Story beginnings for a game. WARNING: COARSE LANGUAGE

[timh_009]

Well being the type of guy I am I decided to write a paragraph or 2 for a game concept i had:

I woke to the sound of evil and the smell of death. My body shook with the cold and the fear of what was to come. I tried to move my hands to cover the open gash above my left eyebrow but the police-issue handcuffs did their job, and did them well. The small wooden chair I was bound to was uncomfortable to say the least. The legs were at least 4 inches too short and being tied to a chair for God knows how long in such an uncomfortable position would surely be hell on my posture. But still I had been in worse situations. The amateurs had forgot to search me. Those ignorant fucks were more of an annoyance than a threat. Their “macho” gang members were all fucking bugs that would scream for death before I was done whipping their fucking hides. I pulled the flick knife from my back pocket and tried not to laugh out loud. When tying a cop up with his own handcuffs usually you search him. Unfortunately for them I was a bit crooked to say the least. I had major dealings with three of the biggest crime families in the Los Angeles area. But why bother them; I’ll take out the trash myself.

Well what do you think?

P.S Don't copy my story, sorry but I've had bad experiences in the past.

[Andail]

As a literary piece I'd have to say I think the jargong and the whole genre in general have had a heavy wear, so to say.
Nowadays, going for that style succesfully would require an enormous amount of ingenuity.

As a concept for a game, I'm sure it could work, though.

PS:
No offense, but asking people not to copy your story might seem like a reasonable request to make, but in this case it might make you look a bit big-headed. (Just telling you in all honesty, in case you'd want to edit it.)

[big brother]

Couple of pieces of constructive criticism for ya...

1. I doubt a knife will do much good against handcuffs.

2. The entire piece changes tense several times, and is largely composed in the passive tense.

3. In order to make it easier and clearer to read, I would throw a few commas into the mix.

4. The sentence length should be varied. Also, the first several sentences seem to have the same construction. ("Sound of evil and smell of death" "the cold and the fear")

5. Avoid clichés. The sound of evil and the smell of death may sound very deep, but they fail to tell the reader anything. Why not make your story memorable and set up an original situation?

"I awoke with the wind's roar in my ear. Louder than the somber rumble of the van, it
reminded me of the surf at Jersey Shore. And the trap. The side of my head pressed against the van's rear door, my entire body jarring with every pothole. I tasted blood. As I tried to turn towards my left shoulder, the handcuffs cut into my wrists. Shit had gone wrong.

One moment, I was so alive, thumbing through a wad of C-notes and thinking of the salt shaker full of charlie I swiped from the delivery. Truly happy. Faster than I could pelt two hookers with a Louisville slugger, I found myself locked to a chair that sported legs four inches too short in the back of moving van, my left eye swollen shut. The only company was a few piles of yellowed upholstery. And a pair of pocket-sized bolt cutters those stupid fucks had forgotten to take from my back pocket."

My example keeps the personality, maintaining the hard-edged vernacular (complete with sentence fragments, etc.) but tells the reader much more about the situation and character involved. I also refrained from using phrases like "God knows how long" and "did their job, and did it well" and "laugh out loud." (Although the temptation was great, let me tell you.)

Best advice I ever found on writing was this gem:
"In composing, as a general rule, run a pen through every other word you have written; you have no idea what vigor it will give your style."
(Sydney Smith)

But why would anyone want to copy your story???

[timh_009]

Thanks. It was meant as a game idea so I wasn't to worried about grammer and stuff. But thanks for the suggestions Bigbrother and Andail. THat gives me some great ideas for making my writing better.

I seriously have had bad experiences with copyright. I posted a few paragraphs on a forum once and some guy copied my story word for word and entered it into a Short Story Competition. I think he cane third or fourth. The point is that I have to say it just in case.
But I can trust you guys right?

P.S Bigbrother, the knife was used to pick the lock of the handcuffs  
I didn' think it could cut handcuffs either.

Ok I wrote this after the first paragraph but I want to do some serious edits with the info Bigbrother has enlightened me with but anyway what do you think about the actual story and/or my writing style:

I used the knife to unlock the cuffs. They fell to the floor with a click. The chattering form the next room stopped suddenly. Let them come. I grabbed a small bit of PVC pipe and quickly, sneakily ran to the door. I stood next to the doorway waiting for the impending search party. I guess a few guys come in see the empty chair and POW before they know what hit them I break a few skulls. I waited; one minute passed then finally some activity. I heard one of the thugs mutter,
“Must be the wind.” The wind! The fucking wind!? What was this fuck three years old or something? My God who says ‘Must’ve been the wind’ this is fucking LA. This pissed me off. I was ready for cracking heads now and this shit was first.
“Hey. Fucker, come get me you pricks!” I called from the doorway. Waiting for them. This time they came, slower than I thought but maybe they were more careful than I thought.

With my knife in one hand and my new friend, a half-meter of PVC pipe in the other I waited. I saw the door handle turn, if slowly. The shadow of someone blocked the light from under the door the room was dimly lit anyway. This would be fun.  The handle turned faster and the door swung open. Time for action. One thug stepped in and walked over to the chair. As he turned around I broke his face with the pipe. Another thug was standing in the doorway. He lunged at me, so I stepped to the side. As he stumbled past me I whipped around and slashed his spine from bottom to top, with my knife. The 5-inch blade went all the way in and up. I was surprised he didn’t scream but he must’ve been either dead or incapacitated. Either way I’ve learnt that someone is never dead until you kill them so I slashed his throat as he lay on the ground trying to breathe. As for the first thug, I gave him a good ole’ golf swing to the temple with Mr. PVC. That should take care of it.

I grabbed their guns and my handcuffs. After all I might need to make an arrest…. On second thought there won’t be any arrests tonight. The guns found on the victims were a Colt .45 and my police issue Barretta. What a dickhead, everyone knows that a .45 is too big for it’s own good. It weighs a ton, like carrying a brick in your pants. Good for scaring someone, when you stare down the barrel of a .45 your whole life means nothing and you’ll do anything to get out of that place. But .45’s are too heavy for a gunfight, unloading a 7 round clip (which is pretty small) with your arm outstretched is like trying to hold out a bucket full of sand for a few hours. My Barretta on the other hand, light, effective and well it looks cool. The one thing I like about the US police force is the Barretta 92DS, what a work of art.

How do you like them apples. I think it will make a fine game but the action sequences might be tricky. thoughts? C&C? whatever?

[SLaMgRInDeR]

well you could do it Shenmue style, and have the player press abutton as it comes up on screen, rather than have them in control of the whole fight

[big brother]

Just some more random crits.

Like Andail said earlier, it's a very hard style to keep. As far as the narration is concerned, there's definitely a difference between a (somewhat pulp) badass and a cocky high school punk.

Just out of curiousity, have you ever fired a .45 or a Beretta before?
I believe a good percentage of the US police force uses .45's.

As far as gunfights go, something like 90% of them occur within 3 yards.

When you fire a pistol, you usually don't outstretch your arm unless the target is at a distance.

Also, if the guards had guns, why didn't they just shoot instead of "lunging at me"?

I'm still kind of doubtful about picking the handcuffs with a five-inch long knife. Generally, you need a pick and a tension wrench to pick a lock (of the pin and tumbler variety -- anything else is much more difficult).

[timh_009]

thanks for the crit BB
No I haven't ever fired a pistol before, only an air-rifle. i get what you mean about the gunfight thingy and as for the .45 's being heavy I heard that from an interview on the Reservoir Dogs DVD. There is an interview that they did with a convicted armed bank robber about his thoughts on the movie. He said that a .45 is too heavy for use in a bankjob or robbery. If you get a copy of the DVD it's quite fascinating.

Also with the lunging at me thingy these guys are idiots. The usual king of petty thug that a mafia crime lord would hire to do their dirty work so lets just say they are about as sharp as a bowling ball, if you get what I mean.

THe knife thing. I was going for a McGyver type character who could do anything with anything. example make a bomb out of chewing gum or pick a lock with a strand of hair. The kind of stupid stuff that would never work in real life.

thanks I'm editing it to get it better and more exciting. I want the main character to be cocky but also sorta evil. He thinks he can take on anyone and the truth is he probably can.
any tips on how to achieve that?

[Mage]

"THe knife thing. I was going for a McGyver type character who could do anything with anything. example make a bomb out of chewing gum or pick a lock with a strand of hair. The kind of stupid stuff that would never work in real life."

in my opinion that would lead to some illogical and annoying puzzles.

[Eggie]

Well...whether those puzzles would be illogical or not depends on how well the game is done.
If it's clear to the player that they're in the sort of wrld where those things are possible then I don't tyhink it's unfair to make the player try and think on the same level.

[Andail_unplugged]

I seriously think you should cut back on all the bad-ass phrases. They seem pretty immature in my eyes, truthfully. Casual and excessive violence is something that Tarantino with a sweat may be able to pull off just fairly entertaining, but in most cases it's just awkward.

Also, I've never enjoyed reading threads which are all about arguing the prestanda of various weapons, so please keep those discussions in some other place.

Sorry for being a bit harsh on you, but I have to tell my opinion about that sort of revelling in violence that you display.
As a writer to another, I highly recommend that you start your literary carrear by writing about things that concern yourself, things you know about. I'd love to read that instead.

[timh_009]

Thanks for the crit Andail. No seriously be as harsh as you want. BRING IT ON!... please be gentle.

ok since my new story isn't getting off on the right foot I decided I'll post something that i wrote last year. Now bear with me Andail it is a gangster story  :o and has a tiny bit of violence but you surely don't mind that  

Chapter 1: December 20th 1932

I lay in the dark…
The only light into the room was the sliver of white moonlight shining through the Venetian blinds. The silence ringing in my ears, the only noise was my thoughts echoing around my mind. It was two in the morning. I lay on a metal bed, which creaked and groaned whenever I moved and I couldn’t sleep no matter how hard I tried. I was in a small dark room, in a seedy out-of-town motel. My face was towards the ceiling, lying on my back as if I were awaiting death. Memories of times long past flickered in my mind like a motion picture, a drive by, a gunshot, money stolen, innocents killed. I was a hitman, trained to kill, to do my orders and then to piss off. My name was John Avery, Irish hitman for Jack Molloy, my boss. Thinking of Jack made me uneasy, everyone feared him, he was crazy, a psycho, sometimes he was like a wild animal full of hate, but then again sometimes he was charismatic business entrepreneur. His mood changed with the wind, I pity all the fools who have tried to beg with him when he was pissed off. Ah but thinking of his daughter Helen Molloy, now that was completely different. She was attractive and sharp-witted, her eyes, innocent and naïve while at the same time being intimate and passionate. She was also my age, twenty-two. Pretty young for a hitman eh? It was comforting to imagine her beautiful body warming the whole room. I could see her sitting on the end of the bed, beckoning me over. I crawled over to her and she tilted her head willing me to kiss her. I did the same, slowly progressing towards her face. We were so close now, ready for the kiss.

Suddenly I jerked up in bed. I looked around the room; there was sunlight seeping in from the blinds to get rid of the darkness. It was silent except for a static murmuring in the corner of my room the radio was switched on. I put my head in my hands and wiped my eyes. I must’ve been dreaming again, I was so close to kissing her too. All my dreams of Helen Molloy ended with us just about to kiss. I silently laughed to myself, oh what a fool I am. I suddenly stopped; sweat beads appeared on my head, I jerked my head towards the table where my radio stood. My eyes searched the corner; it was still pitch black, who turned on my radio? As if in answer a figure buried in shadow emerged from the corner. The instant passed so suddenly, on instinct my hand clasped the handle of my holstered pistol and guided it towards the figure. My finger squeezed the trigger and in the brief gunshot flash I saw my best friend’s eyes wince in pain. I heard a slump as I rushed to turn the lights on. I saw my best friend’s body lying face down on the ground.
“Billy? Billy McGregor?” I questioned as I edged forward, my gun trained on the figure’s head.
“It’s me Billy,” the figure groaned in response. I holstered my pistol and scrambled to his side. A low moan came from his stomach.
“Ah, Billy tell me where I got you,” I pleaded whilst trying to flip him over to see the wound.
“You…” mumbled Billy.
“Where? Where does it hurt?” I asked as I heaved him over.
“Right in… The wall, my god your aim is of this morning,” chuckled Billy as he got up, dusted himself off and placed his hands on his hips. Still in shock I watched as Billy wandered over to the wall and poked his finger through the fresh bullet hole.
“Bastard!” I yelled as I hit him in the back of the head. He fell forward.
“Hmm, ha it was worth it” he chuckled as he wiped the fresh blood off of his head. I examined his head; the blood shouldn’t have surprised me, as I was the city boxing champion.
“But your aim is still off” he said as if he knew I was admiring my work on the back of his head. When I didn’t answer he added,
“Been dreaming again?” I looked at his face as he turned around.
“Yeah, Helen Molloy if you must know” I confessed.
“Oh, hmmm, she’s a real looker eh? Ha, just don’t let Jack catch you thinking about her like that” he said with a playful yet menacing glare. I stared back, if that crazy fool was so protective of her then why is she seeing that rat Tony Lionella?
“By the way, she’s only seeing that Tony Lionella because Jack wants to mend things with Don Gino Lionella after that firefight in his restaurant. If the Molloy’s and the Lionella family ally then they will be the most powerful gang this side of the U.S.A” said Billy as if he knew my question. That was impossible, I just thought it in my mind, didn’t I? Sometimes I wondered about that Billy McGregor, he always knew what I was thinking.
“Lets go now, we shouldn’t be worrying about these political things we’ve got a that big bank heist today with Eddie.” Billy stated as he stepped out of the door, he held it open as I grabbed my trench coat and my other gun. It was a Colt .45 1911, a gift from Jack. The black metal was cold in my hands, as cold as the night before had been, as cold as the day outside was going to be as I would soon find out. I remembered the heist now, I must have forgotten. We were robbing Chicago City Bank, one of the richest banks around.
“Hey, hurry up. John Avery sometimes I wonder about you, always dreaming and thinking. You had better wake up your aim is off” chuckled Billy as he walked off down the hallway. I ran after him and locked the door.
“Yeah, well you’d better wipe your head, you’re bleeding.” We both laughed, in this world, in this life, you never knew when you’d laugh next.

We stepped out of the damp hallway and into the cold day. I shivered as I buttoned up the black trench coat. Clouds covered the sun and the slight snowfall almost seemed peaceful. Also I was glad to get out of this week’s dank motel. I tried to walk slowly along the metal balcony but Billy, behind me, was a fast walker and kept on nudging me forward. We rounded the corner and headed down the metal steps. ‘Heart O’ the City Motel,’ I read the sign as I opened the door to our black Ford Model A.
‘Humph’ I grunted to myself as I thought of the irony. This motel was on the outskirts of Chicago. I sat in the car and Billy got into the driver’s side. My thoughts of Helen were halted by Billy’s cursing.
“Start you stupid” He yelled to the dashboard whenever the engine coughed.
“No, just press gently on the gas” I directed him. He tried it but the engine continued to cough.
“Here, like this” I slid my foot over onto the gas,
“Now start it,” I pressed gently down and the car spluttered to life.
“Ha, what do you know? Nice” Billy remarked as he inspected the fuel gauge, but I was too deep in thought to respond.

Now that might seem a bit cheesy but I was planning on finishing it off and making some form of game out of it, but I never got the time.
C&C please... BE BRUTAL!!!

[big brother]

I can't really say much about the content, which seems a bit cliched to me. I can critique the writing itself, though.

I lay in the dark…
The only light into the room was the sliver of white moonlight shining through the Venetian blinds. The silence ringing in my ears, the only noise was my thoughts echoing around my mind. It was two in the morning.

Notice how these first sentences (sans the very first one) all demonstrate the passive voice? Trust me, that's ok for some business letters (usually bad news ones) and instruction manuals, but not very evocative for a story. Also, the internal rhyme (light, white) in the second sentence, which is likely unintentional, lends the phrase an odd sound.
Does silence ring?

I lay on a metal bed, which creaked and groaned whenever I moved and I couldn’t sleep no matter how hard I tried.

This sentence needs revision to make it sound like less of a run-on. Do you mean a "metal-spring" mattress? "No matter how hard I tried" souns trite, but at least you didn't use "tossed and turned". What is a metal bed doing in a room that has Venetian blinds?

I was in a small dark room, in a seedy out-of-town motel. My face was towards the ceiling, lying on my back as if I were awaiting death.

More passive voice sentences that need fixing. There should be a comma between small and dark, no comma between room and in, and another comma between seedy and out-of-town. If the adjectives can be exchanged with one another, you must separate them with a comma.

Memories of times long past flickered in my mind like a motion picture, a drive by, a gunshot, money stolen, innocents killed.

This sentence needs a colon after picture. I would also make sure that the ensuing list maintains parallel construction. The first two items are singular while the last two are plural. It just sounds awkward.

I was a hitman, trained to kill, to do my orders and then to piss off.

Once again, watch the construction. Generally it's a no-no to write "and then." Also, it's not advisable to end a sentence with a preposition. (Although I guess in this case, it could be argued that "off" is an adverb.)

My name was John Avery, Irish hitman for Jack Molloy, my boss.

Since this story is a narrative, maybe you should decide who John is telling it to. The nature of the audience should affect the storytelling.
Also, maybe decide why he is telling it. Is he addressing a jury or pleading with a rival boss?

Thinking of Jack made me uneasy, everyone feared him, he was crazy, a psycho, sometimes he was like a wild animal full of hate, but then again sometimes he was charismatic business entrepreneur.

This one is a good example of a run-on sentence. Notice how many phrases and ideas you include?

His mood changed with the wind, I pity all the fools who have tried to beg with him when he was pissed off.

Again you end the sentence with "off". This sentence is also a run-on. Changing the comma to a semi-colon would fix this, but I think the thoughts are different enouth to earn their own separate sentences.

Ah but thinking of his daughter Helen Molloy, now that was completely different. She was attractive and sharp-witted, her eyes, innocent and naïve while at the same time being intimate and passionate. She was also my age, twenty-two. Pretty young for a hitman eh?

Passive, passive, passive. It needs a comma after "Ah" and before "eh" at the beginning and end respectively. In the second sentence you use *three* pairs of adjectives: "attractive and sharp-witted", "innocent and naive", and "intimate and passionate". Paring your writing down to the essentials while using strong action verbs will make your story very dynamic, captivating the reader.

It was comforting to imagine her beautiful body warming the whole room. I could see her sitting on the end of the bed, beckoning me over. I crawled over to her and she tilted her head willing me to kiss her. I did the same, slowly progressing towards her face. We were so close now, ready for the kiss.

Maybe try "The thought of .... comforted me" or "It comforted me to imagine" rather than "It WAS". You end the second sentence wih a prepostion. Within three words of saying the first "over," you repeat it. The third sentence needs a comma between head and willing, but I think that sentence requires more drastic changes. Also, I doubt "progressing" word you want in the fourth sentence.

Suddenly I jerked up in bed.

This one needs a comma after "suddenly".

I looked around the room; there was sunlight seeping in from the blinds to get rid of the darkness.

Try a colon instead of a semi-colon. Sunlight getting rid of darkness is very redundant. Darkness is not the opposite of light, but merely the abscence of it. That's like saying, "I ate more of the pie, leaving less of it on the plate."

It was silent except for a static murmuring in the corner of my room the radio was switched on.

You employ yet another passive sentence. When was the radio switched on? In the beginning, it's so quiet this dude is listening to his thoughts bounce around in his head. What happened to the "creaking and groaning" of the bed?

I put my head in my hands and wiped my eyes. I must’ve been dreaming again, I was so close to kissing her too.

The second sentence here is another run-on. Also, when you use the word "too" with the intent of meaning also, you must precede it with a comma.
ex. James enjoys a hermaphrodite lifestyle, too.

All my dreams of Helen Molloy ended with us just about to kiss. I silently laughed to myself, oh what a fool I am.

When using an ejaculation like "oh" or "poobungies", you must follow it with a comma. Also, the last phrase should be in quotation marks.

[big brother]

I suddenly stopped; sweat beads appeared on my head, I jerked my head towards the table where my radio stood. My eyes searched the corner; it was still pitch black, who turned on my radio?

Someone loves Mr. Semi-Colon. Not enough to prevent these two sentences from being run-ons, but you love him all the same. Both these sentences boast identical construction, kind of a bad thing since they're adjacent.
For advice (and quizzes) on run-ons, visit http://www.cfcc.edu/faculty/rhardin/run-onsentences.html

As if in answer a figure buried in shadow emerged from the corner.

Need to put a comma between phrases. "Buried in shadow?" How about a shadowy figure? Generally, fewer words is better.

The instant passed so suddenly, on instinct my hand clasped the handle of my holstered pistol and guided it towards the figure. My finger squeezed the trigger and in the brief gunshot flash I saw my best friend’s eyes wince in pain. I heard a slump as I rushed to turn the lights on. I saw my best friend’s body lying face down on the ground.

First sentence needs big-time revision. Maybe: "Acting on instinct, I drew my pistol and pointed it at the figure." It's hard not to sound cheesy here. But more importantly, I think we've solved a mystery. No wonder this dude can't sleep. I'd have problems, too, if there was a gun strapped to my hip.

Do eyes wince in pain?

“Billy? Billy McGregor?” I questioned as I edged forward, my gun trained on the figure’s head.
“It’s me Billy,” the figure groaned in response. I holstered my pistol and scrambled to his side. A low moan came from his stomach.

What a time for his stomach to act up. I usually groan from my mouth.

“Ah, Billy tell me where I got you,” I pleaded whilst trying to flip him over to see the wound.

WHILST??? Hilarious. Try "while" so you don't crack up the reader. Also, I don't think you're supposed to move someone when you think they have a gunshot wound.

Also, names require commas.
ex. "So, James, tell me more about this hermaphrodite."

“You…” mumbled Billy.
“Where? Where does it hurt?” I asked as I heaved him over.

Wow, this dude really pushes around "injured" people. Sometimes for talking, it's good to break it up a bit.
ex. "Without you," James said, "I would never know the hermaphodite appeal."

“Right in… The wall, my god your aim is of this morning,” chuckled Billy as he got up, dusted himself off and placed his hands on his hips.

Once again, an ejectulation like "my God" must be preceded and followed by commas. When you state a list, separate each item with a comma, even the last one.
ex. James donned high heels, mesh stockings, and a feather boa.

...“Lets go now, we shouldn’t be worrying about these political things we’ve got a that big bank heist today with Eddie.” Billy stated as he stepped out of the door, he held it open as I grabbed my trench coat and my other gun.

Your writing really seems to break down around here. Watch out for clauses that aren't separated by commas and especially within the characters' speech. Also, when you use "lets" to mean "let us" it should have an apostrophe (being a contraction and all).  
I think if my best friend hit me in the BACK of the head hard enough to draw blood (which is ludicrous) I would kick his ass.

It was a Colt .45 1911, a gift from Jack. The black metal was cold in my hands, as cold as the night before had been, as cold as the day outside was going to be as I would soon find out. I remembered the heist now, I must have forgotten. We were robbing Chicago City Bank, one of the richest banks around.

Very trite little bit there. Drop the "as cold as". They're too obviously melodramatic.

“Hey, hurry up. John Avery sometimes I wonder about you, always dreaming and thinking. You had better wake up your aim is off” chuckled Billy as he walked off down the hallway. I ran after him and locked the door.
“Yeah, well you’d better wipe your head, you’re bleeding.” We both laughed, in this world, in this life, you never knew when you’d laugh next.

This last sentence makes me want to barf. It doesn't fit the tone at all. Come to think of it, there really isn't a consistent tone to this piece at all. It starts out serious, become silly with two friends joking together (when they aren't blugeoning each other in the backs of their heads), and now tries to get philosophical. I'm not buying it, and I doubt any reader will.

We stepped out of the damp hallway and into the cold day. I shivered as I buttoned up the black trench coat. Clouds covered the sun and the slight snowfall almost seemed peaceful. Also I was glad to get out of this week’s dank motel.

The dank motel that has Venetian blinds. Gotta love them blinds. Maybe the owner blew the renovation budget on blinds, leaving he hallways damp and the motel dank. Put a comma after "also".

I tried to walk slowly along the metal balcony but Billy, behind me, was a fast walker and kept on nudging me forward.
We rounded the corner and headed down the metal steps. ‘Heart O’ the City Motel,’ I read the sign as I opened the door to our black Ford Model A.
‘Humph’ I grunted to myself as I thought of the irony.

Humph is something Grandpa Hampster would say. Unless this hitman is a 22 year-old grandpa, you might want to use a different word. Also, it should be in quotations followed by a comma.
ex. "Ah," sighed James, as the hermaphrodite ran her (his?) fingers along the hem of his black, spaghetti-string top.

This motel was on the outskirts of Chicago. I sat in the car and Billy got into the driver’s side. My thoughts of Helen were halted by Billy’s cursing.
“Start you stupid” He yelled to the dashboard whenever the engine coughed.
“No, just press gently on the gas” I directed him. He tried it but the engine continued to cough.
“Here, like this” I slid my foot over onto the gas,
“Now start it,” I pressed gently down and the car spluttered to life.
“Ha, what do you know? Nice” Billy remarked as he inspected the fuel gauge, but I was too deep in thought to respond.

Remember to end the speech phrases with commas.

There's no such thing as good writing, only good editing

Have you heard of Strunk and White's book, "Elements of Style"? It's probably the best book on writing I've read, and it's quite concise.

[timh_009]

Thanks for the website and the very deep editing of my writing.
Do you know any websites about how to NOT write in the Passive voice. or could you explain it to me?

[big brother]

http://grammar.englishclub.com/verbs-voice.htm

[Squinky]

Just out of curiousity, have you ever fired a .45 or a Beretta before?
I believe a good percentage of the US police force uses .45's.

I'm still kind of doubtful about picking the handcuffs with a five-inch long knife. Generally, you need a pick and a tension wrench to pick a lock (of the pin and tumbler variety -- anything else is much more difficult).

I only read the begining, but I agree. Except that the big trend nowadays are Glock model 22's. They fire .40 caliber shells and pack 15 rnds with one in the barrel. In fact, if your in law enforcement, glock will sell the gun to you at a greatly discounted price...

And handcuffs need an L shaped object to pick them. There is a piece of rounded metal in the "Keyhole" that must be pressed down and then you have acess to the little switceroo inside. you must turn the key all the way one way, the all the way the other way. the first turn is to disengage the lock that keeps the cuffs from tightening, and the second un-hinges them from the wrist.

[timh_009]

Wow I am actually learning a lot about grammer. I have another story, Big Brother, if you would like to look through this one please. You don't have to go into so much detail though. I wrote this peice last year as well, it's more of a comedy/horror.


I stepped into the dark alley. There were walls on either side with the same graffiti that was plastered all over town. The brick walls, the sides of two buildings towered over me, locking me in. The wall at the end was also as tall but it had a fire escape running up it like a snake. At the end of this dim abyss were a few dumpsters and rubbish bags.
I was here on a mission, at midnight. I thought I saw a shadow fly across the two buildings, but it could have been a bird, couldn’t it? The faint sound of Michael Jackson’s Thriller echoed off the walls.
I knew they were close.
I was a hunter; the living dead had no chance. But they were developing a new tactic. The era of the 70’s still fresh in their undead brains was enough to start a chain reaction. Disco, the dance of the 1970’s was their weapon, with more kicks that Jacko, more spins that Travolta these disco dancing demons were killing the human world.
Sucking it dry of rap and pop, by the way they killed people.
I flipped out my shotgun, a 1940’s Winchester. The other hunters called me old fashioned I called them Bob, Joe, Moe, Ritchie, Lindsay and Fonzy.
I could smell the rotting flesh. I pulled the pump action grip, Cha-chik. Not to load the gun, mainly because doing that before an action scene was cool.
I stepped into the darkness. At that moment the full moon moved right over the alley, filling it with light. The music pumped up ‘Ah, ah, ah, ah Staying Alive!’ was all I could hear.
The low scraping noise started behind the first dumpster. I aimed my shotty ready for some disgusting corpse to come scraping out. The surprise was that the scraping wasn’t caused by the broken bones but by the zombie stud’s new shoes. The moon walking freak came sliding out, I was in shock. It slid right up to me and I could see the green flesh of the back of its head, falling off the lifeless bones. They were still that same old zombies, the walking dead…. Make that the moon walking dead.
I couldn’t move, I guess it was the shock of seeing such a grotesque sight or it could have been something more sinister. At that moment I didn’t care. I raised my gun but a sudden spin knocked it out of my grasp, I could now see its face. The eye sockets stared glumly and the pink suit glistened in the moonlight.
I was prepared, or so I thought. I reached into my jacket for my Desert Eagle, a great gun that was hell powerful. A swift wacko Jacko kick sent me flying, at least ten meters. I slid even more, right out into the street. I flipped over backwards just as the school bus drove by. I pulled out my gun and blasted at least twelve holes in my friend zombie stud.
The clip empty, the idea of a school bus driving at midnight hadn’t registered in my head yet as I stepped up to the corpse. I crushed his skull under my boot, knowing that he would be back.
At that moment the screeching brakes frightened me, I stepped back out into the street just in time to see the school bus spin around. Whilst it was still screeching the driver gave a toothless grin and pounced through the windscreen onto the road. Behind him the bus plundered through a fire hydrant and into an apartment block. Luckily there weren’t any kids on it at 12:05am.
This new menace reattached his arm while I reloaded my gun. With the smoke from the tyres still in the air we quickly closed the gap between us. I stared him down; we were at least a ruler’s length apart. He also stared at me; this one had one eye still. I was holding my gun, my last weapon against evil.
I felt so safe with this gun; it gave me a safety that I couldn’t find in such a surreal world. And with one swift John Travolta move he removed my gun from my hand and my safety with it. I looked over to my gun and slowly back towards zombie stud#2.
He was standing in that classic Travolta pose with one finger in the air. I could see his chest rising and falling, as if he needed to breathe. I was angry now. I knew it was fists now, all the way. Life or Death.
“You’re mine punk” I said under my breath, these things couldn’t talk so I wasn’t expecting a response.
“Bring it on you jive turkey” was what slipped out of his rotting vocal cords. The ‘jive turkey’ part was extremely stressed, as if it was making a point.
This one was different, talking, breathing. I didn’t understand.


Now how was that? did you like the story? the grammer? the WEIRDNESS?