Exodus

Two women navigate being supernaturally contained in their house over a period of years.

Carmen had never categorized whistling as tuneless before- how could musical notes not form some kind of tune? But as the disconnected strands of Vi’s whistling tumbled through the house, she couldn’t find a single melody or guiding key to them.
The house lights were off, but the streetlight outside was enough for Carmen to blunder her way to the kitchen. Linoleum tacky under her feet, she stopped beside the island; the hanging lights over it were dimmed. Both cats followed in her wake, interested in this unusual midnight adventure. Bleary eyes took in the spatulas and spoons scattered around the counters, a thin veneer of sugar dusting every surface within five feet of her housemate. Vi looked up at her, hazel eyes feverishly bright as she grinned in triumph and tilted a pot on the stove towards Carmen so she could see the brown liquid bubbling inside.

“I’m making caramel! This is the second batch, there’s some cooling already.”

After failing to suppress a yawn, Carmen shuffled around the island and made her way to the fridge. Opening it and staring without really looking at its contents, she asked, “Feeling better today?” Unsure what she was even looking for, she closed the fridge. She moved forward to bump a shoulder affectionately against Vi and peer down at the caramel.

“Yeah, I think those air purifiers we got sent really help. Hardly any pain tonight.”

“What did we promise for those again? An interview?”

Vi nodded, red hair nearly brown in the relative darkness of the room. “Yeah, but just a text one. No awkward sitting just beside the door, thankfully.” She extended a hand and ruffled it through Carmen’s short, dark hair. “We need to do haircuts again soon, you’re getting all fluffy. Also, you should go back to bed.”

“You should too, ya hypocrite.” Carmen could hear the smile in her own voice. 

“I will, I just wanna finish this batch. Wanted to do something, while I was feeling better.” Vi picked up a spoon to stir again, and gave Carmen a gentle shove to get her moving toward the living room. “Goodnight Carm.”

“‘Night Vi,” Carmen said. She walked through the living room, then stopped and walked back to the sliding glass door. Vi looked up at the sound of it sliding open, quickly looking back down at her caramel. Knowing the result but needing to try anyways, Carmen moved her hand slowly toward the gap, cold fall wind brushing her fingers. Abruptly, she encountered a smooth, hard surface, invisible to the eye and right in the doorway. She kept her hand there a moment, then withdrew it, sighed, and shut the door. 

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They weren’t the only people this had happened to, but they were (as far as research had indicated) the first, and that entailed a certain degree of interest. Carmen still woke dry-mouthed from dreams of the first day, when she’d tried to leave for work and discovered that she couldn’t get outside. She and Vi had frantically tried doors and windows before giving up and calling the police. After some experimentation they found that objects could pass back and forth just fine, but people couldn’t get in. And they couldn’t get out.

After a few days news crews and scientists had appeared. When food started being an issue a few celebrities pledged their support and ensured the household would get regular deliveries of supplies and removal of trash. Once the scientists found out about Vi’s autoimmune and allergy issues they’d rushed to provide medicine and advice- as much as could be provided when they themselves couldn’t examine the patient. Far more care than Vi had ever been able to afford before. Vi’s estranged family had been dug up for interviews, and Carmen’s tearful reunion with her mother and sister was (to her eternal displeasure) one of the most viewed online videos ever posted. It had been nearly a year since that first day, and things had calmed down since then. 

Waking up late after the previous night’s excitement, Carmen glared at the sunlight pouring in through her broken blinds (the cats seemed to have a particular vendetta against them) and rolled unceremoniously to her feet. Throwing on a t-shirt and some jeans, she could already hear the TV going out in the living room. Somehow Vi was both a night owl and an early bird; avian perfection. Carmen was neither, and she grumbled at the sound, light, and list of chores running through her head as she exited her room. 

They had to take the air conditioner out of the window- had needed to since September, but with inconvenient things like this it always waited until it couldn’t any longer. That could happen later though; first, she shuffled past Vi’s ensconced position within her blue duvet on the couch and started coffee going. The ground crunched a little underfoot, but at least Vi had clearly wiped down the counters before heading to bed. Carmen meandered over to the sink and washed a few pieces of silverware by hand, waiting on her coffee. Blaring from the TV was a home makeover show, which meant a bad pain day; Vi only indulged in the vicarious judgment of others’ poor taste when she really needed a distraction.

After downing a cup of coffee and bringing Vi one- heaped with sugar, no cream- Carmen went from room to room picking things up, sweeping, and generally delaying on the air conditioner as long as possible. One of the cats, Bob (an acronym of Big Orange Boy) stayed curled on top of Vi, while his more energetic sister Peaches gamboled from room to room alongside Carmen. 

Finally, when the rest of the house was relatively tidy and several hours had passed, Carmen moved to the air conditioner and started figuring out exactly how best to remove it. There was a ring of duct tape around the edges, meant to keep it secured to the window. The precarity of moving the AC unit was that half of it hung outside. They could have waited for some visitor or newscaster to show up and conscripted their help, but Carmen didn’t want to wait any longer. Besides, it was always awkward making requests of people outside, even as eager as they were to help.

“Oh, are we doing that today?” Vi asked tiredly, dislodging Bob from her lap.

Nodding, Carmen shooed the cats out from their curious positions in front of the window, and went to work prying duct tape from the edges of the unit. “It got down near forty last night, I figure we should.” She opened the window slightly and cold rushed in through the small gap.

A big piece ripped off all at once from the bottom and Vi hissed under her breath as Carmen rushed to stabilize the AC unit. “Care to help then?” Carmen’s voice was as tight as her grip on the side of the unit. 

“Yeah, alright,” Vi said, quieter than expected. Glancing at her, she looked ashen-faced to Carmen. Her hands trembled.

“If you’re not feeling up to it-”

“No! No, I’m- I’m fine.” She stepped up to the other side. “Let’s get this done.” Vi got a grip on the air conditioner, brilliant hair framing her wan face. “On three?”

“One. Two. Three- No! You have to lift this way!”

“It’s falling-” Vi’s voice, shrill with worry.

“I got it-”

The unit crashed out of the window and cracked open on the muddy earth below- and Carmen’s hand, carried by momentum, stuck out of the window. Both women stared in shock at the limb, a spear of sunlight running across brown skin. Carmen mutely retracted it, then slowly moved forward again.

She encountered no resistance, and once again her hand stuck outside. Tears prickling up in joy, she gestured for Vi to try too. Vi did- and her hand ran into a barrier right at the window frame. Vi stared at the six inches of difference between their hands, and she started crying too. 

Carmen swept her up into a hug, whispering, “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry honey.” She was sorry, but she wasn’t sure exactly what for. 

They stood still for a while, until both had stopped crying. Vi stepped back and indicated the door with a flourish.

“Well?”

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The scientists and reporters went absolutely nuts over this sudden change, and for a few days their house was surrounded by news vans and mobile labs. Carmen’s blood was taken repeatedly, hair analyzed; she underwent an ultrasound, a portable x-ray machine, every test they could think to administer. No one else could go in or out of the house; just her. She had interview after interview, everyone hopeful that that this might be a prelude to other impermeable houses allowing their inhabitants out. Carmen’s family scheduled a visit for the following week; her mom had wept ecstatically over the phone upon hearing the news.

Finally Carmen declared that she would be taking a break, and would appreciate some privacy as she adjusted to this change. She retreated inside for the day, and with a sudden rainstorm coinciding her decision most folks decided to listen to her request. Blinds pulled down over all the windows took care of the remainder.

Vi had been even more reclusive than usual the past few days, only coming out of her room for food, and for the Times interview when Carmen insisted she be present too. After several hours of vacuuming, cleaning, loudly narrating to the cats, and banging pots together none-too-accidentally as she made pozole from scratch, she realized Vi wasn’t going to be drawn out of her room. Doling two servings of the stew into a bowl, she tentatively approached Vi’s door of peeling blue paint and knocked twice with her knee.

“I made pozole!” Carmen cringed at how saccharine she sounded, but couldn’t exactly redo the statement. She heard a halfhearted, “Great,” from inside and took that as a sign to enter.

Her stomach dropped as soon as she saw how spotless the room was. Vi only cleaned when she was either very happy or very upset, and Carmen had an inkling that it wasn’t the former. A set of seven clear quartz horses, perfectly aligned, were the only thing on top of her dark wood dresser besides a lamp that seemed to have been recently attacked with a feather duster. Curled up against cushions in the center of her bed, Vi tossed her phone down beside her upon Carmen’s entry.

“Soup, huh.” Sensing something dangerous in Vi’s tone, Carmen stepped wordlessly forward and handed off a bowl before perching on the side of the bed. They both ate quietly for a while, Carmen sneaking Bob and Peaches scraps of pork. Peaceful drizzling sounds from the rain contrasted with the tension building in the room. 

“So,” Vi said with a nonchalance that made Carmen start, “when are you planning on leaving?”

Carmen turned suddenly and nearly spilled her remaining food on the bed. “Sorry, what?”

Setting her bowl to the side, Vi hugged her arms around herself. “I asked when you’d be leaving? It seems like a fair enough question.”

“I- are you kicking me out?” 

Blinking furiously, Vi said, “Well I assumed that now that you’re able to leave you’d want to get away, in case the wall decides to come back for you or something. Or just because a year stuck anywhere is enough to drive you someplace else.”

“I’m fine here, though.”

“What do you mean, you’re fine here? It- y’know what, it’s fine.” Vi was getting angry, pink flushing her cheeks, and Carmen couldn’t figure out why and was having a difficult time not responding in kind. “Take your time, just give me some warning when you decide to go.”

Stumbling over her words, Carmen stuttered out, “But- but why would I leave if I don’t want to?”

“How can you not want to?! I’m stuck here, I’m a curiosity,” Vi snarled, tangled red curls peeking out from her cocoon of blankets. “And until recently you were too. If this wacky f*****g house hadn’t decided to trap us, or aliens, or God, or whoever, I would probably be dead. But because that happened, I’m alive, and everyone gets to pity me and throw healthcare my way. As if I deserve that any more now than I did then.” Her voice changed to a sing-song now. “And in return I’m on display, I’m always available for interviews, I’m just the nicest girl in the world because if I’m not- I go into anaphylaxis.  Or starve to death. How could you not want to escape that, if you could?”

Carmen stumbled over her words, emotions in freefall. “So it’s like winning the lottery then! It’s not that we deserved this, and it’s got its drawbacks, but we’re here now and-”

“This is not the lottery! This is hell! I’m stuck here with you and I can’t…” Vi trailed off, face stricken as she realized what she’d said. She stumbled on, frustrated tears dragged up unbidden. “I can’t leave. And I can’t figure out why you don’t.”

Avoiding Vi’s eyes now, Carmen dug her nails into her palm. “We used to- I’m- I don’t-” She stared down at her lap, voice compressed into needle sharpness when she finally said, “This is my heaven, Vi. Why would I leave?”

Carmen could feel Vi’s uncomprehending gaze prickling on her skin, the self-hatred of an unasked-for admission burning her throat. She moved to get up, and Vi’s hand shot out to hold her arm. Shrugging her off, Carmen walked to the door. Her jaw worked for a few moments before she said, “I’m gonna go for a drive.”

She walked out.

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Carmen drove up the driveway, gravel crunching under her tires. The porchlight cast a yellow glow over everything. It was dusk, stars just starting to peek out overhead.

She parked, got out, walked up to the front door. Vi was standing just inside, cats twining around her feet, all clearly summoned by the sound of a car pulling up. Cheeks and forehead blotchy, Vi looked like she’d been torn apart and put herself back together in the span Carmen had been gone.

After a moment of mute staring she turned her back to Carmen, leaning against the invisible wall and sliding to the ground. Her blouse, rucked up slightly by the descent, showed off a few knobs of spindly vertebrae. Carmen swallowed. She turned and lowered herself down before leaning back gently to rest her shoulders against Vi’s. They’d sat like this often in high school, using each other as backrests at band events or while waiting on the pavement for their perennially late buses to bring them back to their disparate houses.

For a few minutes neither woman said anything. Carmen stared out at the surrounding forest, red and gold leaves beginning to drop and reveal branches again. She could see down the long driveway to her left. It was a view she hadn’t had since she’d last been able to leave a year prior. A brisk wind blew past, and Carmen would have shivered if not for the warmth at her back.

“I wasn’t sure if you would come back.” Vi’s tremulous voice broke the silence. Carmen could feel her take a long breath, then another. In and out.

“I wasn’t sure if I would either, at first.” Carmen leaned her head back too, tendrils of Vi’s hair fluttering against her neck. “I drove and drove, zigzagged through just about every town nearby I used to visit. Talked to strangers- an older man handed me change and I nearly had a meltdown on the spot, just the brush of unfamiliar contact felt so strange after a year. I ordered a burger- brought you one back too, it’s in the car.”

“Get to the point Carm.” Her voice wasn’t unkind, but it brooked no argument.

Carmen went silent, considering her options for what to say next. The pressure of each discarded idea stacked on top of the next built and built, until finally after three minutes of silence she blurted out, “I think I’m in love with you.”

No response. 

Anxious and scrabbling for what to say next, she forged on. “And even if I wasn’t I wouldn’t abandon you here to be alone, you know that, right? I would only leave if you asked me to. I wouldn’t- I’m here as long as you’ll have me.”

No response.

Gut clenching, Carmen finally leaned to the side and turned to look at Vi. With almost imperceptible pressure she rested a hand on Vi’s face and moved it into view.  Vi’s expression was unreadable, tears slipping down her cheeks. Moving slowly, she shifted further into the doorway and tilted forward until her forehead rested against Vi’s. They stayed still like that for a long time, eyes locked.

Finally, Vi whispered, “So you’re really not going to leave?”

Barely shifting, Carmen shook her head. 

Letting out a single sob, tears still flowing, Vi pressed forward to kiss Carmen once, again, again. Carmen hugged her as she spread kisses over Carmen’s face; brushing delicately over her eyes, her cheeks, the tip of her nose, before pressing one last bruising kiss to her lips. Eyes shimmering, she leaned back slightly. “I think I love you too.”

Carmen was crying as well by now, smile brilliant as the sun.

“Also, I would like to go somewhere where there definitely aren’t cameras before we keep kissing.”

Laughing, delighted, Carmen got to her feet and helped Vi to her feet, before swooping her up and into her arms. “That can be arranged.”

Author's Note

Based on other critiques, I want to rewrite this where the characters are already dating or married, and the consent issues can be explored more deeply without having the establish the relationship- or tell me if that's a bad idea I guess. Suggestions on edits to get this up to snuff for publication would be appreciated!

Reviews

[Cherrie Palmer]

here is what I like to do to get something ready for submission: once I flesh out my story and I am happy with how it's dressed. I record any parts that do not flow with ease. You would be surprised how much this helps. Reading your work out loud is good, however, recording it to play back is a true gift. I may read the words out loud and be satisfied, but some kind of magic happens when you hit record, and bam! Any imperfections (poor timing, awkward phrases) screams 'edit me.' It's funny (but true) whenever I go to record something I pickup on any unnatural flowing word combos.

I think you have an interesting story, that needs a little love here and there, as far as where to start the story I think you have to decide where the best advantage point is for the reader to walk in on.

[Nyde Jenkins]

Thank you so much! I haven't tried that for editing before, I'll give it a whirl tonight. Especially with the dialogue I hope that will help get things flowing!

Im definitely bored with the opening scene and intend to either shift the story forward or figure out a more interesting event/inciting action to take place that night.

Thank you so much for the advice & kind words!

[Cherrie Palmer]

I but a recorder on my phone.
You will love it.
When we read in our heads we(I) miss things, reading out loud helps but even better is recording it. Most times you don't need to pkay it back to hear the flow is wrong you hear it as you try to capture it on tape.

[JayG]

You are going to hate me, I’m afraid, because what I’m about to say isn’t something you were hoping to hear, and you've worked hard on this. But since it relates to your degree choice, and the effect it has on writing fiction. I thought you would want to know—especially since that relates to the probability of the work selling.

I’m sure, as part of your degree program you took creative writing, and probably literature courses. And having graduated, you now have about sixteen years of study in the art of writing. My question is, did any of that relate to the act of writing fiction as an acquiring editor or customer in the bookstore views it? I ask because all the reader you did no more teaches us to write then eating teaches us to cook.

Some terms for things you should be using automatically as you shape your scenes toward the climax: The inciting incident; scene and sequel; short-term scene-goal; black moment; conflict as it relates to every scene; motivation/response units. If you’re taking them all into account you’re fine there. But if more than one of them made you stop and think about what it means…

Now take these questions into account: Did any of your teachers explain why a scene ends in disaster for the protagonist on the page—and why it should? Did they explain why there are such significant differences between the elements of a scene on stage and screen and on the page, and what those elements are? Did your teachers cover viewpoint, how it differs from POV as defined by personal pronoun usage, and how motivation/response units relate to that?

Those are a few of the things you should be taking into account as you write. If, for example, we don't know what the elements of a scene are, and how to manage them, can we write one an acquiring editor will smile on?

I’m making an assumption—based on the writing in this post—that your education, so far as writing fiction may have missed a few of the points I mentioned as being necessary.

The thing that hit me at once is that you are writing very well, and using the techniques your teachers began “drumming into your head” beginning in the first grade. And that, the drumming, is the problem. Throughout your school days the writing assignments you were given focused, primarily, on essay and report writing skills, which are pretty well useless for fiction. They’re fact-based and author-centric, which describes the presentation methodology used in the story. It also happens to be the approach used for most classic literature. Its goal of the techniques is to inform the reader, clearly and concisely. It provides an informational experience, as the narrator explains the facts and happenings. When used for fiction it’s a “Let me tell you a story,” approach. That fit in the nineteenth century reader, where often, the primary entertainment in the house was to read the story to the family. In general, while dialog was used, extended conversations were not presented nearly as often as today. But when film appeared and took the audience literally into the scene as a participant, something the printed word couldn't do with the tell me a story approach. So, readership dropped, which drive writers to entice the reader by taking them to the one place film couldn’t, into the head of the protagonist. The Motivation/Response Unit approach, used well, can make the action seem to be taking place in real-time as we read, and make the story seem so real that if the protagonist falls and skins their knee the reader shouts “Ouch!”

For an idea of how a close viewpoint helps the reader know the scene as the protagonist does, this article might clarify.
https://jaygreenstein.wordpress.com/2011/09/22/the-grumpy-writing-coach-8/

Another thing that hit me is that you’re thinking cinematically as you write, visualizing the scene and presenting what you see happening on the screen. But that can’t work. A great deal of what you describe would be noted by the viewing audience in parallel with the plot-related action. So everything you note in the opening section might take a minute or two to watch. But on the page it takes 446 words, with each thing you mention spelled out one at a time over two full standard manuscript pages. That means to get two minutes of film action the reader must plow through ten minutes of reading. And what happens in those ten minutes? Carmen comes into a messy kitchen, learns that Vi is making caramels, and that some unknown “air purifiers” reduced an unknown level of pain from an unknown source, by an unknown amount. Then she goes to bed.

Ten minutes and that’s it? As the great Ernest Hemingway observed: “Never confuse movement with action.” And to that I’ll add some wise words by E. L. Doctorow: “Good writing is supposed to evoke sensation in the reader, not the fact that it’s raining, but the feeling of being rained upon.”

You worked hard on this, and it shows. And you’ve put a lot of yourself, emotionally intro the writing, as we all do. So this hurts. I know because I’ve been there. But none of it is a matter of your talent or potential as a writer. It’s that like everyone else, you thought the common word between the skill called “writing,” and the profession of Fiction-Writing seems to imply a close connection.

But the goal of fiction is to provide an emotional, not an informational experience. So its techniques are emotion-based and character-centric, a methodology not even mentioned prior to your study for a degree. And if you’re like most English and literature grads I’ve met, it’s an approach that wasn’t mentioned as existing there, either. To show how different what the reader gets is from what you intend, look at the opening as an acquiring editor would:

• Carmen had never categorized whistling as tuneless before- how could musical notes not form some kind of tune?

Who’s Carmen? Where are we in time and space? And what’s going on? Lacking that, the reader has no context to make it meaningful. You told them, in effect, that someone they know nothing about always thought whistling was musical, But now, for no apparent reason, has changed that view, and is asking the reader why.

Certainly that’s not what you intended the reader to get. But given that the reader has only what the words suggest to them, based on THEIR background, can they see it otherwise? You, knowing the things I mentioned, and having an intent for how the words are to be taken, hear them exactly as intended. And because you do, it works and you never see the problem. For you the narrator’s voice is filled with emotion as you read. But can the reader know how they’re supposed to read the words, given that they don’t have performance notes, and won’t know what a given line says till AFTER they read it? And look at line two. As a reader, why do I care that someone I don’t know, in an unknown place is whistling tunelessly for unknown reasons?

So…you have the desire. You have the story. You have the necessary perseverance. But though no fault of your own, you’re missing some critical writing tricks—tricks you’re as capable of learning as any one else.

The solution? Simplicity itself. Add the techniques of fiction, practice them till you can use them effortlessly, and there you are.

Of course simple and easy aren’t interchangeable words, so there is a fair bit of study, practice, and frustration involved as you try to convince the writing reflexes you presently own to stand aside while you try to write in a way that those reflexes are certain are WRONG. And I can promise you that they will, without your noticing, “fix the writing to make it “right,” until you practice the techniques enough to make them yours.

But once you do, the act of writing becomes a LOT more fun. First, the protagonist becomes your co-writer, and whispers advice in your ear. Try to make the protagonist you've shown as smart turn dumb when you need them to miss something and you’re going to get a stern, “Hell no, I won’t do that. I’m not that dumb.” And till you’ve had one of your characters tell you that, they’re not real to either you or the reader.

So how do you upgrade your skills? First, for a better idea of the number and importance of the various issues you need to dig into, I’m immodest enough to suggest the articles in my writing blog. But for the skills and knowledge you need, pick up a copy of Dwight Swain’s, Techniques of the Selling Writer. It’s an older book, but I’ve not found any other close to as good at imparting the nuts-and-bolts issues. Swain won’t make a pro of you. That’s your job. But he will give you both the tools and the knowledge needed to get there if it’s in you. And can we ask more?

After all, we can’t use the tool we don’t know exists. Nor can we fix the problem we don’t view as being one. So dig in. Writing is a journey, not a destination. So if you write just a little better every day, and live long enough…

Hang in there, and keep on writing.

Jay Greenstein
https://jaygreenstein.wordpress.com/category/the-craft-of-writing/the-grumpy-old-writing-coach/

[Nyde Jenkins]

Sir, I genuinely appreciate you taking the time to read my work. I was excited to see such a long review, less excited once I realized the majority of it was not constructive to actually improving my writing. Spending the majority of a review calling into question what I know about writing is not helpful- just tell me what I'm messing up on. It feels incredibly patronizing to tell someone their English degree clearly didn't cover xyz (it did, by the way) but if I read your blog I can discover how to write well.

The one really specific critique you have, that the first sentence doesn't make sense because it doesn't instantly tell the reader time, place, everything about the scene in one go, is not something most writing guides would advise. The goal is to hook the reader into the story with one tiny tidbit of a much larger scene, and trust that the rest will get explained over the next few paragraphs. I was interested to hear a critique of the opening scene, and I will certainly take the complaint of lack of action (minus the long excoriation of my lack of experience and Hemingeay reference) to heart.

If this seems overly defensive, I hope you may consider why waking up at 2 am to read someones multi paragraph review that mostly focuses on how woeful my education has been & how clever the reviewer is to notice my lack, is not pleasant or helpful in the least.

[turingtested]

I believe it was Polonius who once said, "Brevity is the soul of wit," my good friend.

[JayG]

• It feels incredibly patronizing to tell someone their English degree clearly didn't cover xyz (it did, by the way) but if I read your blog I can discover how to write well.

I told you that you’d hate me, remember. I've worked with new grads before. But I was being kind with that critique. Your degree DIDN’T prepare you to write fiction, as evidenced by the writing. And you’re misquoting. I didn’t tell you to look at those articles to learn how to write. Had you looked you’d have found a statement appended to each article stating that they are NOT intended to teach you to write. Nor did I say they are in that critique.

But you lashed out because a critique stings—especially one that breaks such news. I know, because I’ve been there a time or three. I'd written six unsold novels before I learned the truth. But after I did, and dug into the techniques of fiction, I sold my next novel submission. And the next three, too.

But you forgot the most critical thing: Someone who you don’t know took time they didn’t have to give you, to try to help you write with more skill. And that matters because the writing that SHOULD have grabbed me failed at its task. Instead of trying to figure out why it failed; instead of looking into the issues mentioned, you reacted with anger. But to quote Sol Stein: “A writer, shy or not, needs a tough skin, for no matter how advanced one’s experience and career, expert criticism cuts to the quick, and one learns to endure and to perfect, if for no other reason than to challenge the pain-maker.”

I was exceedingly gentle in my critique, and made it a point to complement your writing skill and point out that what I had to say wasn’t about your talent or potential. In reality, any agent or editor would have sent a rejection after reading the first line for the reasons I outlined.

Thing is, I don’t tell you what you want to hear. I tell you what you need to know to please that acquiring editor. No one says you have to take the advice—which was to go to professional sources for the skills you need. You can, or course, write in any way you care to…unless you hope to have a yes in response to a submission.

• The goal is to hook the reader into the story with one tiny tidbit of a much larger scene, and trust that the rest will get explained over the next few paragraphs.

This belief is the reason you’ll be rejected every time. You’re forgetting that reader are volunteers not conscripts. No reader will accept being confused on the first line and read on in hopes that at an unknown time later clarification will come. First, because they have no assurance that you will clarify, and second, you cannot, cannot, cannot retroactively remove confusion. So if the publishing pro who gets this stops reading with the first or second line, they’ll never see that clarification. And that means you wasted the time to write the rest.

I’ll let Sol Stein speak for me, again: “A novel is like a car—it won’t go anywhere until you turn on the engine. The “engine” of both fiction and nonfiction is the point at which the reader makes the decision not to put the book down. The engine should start in the first three pages, the closer to the top of page one the better.”

In this you have no engine. Why would anyone be enticed to learn that someone unknown, of unknown age and situation, living in an unknown country in an unknown era comes into a house and goes to bed? Where’s the “engine?” Why would they care that someone who feels some sort of undefined pain is making candy if it doesn’t matter enough to the protagonist to want to taste it?

In the words of James Schmitz: “Don’t inflict the reader with irrelevant background material—get on with the story.”

• The one really specific critique you have, that the first sentence doesn't make sense because it doesn't instantly tell the reader time, place, everything about the scene in one go, is not something most writing guides would advise.

Horseshit and sophistry. Show me one single text, from any book on writing that advises opening with words for which the reader has no context. People PAID me to tell them what they would be rejected for, so they could sell their work. And at the moment there are fifty books on writing in my library. Not one of them would back up your contention that the first line is fine.

For example, here’s what Dwight Swain says (bear in mind that the word “fight” here refers to conflict/tension, not physical battle):
- - - -
How to get a story under way

The function of your story’s beginning is to let your reader know there’s going to be a fight . . . and that it’s the kind of fight that will interest him.

To that end, beginning spotlights three things: desire, danger, decision. Someone wants to attain or retain something. Something else threatens his chances of so doing. He decides to fight the threat.

The thing Character wants, the danger that threatens fulfillment of this desire, and the decision he makes, determine what specific readers will enjoy the story. One likes sex and violence, another tenderness and love, another the competitive striving for success, another intellectual stimulation. Relatively few college professors are Tarzan fans—and even fewer sharecroppers succumb to Finnegans Wake. The trick, for the writer, is merely to pinpoint audience taste . . . then to refrain from attempting to inflict his copy on the wrong people.

The problems of beginning break down into six categories:

a. Where to open.
b. How to open.
c. What to put in.
d. What to leave out.
e. How to introduce needed information.
f. When to close.

Let’s take these one at a time:

a. Where to open.

You can start a story in any way and at any point and, regrettably, I’ve read the manuscripts that prove it. But that doesn’t mean that some beginnings aren’t better (read: “more effective”) than others.

Thus, you can open on a landscape or a fist fight, a still life or weather talk, or a close-up of a character or an object. Or on any of a thousand other angles.

Confession editors sometimes say, “Start on the day that’s different.” A Hollywood axiom recommends, “Start with an arrival.” Pulp writers used to advocate starting with a fight. A general rule, across the board, has been that you should start with trouble.

So, where should you start?

Which immediately brings up another question: What do you need, to start a story?

You need change.

“Start on the day that’s different”? Something made it that way—a change from someone’s accustomed routine; what had been.

“Start with an arrival”? An arrival is injection of a new element into a situation; therefore, a change.

“Start with a fight”? Some deviation from the status quo caused that fight to explode at this particular time and place. “Start with trouble”? Trouble is only a name for what happens when new developments can’t be fitted into an existing pattern.

So, change is the thing you need to start a story.

Next question: How do you build the beginning of a story around change?

You need four things:

(1) An existing situation.
(2) A change in that situation.
(3) An affected character.
(4) Consequences.
- - - - -

But obviously, you’re seeking validation, not critique, so I’ll bow out.

[Nyde Jenkins]

Dude I've been sending screenshots of your original post all day to various friends, I cannot believe you have gifted me with a second diatribe to copy-paste to hell and back.

You have once again provided almost no actual criticism, relying on vague references to skills I lack in writing and (once again) talking about how great you are in comparison. I can't believe someone could be dense enough to honestly think writing 3 pages of critique that only references someone's actual writing a maximum of 3 times is helpful. I don't disagree with you because I'm an infant graduate student who just can't accept your paternalistic help, I disagree because you've provided only one critique of substance (that I need to inject action into the initial scene) and taken 1000 words to do it, and assumed I'm an idiot in the bargain.

I read through your work and it's genuinely mediocre, which I chose not to address in my initial response because it felt cruel. Your story about an abused woman leaving her husband is technically subpar, emotionally dull, and belies a complete ignorance of the life event described (leaving an abuser Does Not Look Like That in 99% of cases).

"People PAID me to tell them what they would be rejected for" I am so sorry to those people, then.

"Horseshit and sophistry. Show me one single text, from any book on writing that advises opening with words for which the reader has no context."

Opening lines of The Catcher in the Rye: "If you really want to hear about it, the first thing you’ll probably want to know is where I was born, and what my lousy childhood was like, and how my parents were occupied and all before they had me, and all that David Copperfield kind of crap, but I don’t feel like going into it, if you want to know the truth."

Opening lines for Fahrenheit 451, with even less context: "It was a pleasure to burn."

Dear me, it seems Bradbury and Salinger also engage in the same horseshit I do! Terrible.

I wanted critique, actual critique, by someone capable of pointing out actual flaws and potential fixes. I'm already editing my piece to address the opening scene- I have a tendency to have a "set scene" that jots down mood and tone before I hop into action, which is a valid stylistic choice but one I've considered removing from this piece before.

If the purpose of a critique is to give advice on issues or fixes, and/or to encourage the person being critiqued to write more, you have failed on both accounts.

[Nyde Jenkins]

Wait did you... did you read the story?

It just occurred to me that you've only referenced the opening scene, in nearly 3k words of critiques. Even accounting for 2k of bloviating, that's a lot of words to not mention a single later scene.

Not a single comments about the happy ending? (A sin in modern short stories.) The lesbians? The magical conceit of the story?

I can't believe I didn't ask about this before, I'm kind of sad I missed my chance.

Also, I didn't remember to include this in my initial response, but "450 words = 10 minutes of reading" is only accurate if you are a turtle.

[JayG]

• Wait did you... did you read the story?

If the one you submit to rejects the piece in the first paragraph who cares what the rest says? Your JOB is to hook the reader on page one. Forget plot That's important only in retrospect. You sell the writing. So unless you provide entertaining reading on every page no one will turn the page.

One of the most common mistakes pre-published writers make is thinking that the story matters in hooking the reader. But your first chapter is 2953 words, or twelve standard manuscript pages, what happens so far as plot in that time?

In the first section, the protagonist comes in at night, notices that the person in the kitchen is making candy, talks about the other person having less pain, and then goes to sleep. We don't know what they look like, and we don't learen how they react to what the other person says and does. We're just told it happens, as a chronicle of events. Did we develop character? No. Did we move the plot. No. Is there an inciting incident? Rising tension? No. Did we place the reader in time and space? No. Do we know how old the characters are, or what they do for a living? No. So...we read two pages of emotion-free detail and nothing interesting happens.

We then jump an unknown time into the future. Again the protagonist comes home at night. This time she sits down and the pair talk. Hoe long have they known each other? Who knows. How long have they been living in the house together? You don't say.

Vi says, "“I wasn’t sure if you would come back.” But how long was she away? You don't say. Why did she leave? You don't say. All we know is that she drove and drove an unknown distance in an unknown country, for unknown reasons before coming back.

Then she tells Vi that she loves her. Why? No way to tell because we know nothing meaningful about either character. Nor do we know what they like about each other. What WERE they to each other before the road trip? You didn't say. Details you have. Story? Not so much.

You spent lots of words listing visual things unrelated to the events taking place, and which the characters are are ignoring. And since we don't know where the house is, or the architecture, the reader has no way of creating a mental picture of the setting or the people.

And as for a happy ending, it's not. The reader never gets to know the characters as people, so why should they do more then nod and say, "Uh huh."? You simply describe what they would see were it possible for them to see it. But they can't. And listing what can be seen is not remotely like viewing it.

The idea is to involve the reader, not talk at them. But since you're still using the nonfiction skills we all learn in grade school, the words have emotional content only for you who already know the characters and their backstory, plus their motivation for speaking and acting.

When you read tthis, each line points to images, action, and more that lives in your mind. But the reader has no access to your intent, which never makes it to the page. Nor can they hear the emotion you place in your words as you read them. Nor can they see your performance as a storyteller.

For the reader, each line points to images, action, and more that lives in *YOUR* mind. And you're not there to ask. Have the computer read it aloud. Or better yet, have a friend, one with little acting talent cold-read it to you with no prep in the way of explanation prior to reading. Don't tell them it's your writing, so they will approach it the way they would any other piece of fiction. And when you do, stand where the reader won't see your stricken expression as you hear how different what the reader gets is from what you intended.

As for your claim that I didn't read the story, had you read the critique you would see that I included a summation of the first section. But in any case, I wasn't critiquing the plot, I was commenting on structural issues, and they begin on line one and continue to the final line.

And as for you thinking a reader doesn't take five minutes a page for something like this, time a friend as they read it.

If it's writing that grabs you, so that you feel as if you're living the story, it might take only two per page. But assume it does. That 12 page chapter would take 24 minutes to complete and what happens? Two people we know nothing about profess their love after 12 pages of mundane events.

It's easy enough to prove me wrong and the writing perfect. Submit it and sell it.

How hard can it be. I've done it in short and long form a total of seven times, plus once getting $200 for a single poem. Should be a snap for you.

[Nyde Jenkins]

I know I asked for help with publishing but I would consider it intensely rude to claim to be competently critiquing someones work, then when pressed on *actually* reading it to insist its my job to convince you and then skim through the rest. I say skim because several of the questions you bring up are answered in the story.

I'll say one thing, challenging you on actually reading it finally got me a series of genuine pieces of criticism. Kudos!

I worry that my criticism of your critique still registers as a personal attack. It's not meant to be, I'm pointing it out because out of the literal dozen or so people I've shared it with (some perfect strangers beyond seeing my post on social media with a screenshot) every one has been shocked and horrified at your comments. The meandering soliloquies about writing-as-a-concept, the clear self-aggrandizement, the weird personal attacks on my education instead of just critiquing the story at hand; I hope that you don't inflict those on anyone else.

[JayG]

• I know I asked for help with publishing but I would consider it intensely rude to claim to be competently critiquing someones work,

Simple enough to prove yourself right: Sell it. Anything else is meaningless.

Or better yet, buy that book I suggested, and read it to show me the parts that are wrong. The last person who did that mentioned me on the dedication page of their first sale.

• I worry that my criticism of your critique still registers as a personal attack.

It's not a parsonan attack, it's wounded ego reacting to me, in effect, calling a favorite child ugly. Over the past thirty years or so I've seen a fair amount of your kind of emotional reaction to a critique. Instead of reacting with pique, you should be thinking about why the words didn't do their job, and keep me too busy applauding to notice any faults.

Think about it. You could have said, "Ah well, he's got it all wrong," and moved on. But you've made it your mission to prove to yourself that I'm wrong in not praising your work. You wouldn't do that had I not hit on things that you can't let yourself look at.

• I'm pointing it out because out of the literal dozen or so people I've shared it with (some perfect strangers beyond seeing my post on social media with a screenshot) every one has been shocked and horrified at your comments.

So let's see...a dozen people who have never sold a word of fiction are telling you that my advice—and that of the writing teacher I quoted, is wrong. And you think that's going to impress me?

Have you not noticed that the only other person who reacted to the story was Cherrie, and that she didn't praise it, either? In fact, she suggested one of the things I did, to have it read aloud. Cherrie is helpful, honest, and comments on a lot of stories. I'll just say that her reaction my stories was a bit more positive.

And here's something you really need to take into account: Had I praised that story you would have accepted it as accurate and honest. You'd have not questioned my qualifications or anything I said.

So if you're being honest, don't you have to accept what's not praise with the same mind-set?

• I hope that you don't inflict those on anyone else.

Well, in January, not everyone reacted well to having the same kind of mistakes you made pointed out. But most didn't react as you did:


https://www.writerscafe.org/writing/ninja_monkey0210/2159936/

https://www.writerscafe.org/writing/RogueBlender/2159320/

https://www.writerscafe.org/writing/0livierDubois/2159047/

https://www.writerscafe.org/writing/thoughtful/2158944/

https://www.writerscafe.org/writing/SomeOtherGuy/1366721/

https://www.writerscafe.org/writing/Moonbbybean/2158130/

Look. I know why you're reacting this way. You spent four years working on an English degree which you believed would, among other things, ready you for a career of fiction writing. So learning that there may be problems hurts, and generates an intense emotional reaction.

But notice that you quoted no source or different viewpoint, just lashed out. Instead of facts you report the opinions of people who are not writers to the advice embraced and dispensed by teachers of professional fiction-writing.

You've disputed a point, in a single line, only the fact of it, plus a vague claim that what you dis is okay. And when I did supply the words of one of the most respected teachers of commercial fiction writing, Dwight Swain, you ignore it. And that doesn't seem an effective way to improve.

I commented on one story, as it stood on the day it was posted. I said noting about you, your talent, or your potential as a writer. But you're reacting as if I questioned your sanity and your toilet training. You're calling in your friends to say, "Poor baby...the man is being mean to you," and announcing that as if they're specialists in the field.

If you put as much effort into researching why Swain said what he did, and how it relates to your piece, it would a lot more productive than trying to prove that my comments are unjustified—expecially when the way to do that is so easy: If it's well done it will sell. If not...

You make the mistake of assuming that the views I express are mine. But they're not. I can supply page number and paragraph of reference material for everything I say.

[Nyde Jenkins]

Oh my gd you really are this insufferable to everyone. I can't believe you're like this in every review, it's like watching a snake eat itself. Where do you find the time.

And they don't need to be published authors- though, I will say, some are- to say that you're being a tool. They're not defending my pwecious feefies, they're dunking on someone who can't figure out how pompous and rude he is, and who thinks a defense of being a jerk is preemtively going "alas!- you are going to ignore my words, like the wretched prophets before me" so anyone who disagrees with you must be sad and defensive rather than irritated at you for taking 1000 words to say what 50 would, in the most egregiously dense way possible.

"I said nothing about you, your talent, or your potential as a writer" Dude you saw me post one story and assumed my degree was worthless and I didn't know what an inciting action was.

I'm done arguing, and you've convinced me of the worthlessness of this site. I won't be able to convince you that its not my wounded pride driving me away, and I really couldn't give two s***s at this point. You simply do not deserve any more of my time. If your work solicits so many positive reviews (a rhyming poem comparing war to a b***h? Really?) I don't really want this readership or see value in critiques from your contemporaries. I'm starting to see why the site is dying. As my dear (published, since that apparently is the merit line here) sister put it "you need to find a new forum everyone commenting on this dudes work has brain worms"

[JayG]

• Oh my gd you really are this insufferable to everyone.

Had you looked at the comments from this month that I linked to, you'd have seen that your view isn't all that popular. Sorry, but it isn't. Are you now more knowledgeable than everyone else posting here, and certain that the people who didn't complain as you have are all wrong? Seriously?

Getting pissed at me is pretty silly because you're arguing with the wrong person. Argue with Dwight Swain, Jack Bickham, Sol Stein, Donal Mass, Deb Dixon, or any of the teachers, agents, or writers whose advice and views I pass on.

Want to show me that you're right and I'm wrong about the story? Sell it.

I've sold my work, and I'm not a talented writer. In the past month, 55 people on Smashwords, Apple books, B&N, decided to read my books. And I just downloaded my income tax earnings form for the past year from them and Amazon. You?

So I'm your benchmark. Do better than I have. If you can, great. I'll cheer for you. If not, stop talking abut how perfect you are and hit the books to fix the problem.

Or...how about this... I'll post something new, and we'll see if, in a week or two, it gets more comment than, say, your Clay Birds story. If I do, just maybe, you want to look at your structural approach.

• And they don't need to be published authors- though, I will say, some are- to say that you're being a tool.

If they know so much more than I do, and are right, submit your work and sell it. Simple and easy, right?

• Dude you saw me post one story and assumed my degree was worthless and I didn't know what an inciting action was.

Dude? Seriously? Kid, Have you looked at my bio?

That aside, you posted two stories, and of course I looked at both. The structure was identical. In both it's 100% telling. In both you're thinking visually in a medium that reproduces neither sound nor vision. In neither is the viewpoint the protagonist's. In neither are we in the protagonist's moment of "now," living the events in real-time. Instead, a voice that carries only the emotion inherent to the punctuation talks, and talks, and talks about things that neither move the plot, meaningfully set the scene, nor develop character. You waste words telling the reader that there are dirty dishes in a sink the reader can't see. Why would a reader give a damn that there are dirty dishes in the sink? All I got from it was that given he does go to sleep with them in the sink he's a slob, and the place probably has roaches. Doesn't say a lot in favor of the protagonist.

Now, I'm off to work on a new story. Should be fun.

[JayG]

Done: Race you to next week, then:
https://www.writerscafe.org/writing/JayGreenstein/2160236/

And thank you. I'd forgotten I had this one. It wasn't finished, and needed editing. But that's the fun of writing.