This is the first chapter of some 35 thousand or so words of my rough/first draft of my second novel.
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President Carl Maynard of the United States was about to die;only he didn't know it. Three people stood in the shadowy corner of an ornateroom in the White House. The man called the Operator stood stiffly atattention, the first woman fidgeted like a kid with ADD, and the second womanstared wistfully into space. All three looked composed, patient, perfectly incontrol. But the truth was, the Operator was more anxious than he had ever beenin his entire career-his entire life. Sweat dampened the inside of his thinleather gloves and perspiration collected on the collar of his shirt as hismind raced.
CommenceOperation Far'go, he thought to himself with arush of adrenaline. Today is the day my perfectly calculated revenge begins.He shuddered in delight.
The Presidentstood on the other side of the room. The Operator had asked for a privatemeeting with the President, and he had made it clear that there would be severerepercussions if his request was not granted.
"Listen closely, President Maynard," theOperator had said. "I will meet with you once, and only once, and it must beheld in the strictest confidence. No one else will be there. Just you and I,and my guests. Don't worry, you are not in danger at all. But you will hear outmy proposal."
"June 7," theOperator said. "No more secret service than necessary, no weapons, norecordings. And then we shall discuss the matter at hand."
Too excited torefuse, President Maynardhad gone ahead with the plan, expecting great riches and even more power thanhe already possessed as the single most powerful man in the world, except formaybe the Operator. He had managed to allot only three secret service agents tothe meeting.
The Operator smiled. Tonight he was incontrol. He had the power readily accessible. And he was going to use ittonight. He was going to use it to kill. It wouldn't be his first, and certainly,it wouldn't be his last.
But it was thefirst time he had been so close to his target. His target. A target ofhis own choosing, selected carefully to bring about his ultimate desire-the endgoal of Operation Far'go. He had chosen the name of the operation carefully,too.
Far'go-thegod of lies. Not that he believed in religion. Religion is for the ignorantand the weak. But it was often a powerful tool for manipulation. When oneis familiar with religion, one holds thekeys to the wills of many.
He stole a glanceto his left, and to his right. His two companions stood apart from him, thesmall distance speaking volumes. They neither liked nor trusted him. It wasfine with him. Both had been coerced into coming here, anyway.
The Operator tookthe smaller woman's hand. He squeezed it and whispered, "You will embrace yourpast with the present, with this one act." The woman drew the gun and he closedhis hand around her smaller one. She closed her eyes. It had been years sinceshe had killed last, and she wasn't very willing to do it again.
"I won't let youkill him," the other woman spoke up reaching for the gun, but the Operator wasfaster.
"My sincerestapologies, President Maynard,"the Operator said. The gun fired in silence and the President collapsed with agreat groan. He spun just as the Secret Service men began to shoot wildly,their shots ricocheting off walls, and nailed both of them in the chest.
"Oh my god." A teenageboy stood in the corner agape with shock and horror.
"Retreat!" theOperator commanded. With a shaking grip, the woman dropped the gun. TheOperator did not return for it. Too late now, he thought to himself. Thenagain, the vast majority of operations do not go through perfectly. There isalways a mistake.
But the Operatorwas angry with himself. I do not make mistakes.
He waved animpatient hand and shoved his companions towards the door. "Go!" he shouted. Heturned and fired at the boy. They fled along the unfamiliar corridors,following a path the Operator had committed to memory.
Alarms went off,and secret service agents responded by rushing towards the room. Sirens wailedfrom outside.
As they ran, thesecret service shot at them. Most of the bullets missed. All but two, both strikingthe smaller woman, one on her hand and the other on her shoulder as shedisappeared behind a corner.
The Operator sworeunder his breath, not relaxing until they were outside and far away from theWhite House. Then he shot the African American woman, the one who'd tried tostop him, dropping her dead in the state dining room. It was the last thing hedid before leaving the grounds for good.
It was three in the morning. Gordon Kaufmanstood next to his dad, Special Agent in Charge Eugene Kaufman. Secret Service. Eugenehad been a personal friend of the president. Nothing publicized, of course. Butof all the Secret Service, Eugene alone had stubbornlystuck by President Maynard'sside that evening. He had taken a toilet break when the President was shot.
He had had no ideawho the perpetrator was. He had only seen one man. The man the Presidentreferred to in reverent hushed tones as the Operator. Only the Operator couldhave put the bullet through President Maynard.
"Dad," Gordon said. "I saw it. The whole thing. There were three ofthem."
"Three?" Eugenelooked at his son.
"Yeah, Dad.Three."
Eugenecalled the FBI immediately.
"Federal Bureau ofInvestigation, Washington D.C., how may I help you?"
"President Maynard isdead."
"I know that,emergency personnel has been dispatched by the emergency dispatcher sevenminutes ago. Who is this?"
"This is SpecialAgent in Charge Eugene Kaufman. Put me through to the director."
"The director isnot available," the receptionist said in an annoyed tone.
"Who's is charge?"
"That would be Deputy Director Robert Edwards."
"Put him on."
"One moment?"
A minute later, hewas speaking to BobEdwards.
"Yes?"
"Hello, this isSpecial Agent in Charge Eugene Kaufman. The president is dead."
"I know.What is it?"
"Who's the agentin charge of the case?"
"The lead agent?One second?That would be CasieSchwartz. Don't know where she isyet. I sent her partner over to fetch her, but I haven't heard anything yet."
"When she gets in,have her call me immediately. Top priority." He gave Bob Edwardshis number.
"I'll tell her."There was a pause. "You really the guy who let Maynard get shot on your pottybreak?" Eugenewinced.
"The mostimportant thing is that the killer needs to be found, no matter how unpopularMaynard was."
Over five thousandmiles away, in the middle of the Pacific Ocean, Storm Isle, a little-knownterritory of the UnitedStates, sat under a dark cloud promising animpending storm. On the surface of the island, surrounded by twelve voluminouscolumns and the open sky above her, an older woman sat in meditation, one ofher hands bloody and bandaged, held some distance away from her.
A younger girlwalked up to the woman and handed her a cup of tea, which she acceptedgratefully with the other hand. The sun caught the glint of the girl's smilebefore she turned and disappeared into the eleven-story tower in the center ofthe island.
The Operatorwatched, silently, from his seat next to a small helicopter landing pad. He saidsomething to the man beside him, who immediately followed the girl inside. "Watchher. Do not approach her. Do not be seen. And let me handle the murderer."
Lightning struckthe minaret topping the tower, and for a moment, everything was illuminatedbefore slipping into darkness again.
If he had been listening, he would have heard the thunder whisper letnone disturb My plans. For I am the Great I Am, and none shall tamper with Mywill. But of course, the Operator wasn't concerned with the supernatural,only with himself and what his own plans were. Not one of them excludedkilling. He was, after all, a killing machine.
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Comments: 27
I've probably been with a couple dozen critique groups over the years & therefore hesitate to offer criticism because most writers want their work praised, not picked apart. That said, I will make a couple of observations.
First. your concept appears to have potential for an engaging political thriller. In it's present form, however, it is little more than an outline.
Specifics: The first sentence, "President Carl Maynard of the United States was about to die;only he didn't know it." would read better if written, "President Carl Maynard didn't know he was about to die." This provides the solid hook with far fewer words.
You need to replace the deadwood with solid, focused details. Your characters, especially, need to be developed to draw in your reader. Think about people you know, why you like or dislike them and apply those characteristics to the characters in your story. Otherwise, they come off as cardboard figures that are of no interest to the reader.
I hope this was helpful.
EJM
Your character's are interesting , but not too much is known about them. Not anything. I also agree you have what it takes to come up with a great story, and selling, as I said, I read on. I wish you good luck, and I would like you to keep me posted as I am also learning, and I would like to read your next chapter's. After you have edited this one. Great possibilities. Blessings, Ellen B
Then, after six months of reading say 40 books - pick up the pen and redline your copy. Then, begin again in a totally new vein.
Best to work at another job during the day while writing at night. We grow in experience and ability as we grow in years.
Everything comes in due time and not before.
Now I am going to offer some editing advice:
Take this sentence: "The man called the Operator stood stiffly at attention, the first woman fidgeted like a kid with ADD, and the second woman stared wistfully into space."
You are putting your charcters at a distance to your readers by refering to them as first woman, second woman. Name them, even if it is just a last name or job description like the Agent. And be careful with well worn phrases like stared into space; they are easy to use I know, but they can become cliche.
Be careful about being descriptive in the wrong way.
This sentence for instance could easily be tightened: "He was going to use it to kill. It wouldn't be his first, and certainly,it wouldn't be his last."
It might be better if you shortened it to something like this: "He was going to use it to kill, again." It heightens the tension, because it leaves the reader with a little of the unknown.
The best way to see which passages work and what doesn't is to read it out loud. If it sounds wrong, edit.
And don't worry because a first draft needs editing or work; they all do. And your second draft, and the third. Once you get the ideas down on paper all the rest is editing until it sings.
And thank you all for your advice and suggestions. I will post again sometime soon a revised version and subsequent chapters for criticism. I do realize that I have a sentence problem, and it's something I've always had. Unfortunately, I have yet to be able to rectify that, but all writers have flaws, and I'm one of them. :)
Again, thanks, and take a look at CWWH's contest.
-Ylanne
Deborah J Ledford
STACCATO Chapter 2
Don't fret, everyone starts with a first draft. The problem with this chapter is that there's a lot of "telling" going on and the descriptions are too vague to draw the reader into the room. Also, I need to identify with each of these characters. If the operator and the two women are important to the story, name them and show us who they are through their actions. Here are my thoughts on the first paragraph:
Whose POV is this written in? Identifying the POV has to be absolutely clear from the very beginning in order to draw the reader in. It's also another reason why it seems a bit confusing.
Remember that the first sentence/paragraph has to grab the reader by the throat or they're going to walk away from it. So, aside from the fact that Maynard is the president of the US, why should the reader care about him at his point? Telling the reader that he's about to die, but doesn't know it is just that, telling. Show it by allowing the reader to see the contrast. Show us how relax he is in the face of danger. Make the reader yell, "Hey stupid, run!" I'm going to make a few things up to use as an example. My suggestions will be in ALL CAPS to set them apart:
[UNITED STATE President Carl Maynard SAT BEHIND HIS DESK WITH THE CONFIDENCE OF A HABITUAL WINNER.] Three people [NAME THEM]
I have no idea what a shadowy corner or an ornate room looks like. Don't be afraid to describe the room and create a setting. The reader not only wants to see the room, he/she wants to hear it, smell, and feel it. Let's assume they are in the oval office, if so, keep in mind that most people know what the office looks like so you'll need very little description but enough to place the reader in the room as apposed to "an ornate room."
Try something like: [DARK BLUE CURTAINS ADORNED THE FLOOR TO CEILING WINDOWS BEHIND THE PRESIDENT'S DESK. [THE NAMED OPERATOR] LOOKED SQUARE INTO MAYNARD'S EYES ACROSS THE SPAN OF THE PRESIDENT'S DESK (what's he thinking at this point?). BEHIND HIM CAME THE SOUND OF A LOG CRACKLING IN THE HERTH.] What about the flooring? Does the operator sleep on a cold hardwood floor? Does he make a mental comparison between his lifestyle with the thick Persian rugs beneath his feet? This not only builds the operator's character, but it also describes the room.
Instead of "... stood in a shadowy corner ..." consider something like this:
[A LATE AFTERNOON SHADOW SWEPT ACROSS THE ROOM AND MASKED THE FEATURES OF THESE UNWELCOMED VISITORS]. Again, depending on the POV, you'd need to adjust the sentence maybe from "the features of these..." to "their features."
The man called the Operator stood stiffly at attention, the first woman fidgeted like a kid with ADD, and the second woman stared wistfully into space. All three looked composed, patient, perfectly in control.
[IF ONE PERSON IS FIDGETING AND THE OTHER ONE IS WISTFULLY STARING INTO SPACE, HOW CAN THEY BE IN "PERFECT CONTOL AND LOOK COMPOSED?" THEY CAN'T.]
[TELLING] But the truth was, the Operator was more anxious than he had ever been in his entire career-his entire life. Sweat dampened the inside of his thin leather gloves and perspiration collected on the collar of his shirt as his mind raced.
[SHOW THE READER HOW ANXIOUS HE IS. GET INSIDE THIS GUY'S HEAD AND SHOW THE READER HIS RACING THOUGHTS. WHAT IS HE THINKING ABOUT? IF HE'S SWEATING, HAVE HIM WIPE HIS UPPER LIP WITH HIS SLEEVE. IS HIS HAIR MOIST FROM PERSPIRATION? DOES HIS HAIR CURL FROM THE PERSPIRATION? DOES HE SMELL? DOES HE BITE HIS NAILS? ALL OF THESE THINGS ADD TO HIS CHARACTERIZATION. HE MAY BE STANDING IN PERFECT ATTENTION BUT I BET THE GUY'S SHAKING LIKE JELLY INSIDE. LET'S SEE IT.]
Hope this helps
-Ylanne
Regardless, I think you're on to something good but you need to emphasize the characters more early on. Give me a reason to care about them. It would have a greater emotional impact on the reader if they cared about the president's character before he died. That would make it hit harder.