I had a couple of friends that had a big success back in 1982. They sold their first novel. The pictured OLD FEARS. Really pre-saged the Freddy Krueger idea on nightmares coming to life..Inspired by their success I decided I needed to write a book. So I did. Toiled my butt off and came up with THE ALBINO. Had it typed by a professional . Had it submitted , had it rejected, and have lugged it around with me every place I've lived for the past 30 years.
Now I'm transcribing it. Ten pages a day. And I have no idea what's coming up every page turn. I enjoyed the first 10 pages. We'll see how the rest goes. It's 107 pages long. That's a week and a half of work. Nothing to it.
Nice having a first draft just laying around. I want to see if I have some script doctor in me. I'll do everything with it once I do a re-write. Try e-books, put it into Final Draft for script formatting. Learn a lot. Have a product to show for it.
It will take a lot of active voice corrections. But I'm transcribing, not re-writing. I want it all down in 1982 archive form as well.
The comment to this post will be the first page.
9 comments:
THE ALBINO
Ellis Goodson
Brad Steerman was nervous. The Wilson boys, Tommy and Fred, were having a discussion in the kitchen. Brad could hear Fred's croaking voice but couldn't distinguish the words. "Hey you guys, I'd like to get out of here before midnight." Brad was careful not to sound angry. He was afraid of the Wilson's.
Tommy leaned his greasy blond head out of the kitchen to stare at Brad. "Watch TV, Bradley - you might learn something." Fred brayed laughter somewhere in the kitchen. Tommy smirked at Brad briefly before pulling his head back out of sight. Sub-human morons, Brad thought, his eyes fixed on the counter top piled high with dirty dishes. Brad turned his attention from the corner of the kitchen to the Wilson's dust-covered black and white TV. It sat on shelving composed of cinder blocks and particle board. Incongruously shiny next to the abused TV sat a new video tape recorder. Brad imagined it cost close to a thousand dollars. The TV screen was lit with a flickering pornographic film. Brad squeezed his eyes shut, blocking out the images.
Watch TV and I'll learn something I already know, Brad thought. I'm in the presence of two of the greatest pigs to ever walk upright.
It's Horror. I think. I have to read it. But I'm not pre-reading. Discovering it by the word
Going to illustrate it?
Maybe the interior illustrations . Have to research what ebooks require. Probably do a "cover."
20 seconds of sage wisdom. Why I'm happy to have a first draft just sitting around.
My youtube clip from the Woman Chaser. The Secret of writing
I'm already intrigued. Can't wait to read it!
I like it so far. I was taken by a few phrases that really gave me a picture of Brad. "Brad was careful not to sound angry. He was afraid of the Wilson's." and "Brad squeezed his eyes shut, blocking out the images."
I also liked, "I'm in the presence of two of the greatest pigs to ever walk upright."
Neat.
Scott. You can't believe how enjoyable it is to go through this awful stuff.
It will be a good exercise to get it less clunky. It may be a short story with a truly merciless edit.
But it may also be a 90 page script.
I'll get some use out of my Final Draft.
I'll share the unadulterated badness of the archival transcription on google docs when I finish.
the first chapter clunks to an end....
Something was on the porch. A shadow that blocked any light from the front door windows. Brad's rear window was
Goodson-ALBINO page 7
too grimy to clearly see what was happening. Light abruptly framed the shadow as the front door seemed to disappear.
"What the hell!" Brad stomped the brakes and rolled his window down. He looked back the fifty feet he had come down the street, craning his neck to see. The damn door's laying on the floor, he realized. Somebody has kicked the damn door out of the frame.
Brad jumped as a shrill scream of pain sounded through the open door - loud enough to have come from his back seat. Small hairs rose on the back of his necks when the sream stopped just as it seemed to reach its peak. A blur that must have been Fred ran across the space Brad could see through the open door, headed for the kitchen. Something else rushed across the same space. It wasn't Tommy. It moved too fast for Brad's mind to hold detail and he denied his impression of its size- it had seemed to run stooped to avoid the ceiling. Brad raced the engine and popped the clutch, smoking his front tires with a screech.
"Shit!" Brad violently jerked the wheel to the left to avoid a parked car. He had been trying to watch his rearview mirror. The near collision, the scream, the barely glimpsed form and then the thought, "I was in that house just three minutes ago." caused his shoulders to shake in quick spasms of terror.
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Brad could no longer see the Wilson house in his mirror. The dashboard clock read twelve o'clock. He realized he would have to get his money from Dr. Ashcraft tomorrow morning.
The second chapter ends.......
"They were the kind of people that get used to not caring about the sort of impositions they place on others.
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Oh hell, I'll lay it out for you; they were the sort that look for people they think they can get something out of. They probably had some sort of future push shaping up for me in their reptilian minds. I hate to admit that I'm that paranoid. Maybe that's half my problem."
"I see, " Pierce said. Rodney begrudgingly admired Pierce, in spite of his natural reflex to despise authority in the form of cops. Pierce was subtle in manipulating the questioning. He had a way of standing mute with a look of expectancy on his face that seemed to draw a lot of volunteered information out of Brad. Stupidly volunteered, Rodney felt.
"Let's quit all the bullshit, Dan. Find out if this one's with that one over there." Sandlin pointed to the Honda with the mystery passenger.
"Uh...Dr. Ashcraft doesn't go in for a lot unnecessary social intercourse, you know," Brad said, suddenly nervous again. "He's kind of weird with people."
"You're normal?" Sandlin asked askance at Brad. He walked toward the car, through insects flying thick, like tracer shells, in the headlight beams.
"We have to get corroboration on your story, of course, Mr. Steerman." Pierce's tone of voice was steady. To Rodney, that tone said, don't worry, murder rarely provides much mystery in the real world. Pierce was cool, Rodney decided.
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Rodney wasn't as impressed with Sandlin. Too much punk arrogance in the roll of his hips walking into the headlight for the passenger side of the car. Rodney was watching Sandlin's face when his eyebrows jumped, showing more surprize that Rodney imagined the stern face capable of.
Dr. Ashcraft got out of the car.
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