"sunlight caught the corner of his left eye" He has a right eye, so okay.
"he felt a tightness in his left arm" He has a right arm, so okay.
"he slipped the clipping into the breast pocket of his starched forest green shirt" He has other shirts, so okay (except put a comma after "starched" or hyphenate "forest-green").
"Brad Brashear looked up at the overcast sky and crossed his long arms" He has... whaaaa? Rocks sees it all the time but will never quite get his cylindrically shaped head around this grammatical construct.
Still, aside from being a little light on comma usage, technically pretty good, pretty smooth. The VC definitely knows a LOT about baseball.
Made Rocks think of those CW assignments where two people take turns writing a story. Like where one wants to write a romance, but the other a Star Wars fan-fic. Or, as in The Rockster's only personal experience, where one wants to write a story about a horse, and the other, porn. Except here the first writer was into catching crabs, and the second, who then never relinquishes the narrative, baseball.
Starts with this guy, Brad, see, crabbing off a dock. As a kid, Rocks used to fish for crabs off piers in Chesapeake Bay, Md with chunks of eel tied to string. Very exciting. Once a crab took hold, he'd pull it up real slow and gentle so it didn't let go, and try to scoop it with his net. Brad's using some sort of pot, though. His first crab gets away. The pot comes up empty but for the chicken necks he's using for bait. But then he catches a pretty good crab, a keeper. After that he's starting to pull in what feels like an even bigger crab, maybe even two, maybe even some alien life form or earth-evolved monstrosity that eats chicken necks and will change everything.
But then a bullet grazes Brad's left arm and he loses consciousness, only to wake up a day later in the hospital. Someone named Hackel has shot him. And though Rocks never does find out what was in that third crab pot, he is provided a very credible, lengthy and detailed, almost pitch by pitch, study of Brad's baseball career complete with averages and everything from before high school all the way up to the majors, and back down and out after Brad hits a slump. There's a fair lot of dialog with nurses and physiotherapists and hypnotists, etc., that if Rocks were eavesdropping on would probably stop. Though he still wants to know what was in that third pot. Maybe a toadfish? Dead weights, and so slow Rocks has seen them caught in crap traps. Scary ugly with eyes on stems and human-like teeth. He's seen fisherman cut off a toadfish's head, throw it back, and, later, re-catch the head. They're that stupid. Anyway, the story ends with Hackel, the guy who shot Brad, neither apprehended nor his motives revealed; Brad, whose career Rocks has been so painstakingly subjected to, still in a slump; the creature in the crab trap never revealed, and so Rocks left wondering what the point of it all was. Maybe H3K, whose reading comprehension is way, way better, will explain. But, for now, no.
The topic has been locked.
Date: 2017/02/16 22:09
[doomey sucks in sweet smoke, curls his lip, exhales]
good christ, can someone whisper spoiler alert? rock. what the fuck are you doing? you damn well know if you want to craft your own adventure, you should do it and then submit. i am watching you.
The topic has been locked.
Date: 2017/02/17 11:15
[Rocks winces at Doomey's bitchslap. Three (Doomey lost his bird-finger at a Sheetz back in 87) parallel welts streak his cheek. A tear falls from his winkey eye.]
Sorry man, sorry. You know what the worst thing about working here is? Not being able to craft my own adventures and submit. If I could, maybe they wouldn't leak out here so profusely.
[Rocks' non-winkey eye narrows.]
Hey! You the one punted this meatball upstairs? Fuck were you on, Bol? Got any left?
The topic has been locked.
Date: 2017/02/28 19:37
Vetting cap can be dicey in that we’re brokering stuff that often as not derives from a private realm and is offered up for public presentation. This cap, however, is still in the gestational stage and not yet a fully-formed capital gain.
In this, I agree with Rox: this one shouldn’t have been sent up. I tread lightly here out of respect for its proximate process and the pending incarnation. Congrats to the VC for having done the hard work of probing what he knows (in this case about baseball, which in this case is a lot), and prospecting around for a way to take us into the protag’s situation as he reviews his life as a baseball rookie who made it into the big leagues but lost his groove and finally comes to ask himself: and now what?
Being grazed by a bullet is not, as depicted here, the most telling way to bring us into Brashear’s life. The whole “while crabbing” scenario isn’t particularly insightful, nor is it revisited or referenced again. Also, the pursuit of the shooter starts passive and seems contrived because, as Otto would say (Otto! I miss you!), Things Must Happen and nothing results from Brashear’s visit to the shooter’s home vis-à-vis shooter and victim.
Birthing is a delicate process. The VC knows and loves his baseball, that’s for sure, and the rhythm and detail within those sections are unhesitating and sure. I’m not saying stick to what you know, but….it’s a good base from which to reconnoiter. Might take some poking around—or even a lot--but I sense a narrative arc in there somewhere. Keep poking around till something feels solid, feels right. Then address motivation, events and consquences. And take a writing class—or two, or three--to learn the ways to help you express what you want to say. Hell, scrutinize the pages here, right here and now. The Floorites have plenty to offer on any given day, and the current installment (Hemingway in Hieronymous Boschian hell) is a particularly worthy study. You'll find me there most days, too, riveted by the goings-on and learning what I can from the best. See you under the bodhi tree...[size=4][/size]