My novel

[Sir-Ex]

I've been writing a novel for the past 8 months or so. I've got about 350 pages of it done in 1st/2nd draft and I thought I might share some of it with Yahooka.

Just some background info; book takes place in the future (late 21st century ). This excerpt takes place near the beginning of the book and it's a bit of a read but I'm interested to hear what people outside of my family and circle of (reality) friends think.




There is a burned out department store. Blackened, peeling paint, rusted grocery carts, ravaged piles of degrading litter – the sort of austerity that makes it feel like home – these things surround me, always surround me. With my eyes, these are the things I see, and have always seen through my twenty years. Little changes here in the city. I know the building behind me so well I can see it in intimate detail any time I close my eyes, if I choose to do such a thing. I can count the number of bricks in the front wall, or run my fingers along the boarded up windows and feel the tired old grooves in the charred wood, all in the privacy of my own mind. It sounds impressive, but it’s not.
It’s a simple thing, really. Seeing a thing day in, day out, and seeing more change in the length of your fingernails than in your environment itself can go one of two ways. The first and far more dangerous way is letting the static nature of this time and place get to you. The sameness of this place can become so familiar that after some time the familiar turns into the mundane, the mundane into tedium and so, like an unused muscle, the tedium wears the brain vapid. Add in some drug – and most people do – and the process becomes alarmingly swift.
Knowing this, I choose the alternate path as often as possible. The alternate path simply being attentiveness. Observation, awareness – these things I cherish and build in my mind. Soon after the veil of childhood was stripped away from me so violently and long ago, I became aware of the importance of perseverance. This world is dangerous. Life in this city is dangerous. It’s all about using the time you have and keeping your body and mind in one piece. That’s why I look with my eyes and hear with my ears, always. I don’t delude myself, however. I’m not without flaws. I feel hate and I take the drug.
We sit on the concrete in front of the department store with a cigarette between us. The three of us include myself and my two best friends, Kay and Shaun. Kay is older than me by two full years and Shaun’s a year younger. Both of them are woven so tightly into my life that I can’t imagine living it without them. If I were an arch, Kay and Shaun would both be its keystone. That metaphor rings true for my two friends as well. This isn’t something I guess at. It’s as true as gravity.
We all wear jeans and T-shirts. The clothes smell like tobacco and sweat but it’s a ten-mile walk to the river and no one wants to take that walk. Instead, we sit here doing one of the things we’re best at; watching.
“You know, this is our last cigarette,” I say holding onto it like the treasured little poison that it is. A thin line of smoke flows from the tip and I find myself momentarily gazing at the tiny ember.
“We’ll get some more,” Kay says as he reaches over to take his turn with it.
As I pull my hand away from his, Shaun looks over. His sandy hair looks like rust and gold in the sunset. “I’ll get some more guys, my bro said he got a carton last night.”
“Always on top of things,” I say approvingly as I look at Shaun and hand Kay the cigarette. As he snatches it up his fingers brush against mine and I feel the rough, broken texture of his skin. My eyes follow his hand as he puts the cigarette between his lips and takes a long, even drag from it. As he smokes, he closes his eyes and his lips curl up into a smile.
“I remember when these things cost me nothing,” Kay says, letting smoke roll from his mouth. “Now it’s almost worth a killing for a single pack.”
“Yeah, well.” I perk up my eyebrows and open my hands to reveal the emptiness between them.
Kay understands the gesture. “Yeah that fucking moron.”
I look down at the dust filled gutter below my legs and a half smile crosses my face. The moron in question is a recently disappeared fellow by the name of Gus, a man having more than a decade over us and ten times that in experience. He had a knack for finding things and delivering things that other people couldn’t. I never asked him how he got to be so good at what he did. It wouldn’t have mattered if I had, he wouldn’t have told me. Regardless, he used to be our primary supplier of tobacco.
Gus is known, or was known among the gangs to be an excellent smuggler before his disappearance. He may even been renowned among certain crowds for his skills. He’s made hundreds of runs for the gangs over the years since his arrival in the city, making deliveries of various import and importance without fail. I figure, but am not certain that most of these imports were illegal. Common sense says they were. They call him ‘smugger’, not ‘delivery boy,’ and I’m fairly certain he did a little smuggling for himself off the top of his employers.
The reason we got some of these stolen items for free is that Gus is Kay’s foster father. Former foster father I should say. The two haven’t referred to each other as father and son since Kay was a child, and now since he had disappeared, Kay’s new name for him was the aforementioned, ‘fucking moron.’ The title isn’t completely without merit; Gus never fit the role of father even when Kay was young. Judging from stories that Kay has told me, and by watching their interaction, I believe their relationship was a constant struggle of finding the best way to attain mutual benefit. I recall Kay telling me a story about how the two used to steal food from people’s homes; Gus creating a distraction in the front yard – usually involving fire – and Kay sneaking in through the back and taking what he could carry.
In any case, it doesn’t seem that the two will be benefiting each other again, as Gus has been missing for more than a week. I suspect that the theft from his shady employers went finally noticed.
The atmosphere of these concrete surroundings is thick and muddy, caught in the glare and heat of a powerful sunset. It is an autumn sunset and the leaves on the trees that stand further down the street match the thick red air that covers the fields of concrete atop which we sit. Each inhalation carries the taste of grit and dust and to the three of us, the flavour is like a welcome home mat – the smell of tobacco a potpourri that completes the succour of familiarity.
Only dimly aware of the ache in my chest, I pick at a scab on my wrist and let my mind wander. Recite the foundation.
I am alive.
I am human.
I am nature.
I am cancer – self-aware.
I am cancer’s cancer.
I am a function of nature.
I am human.
I notice that down the street a woman and two children are walking in our direction. Their forms seem to move in suspended motion, as if the vibrant air that separates us is a liquid through which they struggle to move. The woman standing between the two children looks like she is wearing dirty pajamas and a lightly coloured touque pulled over the majority of her dark hair. The two children – I can see that they’re a boy and a girl as they come closer – are at either side of her, each holding one of her hands. I figure they must be her children.
The woman looks old enough I suppose.
The boy following obediently on her right is playing with a yellow toy aeroplane, moving it around in the air. The boy stares at the aeroplane in his hand as if it were the real thing. As I watch I imagine being his age again; being able to be so easily captivated by the imagination.
Lucky guy.
The girl I notice, as the three of them are almost in front of us, seems completely lost in thought. She stares ahead with that kind of vacant haze in her eyes revealing that she is living in her head at the moment. The slight smile on the edge of her lips says that she is probably enjoying it. She’s a funny looking kid. Her round head and frizzy brown hair stick out of a black polka dot on purple dress. The mismatched red and white sandals she wears completes the image.
To be a kid again.
A pang of fear.
I avert my gaze and push away my thoughts away as I look at the woman. The three of them walk by, and as my eyes find the woman’s face, so too do her eyes turn toward mine. The eyes are deep and dark and I see then an aura that emanates and surrounds the woman – an aura of strength. Regardless of ratty clothes she is wearing, the state of her matted hair, any of that – she walks with determination, strength, and something more – humility maybe. I find in myself a spark of respect for this woman. Someone that can take care of anyone other than themselves deserves it.

[Sir-Ex]

Her eyes stray from mine, down to the concrete below our feet. The eyes and face flick away from us, her jaw tightens and I can see the way she expertly controls and contains her fear. The boy whimpers softly as she tightens her grip on the children and hurries them along. I feel a brief wave of regret.
Oh well.
“Not her,” I say to my friends.
“Don’t worry,” Kay says in a quiet voice.
Perhaps he also sees the strength in that woman – strength worth preserving.
“I don’t envy her,” says Kay after the woman and her children pass by.
“Hell no, it’d be a feat beyond, taking care of two kids like that on your own,” I say to him.
“How do we know they’re her kids?” Shaun says as Kay passes the cigarette to him.
I notice that the cigarette is almost finished. “They were hers.”
“How can you tell?”
I shrug, “pass me that cigarette and I’ll tell you.”
“Mmm fuck you,” Shaun says in a casual tone.
I accept defeat. “Good enough,” I say and wave my hand in the direction of the woman and children. “The girl had the exact same nose as the mom.”
Shaun chuckles. “Same nose, eh?”
I touch my nose with an index. “Same nose.”
“I wonder how she does it,” Kay says.
I look back at the woman and children receding out of sight in the distance now. The ripples of heat on the horizon distort their bodies and I notice that the little girl and boy are playing with each other now, chasing each other around the mother as she continues her confident stroll to who knows where.
“I have no idea,” I say as I gaze at the rippling heat. “It’s hard enough to take care of yourself.”
“It’s weird though,” Kay says.
“What’s that?” I ask, looking back at him. I notice that he is staring outwards with the same vacant expression I’d seen on the little girl’s face.
“It’s weird…that people would still try to raise kids, despite it.” Kay’s face sinks somewhat and the deep red of the sunset etches small shadows into the wrinkles of the frown that forms under his lips as he speaks.
Despite it.
The meaning is obvious to me.
Despite the reality of living here.
This is a dead city, decaying and hopeless. What little there is, is running out. In different circumstances, I’d have asked the woman what her trick was – what manner of survival she had discovered in order to maintain.
Would she maintain?
“Animal instincts man, we all gotta spread our gene,” Shaun says, breaking my train of thought.
Kay looks over at Shaun and I notice how much taller Kay is. “Animals instincts my ass. I doubt that girl asked for those kids. She was probably…” Kay’s voice trails off.
“Exactly my point. Animal instincts prevail,” Shaun says in a bittersweet tone.
She was raped.
I recall the images of the two kids that were with her. They were the same height and most likely the same age.
Twins…poor woman.
“But why she kept the kids, I can’t imagine,” Shaun says.
I chuckle and say, “animal instincts, man.”
Shaun looks at me quizzically.
“Motherly instincts,” Kay says when I don’t respond.
Shaun nods and looks out across the sun-scorched road, past the chain link fence, and into the empty field beyond. Small patches of dead or dying grass poke out from the soil. The ruined shape of a single indistinct vehicle lies quietly, roasting in the sun. “Well good luck to her.”
I nod in agreement.
She’ll need it.
Kay clears his throat and with that the conversation is over. There will be no more worrying about the woman or her children. They may live or die and we will never know, nor will we ever think on them again without reason. They’d come and they’d gone.
“We’re out of cigarettes,” Kay says he squeezes the tip of the finished cigarette into the concrete, killing the tiny ember.
I frown and watch Kay remove a tin from his pocket and throw the tiny butt into it. “Do we have enough to roll another?”
Kay shakes the tin for a moment before putting the top back on. “Not really. Too small for all three of us.”
I consider the fact that the few butts in that tin would be enough for only myself but I automatically ignore this. We share.
“I’m fucking hungry,” Shaun says with a sigh.
“Eat your dick,” Kay quips. I smile at the remark – one that I don’t believe has been used until this century. It’s basically a comment on the scarcity of food weighed against the senselessness of reproduction. Once more, your average person can’t even support themselves so why would you need a kid, vis-à-vis why would you need a penis? Hence the phrase, ‘eat your dick.’ Funny phrase, I like it.
Shaun sighs again and this time he intentionally makes it sound more belaboured and irritating.
“You ate this morning,” I say.
“Don’t fall for it,” Kay mutters to me.
Shaun starts whining. “But I’m hungry!”
“Maybe it’s time to die, Shaun,” Kay says with obvious irritation in his voice.
“Time to die?” Shaun says to Kay, quickly glancing at me and then to Kay as he speaks.
“I think so, Shaun. I think so,” Kay says assuredly.
“As good a time as any other, perhaps, but I could think of a better alternative,” Shaun says.
“Uh-huh,” Kay says, uninterested.
“What’s your alternative?” I ask.
“Grow some leaves and roots,” Kay says sarcastically.
“No-no-no. I think I just came up with something, something that can pull us humans together.”
Kay quickly looks at me with an incredulous smile on his face. “Yeah, how we gonna do that?” He says as he looks back at Shaun.
“Well um, first step,” he shoots his index finger into the air, “cannibalism.”
Kay laughs, “cannibalism?”
“Yeah! Cannibalism, exactly that. First we get a few of the trustworthy together to form a tribe. I’m talking ancient style barbaric tribe with penchants for weird science and heretical belief structures...Mayan death lords kind of shit.”
Kay’s left eyebrow perks up as he listens while I look out at the trash-covered lot on the other side of the street. I smile inside, ready for one of Shaun’s excellently fantastical stories.
“Once we establish deep-rooted religious control in our tribe – to make sure that we fight with conviction and…and fucking fanatical fucking might – we’ll form small hunting parties and strategically place ourselves in the urban sprawl. We’ll find areas where human movement is limited…places where we can easily disappear when we need to. We’ll use…I don’t know…scantily clad women bred to give off fuck-me-silly-pheromones to lure them into where they can be easily killed, taken, and then processed back at our tribal residence, which of course, will be nomadic in design. We can travel from place to place, calling ourselves chimps after our extinct little friends, and lure the dirty humans into our webs! It’ll be fucking great!”
“Ooooh-k then,” Kay says laughing as he pats Shaun on the back, “easy on the imagination you crazy bastard.”
I laugh along with him. Shaun’s story is barbaric to be sure, but I know things like that which Shaun had just described had happened not so long ago elsewhere. In the early days after the war, cannibalistic societies cropped up in several urban centres across the continent. Unlike what Shaun suggested however, these societies were not the result of any kind of religious or tribal fanaticism, but instead they were driven by the necessity of survival. Food has always been a problem in the cities since there is, of course, no such thing as a supermarket. A long time ago, my stepfather told me about one of his early operations in a city not too far from here. He described to me in his often monotonic voice what he had seen there. “Strips of human flesh hung to dry in the sun on racks the locals built around their ‘villages.’ It was a commonplace for the savages that lived there.” I still remember the way he made quotation marks with his fingers.
Since then the militias have successfully destroyed – slaughtered – such unsavoury cultures in, to my knowledge, their entirety.
But not the gangs.
“Hey I didn’t even get into how we process the body fat into fuel,” Shaun says with an informative tone. He often rambles like this.
“You need an outlet man,” Kay said to him quietly.
I look back at Kay. He is resting on his elbows, looking up at the sky. He has a familiar look in his eyes. It’s pity.
He understands why Shaun has a tendency to stray into nonsense.
What actually makes sense and goes on in this world is far more unsettling than the distracting thoughts that occasionally run through his head.
To think of something better than this. Something better than decaying and getting fucked up.

[Sir-Ex]

I focus my eyes on something at random – it happens to be the sewer grate three feet down the road – and study its details.
Six horizontal, two vertical. Ten wide, sixteen long.
Just at that moment, we all look up to see an older man riding down the street toward us on a bicycle, our attention grabbed by the rustic sound of its approach. Two red bags hang off the handlebars and a little metal basket is anchored to the rear of the bike. He carries with him a number of random items – I spot an empty picture frame, some kitchenware, rope, and several black bags bundled together. I figure that either the stuff is stolen and he’s bringing it to wherever he calls home, or he no longer has a home and we’re looking at everything he owns. Either way, I glance at Kay.
“Yes? No?”
Kay tilts his head back and his eyes glint for a moment as he looks at the man peddling down the street. “Sure, maybe he’s got some smokes on him.”
In unison we all stand up. Shaun, fastest as always, is a metre ahead of Kay by the time we even stand up. As Shaun runs toward the road where the bike approaches, Kay and I kneel down and pick up the things that sent fear into the woman that had passed earlier. In the next second as the two of us are chasing behind to catch up, Shaun breaks into a sudden sprint toward the bicycle. The man, realising now what is happening, twists his handlebars away from the advancing man. He only has a moment before Shaun thrusts an iron pole between the spokes of the rear wheel of the bicycle. With a jolt and a loud clang of metal against metal, the bike hops up and sends the man twisting over the handlebars. He lands a few feet ahead with a soft thud.
Immediately I am on him. He attempts to stand up but a fully rounded swing of the bat in my hands makes contact with his back. The force sends him back onto his stomach and an excited vibration through my wrists. I’m not sure if it’s actually the bat or just adrenaline.
Out of the corner of my eye, I notice Kay helping Shaun undo one of the bags tied to the handlebars. I hope that soon one of them will come over here and help strip this guy down before he tries retaliating.
If he tries retaliating.
The man is barely moving – just squirming on the concrete and letting out an awful groaning sound. I see his mouth dripping blood. His lips have been torn apart from the fall to the concrete. Disgusted at the sight, I look to my two friends who are now working at the second bag. They work quickly and with trained precision, but I wish they would hurry the hell up and come over here to do their job. I don’t want someone to come along and see us. Anonymity is important right now. We run awful risks in these moments.
Seemingly reading my thoughts, Shaun finishes with the bike and runs over to where the two of us are standing. He looks down at the man lying on the ground and a strange expression crosses his face. Disgust or amusement…it’s hard to tell which.
Probably both.
I shake my head and look at the injured man lying on the road. “Hurry up and let’s do this,” I say to Kay who then reaches down and pulls the man up from the ground in one powerful movement.
“P-please!” the man manages to cry through the blood and spit in his mouth, “don’t kill me!” The whites of his eyes shine through the dirt and blood as his fear finds a voice. I could make out their colour if the damn things weren’t darting around so frantically.
“Shut-up old man, or I will fucking kill you,” I say venomously, not looking at his eyes but focusing on his chest. It’s covered in dirt and smears of blood from his impact with the road. I see that the man must have fifty years, maybe less…hard to tell. I suddenly feel a sharp pang of pity for this old man.
What right do we have to do this to him? What gives us that right?
I push away these thoughts with a justification I often use.
I’m doing this for the world. In this world there is no right.
Fuck the old man anyway.
Shaun manages to pull off the man’s coat and shove him back to the ground when I hear them coming.
Shit.
We still have time. The low rumbling sound of the motors in the distance are a blessing. The thing that creates that sound is a curse.
“Hurry guys!” Kay shouts. I glance over and see him running with the bike toward the side of the burned out department store. “Hide him!” he shouts again.
He doesn’t need to tell us twice. Shaun and I work together to pick the man up from the ground. With my arms around his legs and Shaun’s around his shoulders, we hurry the man toward the department store.
“I’m getting sick of these bastards crashing the party!”
“Tell me about it,” Shaun grunts.
“Kay better be getting the tape,” I say, glancing up at the building. We are about twenty feet away when Kay appears behind one of the windows. His hair is already sullied after stirring the soot filled air inside.
“C’mon! C’mon!” he shouts with his arms beckoning us forward.
“Get the tape!” I shout as I struggle with the old man. The motors are getting louder.
They’re getting closer.
We reach the window and Kay, with two thin but tautly muscled arms, pulls the man through the frame. A small cloud of ash sprays into the open air as the force of the man displaces the stagnant air inside. Instead of helping Kay, Shaun and I turn around and begin walking away from store, but with a small thud I hear the man hit the ground on the other side. As I see a glimpse of something metal, moving fast past the line of trees down the road, I hear the sound of tape being pulled from the roll and a masculine voice struggling.
“Hurry, Kay!” I shout quickly.
“Open your fucking mouth,” I hear Kay growl. His voice is barely a whisper as Shaun and I now stand on the curb, the road just below our feet. From behind me I hear a sudden yelp of pain that finds itself quickly muffled.
He got the gag in.
“Here they come,” Shaun says quietly. “Quick, sit down.”
I can see them clearly now. There is only one of them as far as I can tell and it’s coming quickly toward us. The wasp-like thing sports eight wheels in its aerodynamic chassis, each wheel more than a man in height. Its green surface blends in well with the surroundings, especially in this light. If it weren’t for the unique and undeniable sound of its dual engines, some people might not even notice it coming.
“Kuwabara,” Shaun mutters. Kuwabara – it’s a prayer for protection against lightning and a suitable invocation for this situation. The thing – only a block away and fast approaching – is called a Zeus.
I wonder for a moment if there are actually human operators sitting behind the thin slit of black glass where the cockpit is, or whether they’re all relaxing and letting the machine do its work. It hardly matters, I know they see us. I’m just sitting and waiting…and watching.
With frightening speed, going from forty miles an hour down to zero in a matter of seconds, the Zeus comes to an abrupt stop directly in front of us. Hydraulics hiss and wine as if the machine is catching its breath.
Directly ahead I see the first set of massive wheels that have stopped before us. They stare at me like a pair of eyes, the inner-rotaries still spinning rapidly like insane pupils. Seeming to grow organically out of the thirty-foot wheelbase towers the rest of the vehicle. The location of the cockpit is barely visible as a thin slit of black glass hidden artistically within the reinforced bodywork. Extending from the cockpit and down the road – thirty some feet – the rest of the machine casts its shadow over our heads.
Beginning at both tips of the vehicle, the chassis flows toward the middle in a way that functions both aerodynamically as well as by creating a menacing appearance. The entire thing is perfectly symmetrical with separate engines on both ends. Even now I can pick out the two sources of the distinct humming sounds the engines make. The open drag flaps on the far side of the vehicle look like wings and, as they slowly fold back into place, the Zeus looks more insect than machine.
The gut reaction is the same no matter how many times I see one up close; I feel like shitting my pants.
Suddenly in the middle of the machine, between the two sets of wheels, a hatch opens with a screeching hiss. My body involuntarily shakes at the sudden movement. I try to cool my nerves. Keeping a level head is important right now.


- Zach MacKay "Untitled Novel"

[Mafoo]

im too sleepy to read it all now but i got through the first post and im excited to read the other sections, the tone that you set is really imersive and heavy

[Mafoo]

when are you set to be finished with this??

id like a copy, not kidding

[Sir-Ex]

I've been taking a bit of a break right now after getting back from my trip to europe, but I'm aiming to have it done in 6 months.

...but then I need to get it published and who knows how long that'll take

[Man in Black]

that was really good. very descriptive. i'm not much into the science fiction or futuristic settings but you pull it off nicely. i'd like to read more.

[Sir-Ex]

Buy the book! haha!

Seriously, when this shit comes out a in eed everyone to buy it so ican pay to support my family.


P fucking S booze doesw not help the writing process

[vanilla]

^ yes it does.

[Sir-Ex]

Hell no

For the time being it does. Then 3 months down the road you realise you wrote 10 000 words of shit you cant use because it strayed way too far from the original plot line and the new direction is just... it's just ITS JUST SHIT

[Bradford]

lol, I'll buy a copy when you get it published man.

[Smaerd]

^That's why I write small. I can never see the point of big thick details, I believe one metaphor can sum up a million words.

I always find alcohol helps me get ideas and piece things together but though regurgitation(writin g your ideas down) is easy, it's painful and sloppy.

[Tai-pan]

Stephen King said that about a few of his books and there are more than one writer that wrote a book that started out how they liked but then it took a life of it's own and a couple 'improvements' here or 'snips' there and the story ended up somewhere they didn't plan. A few of them even took and published their books regardless then wrote a new book using a different beginning but ending up where they want to before in their first book.

You often know them as 2 or 3 book wonders since it's their first and second (or first and random number of books.) that was 'plot split' books. Why I say that is sometimes authors don't come back to that first plot idea right away. They either think there is nothing there for them to recover or people would see through them making a book so similar to their first/last release. Stephen King had the exact same issue you have. He wrote one of his books and it just took on a life of it's own. He published the book but still wanted that ending. It bugged him for a bit and he finally decided to just use the idea in a new book.

If it's good but outside of what you originally planned, just run with it. You can ALWAYS write out the 'alternate' ending for an editor to read and decide on what they think is a better ending.

The unused ending use for a different book. Win Win!