Why you don't get published.
Friday, October 18, 2013
New Beginning 1015
The rattle of the tail pipe on my old Indian Scout echoed back from the walls at me. It struck me with a bite of self-consciousness; I didn’t belong here.
Not that this cul-de-sac looked like a millionaires’ enclave. In fact, it was a funny sort of place to live, considering she had so much money—and I was pretty sure she had a lot of money. Judging by her car, her clothes, and that giant rock on her wedding finger.
That rock was on my mind, too. I was up to no good; I knew that. But I’d been anticipating this all afternoon, unable to think about anything else, ever since Mrs. Q had stepped out for lunch—and ‘Big Red,’ as I called her, stepped in. The little head had been doing the thinking for the big one ever since. I was in no mood to stop now. Hell! I was like a torpedo, fired on a collision course—no choice. Not anymore.
From the back seat, Big Red broke into my thoughts with her deep bass voice. “So, what kind of rock is it this time?”
I looked in the rearview mirror at her as a line from the old Kinks’ song “Lola” played in my head. You know, the one that goes “she walked like a woman and talked like a man.”
“What difference does it make whether it's igneous, metamorphic, or sedimentary? All I know is, it was BIG! And I want it!”
Laughter rumbled from deep within Big Red’s throat. “Not easy being a two-headed man in a one-headed world, is it? Especially when the little head is an obsessive-compulsive rock collector.” She wet a finger and dabbed it in an ear of the smaller head that protruded from the right side of my neck.
“Stop that!” we said.
I would have stopped the Scout and kicked Big Red out, but I was going to need some help getting that enormous rock from Mrs. Q., who was obviously a powerful woman if she could lug that much weight around on her finger. Besides, what she’d said about my little head’s compulsion was true. And who would know better, considering all the other times she’d helped get my rocks?
“Probably just cheap sandstone,” Big Red said. “But whatever fires your torpedo, honey.”
I ignored the comment and the muscular, pantyhose-clad leg she draped across the backrest of the front seat, and said as assertively as I could manage, “Just make sure your jackhammer’s ready.”
Another deep-throated giggle from the back seat let me know my last admonishment was unnecessary. Her jackhammer was always ready.
Opening: Dixon Hill.....Continuation: James
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3 comments:
Unchosen continuations:
My conjoined twin fetus on my side did not approve. He was still alive because I didn't have the heart to kill him, until now. He liked Mrs. Q because she said he was cute. She'd tickle his chin when we were in bed. Big Red did not like him, and made me wear a shirt in bed.
Sometimes he'd yell when she moaned in pleasure. It was embarrassing. I didn't care because I called the shots and I liked Big Red. It was time to move on from Mrs. Q and my fetus.
--CavalierdeNuit
No doubt I'd be tossing snake-eyes if Mr. Q showed. But, maybe that's what Big Red wants, my little head whispered to my big head.
Big head almost liked the sound of that. Almost.
Then again, big head was kinda dumb, and I hadn't been laid going on two weeks now. So, yeah, Mr. Q and his big rocks could suck it.
--Veronica Rundell
Aw gee, if you are going to be naughty and suggestive, then be naughty and suggestive.
Like this:
The rattle of the tail pipe echoed in my ears. It spoke to my conscience and said I didn’t belong.
Not that this cul-de-sac was a millionaires’ enclave. She, the object of my loins, live in a plain house, considering her car, her clothes, and that giant rock on her wedding finger.
That rock was the other thing on my mind. My little self was up to no good since this afternoon. Mrs. Q stepped out for lunch—and ‘Big Red’ and her rock, stepped in. The little self had been aiming for her big red one ever since. Hell! I was a torpedo on a collision course. My only choice to explode within her.
Think of fewer words that say the same thing. That's one of my standard edits. It goes - do I need this detail, or that fact, or that piece of background? The answer is sometimes no and sometimes yes. I cut preferentially.
Think of saying something only once...
This is more than once for the same thought:
That rock was on my mind, too. I was up to no good; I knew that. But I’d been anticipating this all afternoon,
Don't conditionalize things.
"I was pretty sure"
"anticipating" and then "unable to think about..." no choice, not anymore" and ":like" .
Try not to do that.
Author,
It seems there is some confusion as to your characters. I felt that Big Red was Mrs. Q, but it seems Big Red might also be confused with the narrator's penis.
While I'm drawn in by colloquial speech, others find it a no-go, so tread lightly.
Your narrator seems to assume an awful lot. At this point I can't tell if he's a stalker with rape on his mind, or a sex-up dude on his way to an appointed rendezvous with an adulterous pampered housewife. It's your job to make it clearer.
Good luck.
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