I'm baaaack

[Chuck Shaw]

I've had no luck selling the book about the man who invented a device to make free electricity, which garnered so much excellent (and free) advice last year. Lots of interest, no cash. So I decided to jump on the lost treasures bandwagon, with a little twist. Here is the opening scene. I hope you like it. Please note the last line. Comments, as always, are deeply appreciated.

Chuck S.

Bread always lands butter side down. To prevent this, don’t drop buttered bread. Phone calls after four forty-five always run past five o’clock. To prevent this don’t answer the damn thing. I know this. So why did I answer the phone at ten minutes to five? I like to eat, that’s why. A phone call might be a paying customer. I love research, but it’s a chicken today, feathers tomorrow type business, and I’d been stuck on feather day for weeks. I surfaced from the depths of the Alabama affair, and got it on the second ring.

“Simon Consulting.”

“Cathy, this is Jessie. I just took on a case that needs research. I can offer you standard per diem, ten days minimum.”

It took few seconds to get my mind out of the 1870s and into present day mode. Jessie Lang is a lawyer, one who pays on time. She has a sharp mind, a sincere smile and the moral outlook of a falling piano. She gives me work because I’m waaay cheaper than a licensed private investigator and I don’t get lost in newspaper archives, libraries or court documents.

“Whose trash do I have to dig through this time?” Jessie’s never hired me to hunt through trash, but she says a professional researcher is on the same level, just the trash smells cleaner.

“Check your fax machine and call me back.”

She hung up the phone before I could reply. My ninety-nine dollar special fax burped and chirped and finally hummed out a picture of a medallion, front and back. It looked like brass or copper with a slightly lopsided oval shape. Handmade? One side showed a human figure with enormous wings stretched between long skinny arms and short bowed legs. The oval shape matched the figure’s proportions so well it was obvious the medallion had been designed around the figure. The back was crowded with columns of symbols that looked Chinese, but were so fine I couldn’t make them out. I tried a magnifying glass, but the fax had blurred most of the detail.

I re-nuked my cold coffee and starred out the window at the brick wall twenty feet away. My apartment with a view. Life in the big city. God, I miss Kentucky in the spring.

I had two nearly completed projects piled on my trusty old salvation-army desk. Everything else was stacked against the wall, waiting to be sent out when (if) the client paid. My red notebook had a dozen jobs I hadn’t started. I learned the hard way never to start something until I saw cash. That’s where the stacks came from. Fool me once, shame on you; fool me twice, I’m the fool, as my daddy always misquoted. Jessie always paid. Besides, the medallion looked interesting. I occasionally authenticated rare books for her clients, and once researched a rifle supposedly owned by Ike Clanton (it wasn’t), but this was something new.
Jessie knew people at the auction houses. She wouldn’t call me if they could tell her anything, so this had to be something really obscure. It wasn’t a simple job, not if Jessie offered ten days per diem up front. That was two thousand dollars, less taxes of course.

Anything beat these damn grant applications. Who would pay fifty thousand dollars to fund a project to confirm homosexuality in seagulls? Your government, that’s who. I know. I researched previous work on the subject (also government grants) and wrote the proposal that got my client the 50K. My fee was a lousy five hundred bucks, which I never got.

I do research because I love it. It’s an Easter egg hunt for adults, where you can find bright shiny things any day of the year and get that marvelous GOT-CHA rush that most people loose when they grow up. I understand why people can spend years looking for treasure, or prospecting for gold. When you find something, it’s the ultimate high, and I hadn’t had a decent fix in months. I called Jesse back.

“Land, Lang and Thibideau, how may I direct your call?”

Jessie defied the modern trend and has a real human, loosely speaking, answering her phones. Dave was a visual dreamboat, broad shoulders, black hair, and chiseled features. Unfortunately there wasn’t much at the helm and, outside the office, both brain cells were devoted to sports. He could remember every player in every major league and quote odds like a Vegas bookie, but if there wasn’t a game scheduled he might not know what day it was. Dave was not a person to be trifled with if you expected to be paid on time. He had a vindictive streak that could handle a space shuttle landing with room to spare.

“Hi Dave, this is Cathy. Is Jessie still there?”

“She’s waiting for your call. I’ll put you through.”

“So what is it?” Jessie asked.

“A lousy image of a probably hand struck medallion. If you want to know any more, I’ll need the original.”

“You don’t want it, trust me. I’ll messenger over the photos first thing tomorrow.”

“Why? Is it cursed or something?”

“Nothing that simple. Someone broke into a client’s home two weeks ago. The thieves didn’t touch his stereo, computer, or any of the usual stuff. They just tore his study to pieces. They must have been watching the place, because there’s usually someone there. He figured it was kids, you know, vandalism, which is very unusual in his neighborhood. This morning two men walked up to the front door, rang the bell and attacked his housekeeper. They said they wanted the old Chinese medallion and described that little piece of bronze pretty well. She’s been with the family for years and he’s very pissed about it.”

“They get the medallion?”

“Nope. The housekeeper told them to go to hell, kicked one of them in the family jewels, and got to the alarm panel. When the alarm went off they ran.”

“My kind of gal.”

“She’s lucky to be walking around. Those guys could have killed her. She should have given it up.”

“Any chance of catching them?”

“There are forty-five robberies a day in Chicago. The clearance rate is in single digits, just like last year.”



If you read this far and were interested I did my job. If you gave up part way through, I relly need to hear from you, because I f*&ked up.

Chuck S.

[Amy Lou]

Hi Chuck, I got through it and was very interested to keep reading. Your voice is clear and grabbed me right away. just in this short piece I got a good feel for the office, protag and even Jessie. This is very good and I would read on! Keep in mind I'm a newbie LOL But really enjoyed it.
Amylou

[Joe Zeff]

Way, way too long; we normally recommend that you keep excerpts to 1000 words or so at most. However, I was most of the way through before I noticed, which means that it kept my interest. I'm not sure, yet, where you're going, but you've got a good voice.

[Lea Zalas]

Hey Chuck. I like it.

[Julie Harris]

Hi Chuck. I thought it might be useful for you to hear from someone who lost interest mid-way through. I'm not a published author, and crime/thrillers are not my thing so you might take my comments with a grain or two of salt. Anyway, I've got some comments in CAPS below. Basically, I thought it took too long to get to the action. The story seemed to get sidetracked with other things.



Bread always lands butter side down. To prevent this, don’t drop buttered bread. Phone calls after four forty-five always run past five o’clock. To prevent this don’t answer the damn thing. I know this. So why did I answer the phone at ten minutes to five? I like to eat, that’s why. A phone call might be a paying customer. I love research, but it’s a chicken today, feathers tomorrow type business, and I’d been stuck on feather day for weeks. I surfaced from the depths of the Alabama affair, and got it on the second ring. THE FIRST TWO SENTENCES SEEMED UNNECESSARY TO ME. IF YOU DELETE THEM, THE STORY BEGINS BY PUTTING THE READER DIRECTLY INTO THE ATMOSPHERE OF THE STORY.

“Simon Consulting.”

“Cathy, this is Jessie. I just took on a case that needs research. I can offer you standard per diem, ten days minimum.” It took few seconds to get my mind out of the 1870s and into present day mode. Jessie Lang is a lawyer, one who pays on time. She has a sharp mind, a sincere smile and the moral outlook of a falling piano. I DIDN'T UNDERSTAND THE FALLING PIANO THING - WHETHER IT WAS A GOOD OR BAD REFLECTION ON HER MORAL OUTLOOK. She gives me work because I’m waaay cheaper than a licensed private investigator and I don’t get lost in newspaper archives, libraries or court documents.

“Whose trash do I have to dig through this time?” Jessie’s never hired me to hunt through trash, but she says a professional researcher is on the same level, just the trash smells cleaner. GREAT LINE

“Check your fax machine and call me back.”

She hung up the phone before I could reply. My ninety-nine dollar special fax burped and chirped and finally hummed out a picture of a medallion, front and back. It looked like brass or copper with a slightly lopsided oval shape. Handmade? One side showed a human figure with enormous wings stretched between long skinny arms and short bowed legs. The oval shape matched the figure’s proportions so well it was obvious the medallion had been designed around the figure. The back was crowded with columns of symbols that looked Chinese, but were so fine I couldn’t make them out. I tried a magnifying glass, but the fax had blurred most of the detail. THIS IS WHERE I STARTED TO LOSE INTEREST. IT SEEMED TOO MUCH DETAIL. IS ALL THIS DESCRIPTION REALLY NECESSARY AT THIS STAGE? MAYBE JUST TELL THE READER THE FEW ESSENTIALS TO TICKLE THE READER'S INTEREST IN THE MYSTERY OF THE MEDALLION

I re-nuked my cold coffee and starred out the window at the brick wall twenty feet away. My apartment with a view. Life in the big city. God, I miss Kentucky in the spring. THIS TOOK ME FARTHER OUT OF THE STORY. YOU MC HAS JUST GOTTEN SOME INTERESTNG WORK FROM A PAYING CLIENT. BUT INSTEAD OF BUILDING ON THE INTEREST OF THE FAXED MEDALLION, SHE'S THINKING ABOUT KENTUCKY. IF THE MC ISN'T FASCINATED ENOUGH TO THINK ABOUT THE FAX WHILE WAITING FOR THE COFFEE, THEN IT MUST NOT BE VERY INTERESTING.

I had two nearly completed projects piled on my trusty old salvation-army desk. Everything else was stacked against the wall, waiting to be sent out when (if) the client paid. My red notebook had a dozen jobs I hadn’t started. I learned the hard way never to start something until I saw cash. That’s where the stacks came from. Fool me once, shame on you; fool me twice, I’m the fool, as my daddy always misquoted. Jessie always paid. Besides, the medallion looked interesting. I occasionally authenticated rare books for her clients, and once researched a rifle supposedly owned by Ike Clanton (it wasn’t), but this was something new. I STOPPED READING HERE. IT'S TOO MUCH BACKSTORY, PARTICULARLY AFTER SHE'S THINKING ABOUT KENTUCKY. DOES THE READER NEED TO KNOW ALL THIS NOW? CAN IT BE SUMMARIZED INTO A SENTENCE OR WOVEN INTO THE STORY SO IT'S NOT SO PLOT-STOPPING?
Jessie knew people at the auction houses. She wouldn’t call me if they could tell her anything, so this had to be something really obscure. It wasn’t a simple job, not if Jessie offered ten days per diem up front. That was two thousand dollars, less taxes of course. THIS IS MORE INTERESTING THAN SPRING IN KENTUCKY OR THE STUFF ON HER DESK.

Anything beat these damn grant applications. Who would pay fifty thousand dollars to fund a project to confirm homosexuality in seagulls? Your government, that’s who. I know. I researched previous work on the subject (also government grants) and wrote the proposal that got my client the 50K. My fee was a lousy five hundred bucks, which I never got. THIS MADE IT SOUND LIKE THE FAX WAS ONLY SLIGHTLY MORE INTERESTING THAN THE GRANT APPLICATIONS. IT ALSO SEEMED LIKE A LITTLE AUTHOR INTRUSION - TELLING THE READER YOUR OPINIONS ON THE WISDOM OF GOVERNMENT FUNDED STUDIES.

I do research because I love it. It’s an Easter egg hunt for adults, where you can find bright shiny things any day of the year and get that marvelous GOT-CHA rush that most people loose when they grow up. I understand why people can spend years looking for treasure, or prospecting for gold. When you find something, it’s the ultimate high, and I hadn’t had a decent fix in months. TIE THIS TO THE FASCINATING MEDALLION. BUILD UP THE TENSION AND THE INTEREST. MAYBE HAVE JESSE MAKE A REMARK IN HER CALL ABOUT IT BEING DANGEROUSI called Jesse back.

“Land, Lang and Thibideau, how may I direct your call?”

Jessie defied the modern trend and has a real human, loosely speaking, answering her phones. Dave was a visual dreamboat, broad shoulders, black hair, and chiseled features. Unfortunately there wasn’t much at the helm and, outside the office, both brain cells were devoted to sports. He could remember every player in every major league and quote odds like a Vegas bookie, but if there wasn’t a game scheduled he might not know what day it was. Dave was not a person to be trifled with if you expected to be paid on time. He had a vindictive streak that could handle a space shuttle landing with room to spare. DAVE SOUNDS WONDERFUL BUT THIS TOOK ME WAY OFF THE PLOT-PATH. IT SEEMS THE MOST IMPORTANT PART ABOUT DAVE IS IN THE LAST LINE. THE REST CAN BE SUMMARIZED IN A SENTENCE OR TWO OR WOVEN IN LATER.

“Hi Dave, this is Cathy. Is Jessie still there?”

“She’s waiting for your call. I’ll put you through.”

“So what is it?” Jessie asked.

“A lousy image of a probably hand struck medallion. If you want to know any more, I’ll need the original.”

“You don’t want it, trust me. I’ll messenger over the photos first thing tomorrow.”

“Why? Is it cursed or something?” GREAT LINE

“Nothing that simple. Someone broke into a client’s home two weeks ago. The thieves didn’t touch his stereo, computer, or any of the usual stuff. They just tore his study to pieces. They must have been watching the place, because there’s usually someone there. He figured it was kids, you know, vandalism, which is very unusual in his neighborhood. This morning two men walked up to the front door, rang the bell and attacked his housekeeper. They said they wanted the old Chinese medallion and described that little piece of bronze pretty well. She’s been with the family for years and he’s very pissed about it.” THIS SEEMS LIKE A CRITICAL AND INTERESTING PART OF THE PLOT. BUT IT'S HIDDEN WAY DOWN AND WE HAVE TO WADE THROUGH OTHER, LESS INTERSTING STUFF TO GET HERE.

“They get the medallion?”

“Nope. The housekeeper told them to go to hell, kicked one of them in the family jewels, and got to the alarm panel. When the alarm went off they ran.”

“My kind of gal.”

“She’s lucky to be walking around. Those guys could have killed her. She should have given it up.”

“Any chance of catching them?”

“There are forty-five robberies a day in Chicago. The clearance rate is in single digits, just like last year.”

I THOUGHT THE DIALOG WAS GOOD. THE PACE WAS JUST TOO SLOW AND THERE WERE TOO MANY SIDE-JOURNEYS INTO BACKSTORY, HER DESK, DAVE'S SPLENDID QUALITIES. ALSO, PERHAPS CONSIDER BEEFING UP THE MC'S INTEREST IN THE MEDALLION.
I HOPE THIS HELPS. TAKE IT FOR WHAT IT'S WORTH.

[DC Morin]

Hi Chuck,

I agree with previous readers that your voice is strong, however, it is not a strong FEMININE voice. It struck me (and served as a distraction) once your MC was identified as "Cathy" that this is a male author writing a female voice. Depends on your target audience, however, how much that will matter. ~DC

[leslee]

Bread always lands butter side down. To prevent this, don’t drop buttered bread.

I like this opening line a lot. But I wonder if it should be "buttered side down, making it:

Bread always lands buttered side down. To prevent this, don't drop buttered bread.

[martin shaw]

‘Bread always lands butter side down. To prevent this, don’t drop buttered bread.’

I don’t know, this sort of stops me in my tracks. It’s too obvious for my liking.

Having said that, as I read on, I see it does fit.

This is well written and chirpy, but just didn’t hold me. Perhaps I expected it to go deeper and not stay on that happy-go-lucky feel. No sorry; I did expect it to run a little deeper. While it is good to start a book all fresh and smiley, you have to have the opposite attract.

Oh... Buttered 60% ... butter 40. There is not much in it.

[Chuck Shaw]

Amy L
Thanks for the reply. I’m glad you liked it.
Joe Z.
Sorry about the 1000 word thing. I haven’t been on this site in a year or so and the approach was a little different. The segment is a bit long because I was concerned with pacing as much as anything. Thanks for the compliment.

Lea Z.
A second vote for the first scene! That stretching noise was my ego inflating my cranium! Thanks.

Julie H.
Both the buttered bread and the falling piano seem to be like it or hate it. No one seems ambivalent. A falling object has no morals or compassion, only momentum. It is amoral, neither good nor bad.

The yearning for Kentucky is a part of her general dissatisfaction with her current income and general circumstances. She’s fed up with researching grants and similar stuff because it’s not what she thought it would be. The intent is to make her later actions reasonable, which would not be true were she happily married in a job she loved.

Being concerned about the work she has in progress is intended to show honesty, and I agree it may be much too early, especially as I hit on that again in a few pages. Ditto the annoyance with wasted government money and the people who take advantage of it. You are right that one or both can be removed. I just not sure the pace is affected as severely as you think. Character development seems to be king today. Too bad, I prefer plot driven fiction myself, but that doesn’t seem popular anymore.

Dave is a time bomb, the reason why the bad guys know more than they should at several plot points. He has serious gambling debts, though the reader, and the principle characters, don’t find out until around page 220.

Thanks for your time and thoughtful comments.

DCM
Very accurate shot, and part of her character. She is a tomboy at heart, a smart woman who is also a non-conventional hell raiser. She likes men, but only as equals, and commands respect without demanding it. I picked a female protagonist for the challenge. I am fortunate enough to be married to someone as stubborn, independent and even more brilliant than Cathy, and I can assure you she is a rare find, worth her weight in any stone you care to name.

Leslee
Buttered side vs. Butter side? Technically correct, but do how many people think of talk like that? IMHO an internal monolog has to have the same voice as a verbal one and unique to that character. I appreciate the comment, but can’t agree in this instance.

Martin.
I’m getting about 80-20 on both the buttered bread and the falling piano. A few people really hate it, most seem to like them. One person asked me if the falling piano was original, implying it’s too good for me to think up, or I’m too dumb to come up with it, I don’t know which. I tried starting with a flashback from a nasty situation six months down the road, but I am leery of flashbacks.

Thanks to all. Anyone interested in swapping longer segments, or whole manuscripts, for critique?

Chuck S.

[leslee]

Buttered side vs. Butter side? Technically correct, but do how many people think of talk like that? IMHO an internal monolog has to have the same voice as a verbal one and unique to that character. I appreciate the comment, but can’t agree in this instance.

Here's your line:

Bread always lands butter side down. To prevent this, don’t drop buttered bread.

It's your line. Do what you want. But if your character says butter the first time, they would probably say butter the second time, and vice versa buttered/buttered.

Personally, I don't care how they say it. If you think it's better to be inconsistent, that's your business.