Thank you very much! I’m glad you picked up the character and use of language… you hit the nail right on the head.
Novel Treatments / My Last Dream (Analysis)
“If a man could pass through Paradise in a dream, and have a flower presented to him as a pledge that his soul had really been there, and if he found that flower in his hand when he awoke - Aye, what then?”
-Samuel Taylor Coleridge
I woke in a strange room. The sound of rain waltzed on the roof, tapped at the windows, and flowed through the gutters. It danced for hours; soft, but unceasing. I heard their laughter, cries, despair, hatred. Love. And as quickly as each one began they ended on the ground, only to be replaced by another million aluminum cries trying desperately to keep time with the metronome on the wall—tick-tock.
Pulling the covers from a mattress that smelled of geriatrics and death I sat up. The floor groaned as my bear feet met the warped boards that shifted as I stood. Gravity took hold and my head spun back to earth, back to this room. I fell to my knees, and opened my eyes. Darkness.
I was not blind, but could not make out my hands in front of me. I reached for the post of the bed from which I came. The bed knobs rust scorned the living flesh my hand offered—iron met iron. Gripping a gentler section of the post I pulled myself up slowly. Gathering my consciousness I stepped forward. I searched in silence carefully placing each foot in front of the other, and protecting myself from the unknown with outstretched arms.
How had I come to this place?
The last moments I recall before waking in this room I’d spent alone. Well, as alone as one can be in the modern world. Once you walk out the door you’re rushed off into the mob. Even if you stay inside you can hear your neighbors fighting, or screwing. But, really what’s the difference? They’re all just white noise anyway. You can even buy it on a CD for when you vacation in the country: “Can’t sleep because you miss those familiar city noises? Well here’s one that should put you at ease it’s ‘Neighbor’s Having Sex!’ and you can drown the silence of the night out with all the moans and grunts of your neighbors without the awkward morning hello’s.” And despite all these absurd little delicacies people are still always needing, always wanting more. Nobody’s able to stand on their own two feet unless the world bends to support their simple, insignificant whims. Not one of them is worth it either.
So, where the hell was I last night?
O’Neill’s downtown. It was just a small corner pub where few came in or out—except Friday and Saturday nights. I sat in a booth at the far end, near the restrooms. Vanilla poured from my pipe and I finished off my second or third pint. A dark beer; it’s good for the heart.
It was Wednesday. Ash Wednesday. I remember all the parishioners emptying St. Joseph’s with their foreheads marked by ash. Dust we are, and to dust we shall return; nothing could be more true. I made my way through the reflective crowd and into O’Neill’s for that drink. I’d been sitting alone since ten ‘o’clock.
I liked to forget the long weekdays with long weeknights. Tonight I drink, I smoke, I read. Everyone else these days surrenders their simple vices. “I’m going on a diet,” or “I’m quitting smoking.” Why? I preferred self-destructive bliss for $30. No complaints could escape my lips so long as these indulgences passed through.
What had I read that night? Maybe this is all some strange dream from a book; I’ll wake to sunlight in a cold sweat, and continue living as an angry whisper silent among the calamity.
So, had I drifted into drinks to walk along side Alex DeLarge, or the “whiskey priest” for the night?
Where had I been before this? Someplace special if I started that late. It feels too distant now. The bartender and I spoke—filthy brute.
“Closing time bud.”
“It’s midnight.”
“It’s dead. Now if you don’t mind I’d like to close up and get home.”
“You’re the boss.” I walked out the back; the city lights were bright for a Wednesday night—now Thursday morning. I walked to my empty apartment. My lamp, my bed, and my bookshelf were all still there. I lay in bed for an hour trying to fall asleep, but thoughts of yesterday and tomorrow take their time, and all the faces from the day would come back and haunt me. No different form any other night except where I woke.
Lightning struck. The clouds watched in silence, and I looked upon these four walls. A new light made its way through the window crawling along the bedroom floor. It was a dim lamp. Its electric buzz could be heard within the walls.
The window’s glass sank towards the bottom of the sill, and the view it could have provided, save the darkness, appeared distorted through the aged shield of the elements. The tattered drapes wallowed in the decadence of a forgotten place and time. My own house of mirrors in a perverted circus, only I did not exist in its reflection.
The skies rumbled on and darkness filled my mind. Who knew what lay beyond this simple frame, but who knew what lay within? The home groaned as the storms winds wrapped round its walls, and my nose filled with ancient dust and rotting wood. The clock continued keeping time, as it escaped me.
I stared into the barren room, my eyes not quite adjusted to the darkness. Across the room the door groaned, opening to an unknown touch. I turned in fear. “Who’s there?” No response. I waited another minute listening, but all I heard was the continuing rain, and my own shallow breaths—the clock had stopped. Fear shook me from my daze, and I found myself shivering. The cold clung to me like winter’s first frost.
Quickly, I sought comfort in the same linens I woke in only to find tattered sheets on a stiff mattress. “Better than nothing,” I reasoned. My vision returned in haste, but there was little to see.
Standing in the terror of what could pass I felt ill. Burning hands crawled from my belly and into my chest; they pulled everything to the void. I fell into hunger and thirst, but soon recovered. The pain was not so unbearable, but rather the suddenness with which it struck. No man can battle unseen blows. I sat on the mattress planning my next steps—stay, discover how far ground lay from this window, or step through the door.
I knew the room, but I did not love it. So to stay, for death or salvation, had its comforts in familiarity alone. The window was no help. I did not know if the ground were three or twenty stories below. Of these three options to stay or to jump would be on my terms, to venture forth would mean my fate were in another’s hands. Though waiting and falling are little in the way of choice or fate. I laughed at my own weakness, and forgot my hunger in the helplessness of a black and storm-filled night in an unknown room.
I suppose the decision had been made. My will may not be done, but I will not wait for it, nor fall because of it, it must be sought to whatever end.
Still no signs of another. Still no memory of how I came to this place. But, an open door stood before me. Was it the hands of fate that gave the gentle nudge, or something more sinister? No matter, the only option left was to leave—in search of nothing; in search of everything. But could I leave this room knowing nothing of what lay in front of me? I reached for the light switch; it did not work.
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TheOneandonlynoone reviewed Version 1 -
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Imagery was good and the flow was good although midway I had to reread a few times to understand a couple of your lines.
Third paragraph, “The bed knobs rust scorned the living flesh my hand offered—iron met iron.” reads a little difficult. I had to re-read this line a couple times, maybe you can put The rusty bed knobs scorned the (pick out a new discriptive word here like bronzed) flesh my hand offered…
Paragraph about the neighbors/white noise might drag on a little to long although it reminds me of the dialogue for Sin City.
When the person returns to the apartment the line “My lamp, my bed, and my bookshelf were all still there.” doesn’t seem to have a point and tie in with the rest of the story(unless I am missing it).
Overall I enjoyed this because of imagery and that imagery reminded me a lot of Sin City.
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aqriusldy09 reviewed Version 1 -
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This novel treatment was excellent. It seems to fit into the genre, Crime, Thriller, Suspense. Due to the theme of the story, the genre suspense thriller would be more appropriate. The protagonist was wisely chosen. He is somewhat of a living contradiction, which is according to the theme as you stated: he is almost estranged from the world in which he lives. The language that was used carefully analyzes and constructs the theme, heightening suspense as the reader moves from page to page, scanning every element and every adventure that the protagonist encounters. The protagonist is very likeable, despite his flaws and tendency to possess unhealthy habits. These aspects of the protagonist directly connect to the theme and make the protagonist realistic and someone who many readers will find relatable in contemporary society. The tone on each page heightens the suspense and drama in the story. The reader is always wondering what happens next. Overall, the tone, theme, and language were excellent. This story is definitely the kind of material that should be published in a novel.
Jimmel104 reviewed Version 1 -
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I’ll try and be a bit more concise on this one Brian.
Like the concept and really like your writing.
I think you can improve the structure of this.
He wakes in what is a dark and strange place. You spend a bit of time developing his ‘almost terror’ and then we are in a flashback to how he spent his night before.
Now that isn’t necessarily a bad way to go about developing the future of the story, but it doesn’t seem to continue the development of the fear you started working on. Seems you may want to work in some of the present terror into the flashback sequence to provide more continuity of story line.
There is another spot where there was a curious shift also. Not sure if it is tense or point of view. It occurs at the end of Page 2 and the beginning of three. I’m not enough of a grammarian to pin point the issue for you, but it caused me to stop and re-read to make sure I hadn’t missed the introduction of another character.
And finally, these two phrases are pretty close together; “Home groaned….....door groaned”
MrJawbreakingEquilibrium reviewed Version 1 -
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- bear feet-unless he’s an actual bear :-) jk
I’m only on the first page now and I can already tell that it is very well written, it’s like something that could already be in a book. The words are superflous, if that makes sense. I like…
Definitely dig the first paragraph on the second page; it reminds me of Chuck Palahnuk’s type of style and humor. About the “Neighbors Having Sex on CD”.
page three typo- No different form…(from)
Your words are very illustrative. That’s what I wanted to say, they paint a picture. Nice.
I’m definitely interested in more. You have me hooked. Adding it too my favorites. I’m interested in the themes you said you were looking for; the Baptist ones, even though I’m not religuos at all. Though, I’m curious about how it causes people to act. Good job.
oneshot92 reviewed Version 1 -
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You did an excellent job here of not only bringing the story to me, but me to the story as well. I felt his anxiety and confusion as he replayed the days events in his head, at an attempt to solve his current situation. It was very well written, with just a few small errors. You seemed to have juggled the tense for just a second on pg. three, the character speaks of drinking.
I would like to have a better visual on the character himself. You a wonderful job on the surroundings and his thought process, but I need to see him as well.
This is really all I have to suggest, as i found everything pretty good in this. My main desire is to be pulled into a story, and you achieved that well.
B_HDouglas reviewed Version 1 -
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I would rethink in par. 1, the word “desperately”. It is such a good metaphor, I would not undermine it with experimental details.
“bare feet”
the warped boards shifted; how the isolated ones find these ‘rooms’ we will never know, but so effective. Very good.
The whole thing about Ash Wednsday sets such a nice tone and place. Easter is a special time of year, symbolizing new life.
I can only imagine what thoughts went through his head, but it is skillful to leave these details alone.
He mentions self destructive bliss, and how others always want to change, so it appears he has to put himself down to be more like himself?
When I get to ‘electric buzz’ of the light in his room, I expect something more involved. A vision, a flower, something extraordinary.
three possibilities-stay, etc. may be more clear than ‘steps’?
I suggest the ending needs some work. You have written a clear piece of fiction, using imagry and thoughtfulness. With the three possibilities affecting your character alone, they really should make the reader agree those were true options. I don’t know how or why he was in a strange room, after the man knocked? Something changed, and I am not sure why? Keep up the good work.
JesusFreak reviewed Version 1 -
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detailing the details through out this story keep a image sharp in the mind of the reader and doesn’t break that cycle so it feels as if at time you are staring through the characters eyes and at times the third person view and yet still no break in the imagery.
Owl_Light reviewed Version 1 -
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Nice and easy to read. Hope you don’t mind these points:
bare feet
bed knobs’ rust
offered. Iron met iron.
out; except Frid..
no complaints can escape
alongside the Whiskey Priest
Your use of hyphens is puzzling. May I suggest that you replace this punctuation?
Waking up in a strange room and not knowing anything except that you have been drinking seems to be your plot but I feel it needs more to make it interesting. Why is the narrator so afraid?
Your notes say he’s a man but nothing in the text says this.
Your letter to Judd doesn’t explain why you are the person to write such a story
also, I think there needs to be more to your synopsis.
I like the image of the tattered sheets but this is the second time you used this adjective.. tattered drapes. Perhaps a different word. Ragged. or add another dimension; flearidden.
cyndiratz reviewed Version 1 -
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You have a great talent for create the scene in which the book begins. It gave me the feeling of sadness and fear. I would be very interested in reading more. I like your use of theme and also symbolism. It would be good to go back and see where you could possibly help the words flow a bit easier. Other than that I really enjoyed it. Keep writing.
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