The wind blew threw Griffin Pogue's short-cropped hair. It felt good on his bare chest. He held his fire jacket over his left shoulder with his left arm bent back and his helmet down by his side with his right hand to show off his muscular arms and shoulders. His fireman pants sat impossibly low on his hips, showing off has ripped and buff abs. Assistants held reflectors and filler lights as the renowned photographer, JiYu Chow, orchestrated five cameras.
"Got it, hot and sunny August is a wrap," JiYu announced. Griffin relaxed and stepped off the ledge.
"Great. I was feeling a little too much wind for five stories up," Griffin said.
"How did I get saddled with a model incapable of not talking or standing still," JiYu waved at his assistants and they broke down the equipment.
"How? Because I'm the only model you can afford for your stupid calendar."
"No so, I can get dozens of models."
"Yeah? Like who?"
Chow looked around until his eyes fell upon a muttonchopped man with an impeccable pince-nez, surrounded by adoring supermodel types. "Like him."
Griffin deflated, taut abs sagging. There was no way he could compete.
Opening: Dave F......Continuation: Khazar-khum
8 comments:
P1: Through, not threw. Too many "his"s, including the one you typed as "has." Is "fireman pants" the technical term? I don't think pants need to be impossibly low to show off abs, and how does holding a fire jacket over his shoulder show off his shoulder? How does holding his helmet by his side show off his shoulders? It's standing there with no shirt that shows off his arms and shoulders and abs.
P2-3: Is the ledge he stepped off of five stories up? Either way, why bother making him look like a fireman on a ledge five stories up, when he obviously wouldn't have his shirt and helmet and jacket off in that situation?
P4: Imagine the sentence was ...incapable of not eating or drinking. You would assume the "not" went with both "eating" and "drinking." Likewise, readers may assume the "not" goes with "standing still," when the opposite is meant.
P5: Saying the photographer can afford only one low-rent model doesn't mesh with calling the photographer "renowned" or the fact that he has so many assistants.
P6: Sounds like a pretty childish thing for a renowned photographer to say. More likely he'd say, "Fuck off, asshole. You're fired."
Twirling a strand of my long brown slightly graying hair and tossing it over my right shoulder, I put my left hand to the keyboard, align my right hand beside it, and type "With this kind of exquisite attention to detail, this book is going to be very, very long."
I frown slightly, thinking of a quasi-literary allusion. "It's as bad as Gormenghast."
I scratch my left ear, which is always itchy this time of year, probably some kind of pollen in the air or something, type in the word verification, WASTA, and hit "preview".
The description of how the model was standing was too much. I couldn't get my mind to picture it. Some times less is more.
Also, I totally agree with EE about the "renowned" photographer only being able to afford this not so great model. It's a small issue, but it really got to me.
Yes, All that and more.
I couldn't get past the wind blowing threw his hair.
Well, if it was blowing hard enough, it could throw his hair.
Thanks for the commens so far.
I saw "threw" not long after EE posted it on his NB Page.
I started a story that I thought was going to be a simple story about a photographic model (Griffin) getting hoodwinked into a Twilight Zone like adventure. The photographer was patterned after an oriental magician and the Griffin was patterned after a really good photograph I found of a hunky fireman standing on a ledge.
So this is the image that popped into my head to start the story. EE had no Beginnings in the cue and I sent it in.
Gee it's overwritten. Overblown and confusing. It sounded so good to me but then, I can see the picture with my own two little eyes. I didn't describe it well enough to relate it to anyone.
Then the world happened. Don't ask. I won't tell what.
I've changed the photographer to a character in two other stories. He's still a wizard with all sorts of power and he's going to get his model to help him save the world from destruction.
And it's now steampunk,
It's now the first skyscraper at 10 stories.
The camera is a folding press camera.
Professional fire squads don't exist (they are volunteer still have bucket brigades)
An evil wizard is still trying to rise to power but the story is now completely changed in tone and character.
That doesn't mean I'm not listening to your comments. I have to cook dinner and afterward, I'll post what I think will be the new opening.
Blogger went out tonight.
This is the revision as far as I can tell. I'm not finished with the story and as I get deeper and deeper into the story, I might have to change parts of this. Remember it's steampunk so it needs machines.
Smoke from the flash powder blew away from Griffin Pogue as he posed. The breeze was getting too strong to stay balanced on the ledge of the Stilletto Tower much longer. Domenic Gedigold, photographer and inventor, needed beefcake photos to sell the top floor of his newest creation, a steel and glass tower, ten stories tall in the middle of New Regensburg.
Domenic slid a second set of plates in and out of the camera. Griffin draped the fireman's jacket over his left shoulder showing off his left bicep and triceps. He held his helmet in his right hand so he could flex his arm and shoulder. Oversized fireman pants hung low on his hips to highlight his ripped and buff abs. fifteen feet away, stood behind the tripod of a new press camera. Powder flashed a second time.
"I got it," Domenic said.
"Great. It's windy up here." Griffin relaxed and stepped off the ledge, happy to be away from the ten-story drop. A large raven landed in front of the camera and dropped what appeared to be a pebble on the roof. It flew away a second later. Griffin stepped on the pebble and jumped, holding his bare foot. The crew giggled at his discomfort.
Griffin ignored them. He leaned against elevator enclosure, slipped his feet into black work boots and laced them. Domenic ordered his crew to break down the photographic equipment. He picked the pebble off the ground and listened to the message recorded within it. Griffin Pogue was the perfect candidate for his needs. How to get him to agree was a challenge.
"You talk to much. Remember, I can replace you." Domenic said apropos of nothing.
"Yeah, right, sure you can. With what? Druggies. Buffed up ex-cons. Those tattooed seamen you always seem to find and then spend days airbrushing away their tattoos. I'm the only model that doesn't spread gossip about you." He swung the heavy fireman's jacket up and slid his arms into it. He looked broader and more muscular in the coat than out of the coat.
"When I catch gossips I turn them to stone. How's that grab you, my rock-brained blabbermouth? Tomorrow, we shoot at sunrise, magic time. You'll be getting real muddy, too." Domenic scowled, Griffin scowled back at him. This was the war of words they played. Griffin posed in whatever makeup or outfit Domenic needed. Tomorrow would be posing in a haunted cave with Domenic the greatest magician of the time.
"Until tomorrow morning, the wee hours," Griffin said as the gears meshed and opened the door to the elevator cab.
"Bringing friends?" Domenic said.
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