It's Author Fun

Huh?

2017-08-20T11:48:00.001-05:00

Ben, why are you looking at so wierd?

I broke my neck again.

Ah Ben, geez. Alex walked over to the cabinet and pulled out a new SR-91 spinal system from Championship Robotics. Turn around. Ben, out his back to Alex. Alex slowly unfastened the bolt clips along Ben's back, carefully removed the old spine, then bolted in the new one.

We're almost out, I'll stop by Wallet World and pick up a few more. But you need to be more careful.

******

There council is just maniquin robots, being controlled by the director. The people feel there is a system, but they are actually under the control of a single leader.

Alexi Slovanovic will change all of that.

Dancing Ice

2017-01-12T13:14:00.002-06:00

Dancing Ice

Shimmers of light glanced off the icicles hanging from the eaves of the winter cabin, prisms of a pure and clean world. A blanket of fresh powder covered the ground. Aditi sat on the window sill, watching Jeff shovel snow. Grumbling to himself, complaining about how hard it was on his back. Jeff was a human, and like most humans, he’d lost sight of the wonder of winter.

Aditi had previously attempted to reach him, convince him to open his eyes and see but he was deaf and blind to her presence. With a deep sigh, she floated up to her place above the cabinets. She was preparing for spring. Her work was to make the flowers more colorful, and the animals more playful. She did her job well for the past 3,000 years. She’d avoided humans for the most part, but Jeff was an exception. There was something about him that made her happy and sad at the same time. She knew Yah had a plan for this one, but he just couldn’t see it.

So she set up her shop in his cabin and watched over him. She saved him from countless times he’d left the stove on, forgotten to close the door during bear season, or the time he was distracted and nearly walked into the street while a garbage truck was driving through town. That was harder because she had to get his attention, which was so hard to do. She finally pinched his neck. She didn’t like hurting him but it was better than seeing him run over by a garbage truck.

Having completed her preparations for the day, Aditi put on her warmest outfit, fluttered her wings, and took off through the vent in the ceiling. She made her way outside, past Jeff and his grumbling shovel, and went to find more supplies. This would be the best spring she’d ever put on. The other elves would be so happy or jealous, she wasn’t sure which!

TBC...

By Darrell Wolfe

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Distortion - Street Noise - Scene One Rewrite - In Progress...

2016-10-26T20:27:00.000-05:00

A man in black rushed behind a gray Chevy Suburban across the street. Theron "Ash" Ashland spotted him through the window of The Grounded Café while waiting for his morning Java Chip Frappe'. Wait, was he wearing combat gear?

Ice-shards tore down his spine, his heart skipped a beat. The muscles in his right arm tensed as he reached for the Glock 9mm holstered on his side. Huh? He shook his head, on second glance the man was gone, a cloud of charcoal dust whisping into the air from under the SUV.

A breath slowly escaped his lungs, Ash released his grip on what he originally thought was his Glock 9mm, but he now realized was a holstered steel tape measure. He wasn't licensed to carry anymore, so he typically didn't. He let his arm slowly lower to his side as he closed his eyes. Deliberately inhaling slowly, silently counting to ten, . The scents of blonde roast and espresso filled his mind and centered him.

Eight years away from any war zone and apparitions still haunt him. Eyes open again, the world returned to normal. No threats. No combat zone. Just passers-by; shoppers on a crowded small-town tourist street in Orion, Oregon. A town known for its big-game hunting cabins, as well as its boutiques and quaint scenery.

The reflection of the café window caught the silver lining the side of his head. Ash thought it made him look wiser, almost regal. The creases near his eyes and lips betrayed a man older than he actually was. You're too damn young to feel this old buddy, Ash thought. Despite multiple tours in hot arid deserts, he still couldn't hold a tan. He turned red, pealed, and turned white again. He enjoyed these mountains as it rarely got above 85 degrees in the heat of summer.

Movement from above, just outside the window caught his attention. The shade of a Basswood tree was crawling down the sidewalk for the days' last stretch. A yellow and orange leaf twirled down, landing on a coffee table on the empty patio.

A young college girl walked by outside, face glued to her screen like so many others. She bumped into an elderly homeless gentlemen but didn't look up, or give any indication to acknowledge the incident. The old man walked off mumbling to himself. A gray dust cloud hung around the girl's shoulders like a shawl, and riding the cloud was a small green frog with red eyes. Its legs disappeared into the mist, becoming one with it.

As she passed, the frog held Ash's gaze; head turning unnaturally backward. He shuddered, no matter how many times he saw them, they were still creepy. They weren't always frogs, and they weren't often cute. Even after eight years of seeing the various creatures crawling on people, they were sometimes terrifying.

He was coping with combination of Prazosin, Dr. Pepper, and Jack Daniels; and a guarded distance from his fellow man. It was dangerous to spend too much time talking anyone, he'd learned to shield his reactions to the dust clouds and companions that appeared and disappeared at will, but the reactions sudden appearances sometimes caused him to jump at the wrong point in the conversation.

To the best of his knowledge, nobody else could see the colorful dust clouds that wrapped people like a shawl or overcoat, nor the variety of creatures that accompanied some of them. Each person's cloud seemed to be colored by their mood or attitude. Not everyone had a creature companion, but many did. This insight was his unique gift, a prize brought home from overseas.

"Don't worry so much," Ash could still hear his doctor's advice from their last session a few weeks earlier. "We’re just beginning to understand PTSD and many veterans come back with hallucinations. The mind is a marvelous adapter to stress. As long as these phantoms do not interrupt your daily work, or cause you to want to harm yourself or others, you should be fine. Consider yourself lucky. Just think of them as a construct of your over-active imagination, an amusing distraction from the mundane realities of life."

"Ash," the Barista called him back to the present. "One Java Chip. Are you ever going to let me talk you into trying something else?"

Ash turned from the glass reflection, walked to the counter, and replied, "I doubt it, Jake, maybe next time," He grabbed a sleeve and slipped it on the plastic cup. Even in winter he wanted cold drinks, a thirst from hot desert war zones that could never be quenched.

"That's what you said last week. You working on anything new lately?" Jake asked.

Ash forced a smile and glanced up to look Jake in the eye, no creature today. Ash took stuttered breath and replied, "Yeah, I've got a few new pieces. Just dropped them off this morning over at Woodmen Furnishings. You should go by later, a few of the other craftsmen were there... lots of new inventory."

"Will do," Jake said as he turned back to start another order. "Good to see you, as always."

Ash nodded and said, "You too," as he headed to a far corner and found his favorite leather chair.

He glanced around the café before taking a seat. Two women were talking about their kids. Three teenagers typing away on laptops as though their life depended on it. Two men had just arrived while he was waiting, they were having a meeting. One with glasses, the other in a black turtleneck. Always keep your back to the wall, stay as inconspicuous as possible. The need to be hyper-vigilant was like breathing, it never stopped. With the possible exception of the guy in the turtleneck who looked like he could handle himself, the room seemed fairly free of danger for the moment. He'd still keep an eye on Mr. Turtleneck. He bit his lip and sighed, You're doing it again... He took his seat, the leather hugged him like a cool blanket.

The morning paper had been abandoned on a nearby table, as was the café custom. He reached to grab it when he noticed several people outside turning and staring in the same direction. Others ran from across the street to join a crowd that was developing just outside the window. Whatever had their attention was just out of view.

Not one to ignore possible danger, he reluctantly got back up and headed outside. After he exited the front door, he turned to the crowd. The man with the glasses followed from inside the coffee shop, turtleneck in tow. Turtleneck bumped into him. "Excuse me," the man said flatly but he kept walking.

A voice from the direction of the crowd was yelling something he couldn't quite hear. He could see the white hair of a man's head bobbing back and forth, "I know-- I know--- Shut up you!" the man kept repeating.

Ash wasn't going to get a good view from here, so he walked around the outside of the crowd, keeping his distance from actually touching anyone. The whisps of colorful dust rose and fell off each person. When people were close together like this the dust combined, grow even. He avoided getting near it if he could help it.

A woman in a red hoodie rushed passed him to join the crowd and knocked the coffee out of his hand. The lid popped off, contents spilling down the front of his jeans as it tumbled to its final resting place on the asphalt.

"Dang lady, watch it!" He said. She paid no attention, engrossed in whatever was happening just beyond his field of vision. "Whatever," he said, more to himself than her, and worked his way around the crowd.

A small boy in blue and white overalls let go of his mother's hand and started walking across the street. Ash's fingers fidgeted with the edge of his shirt, eyes darting between the boy, the oblivious mother, and up and down the street. "Ma'am?" he tried to call, but his voice cracked and she didn't hear him.

Not wanting to be accused of trying to hurt or take the child, Ash waited to see if the mother would notice but a car turned the corner. Sprinting to the middle of the road he grabbed the toddler and moved him out of the way of the oncoming traffic. The car barely stopped, looking at the commotion rather than the road. The kid laughed loudly, as though it were a game. The mother turned and saw Ash with him, eyes wide. Then she turned and saw the car that had just passed. Her eyes darted to the ground and back to the child. He skin turned a shade whiter.

Ash walked back across the street, child in his arms. "Ma'am, you really ought to be more careful. He ran out into the road." He handed the child back to her.

"Oh my baby! Thank you so much," she replied and turned to the child. She wagged her finger in his face, "How dare you scare Mommy like that! No! You hold my hand!"

He shook his head and sighed. Sure - it's the kids fault. Crazy people. The child, now glued on his mother's hip, smiled at him over her shoulder. The rock façade Ash kept in place for adults melted a little in the presence of happy kids. Ash smiled back, stuck his tongue out, and made a silly face. The little boy laughed. Kids were easier to handle than adults. No expectations of proper behavior. They either didn't notice you were being odd, or better, they appreciated you for it.

From this vantage point, Ash got a better view of the man yelling. He was wearing a tattered suit, head and shoulders above the crowd.

(Left off here)

Ash made his way further around the crowd and found a clearing on the opposite side. He pushed past a few people at the edge of the building and stepped onto the sidewalk. The elderly man, the one the little girl bumped into earlier, was now standing on the bed of a pickup truck. A tattered brown dress coat, stained with years of unwashed use, hung over his thin skin like a cape. The coat may have been black in a former life. A scruffy white beard hid his gaunt features.

It was Frank, now that he could get close enough to see him up close. Frank was one of the several train-hopping hobos that made camp on the outskirts of town. He came to pick up his Social Security check every month about this time. Ash had tried to reach out to him a few times, sat next to him on the bench and talked about the war. In his more lucid moments, Frank would tell Ash about Vietnam and tease Ash about having all the high-tech gear. Apparently, this was not one of his more lucis moments. In fact, he'd never seen him this bad. Frank was pulling strands of hair out of his own head arguing with what other people probably thought was an invisible force. The dents on the roof of the truck revealed the source of some of the noises he couldn't make out earlier. Then Franks eyes narrowed and he went into a fit and started banging his fists on the hood.

"Hey-- Stop it-- That's my truck you old idiot-- " a teenage boy yelled but stayed back.

Ash scanned the crowd for anyone to assist with the situation. The man with the glasses had managed to shove his way through on the other side of the crowd. Maybe that's Turtleneck's real job. Glasses had his eyes fixed on his tablet and not directly the scene, taking pictures no doubt, tourists. Several other's had their cameras on, taking live video. They always live behind their camera taking selfies and posting videos. Why can't people just be present, in the moment? Nobody seemed too interested in approaching the scene. Ash pulled out his flip-phone and pressed number one and held it a moment. I'm probably the last person on the planet without a smart phone, he thought. Orion PD displayed on the little screen, and he held it up to his ear.

"Yell-oh," his friend George answered.

"George. Ash. We need you down in front of the café. Frank, the old timer, he's gone totally off his rocker and he's causing property damage this time."

"I'll be right there," George replied. "See what you can do to keep him from hurting anyone."

"Heard," Ash said and closed the phone and put it in his pocket.

Frank stopped beating the truck top momentarily and lifted his eyes to the sky and screamed, "You always did love Mother best-- I know-- That's why-- You couldn't keep your mouth shut--". The rest of his words were unintelligible.

Ash turned his attention to the dust cloud rising up off Frank's shoulders. A creature emerged from the dust, only the top half visible. It bore some resemblance to a sloth but moved more quickly. It swayed from shoulder to shoulder, shouting in each ear, visibly agitated. Ash couldn't hear the creature, he never could, but it was obviously feeding the other side of the conversation Frank had been having.

The hair on his neck rose as he watched it. Could this be me if I stop taking my medication? He shuddered at the thought.

Frank's conversation was going badly and he started beating his forehead into the roof of the truck several times before slowing to an unsteady stop. Blood poured down the old man's face from a gash in the left side of his temple. He grabbed his face and bowed his head and started sobbing.

At the site of blood, someone shouted "Careful! He might be diseased." The crowd responded in unison with several steps backward, widening the semi-circle now almost fully formed around the truck and building.

I guess it's up to me, Ash thought. "Frank," he said and took a step forward to see if he could coax the man off the bed of the truck. "It's alright Frank. It's me, the high-tech woosie you love talking to. Come on down buddy." Three feet from the bed of the truck, Ash raised and offered his hand.

A larger creature rose from the mist behind Frank. This one had a different quality about it, more tangible. The bottom was still rooted in the dust rising and falling from Frank. The top of the creature was like that of a man, but it had the head of a bull with long horns shooting out to each side and curving upward. The Bull-thing was over nine feet tall, black skin made of charcoal, three white streaks across and down its chest in white chalk.

The bull creature cocked its head to one side and stared Ash in the eye. Its eyes were pools of black-smoke, billowing from their sockets. They pierced through him as none of the previous creatures he'd seen before. Other creatures seemed more interested in their hosts than Ash, but this one was staring him down. A fog entered his mind, his vision clouded over slightly. The muscles in Ash's jaw tightened, and he took a step back. A tingle ran down his thighs, he felt like he was suffocating.

The Bull-thing's mouth curved upward, eyes narrowed. It slapped the smaller creature into stillness and it disappeared into the mist. Frank looked confused at the sudden silence. The larger creature leaned down and spoke something into Franks' ear. The creature stood upright and evaporated back into the dust cloud. Frank turned to look at Ash, whose hand was still out to help him down. He looked at Ash's hand as though it were a weapon or snake. Frank's eyes narrowed, face contorted. He screamed, "Ahhhhh!" and the truck bed gave a rusty creak as Frank leapt to the ground, spry for an otherwise elderly man. Head tilted awkwardly to one side, he ran at Ash with a wild deranged look in his eye.

Ash tried to step out of the way, or run, but his legs were now glued to the pavement. He raised his hands to prepare for a fight, but Frank jumped at him before he could properly react, they both went tumbling to the sidewalk.

Ash's head slammed into the concrete sending his vision swirling with white dots, and a throbbing throughout his skull. He could feel Franks' hands on his neck, tearing into the flesh. Making a fist, he aimed a punch at Frank through the white dots, where he figured his head would be. Frank released his grip with one hand and loosened the other.

Ash caught his breath. "Jesus," he cried as he recoiled at the throbbing in his throat and gagging on the scent of unwashed clothing.

Frank backed up and looked confused momentarily, as though he didn't know where he was.

Ash took the opening, kicked Frank in the chest and sent him sprawling backward. He struggled to his feet and half-fell forward as he punched Frank with a right-hook to the jaw. Frank spun back and fell to the sidewalk, unconscious. Ash fell beside him, one hand on his back and one hand on the ground. He took a deep breath, the skin on his throat burned. He reached to feel the man's neck for a pulse, still alive. Good.

Sirens pierced the air as a patrol car sped to stop a few feet away. Two officers got out and ran over, stopping just in front of Ash and Frank.

"Dang old man," George the police officer said. "You still got it!"

"I'll say. Remind me not to get on your bad side," the younger deputy said, cuffing the unconscious old man.

"Hey Ash, those cuts look pretty bad. You OK? " George asked.

Ash rose to his knees, took a few deep breaths. The throbbing in his skull was subsiding, but his muscles were fast becoming sore from the altercation. "Let me get you something for your neck," George said as Ash sat on a the curb. The deputy was kneeling next to Frank, checking pulse, talking codes into his shoulder-talkie.

A few quick swabs, and a band-aide or too was all he needed. "Want to file a report?" George asked as he finished with the bandages.

"Maybe later George, I'll let you know," Ash gave George the look they'd agreed on one day when they met for coffee after the Veteran's support group meeting. He was hoping George would leave it alone.

"Alright," George said and held his gaze a moment longer. He nodded as though he'd made up his mind and walked over to Frank. He turned over his shoulder, "But I want to see you tomorrow morning, you hear?"

Ash nodded, relieved to get away from the scene. So many people staring at him was making his skin crawl.

George looked down at Ash's jeans, "You get yourself cleaned up, we need to take Frank in anyway."

The two officers each grabbed one of Franks' arms and laid him in the back of the squad car. They didn't bother to belt him, body awkwardly sprawled across the back seat. The patrol car backed up and took off down the street.

"Are you OK sir?" a male voice spoke from in front of him. A pair of highly polished leather shoes now occupied the ground in front of Ash's vision. Ash looked up slightly, the voice came from the man in glasses. He was wearing a yellow polo, with two overlapping Es, and gray slacks.

"I'll be alright," Ash replied reaching for the bump growing on the back of his head.

"That was quite brave," Glasses said. "To step up when others stepped back."

"Brave or stupid," Ash chuckled. "Ow..." the laughter hurt his head.

"Your coffee spilled," Glasses observed. "Every do-gooder deserves a reward. Can I get you another?"

With heart still stampeding through his chest, Ash replied, "Thanks for the offer, Mr.--?"

"Briar. Dr. Briar actually," the man replied.

"Well thanks for the offer Dr. Briar, but I've had enough excitement for one day. I just need to get home, and cleaned up." And a shower... and something way stronger than coffee....

"Another time then," Dr. Briar smiled, his pudgy flat face pinched a little too tight around the cheeks. Too interested, too helpful. But maybe Ash was over-reacting, considering the incident he just endured. Then again, turtleneck's total lack of personality kept him on the edgy side. Nah, he thought. You're doing it again....

He stood from the curb and waved them off. Ash walked down the street, wanting to get home, his refuge from humanity, as fast as possible. He needed to escape, re-center, and espresso wasn't going to do it this time. He needed a medically induced coma, 6 hours if he was lucky. He turned back one more time to glance at the location of the incident. Glasses was still watching him, turtle neck still behind. A nauseousness crept into his belly, and he turned back toward his truck. Ash kept an eye on window panes and the mirrors on cars he passed, to ensure he wasn't being followed.

In the town parking lot, just behind the main buildings, was his escape. The 1977 Ford F-150 wore a faded blue paint job, with the rust spot accents. He adjusted the mirror again, ensuring no one was watching him. The engine turned over like a beast waking from slumber. The Marvel-Beast bobble head shook with the roar of the engine. The cool-smooth-glass floor shifter knob was a familiar tactile sensation in his palm, and his stomach calmed a bit.

He made his way down main street. A few miles down the highway, he turned onto a private road. Taking the driveway two more miles into the woods, he parked in front a two story cabin-style home.

Ash glanced back one last time, ensuring nobody followed him. He paused and listened for any sounds out of the ordinary, tires on the gravel, shuffling in the house, a branch breaking. Paranoia satisfied, he inserted the key, opened the door, and flipped the switch.

Office to the left, den to the right, hallway, secure. He made his way down the hall to the kitchen, grabbed an orange bottle from the shelf and twisted the white top. They should call these adult-proof. Two blue peacekeepers dropped into his hand. He placed the pills on the counter, took a large plastic Braveheart collectors cup out of the dish drying rack. The pills washed down nicely with Dr. Pepper and Jack Daniels, half and half, over ice.

The stairs to the second floor were hard on his knee caps, but he managed with one hand, keeping a tight grip on the cup of sleep. The fight replayed in his mind. Ash walked over to the bookcase and pushed it aside, revealing a large steel Liberty Safe. A few spins of the dial, and the heavy door swung open. He may not be licensed to carry anymore, but that didn't stop him from keeping a stash of weapons, dating back several generations of Ashland's leading on up to his retirement from the United States Air Force, Special Tactics unit. Tonight felt safer with having something nearby, so he grabbed the Glock 9mm, two extra clips, and the holster and stashed them in the kitchen drawer so they'd be handy, just in case. House alarm set, he made his way out onto the patio which was tucked away out of sight. Police report, he remembered and grabbed a sticky note and stuck it to the face of the flip-phone.

The hammock swung slightly, creaking as it adjusted to his weight. It enveloped him like a cocoon, shielding him from the events of the day. The first signs of stars peeped through the evening sky. A chorus of crickets and critters chirped, his heart settling into the rhythm of the night as Ash finished off the last of Dr. Daniels' magic potion. The image of the man-bull lingered in his mind, so real, he laid his head down and the image faded to sweet nothingness.

The mess hall wasn't much to look at, a building in the middle of a desert Air Force base, thrown together with gray cinderblocks and a make-shift kitchen. It was over one hundred fifteen degrees outside, but the mess hall managed to keep a balmy ninety-five. The last of what passed for French fries sat on the tray in front of him. "Did you hear what General Akbar said?" two soldiers at the table in front of Ash were talking. "Yeah, another three months of this hell-hole." Ash stood, grabbed the brown plastic tray that doubled as a plate and walked to the trash to dump it.

There was a bright flash, a shockwave propelled him face first onto the wall, all went dark momentarily. When he came to, Ash found himself on the floor of what was left of the mess hall. For a moment Ash was deaf, accept a high pitched frequency ringing in both ears. Vision returning, bracing his hand on the wall, he raised to his feet, the air cleared some but smoke still obscured the scene as he tried to see what happened.

Heart racing, hearing normalizing. Nothing felt broken, everything moved. He took a step, nothing hurt. He tried to make out his immediate surroundings. The ceiling was caved in, mostly rubble. "Help me with this!" one soldier barked to another, they lifted several fallen cinder blocks from a fallen soldier's leg. From what Ash could tell from this distance it would need to be amputated. Another concussion came from outside, a cloud of dust and smoke rose to the sky, which was now visible from inside the mess hall.

Ash glanced once more at the scene in front of him, there were enough rescuers, he needed to stop the onslaught. He pushed through some fallen wall nearby and paused to listen. A third explosion hit a building on the far side of camp, there didn't seem to be a pattern.

An image of the armory, his rifle; he ran down the lane and hooked a left to the Armory. Rifle in hand, Ash took off and found a steel communications tower just higher than the rest of the buildings, and climbed to a small flat spot he could use as a nest. They were targeting large buildings, it was a risk, but an educated risk.

Ash steadied his breathing, after the long run and climb, and positioned himself low on the flat surface of the tower so his profile would be nearly invisible on the horizon. The high powered scope revealed ten men, faces covered by their keffiyehs and robes, hiding behind an outcropping of rocks and three old jeeps. Two of them were holding rocket launchers, two others were helping re-load. The rest were stationed around them with AK-74M Assault Rifles, ready to defend their position.

Taking aim at the bulky portion of the first rocket launcher itself, and not its handler, should incapacitate it, and Ash rarely missed. The unit exploded in its handlers face.

He looked away. This was his first kill, but his stomach turned a little each time. It's us or them, they'd started this, he would finish it. His blood boiled at the decision. Resolved, he peered back through his scope and found the small band of attackers had turned toward their fallen comrade, surprised by the explosion. The look on their face said that they thought it had malfunctioned.

That gave him the few seconds he needed to line up the second shot. A second explosion took the remaining rocket launcher and its handler out of commission. "Yes," he hissed to himself. The band no longer posed an immediate threat to his buildings from this distance, not with those rifles, but they were still a threat. A threat now reduced to eight with no long range weapons. Three of the men decided to leave the relative safety of the outcropping and run the mile and half of open desert firing at the outer walls of the base. Like ducks flying from a bush. Ash aimed and fired. Seven. Six. Five left. He re-centered his scope on the rocks, the remaining five popped up periodically, firing aimlessly.

Whack A Mole, he thought briefly, and a "hmph" escaped his throat. Ash fired each time he found a clean shot. Four. Three. Two. For less than 30 seconds, there was stillness from the desert. A shadow by the farthest Jeep. The last two crawled inside, the Jeep sped away from the scene. They were keeping low, out of sight. Ash aimed at the back of each front seat. Two. One. The vehicle drove erratically and crashed into the hill a little further out. The front gates of the base opened as an armored attack vehicle raced out. They'd clean up anything he missed, his job was done.

Back on solid ground, he surveyed the scene. Devastation. By the time he'd taken the rocket launchers out, there were four buildings decimated. The dead would be counted after the rescue was over. Despite the sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach that wouldn't leave, he chose to feel no remorse about the job he had to stop the attack. He brushed the feeling aside and ran to back to the mess hall to clean up.

As he ran down the street toward the mess hall, the scene turned white and morphed. Now he was jogging down a long hallway with white walls and porcelain tiles. He stopped before a door, tugged on his shirt, and glanced down at the letter he'd received that morning. "Due to valor in the line of fire, you are hereby invited to join an experimental program for soldiers with your unique skill set. Your invitation and participation is optional - classified as Top Secret. Please report for a briefing at 10:00 hours..." Ash glanced at his watch, 2 minutes to 10:00. The door plaque read: General Akbar.

He raised his hand and knocked. "Come," the voice replied. Ash opened the door, "Permission to enter, Sir?" General Akbar looked up, "Come in soldier." As he entered, General Akbar stood-

The image morphed again, General Akbar's uniform was now worn by a larger man shaped body, with the head of a bull. White striped streaked across its face.

The scene turned to black...

The sound of crickets slowly brought Ash back to his cabin patio. The hammock swinging slightly in the mountain breeze through the mountain pass. Another one, ugh. He rubbed his eyes and glanced at his wrist. 3:00 hours. His body ached, his heart was racing but his mind was foggy. Like it hadn't fully kicked on. Why would anyone live in a big city? Ugh... I need to go to town and file that report. Maybe George will come up here instead...

A single falling star shot across the night sky among the backdrop of a clear milky way. He decided to lay there until his mind rebooted or shut down.

END Scene 1

Me@DarrellWolfe.com

Posttraumatic Stress Disorder and Schizophrenia and Medication for PTSD

By Darrell Wolfe

See my full about page and disclosures: Click Here.
Also check out my Resources and Suggestions for writers (here).
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For Non-Fiction writing by Darrell Wolfe: Click Here

Distortion - Street Noise - Scene One Rewrite (Edited 10/08/16)

2016-10-24T07:53:00.000-05:00

Ice shards tore down his spine, his heart skipped a beat. The muscles in his right arm tensed as he reached for the Glock 9mm holstered on his side. He shook his head, on second glance the man was gone, a cloud of charcoal dust whisping into the air from under the SUV.

A breath slowly escaped his lungs, Ash released his grip on what he originally thought was his Glock 9mm, but he now realized was a holstered steel tape measure. He wasn't licensed to carry anymore, so he typically didn't. He let his arm slowly lower to his side as he closed his eyes. Taking a deliberately slow breath, he inhaled counting to ten, silently. The scents of blonde roast and espresso filled his mind and centered him.

Even after eight years, war long over, he still could not trust what he first sees. Eyes open again, the world returned to normal. No threats. Just passers-by, shoppers on a crowded small town tourist street in Ashland Oregon. A young lady walked by outside, face glued to her screen like so many others. She bumped into an elderly homeless gentlemen but didn't look up, or give any indication to acknowledge the incident. He walked off mumbling to himself. A gray dust cloud hung around her shoulders like a shawl, and riding the cloud was a small green frog with red eyes. Its legs disappeared into the mist, becoming one with it. As she passed, the frog held Ash's gaze; head turning unnaturally backward. He shuddered, no matter how many times he saw them, they were still creepy.

To the best of his knowledge, nobody else could see the colorful dust clouds that wrapped people like a shawl or overcoat, nor the creatures that accompanied them. Each persons' cloud seemed to be colored by their mood. Not everyone had a pet creature, but many did. This insight was his unique gift, a prize brought home from overseas.

"Don't worry so much," Theron "Ash" Ashland could still hear his doctor's advice from their last session a few weeks back. "We’re just beginning to understand PTSD and many veterans come back with hallucinations. The mind is a marvelous adapter to stress. As long as these phantoms do not interrupt your daily work, or cause you to want to harm yourself or others, you should be fine. Consider yourself lucky. Just think of them as a construct of your over-active imagination, an amusing distraction from the mundane realities of life." The medication seemed to help, a little. The visions were no less common but he felt more detached from them now, a casual observer.

Movement from above, just outside the window caught his attention. The shade of a Basswood tree was crawling down the sidewalk for the days' last stretch. A yellow and orange leaf fell, landing on a coffee table on the empty patio.

"Ash," the Barista called. "One Java Chip. Are you ever going to let me talk you into trying something else?"

"I doubt it, Jake, maybe next time," Ash replied and grabbed a coffee sleeve.

"That's what you said last week. You working on anything new lately?" Jake asked.

Ash glanced at him, forced a smile, and replied, "Yeah, I've got a few new pieces. Just dropped them off this morning over at Woodmen Furnishings. You should go by later, a few of the other craftsmen were there... lots of new inventory."

"Will do," Jake said as he turned back to start another order. "Good to see you, as always."

Ash said, "You too," as he headed to a far corner and found his favorite leather chair.

He glanced around the café before taking a seat. Two men just arrived while he was waiting, they were having a meeting. One with glasses, the other in a black turtleneck. Two women talking about their kids nearby. Three teenagers typing away on laptops as though their life depended on it. Always keep your back to the wall, stay as inconspicuous as possible. The need to be hyper-vigilant was like breathing, it never stopped. With the possible exception of the guy in the turtleneck who looked like he could handle himself, everyone seemed fairly free of danger. He bit his lip and sighed, "You're doing it again..." He took his seat, the leather hugged him like a cool blanket.

After he exited the front door, he turned to the crowd. The man with the glasses followed from inside the coffee shop, turtleneck in tow. Turtleneck bumped into him. "Excuse me," the man said flatly.

A voice from the direction of the crowd's gaze was yelling something he couldn't quite hear. Ash wasn't going to get a good view from here, so he walked around the outside of the crowd, keeping his distance from actually touching anyone. The whisps of colorful dust rose and fell off each person. When they were close together like this the dust seemed to combine, grow even. He avoided getting near it if he could help it.

When he found a clearing on the opposite side of the crowd, he stepped onto the sidewalk. The elderly man, the one the little girl bumped into earlier, was now standing on the bed of a pickup truck. A tattered brown dress coat, stained with years of unwashed use, hung over his thin skin like a cape. The coat may have been black in a former life. A scruffy white beard hid his gaunt features.

It was Frank, now that he could get close enough to see him up close. Frank was one of the several train-hopping hobos that made camp on the outskirts of town. He came to pick up his Social Security check every month about this time. The man with the glasses was on the other side of the crowd, staring at his tablet, taking pictures no doubt, tourists.

Frank appeared to be having a conversation, "You always did love Mother best-- I know-- That's why-- You couldn't keep your mouth shut--" A creature was rising up out of the dust on his shoulders, only the top half visible. It bore some resemblance to a sloth but moved more quickly. It rotated from shoulder to shoulder, shouting in each ear, visibly agitated. Ash couldn't hear the creature, he never could, but it was feeding the other side of the conversation.

The hair on his neck rose as he watched it. Could this be me if I stop taking my medication? He shuddered at the thought.

A larger creature rose from the mist. This one had a different quality about it, more tangible. The bottom was still rooted in the dust rising and falling from Frank, but the top of the creature was like that of a man. It had the head of a bull with long horns shooting out to each side and curving upward. The Bull-Man was over nine feet tall, black skin made of charcoal, three white streaks were painted across and down its chest.

The bull creature cocked its head to one side and stared Ash in the eye. Its eyes were pools of red, bulging from their sockets. They pierced him as none of the previous creatures had before. The others seemed more interested in their hosts then Ash, but this one was staring him down. A fog entered his mind, his vision clouded over slightly. The muscles in Ash's jaw tightened, and he took a step back. A tingle ran down his thighs.

The man-bull's mouth curved upward, eyes narrowed. It slapped the smaller creature into stillness. Frank looked confused at the sudden silence. The larger creature leaned down and spoke something into Franks' ear. The creature stood upright, nodded to the smaller creature, and they both evaporated back into the dust cloud. Frank turned to look at Ash, eyes narrowed like the man-bull had before. The truck bed gave a rusty creak as Frank leapt off to the ground, spry for an otherwise elderly man. Head tilted awkwardly to one side, he ran at Ash with a wild deranged look in his eye.

Frank released his grip with one hand and loosened the other.

Ash caught his breath. "Jesus," he cried as he recoiled at the throbbing in his throat and gagging on the scent of unwashed clothing.

Frank backed up, and looked confused, as though he didn't know where he was.

Ash took the opening, kicked Frank in the chest and sent him sprawling backward. Losing no momentum, he raced over and punched him with a right hook to the jaw. Frank spun back and fell to the sidewalk, unconscious.

Sirens pierced the air as a patrol car sped to stop a few feet away. Two officers got out and ran over, stopping just in front of Ash and Frank.

"Frank's at it again," the first officer said.

"Got it bad this time," the second said, cuffing the unconscious old man.

"Hey Ash, you OK? Want to file a report?" The first officer asked.

Ash rose to his knees, catching his breath. The throbbing was subsiding now, but he felt it all over. "Maybe later George, I'll let you know. I just need to get out of here," Ash replied as calmly as he could. Inside he was shaking, he needed to get home ASAP. He hoped his look said it all. George was part of his Veterans support group, he knew Ash didn't like crowds and people confrontations.

George looked down at Ash's jeans, "No problem. You get yourself cleaned up, we need to take Frank in anyway. We'll talk later. Call me when you're up to it." The two officers each grabbed one of Franks' arms and threw him into the back of the squad car. They didn't bother to belt him, body laid awkwardly across the back seat. The patrol car backed up and took off down the street.

"Are you OK sir?" a male voice spoke from behind.

Ash turned slightly, the voice came from the man in glasses. He was wearing a yellow polo, with two overlapping Es, and gray slacks. "I'll be alright," Ash replied reaching for the bump growing on the back of his head.

"Let me help you," glasses said.

Ash took his hand, reluctantly. "Thanks," he said. As he rose, one thousand other fights from his past life ached through his bones. He still worked out every day, but 40 was definitely not the new 20. He was glad for the assistance after all.

"Oh my," Glasses said. "Your coffee has spilled all over your jeans. That must have been awful to be attacked like that, let me take you to get another coffee."

With heart still stampeding through his chest, Ash replied, "Thanks for the offer, Mr.--?"

"Briar. Dr. Briar actually," the man replied.

"Well thanks for the offer Dr. Briar, but I've had enough excitement for one day. I just need to get home, and cleaned up." And get some Purell.

"Another time then," Dr. Briar smiled, pudgy flat face pinched a little too tight. Too interested, too helpful. But maybe Ash was over-reacting, considering the incident he just endured. Then again, turtleneck's total lack of personality kept him on the edgy side. Ash's nose felt tight as his brow wrinkled at the thought.

He waved them off and walked down the street, wanting to get home, his refuge from humanity, as fast as possible. He needed to escape, re-center, and espresso wasn't going to do it this time. He needed a medically induced coma, 6 hours if he was lucky. He turned back one more time to glance at the location of the incident. Glasses was still watching him, turtle neck still behind. A nauseousness crept into his belly, and he turned back toward his truck. Ash kept an eye on window panes and the mirrors on cars he passed, to ensure he wasn't being followed.

In the town parking lot, just behind the main buildings, was his escape. The 1977 Ford F-150 wore a faded brown paint job, which blended into the rust spots. He adjusted the mirror again, ensuring no one was watching him. The engine turned over like a beast waking from slumber. The smooth floor shifter knob was familiar, and his stomach calmed a bit.

He made his way down Ashland's main street, a town named after his Great Great Grandfather, so he was told. A few miles down the highway, he turned onto a private road. Taking the driveway two miles into the woods, he parked in front a two story cabin style home.

Office to the left, den to the right, hallway, secure. He made his way down the hall to the kitchen, grabbed an orange bottle from the shelf and twisted the white top. They should call these adult proof. Two blue peacekeepers dropped into his hand. He placed the pills on the counter, took a large plastic Braveheart collectors cup out of the dish drying rack and filled it. The pills washed down nicely with some Dr. Pepper and Jack Daniels, half and half, over ice.

The stairs to the second floor were hard on his knee caps, but he managed with one hand, keeping a tight grip on the cup of sleep. The fight replayed in his mind as Ash walked over to the bookcase and pushed it aside, revealing a large steel Liberty Safe. A few spins of the dial, and the heavy door swung open. He may not be licensed to carry anymore, but that didn't stop him from keeping a stash of weapons, dating back several generations of Ashland's leading on up to his retirement from the United States Air Force, Special Tactics unit. Tonight felt safer with having something nearby, so he grabbed the Glock 9mm, two extra clips, and the holster and stashed them in the kitchen drawer so they'd be handy, just in case. House alarm set, he made his way out onto the patio which was tucked away out of sight. Police report, he remembered and grabbed a sticky note and stuck it to the face of the cell phone.

The image of the man-bull lingered in his mind, so real, he laid his head down and the image faded to sweet nothingness.

Taking aim at the bulky portion of the first rocket launcher itself, and not its handler, should incapacitate it, and Ash rarely missed. The unit exploded in its handlers face.

He raised his hand and knocked. "Come," the voice replied. Ash opened the door, "Permission to enter, Sir?" General Akbar looked up, "Come in soldier." As he entered, General Akbar stood-

The image morphed again, General Akbar's uniform was now worn by a larger man shaped body, with the head of a bull. White striped streaked across its face.

The scene turned to black...

A single falling star shot across the night sky among the backdrop of a clear milky way. He decided to lay there until his mind rebooted or shut down.

END Scene 1

Me@DarrellWolfe.com

By Darrell Wolfe

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Distortion - Street Noise - Scene Four Rewrite

2016-10-18T21:49:00.002-05:00

The smooth rise and fall of the Gibson Lucille's steel strings danced down from above as BB King's voice flowed like water through Ash's mind, washing over the events of the past few days.

"I can see why you like here," Grace said as she dropped a spoonful of peppermint ice cream into the coffee she'd just purchased from The Grounded Café. "... especially after retiring from the service so abruptly."

"Huh?" Ash replied. He felt his chest tighten at the intrusion of his past. "How...?" he couldn't finish the thought.

"Sorry, again," Grace said. "Reporter." She shrugged and tilted her head to one side.

"Gotcha," that made sense, the tightness released a bit.

"So," She glanced around a moment. Seemingly satisfied they were alone, she pulled out her phone and slide the screen to a web browser. "Are you sure you've never heard of Dr. Briar before this week?"

She pressed a bookmark and handed the phone to Ash. The website for Esion Etihw Institute was impressive. The facility on the front web page reflected a series of white buildings against a backdrop of send and brush inland from the beach in Malibu, CA. One building stood apart with 13 stories of glass at odd angles reflecting the light of the sun above and its reflection from the sand below. "No, I can't say I have heard of him before."

"The tall building is Esion Tower. They pronounce that second word like ET-Heeu. Check out the about page," Grace said as she took the phone swiped, clicked, and handed it back. Ash read the landing page.

"This guy sounds totally off his rocker," Ash said as he handed the phone back to her. "I'd ask you if you were sure he's involved, but I met him yesterday. What do you think he's up to?"

"I know this much, when this guy shows up people die. I did find his name tied to various research grants dating back 20 years. He has open grants with DARPA, MIT, and several other universities. It's just a hunch, but I'm thinking that he's running human testing without approvals."

"But that doesn't make sense," Ash countered. "What kind of test involves emptying two clips of 9mm rounds into an old homeless man?"

"Good point..." Grace admitted. "I guess I'm letting my imagination get the best of me. But he's got to be up to something."

"And now I'm stuck in the middle of it..." Ash sat back and put his hands behind his head. He closed his eyes but the image of the bull came back again as the rhythm of 1,000 hoofs beat against his chest. The beating ceased when he opened his eyes again.

Grace had one eyebrow raised, "You alright?"

"I will be, maybe... Uhg..." Ash remembered. "I forgot my meds at the house. Come to think of it, I don't have a house right now either. That's a bummer."

"Hate to break it to you, but the hotels are booked with reports... like me." Grace bit her lip and put her index finger to her nose. Her eyes narrowed as she studied him. It made him feel like a side show, he shifted in his eat. "Tell you what... I've done my homework on you. I don't think you are a killer. I couldn't get much out of that Police Chief but I can tell he trusts you. I'm not letting you out of my sight, you are the best lead I've had on this yet. Let's get you up to your place and ask the deputy watching the house to get your meds for you. Then we can figure out how to get you a place for the night. Deal?"

"Sounds good to me," Ash felt his face heating up. "Thanks, by the way."

"Don't mention it," Grace packed her things into a messenger bag and they hopped in the convertible. The tires chirped as she threw it into gear and raced out of the parking space onto the street. She turned to him and grinned, then back to the road. Once out of the town proper, she down shifted and the engine roared to life. She raced around corners and bends. When they pulled up to his drive way there was smoke rising from the tree-line. As they turned a corner they found carnage. The police cruiser was burning whole filled with bullet holes. He imagined they would match the caliber of a rifle he owned. The officer on duty slumped over the doorway, obviously gone to this world. Yellow and red flames poked through every window, and crawled over the roof.

"This is no accident," Ash said. He punched the dashboard, a small crack left behind. He turned and looked every direction, then scanned the edges of the forest. No sign of people, no glints or reflections. "We need to leave, now!"

Grace didn't second guess him, she yanked the shifter into reverse and spun 180 degrees out of the path into the driveway. Dust flew from the back of the car and the tires squealed when she hit the road back to town. Ash was watching the smoke rise from his perfectly built cabin style home when he noticed a gray suburban coming around the bend and picking up speed.

The pit of his stomach dropped as the suburban gained on them. He reached to tap Grace on the shoulder and motioned to the back. "That's the same suburban I saw outside the café the other day. Faster!"

Grace tried to down shift for more speed but accidentally shifted too many gears down and the car slowed abruptly. The Suburban caught up in seconds and slammed into the back of the BMW. The tires chirped as she found a new gear and tried to speed away. Ash reached for his Glock to fire at the driver, then remembered he wasn't carrying any weapons. He searched the car for something, anything. "Do you carry a gun?"

"No," she said, then swerved around a corner. "But I'm about to start I think." He glanced at her and her eyes were wide, mouth tight.

The car jerked forward again as the Suburban made another attempt to crush them. The car jerked again, this time Ash felt the wheels lose their grip and the car slide into a fish tail. The car spun several times as it careened toward cliff. Ash knew these roads by memory, scanned the side of the hill, grabbed the wheel and aimed them for where he remembered was a bank of trees he'd used as a hunting blind the previous summer. "I hope this works," he half murmured.

The red BMW flew off the edge of the cliff and for a breathless moment Ash felt weightless. Is this what it's like to be Superman? Is that what people think about just before they die in a car accident? The thoughts battled for what seamed like an eternity. Grabbing Grace's seat belt and his, he yanked to tighten their hold and braced with his arms over his face, she copied him.

The sound hit first. Steal crunching, tires thudding, glass shattering, pop-hiss went the airbags. Then the airbags punched his arms and chest like a prize fighter. He'd have bruises if nothing else. He opened his eyes, surprised to be alive, and glanced around. The BMW rocked in the cradle of three massive crisscross trees growing out of the side of the mountain's edge. He turned to Grace, who was moaning but alive. "Are you hurt?"

"Define, hurt?" She said and turned with a forced grin. "That's some stunt you just pulled soldier. We're alive."

"I guess I still got it," he prided. Then he recalled the suburban. From this angle it would be hard to see the car from the cliff top. The rumble of an SUV engine hummed from 25 feet up at the top. "Can you move?" Ash whispered holding his finger over his mouth.

"I think so," She said and double checked her limbs. She nodded yes a second time.

Ash turned to climb out and over the back of the convertible. The climbers rope he'd tied to the tree at the start of summer was still anchored to a few branches. He'd left it hoping for one more good trip before the end of the season. This spot was nice because it was out of the way of normal hunters, and he wouldn't be asked for his license.

Ash went first, holding the rope with two hands and wrapping his feet around the bottom to secure himself. He inched down and then looked up to Grace to see if she got the idea. To his surprise she was already in position and nodding to hurry. A few rocks loosened and slid down the side of the hill.

Ping came a sound from the car, followed by a thunderous crack from further up the hill. Gunfire. Ash and Grace hugged the hillside to avoid the fire. The car was hit a few more times, one shot ricocheted off a branch an inch from Ash's head. They stayed silently in position, waiting.

After a few moments the suburban roared to life above and dirt flew over the edge peppering Ash's air. The sound of the engine grew distant, so they started to move down. His hands were burning, as he imagined Grace's were. They reached the hiking path that he'd used to get to the edge, and he was glad to be done with the rope. His callouses were still hard, but his palms were burning. He took her hands in his and they were bleeding slightly. He tore a piece of his shirt and wrapped each with it, then nodded to follow.

As they made their way around the farthest edge of the trail the branch to his right splintered, followed by crack from above. He glanced back to the top of the cliff and a clear sight of Sven standing at the tope with a scoped sniper rifle. They both held each others gaze for a moment, then Sven smiled and took aim. Ash threw Grace back against the cliff out of site and pushed himself unto her to hide himself too. "This should be fun!" a voice called from above.

Grace throat throbbed a systolic/diastolic drum beat against his cheek as he covered her. Her breath against his ear raced in sync with his. He knew that look. He'd seen it in his own eyes as he prepared for missions. This was a hunter of men.

Ash raised his head slowly to peak at the top of the cliff then led her by brail through the trails. When they reached flat ground he kept them in the shadows but he raced as fast as he could. "It's only for the worst emergencies," he confided as he led her over fallen trunks and deer trails. "I think this counts."

"Where are we going?" She asked.

"You'll see," Ash whispered. "Keep your voice down."

The canopy was still functioning as it was supposed to and Ash could only tell a building existed through the branches because he built it. Pushing a set of branches to one side, he turned the handle and opened the door. After Grace was inside, he put the branches back and closed the door, followed by a two by four mimicking an old castle lock. There were no windows, but he didn't need a lot of light. The messenger back survived the fall and he'd brought it with him. He reached in and found her phone and swiped it on. He didn't prefer modern technology but it made a good light for the moment.

The hide-away was one room, lined with three tunnels into the hill. "I need you to go down that way," he said motioning to the tunnel on the farthest right and handing her a flashlight he kept in a drawer. "Go to the end, it'll open at the base of a hill. Stay there at the edge of the tunnel until I come for you. OK?" Grace nodded her understanding, but her eyes were struck with terror. "You'll be alright. Trust me." She turned and headed down the way he directed.

Ash .... TBC

By Darrell Wolfe

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Distortion - Street Noise - Scene Three Rewrite

2016-10-13T21:47:00.001-05:00

Exhaustion finally hit, so Ash laid down. As he stared at the ceiling of the prison cell he thought, the confine of the prison is actually kind of nice. It's safe here, less noise to shut out. No clouds. Maybe I'll like prison. Then the dust that so often followed others started seeping into the cell and swirling around him until darkness overtook him.

Brightness stung his eyes as he came back to the world of the living. He rolled over but pulled back suddenly when his skin touched the edge of the wall. The cold surface shocked him further awake, was it metal?

Ash's vision refused to return properly at first, but as he adjusted he found himself in a white-permeated room. After further examination, the walls were made of a hard metal, painted in high-gloss white, with no seams anywhere to be seen. A soft hissing sound came from overhead. He tried to see where it was coming from but the thousand tiny lights were too bright to see past, maybe the air conditioner. A white cardboard box sat on a thin snow-white metallic table in a small space covered in white painted titanium walls. The monochromatic nature of the room, combined with the hissing and brightness were a disorienting combination.

"How did I get here?” Ash said out loud. The slight echo of his voice his only reply.

Looking down he noticed for the first time he wearing a white form-fitting uniform. A single thick black stripe ran down the side of both arms and legs. It was like spandex, full body style. His pale southern sunburn looked worse against the white fabric. Despite years in hot arid climates, he could never hold a tan. Disorientation started to settle down and he found his bearings to stand. He walked the ten by ten room, feeling the wall for a seam or any indication that there was an opening.
Finding no escape, thoughts move to business, take stock. Name/Rank: "Captain Therun Ashland, USAF”, he said out loud again. He waited for some kind of movement or someone to address him through a speaker system, but he received no such response. Taking inventory of his body, every part was accounted for, legs, arms, toes, fingers, the scar on his neck under his left ear. No pains, other than the usual.

Ash tried to recall his last memory before finding himself in this room, but he couldn't seem place a specific memory. His mind was empty of anything more relevant than Name/Rank. Obviously he'd been handled before arriving here and must be under surveillance this very moment. There were no apparent doors or windows and no way to defend against attack without knowing where the openings are. Then again if he were going to be killed he would be in some dank dark prison cell not this whitewashed room in some overly tailored biking suit. Still, better to be defensive and keep himself against a wall ready to react.“Bring it in Ash, bring yourself together… What is the last thing you recall? The last solid memory was opening an invitation to meet with General Akbar and walking down the hall to his office. There was no other memory. He woke up here.

The box on the table was the only thing in the room with him, besides the table itself, which seemed to be built into the floor. He approached the table cautiously. The legs and table appeared to be built of high strength metal, not breakable by hand. He gave the table a shove putting his weight behind it, not even a budge. The package seemed like any US Post Office shipping box-minus the labels. It was sealed in white duct tape end to end.

Ash peeled at the tape slowly, ready to react to its contents. This box was obviously here for him, it was the only thing in the room, and no-one had reacted to his being awake. Laying the tape aside he opened the lid and found an iPhone, neatly wrapped in plastic. He opened the bag and turned on the phone.
It booted silently- then he heard the sound of metal scraping.

Voices

Keys in a gate, or latch... the sound seemed to come from everywhere...Then Ash woke up, silently. As though he'd been awake for hours. He took a deep breath which completed the transition to morning. He was sweating slightly, but not drenched. He could hear voices down the hall but couldn't make our the words. Two sets of shoes approached, one heavy footed male, Bobby if he wasn't mistaken. The other clicked and clacked, high heels if he wasn't mistaken.

"He's right through here. I can't let you in, but there's a chair by the door." It was Bobby, that one for two.

"Thanks, Bobby," the voice was female and familiar. "I really appreciate your letting me see him." Grace rounded the corner first, followed by Bobby in Uniform. Gone was the jogging outfit and red hoodie, replaced by a red blazer, black pencil skirt, and red high heels. Two for two.

Bobby brought the chair over and set it by the door of the cell, then tipped his Ashland PD Ball Cap and left. Grace took a seat and pulled a yellow legal pad and pen from her bag. He hair was pulled back in a pony tail still, but the loose strand from yesterday was now fully tucked away. She glanced over her shoulder and watched Bobby shut the outer hallway door, then turned back and gave Ash a weak and somewhat pathetic smile.

"Do I look that bad?" Ash asked and sat up on the edge of the bed to face her.

"I'd say you looked a fair bit better yesterday," Grace replied. "I hope you don't mind. They let me in when I said I was a friend, and flashed my reporter 'get anywhere you want' credentials."

"No," Ash said and started to chuckle at the absurdity of this second meeting. "I'd like some company to keep me in the land of the sane for just a little longer." He liked this person. Something about her was disarming and he felt the walls he'd spent so many years building crumble to the ground like old burned newspaper.

"So..." She hesitated. Her nose wrinkled and she bit her lip. Then she started again. "Have they told you what's going on yet?"

"Well," he started to say then shook his head. Where do I start? "I was attacked by a crazy homeless man, Frank, the day before yesterday. I had a horrible night that night, took several meds and drank until I passed out. The next morning my Glock 9mm was missing and Frank was dead. George confirmed the bullets were a match the gun registered in my name, the one that was missing but when I took George back to my house the Glock was suddenly back again. That's when George arrested me. Someone could have broken into my house last night, but all the possibilities around that make no sense. Who would have known I'd pulled the gun out that night, I usually keep them locked up. So now I'm starting to think I went sleep walking, half way across town to another hillside, and killed a homeless man... in my sleep? That doesn't make any sense either. I must sound nuts... huh?" Ash couldn't tell if she was reacting to any of this, her expression looked worried before he started talking. She didn't seem any more surprised, so that's was a consolation.

"I don't think you did it," She said. "I have reason to believe that something else is happening here, I just haven't put my finger on it yet. You, my friend, are at the epicenter of it. Congratulations," Grace said and put her notebook down. "You just got a living shadow. I'm not leaving your side until we figure this out." She forced a smile, and tilted her head back in a show of confidence.

"I hate to waste your time," Ash replied. The tiny window, high on the wall, revealed a few clouds rolling over the hills. It's getting darker by the second. He turned back to Grace and replied, "...I really am a messed up guy, lots of psychiatric history, it really is possible, however unlikely, that I killed that guy. I guess you can at least get the exclusive interview, but I don't think I'm going anywhere."

"Maybe-" She started. "Let me ask you something, have you ever seen this man?" Grace pulled out a photo of a pudgy man with bald head and graying hair around the sides.

"Yes, actually, I think I have," Ash took the photo through the bars of the cell door and stared at it a moment. The picture caused the hair on the back of his neck and head to stand on end. "I met this guy yesterday, a doctor something."

"His name is Dr. Richard T. Briar PhD, author of a book entitled 'Unlocking the Paranormal Mind. A study of how the human mind’s unlocked potential', and he is a very bad man. What if I told you that it was he, and not you, who was responsible for the missing gun showing up again, and the death of the old homeless man?" Grace's eyes portrayed a stronger confidence in this statement than anything he'd seen from her yet, which encouraged him slightly.

"How is that possible?" He asked. "What would a scientist want with an old man, and why use my gun--" The revelation slowly dawned on him as plausible, the pieces fit better than anything he'd conjured so far. The easiest way to get away with killing someone was to frame it on someone else. "Oh... But... why kill an old homeless man?"

"Honestly," She said with a shrug, "I don't know. I haven't put that piece of the puzzle together. But I've actually been following this guy for several years. I believe he's been systematically assassinating random people around the country, and Frank was one of many more to come."

"That's an odd thing for a scientist to be involved in." Ash almost lost track of the fact he was sitting in a cell.

"That hulking guy in the turtleneck that follows Dr. Briar around..." Grace said and pulled out another photo, "... he's been with tagging along on these adventures for a few years now too. His name is Sven, I still can't get a last name. He usually shows up in town a few days after the doctor. Then, mysteriously, one or more people die within 48 hours."

"Hm..." Ash couldn't put his finger on it, but the story had a certain ring to it.

"So you can say 'thank you' now." Grace said, with a broad smile.

"Thank you for..." Ash felt puzzled by the statement.

"For saving your life," She said.

"Saving my life? I think you're jumping the gun a little, I'm still locked up."

"Not that. I mean," She mimed the action of a jogger knocking into him with her shoulder. "For knocking the coffee out of your hand yesterday. Sven bumped into you just outside the door of the coffee shop and dropped something that looked like white pills into your drink. I bumped into you to prevent you from drinking it...." She squirmed a bit in her chair. "And this is where I make a confession... My car didn't break down. I was at your house to see if you were still alive."

"Really?" Ash cocked his head and took a deep breath, trying to process this revelation.

"I've followed this guy around the country, but I usually ended up arriving after he'd made the kill. This is the first time I made it to a place before anyone died. This is my big breakthrough." Grace started to smile, then made a frown. "Now we just need to get you out of here."

"I can help with that." George walked up behind her without either of them noticing. "Turns out there are no prints on the gun or bullets, but we managed find a few prints in the house that were not yours. They came up with no hits, which is odd. They aren't yours or mine or Grace's here. I checked everywhere in and around the house, and there are signs that someone climbed down your roof and rappelled onto your balcony. The DA and I talked it over and he sent his own people out to confirm. You're blood tests came back with way too much sedative still in the system to have allowed you to make the trek out to the kill site yourself. The house has been sealed for evidence. He's asked for you not to leave town, but he says you are free to go for now. You'll need to get a hotel."

"George," Ash said. "You are a God-send. What would I do without you?"

"Don't thank me yet," George held up one hand as a warning. "This is enough to cast doubt on you being the killer, but not to remove you from the suspect list. You keep your head down and I'll let you know what I'm allowed to tell you when I'm allowed to tell you it. For now, stay low."

After a quick processing, Grace and Ash ere back on the sidewalk in front of the police station breathing the clean mountain air. The little hippy-town wasn't much to some, but it never felt more like home.

"Come on," She said. "Let's get another Ice Cream and I'll tell you more about my research. Then I can drive you back to your place." She held out her keys, pressed a round button, and a red BMW parked across the street beeped twice. "I really am sorry for lying to you yesterday. But it's kind-of part of the job for a reporter. I didn't know if you were trustworthy until now." She gave him a look that said she wasn't moving until he did.

"I understand," He didn't really totally understand, but it sounded like the right thing to say. Still, there was something about her he liked. Only George had managed to break that barrier before now, and she was better looking that George.

"I'll take you up on that Ice Cream," Ash said and led the way across the street."... and I'll raise you a coffee."

By Darrell Wolfe

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Distortion - Street Noise - Scene Two Rewrite

2016-10-10T21:40:00.002-05:00

The sun beamed directly into Ash's eye and woke him out of a drunken stupor. He remembered waking up at three am, laying there until four am. Finally to restless to stay, he went down to the kitchen and grabbed some more pills to add to his collection, and washed them down with another mixer. The walk down stairs had fully aroused what was left of his sleepy brain, but his body was still sore from the tussle with crazy old Frank.

He eventually found a comfortable spot on the couch and turned on re-runs of Star Trek. The last thing he could recall was Warf fighting in a Jem'Hadar prison camp... vague images of colored dust clouds coming rising from him, out of the television, and then he woke up, sun beaming through the open window. Did I leave the window open? I usually shut that... hmm.

Judging from the position of the sun over the mountain, he guessed it was late morning. Ash rolled over and pulled his hand out of the couch cushion, arm asleep and tingling with pins and needles. His watch read 11:00 hours. He rolled off the couch onto his knees, and glanced around the house. Everything was in order... but... wait... the kitchen drawer was slightly open. He managed to stand to his feet and limp to the drawer. The Glock 9mm was gone, clips, holster, and all. "What the... you've got to be kidding me!"

After a quick sweep of the house things were in order, alarm still set, nothing unusual. The weapon was not in the safe and not in the drawer. Could he have put it somewhere else, somewhere closer, when he was half asleep? Not that he recalled.

The phone rang three times before he finally heard "Ashland PD, this is George." The officers voice sounded stressed.

"George, this is Ash. I need to report--" he said.

"Hey buddy, sorry to cut you short but we got a mess down here. Can I call you later?"

"Anything I can do?" Ash asked.

"Not at the moment, maybe we can grab a beer tonight. You know that old guy, Frank, that attacked you yesterday?"

"Oh yeah, I remember. Still feeling it," Ash said.

"Somehow the old coot escaped last night. We didn't even know he was missing until someone reported the incident. A hiker found him a mile up Newmans' Ranch road. From the looks of things, someone unloaded two clips into the old guy. Then the news media swept-in from Portland, I have no idea how they found out already. It's a nightmare down here, I'll get in touch later ok?"

"Wait, did you say---" *click. The phone went dead, George was gone. Is that even possible? "No, it can't be. The alarm..." Ash's mind ran through darker and darker scenarios. Could someone have been in the house while he was passed out? How would they get in without tripping the alarm, and how would they have set it again? Could they have come through the open window? But that's ten feet off the ground. Surely they didn't get in through the balcony, it's a one-hundred foot drop from the balcony straight down to the canyon floor, he'd made sure it was inaccessible when he added the second story to the old family house. Could someone have repelled down through the roof? No, what is this some black ops mission? Besides all that, who would know he had guns, or that he'd pulled one out that very night. He hadn't touched them in months. Was he being watched? Ridiculous--

Then a thought rose to the front, and it made him nauseous. What if it was me? What if I went out, sleep walking, and killed that guy? I've had some serious black outs before, but nothing that serious. I've never been caught sleep walking before. Then again, if I was, my training-- No. That's not possible. His heart was racing, his mind went numb at the thoughts and possibilities. He hadn't killed for just over eight years, and only then on sanctioned missions. Training was thorough for Spec Ops, muscle memory was built that would never really go away. Even so, he couldn't imagine that he did it while sleep walking. No delusion had ever been that bad before. Then again, he did take more pills that usual.

He picked up the phone to call George again, he needed to report the incident as related. Before he could hit the speed dial there was a knock at the door, he placed the phone on the counter. He wasn't expecting anyone. George made it clear he was busy and he was the only person that'd been up to the house in three years. Could be a sales person, they came around from time to time. Then again...

The chef's knife range in the air as it was pulled from the block on the counter. He tucked the handle in his palm, thumb covering the bottom end, blade flat against his arm.

The peep hole revealed a woman in jogging pants and red hoodie. A red dust cloud wrapped her shoulder, but no creature that he could currently see. She had a mileage counter on her right arm, and the face of someone trying not to look to awkward. He waited a moment to see what she'd do. She reached out and knocked again, his body jerked a little at the sudden noise. Satisfied that she was harmless, he released the breath he didn't realize he'd been holding, and opened the door.

The shrill of the alarm pierced Ash's ears and he slammed the door without thinking. That must seem rude. His pulse which had started to drop when he found a harmless lady at his door, shot up again. He ran to the alarm and punched the code as though it were a bugler out to steal what was left of his sanity- the shrill stopped. Silence. Inhaling, he closed his eyes and tapped his leg to ten holding the breath, and release. He opened his eyes, checked his hair in the mirror. The sides had turned fully gray, but he still managed to keep a decent amount of brown up top. He pulled up his collar to hide the three inch scar on the left side of his neck, and walked back to the front door.

"Sorry about that, Ma'am," Ash said as he opened the door. "I don't get many visitors up here. The hoodie was down now, allowing the suns shadows to accentuate her softer features, deeply tanned skin, soft brown eyes with a touch of hazel.

"Oh that's alright," she replied. As she rocked back and forth from heal to toe the red dust cloud wafted in the wind like a fog around her. Vanilla filled the air every time she rocked forward.

"Hello Ms.-" Ash motioned for her name?

"Scriven. Grace Scriven," she said. "But you can just call me Grace, that's what momma always called me."

"I see," Ash replied. "How can I help you, Grace?"

"May I-- Listen to me, so formal. May I. Momma always said not to say 'can I'... sorry.... you don't want to know that." She stopped, shook her head, and put her hand over her mouth.

Ash thought, keep going, you can do it.

She pulled back her head a bit and tensed her jaw when she looked him in the eye again. She took a deep breath and blew it out quickly. "Let me start over. I'm sorry to bother you, but my car broke down on the road about a mile up the hill from here, dang BMW's. I couldn't get any cell reception, and no one ever drove by. You were the first house I found. May I use your phone?" She held his eye for a moment, and turned her head down to glance at the ground. Her finger fidgeted with a strand of curly black hair that had fallen from an otherwise tightly wrapped pony tail.

"Sure," Ash glanced back into the house. Images of police tape and finger printing that would need to come later that day rolled through his mind. "I'd invite you in, but I actually had a break-in last night and I need to preserve the place for finger printing and evidence, you know? Let me go get the phone and bring it out here to you?"

She smiled for the first time since he'd seen her. It was a nice smile, not false or pretentious. "Oh that would be great. Again, really sorry to bother you."

"No problem," Ash said. He glanced at the patio and motioned to the outdoor table set. "Go ahead and grab a seat, I'll be back in a minute." He turned back down the hallway, and found the phone still on the kitchen counter. A creaking noise from the top floor made him pause. He glanced up the stairs, no shadows. He waited a moment and didn't hear anything else. You're going nuts solider, get it together. Taking the phone from the counter he suddenly felt something cold on his forearm. Then he realized that he was still holding the concealed kitchen knife. Not wanting scare a poor young lady looking for a phone, he put it back and headed for the front door.

"Here you go," Ash said. Their hands briefly touched as he handed her the phone. A shudder ran through his arm, and up into his skull. He hadn't touched a woman in a long time. He'd forgotten how smooth they could be, especially compared to the hands of a wood craftsman. The sanding and carving made for callouses that never disappeared.

He gave her some space and walked to his truck. He didn't really need anything from there, but he pretended he did. It felt right, better than leaving her on the porch while he went back inside. Then again, maybe he shouldn't go back inside. He really did need to preserve the scene, and he needed to file that report. Maybe he could go into town and get some groceries or supplies, find some reason to get out of the house for the day.

"What?" Grace yelled from behind him, "You've got to be kidding me. Never mind. No, just forget it. I'll figure it out."

Ash sauntered back to the porch, "Everything OK?"

"No, not really." She said, pressing the hang up button and setting the phone in her lap. Grace ran her hands through her hair, and glanced at the sky, eyes darting back and forth as though she were searching for an answer.

"What's wrong?" He probed.

"Well... it turns out my triple-A membership is worthless out here in the boondocks of southern Oregon. No offense to your town." She shrugged. "The closest driver is several towns away and has several calls ahead of me. It could be between 2-6 hours before they can get someone out here." She snorted a laugh.

"No offense taken, these small towns are different." Ash replied. The thought of keeping her around a little longer didn't bother him as much as he thought it would. People made him skittish, but this wasn't people. This was Grace. He'd known Grace a whole ten minutes now. He knew her name, she was easy on the eyes, no creepy creatures staring him down, and she smelled like vanilla... Ice Cream, I should go to town and get Ice Cream, he thought. Besides, the red dust cloud matches her outfit, that's nice too.

"I was thinking of heading to town anyway." Ash half offered. "I could give you a ride into town. You could wait there, or maybe we can get Faustino to take a look at your BMW. He's a classic-car restore guy, not a traditional mechanic, but I've never seen anyone better with a wrench, especially if you buy him a six pack to sweeten the deal."

"If you really don't mind, and it's not too much of a bother, I'd be very grateful." Grace smiled again, he liked it when she smiled. She'd done it twice now. Both times her smile elicited the sensation of a summer sun warming his chest. He'd forgotten what it was like to be this close to another human besides George. And George... well she wasn't George.

"Alright, do we need to drop by your car for anything important?" He asked.

"No," She replied. "I locked it up before I walked off. I didn't know how long I'd be walking. Everything I need is right here." She pointed to a modern style fanny pack that was hugging one leg.

There could be a weapon in there, idiot. How did you miss that? You're slipping. Calm down, she's just a lost lady. Not a serial killer. Ash brushed off the paranoia, waved her over, and opened the passenger door. "After you."

The engine roared to life like The Beast it was, as the blue F-150 was so named. It's mascot, a Beast X-Men action figure, was mounted prominently on the dashboard. This truck was a reflection of his soul; blue, rusted, old, and roaring like a monster inside.

Grace said that she bantered when she was nervous and she proved it all the way to town. She was a reporter passing through small towns writing puff pieces for the travel sections of The Oregonian, LA Times, and just about any other paper that would pick her up as a freelancer. The killing in town had given her the opportunity to be front and center of a real story, but she'd missed the site by going up the wrong mountain road, landing her on his front door when the car broke down.

They pulled up to Faustino's at just passed 12:00 hours. A sign on the door read "Out for lunch from 1:00-2:00... ish."

"Well, you can come with me if you'd like. I'm headed to get Ice Cream." Ash shrugged, "My treat?"

"I can't pass up an offer like that. Maybe I can interview you for the travel article." She said, and smiled again.

"I'd be happy to tell you anything I can. But I'm on the private side if you couldn't tell, so I'd prefer to stay anonymous." Ash said as they walked across the one busy street in town.

"I understand," She said, and followed. "I can respect that."

They were only at the Ice Cream shop for a few minutes when George rolled up in the patrol car. He rolled down the window and tipped his hat to Grace, "Ma'am. I'm afraid I'm going to need to bother Ash here, you mind?" Then he glanced up and locked eyes, his look stern.

"I don't mind at all, he was just telling me about your lovely town here." She said and nodded as she started writing down notes from their meeting. "I'll be fine, thanks for the ride and the talk and the Ice Cream."

"No problem, just see Faustino when he gets back." Ash said. She nodded her agreement, then went back to her notes.

Ash walked over to George and got in the passenger seat. When the door was closed he took one last glance at Grace, and said, "I haven't seen that look often, what's going on?"

"Ash-" George started, but stopped. "The forensics came back from Medford a few minutes ago. The gun that killed old Frank was a 9mm round, and it's a match to a Glock registered in your name. What the heck's going on, and what have you gotten me into?"

"Me?" Ash asked, and pulled back. "I'm nearly positive it wasn't me, George. I tried to tell you this morning, the Glock was in my kitchen drawer and it was missing this morning. The window was open too, which I didn't recall doing. I know we both know what I'm capable of, and what condition I'm in, but I was passed out all night. I'm nearly positive I've never sleep murdered anyone. That's not even possible, is it?"

George let out a slow sigh, "Come on, let's get up there and check out the house." George called in his assistant to run prints on the house. When they got to the house, the front door was open. "I didn't leave it like that." George didn't see his deputy's car yet. He pulled his side arm, "All things considered, stay here for the moment, OK?"

"Roger," Ash replied. Truth be told, he wanted to rush in ahead of George, but he knew what lines he could cross with his friend and what lines he couldn't. It was best to let cop George be cop for the moment.

After a few moments of pregnant silence, George walked out. Gun holstered. "Nobody in there," he said. "Come on in."

Ash got up, knees killing him again. They walked into the house, everything was in place. George stood back and let him take it all in. Nobodies eyes were better trained to notice something out of place than Theron "Ash" Ashland's. He better know that after all these years. The picture of his father and him fishing, baby sister in tow. Check. The knife still on the kitchen counter, unmoved. Check. Ash said, "Nothing out of place, it's all here."

Ash walked over to the kitchen drawer and pulled it out. He turned to George, "Like I said it was here and now it's missing."

"Ash," George had a confused look on his face and pointed down. There it was. The Glock, two clips, now empty, and the holster.

"What the-" Ash replied. "That's not even possible." The deputy walked in and had the look of a kid who just walked in on his parents fighting. He just stood there, eyes darting back and forth between the two. Finally he asked, "Can I come in?"

"Wait here Bobby," George replied. And he motioned Ash outside.

"I'm sorry, you are my friend. But you know what I have to do now." George pulled his cuffs, eyes drenched in apology.

"I get it, it's what I would do," Ash said. He turned and let George cuff him, fighting every soldierly urge to defend himself against his captor. A sinking feeling hit his stomach, Maybe I really am finally cracked. He let George usher him into the car and heard him through the window. "Bobby, take as long as you need. This house just became priority one. I want every finger print on every wall and window, even windows you don't think a normal human can reach. Call Medford, we need experts down here, now!"

The drive back to town was quick and silent. He'd never seen George drive that fast, or manage to balance worry and anger in one expression. When the bars shut on the small make-shift prison, his heart shut down with them. He sat on the bed, put his head in his hands, and tried to cry, but there was nothing.

By Darrell Wolfe

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Distortion - Street Noise - Scene One Rewrite

2016-10-05T22:24:00.001-05:00

Distortion - Street Noise - Scene One Rewrite

A man in black disappeared behind a gray Chevy Suburban across the street. Ash spotted him through the window of The Grounded Café while waiting for his morning Java Chip Frappe'. Wait, was he wearing combat gear?

Ice shards tore down his spine, his heart skipped a beat. The muscles in his right arm tensed as he reached for the Glock 9mm holstered on side. He shook his head, on second glance the man was gone, a cloud of charcoal dust whisping into the air from under the SUV.

A breath slowly escaped his lungs, Ash released his grip on what he originally thought was the Glock 9mm, but he now realized was a holstered steel tape measure. He wasn't licensed to carry anymore, so he typically didn't. He let his arm slowly lower to his side as he closed his eyes. Taking a deliberately slow breath, he silently tapped his finger on his leg counting to ten. The scents of blonde-roast and espresso filled his mind and centered him until he came in for a landing in the present.

Even after eight years, war long over, he still could not trust what he first sees. Eyes open again, the world returned to normal. No threats. Just passers by, shoppers on a crowded small town tourist street in Ashland Oregon. A young lady walked by outside, face glued to her screen like so many others. She bumped into an elderly homeless gentlemen but didn't look up, or give any indication to acknowledge the incident. He walked off mumbling to himself. A grey dust cloud hung around her shoulders like a shawl, and riding the cloud was a small green frog with red eyes. Its legs disappeared into the mist, becoming one with it. As she passed, the frog held Ash's gaze; head turning unnaturally backward. He shuddered, no matter how many times he saw them, they were still creepy.

To the best of his knowledge, nobody else could see the colorful dust clouds that wrapped people like a shawl or overcoat, nor the creatures that accompanied them. Each persons' cloud seemed to be colored by their mood. Not everyone had a pet creature, but many did. This insight was his unique gift, a prize brought home from overseas.

"Don't worry so much," Theron "Ash" Ashland could still hear his doctor's advice from their last session a few weeks back. "We’re just beginning to understand PTSD and many veterans come back with hallucinations. The mind is a marvelous adapter to stress. As long as these phantoms don't interrupt your daily work, or cause you to want to harm yourself or others, you should be fine. Consider yourself lucky. Just think of them as a construct of your over-active imagination, an amusing distraction from the mundane realities of life." The medication seemed to help, a little. The visions were no less common but he felt more detached from them now, a casual observer.

Movement from above, just outside the window caught his attention. The shade of a Basswood tree was crawling down the sidewalk for the days' last stretch. A yellow and orange leaf fell, landing on a coffee table on the empty patio.

"Ash, your Java Chip is ready," the Barista called. "Are you ever going to let me talk you into trying something else?"

"I doubt it, Jake, maybe next time," Ash replied and grabbed a coffee sleeve.

"That's what you said last week. You working on anything new lately?" Jake asked.

Ash glanced at him, forced a smile, and replied, "Yeah, I've got a few new pieces. Just dropped them off this morning over at Woodmen Furnishings. You should go by later, a few of the other craftsmen were there... lots of new inventory."

"Will do," Jake said as he turned back to start another order. "Good to see you, as always."

Ash said, "You too," as he headed to a far corner and found his favorite leather chair.

He glanced around the café before taking a seat. Two men just arrived while he was waiting, they were having a meeting. One with glasses, the other in a black turtle neck. Two women talking about their kids nearby. Three teenagers typing away on laptops as though their life depended on it. Always keep your back to the wall, stay as inconspicuous as possible. The need to be hyper-vigilant was like breathing, it never stopped. With the possible exception of the guy in the turtle neck who looked like he could handle himself, everyone seemed fairly free of danger. He bit his lip and sighed, "You're doing it again..." He took his seat, the leather hugged him like a cool blanket.

The morning paper had been abandoned on a nearby table, as was the café custom. He reached to grab it when he noticed several people outside turning and staring in the same direction. Others ran from across the street to join a crowd that was developing just outside the window. Whatever had their attention was just out of view, they looked concern. Anything that caused concern for normal people, he needed to be aware of.

Reluctantly, he stood again, one knee popped. "Come on old man," he encouraged himself. After he exited the front door, he turned to the crowd. The man with the glasses followed from inside the coffee shop, turtle neck in tow. Turtle neck bumped into him. "Excuse me," the man said flatly.

A voice from the direction of the crowds gaze was yelling something he couldn't quite hear. Ash wasn't going to get a good view from here, so he walked around the outside of the crowd, keeping his distance from actually touching anyone. The whisps of colorful dust rose and fell off each person. When they were close together like this the dust seemed to combine, grow even. He avoided getting near it if he could help it.

A woman in a red hoodie rushed passed him to join the crowd and knocked the coffee out of his hand. The lid popped off, contents spilling down the front of his jeans as it tumbled to its final resting place on the asphalt.

"Dang lady, watch it!" He said. She paid no attention, engrossed in whatever was happening just beyond his field of vision. "Whatever," he said, more to himself than her, and worked his way around the crowd.

When he found a clearing on the opposite side of the crowd, he stepped onto the sidewalk. The elderly man, the one the little girl bumped into earlier, was now standing on the bed of a pick up truck. A tattered brown dress coat, stained with years of unwashed use, hung over his thin skin like a cape. The coat may have been black in a former life. A scruffy white beard hid his gauntly features.

It was Frank, now that he could get close enough to see him up close. Frank was one of several train hopping hobos that made camp on the outskirts of town. He came to pick up his Social Security check ever month about this time. The man with the glasses was on the other side of the crowd, staring at his tablet, taking pictures no doubt, tourists.

Frank appeared to be having a conversation, "You always did love Mother best-- I know-- That's why-- You couldn't keep your mouth shut--" A creature was rising up out of the dust on his shoulders, only the top half visible. It bore some resemblance to a sloth, but moved more quickly. It rotated from shoulder to shoulder, shouting in each ear, visibly agitated. Ash couldn't hear the creature, he never could, but it was feeding the other side of the conversation.

The hair on his neck rose as he watched it. Could this be me if I stop taking my medication? He shuddered at the thought.

A larger creature rose from the mist. This one had a different quality about it, more tangible. The bottom was still rooted in the dust rising and falling from Frank, but the top of the creature was like that of a man. It had the head of a bull with long horns shooting out to each side and curving upward. The Bull-Man was over nine feet tall, black skin made of charcoal, three white streaks were painted across and down its chest.

The bull creature cocked its head to one side, and stared Ash in the eye. Its eyes were pools of red, bulging from their sockets. They pierced him as none of the previous creatures had before. The others seemed more interested in their hosts then Ash, but this one was staring him down. A fog entered his mind, his vision clouded over slightly. The muscles in Ash's jaw tightened, and he took a step back. A tingle ran down his thighs.

The man-bull's mouth curved upward, eyes narrowed. It slapped the smaller creature into stillness. Frank looked confused at the sudden silence. The larger creature leaned down and spoke something into Franks' ear. The creature stood up right, nodded to the smaller creature, and they both evaporated back into the dust cloud. Frank turned to look at Ash, eyes narrowed like the man-bull had before. The truck bed gave a rusty creak as Frank leapt off to the ground, spry for an otherwise elderly man. Head tilted awkwardly to one side, he ran at Ash with a wild deranged look in his eye.

Ash tried to step out of the way, or run, but his legs were now clued to the pavement. He raised his hands to prepare for a fight, but Frank jumped at him before he could properly react, they both went tumbling to the sidewalk.

Ash's head slammed into the concrete sending his vision swirling with white dots, and a throbbing throughout his skull. He could feel Franks' hands on his neck, tearing into the flesh. Making a fist, he aimed a punch at Frank through the white dots, where he figured his head would be.

Frank released his grip with one hand, and loosened the other.

Ash caught his breath. "Jesus," he cried as he recoiled at the throbbing in his throat and gagging on the scent of unwashed clothing.

Frank backed up, and looked confused, as though he didn't know where he was.

Ash took the opening, kicked Frank in the chest and sent him sprawling backward. Loosing no momentum, he raced over and punched him with a right hook to the jaw. Frank spun back and fell to the sidewalk, unconscious.

Sirens pierced the air as a patrol car sped to stop a few feet away. Two officers got out and ran over, stopping just in front of Ash and Frank.

"Frank's at it again," the first officer said.

"Got it bad this time," the second said, cuffing the unconscious old man.

"Hey Ash, you OK? Want to file a report?" The first officer asked.

Ash rose to his knees, catching his breath. The throbbing was subsiding now, but he felt it all over. "Maybe later George, I'll let you know. I just need to get out of here," Ash replied as calmly as he could. Inside he was shaking, he needed to get home ASAP. He hoped his look said it all. George was part of his Veterans support group, he knew Ash didn't like crowds and people confrontations.

George looked down at Ash's jeans, "No problem. You get yourself cleaned up, we need to take Frank in anyway. We'll talk later. Call me when you're up to it." The two officers each grabbed one of Franks' arms and threw him into the back of the squad car. They didn't bother to belt him, body laid awkwardly across the back seat. The patrol car backed up, and took off down the street.

"Are you OK sir?" a male voice spoke from behind.

Ash turned slightly, the voice came from the man in glasses. He was wearing a yellow polo, with two overlapping Es, and gray slacks. "I'll be alright," Ash replied reaching for the bump growing on the back of his head.

"Let me help you," glasses said.

Ash took his hand, reluctantly. "Thanks," he said. As he rose, one thousand other fights from his past life ached through his bones. He still worked out every day, but 40 was definitely not the new 20. He was glad for the assistance after all.

"Oh my," Glasses said. "Your coffee has spilled all over your jeans. That must have been awful to be attacked like that, let me take you to get another coffee."

With heart still stampeding through his chest, ash replied, "Thanks for the offer, Mr.--?"

"Briar. Dr. Briar actually, " the man replied.

"Well thanks for the offer Dr. Briar, but I've had enough excitement for one day. I just need to get home, and cleaned up." And get some Purell.

"Another time then," Dr. Briar smiled, pudgy flat face pinched a little too tight. Too interested, too helpful. But maybe Ash was over-reacting, considering the incident he just endured. Then again, turtleneck's total lack of personality kept him on the edgy side. Ash's nose felt tight as his brow wrinkled at the thought.

He waved them off and walked down the street, wanting to get home, his refuge from humanity, as fast as possible. He needed to escape, re-center, and espresso wasn't going to do it this time. He needed a medically induced coma, 6 hours if he was lucky. He turned back one more time to glance at the location of the incident. Glasses was still watching him, turtle neck still behind. A nauseousness crept into his belly, and he turned back toward his truck. Ash kept an eye on window panes and the mirrors on cars he passed, to ensure he wasn't being followed.

In the town parking lot, just behind the main buildings, was his escape. The 1977 Ford F-150 wore a faded blue paint job, which blended into rust spots here and there. He adjusted the mirror again, ensuring no one was watching him. The engine turned over like a beast waking from slumber. The smooth floor shifter knob was familiar, and his stomach calmed a bit.

He made his way down Ashland's main street, a town named after his Great Great Grandfather, so he was told. A few miles down the highway, he turned onto a private road. Taking the driveway two miles into the woods, he parked in front a two story cabin style home.

Ash glanced back one last time, ensuring nobody followed him. He paused and listened for any sounds out of the ordinary, tires on the gravel, shuffling in the house, a branch breaking. Paranoia satisfied, he inserted the key, opened the door, and flipped the switch.

Office to the left, den to the right, hallway, secure. He made his way down the hall to the kitchen, grabbed an orange bottle from the shelf and twisted the white top. They should call these adult proof. Two blue peace keepers dropped into his hand. He placed the pills on the counter, took a large plastic Braveheart collectors cup out of the dish drying rack and filled it. The pills washed down nicely with some Dr. Pepper and Jack Daniels, half and half, over ice.

The stairs to the second floor were hard on his knee caps, but he managed with one hand, keeping a tight grip on the cup of sleep. The fight replayed in his mind as Ash walked over to the bookcase and pushed it aside, revealing a large steel Liberty Safe. A few spins of the dial, and the heavy door swung open. He may not be licensed to carry anymore, but that didn't stop him from keeping a stash of weapons, dating back several generations of Ashland's, leading on up to his retirement from the United States Air Force, Special Tactics unit. Tonight felt safer with having something nearby, so he grabbed the Glock 9mm, two extra clips, and the holster and stashed them in the kitchen drawer so they'd be handy, just in case. House alarm set, he made his way out onto the patio which was tucked away out of sight. Police report, he remembered and grabbed a sticky note and stuck it to the face of the cell phone.

The hammock swung slightly, creaking as it adjusted to his weight. It enveloped him like a cocoon, shielding him from the events of the day. The first signs of stars peeped through the evening sky. A chorus of crickets and critters chirped, his heart settling into the rhythm of the night as Ash finished off the last of Dr. Braveheart Daniels' magic potion.

The image of the man-bull lingered in his mind, so real, he laid his head down and the image faded to sweet nothingness.

The mess hall wasn't much to look at, a building in the middle of a desert Air Force base, thrown together with grey cinderblocks and a make-shift kitchen. It was over one hundred fifteen degrees outside, but the mess hall managed to keep a balmy ninety five. The last of what passed for French fries sat on the tray in front of him. "Did you hear what General Akbar said?" two soldiers at the table in front of Ash were talking. "Yeah, another three months of this hell-hole." Ash stood, grabbed the brown plastic tray that doubled as a plate and walked to the trash to dump it.

There was a bright flash, a shock wave propelled him face first onto the wall, his vision went dark momentarily, then he found himself on the floor of what was left of the mess hall. For a moment Ash was deaf, accept a high pitched frequency ringing in both ears. Vision returning, bracing his hand on the wall, he raised to his feet, the air cleared some but smoke still obscured the scene as he tried to see what happened.

Heart racing, hearing normalizing. Nothing felt broken, everything moved. He took a step, nothing hurt. He tried to make out his immediate surroundings. The ceiling was caved in, mostly rubble. "Help me with this!" one soldier barked to another, they lifted several fallen cinder blocks from a fallen soldier's leg. From what Ash could tell from this distance it would need to be amputated. Another concussion came from outside, a cloud of dust and smoke rose to the sky, which was now visible from inside the mess hall.

Ash glanced once more at the scene in front of him, there were enough rescuers, he needed to stop the onslaught. He pushed through some fallen wall nearby, and paused to listen. A third explosion hit a building on the far side of camp, there didn't seem to be a pattern.

An image of the armory, his rifle; he ran down the lane and hooked a left to the Armory. Rifle in hand, Ash took off and found a steal communications tower just higher than the rest of the buildings, and climbed to a small flat spot he could use as a nest. They were targeting large buildings, it was a risk, but an educated risk.

Ash steadied his breathing, after the long run and climb, and positioned himself low on the flat surface of the tower so his profile would be nearly invisible on the horizon. The high powered scope revealed ten men, faces covered by their keffiyehs and robes, hiding behind an outcropping of rocks and three old jeeps. Two of them were holding rocket launchers, two others were helping re-load. The rest were stationed around them with AK-74M Assault Rifles, ready to defend their position.

Taking aim at the bulky portion of the first rocket launcher itself, and not it's handler, should incapacitate it, and Ash rarely missed. The unit exploded in its handlers face.

He looked away. This was his first kill, but his stomach turned a little each time. It's us or them, they'd started this, he would finish it. His blood boiled at the decision. Resolved, he pear back through his scope and found the small band of attackers had turned toward their fallen comrade, surprised by the explosion. The look on their face said that they thought it had malfunctioned.

That gave him the few seconds he needed to line up the second shot. A second explosion took the remaining rocket launcher and its handler out of commission. "Yes," he hissed to himself. The band no longer posed an immediate threat to his buildings from this distance, not with those rifles, but they were still a threat. A threat now reduced to eight with no long range weapons. Three of the men decided leave the relative safety of the outcropping and run the mile and half of open desert firing at the outer walls of the base. Like ducks flying from a bush. Ash aimed and fired. Seven. Six. Five left. He re-centered his scope on the rocks, the remaining five popped up periodically, firing aimlessly.

Whack A Mole, he thought briefly, and a "hmpf" escaped his throat. Ash fired each time he found a clean shot. Four. Three. Two. For less than 30 seconds, there was stillness from the desert. A shadow by the farthest Jeep. The last two crawled inside, the Jeep sped away from the scene. They were keeping low, out of sight. Ash aimed at the back of each front seat. Two. One. The vehicle drove erratically and crashed into the hill a little further out. The front gates of the base opened as an armored attack vehicle raced out. They'd clean up anything he missed, his job was done.

Back on solid ground, he surveyed the scene. Devastation. By the time he'd taken the rocket launchers out, there were four buildings decimated. The dead would be counted after the rescue was over. Despite the sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach that wouldn't leave, he chose to feel no remorse about the job he had to stop the attack. He brushed the feeling aside, and ran to back to the mess hall to clean up.

As he ran down the street toward the mess hall, the scene turned white and morphed. Now he was jogging down a long hallway with white walls and porcelain tiles. He stopped before a door, tugged on his shirt, and glanced down at the letter he'd received that morning. "Due to valor in the line of fire, you are hereby invited to join an experimental program for soldiers with your unique skillset. Your invitation and participation is optional - classified as Top Secret. Please report for a briefing at 10:00 hours..." Ash glanced at his watch, 2 minutes to 10:00. The door plaque read: General Akbar.

He raised his hand and knocked. "Come," the voice replied. Ash opened the door, "Permission to enter, Sir?" General Akbar looked up, "Come in soldier." As he entered, General Akbar stood-

The image morphed again, General Akbars uniform was now worn by a larger man shaped body, with the head of a bull. White striped streaked across its face.

The scene turned to black...

The sound of crickets slowly brought Ash back to his cabin patio. The hammock swinging slightly in the mountain breeze through the mountain pass. Another one, uhg. He rubbed his eyes and glanced at his wrist. 3:00 hours. His body ached, his heart was racing but his mind was foggy. Like it hadn't fully kicked on. Ash pondered this view of the stars, remembering his times in larger metropolitan areas. Why would anyone live in a big city? Uhg... I need to go to town and file that report. Maybe George will come up here instead...

A single falling star shot across the night sky among the backdrop of a clear milky way. He decided to lay there until his mind rebooted or shut down.

*****

By Darrell Wolfe

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Feelings: Thesaurus List

2016-10-05T20:35:00.002-05:00

Emotion Thesaurus:

FEAR:

shaking, trying not to shake
a white-knuckled grip
leg muscles tightening, ready to run
shivery skin, crawling flesh
dizziness
gasping for air
dry mouth
crying
shaking the head in denial
a voice that goes shrill
stuttering, mispronouncing words
a compulsion to talk non-stop about anything
loosening of the bladder
holding back a scream or cry
flinching at noises
the sudden urge to flee
hyper-sensitivity to touch…
Stomach dropped.
Hair on neck/arms raised.
Sucked in air.
Head moved back.
Ears tingled.
Queasy, nauseous,

PANIC:

Uncontrolled shaking
Risking a different or lesser danger in order to escape
Holding oneself tight (wrapping the arms around oneself to make smaller)
High tolerance to pain, not feeling/noticing injuries
Increased stength, stamina
Grabbing onto someone and refusing to let go
Claustrophobia
Anxiety attacks, pain in the chest, lungs or throat
Clutching at the throat or chest
Gasping for air
A harried, wild appearance
Thoughts that turn to death or the worst possible outcome
Copious sweating
Backing away in quick jerky steps
Passing out from a stress overload, lack of oxygen, or both…

By Darrell Wolfe

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Distortion: Outline

2016-10-05T19:52:00.002-05:00

Outline for Distortion, a White Noise novel.

*In Progress

Back-story.

In the first few pages, introduce your reader to the protagonist and his/her world.
Scene List:

Street Noise - Ash is introduced.
Action: He sees a homeless man go crazy, beats him up. His coffee is knocked out of his hand by a woman in a hurry.

Reaction: Heads home, has crazy dream.
Decision: Need to go to file the report in the morning.

Action: Next day, Ash needs to file a police report. He calls and lets him know he's on the way. There he finds that the old man has died, suspiciously.

Reaction: They ask some questions, and ask him not to leave town. "Standard procedure." He doesn't like Georges' look or evasive stance.
Decision: Heads to...

He stops and picks up a woman whose car broke down.
She asks a lot of questions, casually. On their way out of town, they are ran off the road.
??????
X
x
x
x
x

Inciting Event

The event that forces the protag into the story, with a clear goal.
There may be a clear, specific threat.
Scene List:

Shattered -
Car was run off the road.
Grace reveals that she is a reporter, and she witnessed one attempt on his life already (something in his coffee), which she knocked out of his hand to save him.
Tries to make it to his house, but they were followed, house destroyed.
Tries to make it to back-up site, kills hit-man. More could come, house destroyed, may as well leave town. He has a contact living in LA. Ash hasn't seen Chester since he consulted him on a joint case with the NSA. No recent ties, should be the best place to find him.
Grace and Ash head to LA.

Series of Challenges and Solutions.

Your protag tries a series of solutions and fails.
Things seem to go well, and all hope is lost.
Something BIG has to happen, or all is lost.
Subtle changes. Character is wrestling through, lost in the fog.
Scene List:

Dramatic turning point.

A major change in your characters perspective.
Small changes came before now, but this is a major change for your character. The path is now clear. May come at a cost. This is where his inner goal is realized.
Scene List:

Climax (Goal Reached)

Antagonist overcome, goal reached.
Using the trans-formative new perspective he gained in step 4, he overcomes the outer goal and his inner struggle at the same time.
Scene List:

Wrap Up

Resolve/Restoration
One last scene to show how the character's world turned out.
Scene List:

Celebration

Celebrating his victory. One scene, or less than a full scene.
Hint at the future?
Scene List:

By Darrell Wolfe

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Distortion: Who - Why - Where - What - How

2016-10-03T21:45:00.002-05:00

I need to get into the background of White Noise's lead Characters so I can re-write effectively. I'm using a few techniques I've picked up lately.

Getting into the background: Dr. Briar

Dr. Briar is a scientist, first and foremost, but he's also bound to the needs of his financial benefactor "Thaddeus".

They've had incidents from prior research "volunteers" that led to exposure to their less than legal program, code named "White Noise". One such incident involved a man who was perfectly normal before the experiment suddenly deciding to walk into oncoming traffic on a freeway. He said he did it at the demands of "voices in his head". He was taken to a hospital, but the next day he snuck out and did it again. He died, as did three other people due to the crash that ensued.

A reporter, Grace Scriven, tied his medical records back to his involvement in "White Noise". Even after several press releases insisting no ties between their research (several years prior) and the current incidents, she was not satisfied and she kept pressing.

These incidents led local authorities in Los Angeles (LA), County California to investigate the Institute further, which put them at Legal and Regulatory risk, but also increased media exposure.

Dr. Brian doesn't know it, but Thaddeus (his benefactor) is operating under an Assumed Alias that he spent a great deal of time creating, and this is why he is getting even greater pressure from Thaddeus to keep a lid on the exposure.

At the lethal insistence of his benefactor and due to a fear of losing his own research (which he prizes above life itself), Dr. Briar agrees to hunt down and exterminate any participants of "White Noise" that were showing any signs of ill-effects.

At the start of our story, due to the length of time it's taken and the increased pressure from a variety of sources, Thaddeus now insists that ALL participants of White Noise either become deceased or vegetative in short order (or Dr. Briar himself will be eliminated).

Dr. Briar heads to Ashland, OR where two of his former volunteers happen to reside (no relation).

Grace Scriven has been monitoring his travel plans and happens to track him to Ashland, Oregon where she begins to understand the level of the Dr.'s depravity.

Dr. Briar sneaks poison into Ash's coffee, but he doesn't drink it before an outburst outside (with the other volunteer) causes him to lose the contents, spilling them onto the ground.

After seeing him handle the volunteer, Dr. Briar sends a hit man to cause Ash to "crash" his truck off a cliff on his way back to his cabin.

Grace (disguised - incognito) saw Dr. Briar's interest in Ash the first time around. She follows him to his car and she's with him when the crash attempt occurs.

The hit man checks to ensure fatality, realizes they escaped, and follows them into the forest to finish the job....

Now Action!

Getting into the background: Ash

His mother passed away giving birth to his younger sister.

While Ash was in college in Oregon, his sister Jennie (one year younger) went to Biola University in southern California. When she was at an event in down town LA, performing, she was killed accidentally in a drive shooting by El Maduro, a Latino gang from Los Angeles. They were attempting to a revival gang member present on the scene.

After his sister died, his father (a pastor) killed himself too. Leaving Ash with the house, and no family. Ash was already in his senior year getting a B.S. in Military Science, and he went into the USAF after that year (to run away from the memories and pain).

His lack of family ties made him an excellent candidate for the unsanctioned Operation White Noise, which was the military wing of the experiment.

Ash was a volunteer in White Noise while he was a USAF Captain, Special Tactics Officer.

As a result of the experiment, he lost all memories from about 3 weeks prior to the experiment to 3 weeks afterward. This included the time period in which he volunteered. Therefore, he has no memory of it. He only knows that he woke with 12 weeks of missing memory (6 of, 3 before and after), with no explanation. He also knows that he's had strange PTSD side effects. He was medically discharged with little to no explanation. He was told that he was on a mission and recovered from behind enemy lines, and that's it. Which was a lie on behalf of his leaders.

He was medically discharged 8 years ago.

He moved into his parents home (which he's owned since his father's passing), a two story cabin style home in the woods of Ashland Oregon.

The losses of his youth, later his memories, and his eventual PTSD symptoms left Ash a broken man.

Internally, he jumps at the slightest hint of danger and he sees things that aren't there. But despite that, he strives for a normal life. His medications and counseling appointments keep him fairly stable.

He sees clouds on nearly everyone, every day. On some people he sees actual creatures. Some sightings are clearer than others. Sometimes he sees a colorful cloud grow into a creature, then disappear into cloud again. Mist, smoke, vapor? Hm...

After 8 years, he is generally able to shield his reactions from physically showing to all but the most keen observer.

As part of his therapy, he writes what he sees in a notebook that he keeps in his pocket. He doesn't use cell phones or technology.

Due to his own paranoia, he does keep unregistered weapons, a stash of burner phones, cash, passports, and transportation all at three safe houses. One local, two remote. He also knows the location of empty facilities in the immediate area that he can make use of at any given moment.

As part of his ritual to keep life normal, he works in his workshop making furniture and carvings from the wood on his property (25 acres). He brings the items into town every few days to sell through a local craftsman consignment store, Woodmen Furnishings.

He also stops by the Grounded Cafe' every Monday and Wednesday morning to sit and observe the locals. He has a Veterans support group every Wednesday evening. On Sundays he heads into town for Church on Sunday morning, and to the local Pub on Sunday afternoons (during football season).

This particular Wednesday morning, he's just got his coffee when he's interrupted by crazy Eddie outside. He knows him, he usually acts up every few months, but never this bad. Then he sees creatures on Eddie, talking to him. He's attacked, spilling his coffee onto the ground. That's never happened before. He tries not to hurt him, and the police come and take Eddie away.

Later, on his way to the support group, he meets a woman stranded on the side of the road. She gets into his car for a ride into town. While driving to town, they are rammed off the road off a cliff, but survive. He sees a light creature (not an angel, make is something else, animal, rabbit? wolf? something), just before going off the cliff.

He comes to, injured, the girl is fine, but trapped. There is a man at the top of the cliff holding a gun. Instinct tells him that this is no accident, and he runs with the girl into the forest. They are tracked by the hit man. This is when she confides that she is a reporter, that Dr. Briar was interested in Ash, and she thinks they are up to something.

Ash leads evades the hit man, brings the girl to his safe house, and he gets his weapons. The safe house is shot up, and Ash kills the hit man. They then take off in his back up vehicle (or motorcycle) and head out of town.

Action!

Getting into the background: Grace

Grace Scriven has wanted nothing less than to be a reporter. She was assigned fluff pieces and other things she didn't like for over ten years of her career. She had enough, so she went Freelance. She kept enough work through Freelancing that she paid the bills. She also worked for more than one news paper this way.

In the meantime, she kept her eye out for stories that could "make her career". She wants to prove her worth as a real journalist, and make a difference in peoples' lives, give them a voice.

She is also willing to step on people's toes to get her reports, which doesn't make her a lot of friends, or give her the chance to make a positive impact on the people she meets. Her desire to be a star reporter often leaves her pushing her sources too far and too hard; hurting the ones she was supposed to be giving a voice to.

After several false starts, she found a story nobody was following. Grace titled the piece, "What Noise - A science experiment gone amuck (working title)."

She spent the better part of two years worth of her off time looking into the operation. She finally landed a solid lead with Dr. Briar's trip to Ashland, Oregon. She decided to follow him there where she hoped to catch him doing something nefarious, or at least get a clue to what they were up to. She knew his volunteers kept disappearing, but he didn't know how to prove it.

She saw Dr. Briar put something into Ash's drink, but she didn't know who he was. She assumed he must be a former volunteer. Before she could warn him, without exposing her disguise, a man jumped him knocking him over. The coffee spilled, and disaster was averted for the moment.

Before she left the scene, she caught Dr. Briar staring at her. Recognition hit his eyes, and she ran.

Grace needed to get to this guy before Dr. Briar could get to him again, so she lifted her hood and poured water on the engine to produce steam (a trick she'd learned from growing up around her mechanic father, who would wash down engines he worked on). Pretending to be stranded, she hoped Ash would stop and give her a ride, which he did. She tried to play it safe, ask questions, before she could reveal her real reason for getting to him, they were run off the road and chased through a forest.

She agreed to run with him, as her life was in danger now too.

Action!

Getting into the background: Chester

Chester Jandihar was the son of two parents that wanted him to achieve. He graduated college at 23 with a PhD in Computer Science and a Masters in Behavioral Psychology. He was working with a cutting edge research firm, on an intuitive computer user interface program, when he cracked from the pressure.

He was fired from his job, as undependable. His parents didn't disown him, but they didn't understand him either. They keep their distance.

He got into drug and alcohol addiction, until he nearly died in an accident where he wrapped his car around a telephone pole, and killing a jogger. He was sentenced to three years for manslaughter, rehab and ongoing community service. Which is where he met Ms. Wu.

Since then, he's worked Freelance as a programmer, and he volunteers as often as possible at Ms. Wu's.

He brings in people to his house frequently, down and outers, who he feels obligated to help in one way or another.

He is the most centered character, and he wants to help others with no expectation of return. But he also afraid that non of his good works will ever atone for his sin or the life he took.

He is now 32, and he meets Ash and Grace, takes them in, and got more than he bargained for. But he's all-in.

Can he help them survive, without becoming a target?

Getting into the background: Jazmin

Jazmin Doe was the victim of a botched abortion attempt. The "doctor" delivered her whole, and she was thrown into a dumpster. The cries were heard by a passer-by and reported to the police. She was turned over to an adoption agency. One arm was injured and never grew right.

Ms. Wu left her last name as Doe, as she did with all her orphans. She felt it gave them a unity together as a family, and the opportunity to shed the name for one of their own choosing if they wanted as they got older.

She a mixed girl, mostly black. At the time of the story she is 16 years old.

She is Chester's protégé, a hacker, and a good one. She's not as white hat as Chester though. She makes a living (secretly) doing grey hat, and black hat work.

She wants to impress her mentor and make money for herself, not always possible to do at the same time.

She thinks she's about to get a pay day and impress her mentor when she goes behind Chester to show him up. Instead it gets her in trouble... and killed?

By Darrell Wolfe

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Jazmin Doe - Hacker/Orphan

2016-10-03T21:40:00.003-05:00

Jazmin Doe - Hacker/Orphan

Getting into the background: Jazmin

By Darrell Wolfe

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Grace Scriven - Reporter

2016-10-03T21:14:00.002-05:00

Grace Scriven - Reporter

Getting into the background: Grace

By Darrell Wolfe

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Distortion Critique 6

2016-10-03T19:10:00.002-05:00

So I put out scene one from Distortion for a writer's critique. Here was the result:

It's amazing how awesome this feedback was. You can live with your stuff long enough that you become blind to it. I have a lot of work to do (first novel) but I've studied the craft long enough to understand everything everyone is saying. Besides all the specific points, the two themes I noticed were a lack of emotional/physical reaction (nothing to keep you in Ash's head) and the Great Sin (show don't tell). I also changed tense and didn't notice (no that was not on purpose). There were many other great points, and I have a lot of work to do. Thanks again to http://www.scribophile.com/ for making a community for writers.

A J Sloane

Opening Comments

Okay, I am back, and as promised, the first of my list of critiques to do! I try to be as detailed as possible, leaving comments wherever I have a thought - some may be irrelevant to what you're trying to achieve, but I will offer all my thoughts and feel free to use what you see fit!

Inline Critique

Out of the corner of his eye, through the window of The Grounded Cafe, Ash saw two men dressed in black combat gear duck behind a car.
This opening doesn't really draw me in. It might sound better if you open with 'Two men dressed in black ducked behind a car. Ash spotted them through the window of Thw Grounded Cafe and could have sworn they wore the black combat gear of [?]' Just a suggestion. I'm sure we all know this, but the first sentence and paragraph and page is always the most important!

Coolness
A chill? A shiver? He shivered?rushed down his spine, and his muscles tensed.

He reached for his sidearm
I'm having a bit of a hard time picturing what this means. Do you mean a weapon of some kind, or literally his arm?.

He shook his head, and looked again
, ;they were gone.
I think the transition between this and the paragraph above could be expanded upon. Or even combined.

Ash relaxed
show us this insteadand sank back into the leather bound chair; alone, in the corner of his favorite coffee shop.

Always keep your back to the wall, be near the most exits, but never too visible.
This sounds like somebody is speaking to him, or he's remembering what somebody said to himIt was like breathing, it never stopped..
what is 'it' in this instance?. even in civilian life. Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, PTSD. That was the diagnosis they’d assigned him.

As Dean of Military Science, Ash's job primarily lay in administrative work and policy these days, plus a few sessions counseling the younger cadets, and would-be trouble makers. He was quite overqualified for the position, but he ran a tight unit.
This is probably more of a personal preference, but I always find it more interesting if you work information like this into the story rather than an info drop. It's not a huge paragraph so it probably doesn't matter too much, but could he have a flashback that addresses his title, or somebody speaks to him about it? Just a suggestion to 'bump it up'.

He stared at the faces of the pedestrians as they passed by the window. Hurried. Busy. Buried in their smartphones. So oblivious to the world around them, or the little clouds that float around their shoulders.
You could maybe give more detail about this rather than simple statements. 'He watched the hurried pedestrians through the window...'

The leaves began to fall, most turning shades of orange and yellow,
this kind of feels as if it is all happening in this very momentmatching perfectly the Pumpkins that were dotting porches and windows through the city the past few weeks.

Some commotion outside broke his train of thought... Everyone was stopping, turning, and staring in the same direction, a few moving toward the distraction.
you could give more detail about this. Does Ash feel curious? Does he wonder? Does he talk to himself about what it could be?

Ash stepped outside to see what was happening, turned a corner, and nearly ran into a bystander. A brisk evening breeze broke past his collar.
This reads out of place for what his happening at the moment and seems to come along suddenly. You could expand on Ash leaving and I'd imagine he'd notice the breeze the moment he left the cafe

A man in a tattered and dirty suit with a graying beard was standing on top of a pickup truck screaming at nobody in particular.

"You always did love Mother best... I know... That's why... You couldn't keep your mouth shut..." On he went, incoherently.
I'm not sure this is necessary

Just as Ash took a step closer, the man turned to stare him directly in the eye
This may very well be a region thing in language, so if it is, please ignore, but stare him reads a bit awkward and I desperately want to add an 'at' in between, but considering I know you use 'write you' and we use 'write to you' I am thinking it may be another regional thing so I'll leave it.

In a deeper, gravelly voice: "You... What do you want with us?"
who is saying this? the man or Ash?

Ash took a step back.

Then
I know at times it can't be helped, but I was always taught not to begin a sentence with 'then'. You could scrap it altogether and begin with 'the'the man turned back to his one-sided conversation.

Ash could see a large creature behind the man. The bottom half was more mist than form, as though it were made of smoke. The top half was like a man, with the head of a bull. It was charcoal
as in made of charcoal or the colour of?, and streaks of white painted across the chest.

Ash could feel his palms turn cold, and he felt as though he couldn't move his legs.
I think you could work these two together in a way of using the show don't tell method. 'Ash's palms went cold. It was as if his legs were glued to the [concrete pavement]...'

A smaller creature was on the homeless man's shoulders, screaming into his ears. He couldn't hear the conversation, but Ash could tell that the homeless man was responding and that he had only been hearing one-half of the conversation. Ash looked around and nobody else seemed too surprised, as usual.
you could definitely expand on this

The large creature stared directly at Ash, cocked his head to one side and disappeared along with the smaller one. The homeless man was by himself again, then his eyes narrowed. He leapt off the truck and ran at Ash.

It took all his training to keep from being pinned down. The old man was wiry but stronger than he looked.
definitely need to build upon this by including emotions and reactions for Ash and the people around

Ash let out a cry, "Jesus!"
"Jesus!" Ash cried as he attempted to step out of the way/run/etc

The wiry man stepped back
,.hHis eyes darted around
~~, as though~~;he
~~looked~~ appearedconfused.

That was all Ash needed. In 30 seconds he hog-tied the man with his own belt.
show this scene rather than telling us

The police were just arriving. "Charlie's at it again... Let's take him in."
This has all happened really fast and it definitely needs expanding upon

Three big men in uniform put cuffs and a muzzle
really?on the old man, and threw him, rather harshly, into the back of the squad car.

Ash heard someone behind him, "Those were some moves, Marine."
so they know him? Or he's in uniform? I think this might need to be established at the beginning of the scene to paint that picture in the reader's head

"Airman
so he is in uniform and they misunderstood? I think it's good that the general population could gt it wrong - I definitely would. It makes them more human. Uh... Thanks. No harm done." Ash noticed his cup crushed beneath him, the ice, coffee, and cream covered the sidewalk, and his jeans.
rework this"Well... Almost no harm anyway."

"Why don't you let me get you another… on me."
I think you need to establish who is speaking first up to give that initial picture rather than in the next paragraph. That was actually something that was pointed out to me while ago, as I did it as well

Ash looked up to see a balding man in blue slacks, yellow polo, and a pile of papers in his arms. A logo with two E’s overlapping bore prominently on his chest.

"The least I could do for a man who'd be willing to step into a situation like that, protect all these people. What's your name son
so Ash is relatively young??"

"Ash. I need to get some new clothes. I don't think I need any more caffeine right now. But thanks for the offer.
For a moment I thought he was asking the man to buy him new clothes instead of a coffee and was like... that's a big ask :O" With a wave, he set off toward home.

Ash headed down the sidewalk, past the shops and restaurants. There is a girl crying, typing away on the phone
show this by her appearance and the way she was sitting/standing. A little red frog on her shoulder was yelling into her ear. Ash could only imagine what it must be saying.

A little old lady is
wassitting inside a window
do you mean 'by a window'?at the
this indicates there is only one, which will mean you need to expand upon itnursing home. She
is was (the tense has just suddenly changed here which makes it a little awkward to read)knitting something, probably a blanket. A large man in all white, stands behind her, smiling. He looks up at Ash, his smile fades slightly, and then returns
to what? to the woman? Include that in the same sentence. He looks down to her again.

Ash could not see the figure accompanying each person, only certain ones, here and there. Most were just clouds or mist.
I'm a bit confused by this sentence

"Don't worry so much." His doctor told him, "These may be after effects of the war. We’re just beginning to understand PTSD.
Although grammatically correct this reads awkward the way you've used it. The 'don't worry so much' now reads as a stand alone without the dialogue tags and is rather confusing. I'd attach the tag to the first part not the second. It'll flow better that wayThe mind is a marvelous adapter to stress. As long as these phantoms do not interrupt your daily work, or cause you to want to harm yourself or others, you should be fine. Consider yourself lucky. Just think of them as a construct of your active imagination, an amusing distraction from the mundane realities of life."
He sounds like a great doctor (sarcasm)

He turned off the street into an alley between two old buildings, and up a well-worn path into the woods
,;his refuge from the masses.

Ash opened the door of his cabin.
expand upon his journey to the cabin. What are the woods like? Dense? Quiet? What kind of animals live there? Also, what does the cabin look like on the outside?

It wasn't a mansion by any means
that's a big jump. The word cabin instantly means small, so I don't think this is necessary, but it was more than sufficient for him. 900 sq. ft.
Not sure you need to specify exactly. Try and describe its size through more description, one large open room, a loft, and a balcony.

Yes sir, he owned one fine cabin in the woods. All to himself. How he'd managed to live here eight years and still not have a single friend invited over was a mystery, even to himself. Then again, you'd
he'd might be better herehave to have a friend to invite one.

~~He liked things just so.~~ He liked the solitude.

At least that's
might just be me, but I feel that was might work better for this sentencewhat he told himself.

Ash took a seat on his balcony
a balcony generally indicates it's two storeys., overlooking the hills and lake. He stared at the expansive forests, lost in time. The clock read: 6:00pm, he laid down in his hammock, bundled in the overpriced winter resistant sleeping bag, and watched the stars from the balcony until he drifted off.
Re work this sentence

As sleep overtook him, he thought to himself
,"Yes sir, this is one fine cabin."
would that really be what his thoughts were about? After the incident earlier he hasn't really thought much of it since. Did it scare him? Or is he used to it. We don't get to see much of his inner thoughts or feelings at the moment

***

An explosion knocks him against a wall. He barely sees, through the smoke, troops running about, hauling rubble off of bodies, checking pulses. Some are screaming in pain. Others shouting to one another. Half the mess hall is completely gone, all that is left is fire and rubble.
I really like this description

Ash can feel the beat of his heart in his neck, his forehead rushed with sweat. He sees them all running around, but all he hears is intense ringing.

As the numbness subsides from his brain, shock waves hit his chest as more buildings are getting hit nearby.
'crumble around him' maybe?

Ash uses the wall to steady himself and works to stand on his feet.

Others will tend to the wounded. This band of Jihadist miscreants found upgraded weapons; Russian no doubt
is that the truth?.

Ash shoots out the building
I was under the impression he was outside. His location may need to be established more,
anddown the road to the artillery unit. He grabs his rifle
so this has just happened then? He wouldn't already have a weapon on him? (I know nothing about modern war or battle, so forgive my ignorance here)and heads for the highest structure
,-a radio tower toward the side of the camp.

He can see the launch area where the rockets are being fired from. He takes a few quick breaths, hyperventilating
that generally means a struggle to breathefloods the lungs with oxygen, one last deep breath in and hold, steadies his body.
reads awkward

Through the scope, he can see about 10 of them.
of what? Rockets?

They only have two missile launchers. They have very little cover, firing from open desert, mostly hiding behind their Jeep and a few large outcroppings of fallen mountainside.

He fires two rounds back to back, taking out both missile launchers, one exploding in the handler
's face. Ash then begins
He startsfiring one round after another as the attackers fall like Coke cans on a fence post. The rounds hit their targets with extreme prejudice.

Three remain, cowering behind the Jeep. Jeeps are great vehicles for driving through tough terrain quickly, but they are built light, not armored. He sees one peek through the glass,
and then he'sgone.

The other two attempt to climb in the vehicle
,keeping their heads down and
thendrive away. The problem with that is that both seats are occupied. He doesn't need to see them. Two. One.

The Jeep speeds up as it drives erratically,
This sounds like the jeep is driving itselfthen crashes into a mound of rocks.

***

Ash woke up... another nightmare, if you can call a memory a nightmare.

He rubbed his eyes and glanced at his wrist.

Red numbers flooded his vision
,.3:00 am.

He rolled over and went back to sleep.
I'd like to see more reaction from Ash here. He's obviously having a nightmare. Does he wake up in a sweat? Heart pounding? Show us how he feels so we can feel it too!

Closing Comments

I think you already know what you need to work on as an over all, and I can't really add much to the email you sent me. These are just my thoughts and opinions, so hopefully you can find something useful from it. All the best, and I will look out for anything else you post :)

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By Darrell Wolfe

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Focused Character Bio and Rough Outlines...

2016-09-24T15:00:00.003-05:00

... are crucial to have before you start, but they're not what you think they are.

Focused Character Bio's to answer only TWO questions.

Having no character bio to start is just as bad as having one that's too detailed or robust. One gives you no thread to weave into the story, no "why" or "what" to hang on to. The other gives you so many details these are still obscured.

Page 91:

So that's an order for

1. One worldview altering event (broken soul, pain point, causing a fear) that keeps him from his inner lifelong goal. This event can happen before the story proper and we may only catch glimpses of it.It may not even be referenced at all, but it will weave through every action's motivation and reaction we see.

2. The inception of the goal itself, prior to the worldview changing event. The goal is deeper than the fear, but the fear has him/her stunted.

Rough Outline of the starting Why's and What's.

Once you have:

He's always wanted:
His internal issue keeps him from attaining what he's always wanted.

You then need a "situation" to put him in that will bring him to a place where what he's always wanted and his internal issue MUST be forced to battle each other within him until he's either defeated or he overcomes.

The story then forces him to reassess his internal worldview and his goal and find they were both off the mark.

Do's and Don'ts

Do keep in mind that the story is about the characters internal change from his old worldview to his new one.
Don't be uncomfortable digging deep into your characters psyches.
Don't try to write the bio well, you are looking for raw data, not pretty prose.
Do write a SHORT bio for each and every character.

THE BEST pre-outlining work I've ever seen is in this book starting on page 95:

The Premise: "What would happen if...." Once you have that, you need to ask OK. HOW would that happen. We do that by...
Asking ourselves: "Why?"

What does she want, what is she afraid of it?

Drill from the general to the specific. If you can't see it, it's not specific enough yet.

What's her life like now? What's she really want? Why is she afraid of it?
Are there any subplot things happening in her life that could tie into the bigger plot?
What clocks can we set on timers about to go off?

Figuring out the what.

What would happen to put these two in the same place, each for their character's own separate reason, at the same time?

A focused pre-outline

A focused outline doesn't set the entire stage, every plot point, every turn. It simply lays the groundwork for who is doing what, where and why. Maybe a little how, but that comes as you write.

The WHY

It knows the (internal) end goal, the fear preventing that goal, and the question that needs an answer. The answer will be the conclusion, but you need not know the answer up front, just the question you want the answer to.

If the groundwork is properly laid, the answer will be a series of events in which worthy characters are transformed.

WHY does the premise make sense for this character? Why this person, at this time, doing this adventure? What is the internal desire and fear at war within him/her that sets them on this adventure?

Specific WHY, it cannot be general. If it's too general, you can't envision it. Keep drilling down into more and more specific why's until you begin to see a story unfolding before you... THEN you start writing.

Background, background, background, but only around the WHY. Favorite color, parents' names, where he went to high school are ONLY relevant if they answer the WHY behind this story. Focus only on the WHY(s) in the background and drill further and further into it until you get the clear picture.

The WHAT

The WHAT happens must have a story reason. It's very convenient for two people to end up at the same place at the same time. Each person must have their own story reason for being there, not just because the plot needs it to happen.

Use the WHYs to understand their reason for doing the WHATs.

The story is in the specifics

If we can't see it, we can't feel it. We are hard wired to ask "Is it safe, or not?" Therefore, every story is our chance to live a dangerous situation (physically, socially, emotionally dangerous, it comes in all kinds), without the actual consequences.

We want to know what it FEELS like to be a:

Spy or Soldier
Gangster or Mafia Boss
Defuse a bomb
Be in love
Leave a bad relationship or find a new relationship
Travel the world in search of treasure
Face the school bully
etc.

All of this, we want to feel. We can't feel it if we can't see it. We can't see it unless we are living inside the skin of our protagonist. We want to live vicariously through him/her, without consequences of our own.

Consider the 10,000-foot view vs the up close view.

Does that make you feel anything? Maybe a little pity or shame (unless you were close to one of those people).

Did you feel anything more that time? Probably, because it broughtt it down to the specific, down to a one on one level.

That's what story must do. It's not the struggle of class warfare, it's Kevin's struggle.

By Darrell Wolfe

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Notes from Ted Dekkers talk on storytelling (condensed)

2016-09-19T15:00:00.000-05:00

What is story?

Story is a series of events involving worthy characters who change (are transformed) as a result of those events.

Take the reader into a Fictive Bubble, and don’t pop it!

Ask ONE question you struggle with… and press your character until he is transformed and finds the answer. You should be transformed through the process too (if not, keep digging).

That path must be clear to you, you are your character's muse or guide. He will hit seven way-points.

Back-story.

In the first few pages, introduce your reader to the protagonist and his/her world.

Inciting Event

The event that forces the protag into the story, with a clear goal.
There may be a clear, specific threat.

Series of Challenges and Solutions.

Your protag tries a series of solutions and fails.
Things seem to go well, and all hope is lost.
Something BIG has to happen, or all is lost.
Subtle changes. Character is wrestling through, lost in the fog.

Dramatic turning point.

A major change in your characters perspective.
Small changes came before now, but this is a major change for your character. The path is now clear. May come at a cost. This is where his inner goal is realized.

Climax (Goal Reached)

Antagonist overcome, goal reached.
Using the trans-formative new perspective he gained in step 4, he overcomes the outer goal and his inner struggle at the same time.

Wrap Up

Resolve/Restoration
One last scene to show how the character's world turned out.

Celebration

Celebrating his victory. One scene, or less than a full scene.
Hint at the future?

By Darrell Wolfe

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Distortion Critiques Combined

2016-09-19T14:51:00.004-05:00

Here I'm putting all five reviews together. Taking the things that I liked from each and putting them together. In a few cases I just made the change because I liked it. Mostly I just pasted notes together. A lot of people picked up on the same points, so it's helpful to see it combined. Now I'll go do a re-write.

Comments and Suggestions
Trouble points
repeated or important words to consider re-writing.

Street Noise

(((( Check tense throughout. Check for es, ing, ed))))((Use Italics for thought?))((Avoid Then, was, he thought, he saw, could see…. just describe what happened in order, we’ll get it))(Action/Thought/Emotion/Reaction) (Mix subjects. Is the subject “he” or is it “the rock”, this will change up the text and help with pacing and description. That way you don’t have “he said, he did” all over the place. Too many short paragraphs, add some longer descriptive ones to flesh it out and give the readers eye a break or interest.

There is no physical description of Ash, which makes him difficult to identify with. He is coming across as a loner, which is fine, but he also feels cold and indifferent. He hog ties a troubled homeless man without thinking twice. In his dream, he shoots other human beings as if they were nothing more than Coke cans on a fence. He wakes from his nightmare and goes back to sleep! It's hard to engage with a character like that unless you imbue him with a few human characteristics.

The dream sequence starts well - all short sentences and action, but toward the end, it becomes more poetic and descriptive.

One reader said they took the whole thing as a dream (not my intent) and that Ash felt disconnected. I think both of these result from a lack of Motivation/Reaction Units (MRU’s). (Action/Thought/Emotion/Reaction) The scene is laid out as a frame (basic elements) but it’s missing the stucko, brick, and paint. I’m looking forward to the second draft.

**

From the corner of his eye, through the window of The Grounded Cafe, Ash saw two men dressed in black combat gear duck behind a car.

I like the opening as it immediately places me in Ash's world. I like the name of the café as it quickly becomes apparent that Ash is anything but grounded. I also like how Ash is an Airman back in civilian life and so is 'grounded.' A lot of thought went into the name, which I appreciate more on the second reading. Gives the beginning a surreal edginess.

Coolness rushed down his spine, and his muscles tensed.
I didn't buy this as a description of his response. 'Coolness rushed down his spine' is a bit too prosaic.
Or you could say, 'A chill' or 'ice' or my spine became a stalactite... okay that my be overdoing it, I guess. But to me coolness is usually a good thing. Like, people are cool. Plus coolness is kind of 'tepid'. It doesn't seem harsh enough.

He reached for his sidearm, shook his head, upon a second thought. When he looked again, the men were gone.

Ash, alone in the corner of his favorite coffee shop, sank back into the leather bound chair.

Always keep your back to the wall, be near the most exits, but never too visible ((((once he seated in a cafe he would be visible. But something like he should glance at people suspiciously or he shouldn't be engaged in anything that would draw people's attention to him))). It was like breathing, it never stopped... even in civilian life. Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, PTSD. That was the diagnosis they’d assigned him.

How did we get from diagnosis to job description?(Jump)

As Dean of Military Science, Ash's job primarily lay in administrative work and policy these days, plus a few sessions counseling the younger cadets and would-be trouble makers. He was quite overqualified for the position, but he ran a tight unit.

He stared at pedestrians who hurried by, buried in their smart phones, oblivious to the world and the little clouds that floated around their shoulders.

(Jump)

Leaves fell, most turning shades of orange and yellow, matching perfectly the Pumpkins that were dotting porches and windows through the city the past few weeks. ((A particular tree, single leaf might draw this closer to the reader. Also, what significance to pumpkins have. The shadows rise more during this time of year?))

A commotion outside broke his train of thought...
What train of thought, you didn't show us one? (Action/Thought/Emotion/Reaction)

Everyone (who, two business men?) was stopping, turning, and staring in the same direction, a few moving toward the distraction. More detail, describe individual actions.

Since from where he is sitting, he can't really see the commotion, you can't say that there was a commotion. These people could only be admiring a couple doing a crazy dance. So you can say that, suddenly every halted and looked in the same direction. The voice of people arguing reached him. (INSERT A THOUGHT HERE) Ash stepped outside to see what was happening.

Ash stepped outside to see what was happening, turned a corner, and nearly ran into a bystander (in yellow polo), “Excuse me”. A brisk evening breeze broke past his collar. Why is this relevant?
Internal thought and emotional reacting to the cold. Then what did he do, tighten his jacket? I like this description. Nice alliteration, but it seems to come from nowhere. Ash doesn't even respond to it.

A man in a tattered and dirty suit with a graying beard was standing on top of a pickup truck screaming at nobody in particular. (draw this out, what’s the crowd doing, what’s he doing, paint that picture)
I dded appeared here because at first Ash seems to think the man is having a one-sided conversation. But if he w=saw these creatures right away, then he'd never had reacted as if he thought the man was having a one-sides convo. The issue here is, you seem to have described the way everyone else is seeing the situation but you've done it from Ash's perspective. So either he needs to see the creatures right away or they need to gradually - or suddenly appear.
I feel there should be a more extreme reaction here from Ash. he's seeing this wholly unbelievable thing right now and he's not freakling out at all. At least, you aren't showing us he's freaking out. This would be a good place for some inner monologue, or maybe some swearing under his breath or something. I wat to know how he's feeling right now.

"You always did love Mother best-- I know-- That's why-- You couldn't keep your mouth shut--" On he went, incoherently.

Just as Ash took a step closer, the man (to who?) turned to stare him directly in the eye.
why did he take a step closer? does he know the guy? does he just enjoy watching a freakshow? You need to be clearer in showing the character's motivations

In a deeper, gravelly voice: "You... What do you want with us?"

Ash took a step back. (Action/Thought/Emotion/Reaction)

Then the man turned back to his one-sided conversation.

Behind the man was a large, black figure with the head of a bull and the lower part only a mist. White streaks ran across its torso, and its eyes were red like a hot iron.

Ash could see a large creature behind the man. The bottom half was more mist than form, as though it were made of smoke. The top half was like a man, with the head of a bull. It was charcoal with streaks of white painted across the chest.
he's either mist or smoke.

Ash could feel his palms turn cold, and he felt as though he couldn't move his legs.
Ash
's
so, here were delete thiscould feel his
because it's a filter wordpalms turn
ed cold, and
he felt as though
filter wordshe couldn't move his legs.
You simply say, Ash halted, his palms turning cold.
I don't think palms ever turn cold.

A smaller creature was on the homeless man's shoulders, screaming into his ears.
Wouldn't this be the first thing Ash would notice when he arrived at the scene?
He couldn't hear the conversation, but Ash could tell that the homeless man was responding and that he had only been hearing one-half of the conversation. Ash looked around and nobody else seemed too surprised, as usual.It'd be better to show what they were doing instead. I love this bit. It illustrates madness beautifully. It makes me sad for the homeless man while wondering why Ash sees it and no-one else does.

The large creature stared directly at Ash, cocked his head to one side and disappeared why/where? along with the smaller one. The homeless man was by himself again, then his eyes narrowed. He leapt off the truck and ran at Ash.
I don't know why the homeless man suddenly decides to charge Ash, especially as the creatures tormenting him have disappeared. Could they talk to the man one last time before disappearing? Seemingly urging him to attack Ash?

It took all his training to keep from being pinned down. The old man was wiry but stronger than he looked. Okay, did he run for his life? Or he stood there, waiting for the man to pounce on him? There is no actual description of the fight, or sequence. Paint this picture. Show the fight.

Ash let out a cry, "Jesus!"
Jesus!" he exclaimed as he pushed his attacker away, gagging on the scent of unwashed skin and rotten teeth.

The wiry man jerked and looked around, confused.

That was all Ash needed. In 30/thirty seconds he hog-tied the man with his own belt.

The police were just arriving. Let's hear the siren."Charlie's at it again... Let's take him in." Does this need a dialog tag? Show us the car arrive like-- A police car pulled up with sirens blaring. the crowd began to disperse. A few of the spectators held cellphones p, filming the encounter. the officer said as he exited from the passenger side. I like how he is known to the police. it adds character to the homeless man

Three big men in uniform put cuffs and a muzzle on the old man and threw him harshly into the back of the squad car.

Ash heard someone behind him, "Those were some moves, Marine."
avoid filtering wherever you can. instead describe WHAT he heard. like rapid footsteps approached.
You should describe this man as soon as the conversation begins. It feels like Ash has began a conversation without looking at him. I get that Ash is distracted by his lost cup of coffee, but the exchange feels unnatural without immediate eye contact

"Airman. Uh... Thanks. No harm done." Ash noticed Filter word. his cup crushed beneath him, the ice, coffee, and cream covered the sidewalk, and his jeans. "Well... Almost no harm anyway." ((Did he carry the cup of coffee with him from the cafe? Did he drop it during the fight, expound)) ha ha. I dunno. I'd be pretty grumpy to lose my coffee like that.

"Why don't you let me get you another… on me." Tag? Ash looked up to see (filtering) a balding man in blue slacks, yellow polo, and a pile of papers in his arms. A logo with two E’s overlapping bore prominently on his chest.
a balding man said. He shifted the pile of paper in his arms to offer his hand, covering the logo with two E’s overlapping on his yellow polo.

"The least I could do for a man who'd be willing to step into a situation like that, protect all these people. What's your name son?" Tag? He didn’t step in, he was attacked.

"Ash. I need to get some new clothes. I don't think I need any more caffeine right now. But thanks for the offer." With a wave, he set off toward home.
It feels like you have written off this encounter as nothing important when it clearly is. Perhaps you could add something like 'Ash noticed the stranger watching him as he walked away and it made him uncomfortable'. Just something to show the bald man has an interest in him, even though Ash has none in him.

Ash headed down the sidewalk, past the shops and restaurants. There is a girl crying, typing away on the phone. A little red frog on her shoulder was yelling into her ear. Ash could only imagine what it must be saying.
csratch and instead say where she is
I like how these creatures don't have to be humanoid. they could be anything. I don't think you need the next sentence. I would think Ash wasn't trying to imagine the other side of the conversation at all

A little old lady is sitting inside a window at the nursing home. She is knitting something, probably a blanket. A large man in all white, stands behind her, smiling. He looks up at Ash, his smile fades slightly, and then returns. He looks down to her again.

Let's see the distance between the phone booth (bench, but I didn't describe it) and the nursing home.

Ash could not see the figure accompanying each person, only certain ones, here and there. Most were just clouds or mist.
the figures accompanying each person remained mostly indistinct with only a few recognizable as animals
Don't need this explanation here. I am getting the gist of what is going on. I don't need to have it spelled out and ruin the tension
how did he know figures accompanied everyone. maybe they didn't.

.when did this happen? Now? or is this flashback? add the sentences to calrify it, "

"Don't worry so much." His doctor told him, "Hallucinations may be after effects of the war. We’re just beginning to understand PTSD. The mind is a marvelous adapter to stress. As long as these phantoms don’t interrupt your daily work, or cause you to want to harm yourself or others, you should be fine. Consider yourself lucky. Just think of them as a construct of your active imagination, an amusing distraction from the mundane realities of life."

ah, so this isn't a new thing. This has been going on a long time. Cool. No wonder he wasn't freaking out and shocked. You might need to get a line or two in early on, saying something like, 'Ash had learned long ago to stifle his reactions of such creatures'... or something much more tactfully worded than my iffy skills allow.

Here, add what Ash thinks about the Doctor's statement.

(Action/Thought/Emotion/Reaction)

He turned off the street into an alley between two old buildings, and up a well-worn path into the woods, his refuge from the masses. How tall are these buildings?
If he has walked from a town into the woods, you need more description of his surroundings to help convey the passage of time it took to make his journey

Ash opened the door of his cabin.
cabin in the woods. Oh this won't end badly at all. Ha ha

It wasn't a mansion by any means, but it was more than sufficient for him. 900 sq. ft., one large open room, a loft, and a balcony.
Describe it: This is telling. Instead, have him enter and describe how the space between the television and the bed is so small that, he can control the buttons on the TV with his toes without having to get up.

Yes sir, he owned one fine cabin in the woods. Is this his thought, or narrator to reader? It’s also in here twice. (Action/Thought/Emotion/Reaction)All to himself. How he'd managed to live here eight years and still not have a single friend invited over was a mystery, even to himself. Then again, you'd have to have a friend to invite one.

He liked things just so. He liked the solitude.

At least that's what he told himself.

Ash took a seat on his balcony, overlooking the hills and lake. He stared at the expansive forests, lost in time. The clock read: 6:00pm, he laid down in his hammock, bundled in the overpriced winter resistant sleeping bag, and watched the stars from the balcony until he drifted off.

As sleep overtook him, he thought to himself "Yes sir, this is one fine cabin."

***

An explosion knocks him against a wall. He barely sees, through the smoke, troops running about, hauling rubble off of bodies, checking pulses. Some are screaming in pain. Others shouting to one another. Half the mess hall is completely gone, all that is left is fire and rubble.
Smoke clouds his vision of
I think if this is a stream of consciousness type dream, the punctuation should either all be commas or all full stops. Mixing the two confuses things

Ash can feel the beat of his heart in his neck, his forehead rushed with sweat. He sees them all running around, but all he hears is intense ringing.
do foreheads get rushed with sweat?

As the numbness subsides from his brain, shock waves hit his chest as more buildings are getting hit nearby.
judging by the writing, I'm surprised Ash feels numb. My heart is racing!

Ash uses the wall to steady himself and works to stand on his feet.
show instead

Others will tend to the wounded. This band of Jihadist miscreants found upgraded weapons; Russian no doubt.
this is just a personal thing, but I've never thought of Jihadists as miscreants? I would use that word to describe teenage tearaways not extremists.
hmm. i liked it better when the enemy was unnamed. I strongly feel that unless you are writing a piece about a particular war, leave naming the enemy out of it. I feel this is unnecessary and encourages hate and spreads fear. As far as I can see, this story is about the effects of war. Not the actual war. If that's the case, is it necessary to name the enemy?

consider changing as i think you mean run but you might mean shoot
Ash shoots out the building, down the road to the artillery unit. He grabs his rifle and heads for the highest structure, a radio tower toward the side of the camp.

“He” you have too many sentences starting the same and too many with the same subject. reword for reader intrest so it doesnt feel like a list of actions. see how every sentence here starts with a pronoun? that's an indication that this section lacks show. change some of these up to add the show. pronouns by there nature are all tell. you are telling us what happens not showing us. this is show--two men clutch missles launchers agianst their chests as they scan the camp. a jeep and crumbled mountainside hide the rest of the attackers. bullets rip through the air. gunsmoke hands thick, clouding his vision and burning his throat.

He can see the launch area where the rockets are being fired from. He takes a few quick breaths, hyperventilating floods the lungs with oxygen, one last deep breath in and hold, steadies his body.
this sentence doesn't make sense to me

Through the scope, he can see about 10 of them. (Is it ten or not?) are there ten or about ten? It only matters because you are so detailed when it comes to counting them down each time Ash kills one of them.

They only have two missile launchers. They have very little cover, firing from open desert, mostly hiding behind their Jeep and a few large outcroppings of fallen mountainside.

He fires two rounds back to back, taking out both missile launchers, one exploding in the handlers face.
DESCRIBE how that looks and feels to him
Ash then begins firing one round after another as the attackers fall like Coke cans on a fence post. The rounds hit their targets with extreme prejudice.

Three armed men/ assailiants remain, cowering behind the Jeep. Jeeps are great vehicles for driving through tough terrain quickly, but they are built light, not armored. He sees one peek through the glass, gone.

The other two attempt to climb in the vehicle keeping their heads down and drive away. The problem with that is that both seats are occupied. He doesn't need to see them. Two. One.
I get he shoots him but SHOW us
I also get what you meant know about the seats being occupied so he knows where to aim but it was really obscure as worded consder a small rewrite therer for clarity

The Jeep speeds up as it drives erratically, then crashes into a mound of rocks.

Ash woke up... another nightmare, if you can call a memory a nightmare.

He rubbed his eyes and glanced at his wrist, 3:00 am.

He rolled over and went back to sleep.

((Why am I turning the page))

The one thing I can't understand is the end of your chapter and how it works so well. Basically, he goes to sleep. Everything I know about writing tells me there should be a hook or a tease to make the reader want to turn the page. You've somehow done that without using that tired tradition. I genuinely do not know how you did it, but the ending to Chapter 1 makes me want to read Chapter 2!
This is a great start. From here it could go anywhere. Will he lose the plot completely and start believing in his monsters? Or will the monsters turn out to be real? Or maybe I'm on the complete wrong track and it will be a great surprise.

By Darrell Wolfe

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Research: Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, PTSD, Symptoms and Gun rules

2016-09-19T10:59:00.004-05:00

Here is some background information I found on PTSD, it may help me flesh out Ash's character more.

University of Maryland Medical Center has a great article breaking down PTSD and treatment.

Intrusive thoughts recalling the traumatic event
Nightmares
Flashbacks
Efforts to avoid feelings and thoughts that either remind you of the traumatic event or that trigger similar feelings
Feeling detached or unable to connect with loved ones
Depression, hopelessness
Feelings of guilt (from the false belief that you were responsible for the traumatic incident)
Irritability or angry outbursts
Hypervigilance (being overly aware of possible danger)
Hypersensitivity, including at least two of the following reactions: trouble sleeping, being angry, having difficulty concentrating, startling easily, having a physical reaction (rapid heart rate or breathing, increase in blood pressure)
Headache
Disrupted sleep, insomnia

Treatment Plan

Cognitive behavior therapy (CBT). With the help of a psychotherapist, you learn techniques to manage your thoughts and feelings when you are in situations that remind you of the traumatic event. You may gradually expose yourself to situations and thoughts that cause anxiety, as you build up a tolerance for them and your fear is lessened. Ultimately, the goal of cognitive therapy is to allow you to control your fear and anxiety.
Stress management therapy. A therapist teaches you relaxation techniques to help you overcome fear and anxiety, and to break the cycle of negative thoughts.
Medication for depression or anxiety.
Drug Therapies

Antidepressants such as selective serotonin reuptake inhibitors (SSRIs), including sertraline (Zoloft), fluoxetine (Prozac), fluvoxamine (Luvox), or paroxetine (Paxil).
Benzodiazepines, a group of medications sometimes used for anxiety, including lorazepam (Ativan) and alprazolam (Xanax). These drugs have sedating properties and may cause drowsiness, constipation, or nausea. DO NOT take them if you have narrow angle glaucoma, a psychosis, or are pregnant. They also interact with other drugs, including some antidepressants (such as Luvox).
Dopamine-blocking agents, such as neuroleptics. There is some evidence of increased dopamine presence in children and adults with PTSD.

Biofeedback involves using a machine, at first, to see bodily functions that are normally unconscious and occur involuntarily (for example, heart rate and temperature). As you see how your body reacts to stress, you learn to control the reactions, and eventually you can perform the techniques to control the reactions without using a machine. Some studies suggest that biofeedback, among other forms of relaxation training, may be an effective treatment for some people with PTSD.
Hypnosis has long been used to treat war-related post-traumatic conditions.

Avoid coffee and other stimulants, alcohol, and tobacco.
Green tea (Camellia sinensis) standardized extract, 250 to 500 mg daily, for antioxidant and immune effects. Use caffeine-free products. You may also prepare teas from the leaf of this herb.

Prognosis/Possible Complications

**Can you have PTSD and own guns?

The Veterans' Voice offers the following:

By Darrell Wolfe

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Distortion Critique 5

2016-09-17T23:57:00.001-05:00

S. M. Savoy

Inline Critique

Out of
Fromthe corner of his eye, through the window of The Grounded Cafe, Ash saw two men dressed in black combat gear duck behind a car.

scrib is doing weird things with your spacing . I'm seeing big gaps between text.

Coolness rushed down his spine, and his muscles tensed.

He reached for his sidearm
.,

He shook his head, and looked again, they were gone.

Ash relaxed and sank back into the leather bound chair; alone, in the corner of his favorite coffee shop.
try as show like Relieved, he stretched and settled back in his seat, alone in the corner booth of his favorite coffee shop.

Always keep your back to the wall, be near the most exits, but never too visible. It was like breathing, it never stopped... even in civilian life.
italic thoughPost-Traumatic Stress Disorder, PTSD. That was the diagnosis they’d
clarify this theyassigned him.
(If you are diagnosed with PTSD you're license to carry a fire arm is revoked)

your thoughts are jumping around here. can you add a segue sentence to get from PTSD to a job description?

again big jump. if you make the observation personal it will 'flow' better. you need to connect the seprete thoughts a hair. he ran a tight unit --what the connecting thought to the faces and then leaves? maybe the leaves remind him of happier times or the faces remind him how he used to be oblivious too. but add the connecting thoughts

The leaves began to fall
this is a hair too much as it seeems like they literally fell from the trees right then maybe try dreid leaves swirled past the window or something which implies a few not all, most turning shades of orange and yellow, matching perfectly the Pumpkins that
~~were dotting~~dotted porches and windows through the city the past few weeks.

~~Some~~
Acommotion outside broke his train of thought... Everyone
to vague say who like the couple passing stooped or Two businessmen or whoever they are
~~was stopping~~stopped, turn
ed~~ing~~, and star
ed~~ing~~ in the same direction, a few moving toward the distraction.
too many vague words. take your time and describe the scene so we can see it.like An older man motioned motioned the gray haired woman who accompanied to stand back and forward following the two suited men.

Ash stepped outside to see what was happening, turned a corner, and nearly ran into a bystander. A brisk evening breeze broke past his collar
and...finish the thought caused him to shiver/made him tighten his jacket/woke him up/ etc.

A man in a tattered
,
~~and~~ dirty suit with a graying beard
~~was standing~~
stood (use tense words where applicable)on top of a pickup truck screaming
maybe add what he screamed insults or gosspelat nobody in particular.

"You always did love Mother best... I know...
elipses are trailing off I think you want the mdash here for short pausesThat's why... You couldn't keep your mouth shut..." On he went, incoherently.

Just as Ash took a step closer
to the bystander or screamer, the man
I assume you mean the screamer but clarify turned to stare him directly in the eye.

In a deeper, gravelly voice: "You... What do you want with us?"

Ash took a step back.
cool but better if you tell the reader how it freak it him out.like-- A shiver of unease replaced the cold chill.

Then the
try to avoid using THEN and instead describe what he did as he did it.man turned back to his one-sided conversation.

~~Ash could see~~ (scratched for filtering)a large creature
stood/crouched/hulked/lurked behind the man. The bottom half
of the creaturewas more mist than form, as though it were made of smoke. The top half was like a man, with the head of a bull. It was charcoal, and streaks of white painted across the chest.
<--try these as ACTIVE sentences. (without the lazy was were) like --Formed of mist, the top half of the creature resembled a man with the head of a bull. A smokey charcoal color, streaks of white lined its chest.

Ash
's
~~could feel his~~ palms turn
ed cold, and
~~he felt as though he couldn't move~~his legs
froze.

A smaller creature
~~was~~
sat/crouched/lurkedon the homeless man's shoulders, screaming into his ears. He couldn't
~~hear~~ understand(changed to match screaming. if the little creature is making no noise change screaming)the
~~conversation~~words, but
~~Ash could tell tha~~t the homeless man
~~was responding~~nodded in response
~~and that he had only been hearing one-half of the conversation~~. Ash looked around and nobody else seemed too surprised
off word freaked out/to notice/,
mdash for a bigger more dramatic pauseas usual.

The large creature stared directly at Ash, cocked his head to one side and disappeared along with the smaller one.
did it take the smaller with it? take your time and really describe this. The homeless man
~~was~~
stoodby himself again
.~~, then~~ his eyes narrowed
and. He leapt off the truck and ran at Ash.
add a hair more description. show us the mans body language and face. is face contorted with hate is he snarling? what are the bystanders doing through all this?

It took all his training to keep from being pinned down.
show the fight first, you need to blend the scene. and build it The old man was wiry but stronger than he looked.

like--Claw like hands gripped his shoulders. Foul breath panted in his face as the man grunted,trying to force him to the ground. Ash twisted his body in a move learned in basic and forced the grasping hands from his shoulders. (feel frree to keep/discard any of this. I dont mean to change your voice. I use it as example of what I mean.)

Ash let out a cry, "Jesus!"
Jesus!" he exclaimed as he pushed his attacker away, gagging on the scent of unwashed skin and rotten teeth.

The wiry man stepped back
., his eyes darted around, as though
~~he looked~~confused.

That was all Ash needed. In 30
thirty(always spell numbers)seconds he hog-tied the man with his own belt.

~~The police were just arriving~~.
<---too fast. your rushing again. Show us the car arrive like-- A police car pulled up with sirens blaring. the crowd began to disperse. A few of the spectators held cellphones p, filming the encounter. new para "Charlie's at it again... Let's take him in
,."
the officer said as he exited from the passenger side.

Three big men in uniform put cuffs and a muzzle
? never saw or heard of this. maybe describe so we can 'see' it on the old man, and threw him, rather harshly, into the back of the squad car.

Ash heard someone behind him
avoid filtering wherever you can. instead describe WHAT he heard. like rapid footsteps approached., "Those were some moves, Marine."

"Airman. Uh... Thanks. No harm done."
~~Ash noticed~~
filtering-~~his~~
~~cup~~ crushed beneath him, the ice, coffee, and cream covered the sidewalk, and his jeans. "Well... Almost no harm anyway."

"Why don't you let me get you another… on me."
a balding man said. He shifted the pile of paper in his arms to offer his hand, covering the logo with two E’s overlapping on his yellow polo.

Ash looked up to see
Filtering --if this the speaker attach the tag to the dialouge~~a balding man in blue slacks, yellow polo, and a pile of papers in his arms. A logo with two E’s overlapping bore prominently on his chest~~.

"The least I could do for a man who'd be willing to step into a situation like that,protect all these people.
a tad off. he didnt step in he was attacked. maybe handlea situation before it got out of hand What's your name
, son?"

"Ash. I need to
~~get some new~~ change myclothes. I don't think I need any more caffeine right now. But thanks for the offer." With a wave, he set off toward home
.

~~Ash headed~~ down the sidewalk, past the shops and restaurants. There is
csratch and instead say where she isa girl crying, typing away on the phone. A little red frog on her shoulder
~~was yelling~~
yelledinto her ear. Ash could only imagine what it must be saying.

A little old lady
is
wrong tense you were in past perfect now your in present so change all the is to was
~~sitting~~ sat behind~~inside~~ a window at the nursing home
~~. She is~~ knitting something, probably a blanket. A large man
, wearing
in all white, stands behind her, smiling. He looks up at Ash, his smile fades slightly, and then returns. He looks
is a perfectly good word but generic there are many more descriptive words that can be used in its place. use them when appropriate. like /peered/gazed/ stared/etcdown to her again.

~~Ash could not see~~ the figure
s accompanying each person
remained mostly indistinct with only a few recognizable as animals~~, only certain ones, here and there. Most were just clouds or mist.~~

"Don't worry so much
,." His doctor told him
.when did this happen? Now? or is this flashback? add the sentences to calrify it, "
~~These~~Hallucinations may be after effects of the war. We’re just beginning to understand PTSD. The mind is a marvelous adapter to stress. As long as these phantoms
~~do not~~
don'tinterrupt your daily work, or cause you to want to harm yourself or others, you should be fine. Consider yourself lucky. Just think of them as a construct of your active imagination, an amusing distraction from the mundane realities of life."

add his feeling to that. did he think it utter bullshit or did he grasp the idea hopefully?

He turned off the street into an alley between two old buildings, and up a well-worn path into the woods, his refuge from the masses.

~~Ash opened the door of his cabin.~~

It you need to describe it. Like Nestled between a tall stand of pines his nine hundred square foot log cabin sat alone on a forested hillside. A small pine island seperated the gally kitchen from the rest of the living space. ... you get the idea. take a few sentences and show his home include the ambiaence-how he feels about it- and use at least one other sense what it smells like or sounds etcwasn't a mansion by any means, but it was more than sufficient for him. 900 sq. ft., one large open room, a loft, and a balcony.

Yes sir, he owned one fine cabin in the woods.
this is a hair odd. direct narator to reader aside. make ith thought for it to blend. italic it and add he thought somewhereAll to himself. How he'd managed to live here eight years and still not have a single friend invited over was a mystery, even to himself. Then again, you'd have to have a friend to invite one.

He liked things just so
~~. He liked~~ andthe solitude.

At least that's what he told himself.

Ash took a seat on his balcony
back when your describing his house tell us if the balcony is off the back or front. and make sure it is a balcony not a porch-balcony is second floor, overlooking the hills and lake. He stared at the expansive forests, lost in time. The clock read:
~~6:00~~Sixpm, he laid down in his hammock, bundled in the overpriced winter resistant sleeping bag, and watched the stars from the balcony until he drifted off.

As sleep overtook him, he thought to himself "Yes sir, this is one fine cabin."
already stated. say something new never repeat. you could add an emotion to it to make it new but don't restate for no new info

***

An explosion knocks him against a wall. He barely sees, through the smoke,
wordy try--Smoke clouds his vision of troops running about, hauling rubble off of bodies, checking pulses. Some
Vague be specific, some what? are screaming in pain. Others
are shouting
what? insults directions curses? to one another. Half the mess hall is completely gone, all that is left is fire and rubble.

~~Ash can feel the beat of his heart in his neck~~,
His pulse thuds in his neck. his forehead rushed with sweat. He sees them all
be specific--trust me it ill add depth to thisrunning around, but all he hears is intense ringing.

As the numbness subsides from his brain, shock waves hit his chest as more buildings are getting hit nearby.
explode nearby/ or as missiles impact the nearby buildings

Ash uses the wall to steady himself and works to stand on his feet.
show instead

Others will tend to the wounded. This band of Jihadist miscreants found upgraded weapons; Russian no doubt.

Ash shoots
consider changing as i think you mean run but you might mean shootout the building, down the road to the artillery unit. He grabs his rifle and heads for the highest structure, a radio tower toward the side of the camp.

He can see the launch area where the rockets are being fired from. He
you have too many sentences starting the same and too many with the same subject. reword for reader intrest so it doesnt feel like a list of actionstakes a few quick breaths, hyperventilating
, flood
ings the lungs with oxygen, one last deep breath in and hold, steadies his body.

Through the scope, he can see
~~about 10~~
tenof them
clarify.

They only have two missile launchers. They have very little cover, firing from open desert, mostly hiding behind their Jeep and a few large outcroppings of fallen mountainside.
see how every sentence here starts with a pronoun? that's an indication that this section lacks show. change some of these up to add the show. pronouns by there nature are all tell. you are telling us what happens not showing us. this is show--two men clutch missles launchers agianst their chests as they scan the camp. a jeep and crumbled mountainside hide the rest of the attackers. bullets rip through the air. gunsmoke hands thick, clouding his vision and burning his throat.

He fires two rounds back to back, taking out both missile launchers, one
~~exploding~~
launcher explodesin the handlers face.
DESCRIBE how that looks and feels to him Ash
~~then~~ begins firing one round after another as the attackers fall like
~~Coke~~soad cans on a fence post. The rounds hit their targets with extreme prejudice.

Three
armed men/ assailiants remain, cowering behind the Jeep. Jeeps are great vehicles for driving through tough terrain quickly, but they
're
~~are~~ built light, not armored.
~~He sees~~ one peek
s through the glass, gone.
I get he shoots him but SHOW us

The other two
~~attempt to~~ climb in the vehicle
, keeping their heads down
~~and drive away~~scratched for POV error~~. The problem with that is that~~ both seats are occupied
by?. He doesn't need to see them. Two. One.

okay making a few changes to match the next sentnace. they dont attempt to they do so scratch that. I also get what you meant know about the seats being occupied so he knows where to aim but it was really obscure as worded consder a small rewrite therer for clarity

The Jeep speeds up as it drives erratically
~~, then crashes~~before crashing into a mound of rocks.

***

Ash woke up... another nightmare, if you can call a memory a nightmare.

He rubbed his eyes and glanced at his wrist.

Red numbers flooded his vision,
~~3:00~~
threeam.

He rolled over and went back to sleep.

Closing Comments

Scrib academy has a great article on filtering-what it is, why you don't want it, and how to fix it.

you want to make sure you don't have to many sentence starts in a row identical. more then two and the reader will be bored.

Try to describe whats happening not tell it. He slammed the door angrily!--The door rebounded off the wall with a thud. See, we know he did it angrily, but it's more interesting. It also helps fix the, he did this, he did that, he did this other thing, that makes a story boring.

http://hubpages.com/literature/The-Secret-of-How-to-Write-a-Book-and-Get-It-Published-Part-2

the above site can explain better than I why you don't want all those pronoun starts and how to fix them, basically you change the subject of the sentence.

To correct the pronoun starts put the noun first. example--He got in a car.--fixed--The car he got in was red.---fixed better -- The red car he rode in smelled of cigarettes. In the last example the sentence went from passive to active with the removal of was got in was tightened to rode and interesting sensory detail was added with a smell.

go through the entire thing and replace all the was, were. could, would, and put in the correct tenses. by that I mean was and were should denote tense not be used because you cant think of a correct verb. but that being said sometimes word have a tense like--could hear=heard was wearing=wore were going=gone was running=ran etc lots of words have tenses so use then when applicable. I make a list of my common mistakes and when I think I'm done with a piece I run a scan for them.

replacing generic words for more descriptive ones will add depth. common generic words are--Look, watch, came, went, took, walk, basically action words. instead of having the charter walk have them stride pace amble march slink limp etc picture in your head HOW they do the action and use that word.

replacing the vague words will add clarity and flow. common vague words are --Area people everyone them it they stuff someone something everything things all some

it isn't unusual to have to do major rewrites, sometimes even more than once so don't let this discourage you. this is a solid first draft that just requires fleshing out and tightening.

Don't rush through the scenes, take your time and write them so we can see them.

Sorry if I offended, it wasn't my intent. Writing is so personal that any criticism can feel like an attack. all these things I mention are minor tweaks easily done. you've already done the hard part--the good idea. now polish till it shines.

If you aren't sure if you have to many pronoun starts try a software editor. prowriting aid has a paid addin for Microsoft Word and google docs but they have a free version too. autocrit is good but costs alot more money. I highly recommend you try the free version of prowriting aid

By Darrell Wolfe

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Distortion Critique 4

2016-09-17T23:52:00.003-05:00

Quinne Matts

Opening Comments

Hi, Darell.

I'll mention anything that jumps at me. I'm not good at rewriting sentences. Instead, I'll point out what I think needs work.

See you inline.

Inline Critique

I read a few paragraphs down and realised that the description of the setting doesn't flow. So, I'll point out those places I think need work.Out of the corner of his eye, through the window of The Grounded Cafe, Ash saw two men dressed in black combat gear duck behind a car
Here, it'd be great to be specific with type of car. Is it a pick up? a 4x4?.

Coolness rushed down his spine, and his muscles tensed.

He reached for his sidearm.

He shook his head
Is he shaking his head as a result of having a second thought?, and looked again, they were gone.
If yes, then you can rewrite this as: He shook his head upon a second thought. When he looked again, the men were gone. I decided to split the sentence into two because I thought the original one was choppy.

Ash relaxed and sank back into the leather bound chair;
I'm not sure this is the correct punctuation mark for this sentence. I think...alone in the corner of his favourite coffee shop is a fragment. One way to do this is to bring it close to the Subject. E.g., Ash, alone in the corner of his favorite coffee shop, sank back into the leather bound chair. This is just one example of how to get rid of the semi-colon. Also, I deleted relaxed, as the action of leaning back into the chair, especially after he almost drew his gun, means he relaxed. This is just my opinion. alone, in the corner of his favorite coffee shop.

Always keep your back to the wall, be near the most exits
do you mean the most used exits? If so, make it most used exists., but never too visible
once he seated in a cafe he would be visible. But something like he should glance at people suspiciously or he shouldn't be engaged in anything that would draw people's attention to him. It was like breathing, it never stopped... even in civilian life. Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, PTSD.
Here, swap the order of these two sentences. Bring the condition first, so that we know what the 'it' is referring to.That was the diagnosis they’d assigned him.

As Dean of Military Science, Ash's job primarily lay in administrative work and policy these days, plus a few sessions counseling the younger cadets,
you don't need a comma here. You are only listing his roles.and would-be trouble makers. He was quite overqualified for the position, but he ran a tight unit.

He stared at the faces of the pedestrians as they passed by the window. Hurried. Busy.
I know what you are trying to do here, but it doesn't flow. Make these three into one sentence. Besides, if the pedestrians are passing hurriedly, how long can he actually see someone's face. It'd be better to say that, He stared at pedestrians who hurried by, buried in their smart phones, oblivious to the world and the little clouds that floated around their shoulders. Buried in their smartphones. So oblivious to the world around them, or the little clouds that float around their shoulders.

The leaves began to fall, most turning shades of orange and yellow, matching perfectly the Pumpkins that were dotting porches and windows through the city the past few weeks.
Here, you need to make reference to a particular tree. Which tree exactly is he looking at? Is it the one across the cafe? Beside the cafe? Do you get what I mean? Also, it'd be better to say that a leaf fell from the tree. It is easier to picture what is happening to the tree in question. Since it's a regional thing that at a particular time of the year the leaves change colour, once you mention the colour of the leaves, we would be able to picture the time of year. There would be no need to mention the pumpkin, unless the pumpkin is there to convey another message I'm not getting.

Some commotion outside broke his train of thought... Everyone was stopping, turning, and staring in the same direction, a few moving toward the distraction.
Since from where he is sitting, he can't really see the commotion, you can't say that there was a commotion. These people could only be admiring a couple doing a crazy dance. So you can say that, suddenly every halted and looked in the same direction. The voice of people arguing reached him. (INSERT A THOUGHT HERE) Ash stepped outside to see what was happening.

Ash stepped outside to see what was happening, turned a corner, and
~~nearly ran into a bystander~~. A brisk evening breeze broke past his collar.
If the thing is happening in the next alley, then people on the side of the road where Ash is looking would not see what's happening. I crossed out ...nearly ran into a... The question is, did he run into the bystander or not? If not, what exactly happened? To avoid these type of questions, it's better to say exactly what happened.

A man in a tattered and dirty suit with a graying beard was standing on top of a pickup truck screaming at nobody in particular.
I'm finding it hard to picture what this mini scene is happening. Is this on the next street? It'd be great to show the exact location for the scene. Also, how were people gathered around them? Are they watching in clusters? Or they formed a circle around them?

"You always did love Mother best... I know... That's why... You couldn't keep your mouth shut..." On he went, incoherently.

Just as Ash took a step closer, the man turned to stare him directly in the eye.

In a deeper, gravelly voice: "You... What do you want with us?"

Ash took a step back.

Then the man turned back to his one-sided conversation.

Ash could see
I don't know if you've heard this. But we're not allowed to use filter words in writer. Filter words indicate telling instead of showing. So, in this case, you can say that, Behind the man was a large, black figure with the head of a bull and the lower part only a mist. White streaks ran across it's torso, and it's eyes were red like a hot iron. a large creature behind the man. The bottom half was more mist than form, as though it were made of smoke.
Oh! The top half was like a man, with the head of a bull. It was charcoal,
~~and~~with streaks of white painted across the chest.

Ash
's
so, here were delete this~~could feel his~~
because it's a filter wordpalms turn
ed cold, and
~~he felt as though~~
filter wordshe couldn't move his legs.
You simply say, Ash halted, his palms turning cold.

A smaller creature was on the homeless man's shoulders, screaming into his ears.
Wouldn't this be the first thing Ash would notice when he arrived at the scene?He couldn't hear the conversation, but Ash could tell that the homeless man was responding and that he had only been hearing one-half of the conversation. Ash looked around and nobody else seemed too surprised, as usual.
It'd be better to show what they were doing instead.

It took all his training to keep from being pinned down.
Okay, did he run for his life? Or he stood there, waiting for the man to pounce on him?The old man was wiry but stronger than he looked.
This is telling. Instead, have him struggle and to push the thing off him and let's him grunt in the attempt.

Ash let out a cry, "Jesus!"

The wiry man stepped back, his eyes darted around,
The wiry man jerked and looked around, confused.
~~as though he looked confused.~~

That was all Ash needed. In 30 seconds he hog-tied the man with his own belt.

The police were just arriving. "
Let's hear the siren.Charlie's at it again... Let's take him in."
Let's have a dialogue tag here.

Three big men in uniform put cuffs and a muzzle on the old man, and threw him, rather harshly, into the back of the squad car.

Ash heard someone behind him, "Those were some moves, Marine."

"Airman. Uh... Thanks. No harm done." Ash noticed his cup crushed beneath him, the ice, coffee, and cream covered the sidewalk, and his jeans. "Well... Almost no harm anyway."
I don't understand this. It read like he was carried a cup of coffee with him when he ran out of the cafe.

"Why don't you let me get you another… on me."
You need a dialogue tag here.

Ash looked up to see a balding man in blue slacks, yellow polo, and a pile of papers in his arms. A logo with two E’s overlapping bore prominently on his chest.

"The least I could do for a man who'd be willing to step into a situation like that, protect all these people. What's your name son?"
Same thing here. We need a dialogue tag.

"Ash. I need to get some new clothes. I don't think I need any more caffeine right now. But thanks for the offer." With a wave, he set off toward home.

Ash headed down the sidewalk, past the shops and restaurants. There is a girl crying, typing away on the phone. A little red frog on her shoulder was yelling into her ear. Ash could only imagine what it must be saying.
You've switched to present tense. Why?

Let's see the distance between the phonebooth and the nursing home.

Ash could not see the figure accompanying each person, only certain ones, here and there. Most were just clouds or mist.

"Don't worry so much." His doctor told him, "These may be after effects of the war. We’re just beginning to understand PTSD. The mind is a marvelous adapter to stress. As long as these phantoms do not interrupt your daily work, or cause you to want to harm yourself or others, you should be fine. Consider yourself lucky. Just think of them as a construct of your active imagination, an amusing distraction from the mundane realities of life."
Here, add what Ash thinks about the Doctor's statement.

He turned off the street into an alley between two old buildings,
How tall are these buildings? and up a well-worn path into the woods, his refuge from the masses.

Ash opened the door of his cabin.

It wasn't a mansion by any means, but it was more than sufficient for him. 900 sq. ft., one large open room, a loft, and a balcony.
This is telling. Instead, have him enter and describe how the space between the television and the bed is so small that, he can control the buttons on the TV with his toes without having to get up.

Yes sir, he owned one fine cabin in the woods. All to himself.
I don't like this.How he'd managed to live here eight years and still not have a single friend invited over was a mystery, even to himself. Then again, you'd have to have a friend to invite one.

He liked things just so. He liked the solitude.
I like this.

At least that's what he told himself.

Ash took a seat on his balcony, overlooking the hills and lake. He stared at the expansive forests, lost in time. The clock read
where's the clock?: 6:00pm, he laid down in his hammock, bundled in the overpriced winter resistant sleeping bag, and watched the stars from the balcony until he drifted off.

As sleep overtook him, he thought to himself "Yes sir, this is one fine cabin."

***

An explosion knocks him against a wall. He barely sees, through the smoke, troops running about, hauling rubble off of bodies, checking pulses. Some are screaming in pain. Others shouting to one another. Half the mess hall is completely gone, all that is left is fire and rubble.
You have switched tenses here. Are you doing it deliberately? If you are not aware, then I have just told you that you have switched to present tense. Also, it'd be interesting to describe this vividly. Which people are screaming in pain?

Ash can feel the beat of his heart in his neck,
if this is a metaphor, then ignore me. Otherwise I don't understand it. his forehead rushed with sweat
Same thing here. If this is a regional thing, then leave as it is. But I really haven't heard anything like this before. He
who is the 'he' referring to?sees them all running around, but all he hears is intense ringing
ringing of what? Bells?.

As the numbness subsides
I don't think I realised his brain was numb in the paragraph before this one.from his brain, shock waves
IMO, this should be waves of shock hit his chest as more buildings are getting hit nearby.

Ash uses the wall to steady himself and works to stand on his feet.

Others will tend to the wounded. This band of Jihadist miscreants found upgraded weapons; Russian no doubt.

Ash shoots out the building, down the road to the artillery unit. He grabs his rifle and heads for the highest structure, a radio tower toward the side of the camp.

He can see the launch area where the rockets are being fired from. He takes a few quick breaths, hyperventilating floods the lungs with oxygen, one last deep breath in and hold, steadies his body.

Through the scope, he can see about 10 of them.
10 of which people? Are they even people or aliens?

They only have two missile launchers. They have very little cover, firing from open desert, mostly hiding behind their Jeep and a few large outcroppings of fallen mountainside.

He fires two rounds back to back, taking out both missile launchers, one exploding in the handlers face. Ash then begins firing one round after another as the attackers fall like Coke cans on a fence post. The rounds hit their targets with extreme prejudice.

Three remain, cowering behind the Jeep. Jeeps are great vehicles for driving through tough terrain quickly, but they are built light, not armored. He sees one peek through the glass, gone.

The other two attempt to climb in the vehicle keeping their heads down and drive away. The problem with that is that both seats are occupied. He doesn't need to see them. Two. One.

The Jeep speeds up as it drives erratically,
You need only one.then crashes into a mound of rocks.

***

Ash woke up... another nightmare, if you can call a memory a nightmare.

He rubbed his eyes and glanced at his wrist.

Red numbers flooded his vision, 3:00 am.

He rolled over and went back to sleep.
Nice way to end the scene. But then, where do we go from here? Why would I turn the page? That hasn't been added. So you need to end the chapter with a cliffhanger and what to expect next.

Closing Comments

I commented on most of the things that jumped at me. I focused on the narration, but not on the character. I hope something in this critique helps!

It was an easy read for me.

Quinne.

By Darrell Wolfe

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Distortion Critique 3

2016-09-17T23:51:00.000-05:00

Shaun Baines

Opening Comments

Like the title, like the concept. I'll talk about the more technical issues as I go

Inline Critique

Out of the corner of his eye, through the window of The Grounded Cafe, Ash saw two men dressed in black combat gear duck behind a car.
I like the opening as it immediately places me in Ash's world. I like the name of the café as it quickly becomes apparent that Ash is anything but grounded. I also like how Ash is an Airman back in civilian life and so is 'grounded.' A lot of thought went into the name, which I appreciate more on the second reading. Gives the beginning a surreal edginess.

Coolness rushed down his spine, and his muscles tensed.
I didn't buy this as a description of his response. 'Coolness rushed down his spine' is a bit too prosaic.

He reached for his sidearm.

He shook his head, and looked again, they were gone.

Ash relaxed and sank back into the leather bound chair; alone, in the corner
repetition of the word corner - jars me out of the storyof his favorite coffee shop.

Always keep your back to the wall, be near the most exits, but never too visible. It was like breathing, it never stopped... even in civilian life. Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, PTSD. That was the diagnosis they’d assigned him.

As Dean of Military Science, Ash's job primarily lay in administrative work and policy these days, plus a few sessions counseling the younger cadets, and would-be trouble makers. He was
~~quite~~ overqualified for the position, but he ran a tight unit.

He stared at the faces of the pedestrians as they passed by the window. Hurried. Busy. Buried in their smartphones. So oblivious to the world around them, or the little clouds that float around their shoulders.
should be 'floated'. This gives a nice introduction into Ash's issue. It helps to make the rest of the story more believable

The leaves began to fall, most turning shades of orange and yellow, matching perfectly the Pumpkins that were dotting porches and windows through the city the past few weeks.
This is a great, great description. It tells me exactly what season it is without mentioning it by name. It also gives a good indicator of the type of place Ash inhabits.

Some commotion outside broke his train of thought...
what train of thought? All he was doing was watching people in the street. he wasn't thinking about anything Everyone was stopping, turning, and staring in the same direction, a few moving toward the distraction.
thisthis sentence needs work. maybe break it up into two.

Ash stepped outside to see what was happening, turned a corner, and nearly ran into a bystander.
what happens to this bystander? why is he there, other than to highlight Ash is distracted. A brisk evening breeze broke past his collar.
I like this description. Nice alliteration, but it seems to come from nowhere. Ash doesn't even respond to it.

A man in a tattered and dirty suit with a graying beard was standing on top of a pickup truck screaming at nobody in particular.

"You always did love Mother best... I know... That's why... You couldn't keep your mouth shut..." On he went, incoherently.

Just as Ash took a step closer,
why did he take a step closer? does he know the guy? does he just enjoy watching a freakshow? You need to be clearer in showing the character's motivationsthe man turned to stare him directly in the eye.

In a deeper, gravelly voice: "You... What do you want with us?"

Ash took a step back.

Then the man turned back to his one-sided conversation.

Ash could see a large creature behind the man. The bottom half was more mist than form, as though it were made of smoke.
he's either mist or smoke. they're two different things and can't be bothThe top half was like a man, with the head of a bull. It was charcoal,
~~and~~
withstreaks of white painted across the chest.

Ash
~~could feel his palms turn cold, and he~~ felt as though he couldn't move his legs.
I don't think palms ever turn cold. It's an odd description and not needed here

A smaller creature was on the homeless man's shoulders, screaming into his ears.
I love this bit. It illustrates madness beautifully. It makes me sad for the homeless man while wondering why Ash sees it and no-one else does.He couldn't hear the conversation, but Ash could tell that the homeless man was responding and that he had only been hearing one-half of the conversation. Ash looked around and nobody else seemed too surprised, as usual.

The large creature stared directly at Ash, cocked his head to one side and disappeared along with the smaller one. The homeless man was by himself again, then his eyes narrowed. He leapt off the truck and ran at Ash.
I don't know why the homeless man suddenly decides to charge Ash, especially as the creatures tormenting him have disappeared. Could they talk to the man one last time before disappearing? Seemingly urging him to attack Ash?

It took all his training to keep from being pinned down. The old man was wiry but stronger than he looked.
Feels like I missed something here. Where's the fighting part?

Ash let out a cry, "Jesus!"

The wiry man stepped back, his eyes darted around, as though he looked confused.

That was all Ash needed. In 30 seconds he hog-tied the man with his own belt.
ThisThis fight is over before it even began. I would give a good description here to add a bit of action.

The police were just arriving. "Charlie's at it again... Let's take him in."
I like how he is known to the police. it adds character to the homeless man

Three big men in uniform put cuffs and a muzzle on the old man, and threw him, rather harshly, into the back of the squad car.

Ash heard someone behind him, "Those were some moves, Marine."

"Airman. Uh... Thanks. No harm done." Ash noticed his cup crushed beneath him, the ice, coffee, and cream covered the sidewalk, and his jeans. "Well... Almost no harm anyway."

"Why don't you let me get you another… on me."

Ash looked up to see a balding man in blue slacks, yellow polo, and a pile of papers in his arms.
You should describe this man as soon as the conversation begins. It feels like Ash has began a conversation without looking at him. I get that Ash is distracted by his lost cup of coffee, but the exchange feels unnatural without immediate eye contact A logo with two E’s overlapping bore prominently on his chest.
this is a nice detail I feel will become important further into the narrative

"The least I could do for a man who'd be willing to step into a situation like that, protect all these people. What's your name son?"

"Ash. I need to get some new clothes. I don't think I need any more caffeine right now. But thanks for the offer." With a wave, he set off toward home.
It feels like you have written off this encounter as nothing important when it clearly is. Perhaps you could add something like 'Ash noticed the stranger watching him as he walked away and it made him uncomfortable'. Just something to show the bald man has an interest in him, even though Ash has none in him.

Ash headed down the sidewalk, past the shops and restaurants. There is a girl crying,
written in present tense, should be past, unless I'm missing somethingtyping away on the phone. A little red frog on her shoulder was yelling into her ear.
I like how these creatures don't have to be humanoid. they could be anything. I don't think you need the next sentence. I would think Ash wasn't trying to imagine the other side of the conversation at all Ash could only imagine what it must be saying.

A little old lady is sitting inside a window at the nursing home. She is knitting something, probably a blanket. A large man in all white, stands behind her, smiling. He looks up at Ash, his smile fades slightly, and then returns. He looks down to her again.
If these encounters are written in present tense in order to differentiate them from the rest of the narrative, I don't think it works. It's a bit too distracting.

Ash could not see the figure accompanying each person, only certain ones, here and there. Most were just clouds or mist.
Don't need this explanation here. I am getting the gist of what is going on. I don't need to have it spelled out and ruin the tension

He turned off the street into an alley between two old buildings, and up a well-worn path into the woods, his refuge from the masses.
If he has walkedIf he has walked from a town into the woods, you need more description of his surroundings to help convey the passage of time it took to make his journey

Ash opened the door of his cabin.

It wasn't a mansion by any means, but it was more than sufficient for him. 900 sq. ft., one large open room, a loft, and a balcony.

Yes sir, he owned one fine cabin in the woods. All to himself. How he'd managed to live here eight years and still not have a single friend invited over was a mystery, even to himself. Then again, you'd have to have a friend to invite one.

He liked things just so. He liked the solitude.

At least that's what he told himself.

Ash took a seat on his balcony, overlooking the hills and lake. He stared at the expansive forests, lost in time. The clock read: 6:00pm, he laid down in his hammock, bundled in the overpriced winter resistant sleeping bag, and watched the stars from the balcony until he drifted off.

As sleep overtook him, he thought to himself "Yes sir, this is one fine cabin."
Nice ending to this bit. As soon as a character expresses contentment, the reader automatically assumes that will be disrupted. It's exciting

***

An explosion knocks him against a wall. He barely sees,
should this comma be here? through the smoke, troops running about, hauling rubble off
of bodies, checking pulses. Some are screaming in pain. Others shouting to one another. Half the mess hall is completely gone, all that is left is fire and rubble.
I think if this is a stream of consciousness type dream, the punctuation should either all be commas or all full stops. Mixing the two confuses things

Ash can feel the beat of his heart in his neck,
I like this description his forehead rushed with sweat.
do foreheads get rushed with sweat?He sees them all running around, but all he hears is intense ringing.
repetition of the word 'all'

As the numbness subsides from his brain,
judging by the writing, I'm surprised Ash feels numb. My heart is racing!shock waves hit his chest as more buildings are getting hit nearby.

Ash uses the wall to steady himself and works to stand on his feet.

Others will tend to the wounded. This band of Jihadist miscreants
this is just a personal thing, but I've never thought of Jihadists as miscreants? I would use that word to describe teenage tearaways not extremists. found upgraded weapons; Russian no doubt.

Ash shoots out the building, down the road to the artillery unit. He grabs his rifle and heads for the highest structure, a radio tower toward the side of the camp.

He can see the launch area
fromwhere the rockets are being fired
~~from~~. He takes a few quick breaths, hyperventilating floods the lungs with oxygen
this sentence doesn't make sense to me, one last deep breath in and hold, steadies his body.

Through the scope, he can see about 10 of them.
are there ten or about ten? It only matters because you are so detailed when it comes to counting them down each time Ash kills one of them.

They only have two missile launchers. They have very little cover, firing from open desert, mostly hiding behind their Jeep and a few large outcroppings of fallen mountainside.

He fires two rounds back to back, taking out both missile launchers, one exploding in the handlers face. Ash then begins firing one round after another as the attackers fall like Coke cans on a fence post.
like this imageThe rounds hit their targets with extreme prejudice.

Three remain, cowering behind the Jeep. Jeeps
repetition of jeep are great vehicles for driving through tough terrain quickly, but they are built light, not armored. He sees one peek through the glass, gone.

The other two attempt to climb in the vehicle keeping their heads down and drive away. The problem with that is that both seats are occupied. He doesn't need to see them. Two. One.

The Jeep speeds up as it drives erratically, then crashes into a mound of rocks.

***

Ash woke up... another nightmare, if you can call a memory a nightmare.

He rubbed his eyes and glanced at his wrist.

Red numbers flooded his vision, 3:00 am.

He rolled over and went back to sleep.

Closing Comments

There are lots of things to like about this with a lot of scope for you to explore. I like how Ash is an ordinary man with extraordinary things going on around him. There is also an interesting question over whether he is suffering PTSD or there is something larger at stake.

I think there are a few things you might like to improve upon. I like the short paragraphs as it adds pace, but without longer, more descriptive passages it lacks depth. Swapping and changing between the two keeps the reader engaged.

The dream sequence starts well - all short sentences and action, but toward the end, it becomes more poetic and descriptive. I think doing it either way is fine (though I prefer the short, choppy sentences), but using both techniques alters the tone of the writing halfway through and is a bit jarring.

Thanks for letting me read this. if you think I've been harsh or useless, I'm sorry. I only offer my opinion in the hope it will help.

Good luck

By Darrell Wolfe

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Distortion Critique 2

2016-09-17T23:49:00.004-05:00

Devi Thomas

Opening Comments

critiquing this based on the cool name and nothing else... gonna comment as I go...

Inline Critique

Out of the corner of his eye, through the window of The Grounded Cafe, Ash saw two men dressed in black combat gear duck behind a car.

Coolness
Or you could say, 'A chill' or 'ice' or my spine became a stalactite... okay that my be overdoing it, I guess. But to me coolness is usually a good thing. Like, people are cool. Plus coolness is kind of 'tepid'. It doesn't seem harsh enough.rushed down his spine, and his muscles tensed.

He reached for his sidearm.

He shook his head, and looked again, they were gone.

Ash relaxed and sank back into the leather bound chair; alone, in the corner of his favorite coffee shop.

As Dean of Military Science, Ash's job primarily lay in administrative work and policy these days, plus a few sessions counseling the younger cadets, and would-be trouble makers. He was quite
again this seems a bit tepid. Either cut it or commit to it. 'extremely' overqulified might have more impact. overqualified for the position, but he ran a tight unit.

He stared at the faces of the pedestrians as they passed by the window. Hurried. Busy. Buried in their smartphones.
oh yes aren't they always.So oblivious to the world around them, or the little clouds that float around their shoulders.
this is awesome.

~~The~~ leaves
fell
~~began to fall,~~ most turning shades of orange and yellow, matching perfectly the Pumpkins that were dotting porches and windows through the city
~~the past few weeks~~.

Some commotion outside broke his train of thought.
.. Everyone was stopping, turning, and staring in the same direction, a few moving toward the distraction.

Ash stepped outside to see what was happening, turned a corner, and nearly ran into a bystander. A brisk evening breeze broke past his collar.
is this relevant?

A man in a tattered and dirty suit with a graying beard was standing on top of a pickup truck screaming at nobody in particular.

"You always did love Mother best... I know... That's why... You couldn't keep your mouth shut..." On he went, incoherently.

Just as Ash took a step closer, the man turned to stare him directly in the eye.

In a deeper, gravelly voice: "You... What do you want with us?"

Ash took a step back.

Then the man turned back to his one-sided conversation.

creepy!

~~Ash could see~~ There wasa large creature
appearedbehind the man. The bottom half was more mist than form, as though it were made of smoke. The top half was like a man, with the head of a bull. It was charcoal,
~~and~~
withstreaks of white painted across the chest.
I dded appeared here because at first Ash seems to think the man is having a one-sided conversation. But if he w=saw these creatures right away, then he'd never had reacted as if he thought the man was having a one-sides convo. The issue here is, you seem to have described the way everyone else is seeing the situation but you've done it from Ash's perspective. So either he needs to see the creatures right away or they need to gradually - or suddenly appear.

Ash
's ~~could feel his~~ palms turn cold,
~~and he felt as though~~and he couldn't move his legs.
I feel there should be a more extreme reaction here from Ash. he's seeing this wholly unbelievable thing right now and he's not freakling out at all. At least, you aren't showing us he's freaking out. This would be a good place for some inner monologue, or maybe some swearing under his breath or something. I wat to know how he's feeling right now.

A smaller creature was on the homeless man's shoulders, screaming into his ears. He couldn't hear the conversation, but Ash could tell that the homeless man was responding and that he had only been hearing one-half of the conversation. Ash looked around and nobody else seemed too surprised, as usual.

The large creature stared directly at Ash, cocked his head to one side anddisappeared along with the smaller one.
Confused. Where did he disappear?The homeless man was by himself again, then his eyes narrowed. He leapt off the truck and ran at Ash.

It took all his training to keep from being pinned down. The old man was wiry but stronger than he looked.

Ash let out a cry
., "Jesus!"

The wiry man stepped back, his eyes darted around, as though he looked confused.

That was all Ash needed. In 30 seconds he hog-tied the man with his own belt.

The police were just arriving. "Charlie's at it again... Let's take him in."

Three big men in uniform put cuffs and a muzzle on the old man, and threw him,
~~rathe~~r harshly, into the back of the squad car.

Ash heard someone behind him
., "Those were some moves, Marine."

"Airman. Uh... Thanks. No harm done." Ash noticed his cup crushed beneath him, the ice, coffee, and cream covered the sidewalk, and his jeans. "Well... Almost no harm anyway."
ha ha. I dunno. I'd be pretty grumpy to lose my coffee like that.

"Why don't you let me get you another… on me."

Ash looked up to see a balding man in blue slacks, yellow polo, and a pile of papers in his arms. A logo with two E’s overlapping bore prominently on his chest.

"The least I could do for a man who'd be willing to step into a situation like that, protect all these people. What's your name son?"

"Ash. I need to get some new clothes. I don't think I need any more caffeine right now. But thanks for the offer." With a wave, he set off toward home.

Ash headed down the sidewalk, past the shops and restaurants. There
is
wasa girl crying, typing away on
a~~the~~ phone. A little red frog on her shoulder was yelling into her ear. Ash could only imagine what it must be saying.

A little old lady
is
wassitting inside a window at the nursing home. She is
wasknitting something, probably a blanket. A large man in all white, stands
stoodbehind her, smiling. He looks
looked up at Ash, his smile fades
faded slightly, and then
returnedreturns. He looks
looked down to her again.
you've changed tense. That's a shame. It was going so well. unless its purposeful for some reason i'm missing. if so, I don't think it works.

Ash could not see the figure accompanying each person, only certain ones, here and there. Most were just clouds or mist.
how did he know figures accompanied everyone. maybe they didn't.

"Don't worry so much." His doctor told him
., "These may be after effects of the war. We’re just beginning to understand PTSD. The mind is a marvelous adapter to stress. As long as these phantoms do not interrupt your daily work, or cause you to want to harm yourself or others, you should be fine. Consider yourself lucky. Just think of them as a construct of your active imagination, an amusing distraction from the mundane realities of life."
ah, so this isn't a new thing. This has been going on a long time. Cool. No wonder he wasn't freaking out and shocked. You might need to get a line or two in early on, saying something like, 'Ash had learned long ago to stifle his reactions of such creatures'... or something much more tactfully worded than my iffy skills allow.

He turned off the street into an alley between two old buildings, and up a well-worn path into the woods, his refuge from the masses.
nice

Ash opened the door of his cabin.

It wasn't a mansion by any means, but it was more than sufficient for him. 900 sq. ft., one large open room, a loft, and a balcony.

Yes sir, he owned one fine cabin in the woods.
cabin in the woods. Oh this won't end badly at all. Ha haAll to himself. How he'd managed to live here eight years and still not have a single friend invited over was a mystery, even to himself. Then again, you'd have to have a friend to invite one.

He liked things just so. He liked the solitude.

At least that's what he told himself.
nice

As sleep overtook him, he thought to himself
, "Yes sir, this is one fine cabin."

***

Ash can feel the beat of his heart in his neck, his forehead rushed
are you mising up tenses again? should this be rushes?with sweat. He sees them all running around, but all he hears is intense ringing.

As the numbness subsides from his brain, shock waves hit his chest as more buildings are getting hit nearby.

Ash uses the wall to steady himself and works to stand on his feet.

Others will tend to the wounded. This band of Jihadist miscreants found upgraded weapons; Russian no doubt.
hmm. i liked it better when the enemy was unnamed. I strongly feel that unless you are writing a piece about a particular war, leave naming the enemy out of it. I feel this is unnecessary and encourages hate and spreads fear. As far as I can see, this story is about the effects of war. Not the actual war. If that's the case, is it necessary to name the enemy?

Ash shoots out the building, down the road to the artillery unit. He grabs his rifle and heads for the highest structure, a radio tower toward the side of the camp.

He can see the launch area where the rockets are being fired from. He takes a few quick breaths, hyperventilating floods the lungs with oxygen, one last deep breath in and hold, steadies his body.

Through the scope, he can see about 10 of them.

They only have two missile launchers. They have very little cover, firing from open desert, mostly hiding behind their Jeep and a few large outcroppings of fallen mountainside.

Three remain, cowering behind the Jeep. Jeeps are great vehicles for driving through tough terrain quickly, but they are built light, not armored. He sees one peek through the glass, gone.

The other two attempt to climb in the vehicle keeping their heads down and drive away. The problem with that is that both seats are occupied. He doesn't need to see them. Two. One.

The Jeep speeds up as it drives erratically, then crashes into a mound of rocks.

***

Ash woke up... another nightmare, if you can call a memory a nightmare.

He rubbed his eyes and glanced at his wrist.

~~Red numbers flooded his vision,~~ 3:00 am.

He rolled over and went back to sleep.

Closing Comments

This is a great start. From here it could go anywhere. Will he lose the plot completely and start believing in his monsters? Or will the monsters turn out to be real? Or maybe I'm on the complete wrong track and it will be a great surprise.

The only main issue I saw with this was the occasional tense change. I get the dream part - that works well. But during the other scenes it happens a couple times too. I marked what I saw as a problem. Do with it whatever you wish.

I hope my thoughts and idea are helpful to you and I look forward to reading more.

By Darrell Wolfe

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Distortion Critique 1

2016-09-17T23:48:00.001-05:00

Celina A. Igwe

Opening Comments

Great start! I'm excited to see how this develops!

Plot

Based on the first chapter alone, of course, I am wondering if there is a plot? Will this be a series of dreams or is there a reality Ash must also deal with. Are their people in his life that he's trying to reconnect with? If the story is a series of dreams or memories, I wondered what he is trying to get to. What is there to be resolved?

Pacing

I did appreciate that many times the pacing felt like a dream, a bit disjointed and such. But I'm not sure if you intended the format or not. The constant breaks, for me, felt choppy, and I had a hard time following the action and I found my self pausing after every break, which slowed the pace and confused the action.

Description

I realize by the end that is all a memory or a dream, but I did still desire a bit more description. Have you ever had those types of dreams that you swore were real? They can be more than images. Or even memories have specific feelings and emotions behind it. Some people even capture memories with certain hues of color. Developing more palatable descriptions may take us deeper into character interactions and/or plot points.

Did it take place in the day or in the night? Or both? Did the locations switch (as some dreams do) or is it the same constant location? Can he tell what is a dream or not? These are just some question I had.

Point Of View

I wondered as I read, since PTSD is such a personal and individual experience, just for fun, how would this story work in first person? Personally for me, I felt far away from him when I wanted to be directly in his head. I wanted to feel what he was feeling and capture it all from his eyes only. So maybe, just for fun, you could try rewriting a few lines in first person just to see how it feels. Worse case scenario is you get a another perspective or deeper development of the character.

Characters

Ash seemed a bit distant to me. I could understand his facts and actions, but it was hard for me to get into him. What I mean is, it was hard for me to earnestly care for him, though I really wanted to. Playing with first person pov, may help discover ways to include "him" more...if that makes sense. If you want to stick to third person, then it may help to include more of his thoughts into story. Does he know it's a memory/dream? Has this happened before or is it the first time? How does he feel? Is the question i kept asking.

Closing Comments

This work has great potential to become something both entertaining and enlightening. I'm excited to read more!

By Darrell Wolfe

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The Creative Way; creating fiction that readers crave.

2016-09-12T01:13:00.001-05:00

Ted Dekker (my favorite author) created a writing course called The Creaive Way; which is an online course sounds like an awesome investment, but I don't have that money, not even by a long shot. However, in his free introductory videos he gave the keys (combined with what I've already learned) that I think I need for now.

What is story? Story is a series of events involving worthy characters who change (are transformed) as a result of those events.

Without transformation you don't have a story, you just have a series of events.

Use the writing process to explore a fundamental question, and facilitate transformation in your own life. That transformation will bleed onto the page, and your reader will be transformed too.

If you as a writer are not changing as a result of your characters' journey, you didn't write a story worth reading.

The Fictive Bubble holds your story. Take your reader into the bubble, keep them in the bubble the whole time.

While in the bubble, your character will take a journey from where is today (on a hill) to where he wants to be (the hill on the other side) and he needs a path through the foggy valley between.

That path must be clear to you, you are your character's muse or guide. He will hit seven way points.

Backstory.

In the first few pages, introduce your reader to the protagonist and his/her world.

Inciting Event

The event that forces the protag into the story, with a clear goal.
There my be a clear, specifc threat.

Series of Challenges and Solutions.

Your protag tries a series of solutions, and fails.
Things seem to go well, and all hope is lost.
Something BIG has to happen, or all is lost.
Subtle changes. Character is wrestling through, lost in the fog.

Dramatic turning point.

A major change in your characters perspective.
Small changes came before now, but this is a major change for your character. The path is now clear. May come at a cost.

Climax (Goal Reached)

Antagonist overcome, goal reached.

Wrap Up

Resolve/Resoration
One last scene to show how the character's world turned out.

Celebration

Celbrating his victory. One scne, or less than a full scene.
Hint at the future?

By Darrell Wolfe

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Eradicate the word "had" from your writing.

2016-09-04T20:58:00.000-05:00

I have been writing for years, first as a hobbiest with passing intrest, then semi-professionally as a blogger, then professionally as a Complaints Reporter and Letter Writers, and now as Technical Writer working on Policy & Procedure (P&P). In that time, I've had the opportunity to edit other's work even more often than my own.

Had is an easy way to clean up your manuscript

Among the most common pitfalls I've seen, in both Nonfiction and Fiction writing, is the word "HAD". You can almost always simply delete it, and it the sentence will not only remain fully intact, but the meaning will be clearer.

I notice it in my writing, in my Letter Writers, and I've seen it three times today in other authors at Scribophile. Below are the works I critiqued/edited today.

Both are examples of good storytelling and world building. Both have edit issues to work out to be ready for publishing.

Both are examples of how incomplete craft (my own included) can be overcoming by a darn good story... and how perfecting the craft makes them that much better.

I'll just pull out just a few instances of "had" from each for this post, and offer my own potential edits for them.

Examples of "had"

Faiths Odium, Chapter 4: The Fat Shepherd

The king had used taxes to set up shelters for the homeless within the city
The king used taxes to set up shelters for the homeless within the city

In truth he had always rooted for the underdog and the hopeless.
In truth he always rooted for the underdog and the hopeless.

The disgruntled wench had a look of scorn, but offered up the axe regardless.
The disgruntled wench scowled, but offered up the axe.

In this instance, had is appropriately used: "Rynarr could see his tongue had been partially removed, a common punishment for speaking out of turn, probably ordered by a lord that thought himself above the law."

Fenilia, Chapter 12: Chapter Twelve.

A blade had materialised in N’s hand before the dagger had even touched the stone.
A blade materialised in N’s hand before the dagger even touched the stone.

Jason had said moments before.
Jason said moments before.

Jade had not realised, but there were various paths leading this way and that between them and the trapdoor they had so unwittingly come through.
Jade did not recognize the paths leading back to the trapdoor they unwittingly came through on their way in.

In this instance, had is appropriately used: She had no choice but to increase the pace of her shuffling, whilst still making sure not to fall over.

Distortion

In my own first novel (posted on Wattpad) I found several instances in the first chapter:

The leaves had begun to fall, most had turned shades of orange and yellow, matching perfectly the Pumpkins that had been dotting porches and windows through the city the past few weeks.

The leaves began to fall, most already turning shades of orange and yellow, matching perfectly the Pumpkins that were dotting porches and windows throughout the city the past few weeks.

I hope that gives you some ideas. Look for other words you use frequently in a word count search. See if you can elimante these in your next re-write.

By Darrell Wolfe

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