Jack threw back the sheet on his narrow bed and drew a ragged breath that caught in his throat like a strangled cry. Fleeting shadowy wraiths crossed his waking consciousness and he raised a hand to wipe the sweat from his brow.
Soon his heartbeat would steady.
This nightmare had plagued his sleep since childhood. He always wondered why he never became immune to it; he knew each moment by heart. How could it terrify him time after time?
Lying with his face toward the open window, Jack peered across the ledge into the dark. Outlines of the jutting north ends of mobile homes stacked row upon row like a train of freight cars pausing in the night. The familiar sight, framed by the looming shadows of Aspen’s summer slopes, eased his tension.
Jack WOKE WITH A STRANGLED CRY. This nightmare had plagued his sleep since childhood. He always wondered why he never became immune to it; he knew each moment by heart.
<details on the nightmare>
Then we can get to the pounding heart and the sweaty brow. Until we know *why* he's feeling something, we can't feel it with him.
The details about the Aspen skyline are OK, but in the present form they seem like a distraction, becuase I don't care about the skyline. I care about the nightmare, about which I know almost nothing.
Jack woke with a strangled cry. This nightmare had plagued his sleep since childhood. He always wondered why he never became immune to it; he knew each moment by heart.
He tried to shut out the memory, but it sprang to shape fully formed in his mind. Jack staggered alone in a void, his feet not touching solid ground yet weighed down like fifty-pound stones were strapped to each ankle. The world around him shifted in grey swirls of unformed matter, neither liquid nor solid. A pinpoint of light beckoned to him beyond the grayness, unattainable. His body tensed, waiting, waiting. In an instant, a palpable malignancy swallowed him whole, destroying every living sensation and hating him to the brink of death.
Jack threw back the sheet on his narrow bed and drew a ragged breath.
I think you should start with us in the dream and then have the MC wake and then give us the narration.
I have no idea what a palpable malignancy is and I'm 36. Would a young adult understand?
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This story is one that seems like it would makes sense to start with the dream. But Katherine's point is well taken - you must let the reader know almost from the first line that it is a dream. The problem with starting in the dream is that it is difficult to do. There was a story posted a few months ago (I can't find it when I scanned F&F but I'll take the time to actually look in a few minutes) that did start with a dream and did a great job conveying that. Think about what makes sense for the story.
Another variation might be
Jack woke with a strangled cry. This nightmare had plagued his sleep since childhood, and it was always the same: he staggered alone in a void...
Jack Abraham staggered alone.
His feet didn’t touch solid ground yet felt as if fifty-pound stones were strapped to each ankle. The world around him shifted in grey swirls of unformed matter, neither liquid nor solid. A pinpoint of light beckoned to him beyond the grayness, unattainable. His body tensed, waiting, waiting. In an instant, a palpable evil swallowed him whole, destroying every living sensation and hating him to the brink of death.
He woke with a strangled cry. Shadowy wraiths crossed his waking consciousness as he raised a hand to wipe the sweat from his brow. Jack threw back the sheet on his narrow bed and drew a ragged breath. Soon his heartbeat would steady.
How could the same dream terrify him time after time?
[This message has been edited by djh (edited September 08, 2006).]
How could the same dream terrify him time after time? Jack Abraham staggered alone though a dream scape of shifting swirls of grey unformed matter, neither liquid nor solid.
Now I know he's dreaming and don't feel "cheated" when he wakes up. Also, I'm interested in the world, even if it is only a dream.
Also try to get even more deeply into the POV - you are telling me that he feels like he has 50 lb stones attached to his feet. Show me. What I mean is: Are his leg muscles screaming in protest as he tries to lift his legs. Is sweat breaking out on his forehead because of the effort? Give me a bit more sensory input.
quote:
In an instant, a palpable evil swallowed him whole, destroying every living sensation and hating him to the brink of death.
This is a great emotional moment and you fail to exploit it. If the dream is always the same, isn't he anticipating this? How does he feel about the palpable evil. What is palpable evil? Does darkness crush him? How does it destroy "every living sensation?" Does he go numb or is there an explosion of intense pain before the numbness?
Great revision though.
Her blog entry for September 11 gives us a run-down of the 90 email enquiries she received that day. Her thoughts are enlightening, including:
3. PLEASE no wake up in the morning beginnings. Please. I beg you. I've gotten about 10 already today.
Next to critiquing, I'm finding that reading blog entries from editors and agents to be one of the fastest learning tools I've encountered.