The Phoenix Rising: Reader Thread

[jaxx6166]

This thread is for those that read the excerpt I posted here a few days ago.

What are your thoughts/suggestions? Like I mentioned in the excerpt post, I would like to do something similar with this that Brandon Sanderson did with Warbreaker.

For those unfamiliar, Sanderson published his novel on his webpage as he was writing/revising it for Tor. Suggestions and stuff that his readers/reviewers came up with were incorporated into later versions and eventually into the final draft which will be released soon. All of this was entirely free. And it helped build a community around his novel and helped stir the talk.

Some of the improvements I am thinking about for v2 are listed below:

Kill the 1st person POV / character jumps
Rework the magic system
As many grammar/typos as the listmind and I can find

[Moejoe]

Consider me signed up for this thread I can't wait to see how it all turns out and what you get from the experience, jaxx.

If you haven't, then I suggest reading possibly the best guide on writing popular fiction ever produced -- Techniques of the Selling Writer by Dwight V Swain and also this post by Jim Butcher (detailing the very same system, but much quicker and easier to digest) Both of these will help you (as they did me) in understanding the mechanics of story and they're very useful for when you're editing.

[jaxx6166]

For those curious and keeping track - I rewrote Ch 3 today, which was told in 1st person. It's now in 3rd person. Hopefully now the POV jump from third person Graham to first person Sam will not be as awkward....

Text appears below. (It's a short chapter!)

Comments from those that downloaded the preview LRF are very much appreciated. With that said:

SAM
3

His head hurt. Bad. Sam awoke with a start, groggily looking around. He blinked. Once. Twice. The room slowly came into focus around him. The only light shining through the darkness was the alarm clock to the left. Its colon blinked, casting strange shadows left and right. turning the white walls red. A low rumble sounded nearby, startlingly loud in the stillness of the midnight air. Sam buried himself in the covers to drown out the sound of his roommate’s snores.

Tomorrow is mom’s birthday. He thought, running the date through his head. Has it really been a month since I was home? It’s okay. He reasoned, the house wasn’t really his any more. It belonged to the city. It belonged to the Mayor. It belonged to his father. It just didn’t feel real.

Four years ago he had a completely different life. Four years and twelve jobs later, everything was new. Everything was as it should be. He couldn’t remember the last time he went without dinner, or without a haircut or clean clothes. It had taken a lot to get where he was. Times were tough then, sure. Mom was a cashier at SaveNow, dad sweated and grunted in the steel mills during the day, and froze in a guard shack at night. Back then everyone worked. Back then, going to college was as big a fantasy as flying horses and devils and monsters.

He sighed. For the first time in three years, he found himself thinking about Jessica. The baby. She was the only one that didn’t have to work. Didn’t have to work twice. She loved mom. And mom loved her.

It happened so quick, so fast. The change took three hundred votes, two debates, and an uprising of hope. It was a new revival of lost souls seeking salvation, seeking change. It was something to be proud of. It was Hope. His family – they were gods among men. We were the kings and queens of Camelot. We were the future. And I was going to school. They were the Heroes of the Headlines.

Sam tossed and turned some more, still not believing this was his new home. The clock ticked towards three am. He coughed and closed his eyes again. Tomorrow was a new day. And he had work to do.

Told yall it was short =)

[Moejoe]

Good stuff, I'm intrigued.

There's a couple of things I'd change, but not neccessarily because I think they're wrong - I just have a different approach

[jaxx6166]

Fair enough. I'm always interested in your feedback. Does it flow better than the previous chapter 3? I'd love to hear how you'd approach the same words.

[Moejoe]

Originally Posted by jaxx6166

Fair enough. I'm always interested in your feedback. Does it flow better than the previous chapter 3? I'd love to hear how you'd approach the same words.

It flows a lot better, and I'll post up the edits I'd make if it were mine very soon. What I don't want to do is steer you away from your own words. They're your words, your writing and I wouldn't feel comfortable making that impression.

[jaxx6166]

Nah. . . don't feel like that. Good/bad/indifferent, feedback is probably the best thing possible for me at this stage.
A.) It's free editing
B.) It's free publicity
C.) It's great way to improve my own skillset.

Anyway, I'm typing this on my netbook (surprisingly easy to type on) and hope to have at least Day I rewritten by tomorrow night, if I'm lucky...
...If I'm not lucky, well I have four days off come Tuesday and hopefully I'll hit it hard then.

I'm trying to set up a little bit of foreshadowing here and there. I find it's a lot easier to allude to the future now that the first draft is basically done. By that I mean, its a lot easier when the real words are on page instead of just the outline I was using.

[Moejoe]

Okay, here's how I'd edit this writing, mostly it's just tightening, no drastic changes.

His head hurt. Bad.

Sam awoke with a start, groggily looking around. He blinked. Once. Twice. The room slowly came into focus. The only light shining through the darkness was the alarm clock to the left. Its colon blinked, casting strange shadows left and right, turning the white walls red. A low rumble sounded nearby, startlingly loud in the stillness of the midnight air.

He buried himself under the covers to drown out the snores of his room-mate.

Tomorrow is mom’s birthday, he thought, running the date through his head. Has it really been a month since I was home? It’s okay, the house isn't mine any more. It belongs to the city now. It belongs to the Mayor. It belongs to...father.

None of it felt real.

Four years earlier he had a completely different life. Four years and twelve jobs later, everything was new. Everything was as it should be. He couldn’t remember the last time he went without dinner, a haircut or clean clothes. It had taken a lot to get to here from there.

Times were tough then, sure. Mom was a cashier at SaveNow, Dad sweated and grunted in the steel mills during the day, and froze in a guard shack at night. Back then everyone worked. Back then, going to college was as big a fantasy as flying horses, devils and monsters.

He sighed. For the first time in three years, he found himself thinking about Jessica. The baby. She didn’t have to work. Didn’t have to work twice. She loved mom. Mom loved her.

It happened so quick, so fast.

The change took three hundred votes, two debates, and an uprising of hope. His family became gods among men, the kings and queens of Camelot. They were the heroes of the headlines. The future.

And I was going to school.

Sam tossed and turned some more, still not believing this was his new home. The clock ticked towards three am. He coughed and closed his eyes again.

Tomorrow was a new day.

He had work to do.

[jaxx6166]

MoeJoe...that's funny. You seem to have the same eye for the dramatic that I do. It's been a while since I wrote single sentence paragraphs and the like. I hadn't even gone back to re-edit this yet. I was just so excited to touch this story for the first time in close to three years. I'm a fan of the pace increase, not entirely sold on the bold/italics that you suggested though. I think on a third read through I may have reworded it the same way.

Have you checked the rest of the preview edition yet?? I appreciate your feedback and its a great help to point out oopsies and prose tightening...

For the lurkers, I'm hoping to update the excerpt by Sunday with several new rewritten chapters. If there's short stuff I can post here for feedback you can be sure it'll be here first.

[Moejoe]

Not had a chance to check out the rest of the preview yet, but will as soon as I've freed up some time. The italics I used were as they sounded in my head, again, it's all very much personal preference and likes that will dictate a lot of the editing. I've met quite a few people who don't like single-sentence paragraphs, but for me they quicken the pace and keep the reader going. I don't dare show any of those people any single-sentence Chapters

All that aside, I'm really into the character of Sam. I want to know more, and I want to see you complete this work and get it out there.

[jaxx6166]

The story itself is finished - now it's just a matter of making it make sense =)
The rewrite didnt happen today yet. Ive been super busy at work and couldn't dick around on Word...Hopefully when I get home at 7 the cat won't cry and the missus wont bug me and I can at least finish the first of the new chapters I am injecting into the story and maybe rewrite Sam's next two chapters (Right now theyre almost...fluff)

For those keeping track though, 11 of 302 pages have been rewritten (Huzzah)

[dschill]

also paying attention to this thread for updates!

[jaxx6166]

"Chapter 4" is now done with draft A. It's another one pager chapter. Just a quick scene to introduce the characters, I seem to be doing a lot of these lately..

CONSTANCE
5

Desolation set grim resolve. Constance found herself shivering against the autumn air as she tossed another newspaper blanket into the pit of flame. With a roar and a belch of heat, the cold died a slow death. Her frail hands reached out towards the warmth, but found only cold. Unnatural. Erotic. She watched a while as the flames danced their coital dance. Growing and rising. Sighing with the wind. It was warm. But so cold. So very cold.

Unnatural.

The dancing of the flames brought her into a world of terror. Devils, monsters. Sinners and Saints. Her eyes lost focus and the world grew blurry. Two quick blinks and the whisper of the wind brought the fluttering of angel wings to the tip of her nose.

Black wings.

Wings of Death.

The skull smiled, stared, laughed at her. She rose; eyes transfixed as all of the world was burnt to ash at that very moment. Constance turned her back to the heat and the night. Slow, deliberate, painful steps took her east and then half a dozen paces south of the flames. She bent down and her bones creaked with age, the weakness of death’s embrace.

She stared into the hole and made a few desperate cries. Spasms and coughs wracked her body. Blood caked her lips. She reached through the hole and called his name: “Antony. Antony.” Whispering now. “Please. Please Antony. Where are you?”
Skittering sounds and the sharp rake of claws on broken pavement brought her face around. She managed the last of her strength to turn around and stare at the creature before her.

The rat seemed to smile at her. His whiskers lifted up and down. He nodded his head, a greeting between friends.

“Mother. You hurt.” His voice was high pitched and simple. Not Mickey Mouse pitched. But click and buzz pitched to the few around her.

Constance turned her head, shaking no. Her eyes said yes. Six days. It had been six long days snce the last fix.

“I. Help?” Antony’s red eyes frowned. “You sick. Need medicine.”

Before she could answer, Antony had run off and began tugging on the jeans of a tall black man. Constance watched as the man tried to shake the rat off, then look down to see the white patch on its back.

Antony looked up at him with pleading eyes and pointed towards Constance. They ran to her.

[jaxx6166]

Okay...here's Ch 6 hot off the press. There's a few expletives in here, but nothing major. Anyway - since I just wrote it I need some serious critique on the flow and everything else. There's not really much of a prerequesite for understanding this chapter. This scene took the place of a brief cutscene in Ch 2 of the preview edition.

GRAHAM
6

The story ran that night. A quick post on three blogs was all it took for the news to spread like wildfire. Now he was waiting for the checks to start rolling in. He had already sold the interview to The Evening Star. Page one, below the fold.

It was the perfect placement. The Star outdid itself today. Top of the fold was the beauty and the praise of the King himself. Below the fold was the ugliness and unholy prodigal daughter. The witch. Graham came up with the nickname all by himself. He smiled his crooked smile and flipped through the article.

He laughed as he read: it was a dark and stormy night in May when the Morgana cast her spell, sacrificing a small rat to seal the deal with the devil himself.

Graham had just finished reading his article when Mr. Johnson called.

“We expect your retraction of these lies by morning. You know the penalty if we don’t see the text box.”

Before Graham could reply, the phone went silent.

He opened the door and stepped into the darkened office. By now, most of the thirteen staffers had gone home from The Right to Know. He went down the steps from his office and opened the door into the chill night air.

“Walk with me a moment.” Raul Mijar had been waiting for him.

“Thought you were gone for the night.” Graham pulled his brown trench closed and gripped his briefcase with an ungloved hand. “Cold tonight. Make it quick.”

“I read your article.”

“And?”

“What’s the plan?” Raul’s voice dipped low, sinister.

“Our King won’t be in power much longer. The pictures leak tomorrow. Go home. It’s your article, your byline. Have fun with it.”

“By six, it will be done.”

“Make it three. Star needs to go to print at five. They’ve already guaranteed it above the fold. Make it good and the whole check is yours.”

“The whole check?”

“Did I stutter?” Graham turned east, away from Raul. He began to walk away.
“I’ll have it by noon. Do I get a bonus?”

“Don’t get greedy.” Graham continued eastbound and disappeared into the concrete jungle, leaving Raul on the steps of The Right to Know.

The air was crisp. Graham’s breath puffed out in tiny white wisps. He inhaled deeply the scent of death in the air as the leaves shuddered and shed the last of their leaves. The subway was only six blocks away, and the heat was a relief from the mid-Atlantic autumn.

It was late. And the scent of urine and booze was overwhelming. Three bums were passed out along the steps. One slept under the turnstile. Graham kicked him as he stepped past. The train was late, as usual.

This was the last train home. It was full of unwashed, unholy beasts. He found a seat next to one of the wretched, smelly things.

“You done wif that?”

Graham blinked, looked towards the mass of newspaper and dirty clothes huddled next to him. “Excuse me?”

“The blanket. You done?”

“.. .. What blanket?”

Instead of answering, Smelly grabbed the newspaper sitting next to Graham and wrapped it around himself. “Thank you” was all he said.

“What are you doing? Do you even know how to read?”

“Go fuck ya self. I’m tryin’ ta stay warm.”

“You haven’t answered my question.” Graham’s lips twisted up in a sneer.

“Ya. I ken read.”

“Maybe you should take a look at that before you piss all over it in your sleep.”

“Yeh.”

“I think you should read that.”

“Piss off.”

Graham stood up, his eyes growing dark. “Now, that wasn’t very nice. Was it?”

“Yeh. Well. Welcome to Lyton.”

“That, sir – is simply unacceptable. Must I teach you manners?”

“Yeh. I got manners. Please, shut the fuck up. Thank you.” Smelly rolled over then. He farted loudly once and belched before licking his lips. “Chocolate.”

“Do you believe in God, sir?”

“Yeh. I’m prayin’ to him right now. He ain’t listenin’.”

The lights above him flickered and went out briefly. And in the dark, Graham seemed to glow.

Smelly sat up and pulled the paper off of him as the lights came back on.

“I think you’ll find the information there – quite enlightening.”

The fire went out in Smelly’s eyes as he picked up the newspaper and turned to the interview. It took four stops before he finished.

“And?” Graham said slowly, staring at Smelly. Savoring his reaction.

“Them’s bad people.” Smelly scratched his head and skin flaked onto Graham’s coat. He plucked two hairs off his head and bowed in shame.

Graham opened his hand as the hairs fell into his palm.

“Please say, mister is we firing him? We get good people then. Nice people.”

“Soon.” Graham dropped the hairs into his pocket. “We need to tell good people about the bad people first.”

“I can help.” Smelly said matter-of-fact.

“And how would you do that?”

“I call my Angels. Angels fight Devils.”

“And Ninjas fight Pirates. She’s a witch. A bloody witch. A – heretic. For this, I require something a little more – substantial than your delusions.”

“Angels is real, sir.”

“What if – what if I told you I could talk to God?”

“Me ‘n’ god is friends. I talk wif him at night.”

“A different god. One that listens. One that – responds.”

“Is he – real?”

“All gods are real. Mine is fire and ice. And everything nice.”

The robot voice told them the train ride was almost over.

[Moejoe]

Just caught up with the postings. Chp5 great, love this bit:

The skull smiled, stared, laughed at her. She rose; eyes transfixed as all of the world was burnt to ash at that very moment. Constance turned her back to the heat and the night. Slow, deliberate, painful steps took her east and then half a dozen paces south of the flames. She bent down and her bones creaked with age, the weakness of death’s embrace.

Chp6, don't see anything wrong with the flow at all. Reads good, pacy, I especially liked the interplay between Smelly and Graham.. that's very well written and pulled me in. You got that moment bang on as far as I'm concerned. Only one thing jars with me in the whole Chapter, the use oif this phrase - Dark and Stormy Night -- if I was polishin I'd change this.

Keep going, I want more.