Playing with a Novel

Post Reply New Topic

Another attempt at writing. Is there hope for this? I'm thinking about working on it some more, but if it's complete crap, I'll need to keep looking for hobbies.

The Shining City Experiment
Preface

By Richard Stockton

I didn’t know that my leg would break when I jumped. If I had, I may have found another way out. Something was bothering me though. It didn’t feel right and I wanted out. I guess it could have been fear, I don’t know. I should have tried to find another way before I jumped, but the only thing I could think about was getting out immediately.

Besides, the girl was really starting to cough, she had inhaled too much smoke before we found her, so there wasn’t a lot of time to debate the issue. Spend five minutes trying to find a better way out, or jump down one story onto soft grass? It seemed like an easy call.

I also didn’t know that the reporters were there. Until the meth lab exploded, it was just an ordinary house fire. If I had known they were watching, I would have tried to find a cape first, just to screw with them.

I heard the bone snap and managed to roll onto my back, keeping the girl on top of me as we came to rest. One of our medics took her away immediately and I tried to get up, but I didn’t make it half way before a wave of dizziness hit me and I went back down. It hurt like hell, but to tell you the truth, the first thought I remember having was “six weeks vacation.”

Chapter 1

Switches to narrator of the story

On the night of my conception, my father prayed for 3 hours. My mother was unable to have children, yet they wanted a son. I heard this story six years after the fact, God having decided favorably on the matter. It added weight to my shoulders, the plans he must have for me. This weight outlasted that five year old's simple faith. Perhaps this has something to do with my desire to fix the world.

The irony, as all good conception stories need, is that on that night of nights, God also decided to deny me the mental capacity needed to actually fix the world. Roughly nine months before I arrived, I became a rat in a maze. I have been so ever since.

Ronald Reagan was once asked, following surgery, how he felt about having cancer. “I didn’t have cancer,” he said, “something inside of me had cancer, and it was removed.”

I do not have Autism. Something inside of me does, and I’d like it removed.

My mind is not completely under my control. It limits my ability to function logically, and it tends to throw temper tantrums when I spend too much time around people. Changing the world can be a pretty public affair, as you will see.

Despite all of this, opportunities sometimes present themselves. Experiments may be needed in order to determine the amount of world changing you are capable of.

My friend Rich had jumped off of a building, it was time to test the limits of my mind.

The room was just bright enough to see the board. The televisions were off and the place was virtually empty. It was Manny’s weekly gift to the Pinellas Park Chess Club.

Sam and I arrived at Manny’s Tavern a little early because he doesn’t extend happy hour for anyone. The game started going down hill on Sam’s second move, eliminating my chances to blame the Jack Daniels for a loss. He launched the Smith-Morra Gambit, an opening system that is considered unsound by modern chess theory, meaning that with correct play, I should win.

Sam offered to sacrifice a pawn, which is what makes it a gambit. The pawn is only free in the sense that I don’t have to give up a pawn to get it, but it does cost me.

The reason why the opening is considered unsound for Sam is that, in the endgame, extra pawns may become extra queens. By taking his pawn, I throw all of my plans out the window and hope to make it to the endgame with an extra pawn, which can be a dominant advantage. Sam needs to end things before the endgame ever arrives.

By the sixth move, thoughts of a successful ending were fading. Sam brought his bishop out to attack the weak point on f7. It’s a square that is only defended by the king. Kings belong in the corner, directing their army from safety, until most of the soldiers have cleared the field. On a board full of attacking pieces, they make poor defenders, especially right where the fiercest fighting will occur.

Twenty minutes later, as I pondered my ninth move, Molly showed up. She’s a French player. The French Defense is a very solid, sound chess opening, but it’s a little old fashioned. It does have some pretty fiery sub-variations though, if you know where to look.

“Rich is on CNN, he jumped off a god damn building and it's all on video. They said he’s hurt but not bad, I tried calling, he’s not answering his phone, it exploded after he jumped and they keep showing him falling, I can’t find out where he is though. Have you talked to him? Where would they have taken him?”

Molly and Rich were already a couple when Sam and I met them in ninth grade. The romance was over within a year or so, but they were first and second boards for our high school chess team, they couldn’t just get rid of each other. The game has a way of bringing people together, not so much to fight each other, as to attack the game itself.

It’s kept us all very close.

I immediately called Rich’s cell. It dawned on me that Molly had clearly tried this, without success, but the phone was already ringing. That’s why I was surprised to hear his voice. My shoulders dropped an inch or two as my neck relaxed, knowing that the media had reported his injuries as minor meant nothing these days. When he said “Hey man”, I felt like I had just been told that lump on my testicle wasn’t cancer after all, just a spider bite.

As for what Rich said after “hey man,” I couldn’t tell you. Molly had the phone out of my hands before I could even think about speaking.

It wasn’t until we arrived at the emergency room that the idea for an experiment started to form. It didn’t resemble the big idea yet, but it was the seed. The media would provide the sunlight and water to make it grow.

I saw them, their brightly decorated satellite trucks, but we were entering the only level one trauma center in the county. It wasn’t unusual to see the local media camped out while the latest crime victim underwent surgery, or the man shot by police was pronounced dead.

But based on the chatter I heard as we walked by, they were more interested in the firefighter who jumped from a burning building, holding a young girl, right before the building exploded. The one their colleagues had caught on camera.

Step one in the path to the big idea was this: It’s a myth that everyone gets their fifteen minutes of fame, but Rich was about to get his, and we should have some fun with it while it lasted.

THis story sounds like a really interesting idea, but it's hard to tell much from the short sample. I think you should keep writing.

I don't understand why you think you're such a bad writer. I think you're pretty good. Then again, as a writer myself, I fully understand how you can be your worse critic. Keep pounding away on the keyboard.

Thanks wozeree and Kraichgauer. I'm working on my confidence, I generally think I'm bad at everything. I'll keep writing.

There's room for a considerable amount of character development. What you wrote can serve as a pretty decent part of an introduction.

Keep plugging away, sir.

Your writing seems vaguely Melvillian.

But always remember to insert actual scenes of people interacting, along with visual descriptions of the setting. That's the mistake I used to make with my writing. Too much detail, not enough dialogue/action.

The public responds to characters actually talking, rather than taking in the scenery.