I've been writing a story over the last few days (don't ask me why, because I don't have a clue). I've shown it to a few friends, and they said it was great and I was talented and all that - but I just figured it was them being nice. I've never written a thing in my life, so don't be too harsh, but I'd just like to know what you think. Keep in mind, it's still WIP, so I'll be updating it every day or so. Thanks in advance for any C&C :).
It's supposed to be a horror story (well, it's getting there) if you were wondering.
EDIT: VERY sorry about the lack of paragraph formatting, but I can't seem to fix it. If anyone can tell me how, I'd be quite grateful.
It was a bright, cool Sunday afternoon as Alex sauntered across the verdant Willow Lane Park. Even though it was a warm summer day, Alex wore a frustrated grimace on his face. He was a tall boy, wearing a crisp, collared white shirt and equally pristine khakis, with short, ruffled blonde hair.
He was currently fuming over an argument he had with his father over the new cell phone he wanted; while it was true the one he had worked perfectly fine, they could afford it, so why not? His father was a very successful stock broker, and to put it bluntly, they were rolling in money. If his family could afford it, why not get it? What was the use of having money if you weren't going to use it? Of course his father told him it was to teach him to work for his money and be responsible, but Alex thought it was pointless and merely an excuse for selfishness.
For most of his life he could get by with begging and pleading for what he wanted, but this time both his mother and father remained adamant. His frustration was compounded by the fact that he had thrown his old phone into the family's swimming pool in anger. He then stormed off, thinking about how unjust his parents were being and how he could get them to change their mind.
Now that he was beginning to think it over, he realized that the old man might be right after all. In a less than a year, he'd be graduating, and if he didn't get out of his habit of always begging for money soon, he might never break it. He was still pissed about his phone, but supposed he could always use one of his many older ones that he hadn't spared a glance in years.
While Alex was mulling over his recent conflict with his parents, he failed to notice the three men who had been following him through the park, watching him with keen interest. Even if he wasn't so absorbed in his thoughts, he probably wouldn't have noticed anyway; Alex wasn't one to pay close attention to the people around him. Another thing he failed to notice is that despite the three men who were eying him closely, the park was completely deserted. Willow Lane Park was as extremely well kept as it was unused; the residents of the surrounding neighborhoods often had better things to do than stroll in a park.
One of the men, a tall, middle aged white in a slightly grubby jacket and blue jeans glanced around furtively - the tree cover was thick in this area of the park, so it obscured the four of them in every direction. He then nodded to the other two - one a skinny young man wearing a hooded sweatshirt and loose jeans, the other a slightly older, overweight male with a plain blue t-shirt and grey sweatpants. At this signal, both men quickly approached Alex, the larger one grabbing him from behind and the smaller one slipping a black hood over his face. Alex uttered a startled cry of surprise and lashed out at the men detaining him.
"Hey, what the hell do you think you're doing?" exclaimed the startled Alex as he struggled against his assailants.
The tall, aging man walked around in front of Alex and pressed the contents of his hand against Alex's gut. In his hand was a small automatic pistol, which he had kept concealed inside of his jacket until a few moments ago.
"Shut up and don't move, unless you want me to put a fifty-cal' slug into your gut," growled the man into Alex's ear. The gun really held nine millimeter rounds, but the kid didn't know that. The more scared the kid was, the better.
Alex, who was used to getting his way, gaped in disbelief under the hood. "What are you doing?!" he demanded, his voice starting to crack with fear. Once more, he struggled against his captors despite the threats.
The middle aged man wasted no time pulling the pistol away from Alex's gut and slinging it across his face. It connected with a solid thud against his forehead, dazing him and silencing his protests. "If you make one more sound, I am going to fucking kill you, kid. So shut up, and do as I say. You're going to walk with us until we tell you to stop, or else you're getting this gun across your face again. Got it?"
Alex nodded in dazed consent, then the three men proceeded to hurry Alex (who now had his hands bound with a cable tie) towards the west end of the park; that side was facing the part of the neighborhood that was still under construction, so it would be deserted today. More than a few times he tripped on a root and fell flat on his face, causing his captors to erupt into nervous laughter as they roughly pulled him to his feet. Once they got out of the park, the odd party hustled up to a white, windowless utility van with "Scotty's AC Repair" emblazoned on the side and threw Alex in the open rear door, then jumped in after him. The eldest man clambered up to the front seat and sat on the passenger side, where a fourth man was sitting behind the wheel, starting up the van.
"Wow, that sure was quick, Wes," said the driver excitedly to the middle aged man in the seat beside him as he put the van in gear.
"The little shit didn't even put up a fight. A damn shame if you ask me, I wanted a good excuse to beat the hell out of his snobby ass as soon as I layed eyes on him. There'll be time for that later, after we make our demands. For now, though, let's just get the hell out of here," uttered Wes as he brought out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter, "but don't let me catch you speeding. I don't want a goddamn pig to come poking his nose in this van and find a lot more than he bargained for."
The van pulled away from Willow Lane Park, a place which none of them would ever see again.
In the back of the van, Alex was knelt between the large man and his skinny companion, who were eyeing him closely. The walls and floor were completely bare save for two wooden benches on each side on which the men sat.
"Please... Just let me go. I have money, my parents have money! We'll pay you, give you whatever you want, just please let me go," Alex pleaded, on the verge of tears. He was just beginning to realize the severity of his situation, and that he might not make it out of this alive. "What do you want from me?!" he shouted desperately, attempting to stand up.
The large man on his right forced him down onto his knees roughly. "Kid, just shut up and sit tight. Wes don't have any patience for brats like you." Alex started to writhe away from his grip, sobbing quietly in fear.
A fist flew from Alex's left and connected solidly with his cheek, ceasing his struggles. Pain flared sharply in his cheek, and he reeled off to the right, the salty taste of blood in his mouth.
"Jesus Shane, you don't fuck around, do you?" laughed the large man. He let go of his grip on Alex; the kid clearly wasn't going to try THAT again anytime soon.
"Who do you think I am, Huey, a catholic priest? I don't fuck with young boys." Shane laughed at his own joke, then checked Alex's pockets. He found nothing other than an expensive leather wallet containing sixty dollars (which he pocketed with a grin) and a key ring with a few keys and a small flashlight, which he shoved back into Alex's pocket. "No cell phone? Wow, that's a disappointment. At least we don't have to worry about you calling for help, now do we?" He chuckled again at this, and Alex once again regretted tossing his old phone into the family pool.
Not like it matters anyway, he thought. They'd just take it from me if I did have it. His cheek throbbed and his head hurt, but other than that and a few scrapes and bruises from falling on the way to the van, he was unharmed. He wiped his tears away on the hood they had forced down onto his head. Someone will save me, I'm sure of it. Nothing bad will happen to me, I'm sure of it. I'll be okay, He thought as he tried to reassure himself, but it sounded hollow even in his head.
A tense, yet uneventful ride later they pulled into the driveway of a shambling old farmhouse far from town. Unknown to Alex, they were about 60 miles away from where they departed from; they chose this spot so he'd have no chance of escaping on foot. The farmhouse was owned by Huey (he inherited it from his father when he passed away; he never had a use for it until now), and it was a wreck of a place. Nearly all of the windows were broken, the porch was warped and uneven, loose boards hung askew from the walls, and the white paint had flaked away to almost nothing. It was a simple, one story abode; it may have once held a certain quaint beauty, but now it was only a desiccated husk of what it once was.
The sun was dipping behind the horizon as Huey and Shane dragged a terrified Alex (who was still wearing the black hood, which was now slightly bloody) from the van, the dusty soil of the driveway dirtying his otherwise pristine khakis when he tripped on a stray rock. They marched him up the worn front steps of the porch and into the house as Wes and the driver trailed behind.
"I'm tellin' you Leroy, you should have seen the kid after I whacked him with my pistol. He was reeling, I tell you," Wes bragged.
Leroy, who was nearly half Wes' age, asked, "Is that how they taught you to treat kids back in the day?"
Wes laughed. "Nope, that's how they taught me to treat rich pricks like him. When I was his age, I had to look out for myself; I didn't have any rich ass parents to watch my back. If he thinks he can talk to me like I'm his fucking gardener, then he's got another thing coming to him." He sneered, revealing his crooked and yellow teeth. He brushed back his long, graying hair as he stepped over the threshold and into the house.
The interior was not as nearly bad as the exterior; Huey and Leroy had recently refurbished it for their needs, as well as two men who lived in filthy apartments could refurbish something. The refrigerator (which was suprsingly still in working order) was stocked with beer and frozen dinners. The rotting furniture had either been thrown out or replaced with cheap secondhand furnishings, and the windows in a few rooms had been covered with cardboard to keep out the worst of the drafts. The house had gone from uninhabitable to squalid, which suited its current occupants just fine.
As Alex entered the run down dwelling, Shane pulled off the hood that had been covering Alex's face since late afternoon. There was a nasty lump appearing on his forehead where the pistol had struck him, and his lip was swollen from where Shane had punched him. Alex wasn't interested in his own face, though. For the first time, he got a good look at his tormentors.
The man holding his right arm, Shane, was skinny to the point of being gaunt. His nervous eyes shifted around the room quickly, and he looked as though he'd jump out of his skin at the slightest noise. Not the kind of guy you'd want to give a gun, or any sort of weapon for that matter. He was about as tall as Alex, with short, black hair and those nervous blue eyes. Despite being skinny, Alex could see - and feel, from his previous encounter - that he was stronger than he looked.
In front of him were Wes and Leroy, the former standing close to Alex and scrutinizing him closely while Leroy stood back and watched with an expression of intrigued curiosity.
Wes looked to be in his forties, with long hair that was starting to gray near the roots. His cheeks were covered in short, bristly stubble, and his nose had obviously been broken on more than a few occasions. His dark brown eyes leered out from beneath a thick brow, so full of hate that it made Alex shiver. His long, dirty hair hung straight down to his shoulders, framing his face with the black strands. It was obvious (even though he wore a jacket) that he was well muscled, and the bulge of the pistol stood out clearly on his chest if you knew to look for it.
Tearing his eyes from Wes, Alex studied Leroy. He had short, blonde locks and was clean shaven. Unlike the others, he didn’t look particularly strong or dangerous, but Alex didn’t think it was worth testing. He was dressed poorly by Alex’s standards, but then again so was almost everybody else; Leroy was dressed in a plain t-shirt and clean blue jeans. He smiled at Alex as they made eye contact, and it wasn’t in any way pleasant; it was the kind of smile a hunter makes once he’s spotted his prey.
Finally, Alex glanced to the left and saw Huey. He was a tall, obese man, and held Alex’s left arm in a firm grip. He looked almost comical, standing there in his sweatpants and white t-shirt, as if he belonged in a suburban home on a couch, watching football on TV. His face was as plump as the rest of him, his chins sagging below his mouth grotesquely.
Alex would have continued observing the large man on his left, but at that moment a scarred hand grabbed his chin and turned his head to face forward. Alex suddenly found himself face to face with Wes, who was glaring into his eyes with unadorned hatred. Wes chuckled as Alex let out a short, startled cry. Wes’s breath smelled of alcohol and cigarettes, a scent which further panicked Alex. He struggled against the men holding his arms, and tried to wriggle his head out of Wes’s grip, but to no avail.
"Listen here, boy. I don't have any patience for kids to start with, much less rich, snobby ones like you. If you do everything that we say, this'll all be over before you know it, and you won't be hurt any more than you need be. We're not supposed to harm you, but then again I never was one to follow the rules."
Leroy glanced uneasily at him and cleared his throat, which was ignored by the now angry Wes. He was breathing heavily, still in Alex's face. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, he relaxed and laughed heartily.
"What's so funny?" Shane inquired.
"What do you say we introduce him to his new lodgings?" chuckled Wes, who was then joined by Shane and Huey.
They marched him down the short hallway in front of the door, Wes leading the way. The group came upon a narrow door on the right, which Wes opened. Shane and Huey manuevered him in front of it, and he could see that the inside was pitch black. Before Alex could complain, they shoved him into it; he stumbled a few steps, then collided face first into a wall. As he turned around, Wes was closing the door, grinning ear to ear. Alex lunged forward awkwardly (his hands were still bound) and Wes hesitated closing the door, thinking. Suddenly, just as Alex was crossing the doorway, Wes yanked the door open.
Alex never saw the fist coming, nor did he see Wes pull his arm back. Of course, there was no need to see it; he felt it enough to make up for seeing. He felt an explosion of pain in his nose as Wes's fist collided directly with his nose, rendering his nose crooked with a sickening crunch and making Alex yell in startled pain. Wes shoved him back into the room, then slammed the door shut and locked it, laughing loudly.
Alex reeled backwards from the combined force of the blow and push, right into the wall again; thankfully, it was his shoulder that collided instead of his already throughly punished face. He collapsed onto the floor, no longer caring about escaping, only wishing the pain would go away. Needless to say, it didn't. He lay there, curled up on the floor, his nose bleeding and broken.
He was sobbing uncontrollably; what had started with a simple temper tantrum over a cell phone had turned into something much, much worse. After the sharp, terrible pain had abated into a pounding throb (which wasn't much better), he forced himself to try stand up; it was difficult, seeing as his hands were bound. He lurched awkwardly to his feet by bracing himself against the wall and immediately bumped his head on the other wall. It's a closet, he thought. They locked me in a closet with my hands tied and a broken nose. I don't know where I am, or what they want to do with me. Alex began to panic, hyperventilating and throwing himself against the door, which didn't even shudder. He collapsed, crying, back onto the floor of the tiny closet. It was pitch black; not even a crack of light around the door was there to give him comfort.
He lay there, staring into the blackness, for quite some time; how long was anyone's guess, but it was long enough for him to drift off into troubled sleep despite the pain, hunger, thirst, and fear that made up his life now.
Is this not worth reading/replying to? :S Can anyone tell me why?
:crying:
Oh wow, that's deep.
What exactly do you mean by deep? Do you think that's a good thing, or a bad thing?
How much critique do you want?
Edit:
And just critique, or advice too?
Critique, advice, whatever you can give. Tell me what you think, how it could be better, what I did wrong, and why it was wrong. If it sucks, then go ahead and tell me.
Alright, well, here we go.
Your story so far is good, but not great.
You've pretty much ignored 3 of the other senses and only used sight and feeling.
I'll use the van as an example.
What did the van smell like?
Did he hear any traffic from the van?
After he was punched, could he taste blood?
Also, the kidnapping seems a little... amateur. I mean, it'd be so much more interesting if the victim is bagged.
Then you could focus on details excluding the sense of sight- which would make it much more interesting for the audience.
Like...
"Alex could hear the other cars sweeping by the van. Did they know he was in it? The darkness seemed everywhere Alex realized that one never really knew how much you depended on sight until it's gone.
Taken by brute savages.
His rage was only suppressed by fear. Fear of being hurt again, fear of having his nose broken, fear of never seeing his parents again. Fear of being killed and forgotten. The cellphone he had wanted so badly seemed very trivial. What worth does a cellphone hold to a dead man?"
Just expanding the ideas that you already have would make this much better.
Another example is the last line;
"He lay there, staring into the blackness, for quite some time; how long was anyone's guess, but it was long enough for him to drift off into troubled sleep despite the pain, hunger, thirst, and fear that made up his life now-"
Try something like...
"Time seemed to slow down, seconds turning into minutes, minutes into hours, hours into days, maybe even weeks. How long had he been lying there? 24 maximum, Alex guessed, gaging according to how he was feeling. Thirst came to mind first, an unbelievable thirst followed by an undeniable hunger. 24 hours? No.. maybe even 36 or 48 hours. Alex wondered how long it took a person to starve to death or to die from dehydration. Thoughts of food and drinks filled his mind as he drifted into an uncomfortable sleep, dreaming of what he would have after this ordeal".
Just little expansions or elaborations like that (:
But I really like it so far.
Well done (:
I'll remember to include more senses when I'm revising it and when I'm writing the rest; although I did include taste when he was punched in the mouth.
There's nothing about other cars in the van bit because the only part of the ride I wrote about was right before they left and a few minutes into the journey, and the area around where they left from was supposed to be relatively abandoned (sunday at a developing section of a neighborhood).
I am going to get more into his emotions, like how he has a new perspective on life, and how much his priorities have changed.
I actually like the last line (I don't like my writing very often); I think it shows the hopelessness of his situation quite well.
I do plan to expand more upon the ideas of hopelessness, fear, and deprivation as you said.
Thanks for your criticism, I really appreciate it :).
I like it! I would read this book if it was published
I like the story in general and all the descriptives you used, especially in building the characters like Leroy and Wes.
However I don't really think that it is usual or very realistic for an abduction/kidnapping taking place in broad day light in a park, would some criminals really attempt that?
Also, I am no professional but I don't think the use of brackets is advised when writing a story like that, but I am not entirely sure.
Overall great work I think :) Will look forward to reading more, especially the motives of Wes as an individual.
Ok first-timer, here are my opinions.
I've got past the first sentence and already it reminds me of the sort of stuff people I know'd be writing at 14-15. I can tell you're a newbie, and frankly you're not particularly talented, but you have some skill. I'd say you're average in ability.
Your spelling and grammar is all mostly fine, you've got the technical aspect nailed already. Just got to work on breathing some originality and personality into your work.
[quote]The gun really held nine millimeter rounds, but the kid didn't know that.[/quote]
No offense, but does it really matter what size the god damn bullets are? Just as deadly at point blank, after all. I see you're trying to show how the bad guys are exaggurating, but all in all I consider this statement a little redundant.
I'm around halfway, and your plot and characters seem incredibly dull and generic, rather like your writing style I'm afraid. While I'm on the subject, my advice regarding your writing style: Just keep at it. Eventually you'll get better. Reading published novels is a big help, as would be attending classes geared towards creative writing or getting advice from places like here :buddy:
As for your characters, I reckon it'd be good to have them developed somewhat in your head. Make them interesting, the kind of people who you could imagine actually meeting. Your protagonist is pretty well developed it seems, but these bad guys are just "hurr durr I'm a generic baddie" to me. It's always good to think a little about their personalities and backstories, even if they aren't mentioned in the story, just so their behaviour is more interesting and realistic.
At this point, it really doesn't have ANY horror elements whatsoever, and I'm well past halfway. It's a thriller.
Ah, saving the proper descriptions of the bad guys until now, a good call. It prevents flooding the story with visual description in one go, and nothing happening. That said, you should space out the time between their descriptions, rather than doing all 4 in a row. Nothing much, maybe have a brief conversation, and when a new character speaks you can describe him. Something like that anyway. It'd help with flow. Good job keeping inside your protagonist's head, giving his opinions and such. Some forget to do that.
Oooo, brutal description of Alex getting his nose broken, good job. I could feel that.
Finished now. Overall, I'd say this is a very good start. You're nothing special yet, but keep up the good work, put in the effort etc. and you could become very good. I've seen plenty of really really bad first attempts, and I'm glad to say this isn't one of them.
[editline]05:33PM[/editline]
Sorry if some of this has already been said, I didn't read the other posts.
[editline]05:35PM[/editline]
Most importantly, learn the difference between horror and thriller.
[editline]05:36PM[/editline]
One other thing, work on your semicolon usage. Look up proper usage in a guide somewhere, because a lot of the time you should just use commas.
OMG STORY UPDATE :O
I would have written more, but I made the fatal mistake of buying minecraft D: now I'm addicted to it. Nonetheless, I managed to get this small section out.
Thanks for the criticism guys, really appreciate it.
Dude Meister: What/how could I improve my writing style? What's dull about it?
Also, what I have so far is just the first part, so no horror elements or major character development yet, although I do have some ideas for their backgrounds and motives. A few of the guys (Huey, Wes, and Shane) are based off of people I've known.
It might not get to be a horror story by the strictest means, but it'll be horrific.
I'm going to keep updating this thread every so often, expect more once I get off of being hooked on minecraft. Keep in mind this is just a rough draft, so don't expect it to be perfect (which reminds me, point out any spelling/grammar/punctuation mistakes). Just keep telling me what you think (try not to suggest any specific lines, I'd like to write it myself), and I'll keep writing my story.
Down the grubby hallway, near the front door, was the living room, a sparsely furnished, drafty place. There were two windows with wooden frames, one facing the front of the house and the other facing the side (the latter of which had several broken panes which were loosely patched with cardboard). A couch and a reclining chair lay upon the bare wooden floor, both possessing stained, frayed upholstery. Upon the couch lay Leroy, who had a cellular phone (ironically, the exact model that Alex had wanted) pressed to his ear.
"Now why would we do that?" he queried mockingly, sneering. "I know you want your son back, but we won't just give him to you; not after the trouble we had to go to in order to get him in the first place. No, you'll have to earn him back, Mr. Reed, and I think I have just the thing."
Leroy listened and nodded a few times, still smiling that predatory smile. He chuckled, then said, "Here's what I want. I want you to sell every single stock you own. Yes, I know. It'll ruin you, and the companies you've invested in. Furthermore, I want you to give us the money you make off of them. In return, you get your son back. Does that sound fair?"
Yelling can be heard from the phone, causing Leroy to grin even wider. "You tell me I can't do this, but I most certainly am doing this. Oh, and don't even think about calling the police. If anyone in the police department even hears of the name 'Alex Reed', you can go ahead and make your son's funeral arrangements."
He nodded a few times, then said "Okay. We'll make the arrangements for the money after you've sold the stocks. Goodbye, Mr. Reed." He then hung up apruptly, not waiting for a reply.
Leroy leaned back, rubbing his temples, deep in thought. The man looked exhausted, and indeed he was. Today was more stress than he was used to, and god knows he already had enough of that. Then again, once this ordeal was over with, that would be about it as far as stress goes. After this, he'd have all the money he needed - and those brutes drinking in the other room would get what they wanted, too. Abruptly he rose from the couch and exited the room, pausing at the front door of the house to slip a note into the door frame. He tucked his small pad of paper and expensive fountain pen into his pocket (where he always kept them) as he stepped down the creaky wooden stairs into the cool, fresh night air. Moments later, he was driving away in the white, windowless van marked "Scotty's AC Repair".
Too many commas and pauses in the first line of the update. It's really start/stop and doesn't flow so it's not a very good way to start the next paragraph :\
Maybe you should try a polyphonic narrative.
The story seems to jump to different character's thoughts at random, a polyphonic narrative is basically just a more structured version of this.
For example, write the scene from Alex's perspective then when it's suitable, change to one of the captor's perspectives. Just not after a few sentences.
I'm just giving advice on what I think would improve the story so no worries if you disagree (:
It's important to make something gripping from the start. As it is, I don't care if it gets more developed over time... I tink it's important for characters to really stand out when they're introduced. I don't feel like reading more of this.
I'll leave you with a final suggestion: After you're done, you could think about re-writing the story non-chronologically. That is, have the opening scene take place somewhere in the middle of the story, where it's exciting. That's a good way to get people gripped.
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