Opinions?

[MsPankhurst]

This is a rough first draft of a passage from a novel I have an idea for. This isn't the beginning...I don't really knowwhat it is. It is more me starting to build a character. I have never written fiction before. It's quite lengthy (hope it doesnt bore the arse of you), and excuse formatting - I don't seem to get on well with MN formatting.

Honest (brutal, if necessary) opinions, please.

Damian is thinking about a mutant named Deluge. He leans against the window of the number sixteen bus and imagines Deluge?s features: his bulbous head, albino eyes, the curve and swell of his muscular frame. He tries to recall the mutant?s particular super powers - something to do with harnessing the forces of nature ? but the bus is hot and his head is fuzzy.

He reaches into the pocket of his hoodie and touches the cool and hidden thing. He wraps his fingers around it and squeezes until he is better able to remember the comic book that he saw just once, a long time ago. He recalls the shiny colours and inky smell within its pages, and gradually he is able to conjure up an image of Deluge in action, great metal plates atop each shoulder, a scarlet cloak billowing out behind him.

He remembers that Deluge could produce electricity from his hands, and do something with the wind that meant he was able to ride it like a magic carpet. He imagines what it would be like to possess those powers, to surf the sky above the high road, to unleash a flash of white energy from his own hands on to the shoppers below. He is so absorbed with the images dancing in his head that he doesn?t notice the darkening sky or the first raindrops as they strike the glass beside his face.

He squeezes the hidden thing again and thinks about the word ?deluge?. He wonders whether Zeke would call him ?gay? if he asked Mr Clive what the word means in their next English lesson. He is pondering this when Zeke thumps him on the arm, bringing him back to the jostle and heat of the bus.

He looks up and everyone is staring at him. Zeke is saying 'Innit, Dame? Innit?' like he always does, and Damian is saying 'Yeah, bruv, course, bruv', like he is expected to.

They are upstairs on the bus, near the back, and Zeke is holding forth to some kids from their year on the latest ?X-Men? film, which nobody else has seen. Zeke keeps saying a line from the film and even though they have no idea what he is talking about, they all laugh each time he says the line. I?m the Juggernaut, bitch!

Damian is laughing too, except he has stopped listening to Zeke because he knows it will be ages before he gets to see the film and he wants to see it so badly that his chest hurts every time Zeke brings it up, which is at least five times a day.

Damian tunes out and watches Stacie, who is watching Zeke. Stacie is the fittest girl in year ten and Damian likes looking at her. He has to steal those looks, though, he can?t just all-out stare at her now that she is practically Zeke?s girl. Zeke regales him on an almost daily basis about what went down at last month?s Junior Jam, when he put his hands all the way up Stacie?s top and inside her bra, which was pink and padded. Zeke says Stacie?s got small tits, but they both agree that it doesn?t matter because she is still criss?.

Not for the first time Damian is trying to imagine what it would feel like to have his own hand up Stacie?s top. But the image jars. Stacie never even talks to him unless
he?s with Zeke. Once she started a rumour about him that spread around the whole school, and even kids from year seven were coming up to him, asking him why he always wore that same black hoodie and if he?d ever heard of Right Guard.

He tries to shut down thoughts of Stacie?s flesh, but it?s hard when she is right there in front of him. Stacie facing Zeke, her slender arms draped over the back of her seat, pointing down towards Zeke?s lap. Stacie licking lip-gloss off her bottom lip. Stacie laughing her laugh, the one that sounds like a little kid being tickled. Stacie?s breasts jiggling in her probably pink, probably padded bra.

A different image of Stacie comes to him. He sees her pressed up against a nightclub wall, looking down in disgust at his hand on her breast, and he reaches into his pocket quickly and runs his sweaty palm against cold metal. He wills his thoughts away from Stacie and looks at Zeke, concentrating on the bits of him that are not his mouth so as to block out his friend?s words. He checks out the tight, intricate braids in Zeke?s hair; his glaring white Air Force Ones; his jeans, which are expensive and customised with a spray-painted ?Z? design on the right thigh. For a while he is transfixed by the square-cut diamond in Zeke?s ear, which Damian knows is real, because if Zeke?s dad can afford to get his son new trainers every other week and plastic bags full of pirate DVDs and his own PSP, DVD and HDTV in his bedroom, if he can afford to devote a whole room in his house to a comic collection, then he can afford something better than cubic fucking zirconia.

Now he is thinking about those comics, stacked neatly in plastic crates in the spare room at Zeke?s house. Damian has been to Zeke?s a few times after school, to
watch music videos on Channel U and play Grand Theft Auto and listen to Zeke talk about films which only he has seen.

On one occasion, so long ago now that it feels like a dream, Zeke let Damian look at the comics. They had to wait until Zeke?s mum had gone out to sneak into the spare room, and Zeke had told Damian he was going to get some Doritos from the kitchen and to hurry up and be careful, don?t take the piss, don?t fucking teef nothing or my dad will batter both of us.

After he saw Deluge in one of the comic books - that one and only time - he stopped trying to perfect the images of Spiderman he had been drawing on the covers of his schoolbooks since year five. His mind was taken over by Deluge, just like it is now. He is thinking of those milky eyes and how much he loves the word mutant, and once again he is trying to estimate how many comics were in that room, how many superheroes shut away in those plastic crates. He is so busy with this calculation - how many comics, how many superheroes, how many superpowers - that he doesn?t see the open palm coming at the side of his head.

Zeke is asking Damian what the fuck he?s looking at and Damian is confused and tries to laugh, but only manages to choke up a kind of yelp. Zeke?s head is cocked to one side so that he looks like a funny little bird, but when he straightens up and spits out a big glob of phlegm in Damian?s direction, he doesn?t look like a bird anymore. He is saying Damian is a batty man for staring at his dick and the others are laughing, Stacie included.

Damian asks Zeke what the fuck he?s talking about, he was just looking at the ?Z? on Zeke?s jeans, but they?re all cracking up now, and Damian tries to laugh too, but his ear hurts and he can feel his face beginning to flush. He desperately wants to reach inside his pocket, but he can?t because they might think he is trying to touch something else, which would definitely make him a battyman.

Zeke is waving his hand in Damian?s direction now and is saying it again and again, that word, and Damian has no option but to tell him shut-the-fuck-up-I-aint-no-battyman-and-I-weren?t-even-looking-at-your-needle-dick-or-any-part-of-yo ur-ugly-fucking-body.

A collective ooooooh ripples along the top deck of the bus and someone says Zeke, you got told.

Then Zeke?s nostrils flare and he pushes his mouth up into a pout and Damian is already trying not to hear whatever it is that Zeke is going to say next because he knows it will be bad, it is always bad. But he can?t block it out fast enough, cant stop himself from hearing Zeke?s onslaught of shut-the-fuck up-about-ugly-with-your-lean-up-trainers-and-that-same-old-Ecko-hoodie-you-been-wearing-since-Christ mas-and-your-frowsy-B.O-you-stinking-dutty-waste.

Finally Damian is able to tune out again and see Zeke?s mouth moving without hearing any sound and he mutters shut up and then he is still and silent, thinking this is like the game of paper-scissors-stone I used to play with dad, before he left. Zeke?s limited edition Nikes beat Damian?s two-year-old Reeboks. Zeke?s fresh-to-death braids beat Damian?s unruly, six inch half-afro. Zeke?s smooth sleek blackness beats Damian?s pimples and pockmarks. Stone crushes scissors. Scissors cuts paper. Zeke beats Dame. Zeke and Stacie bury Dame, and they all laugh long and hard, every time.

Now Zeke is winding down and he spits the words waste man at Damian and goes to sit next to Stacie, whispering something in her ear that makes her giggle her stupid toddler?s laugh.

The others begin to settle down now. Mobile phones are pulled out, chocolate bars unwrapped, more intimate conversations commence, while Damian?s face burns. He rests his hot cheek against the window, reaches into his pocket and thinks nothing can beat this, not paper or scissors or fucking stone, and he feels his blood begin to cool as he blocks out the last bit of noise and chatter.

The bus is quiet, and Damian conjures up the image of Deluge again. He remembers that another of his superpowers was the ability to create devastating floods with which to drown his enemies. The rain is coming down in furious sheets now, and the other kids are kneeling up on their seats cackling at the shoppers getting pissed on below, while Damian dreams up tidal waves big enough to wipe out Stacie and Zeke and the whole stupid bus.

It?s Damian?s stop and he picks up his rucksack and moves down the bus towards the stairs. One of the kids calls out later on, Dame and then there is a chorus of laters, but nothing from Zeke.

As Damian steps on to the staircase he thinks that?s it then, but Zeke calls out Monday, yeah?, and Damian looks up to catch his eye but locks eyes with Stacie instead. She is nestled into Zeke?s shoulder and she licks her lips and mouths something at him which he thinks is weirdo but could have been fuck you. He mumbles in Zeke?s direction and carries on down the stairs.

He stands on the crowded lower deck of the bus waiting for the doors to open and, feeling something hard digging into his hipbone, he shifts his position slightly and pushes up his hood. All day Zeke and Stacie and some of the others have been talking about going down the West End tomorrow, to some record shop off Carnaby Street that Zeke knows about. Damian wasn?t sure if he was invited. Now he knows he definitely isn?t.

Two old women are fussing with umbrellas beside him, and one of them looks up at him and then away again quickly. The bus stops and Damian peers out at people running in multiple directions, some bobbing along under umbrellas, some caught out in tee shirts, holding plastic bags over their heads. He tries not to think about tomorrow.

The doors open and he stands back and lets the two old ladies off first, but they don?t thank him and other people push past him and he is the last person to get off the bus.

He steps on to the pavement and heads down the high road, past the arcade where his dad used to play the fruit machines sometimes, past rows and rows of pound shops selling Tupperware and clothes pegs and compilation CDs, past the African man who is the colour of burnt wood and sells lighters and sunglasses outside Woolies. He is the darkest man Damian has ever seen and every time he passes him he cannot help but stare. He is staring now, as he watches the man frantically trying to pack up his goods. The man catches Damian?s eye, frowns and mutters motherfucking country atthe streets, which are clearing fast now.

Damian?s thighs are soaked beneath his jeans and he is beginning to feel cold. He darts through heavy traffic to the other side of the high road and takes shelter beneath the awning of a pawnbroker?s shop. He looks at the sad array of goods on display. A sovereign ring, a ?No. 1 Mum? pendant, another with a big locket containing a portrait of Princess Di. He thinks of a story his mum tells when she is at her drunkest and meanest, about how before his dad left, he pawned all her jewellery, even the pearls her nan had given her right before she died. 'And that?s the sort of man your father is, Damian, if you really want to know'

Damian is starting to shiver and decides it was better when the rain was beating down on him, so he starts to run. He runs past the Bridge Tavern and the stench of old men and his mother. He passes shops and cafes and market stalls and people and buses and cars. He leaps over puddles and breathes in cold air until his chest begins to hurt. He slows as he reaches the barbers shop, and gazes in at the smoke and laughter, at the men with dark, handsome faces getting fades and braids and shaves for the weekend.

He turns the corner into the road that leads towards his estate and he thinks of tomorrow, when Zeke and Stacie and the others will be in the West End. He breaks into a run again, and although he cannot reach inside his pocket while he runs, he thinks about what is there. He doesn?t feel the rain as he runs, doesn?t see the commuters coming out of the station, some too busy to notice a running boy, others who will remember him, who will say yes, I think I saw him.

He is having trouble conjuring up his only image of Deluge as he runs, so he thinks of Spiderman instead, and as he bounds over cracked and flooded pavements he imagines he possesses the enhanced speed and agility of his one-time favourite super-hero. As he nears the main road he decides not to take the straight forward route home over the flyover, but to go through the precinct, snaking in and out of the high rises, then across the road and down through the wasteland that used to be a car showroom but is now a rubbish tip that the local kids call Strangeways.

He imagines shimmying up the tallest block on the estate, a seventeen-storey tower block that he has been scaling in his mind since he was six years old. He knows exactly how small things look from up there and as he runs, he remembers every other time in his life that he has pretended to be Spiderman and decides that it has never felt better, more real, than right now.

He is so fast and so slick that he is almost gliding, and it is shock to him when he opens his eyes to find that he is on all-fours on the wet concrete, his chin bleeding, rain water in his mouth. Once he has staggered on to his feet he can no longer remember what it felt like to be Spiderman. Thoughts of Stacie and Zeke creep back in. He walks slowly, with his hand in his pocket, snotty tears and rain sliding off the end of his nose.

At first he thinks it is Stacie. Her complexion and hair and the way she walks are similar. But when he gets closer he sees that she is older and not as pretty, her hair is synthetic and she is shorter and chunkier. She doesn?t seem to be in a hurry despite the rain and she is talking into a mobile phone, calling the person at the other end 'babes' and 'honey'.

Damian gets close enough to see muddy water splashing up the back of her white trousers, but not close enough yet to guess the make and model of her phone. He sees that she is wearing silver flip flops, the same ones his mum was wearing the time she came up to his school and shamed him in front of everyone.

The woman is crossing over the street, heading for the precinct, and she talks rapidly and loudly and laughs a lot, but Damian has trouble keeping up with the one-sided conversation. He thinks instead of his mum, in flip-flops on a winter's day, with the stupidest smile on her face.

He saw her before he?d even left the school gates, and afterwards he would always wonder why hadn?t made up an excuse to turn back. He could have hidden in the toilets or in the bike lock-up until she went away, and no one would have known. But he didn?t. He kept walking, and those stupid spangly flip flops got closer and larger and more and more real.

Zeke and Stacie were with him that day and saw the whole thing. They watched her smile and wave and beckon, watched him running across the road towards her, heard the desperation in his voice when he called out 'Go on, I?ll catch you up'.

She was with another woman he had never seen before, fat and shabbily dressed, and they were both grinning like idiots. He knew they were drunk. What will I say? was all he could think as he stared at his mum, holding her cardigan tightly around herself and shivering in her summer shoes. He remembered exactly the appearance of her feet, veiny and mottled, and the sour smell of musty clothes and booze on her when she pulled him close, kissed his forehead and said to the other woman 'This is my boy. My little Dee'.

The woman has entered the precinct and is passing a boarded up pub and a row of un-let shop premises. It is exactly the route Damian had planned, and he tells himself
that maybe he isn?t following her; maybe he is just walking home to an empty house that smells of ashtrays, like any other day.

He wishes he could switch his brain off so that he wouldn?t have to think about his mum or remember the day he tackled Zeke a bit too roughly on the pitch. Zeke?s knee was badly grazed, his eyes wild with pain, and he hadn?t seemed to hear Damian?s apologies. Worthless bitch like your mum.

So, Zeke had been waiting to strike. He?d been sitting quitely on that knowledge, the truth that Damian?s mum had been stupid enough to expose. There was no comeback.

He recalls all this at the precise moment the woman turns into the alleyway, and it is then that he allows himself to say it in his mind, the actual words. I won?t be going to the West End with Zeke and Stacie tomorrow. They will go without me.

It is her laugh that seals it. It is raining in great sheets now, like the monsoon Mr Clive described to Damian once in class, and the woman?s trousers are transparent. A burst of thunder makes her jump and she shrieks with laughter down the phone and begins to run, taking small slippery steps in her stupid shoes.

Damian?s mind doesn?t catch up with his body until he is racing through Strangeways, past abandoned fridges and piled up rubbish bags and the corpse of a fox. It is then that he sees the woman lying face down in the road, a pink lady with no shoes on, the rain beating down.

He is almost at his block when he realises that he is still holding the knife in his right hand, and in his left hand the woman?s mobile phone, the only time in his life he has caressed the sleek, laser-cut curves of an iPhone. He flings them simultaneously into the rotting pit of Strangeways, throwing them high and far and hearing the clang of the blade as it hits the rusting carcass of an oven.

Damian leans against the entrance to his block. He looks at the blood on his shoes, his sleeve, his hands. He tries not to cry. His pocket is empty now. He is alone in the rain.

[jenroy29]

Very good, you have a very readable style, it's not my kind of story but my ds (in a few years) would probably enjoy this. I can't think of the word to descibe it but it's like you've really got into the mind of the teenage lad (if that is possible).
Good luck with completing it and I'll have a signed first edition please!

[BaggedandTagged]

There are some very good elements to this , and actually I think it is quite a good place to start a novel. Many new novelists think that they need to provide a lot of background/ introduce the whole cast before anything really happens, but most successful novels start with an incident of some relevance/importance to draw the reader in. The skill is balancing character and plot development from that point so that you create characters that the reader cares about whilst not getting bogged down in back story and letting the plot drift.

You have a strong and consistent voice, have created a credible, flawed protagonist and have sown the seeds of conflict. You don't make the errors of tense and point of view inconsistency that many beginner writers make

The only thing I would say is that you are trying to tell us too much about Damien "up front" (too much backstory)and hence the scene on the bus goes on too long. A lot of this detail could be brought in later to better effect.

I see this as young adult fiction. I'm not sure it would appeal to an adult market.

Keep the faith!

[ninah]

tremendous op
keep on keeping on