Rate My Fiction- It has zombiieeees!! :)

jebussaves88

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This is an idea I'd toyed about with for quite a while. Heavily inspired by 28 Days Later, and to an extent, its sequel, I started trying to think what people would really do in a zombie apocalypse. The result is below. Basically I'm looking for any constructive criticism you guys have, seeing as Dastardos is doing something similar at the moment. There are probably a couple of typos, but mainly I'm just trying to see if I nailed the whole "Writing to entertain" thing".

Chapter 1



Its funny how no matter how eventful, how anticipated, or how dreadful a day is, one can never be truly sure of the significance of that day in history until later. The twenty third of September, 2012 was one such day. As people rushed around, preparing for a day they knew all to well would be something of a stressful, maybe even traumatic one, not one of them actually sat down and thought ?You know, this is the most important day of my life?. Of this there could be little doubt; every single person who was a resident of the mainland of Britain had their fate uncontrollably and unquestionably changed on that day; the most important day in British history.
There?s little denying that the life of Margaret Hassle, a 63 year old mother of five and grandmother of more children than she could remember was forever changed. Never before had she screamed at the top of her voice, and ran as fast as she could through the streets of her home town of Redhill. Never before until that day had she taken a life, or even contemplated doing so, let alone enjoying it. It was also on this day that her life was ended. This once sweet good natured woman, known in the community for her passion for the annual Surrey in Bloom competition, and her heavy campaigning for minibuses for St Josephs Primary School, would never have been expected to have been shot in the chest twelve times by a member of the British armed forces. Two months ago, the very idea would have been scary to her, maybe even given her nightmares.
The soldier who ended her life was no different. Shooting unarmed women in the middle of a housing estate? There was no chance that John Turner, a loving father of two, would have ever contemplated such an action. But there he was, on the corner of Priory Lane, the barrel of the assault rifle he held smoking, as he watched the blood gather round a nearby drain. Had he known this fate, he might have fancied a tear would have escaped him. Instead, he simply reported the kill, and moved on to reunite with the rest of his unit. It had not been the first kill of the day, and he knew that it would not be the last.
Even I wouldn?t have anticipated my own actions, amongst them being locking myself in a boarded up abandoned corner shop in a small town whose name I hadn?t paid any attention to as I sped past the road sign in my suddenly petrol-lacking moped. Neither would I have anticipated hiding in a cupboard on the upper floor of said shop, jumping at the slightest sound of life and death outside, both of which were plentiful.
I myself had been following the news for the first three months. At first most of the world did what it did best; ignore the problem and get on with its own business. There were those whoever, who did not ignore it. However, their solution ended up doing nothing more than pour gasoline on naked flames. Soon, the problem was tenfold worse, and they paid the consequences. Unfortunately, so did the rest of us. As that warm summer died away, so did the cosy shielded lifestyle which had been granted to us. Day time chat shows and cartoon marathons were being replaced by round the clock news coverage of the latest attacks in the south of France. Newspapers stopped their coverage of the latest antics of a rock and roll stars daughter in order to cover the futile containment effort that a coalition of Israeli and Palestinian armed forces was attempting. Students with clipboards were replaced with armed policeman fully decked in everything-proof clothing. The House of Commons and the House of Lords took to meeting fifty feet below the ground in a secret bunker in Ipswich as opposed to the usual grandeur of Westminster Abbey.
But despite the shield slowly eroding away, people in Britain still found a way to continue their mundane, monotonous march towards employment, retirement, and the grave. Couples were wedded. Children were born and baptised, and thousands threw their hats in the air to signal the end of their education and the beginning of a ten year battle with debt. Yet all round the world, for the last three months, people from Brazil to Belgium, from Kansas to Kazakhstan had been having their very own September the 23rd.

***

But it was on Sunday, September the 23rd that the Ford Focus rounded the corner into Ecclestone Drive a bit faster than it normally would of. The driver grinned to himself. He was usually a bit reckless behind the wheel; nothing life threatening, just bending the Highway Code a little. Today, however, would be the last time he drove his car for a little while and he knew it. To hell with the rain! May as well enjoy himself even more than he usually did. Someone however was not having as much fun as he.
?Will you slow the hell down?? his passenger begged. She grabbed on to the door handle for extra restraint as he launched the front wheels two inches off the ground as he mounted a speed bump. ?For God sake, I?m feeling sick. I swear if you don?t kill us, I?m going to kill you?. He sniggered at her protests.
?Hey, it?s this kind of driving that got us there in time so you could nick that shampoo you like. So shush it blondie!? He grinned. Adam loved winding Alex up. He always had. It had been one of the things that had endeared her to him; the fact that she could get so defensive and argumentative over the smallest thing, and yet no matter how venomous the resulting encounter would be, the relationship would come out the other end unaltered. He glanced over, expecting to see a moody frown and crossed arms, and was instead taken aback to see her staring absent minded out the window, despite her outburst seconds ago. He?d known Alex to be many things. Worried was not one of them. His grin fell.

***

The panel came out easier now it was raining. Patrick pulled out the penultimate panel of fencing left in their garden, dropped it on a large pile next to him, and stretched his back. He didn?t know how strong the wood would prove, but it was the only material that was plentiful to them.
He looked back at the house. All that was left was securing the back door, and to nail these boards over the kitchen window and the upstairs bathroom, along with blocking off the front door and living room door with furniture and more fencing if there was any spare. He looked at the pile. He doubted it, but he was sure the cupboard from Adam?s room would be sufficient and heavy enough to stop them getting in. He picked up half the pile of wood, grunting as he hoisted the weight up to chest height, and made his way indoors to the kitchen.
Two of his housemates were in there; Lauren seemed to finally have got through to her parents, as she was nattering urgently at them to get out of the basement and head upstairs instead in between curses at the mobile networks. Damien was polishing his glasses. Patrick felt a small laugh escape his nose. Damien always had a way of making himself look busy in a way it would seem rude for anyone to intrude upon. ?Damien, can you get us the rest of the wood?? he asked politely. Damien didn?t look up, and merely continued to polish his glasses whilst walking past Patrick towards the garden. Patrick took this as a yes.
He turned to Lauren. ?Did your parents take my advice??
She looked up at him, covering the mouthpiece of the mobile with her hand. ?I think so. They say they?re going to move up once the coast is clear. They didn?t think of the whole ?dead end? thing?.
Patrick turned to the window, and then turned back. ?Once the coast is clear? Has London already been attacked??
Lauren paused, a look of horror passing over her face. ?Mum, have they already attacked London? Then why did you say?no I do worry?.
?Tell them to stay put in the basement, forget the dead end theory? Patrick urged her.
?Stay where you are? no stay where you are, it?s not worth it? Mum? Mum hello?? Lauren lowered the phone from her ear. ?The reception went all fuzzy?. She put it back to her ear and kept shouting for her mother. ?Oh good, your still there??
At this point, Damien returned from the garden with the rest of the wood. ?Hope you?re happy. Got a bloody splinter!?
The front door burst open. Two figures stumbled into the hall, groaning with pain. The three in the kitchen turned suddenly in shock. The two who had just entered dropped several plastic bags onto the wooden floor, with the sound of many tins of food crashing against each other. One of the figures looked up and grinned. "I hope you all like canned Hot Dogs". Adam left the room again, whilst Alex sat herself on a chest of drawers which had recently found its way into the entrance hall.
"Any luck?" asked Lauren, whose conversation had been halted by the return of the two housemates.
"Yeah... got everything we need". Alex twisted her shoes off with a whimper, and started massaging her feet. Adam returned, laden with more bags.
"Ah, is that all the help I'm getting then," joked Adam. He nodded at the two in the kitchen who weren't busy on the phone. "Pat, Damien, wanna give us a hand".
Damien nodded, but Patrick picked up a hammer. "Sorry man, I'm still not happy with the boarding up," he said, gesturing with the hammer at the window, which was half covered with damp wood panelling. "I just got to do this one, and the ones in the bathroom, then that should be all the wood used up". Adam nodded, and returned to the car outside to retrieve more supplies.
"So you're sure you're fine?" Lauren continued on the phone. She recoiled at the sound of Patrick?s hammering, and decided moving upstairs was the only way she would be able to continue he conversation in peace. Alex watched her as she skipped up the stairs, apologising to her parents for yet another interruption. Damien returned with more bags, followed shortly by Adam, who was carrying a large box which he struggled to keep within his arm span. He grunted as he bent to place it on the ground at the bottom of the stairs.
Patrick stopped. "What the hell's that??
Adam grinned again. "New TV. Everyone was looting food, so I meandered into the tech section. Very quiet round there. Barely anything was gone".
"So that would explain this?" Damien interrupted. One of the bags he'd been carrying had apparently been home to a black box containing a Playstation, which he held under his arm, staring at Adam in a look of disbelief.
Adam's grin dropped from his face. "Hey, we don't know how long we're going to be here. I thought...?
"You thought?" Patrick interrupted.
"Whoa wait a minute..."
"So is this what took you so long? This is why it took you two hours to do a forty-five minute job??
"Yeah man, but the queues..."
"The queues? Never mind the queues. Did you get batteries??
"Yes and..."
"Torches? Gas stove? Gas for the gas stove? A generator?".
"Yeah yeah, wait a minute?"
"Matches? How about matches".
"Couldn't find matches".
There was a pause
"You couldn't find matches?"
"There was no time."
"No time?"
"Nope. The police came. We were lucky to get out with all our limbs!"
"Yeah, but there was time for LCD TV's and Xbox's"/
"Err... one. It's a plasma screen, not LCD. And two, it's a Playstation, not a...?
"What the fuck does that matter!" Patrick yelled.
"Well why didn't you go then?? Adam yelled back.
"Because I was nailing wood to the fucking walls...?
"Yeah?" Adam paused. "He pulled a rectangular package out of one of the bags, and threw it at Pat.?Pack of 200. You?re welcome".
Patrick didn't say anything else, merely looking at the cigarettes. Adam stood, staring at Patrick, waiting for the insult he knew wouldn't come. Finally Patrick turned back to the window, continuing his work with no further comment. Adam rather fancied he could see Patrick's cheeks reddening. Damien looked from one to the other, waiting for what he'd hoped would have been the severe telling off of Adam. Realising it wasn't to be; he sighed, and sat on the stairs.
"Here, I'll take over once you've done that one," Adam offered. Patrick put the hammer down to the side and nodded. He jumped off the work surface, and fished around in his pocket, pulling out a rather beaten up ten pack of Mayfair. He pulled one out, and threw the now empty packet into a corner, and trotted awkwardly outside.
Adam looked at Alex, who still sat on the chest of drawers. They exchanged an awkward grin, and Adam grabbed the hammer and nails. "Could you grab some of that wood for us?" he said to Alex.
 

FallenRainbows

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You will probably get a wall of text reply so i shall pre-empt them for you, It a story its meant to be long Dumbass. Time for my non-scan read so i can comment Properly G'day.
 

FallenRainbows

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Very Very Good, I do hope to see more, Humour Is decent could be better, and I'm aware this is the intro so action wasn't to be expected but action writting is difficult, look forward to seeing you pull it off.
 

jebussaves88

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thanks guys. i'm working on chap 2 atm, whilst refining this chapter also. sorry to say this isn't an action heavy story, but it'll have its moments. The whole idea was to make a novel of what I'd do in a 28 Days Later scenario, which is hide.
 

goodman528

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One comment on what you've posted here, too much speech. I know it's tempting to write lots of speech, but no offence, that's not cool, it looks amateurish. I've tried my hands at writing some stuff as well, I would post an example here, then we can start a writing club here on the escapist or something. But after so many windows re-installs, I seems to have lost all of that writing...... So anyway, off the top of my head, here's an example of how I skip dialogue:

*************************************************************

The 100kg of pure Cambodian heroin in the trunk of their car did not make the three day journey an easy one.

The border guards asked too many questions, and insisted on too much money. The crazy jungle drivers overtook them too often, and splattered too much mud on their windscreen. The small dealers back home phoned them whenever they were high enough in the mountains to get a signal, blabbering rapidly in hushed voices.

Then, there was the rain. The monsoon rains fell without warning, and every time the rain came, it did so without reservation. That's what really annoyed him, more than the wet shirt on his back, more than the broken air conditioning, even more than the constant dribble from his partner's mouth, going on incessantly about the war in Iraq or the economy in China, or something or another. The rain, drumming that intermingled irregular beat on the metal roof, and blurring the jungle road on the windscreen into a modernist's painting of swirling green. That's what made John twitch at every bird call. It Fostered that seed of doubt in their venture. Are the plastic bags water proof? Of course Plastic is waterproof, right? Are there any holes in the bags? Should they stop here and check? What would the cars behind them think if they stopped here?

******snipped******* They arrive in HongKong, and goes to the meeting with their customers, all small time dealers, eager to get the best deal in town, but paranoid about skipping the big Triad gangs and buying from these new guys.********

They parked the boat in international waters, and used a £3000 GPS tomtom bought from ebay to check the co-ordinates. Just in case. John was surprised they could start the meeting early, because most of the clients' boats arrived early, and they assumed anyone who didn't get here half an hour before the time probably isn't going to turn up at all. Their little boat rocked back and forth as the clients jumped on board one by one.

"Ah! Hey XXXXX! Old friend, long time no see!" ... ... "Sorry mate, no bodyguards, our boat is too small, there just isn't room for that many people. Terribly sorry about that."... hand shake, elbow touch, offset man hug, move on to next client.

With all of the clients on board, John got straight down to business and politely asked the already silent crowd to stop the small talk. He paused a moment, and then made a short speech on friendship, loyalty, and peaceful co-existence, and long term relationships... actually, maybe the speech wasn't as short as he thought it was. Some wise guy interrupted him and got a cheap laugh from the audience.

"Okay. Let's get down to business." He tapped his foot on the wooden floor a couple of times, and the creaky floor board went down by half an inch. He slid the neighbouring board on top of the one he tapped down, revealing a row 2kg sized clear plastic bags, all labelled "Mekong(tm) Flour".

John smiled, "This is not regular flour. This white powder is 99.9% pure, and we are selling it at £28k per kg. Now, how much do you want to buy?" His smile widens as his eyes scanned across his clients, looking at who's hand is moving towards their suitcase, and who's hand is moving toward their gun.

******etc, etc, *********

I'm no expert at writing either. I just do it every now and then because I enjoy it. Hopefully you could tell that I'm a big fan of Hemingway and loves his style. Oh yer, one more thing, remember to use an empty line instead of indentation when you are writing on a computer, it just makes reading it soooo much easier.
 

fedpayne

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Good news: I didn't cringe, which I often find myself doing when I look at online fiction etc. Redraft this a couple of times, carefully, there's a couple of sentences which seemed unnatural or slightly out of place. Also, tighten up the dialogue. As a creative writer, obviously I'm supposed to sneeze on your pathetic genre piece but I happen to love genre fiction, as long as it doesn't seem pathetic and snivelling, and it nails the feel, and as far as I can tell, you seem to be getting there. So good work. If you do intend to do anything serious and you want someone to proofread anything, feel free to email me stuff, PM me if you want my email.

This goes for anyone; I'm finishing Uni for the year so will not be getting my fill of workshopping stuff with my buddies in the bar, so if you want, feel free.
 

jebussaves88

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fedpayne said:
there's a couple of sentences which seemed unnatural or slightly out of place.
cheers for the feedback. i think i know what you mean by this, but just to make sure, could you give us an example of a sentence you felt stuck out a little, and in what way? I've always felt the hardest work to proof read is your own, which is why my writing has never been particularly ambitious.
 

fedpayne

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OK, I'll just remind you that I did actually like this, there's a lot in there I did like. Throwing him the cigarettes was cool. But writing seriously I always have to go over my own stuff with a toothcomb, and constantly question myself. Let's take the bit about the old woman:
There's little denying that the life of Margaret Hassle, a 63 year old mother of five and grandmother of more children than she could remember was forever changed. Never before had she screamed at the top of her voice, and ran as fast as she could through the streets of her home town of Redhill. Never before until that day had she taken a life, or even contemplated doing so, let alone enjoying it. It was also on this day that her life was ended. This once sweet good natured woman, known in the community for her passion for the annual Surrey in Bloom competition, and her heavy campaigning for minibuses for St Josephs Primary School, would never have been expected to have been shot in the chest twelve times by a member of the British armed forces
She'd never screamed at the top of her voice? That stuck out for me slightly; maybe something along the lines of really screamed in terror. Also, the streets of - I'd choose one of 'her home town' or 'Redhill'. It's slightly cumbersome with them both, I feel. Try reading things to yourself aloud. I find that helps me sometimes realise when I've said too much in a sentence or what have you. Also, that enjoying taking a life line jars with me slightly - it's quite throwaway at the end of the sentence and seemed dangerously close to cliche. Don't necessarily shy away from cliche, particularly when writing genre, just know when to use it. It can be your friend.

Gah, I always feel so mean when I critique stuff. Seriously, dude, this is the internet, if I didn't like it, there would be no reason for me to not to slate it, or even to post. I do want to read more :)
 

jebussaves88

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fedpayne said:
OK, I'll just remind you that I did actually like this, there's a lot in there I did like. Throwing him the cigarettes was cool. But writing seriously I always have to go over my own stuff with a toothcomb, and constantly question myself. Let's take the bit about the old woman:
There's little denying that the life of Margaret Hassle, a 63 year old mother of five and grandmother of more children than she could remember was forever changed. Never before had she screamed at the top of her voice, and ran as fast as she could through the streets of her home town of Redhill. Never before until that day had she taken a life, or even contemplated doing so, let alone enjoying it. It was also on this day that her life was ended. This once sweet good natured woman, known in the community for her passion for the annual Surrey in Bloom competition, and her heavy campaigning for minibuses for St Josephs Primary School, would never have been expected to have been shot in the chest twelve times by a member of the British armed forces
She'd never screamed at the top of her voice? That stuck out for me slightly; maybe something along the lines of really screamed in terror. Also, the streets of - I'd choose one of 'her home town' or 'Redhill'. It's slightly cumbersome with them both, I feel. Try reading things to yourself aloud. I find that helps me sometimes realise when I've said too much in a sentence or what have you. Also, that enjoying taking a life line jars with me slightly - it's quite throwaway at the end of the sentence and seemed dangerously close to cliche. Don't necessarily shy away from cliche, particularly when writing genre, just know when to use it. It can be your friend.

Gah, I always feel so mean when I critique stuff. Seriously, dude, this is the internet, if I didn't like it, there would be no reason for me to not to slate it, or even to post. I do want to read more :)
dude don't worry about insultimg me. i know it's nowhere near perfect and posted it here specifically to get some constructive criticism. I was aware that a fair bit of the first paragraph was in dire need of alteration, but posted it anyway so that i could see if it was heading in a direction.
Plus, i'm trying to coax out other writers, hoping that more people will potentially post stuff like this. it's always good to see other peoples work.