posted
I'm thinking about a short story on drug addiction in the future. Just started playing with it. This is my first post, and I appreciate your critiques.
Junki. I shot upright, blanket and needles flying. My heart was
franticly pumping like an old-time oil well, desperate for just
a little more. My raspy breath fogged in the cold, damp air,
but sweat ran off my naked body, pooling upon the surface of
the bare mattress. The mattress refused to absorb it. I
rolled onto the concrete floor, pulling my crumpled clothing to
my chest. For a moment I rocked back and forth, sobbing,
waiting for the terrors to leave. I promised myself I would
never do syneron again. I dressed and hit the streets.
It was dark so I checked my phone for the time, 1900 hours,
December 26th, 2049. I cursed. I’d missed Christmas. Jamie
was going to be pissed. I checked my pockets, a wad of
fifties. Not enough for the kids, but enough for the good
[This message has been edited by Kathleen Dalton Woodbury (edited September 07, 2006).]
posted
A little extra detail, or even rearrangement, would fix the confusion that was my main focus:
I shot upright, blanket and needles flying. *I promised myself I would never do syneron again.* My heart was...
* I would like to know in paragraph 1 that MC is male (if he is) * waiting for the terrors to leave: what terrors? Show us what it feels like. (You've shown us bolt-upright, sweaty, but those are external views -- I want to also know how it feels to have these terrors. Maybe some internal dialogue.)
>I’d missed Christmas. *My wife* Jamie
>“Jack?” the voice came from behind, about five feet and ten years. “Jack Graf?” This leads me to wonder if you started in the right place. I'm unsure. Maybe.
I'm not hooked yet. A drug addict waking up hung over, or whatever you call it, isn't enough for me. What's the special thing that makes your story cool? Maybe start with that.
posted
do junkies ever wake up somewhere OTHER than soggy beds, naked, soaked in sweat and shivering from horrible, incoherent nightmares? i think they might. surely human misery comes in more varieties than that, especially far future woes.
what if your junkie wakes up coherent?
"In the dark I check my phone: 1900, 12/26, 2049. I will never do syneron again. I will not miss another Christmas. I will use card currency, have a valid ID like every decent person. I will wear moderately priced, stylish and comfortable robes to bed. I will buy a new matress, one unsoiled by my every failure. I will fold or hang my clothing before I go to sleep. I will love my children..."
that way you'd start out with inherent tension between what the character believes, and the reality of his choices. worked for trainspotting.
beyond that, your story, at least this start of it, asks this question: would all the advances of technology alter the psychology of addiction? if so, how? or would human repeat their failures despite, or perhaps because of, whatever advantages future society might offer them?
either way, i'd read a story like that, and i can't think of any having been done. you have a pretty nice touch with language, too, i think.
posted
i like the tone. i don't think there is a better hook than a good old fashioned tradgedy. look at Ender's Game. i think you move too fast though. "He dressed and hit the streets" Drag that out! He's still recovering from the devastating effects of this crazy drug. something like "His skin crawled as the fabric of his clothing made contact with his skin, inflicting a terrible bout of nausea which he struggled to contain, etc." make me feel this poor chap's pain. give me an inside track.
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