We all know that the first line of a story is crucial. The first paragraph must draw the reader into the action. But it is the first job of the first 300 words to do more.
The first 300 must find a common bond with the reader; a familiarity, however slight, to grab the reader by the short and curlies, and hang on.
There is no time stamp on this piece. No identifier to provide a date, time, place, planet or galaxy. But the premise is clear. The characters have problems to contend with, and are exhausted, and we can all identify with that!
"Maintain Full Speed" by Ian Hall.
The smell of the engine oil mingled with body sweat. They had not slept in three days and washing seemed superfluous. The engines in the next hold kept their loud rhythm, but Scott could hear the imperfections; the creaks and grinds that should not be there.
The storm outside kept the decks in perpetual jarring motion, the currents buffeting the hull relentlessly. It had been frightening at first, but by the third day the erratic shuddering motion was lost in the battle to keep the engines at full speed.
Scott put his back to the wall, then slowly slid down to the deck, where he sat, eyes closed, his breathing heavy and labored.
“Will you stop?” He screamed, but the pitching of the deck continued. He wiped his brow with a rag that did not clean, only smeared the brown stains into different patterns.
The noise of the engine leapt for a second, and Jonesey, the chief engineer, joined him in the small cabin. He slammed the door closed against the mechanical cacophony and reached into his pocket for cigarettes.
“Gassian. But they’re better than nowt.” He offered one to Scott, who accepted, and tucked it behind his ear for later. He dragged a large empty oil can to the wall and sat down.
Soon, a blue grey pall filled the room, but neither Jonesey nor Scott noticed. They were asleep where they had sat, the burnt ember of a cigarette still smoking slowly between Jonesey’s fingers.
The storm outside kept the decks in perpetual jarring motion, the currents buffeting the hull relentlessly. It had been frightening at first, but by the third day the erratic shuddering motion was lost in the battle to keep the engines at full speed.
Scott put his back to the wall, then slowly slid down to the deck, where he sat, eyes closed, his breathing heavy and labored.
“Will you stop?” He screamed, but the pitching of the deck continued. He wiped his brow with a rag that did not clean, only smeared the brown stains into different patterns.
The noise of the engine leapt for a second, and Jonesey, the chief engineer, joined him in the small cabin. He slammed the door closed against the mechanical cacophony and reached into his pocket for cigarettes.
“Gassian. But they’re better than nowt.” He offered one to Scott, who accepted, and tucked it behind his ear for later. He dragged a large empty oil can to the wall and sat down.
Soon, a blue grey pall filled the room, but neither Jonesey nor Scott noticed. They were asleep where they had sat, the burnt ember of a cigarette still smoking slowly between Jonesey’s fingers.
Well? Did I grab ye? lol.
That's a great start. Looking forward to more.
ReplyDeleteIan, your descriptions in this had me smelling salt air and holding my breath in a struggle against nausea. Seems the last time that happened to me was during a reading of your novel Opportunities.
ReplyDeleteReminded me of a time aboard the Irish mail out of Scotland, in a modern ship wanting to jump overboard (lol).
Since you write so well and I love your plots, I will stick with this story and buy more tums.
Thumbup Geri