posted
Yellow taxis clogged the intersection, bright and loud -- headaches on wheels. The pedestrian light pulsed its red hand at me. My pulse throbbed in my head as though my thoughts were trying to drive right out of my skull. I stepped onto the sidewalk on St. Marks and on the next stride I stepped into oblivion. I never notice when it happens. I never notice when the taxis, tattoo parlors, table-top-shops all melt to nothing. I never notice when my conscious sublimates to vapor and wafts away. But I always notice when the material world explodes back into existence; Fluorescent lights, frigid air-conditioning, placid egg-shell colored walls, books. Someone behind me tapped the side of my arm. I looked over my shoulder at the line of impatient patrons.
[This message has been edited by Donelle (edited August 16, 2007).]
posted
I like these sorts of stories. I assume it is about time-travel or displacement.
All the intense sensations (pulsing, throbbing, skull-driving and such) seem like precursors to the timeslip or whatever it is, but the character says he doesn't notice when it happens. Is the world always this intense to the character? If so, no wonder he leaves.
Nits: my conscious sublimates: my consciousness sublimates
melt into a puddle of nothing: melt into nothingness. (Puddles usually have some actual substance, even mental substance).
So far, it is all one mega-paragraph with some suspicious semicolonic (I think I made up that word) punctuation.
posted
It held my interest, though my assumption, based on the line of people waiting, is some kind of vicarious entertainment.
There is a classic short story -- I forget by who, that first describes a rather hellish vision of present day earth and then describes the long waiting list to get in.
posted
sweet, body hopping, love it. Run Lola. Give me more. your descriptions are original and the language flows. When it's finished send it, I want to read.
Posts: 14 | Registered: Jul 2007
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posted
Definitely interesting enough to continue reading.
Like WouldBe, I first thought all that intensity ("thoughts trying to drive right out of my skull") was intended to be a precursor to the phenomenon, until the MC claims to never know when it happens. I then thought, “so… are things always this intense for the MC?” Now I want to keep reading to find out what is up, but feel owed an explanation.
Also, perhaps it is just me being dense, but I wasn't sure if the specific things melting into nothing and exploding back into existence were intended as examples, or if the MC always leaves a world of taxis and parlors and returns to a world of lights and frigid air-conditioning. (I think you intend them as examples, but your descriptions of what is melting away and coming back are so intense and specific, I have to think twice).
I found the use of “pulse” as a verb and then again as a noun seven words later a bit distracting.
posted
Yellow taxis clogged the intersection, bright and loud -- headaches on wheels. The pedestrian light pulsed its red hand at me. My pulse throbbed in my head as though my thoughts were trying to drive right out of my skull. I stepped onto the sidewalk on St. Marks and on the next stride I stepped into oblivion. I never notice when it
So, what’s wrong here? Hmmm...He’s feeling bad and I really am not caring or responding. Is there is disconnect between the statement of the bright yellow taxis and then changing into complaints about headaches. Like I want to read about someone else’s headache.
Well, maybe I would if there were something unusual, unusual AND interesting about the headache.
The headache started for no reason at all. I mean, I was just standing there over a vat of swamp mud, pouring in two cups of newt eyes and bingo! I thought my own eyeballs were going to pop out.
Now that headache might lead to something more interesting at lot faster. Maybe I’m just a an action junkie of some weird sort. Now that I’ve gotten past the headache, it got better when we reached the stepping into oblivion. That’s interesting. But I’d have never gotten there with the first lines.
posted
I think I'd read a little longer out of curiosity, but honestly I think too much time is spent on the stuff before he jumps. If it's all going to fade away, I'd say give it no more than one or maybe two sentences and then get on with it--unless that stuff was doing something important, telling us something relative to the story or about the character, etc. Otherwise, I felt I have a decent enough vision of a busy urban setting to get the idea.
Also, I think showing us what the lead character sees--the flashing sign--is more important than showing us other things.
Readers have an imagination. They'll take a few clues and fill in the gaps.
posted
Thanks for the feed back. It all really helps.
Sorry guys, no time travel or teleportation. It’s not straight sci-fi… It’s slipstream (or transrealism). I may tone down the fantastic descriptions in favor of clarity (see post below).
Arraki —
quote: Is there is disconnect between the statement of the bright yellow taxis and then changing into complaints about headaches?
Yes! Hahaha. You hit the nail on the head, even though you were trying to hit a completely different nail (reminds me of an old Three Stooges bit). Driving (like taxis) and pulsing (like street-lights) was meant to establish a (not so subtle) connection between the protagonist’s mind and his environment. This becomes a recurring theme in the story. His headache is simply a mirror of New York City during rush hour. It illustrates that he and his environment are one and the same.
A lot of you were speculating about the “Jump”; it’s really simple. The protagonist looses himself. Literally. Blanks out someplace and “reappears” somewhere else. I’ve personally had this happen to me (though not so drastically.) One minute I’ll look up at the street sign and it says 34th street. I glance back up the next instant and the signpost reads 40th street with no memory of walking the streets in between. More drastically, my boss once told me that one evening, tired after a particularly long and frustrating day, he said good bye to the last employee as they left for the evening. He went back to his office and closed the door, and in the next instant he was home, in his night clothes about to crawl into bed next to his wife with no memory of anything in between. So that means he had closed the store for the night (which includes resetting the alarm and lowering the gates amongst other things) got on the train (which included a transfer to another train and a short bus ride) got home, changed his clothes, all while essentially unconscious. I’ve heard similar accounts, and this is something that has always fascinated me. That we can literally operate on autopilot. But this is only a small part of the story. I may describe it conventionally at first (see post below) and use the fantastic descriptions later on in the story.
The narrative takes the form of a metaphysical detective story where the protagonist follows clues from his past, present and probable future to find himself amongst the chaos of New York City. He struggles to unravel the knot of his existence from the tangled mess of his environment, upbringing, family and friends. It explores metacognition, class, race, environment and the subtleties of the mind-body connection among other things (trust me, it all fits.)
I’ve always been interested in writing fantastic descriptions of the mundane but it seems to be confusing (or at least, misleading). Following this post an alternate opening that abandons the fantastic descriptions in favor of clarity. It takes the story further away from science fiction and pushes it closer to mainstream lit, though I still think it qualifies as slipstream. Is it still interesting? Does it still grab? Should I stick with the first opening? Thoughts please! Thanks!
posted
My train of thought crashed on St. Marks. Yellow taxis clogged the intersection, bright and loud -- headaches on wheels. The pedestrian light pulsed its red hand at me as my own pulse throbbed in my skull. I was crossing the street from St. Marks onto Astor Place, between bumpers and grills, between idling exhausts and blasting car horns, when my train of thought derailed. Derailed and plummeted into oblivion; thoughts, conscious and all. No survivors. I was twelve blocks away when my mind got back on track. Twelve blocks away in an over air-conditioned bookstore on 14th street with no memory of anything in between. Someone behind me was tapping the side of my arm. I looked over my shoulder at the line of impatient patrons. The man behind me....
Posts: 44 | Registered: Jan 2007
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posted
I love the images and the "headaces on wheels." You have a nice way with description which comes through better in the first version.
The only thing that really gnaws on me for this is the awareness of the blackout.
In the first version it was the repeated "I never noticed . . " if he didn't he shouldn't be telling us about it in first person.
This is better but still bothering me. I'd rather "see" him come out of the fugue state and react to being someplace completely different.
I also liked the link between his headace and the surroundings being less obvious. Don't tell me. I'll get it. I did within the first 3 lines of the original. Especially where the event happens on more than one occassion.
The first version I would have read on. This version, I'm a bit more leery of doing so because the text is telling too much. It's a bit heavy handed.
posted
Even though I didn't see "it" in your first version, I have to agree with Kings_Falcon that the second version is a bit heavy-handed. The first version that I complained about is more artful and interesting. It will probably take some delicate word-crafting if you want more people to get it without adding virtual sticky notes to the story, but I'm pretty sure you can do it.
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