You critique me, part 6—the rewrite

It never stops, does it? Learning, seeing, revising. After I posted the revised first chapter from We the Enemy, thinking I'd done okay, "MeBe" wrote that he couldn't visualize the President. Dang. That was because I hadn't visualized him. So today's post includes an addition to the second paragraph to help that out.

Otherwise, I think the chapter is tighter. More focused. Less biased. In deference to Karl Rove, I changed the Karl character's name to Kurt. And I've changed "the Allies" to "the Alliance."

But is it a good opener to a novel? I'm too close at this point to judge -- while it does things I want it to do in ways I see as interesting, damned if I can anticipate a stranger's reaction. My thanks to the writers and readers who sent critiques and comments. I'm open to your reactions to the result, for sure.

Meanwhile, here's Chapter 1 in its entirety. The portion originally posted is here.

"I fear, Kurt." President Leo Grant stops beside a rosebush covered with yellow blooms. "I fear what will happen to this country in the hands of the opposition." He snips away an exhausted blossom with a pair of small plant shears.

Kurt Dengler studies his old friend, Leo's stocky body straight and strong, so much like Kurt's people used to think they were brothers. As always, his chin is up. A breeze plays with his short white hair -- most people wouldn't see the tension, but Kurt does, a stiffness in how he pulls his shoulders back. His attack mode. Yeah, the polls are iffy, but there's time, isn't there? "This country's not going anywhere you don't want it to."

"Part of it is." The President holds up the plant shears and clicks the blades. "New projection says the Alliance is gonna kill me out West, Kurt."

The President looks around as if to make sure no one can hear. Which they can't, which is why, Kurt figures, they're in the Rose Garden. No tape recorders, either. Secret Service agents are at the four points of the compass, but out of eavesdropping range. Still, they make Kurt nervous, not as if he's done something wrong, but as if he might.

The damned Alliance. "They're hurting us, too." True believers among Kurt's National Rifle Association membership are holding fast. Problem is, so far it looks like Oregon's crazy way of getting rid of lethal weapons—dreamed up and pushed through by the Alliance--is working. And that costs the usually knee-jerk votes of gun owners who think the Alliance has solved the problem of self-defense.

A tickle in Kurt's nose triggers a sneeze. The spring sun has the damned tulips and roses blooming like crazy.

The President chuckles. "Remember when one of your sneezes scared that buck away." He gazes into the distance and regret tinges his voice. "That old fellow had a twelve-point rack."

It's Kurt's turn to laugh. "Well, you did get an animal that trip, though." He'll never forget Leo's expression when they heard a strangled moo just before his target crashed to the ground. "Too bad it wasn't Noah Stone in those bushes."

The President snaps a surprised look at him. "You're anticipating me."

Kurt wishes that was what he'd done. But no, he's just still freaking out about the letter wrapped around a bullet he'd received from a militia nut. The message was brief -- if Kurt doesn't do something about the Alliance's leader, there will be "consequences."

Leo ambles toward a living bouquet of red roses. "The gun issue isn't the only way Noah Stone and his Alliance are damaging me. Those goddam socialists have got the state giving away health insurance, they're claiming responsibility for the big drop in crime, and voters are falling for it. The way the Alliance's influence is spreading, our guys tell me I'll lose one of our western states this time around. And lately it looks more like two." He eyes his shears again. "We don't turn it around real soon, we're fucked."

Kurt gives the President a startled glance. In his first run for the White House Leo had squeaked by with a three-vote electoral margin, so this was seriously bad news. Kurt offers a smile he doesn't mean and says, "We'll get 'em, sir."

The President drills him with a "you idiot" look. He says, "Get 'em with what? We've got no decent dirt on the Alliance, and I can tell you we've dug." At the red rosebush, the President stoops to prune away a dead stem. "We even tried making up a little mud, but it didn't stick."

The President stands and levels his gaze at Kurt. Like always, Kurt feels small before the intelligence and drive his friend projects. It's been that way since they were kids together. Leo says, "We need to hurt the Alliance, Kurt. And I need you to make sure we do."

"I'm already going after them in the courts." He doesn't want to say that his NRA lawyers think they'll lose.

Snipping away old blooms, the President says, "I've told Marion Smith-Taylor I want her to help a couple of friends who are being harassed by the Alliance." He settles his gaze on Kurt again. "She's got her own issues with them but, to my regret, I can't be certain she will do everything that's, shall we say, necessary. I want you involved to make sure the problem gets solved."

The President wants him to ride herd on the Attorney General of the United States? He's got no leverage on the woman; she's too damned honest. Controlling her -- hell, even influencing her -- sounds impossible, but you don't say no to the commander-in-chief.

Kurt's forehead prickles with sweat. He fishes in a coat pocket for a mini Tootsie Roll, unwraps it and pops it into his mouth. The rush of chocolate eases him. He wads the wrapper and drops it.

The President's gaze follows the wrapper to a lawn that could pass for a carpet. He flicks a glare at Kurt. Kurt snatches up the wrapper and stuffs it into a pocket. "You said a couple of friends?"

"Bobby Strunk has a big interest in seeing the Alliance stopped, too."

"That pig?"

"Yeah, but that pig and his church bring in a lot of votes. And he has people out there who could be useful, especially if something goes wrong."

Kurt understands. Born-Again-Bobby Strunk's congregations are packed with wackos; Kurt hears the bleat of a scapegoat.

The President steps closer and lowers his voice. "Keep this private, Kurt, very private. Small. Very small. The way the press lives in my shorts I can't involve government resources. It has to be deniable. Even Marion's using a hired gun."

Kurt doesn't want to get sucked into anything either. He nods. "Count on it, sir."

A woman's "Hey there." floats to them. A slender young blond dressed in a t-shirt and shorts enters the garden -- Penny, the President's only child, home on a break from some little liberal arts college out West. Come to think of it, it's in Oregon, where the Allies are doing their thing. She waves. She'd be a real hottie if her nose weren't beaky like her father's. On Leo, it makes Kurt think of a proud American eagle. On Penny it's a little more character than he likes in a woman.

The President breaks out a big grin and waves back. He says, "That girl will drive me crazy one of these days. She comes home with the nuttiest ideas planted by those tree-huggers out there." The sappy look of affection on his face tells Kurt that the girl could paint herself purple and the First Father wouldn't care.

The President clips the biggest bloom on the bush and holds it high, a gift for Penny. She smiles and jogs toward them, her ponytail swaying side to side. He watches her breasts bounce up and down under her shirt -- braless. Didn't girls know what that does to a man? Kurt thinks they do, and then they bitch about men being sexist when their eyes do what comes naturally.

The President turns to Kurt and his grin downshifts to the deeply serious expression he uses to convince voters of his Presidential authority -- Kurt remembers him practicing it before mirrors during the campaign before going out to speak. He tears his thoughts away from Penny's chest.

The President says, "Noah Stone will send our nation straight to Hell. You'll do this for me, Kurt? Take care of him, whatever it takes?"

"Whatever it takes?"

In answer, the President reaches out and snips off a bud that's only partially open. Then he crushes it under his foot.

There you have it. I'm considering posting the second chapter (another short one). If you were reading the book and turned the page after chapter 1, the first thing you'd read is this:

"Yet another vicious Road Tag tragedy strikes the streets of Illinois."

Or I could do a post on something I run into in edits -- having characters do the improbable and impossible.

So -- you up for Chapter 2, or a resumption of regular Flog fare?

RR

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© 2005 Ray Rhamey