I re read what I wrote. And I liked it as much as when I first wrote it.
I though I had the hooks in all the right places and I was careful to ramp up the suspense. I haven’t written a story, a complete story, in almost 3 years. This is the first one that I can remember actually using mechanics of a story to craft it. More often than not anything I ever wrote, if it came out good, it was more out of good luck than anything else.
I’m sure that those of my friends that managed to grind their way through anything I’ve written will attest to that. Even when I put on that single last line of my story, they always felt unfinished.
That being said, at the end of this story, I didn’t think it was unfinished. I kinda felt like I cheated.
“She laughs maniacally,” I said to myself. ” And then she shoots him?”
I shook my head. If anyone actually read what I wrote, you might have had the same reaction.
“Self,” I said to myself. “You can do better than that.”
I will, I thought, because I realized I was talking far too much to an empty room.
Problem is, when I type it out here, I’ll jinx it. The magic kind of goes away ( which, for the record, is an excellent science fiction novel by Larry Niven. More of a fantasy novel, but he aaplied as much science to it as he could. All magic was based on a nonrenewable energy source called mana. But, I digress ).
I’ll risk it though. If only to out it out there.
She oulls the trigger and nothing happens. She wields it like a hammer and tries to bludgeon him with it. Before she can make contact a member of the ETF bursts in and takes him down.
As the scene winds down and she and her husband are being cared fir separately, you find out more about Tee. Namely, why it is she is called Tee and things about herself. She is cleaned up and then has to go back to the police station to be asked more questions. She is told she can go back to the station with her husband.
She walks back to the car and sees him up ahead of her. She links her arms in his and leans on her shoulder and she starts to feel better already.
“Hello, Pretty,” he says.
She doesn’t think that’s funny.
But he does. because it’s the bad guy and not her husband.
She recoils and falls into another police officer.
Remember, at this point it is still raining. The two of them will be wearing police issued ponchos.
She’s seen enough movies to know this is when she is to reach for the police officer’s weapon. But it’s one of those holsters that prevent just that kind of thing from happening. I researched it . I know the brsnd and everything.
Other officers step up and subdue him. The whole time he is just smiling that V shaped, sweaty toothed smile.
Turns out the most she can prove is attempted sexual assault.
No one can prove the assault on her husband because he doesn’t even remember who it was.
She’s horrified to find out that he will be out in 24 hours or less, out on bail waiting for a trial date.
Soon enough everyone leaves the scene, including the ambulance that took away her husband and she feels more violated than when the bad guy flashed his cock at her. She is alone and unprotected.
When the officer comes to her to bring her to the station so she can give a statement he touches her elbow and she screams.
….and then the story grows from there.
I’ve got more. A couple of divergent paths the tale can go down. But to me, this is a more honest story.
And the only condition is that I craft the last 2500 words of the story to have the same pace as the first.