I have a hard time getting started, but this is what I have. I'll introduce the characters in the next chapter I think. I like to write in prose. What do you think?
Chapter 1
Soft rainy overcast. That day where the car ahead's brake lights blur six inches past the bumper through the window in the haze. Little droplets and their red borders creeping down those glass eyes like tears until they're wiped away. The red. It's good. It's the only color in a somber palette of gray. It's that winter rain, where the air smells like evergreen. Where when the drips drop on the dirt, the dry mist that rises is like the dead raising their hands for help. The city sedated, the music quiet, something happens. The Usuals with their eyes on their three-stripe adidas tennis shoes look up. The Usuals, who have never played tennis, look around. At puddles on the ground and the walls that shield the crawling cars. Lack of shadows that make everything blend into a utopia of melancholy. The Usuals perk up for some reason. The world is changing pace, so should they, they think, they know, they act. Generics playing in the Usuals stereo. They turn it down. They think, they figure, they listen. They listen to the road. To the cars driving by them. How their cars bend like elastic back and forth every time a van goes speeding by. Today, they think. Today is the day that they break away, they think. They know. They wish. The gray is too much. Eyes, half open, the Usuals sip their Folgers and think. They look around, maybe for the first time in a week. Maybe a year. Maybe a lifetime. Foot alternating, pedal to pedal, stop go, stop go, they look, they hope. They hope for a car accident. Maybe something graphic. Today, it's the day. Pretty soon the sun comes out and the brake lights damper, the droplets evaporate, the red is thrown back into the palette of supposed brightness. The Usuals, their half horizontal lips fold into the pissed off crescendo that they enjoy so much. The worms who lacked oxygen find their way to the sidewalk. They fry. The Usuals didn't notice. The worms, whose lives ended so that the Usuals could see. They did, for a minute. They saw, they noticed, they hoped. And then they forgot. And then there will come soft rains.
Chapter 2
On the corner of Yale and Second is a school with four hundred students. Ninth through twelfth grade, none of them can stand it for one second. It's one of those schools that, in the sixties when the Usuals built it for two hundred thousand dollars, must have looked futuristic. Now it looks dated and dusty, like a science exhibit from nineteen fifty six. The students share a similar sentiment. The teaching techniques were trendy when the school was brought up. Backhand rap-pings, public embarrassment, and other corporal punishment that only a school with a reputation for discipline can possibly justify. Uniforms, punishment, a mass of masks disguising the very individuality that threatens to poison the foundation. Here is where a hero is born, that rises above the toxic air of oppression and stands with chest puffed and gawks at the authority that attempts to enslave him. No such hero is bred in this place. No such hero is needed for the lives of all four hundred students to run smoothly and slyly, slipping between the gaps of their pencils and their ears, studiously awaiting the next weekend so they can get consume whatever they can find and escape for a few hours. Monday morning is back to business, though. No questions asked. No such questions are needed for the lives of the 16-1 ratio faculty members to smoothly run through their job. Why complicate things. Twenty ruler taps train the slobs for society. Twenty ruler taps to save the world.
Tuesday, the drizzle dampens the decks where the masses wait for the bell to puncture their ears and hopes. Nihilism is instilled subconsciously in every wanderer there. They just have to reach the end. Just have to finish to Friday. No heroes, few people, but some remain, some resilient residents remain intact. They don't stand under the cover of the pathway between the two corridors. They stand in the cool rain and let their clothes get wet. They look up into the sky and curse God and let the rain fall on their faces and let it sting their eyes and let it make them uncomfortable. They smile a smile that is hard to define. A smile that tells the masses that they are alive and they don't wait for Friday to live. No heroes, no questions, just people. People are a necessity.What do you think of the first two chapters of a book I'm writing?I must say it does sound interesting, but I believe you have far too much description going on. This leads to confusion and then the interest is lost. Please take no offense, I do see great potential. Hope I have helped you.What do you think of the first two chapters of a book I'm writing?Fantastic. Keep writing.What do you think of the first two chapters of a book I'm writing?oooo this sounds very interesting, seems like a end of the world type of book.I must say, that was extremely confusing. If you maybe didn't describe so many things all at once, the plot might be a bit less convolutedSlow it down. The language may sound cool, but after about ten sentences of that stream-of-thought thing, it's just difficult to follow and very annoying. Keep it limited. Use it for emphasis, or no one will want to read more than two paragraphs.
Speaking of paragraphs, break every once in a while. It makes the whole thing SO much easier to follow. And this doesn't matter a lot, but you have some very short chapters going on here.
It looks interesting, but I honestly have no idea what is going on. Form your plot. Make it clear. You have good description skills, just make sure you tone it down and let the reader know what's going on.
Good luck. :)That was really good and interesting! I couldn't stop reading because of how interesting it was! But you need to remove quite a bit of detail, there's so much I can't figure out what you were talking about! Nonetheless, you're a great writer! Good job!
