectives that are on me about the rape thing remind me of those two detectives on SVU. That son of a bitch tricked me into admitting outright that I smacked that waitress on the ass. But it’s taken care of.”

“What? Did you kill her?”

“What?” Chris said, confused. “Oh, ha. No, no. She’s just not pressing charges.”

What. Did you threaten her?

“I gave her five thousand dollars for her school. She took it, too. I saw that look in her eye though. She hated me. Stupid whore,” Chris said. “Like you. Selling yourself out.”

Fuck you.

“I want you to smack that Robert guy’s ass.” [her angel?]

Maggie did not respond.

“Did you hear me?”

“Yes.” She turned the beef down to a simmer and put the cover on. [good finish]

The first half introduces a lot of little things and I think you should expound on them a little bit more, otherwise we're accounting for details and feeling strung on. The second half is cleaner, especially the dialogue, and there were some nice touches and flourishes. I liked the gritty characterization (and how well you depicted the passive nature of Maggie) and the threeway tension of the group. There were probably a few things that went over my head, but all and all, a decent introduction.

Thank you! I was pretty much having the same feelings you point out, and I appreciate someone else saying it to help me with that. I agree with everything except Chris mockingly calling Robert "her angel". That is what she calls Robert sometimes, etc.

20oz
October 5th, 2015, 04:22 PM
You're not ready to write a novel. It's way too ambitious for you.

From what I read you're missing a lot of the basics. You're missing flow, details, editing, etc. You've got characters and ideas... but not the right tools to bring them to life.

And you're not asking yourself the questions you need to ask yourself. Am I ready to write a novel, or is it just a dream? Am I proud of what I'm writing now? Do I know the difference between a short story and a novel? What writing style should I go with?

I would suggest you put this aside, read novels with similar subject matters and examine what you like about them, and read a how-to book about writing a novel.