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Hellboy_is_cool_indeed
09-25-2008, 08:51 AM
A selection from a book I am writing. Please give me your thoughts, I'd appreciate it greatly...


Next in line was a wooden crate. It stood taller than a man of good height and as wide as two of ample girth. It had the name “Victor” and the Barron estate crest burned into the boards across its front.

James read the name aloud and with a raised eyebrow and looked at William rifling through a large tool chest, eventually producing a crowbar. “This is my pride and joy James, a continuation of my fathers work on vacuum tubes and triodes”

“Triodes?” James asked.

“Yes, triodes. My father had proposed the introduction of a third electrode into his vacuum tubes…” William replied as he popped nail after nail out of the front of the crate.

“The resulting triode grid can be used as both an amplifier and a switch. This, my dear friend, has enabled me to do some marvelous things. Stand back.” With that warning, William sent the final nail tumbling to the stone floor.

The front of the crate slowly came away from its frame, crashing down with a gust of wind and dust. James rubbed the dust from his eyes and focused his gaze the best he could on the contents of the box, now breached. He found it hard to see what could possibly be inside as the height of the container blocked the nearest overhead lamp.

Poking out from the darkness were the tips of two large red bulbs. William entered the crate and disappeared into the inky blackness. “Victor, say hello to James Fairfield.” James heard a series of switches being thrown. With a burst of ozone and a few sparks, the light bulbs came to life and chased the shadows from the crate.

Standing before James was a mechanical man. His torso was barrel sized and his appendages were uncomfortably spindly. James stepped backwards and to the side from the sight, and Victor followed his movements by turning his head.

“So, what do you think?” William asked, cleared pleased with himself.

“What in Gods name is it?”

“It’s a synthetic man. Well not totally, but for all intents and purposes, it’s a thinking automaton…look here.” William struck a match on his shirt button and threw it. Victor turned his head towards the burning stick, stepped down from the crate and, powered by vulcanized belts leading from his torso to wheels on either side of his hips, made noisy progress to retrieve it.

“How is this possible?” James said in a panic as the robot bent down to clasp the match in metallic fingers.

William walked to the rear of his mechanical creation and lit another match. Victor swung his head clean around to stare at it. “I’ll begin with the brains of the mechanism.” William undid hand screws on the back of victor’s large metal skull.

“Is his head an olive oil can?” James asked astonished and amused.

“It is. I found it to be strong and lightweight, perfect for holding a most precious cargo.” William replied as he loosed the last bolt and swung the unfixed door open. Inside was a monstrosity - a clamoring, multi-legged hissing monstrosity, shaped like a bulbous armored spade. It was affixed via glue and strapping to a central post. Numerous wires ran through drill holes in its back, and a small tube delivered water and plankton across its beam, keeping the animal moist and fed.

“Outrageous!” James screeched. “Is that a, I mean it can’t be a…”

“Yes, it is indeed a Horseshoe crab. It serves as Victor’s eyes, and for a lack of more appropriate terms, nervous system and primitive brain. It is kept very much alive as you can see, attached via high connectivity wires to a set of twelve vacuum tubes on his back. Inside each tube, is a series of triodes, each one acting as a switch.”

James walked around to Victor’s back and marveled at the long heat fired glass vacuum tubes adorning his spine like a porcupine’s quills. Each tube was protected to its tip by a drilled aluminum sleeve.

“The switches are connected in a looped series, and are constantly firing.” William reached around his creations waist and began unthreading more hand screws, opening Victor’s chest plate.

“Look here James, you may find this interesting as well.”

Victor’s chest cavity was divided into four separate compartments, each one connected by every manner and size of hose and wire imaginable.

“His heart consists of a compact, high efficiency boiler, belt and piston motor. Seawater, contained in this tank serves both as a fuel and a life lotion for our crabby friend above. Here a battery sits to power the network of tubes. And here a small generator, enabled by the salt water and driven by belt, continuously feeds the battery.”

“Remarkable” James replied dumbfounded.

“His senses are restricted to light observance, as my little lit match demonstration shows. The light sensors - located behind the grid on his face - are fused directly into the eye sockets of the crab.”

William lit another match and moved it from side to side. “My belief is that he is able to learn and store information using the triode switches, exponentially bolstering the crabs primitive brain functions, by permanently etching experiences into a honeycombed container of gelled electrolyte and Humboldt squid jelly, found here beneath the battery casing.”

James stroked his chin. “I’ve seen the method William, though I must admit I still don’t understand completely how you accomplished it, now what is the reason?”

“I plan use him as a weapon dear friend.”

“You don’t say, and how?” James shot back.

“By fitting him with a heavy caliber, quick firing automatic pistol of course.”

Victor slowly turned his head from left to right, following the almost spent match in Williams hand like a child might.

James was so entranced in thought didn’t even notice the light footfalls behind him.
A pair of milky white hands wrapped themselves around his face and across his eyes from behind.

“Hello James.”

“Olivia? Is that you?” He asked, putting his cold hands over a pair much warmer.

James turned to face Olivia Barron, William’s younger sister. She was a mere child of twelve the last time James had laid his eyes upon her; In ponytail and checkerboard skirts she would follow the older boys like a piglet does a farmer. But this was no girl. This was a woman. She was remarkably tall and quite slender in most ways, not in others. Her strawberry hair played gently over her fine shoulders. Her features were remarkably symmetric and true. James stared into her eyes, a yellowy blue and almost wolf like. He was breath-taken.

“Have you seen a ghost James?” Olivia asked with a smile.

“I asked him the same thing earlier!” William laughed as he slapped James on the back.

“It’s good to see you Olivia… you’ve grown…” James blurted.

“I see my brother has introduced you to his metallic horror… God how I hate that tin monstrosity, melt it in the oven at once William.” Olivia said as she placed the silk scarf she was wearing around Victor’s neck. The robot’s left arm trembled as if in protest.

“Damn it woman, I’ll melt you first” William screamed as he tore the scarf away, tied it around his waist and danced a pirate jig.

“That idiot butler is screaming throughout the house, William. He can’t find the good brandy!”

“Good lord, tell him to find the cook and he’ll find the brandy.” William snarled.

“Honestly I don’t know how my brother spends all his time in this ghastly room. Goodbye James, I hope I see you again very soon.” Olivia whispered, as she made her way back to the stairs, softly stroking his face as she went past.

James turned to watch her curved body disappear up the stone curved staircase.

“Your little sister is not so little anymore Will”.

“Indeed. Wretched thing... she’s peaks about you incessantly.” William said with a half smile as he led Victor back into his crate with another lit match.

“Really” James replied embarrassed.

“What is your situation with the finer lot James?” William asked from inside the dark box.

“And I inquire only because I know Olivia will pester me to no end about it.”

“A confusing and tragic tale I’m afraid.”

“Really? Do tell.”

“Victor doesn’t resent being in that crate?” James asked trying to change the subject.

“Not at all... Victor has stored nothing but pleasant memories of his father, most importantly my refilling of his feeding reservoir. Now let’s hear it, who’s imprisoned your heart?”

“Someone has imprisoned my heart Will, yet the one who has done the deed is imprisoned herself.”

“How’s that?” William asked while driving the final tack into Victor’s crate.

“Lucy, a medical study subject of mine, or more correctly a former medical subject I was studying for my thesis on neurosis and compulsive delusions, is the lady.”

William noticed the seriousness of James’ predicament and sat down beside him. “Go on Jim.”

“At first I only noticed her outer beauty, which was at odds with the ugliness swirling beneath. But then slowly, over time, I felt empathy for the poor creature. That empathy led to something much more I’ve come to realize.”

AbeSapien99
09-25-2008, 10:41 AM
Ooh, no time to read it right now, but I scanned over parts of it. Liking where it's going so far. I'll look at it more later, give you some better feedback.

I'm going to safely assume that, because this is in the Hellboy forum, that it is indeed a Hellboy novel? ;)

noble_enough
09-25-2008, 11:35 AM
I like it so far.
a few crits if i may...

“What in Gods name it?”
missing the 'is' i assume?

"Inside was a monstrosity. A clamoring, multi-legged hissing monstrosity shaped like a bulbous armored spade."
too much of the word monstrosity. used to closely together

thats about it, the only glaring things to me.
but yeah i likey likey
love to read more!

Hellboy_is_cool_indeed
09-25-2008, 11:40 AM
Not Hellboy, but i'm influenced by Mikes work.

Thanks. I haven't done a close edit yet. 100,000 words is scary to edit.

AbeSapien99
09-25-2008, 03:23 PM
William entered the crate and disappeared for into the inky blackness.

I don't think that "for" should be there.

James stared into her eyes, a yellowy blue and almost wolf like.

Maybe say something like "...a yellowy-blue and almost wolf-like in their intensity." or "...a yellowy-blue and almost wolf-life in appearance."

Other than that and a few punctuation errors (which I'm sure you'll find yourself when you go over it again ;) ), I really liked it. I can definitely tell there's some of Mike Mignola's influences in there, which is good. You've also managed to develop the characters well in only this little bit, so it's interesting to see just where you'll go with them. There's that whole sinister potential for the robot to turn evil... or at least, we kinda expect it to, but will it? Adds a nice bit of mystery.

One thing you should look at is the introduction of Olivia. You bring her in well... but then she just leaves too abruptly. You should expand on her part a bit, or at the very least explain it a little more clearly that the brandy issue is her reason for leaving so soon. (At least, I assume that's why she left?) At first it seemed like she just came to say hi and then ran off.

For the most part it's a good read. I definitely enjoyed it, would like to see where it leads. :)

Hellboy_is_cool_indeed
09-25-2008, 07:02 PM
Thanks, heres more:

Now crystallized after a violent birth, the shaggy monster began to slowly spin on an unseen axis. The face of the mammoth creature was now fully visible and he could clearly make out its mandibles working as if it was speaking, but no sound escaped its terrible lips. Its black eyes spun and pulsed as if on fluid jet streams. Time was frozen and his ears were buzzing like a beehive freshly smoked by the keeper.

James had suffered similar fit-like episodes in throughout his childhood, after a fever he had developed at a young age ravaged his body, leaving lesions on his brain causing delusions, compulsions and random fits. This particular fit was very strong however, much stronger than any of the others.

The creature stopped jawing at the air, and with a jolt James was knocked out of his stupor. Dr. Peterson was briskly and repeatedly calling his name from the front of the class.

“James, are you alright boy?”

“Yes Doctor, I am” he replied after a lengthy pause so he could focus his vision on the classroom, his brow bathed in sweat and goose pimples lining his arms. His classmates looked back at him as if they were staring at a ghost. James composed himself, smiled then reassembled his papers and began writing again.

At the end of the lecture the students filed out in steady order and Dr. Peterson retired to his office behind the hall. As James walked passed, he called out to him with a tone of concern.

“James, do you have a moment?”

“Yes doctor”, James said, poking his head into the doorway of the office.

“Come in boy and sit, we haven’t talked for a month of Sundays.”

Peterson’s office was dark, lit only by a table lamp set upon a huge oak desk too big for the room. The lamp’s blue glass shade gave the room a feeling of being under water, and this was soothing to most who visited him. Hung haphazardly on a yellowing skeleton was the professor’s hat and scarf. The air smelled like cigars, pipe smoke and black liquorish. Set upon his desk was a small lined notepad, a glass jar of the black candy he loved, and two wooden boxes, one holding tobacco, the other something more curious.

This box, lined top to bottom in crushed red velvet, held the professor’s glass eye when not in use. It was a simple box with a golden latch and the name Alexander engraved on the side. As James sat the professor removed his left eye with his thumb and forefinger, producing a popping noise, not unlike the noise made by striking ones fingers to a semi-opened mouth. This noise always startled James, but he knew what it was and tried to bring no attention to it. The professor returned the eye to its case, then produced an eye patch from his drawer and placed it on his head. The black monogrammed patch was functional if not appealing when he wore it, as it gave him an air of escapade and frivolity. Peterson was a man who looked much older than his years as a tough life of oyster farming as a child had betrayed his rather statuesque features. He had a semi-circular dotted scar running the length of his neck and upper chest, from his left ear to his right nipple. It was a memento from a seven-foot white shark. In return he gave the shark his left eye.

“How are you James” asked the professor.

“Fine sir” replied James, knowing full well that this impromptu meeting concerned his episode during class.

“I noticed you were uneasy at some points during my lecture… did you find the subject unappealing?” He queried with a smile and a tap of a long pipe on his armrest.

“Not at all Sir, not at all…I’ve been…well, feeling rather off for a few weeks now.”

“I see.” the professor shot back quickly as he lit the pipe with a Bunsen burner kept for that very task. “I must confess James, that I have been troubled by your appearance for some time. Your face seems to loose all circulation at times and takes on the appearance of those not long for this world.”
Though Alexander Peterson had but one eye, he saw into the hearts and minds of men better than most ever could. “Tell me James, are you having the night terrors you once told me about… have they returned?” he asked, cutting to the chase.

“Unfortunately, and I am embarrassed to admit it, they have.”

The professor sank back into his chair, never taking his eye off of James. He puffed quickly but deeply on his pipe, sending bilious clouds of smoke racing to the rafters stretched high above them.

“But today I had a daydream, one where I felt unconscious, like a nightmare. It was terrible Sir.”

Peterson took a few more quick puffs of his pipe, but these were shallow, and then placed the still lit pipe in a glass tray to his left.

“Fascinating… Don’t speak the specific details aloud. Save it all in your mind, both conscious and unconscious thought. Leave it unspoken. Store it and analyze it James, like we did when you were a child. Keep a journal of these thoughts.”

James didn’t reply for a good while. He sat there like a bird on a perch ruminating in his own thoughts, staring at the burning pipe. “These recent episodes are much different than those of my youth Professor, lucid and foreboding”.

“Still, I must believe the visions are simply manifestations of subconscious thought and suggestion…” Peterson said picking up his pipe and smacking his lips on its thin tip.

“I really can’t tell for sure as they are never totally clear, that is they are still somewhat blurry and dreamlike in their meaning.”

The professor nodded and then slowly rose from his chair and walked to the fireplace that stood in the corner of the office. Its mantle was dirty and grossly large for the room, being an artifact of the original prison asylum that stood on the academy grounds 20 years before. The lecture hall itself had originally been an open common room for inmates. This was a place where men were herded together like so much chattel to eat, spit and howl. Staring at the fireplace’s gaping maw, one could easily envision the riotous lunatics huddling around it for warmth, as the New England winters were commonly harsh.

With soot stained iron poker kept at fire side, the professor gave the hellhole’s glowing embers a good stir. The professor rested his arm on the mantle and placed his hand into his lab coat pocket, producing a piece of black liquorish, which he promptly snapped into his mouth. “Most interesting… I would assume perhaps that these visions continue to manifest themselves because of your childhood trauma… as we discussed previously… would you not agree?”
“I would have to agree with you Professor, however I have struggled over the years to decipher these visions completely, and this latest one has baffled me entirely”. James answered despondently.

“How is your Father James?” The professor queried, not necessarily changing the subject.

“Fine, I suppose. He continues his obsession with beetles, experimentation and the bottle I’m afraid. Actually professor you’ll be glad to hear he’s close to a breakthrough, with the beetles that is.”

Peterson raised the eyebrow above his patch and pointed his index finger in the air. “Outstanding. I must pay him a visit. I enjoyed reading about his progress in Scientific America last spring.”

James unconsciously writhed in his chair at those last words and stood and began to leave. “He would be happy to see you… I must run professor, I am late for my next class and I need to visit Lucy beforehand.”

Peterson coughed and held a monogrammed handkerchief to his mouth, “How goes that study James?”

“Good, but the poor girl’s progress is not.”

“I’m sorry to hear”.

“Yes well I really do question the latest round of water treatments professor, about their effectiveness that is.”

“Well I’m not a doctor of the mind, but I’d agree that such extreme physical manipulations may not necessarily bring about positive mental change…how I question that fool Professor Fredrick.” Peterson replied with a smile. James laughed and stood to leave.

“James, one last thing, and at the chance of sounding blunt, at your fathers request I have never discussed with you in depth your mother’s demise, but I see it continues to plague your mind. Discuss it with your father will you?”

James spun on his heels, “I’ve tried professor, but the subject causes great consternation with the man. He left most of himself at the foot of Mount St. Helens that night, and I do not wish to loose the rest.”

Peterson stared at the young man in his doorway and spoke softly, “Noble as always James… remember my counsel is always available to you and give my best to your father”.

“Thank you, and I will sir”.

Hellboy_is_cool_indeed
09-25-2008, 07:19 PM
Do you think my writing style is palatable and/or marketable?

AbeSapien99
09-25-2008, 08:33 PM
Your style is nothing too special, but there are literally thousands of books out there with nothing remarkable about them other than perhaps the story itself. I'd say it's definitely marketable with maybe a bit of fine tuning here and there (something an editor or publisher could/might be able to do). I think that even if you yourself went over your work once or twice you'd find lots of stuff to modify on your own... I know I do whenever I re-read.

Something I really like is your dialogue. It flows nicely and sounds authentic... not like it's scripted. Evidently this story is set in the past, and you've managed to avoid more 'modern' wording or slang.

Ah and one thing that bugs me: "How is your Father James?” The professor queried, not necessarily changing the subject. There really should be a comma before someone's name or title when another character is addressing them. As that is right now, it's almost as if the professor is asking how 'Father James' is doing... a priest named James comes to mind. :p In speech like that, it should be: "How is your Father, James?"

Kees_L
10-03-2008, 04:27 PM
I like the idea of Mignola-influenced books, _indeed.
Also I can say I agree on your dialogues seeming fluent and authentic. The whole style-deal in writing is both important as tedious I fear. I've had some schooling in writing and that was all much about how it's vital to have your texts be read through other peoples' eyes. Other peoples' eyes tend to focus differently to your own 'though, which might seem to be the case always and endlessly. Like in: The professor queried, not necessarily changing the subject. Could that also be:
'The professor queried, not especially wanting to change the subject.'
Or does that deviate too much?
All kinds of suggestions could be made by readers or professional editor people, which could feel to be chipping away on much of what you did initially offer for pure enjoyment. The suggestions and the chipping will probably be, because people can take very little distraction or feelings of hamperment (?) when reading, I'd wager. As they wish to be enthralled or captivated, effortlessly.
So, good of you to post this I say. And if you feel you're ready, simply try to get it published. Send it in somewhere, the 'vital parts' or how you like it. Finish it first though - would be my main advice - always try to finish what you start. As such you will be teaching yourself - and it will come in handy once you're a well-established author :wink:.

Hellboy_is_cool_indeed
10-08-2008, 07:00 AM
I'm guessing by the overall lack of reply, this is a thumbs down?

Global Honored
10-08-2008, 07:05 AM
Join a workshop...ie...free editing and critical analysis.

AbeSapien99
10-08-2008, 08:43 AM
Not necessarily a thumb down. This is a Hellboy forum, and while your story is Hellboy-esque, it doesn't directly pertain to him and his world. As Global Honored said, try and join a workshop for some advice/feedback.