Brian MacLearn's Blog - Posts Tagged "abuse"
Against the Current
The editing continues on "Ridicule" which is now called "Against the Current." The original story received a 5 star review from Reader's Favorite and is a finalist in the category of Fiction/Intrigue. One of the things I've learned from the previous two novels is to listen to the readers and the professionals. Ridicule was a suspense story with manipulation and abuse as the backdrop. The general opinion was that it was more suspense and should move faster. After several (favorable) critiques, I began the process of condensing the novel to make it flow faster. This isn't as easy as you might think. It actually feels like I'm writing a new story. It will all be for the best…I hope. My mind wants to drift back to "Isolation," and continue writing where I left off. I've even started hearing from Jason and Allison recently. There are too many ideas and not enough time in a day to do it all. Hopefully, you will be able to see "Against the Current" in print this fall or early next year.
Fresh eyes
I've finished the rewrite of "Against the Current." I could use a couple sets of fresh eyes to read the story and tell me what they like or didn't. If you have time this next week, send me a message to find out more. After this, it's off to the editor for final cleanup. Thanks!
"Against the Current" 1st chapter
Chapter 1: All Things Must End
The two men stood facing each other. The lights of the bridge spanning the Black Hawk River gave off a dull illumination at best, not enough for either man to see the other's eyes clearly, despite standing mere feet apart. The sound of the river rushing around the footings of the bridge created a vibration, which in turn, produced a low humming sound much like a cacophony of tubas, spread out across the bridge, playing the same low note.The early summer night was moist with the humidity of the recent weather front passing through Mt Clarkton. Iowa's weather was stuck in a pattern of rain, causing the river that divided the town to push the banks to overflow.
The game between them had been played, and the rest of the pieces sacrificed, leaving only the two of them left. Exhaustion and pain being negated by the adrenaline controlling their basic instincts to conclude the game they'd been playing most of their lives. There had been too many years of conflicted and pent-up emotions eating the spirit away inside the smaller man. The larger man was obsessed with the absolute need to control the smaller man. He must put an end to the uprising and break the last remaining seed of hope in the smaller man.
The bigger man howled with a savage rage at the smaller man, his voice carrying across the river. All semblance of rational thinking was gone. The only thing that mattered was showing the smaller man who held the power, even if it meant killing him. The smaller man stood his ground. Twenty-five years of having his arms pinned behind his back and his face shoved in the dirt was going to end, one way or another. No longer afraid of the bigger man, he was ready to finish what he had started. There would be no more backing into a corner, no more worrying about the costs and the losses. It was time to do what should have been done all those years ago; take down the bully.
The smaller man treaded lightly in preparation of the attack, stepping back and onto the bridge's sidewalk. His eyes never left the bigger man's chest. His life depended on making the right assumption, and the bigger man's chest couldn't belie his true intentions. This would be his last move of the game, win or lose. The larger man charged, screaming at the top of his lungs. The smaller man's own battle cry joined in response. His cry, a piercing determination to end a lifetime of ridicule, erupted from him like a dormant volcano exploding without warning. Neither of them heard the panicked cry of another. They were long past knowing anything other than the moment at hand, the silent understanding that only one, or neither, would survive the end of the game.
The two men stood facing each other. The lights of the bridge spanning the Black Hawk River gave off a dull illumination at best, not enough for either man to see the other's eyes clearly, despite standing mere feet apart. The sound of the river rushing around the footings of the bridge created a vibration, which in turn, produced a low humming sound much like a cacophony of tubas, spread out across the bridge, playing the same low note.The early summer night was moist with the humidity of the recent weather front passing through Mt Clarkton. Iowa's weather was stuck in a pattern of rain, causing the river that divided the town to push the banks to overflow.
The game between them had been played, and the rest of the pieces sacrificed, leaving only the two of them left. Exhaustion and pain being negated by the adrenaline controlling their basic instincts to conclude the game they'd been playing most of their lives. There had been too many years of conflicted and pent-up emotions eating the spirit away inside the smaller man. The larger man was obsessed with the absolute need to control the smaller man. He must put an end to the uprising and break the last remaining seed of hope in the smaller man.
The bigger man howled with a savage rage at the smaller man, his voice carrying across the river. All semblance of rational thinking was gone. The only thing that mattered was showing the smaller man who held the power, even if it meant killing him. The smaller man stood his ground. Twenty-five years of having his arms pinned behind his back and his face shoved in the dirt was going to end, one way or another. No longer afraid of the bigger man, he was ready to finish what he had started. There would be no more backing into a corner, no more worrying about the costs and the losses. It was time to do what should have been done all those years ago; take down the bully.
The smaller man treaded lightly in preparation of the attack, stepping back and onto the bridge's sidewalk. His eyes never left the bigger man's chest. His life depended on making the right assumption, and the bigger man's chest couldn't belie his true intentions. This would be his last move of the game, win or lose. The larger man charged, screaming at the top of his lungs. The smaller man's own battle cry joined in response. His cry, a piercing determination to end a lifetime of ridicule, erupted from him like a dormant volcano exploding without warning. Neither of them heard the panicked cry of another. They were long past knowing anything other than the moment at hand, the silent understanding that only one, or neither, would survive the end of the game.
