Steven Baxter
New member
Hey, I was asked to send in a partial and I have honestly been on the fence through this entire writing process about where exactly to open my story. And I figure (most) editors are normal people, so if I had people who liked reading take a peek at my front page, maybe there's a chance the editor will make it into the meat of the story?
They liked the hook, so they will have a background for the story, and I'm to send in a synopsis as well. In summed-up context, it's "National Guardsmen go on a relief effort to a hurricane-torn Puerto Rico, but when a nuclear bomb is tested somewhere off the coast of what they assume is Cuba, the stranded soldiers must fight personal demons and threats abroad until they can be rescued." I'm not so much a military-writer as a literary one, so a lot of this focuses around said "personal demons."
Too much exposition, I'm sorry. Here's the dreaded first page. THANKS A LOT.
Sincerely,
Obviously Insecure
Chapter One-Lightning from the Sun
Some strange golden band stretched out, imposing and gleaming, but tarnished by swarms of black specks that massed forward and back. The gold turned to green higher up as immediately as a stripe on a sweater; there was no zone for transition. Higher still, the green bled into aquamarine and different pitches of navy between overlapping, frozen swells that touted sparkling white jewels.
It was an island—a tragically demolished island. I wasn’t sure where we were exactly; the white-railed cruiser had a busted antenna and, without it, our radios could only gasp and gargle half-intelligible messages from the second cruiser a hundred yards behind us. We had left from a dock in southeast Puerto Rico, so logic would tell me that the hazy mass on the horizon was the Isla de Vieques, but in all honesty, I didn’t take logic for shit anymore. I joined the National Guard for cheap college and a paycheck, but what I’d been subjected to in the past week was borderline criminal and I’m sure it violated some bylaw in some handbook, somewhere.
“Captain better slow it down,” Ronnie said, appearing at my left side—I mean portside, sir—leaning on the rail. “Place looks a mess up there. There’ll be bodies, just like in San Juan.”
The ship lurched forward and fell back, cutting through the head of a dense white breaker, before dipping into a stable position. An hour of this had turned my stomach into a margarita mixer, and still-too-vivid images of San Juan didn’t help in the least.
“How bad do you think it’ll be?”
Ronnie shrugged. “The coast gets hit the hardest, so people inland usually come out and help right away. But here, they don’t got much inland—it’s a small island for that big a storm. I wouldn’t be surprised if we were the first help they get. Not to figure that they got hit first.”
I huffed, placed a hand at the base of my sternum, and turned toward inevitability.
They liked the hook, so they will have a background for the story, and I'm to send in a synopsis as well. In summed-up context, it's "National Guardsmen go on a relief effort to a hurricane-torn Puerto Rico, but when a nuclear bomb is tested somewhere off the coast of what they assume is Cuba, the stranded soldiers must fight personal demons and threats abroad until they can be rescued." I'm not so much a military-writer as a literary one, so a lot of this focuses around said "personal demons."
Too much exposition, I'm sorry. Here's the dreaded first page. THANKS A LOT.
Sincerely,
Obviously Insecure
Chapter One-Lightning from the Sun
Some strange golden band stretched out, imposing and gleaming, but tarnished by swarms of black specks that massed forward and back. The gold turned to green higher up as immediately as a stripe on a sweater; there was no zone for transition. Higher still, the green bled into aquamarine and different pitches of navy between overlapping, frozen swells that touted sparkling white jewels.
It was an island—a tragically demolished island. I wasn’t sure where we were exactly; the white-railed cruiser had a busted antenna and, without it, our radios could only gasp and gargle half-intelligible messages from the second cruiser a hundred yards behind us. We had left from a dock in southeast Puerto Rico, so logic would tell me that the hazy mass on the horizon was the Isla de Vieques, but in all honesty, I didn’t take logic for shit anymore. I joined the National Guard for cheap college and a paycheck, but what I’d been subjected to in the past week was borderline criminal and I’m sure it violated some bylaw in some handbook, somewhere.
“Captain better slow it down,” Ronnie said, appearing at my left side—I mean portside, sir—leaning on the rail. “Place looks a mess up there. There’ll be bodies, just like in San Juan.”
The ship lurched forward and fell back, cutting through the head of a dense white breaker, before dipping into a stable position. An hour of this had turned my stomach into a margarita mixer, and still-too-vivid images of San Juan didn’t help in the least.
“How bad do you think it’ll be?”
Ronnie shrugged. “The coast gets hit the hardest, so people inland usually come out and help right away. But here, they don’t got much inland—it’s a small island for that big a storm. I wouldn’t be surprised if we were the first help they get. Not to figure that they got hit first.”
I huffed, placed a hand at the base of my sternum, and turned toward inevitability.