This novel's opening is horrible--just the way it ought to be.

Joe, a published horror novelist, sent a first-draft opening chapter of a novella and has okayed a post of my quick edit. This guy knows how to get a story moving. I figure we can all learn from good work. Things I added are in red and comments are green. Please keep in mind that all any editor can offer is opinion that is necessarily subjective -- my cuts, additions, and comments are suggestions, not facts, to be used or discarded by the writer.

In the moment after midnight, the world held its breath. (nice. Immediately creates a mood of suspense.)

Like a finely-tuned watch (an adjective modified by an adverb is generally not hyphenated. I have struggled with this myself, retraining my instincts.) in need of attention, time slowed, and then stopped. One moment the truck stop was full of noise and activity, in the next everything came to a halt.

In the sudden silence, I looked up from my late-night meal of eggs and hash to find the room around me frozen in time. A few tables away, the lithesome teen who moments before had been haranguing her bull-necked boyfriend in righteous anger now stood with her finger pointed at his chest, one hip cocked jauntily as if in unintended invitation. The waitress, a plump matronly woman with too much makeup and a quick, easy smile, had been caught in the act of pouring another cup of coffee for the bearded trucker at the end of the breakfast counter, the liquid suspended in mid-air like a wave on the verge of breaking. (Couple of things: the phrase "caught in the act" is a cliché, you can do better. And "caught" is a little ambiguous here, for me, anyway. Maybe something more evocative, such as: had become a statue pouring a cup of…etc.) The highway patrol officer who'd just hustled in from the parking lot stood halfway between the dining area and the bathroom, one foot suspended inches above the floor.

Even the clock on the wall had stopped, silenced at 30 thirty seconds after twelve. (question: do smells still happen in frozen time? The scent of the hash browns or coffee, etc.?)

Everyone, and everything, was still. (how about adding a reference to the utter silence that would also occur?)

Except me.

The sense of déjà vu I experienced in the next moment was almost overwhelming. I had seen this place before; I knew what was coming next.

And it scared the piss out of me.

Before the thought had fully formed I was up and moving, scrambling away from the weary family in the booth behind me, getting out in the center of the room where my options increased and the chance of collateral damage to those around me would be minimized.

As I moved I kept my attention firmly on the long stretch of mirror that covered the wall behind the breakfast counter. Even as I watched, it grew smoke-dark and frost began to form at its edges. (nice)

Too late!

A face swam into view (bit of a cliché) in the glass; long and gaunt, with sunken eyes and hollowed cheeks, a face of winter grey capped by strands of writhing hair that twitched and moved with life all their own.

Its empty eyes pinned me with the inerrancy of a laser. (technically, this "its" refers to the hair, not the face. Suggest you just delete the its, i.e. Empty eyes pinned me…etc.)

Snarling silently (actually, a snarl is a sound, so it can't really be silent. maybe something else, i.e. Its face twisted with a snarl,), the chimera pierced the Veil and reached toward me. The mirror's surface seemed to ripple and shiver (why "seemed to?" why not …The mirror's surface rippled and shivered…etc.), the creature's hand passing through it without resistance, and then the chimera pulled itself into our world, the glass behind it going solid with a sharp snap. ("going solid" makes my case for getting rid of "seemed to" earlier; here the glass reverts to what it was before rippling and shivering, right?) Without hesitation the creature leaped for me. (I could use a little more picture here. Remind me that it's behind the counter. Did it spring over the counter from a standing position, or did it place a hand on the bar and vault over? Help me see what it does. Also, does it wear clothes? You've described the face, but what about the rest of it? Tall? Muscular? Clothes?)

The gun I'd taken off the dead cop in Toledo was out before the beast had cleared the counter (Passive. Maybe something like: I had the gun I'd taken off the dead cop in Toledo out before…etc.), the thunder of the weapon's voice echoing in the confines of the room. My shots struck it full in the face, tossing it backward to the floor like so much discarded garbage, (since this is horror, don't you think a little more gore would be good here? Just a touch?) but I knew it wouldn't be down for long.

After facing them three times, I still had no idea how to kill these things.

Motion caught my eye and my gaze shifted back to the mirror just as several more ("several" is vague, abstract -- why not tell us how many? Specific details create a reality. I imagine four.) faces began to form inside the darkened glass. My arm lifted slightly, my finger twitched, and anothermy shot shattered the mirror's surface, closing that exit from the Road. (cool)

I knew it would only take the reinforcements a few moments to find another portal. (he can't really know. How about: Before it had taken only moments for reinforcements to find another portal.) Every single moment counted. Even the tiniest advantage might mean the difference between life and death and I didn't intend to waste a bit of it.

The truck stop was too confining; I'd have a better chance of survival outside, in the open, so I headed for the door, snatching the satchel off the seat next to me on my way.

Things had started going crazy five weeks ago, when she came to me in my dreams for the first time. Eyes of green and hair that deep blue-black that seems almost iridescent in certain light. She was standing off in the distance, yelling, but I was unable to understand what she was saying. Each night her image grew steadily clearer, those two almond shapes eyes staring out of a hazy profile (If her face is in profile there would be only one eye visible.) that grew more distinct with each passing day, until I could recognize the expression of fear and pain on her otherwise gorgeous face. On tThat night, I'd heard her voice clearly for the first time.

"Run!" she'd said.

Note how Joe's use of short paragraphs creates a fast-moving pace and a sense of action. I, for one, want to read more. How about you?

Many thanks, Joe, for sharing your work. In a paid edit, I might get even pickier but, realistically, there's not much to pick at.

For what it's worth.

RR

Free edit in exchange for posting permission. You send a sample that you have questions about and of which you'd like an edit. I won't post it without your permission.

© 2005 Ray Rhamey

Comments

[KW]

I enjoy reading your edits, but disagree with you on the following:

"... a face of winter grey capped by strands of writhing hair that twitched and moved with life all their own."
[ (in this sense "hair" would call for a singular pronoun here, "its")"]

Isn't it "strands" that the pronoun should refer to, instead of "hair"?

[Ray Rhamey]

KW, now that I pause and think about it, you're right. It is the strands that are twitching, and the pronoun should be "their." Ah, well--a quick, once-over edit just isn't going to have the thorough thought of a paid one. This comment string may have less meaning because I'm going to correct the post.

Sorry about that.
Ray

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[Green Laser]

What a horrible novel! i like it.

[Blue Lasers]

"Its empty eyes pinned me with the inerrancy of a laser. " NEVER let laser shine staighter to your eyes. It is terrible.