Chapter 1: Alex

The cold morning air met me as I jolted awake. The sweat-drenched red shirt clung to me as I struggled to breathe. My breathing returned to its normal rhythm, and I rubbed my eyes. The tears were warm but wiping them away didn't erase the images. The same dream has been haunting me for years, almost ten, to be exact. But it never stops feeling real. Nor the painful hole inside me.

The sunlight began to creep across the broken tiles in the room. A few rays reflected off the pieces sticking up, causing dust to shimmer. With a heavy sigh, I got up. My home, a metal trailer, was smaller than most. I asked for a small one since I wouldn't use it much. My room alone was a sweat-drenched mattress and a broken dresser. Three drawers, one missing, with holes where the handles should be. Not like I had much to keep in it.

My mother's notebook sat on top of the water-stained wood with my father's Beretta. The only things I needed in life. The top drawer screeched as I pulled, shifting the angle here and there, to get my drawstring bag. Placing the notebook in I pulled it shut and slammed the drawer back, rocking the dresser. The bottom drawer had a gray shirt and my hip holster which I changed into. The sweat-filled one lay stretched out on top. The sun would dry it and then I'd toss it into the drawer for tomorrow switch out.

I slide the slide lock, double checked the clip and flipped the switch. The slide lock shot forward and I clicked the hammer into place slipping the black machine into my holster, headed out to start the day.

My home was a rust bucket of stale air and some mold spots which began to grow larger. A small plastic table and fridge with no door sat at the corner. A cushion less couch with springs shooting out sat in the center along with open space. Everything had a few layers of dust, even the footprints I left. They seemed to mask themselves as a breeze howled through the cracks in the windowpane. I stretched out, heading for the door as my limbs cracked along the way.

I paused at the picture stabbed into the wall. Dad brooded at me with his sharp features and dark eyes. Mom smiled as she held a baby wrapped in a brown blanket. Their black leather armor, covered in stains and battle scars, shined with pride. Behind them was a makeshift hut hanging on for life. I miss the farm, and them, more than anything. Every morning I stop and wonder, what would I be doing right now if they were still alive. This time I imagined dad taking me hunting to get food for the farmers. Even though I suck at shooting, he would have helped me get a kill. Then we go back home, have a feast with the others, and watch the stars as they lit up the sky.

Instead, I'm going to finish my last day of training with Rose and then take off north. I'll join the Resistance, like they did, and kill those b******s who took everything from me.

Thousands of voices filled the air. The hustle of shopkeepers at work, and Furies striding through brought the town to life. The eight-legged horses are aggressive and carnivorous. They come in different colors, but around here, the standard colors are brown and silver. I heard a rumor, they can see a person's real intent, and if you have good intentions, they will leave you alone. I've never been brave enough to try. When I see one, I turn the other way hoping it didn't see me.

Ranchers often sell tame ones for a hefty price. The art of taming Furies is a guarded secret, and no one in a rancher family ever spills the secret. Having one to pull a cart marks the caravan as a symbol of wealth. Often they have hired mercenaries with them also. Most bandits give up attacking any caravan with a Fury. The one's who do will usually regret it as the Fury eats them. Any caravan with a Fury can trade here without question. The others need to get a permit and rent a space.

The town of Stixs is the central trading hub of the south. It connects the mid plains, the deep south, and the dirty west. Because it's such a valued target for bandits, we have proactive security. Five towers lay even with each other. Sniper nests sit at the top of them connected by a wooden balcony. The balcony lines the top of a massive metal junk wall that connects to each tower. No one has ever climbed the wall or made it inside before, but I often wonder how safe it is here.

The interior was another matter. Living in Safe Haven sector wasn't safe for the most part. Every guard member and their family lived here. Often, there would be nights of drunken banter or block parties. One time the entire sector had a fighting tournament. I won, of course, but to this day, most of the trailers still have battle scars on them from the fights.

In the distance, I could see Rose coming. Her black bodysuit layered with metal armor pieces. All welded together and covered with adjustable straps. She wore a hood and sunglasses to help her vision, but it made her look out of place. She said it was something called albinism that made it impossible for her to be in the sun.

"Alex."

"Rose."

We stood in the middle of the worn trail as a few civilians passed by moving around us.

Her pink lips curled into a smile. "Today's the day, are you ready?"

"Of course."

Author's Note

any comments or suggestions are welcome!

Reviews

[JayG]

You didn't ask for comment, and mostly, I don't comment unless it's requested. But in your bio you say, "I don't have much writing experience, but I hope to change that," and I had to respond to that:

Here's the deal: You do NOT get writing experience in the sense you mean by writing. You don't develop greater writing skills by the act of writing, because as Mark Twain observed, “It ain’t what you don’t know that gets you into trouble. It’s what you know for sure that just ain’t so.” And the "just ain't so" thing that pretty much everyone gets wrong is the idea that we learned to write in our school days. Yes, we learned one approach to writing, But think back to your own school days.

Compare the number of reports and essays you were assigned, and the time learning to improve them, to the number of stories that were assigned, and the time spent on improving them. That will show you that your training in writing techniques was nonfiction.

After all, did any teacher discuss the use of tags, the function of the short-term scene-goal, the inciting incident, and why scenes nearly always end in disaster for the protagonist? How about the differences in what a scene is on stage and screen and what it is on the page, and why that must be?

My point is simple. If we don't know those things, how can we write a scene that readers—who have been choosing nothing but professionally prepared fiction since the day they began reading—will see as enticing as what they think of as well written fiction? And reading, while it teaches us to appreciate well written fiction, no more teaches us to write than eating teaches us to cook.

You can't use the tool you don't know exists, or fix the problem you don't see as being one. Right? That doesn't say you can't learn the skills of writing fiction as easily (or with as much trouble, I suppose) as you did nonfiction, Nor does it speak of your talent. It does, though, say that you're missing some critical information.

The thing to remember is that before you read the first word of the story you know who Leo is. You know who Rose is. You know what "the tower" is. You know where we are in time and space, what's going on, and: who we are, our age and gender, our background, what we expect to happen in the near future, and everything necessary to provide context. The characters in the story probably know that, too. But the one you wrote this for? Not a hint. Look at the opening as a reader must:

• Leo tried to make conversation in the mornings, and today I wasn't in a talking mood.

I don't know who Leo is, or the smallest thing about him. I don't know where they are in the mornings, what they are to each other, or anything that would give me context. When you read that story it works, because every word points to images, memories, context and story that lives in your head. You know the intended meaning of every word. And the narrator's voice, all filled with emotion, is your voice.

But pity the reader. They can't hear your voice and they don't know how you intend to read the lines, So for the reader, every word points to images, memories, context and story that lives in *YOUR* head. And since you're not there to ask...

My point is that if we try to write fiction with nonfiction technique it can't work. You have the story. You've demonstrated the desire and the necessary perseverance. And, for all we know you're literally swimming in talent. But untrained talent is potential, not skill.

The problem you face is one you share with everyone who sits down to write fiction because the thing we universally forget is that professions are acquired IN ADDITION to the set of general skills we call, The Three R's. And Fiction-Writing is a profession—one whose skills we need to acquire and master.

Not good news, I know. And this was certainly not what you were hoping to hear. But on the other hand, it's something that every successful writer faced and overcame, so it's more a rite of passage than a disaster. And if I, who am the last to "get it," could learn the skills and convince an editor to offer a contract anyone can.

I won't kid you. It will take a lot of work and practice, But if you're meant to write that's not a problem because the learning, and the writing is fun. And if it's not? Well, you've learned something important, so it's win/win, Right?

Okay, this was like trying to take a small sip from a fire-hose, I know, and overwhelming. But it was meant to get your attention and show that there IS a problem. For a better feel for the magnitude of the differences between the writing skills you now own and those needed for fiction, as I often do, I suggest you dig around in the articles in my writing blog. They're meant as an orientation.

To acquire the nuts-and-bolts issues of writing scenes that sing to a reader, the local library system's fiction-writing section can be a huge resource, though I have some specific suggestions that may not be in the library.

First the easy: Debra Dixon's, GMC: Goal Motivation & Conflict is warm easy read—like sitting with Deb as she talks about writing. It's a great book.

A more complete, but more difficult book is Dwight Swain's, Techniques of the Selling Writer. It is, by far, the best book I've found to date, and Deb was one of his students. It is a bit disorganized, goes into a LOT more detail, and can be dry at times. But as I said, it is the best, and has over 200 five star reviews on Amazon.

But whatever you decide, read the book slowly, with time spent thinking over each new point, and practicing it till it's yours. Fail that and you'll forget you read the point three days later.

But as you take those steps, hang in there, and keep on writing. After all, if you write a bit better each day, and live long enough...

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

[Cane Moon]

Thank you very much JayG, reading your comment is precisely the kind of feedback I need.
I know you said your comment wasn't good news, but to me, it was. Forgive the allusion (its a bit over the top), but it's like Virgil meeting Dante and giving him a firm smack.

As I read through the comment, a lightbulb went off, and I realized writing is like dog grooming. Everyone who sees a well-groomed dog thinks it's easy, and by following some simple steps, then they can do it too, but that's not the case.

A groomer takes years to develop an eye for haircuts. They are noticing pattern lines, using blending techniques, finding ways to fix mistakes, how to work with mixed breeds, and, well, you get the idea. Sure, friends and family will tell you it looks good and encourages you, but a professional will look at the haircut and wonder what exactly happened.

Writing is like that. The basics of writing are like understanding the basics of clipper and scissor work. As you gain knowledge by getting help from others and putting in time and effort on your part, then the reward shows itself. Learning the basics of writing and using it in trial and error help someone grow as a writer (this sounded better in my head.) You can't make a show dog on the first go, but it's also a continual learning process, even show groomers learn new techniques and refine themselves to be better just like writers.

I digress, in a roundabout way, i wanted to say I understood what you pointed out, and I'll be looking into those books.
Thanks again.

[JayG]

Based in your response, I suggest you go for the Swain book. It's a bit older, and the section on research can be replaced with "Use Google a lot."

But that being said, the man was a genius. He talks about style issues not at all (for that try, Writing the Breakout Novel, by Donald Maass, after you finish the Swain book). Instead, he talks about the reasons behind the various techniques. You'll often find yourself slapping your forehead and saying, "But that's so...it's so simple, why didn't I see that?"

Then, after six months of using those skills, read the book again. This time, with a better idea of where he's going, and why, you'll get as much now that second time as you did the first.

Hope this helps.