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donfers

the first 1,000 words of a jumbled mess of an idea for a possible novel. Needs to be edited badly but here you go


Chapter 1: The Transfer

Everything about it seemed unremarkable. Another colourless morning. A man with very little on his mind. Waking was such a choir especially on rainy days. Too little time to do nothing, he dressed, gulped down some sweet drink and brushed his teeth, then left. Rain didn't matter too much to him. It fell on everybody and he imagined himself as some kind of defiant revolutionary against the forces of nature by refusing to use an umbrella or even a hat. He was already winning battles in his head but there was no real foe then. Walking to the bus-stop he didn't think of much; frustration at having to wait at traffic-lights, avoidance of large puddles and trying to perceive if the faces he met conveyed pity, indifference or solidarity with his unsheltered journey. He preferred not to think of work. Three years into the job and still his ambition was limited to preventing his boss finding out how little he actually did. Turning left he entered the main square where his stop was, the bus hadn't arrived yet. Again, the waiting. The spectacular predicability of its lateness. He sighed and stopped, unable to move. Panicking, all was black. Confusion and awareness of self and thoughts going everywhere and no explanation. The blackness that engulfed him was so complete, a part of him admired it. But the paralysis of body was terrifying. It flooded through him with nowhere to go. He wanted to scream, to explode, to feel but not even a sound. But the thoughts kept coming. What is this? What can it be? A dream? A stroke? Where am I?
On and on and not knowing when it would end, or even if it would end which was worse. HIS heart racing and drops of sweat forming everywhere. He could feel them and that confused him even more. Just his thoughts and the blackness and it felt so different from a dream, it felt so real. He had already woken, he was sure of it. He couldn't pinch himself but he was sure of it and then the light, the most beautiful light and if this was death then bring it on!
But what is death? Is it a large talking panda wearing glasses? He doubted that but couldn't rule it out for whoever experienced death could hardly return and say this unless ridicule and psychiatric valuation were appealing. He made a kind of exhausted yelp, a little fascinated and a lot fearful of the absurdity of his companion.
“You'll shortly be able to move freely, try not to fret, I am aware the reality before you is disorientating” the panda said almost nonchalantly.
Not sure if he should laugh or cry, not sure if he was dead or alive, not sure where, how or what he was, all he needed at that moment was the added uncertainty of if he should engage in verbal communication with the creature before him.
Gawking at the wonder of the beast, he merely nodded as if he was somehow unable to believe what had passed, as if some tv prank show was about to reveal itself. If he could move he would pull and tear at the panda's fur to test if it were indeed a costume. Despite the utter bewilderment of everything he at least consoled himself that he was still thinking rationally. Paranoia, disbelief, cynicism; these would be the last things to leave him.
“Can you feel my nose?” the panda said. On all fours it sniffed around his feet before prodding at them with his large black nose.
“Yes, yes I can” the patient answered hurriedly, wanting the rather unconventional medical examination to end.
“Hmmmm.....ok then, rest a while now, you've had quite the journey, I'll return later Jack” then he turned and slowly walked from view.
Suddenly, Jack became aware of his surroundings. There was no evidence of anything that he might call furniture. He was lying horizontally but felt no support beneath. It was as if he was suspended in midair and as he gazed around searching for walls, or some evidence of even being in some kind of room, he found none. Looking left and right, up and down all he could see was light, nothing but light. He felt tiny and trapped and alone. Beginning to panic he tried to get up but there was no bed to get up from. To stand vertical having some kind of discernible ground helps and although he could now move, it was an awkward experience. The closest comparison his mind could draw on was floating on water, it certainly didn't feel like flying. Who flies feet first he thought to himself as he felt his body move a little to wherever west went. He thought he had travelled not very much distance at all as there were no objects to judge his movement by. After a short while, he began to feel queasy and felt an urgent need to be upright. Unsure of how to achieve this without support he struggled in vain for some time to thrust his body in one sudden movement from a horizontal to a vertical postion. After expending so much energy the solution was annoyingly simple. He simply raised his back first and then bent his knees and lifted his behind, straightening his legs. At first the idea scared him as he feared a fall but he eventually he trained himself to trust the bizarre new realities before him. For what little it was worth, he was now upright. A small part of him felt he had tamed his new environment, the rest of him felt like a toddler on the moon. He still couldn't see anything but the light and was a little ashamed that he yearned for the return of a bespectacled talking panda.

DeBunny

I'm not a writer but I enjoy reading, and to be honest I didn't enjoy reading that.
Like you said it needs editing. It was way too cluttered to get me interested in a talking panda. I think if your going to be surreal you need to be concise.

I like the idea of walking in the rain being a choir though.

EileenG

In another thread, there was a discussion about how a lot of boring details at the start don't convey the mundane, they just make the story boring.

In this case, I'd be inclined to start with "He realised he was floating (naked?) in mid air. His last coherent memory was walking to the bus stop to go to work like any other Tuesday, but there were vague flashes of a talking panda. Around him was...." and fill in the details. You need more details to show where he was, I couldn't picture it from what you had. Flashback to important details, but get the story moving.

All the stuff about brushing his teeth and why he didn't have an umbrella just slowed the story down to the point where most people would stop reading. It might have been no harm to mention his job, though. If the story is about a brain surgeon or investigative reporter, we'll have different expectations than if it's about a shelf packer in Pennys.

pickarooney

I managed to every single thing possible wrong with the opening chapter of my first effort. It has proved impossible to undo without excising the main character from the book altogether.

You get psychologically/emotionally attached to certain parts of your writing and will resist all suggestions, no matter how pertinent to change it drastically. I think it's not a bad idea to leave the opening chapter until the very end as it will make it easier to jettison the non-essential bits when reviewing.