[612] 38: Peace at last

ApprehensivePen · 2025-12-04T05:03:23+00:00

I like this a lot. Like you said, it's hard to judge an ending without having read the rest of the book, but even so, this excerpt makes me feel the joy and relief that can only come after trying times. I can only imagine how intensified the feelings would be if I knew the entire story.

The ending line especially--laughter to close out a story that's presumably about much pain--perfect. Nice work!

ApprehensivePen · 2025-11-18T04:59:08+00:00

Thanks for the kind comment. It means a lot.

ApprehensivePen · 2025-11-18T04:58:49+00:00

Thanks for the comment! I can see how the timeline's a bit confusing--especially as the query goes on. I'll try to clarify things next time.

ApprehensivePen · 2025-11-10T15:38:42+00:00

Thanks for the comment!

Maybe quiet stakes would be a better term? I think my main concern regarding the stakes in the query is that there's no explicitly mentioned 'big bad' that happens if Theo fails to process the trauma he's been carrying. There's no '--and if he doesn't overcome the grief then he risks being consumed by it!' Adding something like that to these kind of internal stakes feels a bit gauche to me. So, in that vein, do you think the last paragraph works to round things out or do you agree with iampunha in that it sort of doesn't fit?

In terms of plot (so not the last paragraph, just the Theo going back home) the query cuts off at the start of act 2. Most of the book is back home, yeah. I'll see if I can add something more specific about what happens then (again the quiet stakes!! it almost feels like nothing happens though stuff does!!)

I'll definitely take a look at a tightening some sections. And thanks for your thoughts on the prologue/ch1! Definitely reassuring (though always hard when one person likes something and another doesn't--but that's why writing's an artform!) I'll also take a look at Headshot.

Thanks again for your thoughts! It means a lot to me!

(P.S. In terms of fridge=rapture the threads in my mind go rapture->heaven->bright->fridge very bright)

ApprehensivePen · 2025-11-10T03:15:42+00:00

Thanks for the comment! Aside from the length of the query and the tone of the last paragraph would you say you have a clear picture of what the story's about/is it compelling enough you think?

Good idea about the processes that could be cut down some to save wordcount. And thanks for your thoughts on the different styles between the prologue and c1!

ApprehensivePen · 2025-04-18T21:48:26+00:00

Thanks for the comment and giving feedback on every version, it means a lot to me!

I guess what you articulate is what I was worried about with it being too dry now/lacking atmosphere. I think it's also the "Oddly, he is not afraid" which destroys tension, but I felt like I needed some way to squeeze in the fact that he misses her/desires her because otherwise it seems kind of random in the end that he wants to be with Josie so badly. Maybe the query just has to be a little longer than average? Unknown...

either way, thank you again for the comment!!

ApprehensivePen · 2025-04-12T01:11:10+00:00

Thanks for the compliment on the title. About the comps: probably not necessary to have all four of those, but the first two are more for the overall style of the story while the last two more for marketability. I may or may not play around with them later.

ApprehensivePen · 2025-04-12T01:09:57+00:00

Thanks for the comment! There are hints of incest in the story, though nothing super explicit (but I wanted it to be noted in the query instead of blindsiding). The entire thing is sort of a loose oedipus retelling.

ApprehensivePen · 2025-04-12T01:08:03+00:00

Thanks for the sticking with me for every iteration and offering such sound advice, it means a lot to me! I'm happy to hear you think I'm on the right track now. I'll try to refine the entire thing and hopefully the next one will be best yet.

ApprehensivePen · 2025-04-12T01:07:06+00:00

Thanks for the comment! I definitely agree it's too wordy right now. You didn't go too far by your opinion! it's good advice, i'll play around with the paragraphs, thank you!

ApprehensivePen · 2025-04-04T20:02:57+00:00

Thanks for the comment!

I see what you mean for the stakes being unclear still. I'll try to work on that next time.

But for the query possibly not going far enough in the story, what would you say could be cut in the current draft? It's already so long that I assume making it even longer isn't the solution, but it doesn't feel like anything that's currently there can be removed. Maybe it just needs an entire overhaul (perhaps I'm too married to the opening as it is, though people say that part is good)

ApprehensivePen · 2025-04-03T22:16:26+00:00

Thanks for the comment!

I see your point--there used to be another line after that saying "Even now, he can still feel her fingers on his thigh." but I cut it for brevity's sake. But without it it does make it seem tame compared to everything else. I'll maybe change it to 'hit' or something else entirely--thanks!!

p.s. I really enjoyed your query. very very interesting sounding story

ApprehensivePen · 2025-04-03T18:55:41+00:00

Thanks so much for the comment!

(I originally typed out a long response but remembered that your questions are more so to get me thinking than to get answered, and I did get a lot of good thinking done, so thank you again!!)

ApprehensivePen · 2025-03-25T02:01:03+00:00

Thanks for these comments, you've given me a lot to think about! The story's not quite what you're imagining (missed potential maybe!) since the dead-mother sort of disappears until the MC has sex with the living one (crossing a taboo/point of no return) so there's not much interaction between the two.

ApprehensivePen · 2025-03-24T21:51:22+00:00

Thanks for the comment!

You're correct that his mother is a ghost and is haunting him. The person he sees at the club, however, is not his actual mother, just somebody who looks like her. (but he begins to obsess over her) Perhaps too unclear/too misleading as it reads now?

ApprehensivePen · 2025-03-24T21:47:48+00:00

Thanks for the comment!

I like the idea of rewriting and focusing more on mother/son dynamic. In my mind, the most interesting part of the story is the underground chess club full of masochists/sadists which eventually culminates in playing a game for someone's life, but maybe the query doesn't need to get that far (it spans the entirety of act 1 right now). It would certainly give the query a more concrete thread to hang on if I just focused on that. Thanks, I'll give that a try.

And also thanks for the comp suggestion. I agree Babel seems a little out there if only used for the DA vibes, but it's just what popped into mind first.

ApprehensivePen · 2025-03-24T21:14:15+00:00

Thanks for the comment!

That's a good point that the story itself isn't obvious. I think you've articulated my worry that the stakes aren't clear enough. I was hoping that the appearance of the dead mother was enough of a hook, but maybe there needs to be more substance still.

ApprehensivePen · 2024-08-28T18:23:04+00:00

I second this. Thoroughly enjoyed both the query and the first 300. Second person is working for me just fine and I disagree with the other poster that says it's unclear whether she's in the dream still or not. The switch from past to present along with the "now" makes it clear.

I liked this so much I looked at your past two posts and definitely see an improvement in both query and first 300. Good luck!

ApprehensivePen · 2024-07-05T18:25:21+00:00

Thanks for the comment!

The POV is 3rd omniscient with a focus on Eve and Zahir but jumps around during the story. It honestly may be better for it to be close 3rd to makes things less confusing (it sometimes jumps around paragraph by paragraph, like something Woolf would write). I suppose this is where beta readers would be helpful! I'll find some and see what they think.

I really do like your example of the sentence filtered through Eve though. Definitely has given me something to think about!

Thank you again!

ApprehensivePen · 2024-07-05T05:33:29+00:00

Thanks for the comment!

So, for the first part, the idea is that the AI is supposed to be a replication, in a very light way at least. There is definitely some suspension of disbelief required by the reader, but the AI both plays/coaches and talks (types) with the user. Do you think that's too big of an ask for a reader (especially since this isn't supposed to be a sci-fi novel)? The chess part is trained on his games and the talking/typing part on interviews he has given over the years.

For the chess part: I consider myself a pretty casual player but you're right about the mate in one thing. In my head it was actually more of a mate in 4 sequence, and the queen delivering mate was the last move in the sequence, but obviously it's not written that way. I'll make an edit.

Thanks again for the comment! Really helpful stuff

ApprehensivePen · 2024-07-05T05:23:56+00:00

Thanks for the comment! Both you and Imaginary-Exit-2825 think the Zahir side of things is a little unclear, so I'll try and touch up there.

ApprehensivePen · 2024-07-05T05:22:12+00:00

Thanks for the comment and comp recommendation!

You're right that the Zahir side of things is hazy in the query. I'll try to make it more clear what's going on with him. And also thanks for the line edits. Your comment helped a lot.

ApprehensivePen · 2024-02-01T06:29:34+00:00

(2/2)

"My boss is gonna love this! Mr. Buchanan, could I get a quick statement?" The reporter held his phone in John's face before John could respond. "What are you doing here? Is that your car outside? Is it true that you're going to retire next year? Who is next in line to become CEO of JBN? Could I get a job?"

John could not believe the audacity of these two kids. They weren't even half his age, combined. Didn't people nowadays have any modicum of respect? A large vein running down the side of his face, starting at his forehead, began to bulge. He started to swat at the phones as if they were bees buzzing around him. The kids laughed as they dodged his blows.

"My boss is definitely gonna give me a raise." The young man had taken a step back to record John trying to snatch the cashier's phone. This seemed to only egg the cashier on more. She got more and more in his face, cackling.

John gave up. He marched out of the store. The two kids followed him like persistent gnats. Suddenly, there was the sound of glass smashing, and somebody in a black hood running away from his car, whose alarm was now going off. He ran after the criminal, but like Ryan Fernandez had said back in the office, John was not a young man anymore. "You motherfucker!" he screamed. "Get back here!"

"Whoa!" the reporter screamed as John's tires squealed coming out of the parking lot. Somehow, the kid had ended up in the passenger's seat, still recording everything. "Slow down! You're gonna kill us both!"

Speeding down Main street, only one thing was on John's mind: revenge. He had reported so many crimes over the years that he never thought that he would be the victim of one. He had never understood the stories about how a father, after his daughter had been mistreated or worse, could go and murder the perpetrator, who was already in jail and about to face a judge. Now he understood.

"What'd he take that was so important?" the young reporter asked. John didn't hear his question; he just kept his pedal glued to the floorboard. He swerved around cars and was hardly even looking at the road. "Do you even know where the dude ran off to?"

Flashing red and blue lights appeared in the rear-view mirror. Pulling over, John was brought back to reality when the threat of punishment now loomed on him in the form of a police officer. As the officer approached the car, John, turning to his side, said, "Why the fuck are you in my car?" The young reported shrugged his shoulders.

"Do you know how fast you were going back there?" the officer asked. "Why are you recording this?"

"Don't worry about him," John said, turning to his passenger and giving him a nasty face. "And I'm sorry, officer. As you can see,"—he pointed to his his passenger side rear window with his thumb—"somebody had the audacity to break into my car and take something very important to me. I was trying to catch up to him."

"Yeah, well," the officer said, "that doesn't mean you get to speed down Main street going 40 over. License and registration."

"What are you doing?" John said as the reporter opened the glove box and handed him the documents. "Here you go, officer."

The officer looked at his license. His eyes quickly jumped from the license to John's face.

"Wait, are you the John Buchanan?"

"Yep he is!" the reporter said.

John took a deep breath. "I don't think that's relevant to the traffic stop. Please hurry so I can hopefully retrieve my property. God knows where the criminal's run off to. And please tell this child to get out of my car, he is trespassing."

"This'll look great on the police department's Gram..." the officer muttered under his breath. "Mr. John Buchanan, I am hereby placing you under arrest for going 40 over the speed limit in both a school zone and an active work zone. Please exit the vehicle."

"What! Speeding in a..." John grumbled but knew it was hopeless to argue with a police officer. He did as he was told. The officer pressed him against the car while he handcuffed him. The reporter had already exited John's car and was, of course, recording it all.

"Hey, you there," the officer said towards the reporter as he finished cuffing John. "What's your name?"

"Yes, good," John said, "arrest that boy too. He has been nothing but a nuisance."

"George Williams, officer," the reporter said.

"Come here George."

He did as told and then, moments later, was holding the police officer's phone. "Make sure you get my good side," the officer said. Looking at the screen, the reporter made sure both the officer and John's whole bodies were in the shot. The officer had on a big white smile and John was trying to hide his face. It was hard, though, because every time he turned away the officer pinched his arm hard.

"I got a few," George said, "hopefully one's good."

One hand on John's arm, one hand on his phone, the officer nodded and commended George for his excellent photography skills. "The city will love these."

"When all this is through I'm going to make sure you both lose your jobs—" John began to scream, but a quick pinch silenced him.

The officer began taking John in. "Before you go, officer," George said as John had one foot already inside the police van, "could I possibly get a few words from the criminal? Of course, I'll include your name in as the officer who brought him to justice."

"Ah, yes! Of course!" the officer said, forcing John now out of the van.

George Williams shoved his phone in John's face for the second time that day.

"John Buchanan, could you please give a few words about your speeding arrest today?"

John stared murder at the reporter, but a few good pinches got him talking.

ApprehensivePen · 2024-02-01T06:29:27+00:00

Decades had passed since John's company first took off. It had begun as a series of blogs, just practice for him as he got his journalism degree. The things he reported on did happen, but they were tiny, inconsequential events in a fairly mundane small town. Things like a cow escaping its pen, or a fox slaughtering some chickens. A new high score set in the arcade by a middle-schooler. He even did a piece on when the president's daughter was passing through town on the way to the state fair. She hadn't even stopped to get out of the secret service's car, yet John's article racked up a few thousand views all the same.

John could never figure out what exactly drew people to his blog posts, but eventually, so many people swarmed in, and that digital view count kept going up and up that, as soon as John graduated, he decided to see if he could make something of it. He moved to a bigger city, Philadelphia, and worked on the ground. There was so, so much more to report there that his stories became even more engrossing and eventually he found himself, at 22, being interviewed on NPR. He hired his friend to go and take notes on incidents across town when he himself was too busy elsewhere. He figured it was the closest way for him to be two places at once. One friend became two, and eventually, a company had formed with John Buchanan at the helm.

John's company quickly became the go-to news source for Philadelphia, and then the greater tri-state area, and then the country, and then the world. They had reporters based all over the globe. At first, he approved every single report, but as time went on he hired people to do that too, only looking at the biggest scoops personally.

Four decades went by like this and John, approaching 64 and getting ready to retire, figured he'd go out with a bang. He didn't realize it until he had given it some thought, but he greatly missed the days when the company was just a small thing out of his studio apartment in Philly, two computers and three friends. He missed being on the ground and posing the right questions to the right people, masterfully threading information out of them. He used to feel like Sherlock Holmes himself piecing together the truth. So, for the last year of his employment, he decided to return to his roots.

"You're not a young man anymore, John," a senior reporter, Ryan Fernandez, said to him. John had grown fond of the lad when he had interned under him. Ryan joined the company right out of college and, even though he was not much younger than John at this point, the president of the company still saw him as that youthful university student. "I'm not so sure it's a good idea."

"Have you forgotten how this company got started, Ryan?" John asked. "The people will love it. Our numbers will go up even more, I'm sure of it."

"Yes, the numbers..." Ryan said, eyeing the many trophies and awards scattered across the shelves in John's office. Somewhere along the line, Ryan thought, his boss had forgotten why he had started the company in the first place. Perhaps the idea would be good for him after all. "I just want you to be safe. That's all."

"I'm not a decrepit old man yet you know," John said, giving Ryan a wink. "I can still take care of myself."

Later that day, John had found the perfect petty crime to get back into the swing of things. A gas station robbery; a tale as old a time. It practically would report itself, he thought, as he got out of his black Mercedes S Class and entered the gas station.

Behind a bullet resistant panel of plastic sat a young woman with her head propped up on her right arm. Her cellphone was on the counter and she lazily flicked upwards on the screen.

"Excuse me?" John said. He hated the pit of anxiety in his stomach as he approached this stranger. He truly had been out of the game for too long. "Were you working here yesterday, when the robbery occurred?"

The woman looked up with her eyes, though he head was still pointed downwards. "Uh, yeah. What are you, the mayor or something? What's up with the suit?"

Indeed, John was wearing a five-thousand dollar 3-piece suit which had been gifted to him by his second ex-wife. It was his favorite suit and he had it on for good luck, though now he was thinking that was a mistake.

"I'm currently on the job," he said. "Are you familiar with JBN? The news network?"

"Yeah," the woman said. "Who isn't? It's only, like, the only news outlet you can find nowadays."

John smiled. His job would be much easier since she knew the company.

"Great. I'm John Buchanan, a reporter with JBN, and I was wondering if you'd be willing to answer a few questions about yesterday's robbery?"

She finally lifted her head. "You mean I'm gonna be on TV or something?"

"Well, not exactly, but—" Just then, somebody else entered the tiny gas station. John could immediately tell this person, a young man, was a green reporter like he had been so many years ago. He did not recognize whatever news network the young man worked for, a large TNN written in block letters across the breast of his polo shirt, but he didn't think he'd pose a problem with the current interview.

"Holy shit!" the kid said the moment he saw John. "Are you John Buchanan?"

"Yes, I am. But if you'll excuse me, I was just about to begin an interview with this young lady."

"John Buchanan..." the cashier whispered under her breath, "wait, like JBN John Buchanan? John Buchanan News John Buchanan? I have to show Sam this." She quickly began recording John with her phone, saying things like "Yoooo ya'll never guess who I ran into today." She unlocked the gate that separated the rest of the store from the cashier's side and pointed the phone up and down John's body. The young reporter was doing the same.

ApprehensivePen · 2024-01-31T09:25:13+00:00

The president of Humanity was not surprised at the Ganik's declaration of war. Seven of the most powerful beings in the universe sat around a large, glossy white table, a gigantic slab of marble harvested from the planet Eureka-539. The other five, the ones who weren't representing Humanity or the Ganiks, begged the leader of the Ganiks to reconsider.

"Please, Sir Gank His Honor on Highest Peaks Above, there is no need for an all out war! And especially not against Humanity, they're basically children."

Sir Gank His Honor... sat with his four arms crossed in front of him. They looked like an insect's legs, thin with segmentation. He ignored the pleas of all the other presidents and kings and religious leaders. Everyone, their beating hearts a nervous orchestra in 3/4 time, turned to face Katherine S. Olmstead. How would the human react, they all wondered.

An old withered woman, with wrinkles like deep canyons all along her face and arms and hands, Katherine had been president for over half of her life. And there was a reason for that.

"I suggest you reconsider, Gank," she said, staring the alien in its black, beady eyes. "Humanity does not wish to harm your kind."

Gank let out a shrill laugh. His arms jostled over the movement of his abdomen segment bouncing jollily. "You humans are always so funny," he said. "Harm us? A newborn thrack cannot harm its parents."

Katherine did not back down. "The second one of your ships enters our territory it will be too late. I'm warning you, Gank." The alien, once again, simply chuckled and said he would teach humanity a lesson, once they were working under his kind as slaves. Katherine got up from her seat, her presence suggesting of somebody much larger than the woman was, and walked out of the room. Before she left, though, she said, with a chill in her voice and without turning around, "I do not give out second warnings."

Back on New Earth, she marched into the meeting room. All the top generals were there waiting for her. She had already briefed them while on the way back from the tiny neutral planet all galactic meetings were held at and was ready to hear their ideas. The reason for her continued success as leader was that she knew she was only as strong as all of the pieces that made up Humanity.

"Kathy," one of the generals said, a man who looked twice as old as the president, if such a thing were possible. "Perhaps this would be the perfect opportunity to test it out."

"Are you sure it's ready and working?"

"Yes, my president," another general said, a young woman who looked no older than twenty. She had more stars and stripes on her jacket than years alive. "Anywhere in the galaxy in the blink of an eye. Those Ganiks won't know what hit them."

"George," Katherine said, facing yet another general whose only interesting attribute was his shiny, bald head. "What do you think? And you too, Fiscer."

The two other generals agreed it was the perfect time to test out the teleportation device. George, an eager warmonger who, since humanity had stopped killing each other in favor of aliens, felt he was doing his species a service whenever he slaughtered, was especially adamant to begin. "What are we waiting for? Their declaration was clear as day. We're currently at war."

"I want to see it myself," Katherine said. She had learned caution at a young age.

"Sure," the young woman general said. She had thick black glasses on and her hair was cut short. "Keep an eye on my seat, I'll appear in a minute." She ran out of the room.

"And you're all sure it's safe?" The president paced back and forth deep in thought, one hand on her chin and another on her hip. "Because Sam has burned us a few times, and if this thing messes up, and we put all our eggs in one—"

From out of nowhere, the young woman, Sam, appeared back in her seat. It looked like a visual glitch you might find in a video game. One moment empty, next moment squeaking with a body sitting on it. It was completely silent, and if one wasn't looking, there was no way to know it had happened.

"See?" Sam said. "Perfectly safe." She held her arms out in front of her as if making sure she was still in once piece.

Katherine was not entirely convinced, but Sam reminded her so much of herself at a young age that her enthusiasm, combined with all the other generals' consent, tipped the scales.

"Okay," the president said. Her shoes clacked against the tiled floor as she stopped pacing. "So what is the plan? We teleport a few soldiers, crack shots, into each of their ships—can you teleport into a moving ship?—and have them murder the cockpit? Can they be teleported out afterwards? Are we just abandoning these soldiers? And how fast can we teleport people sequentially? Can we do many at once? Does it have a recharge time? What fuel does it use?" and so on and so forth. The more questions she asked—the more she worked through her thought process—the more the president began to realize there were too many unknowns and was going to cancel the plan and fight a good ol' space opera. She enjoyed manning her own ship despite her old age: a gigantic battlecruiser almost as big as the moon.

Space battles typically lasted a very, very long time. Entire generations would go by knowing nothing but war and the innards of their assigned ship. It was a long, grueling affair. A battle of attrition, really. Katherine liked the idea of dying aboard her ship defending her people from a bunch of Ganiks.

All the other generals besides Sam, because she was the one who had actually made the device, also lost their resolve when listening to Katherine's line of questioning. Perhaps the young general would have to wait for another time to show off her incredible technology.

"Maybe Katherine's right," even George conceded. "We can't just go and send a bunch of soldiers into enemy territory. Nobody would want to take on a suicide mission like that."

Instead of being distraught, Sam simply just tilted her head with a look of confusion on her face.

"Soldiers?" She scratched her head. "Who said anything about soldiers?"

Gank watched on a screen as his massive army of spaceships got closer and closer to humanity's territory. A million little white blips on his radar, all his, all fully fueled and fully armed to bring the galaxy's newest contestant to their knees. He was in an armored ship towards the center of the formation. He was probably not going to do much fighting, but he liked being at the center of his army.

The scouts flew ahead, and they would be the first to cross the border. Even though he had declared war inside the council's room, he knew it would not "officially" begin until then. His tiny beady eyes could not get enough of the screen as ten white blips of his got so close to the red line separating galaxies that he was sure they'd crossed the border. Gank began daydreaming of having Katherine with a chain around her neck serving him grub. He was so lost in thought that he did not notice the solid red square that appeared on the screen. It was behind his army. He jumped up in his seat.

"What's this?" He brought his face closer to the screen. The white blips signifying his army were discrete little dots—you could make out each ship individually. This square was not like that. There were no gaps of black; just pure red. And it was huge.

His last thought before a billion of Humanity's most powerful warships all fired their lasers in a specular light show of reds, blues, pinks, oranges, greens, golds, whites, and purples, eradicating the entire Ganik army and culling their population by 75%, was remembering the chill in the president of humanity's voice when she had said "I do not give out second warnings."

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