Ok, ballistics (the science of projectile flight) of firearms and their impact of injuries comes down to four factors: size of shell, impact force, solid projectile or hollow point. Distance standing from a person when firing will affect speed also, because a projectile's highest rate of speed comes from the first 10-20 feet from the muzzle. Time to cover the projectile. Each bullet is listed as a size, which is known at it's caliber. A 9mm bullet is actually 9.01mm in diameter, so you get the idea. The larger the number, the more stopping power. And they run in downwards size: .50 .45 .44 .40 (10mm is essentially the same) .380 (there are several derivatives of these) .357 .32 .22 then you have: 10mm 9mm. Damage to the human body also is determined by whether a full metal jacket (FMJ) round is used of a jacketed hollow point( JHP). A FMJ is a solid projectile, sometimes called a 'slug' in slang. This is the the metal tip of a cartridge. A JHP is a different design. The projectile has a hollow center, with the metal around it in a ring. What happens when they're fired is the projectile, without getting all over scientific, turns inside out. The edges turn into barbs and hooks, which dig into the flesh when tearing into a body. There are calls from Doctors, with good cause, to make JHP's illegal due to the bodily damage it causes. And firearms can, sometimes, use more then one size of round. Some of the .38 pistols can fire a .357 round in them, which can confuse someone just writing a basic fiction book. My recommendation: keep to the simple. Firearm makers are numerous, and there plenty you find on a crime scene. Glock Smith&Wesson Taurus Sig Saur Ruger They tend to be the most prevalent to be found. One last thought: the 9mm you'll find on crime scenes 9.9 out of 10 times is the 9MM Ruger round. Ballistics is a tough thing to explain, so this also is very simplistic-but it's enough to make a realistic novel. I hope it helps.
Ok, there's way too much information for me to go in depth on, and some of it's not stuff I can discuss, but there's two types of killers. Organized Killer. Think Ted Bundy (look him up). An organized killer has a ritualistic, generally some sort of sexual based one, that he or she carries out when they kill they victim. They hunt a certain area (nowhere near their homes 95% of the time) and will dump the bodies in certain areas too. They are methodical, pick their targets due to certain criteria that fits their sexual needs, and compulsions, that drive them to kill. Let's say they're looked for a 5'6 blonde, fair skinned lady, then the victim will walk a certain way, talk a certain way, etc. Organized killers are very smart, and charming. They generally do not know their victim before they make a move to get close to who they plan to kill-socially most of the time to get the victim to let their guard down. Once to get the victim in position, then they do their ritual. Unorganized Killer: He or she will still kill people, but not a particular type like the organized one will. He or she will hunt near their home (where they're comfortable) and don't have an organized ritual. They prey an anyone likely to fall into their grasp. It's simplistic I know, but there's various information that differentiated them more, but I can share a lot of it. A google search will help here too. Just don't forget most serial killers are sex based criminals.
Let me start off by saying, throw everything you've seen on CSI out the window. The real CSI's of the world DO NOT interrogate the suspects, DO NOT sit back in the lab and sift over each piece of evidence. So, with that out of the way, we can start. Crime scene: The initial black and white will assess the scene, call it in to dispatch, and then seal off the scene to keep onlookers and the curious out of the area. A single entry point will be determined. No one enters or exits the scene other then by this entrance. Other then sealing off the scene, the uniformed officer's job is done-it becomes the CSI's scene. One the detective arrives, he or she takes over the crime scene and everyone answers to them-including the CSI technician. The CSI tech sifts through the scene, collecting the evidence and storing it in ways to preserve what is found. It's no glamorous, because on every murder, the CSI will spend on average 12 hrs on scene before leaving. Once the evidence is bagged and tagged, if it needs further analysis-as in DNA/Ballistics, or Forensics, that is handled by a Forensic Pathologist, and the CSI is out of the line until possibly being called into court. Most of the heavy lifting in analyzing the data if done by the pathologist's and scientifically trained crime scene analysts. However, without the CSI, they wouldn't have the evidence to work with, so he or she will cover the scene in fine detail. There are two to three different ways to work a scene. You can go back and forth from top to bottom. The second is to use a spiral search, and the third, which is my favorite, split the scene into four quadrants, and search every inch before moving on. This method assured you of the best chance of collecting all the evidence. Sometimes the job gets nasty too. If the DNA evidence is found through poop-guess who is grabbing it from the toilet? The thing to remember about violent crime scene investigation (and in fiction if you want to be realistic with crime novels and/or mysteries) it's not about WHAT is at the scene. it's about WHAT IS NOT there. As to how things go further from there, I'm not at liberty to say. Bullets. Each shell his it's own unique pattern caused by the rifling in a handgun's barrel. Rifling is a spiral shape cut into the metal of the barrel, which gives the shell a spinning pattern, increasing distance and accuracy. That's why rifles are called rifles-they started it, and handguns picked up the pattern later. As mentioned before, they have their own patterns and can be compared against the FBI database in Quantico, Va. for matches. Since 1995, all handguns, and rifles, for sale in the USA has to have two test fired shells since to the FBI. This allows for rapid identification of the type of bullet and handgun fired from. Once that's determined, it can be matched (can't say the ways how) with the firearm it was fired from. Bodies. Ok, this is where things get gruesome, so if people have weak stomachs, this is when to stop reading. Ok, if you're still here, then you want to know more. Good, here we go. We'll start with corpse's found in the water. If any human body spends more then 24-36 hrs in the water after death, it will do two things. First the body will bloat from absorbing the water. The second, is it will turn coal black. Odd, I know, but it's what happens. It is impossible to determine race, and sometimes gender, by looking at it when collected. The forensic pathologist (called medical examiner also) has to run various tests before it's determined. Gun shots. These are the tricky parts. Some shells will go all the way through, no matter where fired, and some won't. A .38 shell, believe it or not, depending where it's fired can stay in the body. One gunshot death I know of, the weapon was fired near the vic's (victim's. I'm using slang) neck ended up going into the brain, bounced off the top of the skull and lodged into the cheek. It was removed by feeling the skin back to get it. Ok, each gunshot wound leaves power burns called stippling. A shot fired in contact with the skin will leave a good amount of burns around the wound. Medium range shots (less then ten feet) will leave spotty residue around the wound, and a long distance shot leaves little if any. This is a determination of how far the shooter stood. Not all gunshots behave the same. A shotgun does little damage, figuratively speaking, when it enters the head on a suicide, but will blast skull outwards. Overdoses. Depending on drug, are mild scenes to see. Chris Farley, when he OD'd, expelled a large amount of stomach acids, which covered his mouth. Those are seen quite often in overdoses. You can find his scene on google. Stabbings. By far the worse of the violent deaths. There's tons of blood, and spray. The spray, how high and far, determines how much pressure was involved when the fluids were released. A good example of this is the OJ Simpson murder trial. When he (I know the jury didn't convict, but that's due to screw ups by the LAPD. I've seen enough evidence that got tossed from court to prove he did it 100 times over. Trust me on this one.) Death photos are on google, and they're gruesome. More blood is lost through stabbings then anything else. Industrial accidents. They're not pretty and range from getting caught in machinery, crushed, or hit by a train. Those, you'll just have to use your imagination on. Time of death can only be estimated. Unless you're looking at the clock at the exact moment someone dies, there's no way to give an exact time. So, the comments on the TV that say exact times are inaccurate. Various factors such of body temperature, and how long it's been since being found, will determine that to a point. Rigor Mortis. It starts several hours after death, and stays for a couple days before going away again. It's not a permanent condition. Bodies found in the ground, will most of the time, be covered in maggots. It's the way of nature, I'm afraid. This is all I can say on the subject. Hope it helps.
As we travel the road on characterization, dialogue and other issues to make successful novels, the next path is about the combination of psychology and human nature. I got criticized recently over my character being too indecisive and not making a decision, which turned the person off to the introduction. Well, let's go into the psychology of people's behavior. When human beings are faced with stressful, emotionally destructive situations, rational thought goes out the window, and we get conflicted. If someone we love was sacrificing themselves for us, there'd be tendency to move towards them before moving away. This is caused by our psychological desire to remain close to those who provide emotional comfort and fulfillment. Characters' moral confusion and pain when faced with situations that go beyond normal societal mores are a psychological issue. For example, the pain Kate feels about having to kill. That comes from where our rational aspect of our minds collides with the buried base tendencies to destroy, cause pain, be selfish and anything anathema to our ingrained aspect of society and morals. Where does this feeling of mores, and morals, come from? While society influences the aspects externally, as does our parents and other family members, our psychological desire to belong, to be accepted by people drives that desire too. These factors need to be considered when writing about character's, which is why their background is so important, because it lists what kind of mores are added to their desire to belong. As for the base nature, let's dig into that that. All humans, whether they want to admit it to themselves or not, have a base nature that's selfish, destructive, and violent. It's from this part of us where you get things like Columbine, Va. Tech and the Denver shootings. Insanity is a combination of the rational side of the brain being overcome, and mixed with the base nature in unhealthy ways. So, you're asking: how does this tie into writing? The base nature is the part that drives the uncivilized, violent aspects of our being. If the character loves killing-then it's because their nature is override the rational part of their mind. We all struggle to keep from allowing the base/animal side from overruling our rational side, but it's also necessary to our being too. Without it, we'd have a hard time making decisions because the rational side would waffle back and forth trying to decide what to do. The Star Trek episode "The Enemy Within" explores this concept, and I highly recommend seeing it to understand the concept. The last part of things is our subconscious, which rules while asleep-and controls our thought processes at times to. It's a strange mix of our rational with base nature, and can trend more towards our base nature. Another example to see explored is the classic sci-fi moving "Forbidden Planet." While they used the Fruedian ID/EGO/SUPER EGO, it still carries this example. For the younger writers, who haven't lived long enough to get a grasp on human nature-and psychology-a short study on the subject will help your characterization tremendously. It'll take a couple days, but allow one to get a firm grasp on why your character thinks/feels and how it affects their ability to make decisions.
I hear a lot of people wondering how to extend word counts, get subplots going, etc. A good subplot to create is two antagonists. A main one, and then the secondary one, which leads to your MC going after the main 'bad guy' but having to get through the 'smaller bad guy first.' Taking that approach allows for dialogue between your MC and the second bad guy-which'll move your story along, and provide a secondary level of tension. I do it in this scene, which I'm still polishing. To set the scene, Kate set a booby trap with a grenade, which killed on mercenary, but maimed a girl, teen more like it, who would've bled to death because there wasn't a way to get the kid (Kate's a kid too b/c she's only 18) to medical help being bleeding to death. So, she did what still happens in battles today-and friend of mine has told me how many times he, and others, had to do it in 'Nam-well before I was born. So, this conversation is between her and the secondary bad guy-who she told a couple chapters earlier she'd kill but save him for last for him to suffer because he didn't take her offer to stop pursuing her. Actually, there'll be two sets. One between Kate and the girl she ends up putting out of misery, then her and Johnson. Kate stroked her hair gently, lovingly, and didn’t try to stop the tears. “I’m so sorry.” She whispered. “I’m sorry.” The girl grabbed Kate’s muddy hand with a blood-covered hand, with the rain washing away her tears. “I’m dying aren’t I?” Kate took the kid’s hand in hers. “I’m not going to lie to you. You are. There’s just no way, without the shuttle, they could get you back to the facility before bleeding to death…” “I’m so goddamn sorry.” Kate sobbed. The girl never took her eyes off Kate’s, and her hand shook so hard Kate could barely hold it. “I’m scared.” Kate reached down, pushing the girl’s hair away from her face, trying to catch the tears, but only succeeded in leaving a muddy streak on the kids face. This was her doing. No one did this but her, and why? Because some prick wanted to kill the President and left her in the wrong place at the wrong time! Look at it! Barcelona all over again! I’m going to take the pain away. “I know.” Kate said softly, and she pulled the pistol off the girl’s belt. “I’m going to take away the pain now, are you ready?” The girl pursed her lips before whispering. “Sally…Sally Fielding.” Kate started to shake. “That’s your name?” The girl nodded. “Sally.” She said. “Please forgive me. I did this to you, but I’m not going to let you suffer anymore. Let me know when you’re ready.” .”Almir.” Sally whispered. “It’s ok, Almir, I forgive you. They…made you do it. Can you tell my dad…I love him…that I regretted that final fight before running off to join the Blue Stars.” Kate sobbed, gun hand shaking. “I will, Sally. Where does he live?” “Ireland.” She said. “His name’s Mark Fielding. He lives in the capital city, Baker Street…” Kate closed her eyes as the guilt crashed over her again. Ten miles. Baker Street was that far from headquarters, making the trip a short and painful one. How does someone go about telling a father that they killed his daughter-even if they were merciful? “Are you ready?” Tears ran down Kate’s face. “Yes.” Kate pulled the slide back on the Glock to make sure a bullet was in the chamber. She pressed the weapon tight against the girl’s armor. At this range, it would penetrate it like a hot knife through butter. “I’m sorry…” Tears ran down Sally’s face, and she squeezed Kate’s hand. “I wish Daddy was here…” “I know…” Kate fired. This section fits into the example of showing character, because it shows the side of Kate that's merciful, feels guilty, and frankly hates her life as it is. “Almir…” He said. “What an unpleasant surprise.” She lowed the radio for a couple seconds before bringing it back to her mouth. “I could say the same.” “You killed a girl.” He said. “Any idea how old the kid was?” Kate put her head between knees before speaking again. “Sixteen or seventeen.” She said. “She lost half her right leg and a part of the left.” “All you’re doing.” Kate sighed. “Don’t remind me.” “I’m guessing one of Markham’s kids put her down?” “Think again.” Kate said softly. “I did.” “How does it feel to know you killed a kid that young?” “The same as it did on Barcelona.” She admitted. “It sucks ass.” “Figured you’d enjoy it.” “You obviously don’t know me.” “Maybe I don’t.” She raised her head. “Say Johnson. Who’s fucking idea is it to send kids into battlefields?” He paused for several seconds. “It’s always been that way.” He said sadly. “The young have fought battles for the old. I hate it.” “Kids killing kids.” She said. “What a fucking novel concept.” “You’re a kid if you haven’t noticed.” “Maybe by age. But I sure as fuck ain’t after the things I’ve seen.” “Barcelona’s rough.” He agreed. “More then you can imagine.” “So.” Johnson said. “Why did you have mercy on someone who’d shot you given the first chance.” Kate sighed. “Let’s just say I’ve been in the same position.” “I have to say.” He said. “I’m impressed. In one day you’ve taking down my shuttle, and a good chunk of mercs. Too bad we’re not on the same side.” “Twelve hours.” She said mildly. “To be exact, but who the hell is counting?” “I’ve still got enough to take you down.” “Keep talking, Johnson I’ve heard those lines before from bigger men too. Most of the times, you guys’ dicks just aren’t that big.” “At least I don’t kill kids.” “Really? Really? Who’s idea is it to bring such fucking young people to this jungle to hunt me? Anyone with any sense would see that outcome.” “Andrew’s idea.” “Which is why the bill will come from his ass.” “Good luck.” “Say, Johnson, since we’re friends and all now, how many people have you killed?” “A couple hundred.” Kate ran a hand through her hair again. “I’ve got four hundred plus on my hands.” “Damn.” “Tell me on thing.” She said. “Just between us, what’s Koch’s plan.” “Wouldn’t you like to know.” “Call it curiosity.” She said. “Or as they said in an old move called ‘Dirty Harry,’ ‘I’se gots to know.’” “He’s going to kill the President-that much you know.” He said. “And he’s got a very dangerous Special Forces team working for him-I wouldn’t’ want to run into them myself.” “Hmm.” She said. “Sounds like fun for me.” “I don’t think so.” “That’s all he’s after? There has to be a reason to go after her.” “The entire cabinet will be with her.” Johnson said. “By killing them, he’ll decapitate the Alliance.” “And cause a chaos unlike anything the galaxy’s ever seen.” “Smart girl.” “I try.” “Knowing the plan won’t matter because even if you get off this planet, he’ll be too far ahead for you stop him. And with the star com system down, you won’t be able to warn anyone.” “I wouldn’t bet on that.” Kate shook her head. “Sounds like he thought of everything though.” “He tries.” “It doesn’t change anything, Johnson.” She said. “I’m still going to kill you last, understand me?” “Yeah.” “Good.” She said. “Just remember how many people I’ve killed over the past day.” “Most of them kids with guns.” “Keep telling yourself that.” She said. “And remember those words when I come for you. Sleep well.” Both manage to move plot along (at the end Johnson tells Kate what she needs to know if/when she gets into position to try to save the President. The first explained character-in how someone who set the trap, had mercy and made sure someone stopped suffering and promised to tell the girl's dad about her, and her death. Imagine how that will go. But the dialogue sets that up.
Is something I think we all struggle with. I know I do at times because I'm used to talking one way myself in real life, and that does cause us writers to struggle to make realistic dialogue. But then, there's the opposite end of the spectrum where scriptwriters, etc, try to make things too "realistic" and move into the absurd. I stumbled across "American Horror House," which starred Alessandra Toressani (Zoey Graystone on Caprica-and someone I'm hoping I can get to galaticon 3 in Houston to meet) who's one my favorite young actresses. She and three others come up to a place where there's a lot of blood-and here comes the awful dialogue we should try to avoid. Alessandra: "If that's real blood, someone got hurt really bad here." Do'oh! You think?? Why in the world would there be BLOOD there if something DIDN'T get hurt. See what i mean about poor dialogue. If the beauty wasn't good enough, here's the follow up: "If that's real blood, someone died here." *Smacks forehead and runs hand down face* Not a good example of dialogue in any shape of the imagination. I'm not sure how others feel, but it seems to me, the best dialogue is something that either. 1. ratchets up the tension. 2. Pushes the Plot forwards or 3. teaches you something about the character. If it doesn't fit those three things, then it might be unnecessary talking.
As stated earlier, it'll cut a good chunk of words, which will allow a writer to get closer to his/her word count goal after completing the novel. I just finished the second copy edit on my first chapter, and cut 23% of words total between the two runs. Let's say you start at 96k words, 20% less will cut you down to 92-93k words. Second edit=10% less words at least. CK
I've been doing heavy duty hard copy editing, and as I said last night, I'm getting more satisfied, but not what I'd call happy with it yet. Through the two runs, the total word count in the first chapter's gone form 7.6k down to 6.k right now, and I've still got another third of the chapter to run through with the heavy editing. Realistically, I think it'll check in somewhere around 5.8-5.9 when done. Not a bad trimming down. That's removing almost 20% of fat from the steak. She tore onto the landing field; freedom just feet away. Her athletic shoes slid across dry, burnt orange ground before they gained a purchase, the sudden stop causing her to windmill both arms to keep balance. She spun around, blonde and red hair following the motion. It flopped over her face and the girl, raising a hand, blood running from several deep cuts on the back of it, pushed it away with a growl. The girl licked suddenly dry lips, looking over her shoulder, then back where she came. Her lover, a young man, his burly shoulders rippling, sweat plastering his brown hair to his head, struggled with an older man. He gave up five inches the to guard, fighting to allow her escape, before looking over at her. “Katie, run!” He shouted. “Go! Get to the shuttle!” Kate took a couple steps towards Thomas, before stopping, and looked over her shoulder at a tall man standing on the shuttle’s cargo ramp. The turbines’ backwash lifting his short, salt and peppered hair, dust thrown up from the engines turning his black uniform an ugly shade of brown, and he shielded his eyes with a hand. Tears ran down curved cheeks, and Rear Admiral Claudio Reyes, head of Fleet Intelligence, screamed at her, his voice barely audible over the turbines. I can’t leave Thomas-what would I do without him?? “Goddamn it, Katie!” Thomas shouted again. “Move your ass!” The guard pressing his greater leverage, muscular arms rippling, starting to gain an advantage as He shoved Thomas down to the ground, pulling a long, shiny knife from a sheath on his belt. Thomas, helpless to stop the events about to unfold, looked at her. A quick flash of steel, and the man drove the knife deep into the side of Thomas’ throat, and guard pulled it out. Blood spurted from the wound, and flowed between his fingers, as he looked at her with tears in his eyes. He shriveled, eyes rolling back into his head, and toppled over onto his face. Kate’s legs buckled, and she fell backwards, barely feeling the impact with the hard packed earth. “No! No!! NO!!!” “Almir! He’s gone!” Reyes shouted. She pushed herself backwards with both feet, then upright, the move mechanical, and Kate stumbled backwards, never taking her eyes off the guard. A sneer, combining joy over the kill and disdain of her, pulled the corners of his lips upwards, and the man’s eyes narrowed and he spat on the ground. He reached onto his belt, pulled a grenade off, and, with his teeth, yanked the pin before tossing it. Kate spotted the tumbling weapon, while behind her, Reyes stepped forward, face contorting in rage. “Shoot that bastard!” he screamed. Gunshots filled the air, but Kate never heard them because as her mind raced, the world around her, moving at light speed moments before, slowed to frame-by-frame. She picked up the pace, watching the pineapple tumble through the air, every detail crystal clear. It’s ovular; armor gray exterior contained many round protrusions, each containing its antipersonnel shrapnel, with small squares covering the remaining surface. “Almir! Get down!” It started to angle down at her. She looked over her shoulder, and then back at the grenade. It was already too late, and closing eyes, Kate awaited her inevitable death. The explosion, blinding even with eyes shut, shook the air and she opened them at the same time a mighty fist slammed into her chest. Explosions of pain racing up the spine, Kate’s chest collapsing, her heartbeat dying. A spray of needles tore into the bottom of her face, which burned as if someone poured burning oil on it. Hot steel, rushing outwards at great speed, ripping through her arms and legs, adding to the agony until the crescendo overwhelmed her. Kate slammed into the ground, the impact brutal and adding to the pain filling her consciousness. Pain spiking and racing, overloading her brain, the burning agony increasing to levels she’d never experienced. Screaming didn’t work, her voice gone, leaving Kate screaming in her mind, the horrible sound tearing deep into her consciousness, ripping sanity away. The agony reached a peak, darkness grabbing at her feet, and it pulled her downwards.
Since i seem to have lost my colors, things removed will be in parenthesis She tore onto the landing field; freedom just feet away. Her athletic shoes slid across dry, burnt orange ground before they gained a purchase, the sudden stop causing her to windmill both arms to keep balance. She spun (on the balls of her feet), blonde and red hair following the motion (before reversing course). It flopped over her face, ( a golden colored shield,) and the girl (raised) a hand, blood running from several deep cuts on the back of it, pushing it (out of the way) with a growl. Ok, the first thing I like to look at is how to cut words and keep the same thoughts and flow. If a paragraph starts at 71 words and you get it down to 56 with the same thoughts and flow, then it's now almost 20% smaller, which makes it tighter. In the first one 'on the balls of her feet' is extraneous because 'she spun' is enough. 'A golden colored shield' is redundant because it's color got mentioned in the previous sentence. The last sentence will be changed. Words in blue are the new ones used to replace the former words. The starting numbers were 79 words, let's see how many are left when finished. it's 64 words now and reads like this: Her athletic shoes slid across dry, burnt orange ground before they gained a purchase, the sudden stop causing her to windmill both arms to keep balance. She spun around, blonde and red hair following the motion. It flopped over her face and the girl, raising a hand, blood running from several deep cuts on the back of it, pushed it away with a growl The girl squinted her eyes (after spending so much time indoors) licking suddenly dry lips as she kept looking over her shoulder (and) then back (towards) where she came. A young man, burly shoulders rippling, sweat plastering his brown hair to his head, struggled with an older man. He gave up five inches to guard, fighting to (keep him at bay), before looking over at her. (His rounded, chiseled face making her heart flutter for a second, the strain contorting his high cheeks into a grimace of pain, before looking over his shoulder at her.) The initial paragraph's word count 95 words, and the edited paragraph checks in at 55 words. It's tighter, less repetitive, and flows as well. So, we've cut almost 50% of the words and flow better. Doing something like this with every paragraph will help get your initial word count down to the amount it needs to be. The girl licked suddenly dry lips, looking over her shoulder, then back where she came. Her lover, a young man, his burly shoulders rippling, sweat plastering his brown hair to his head, struggled with an older man. He gave up five inches the to guard, fighting to allow her escape, before looking over at her. “Katie, run!” He shouted. “Go! Get to the shuttle!” (Another voice chimed in. “Almir! Run, damn it, run!”) She glanced over a shoulder at the tall man, standing on the shuttle’s cargo ramp, (his long, thin face scrunched in a snarl). The backwash from the shuttle’s turbines lifted his short, salt and peppered hair (as he looked at her, eyes imploring her to run). Dust thrown up from the turbines turned his black uniform an ugly shade of brown and he (kept a hand to)shield eyes. Ok, we've taking a fair amount of words off this section, changing a 70 word paragraph into a 55 word paragraph that flows better, and cut almost 20% of the words and still makes sense without repeating yourself either. Here's the rewritten section. “Katie, run!” He shouted. “Go! Get to the shuttle!” . Kate took a couple steps towards Thomas, and looked over her shoulder at a tall man standing on the shuttle’s cargo ramp. The turbines’ backwash lifting his short, salt and peppered hair, dust thrown up from the engines turning his black uniform an ugly shade of brown, and he shielded his eyes with a hand. This gives a good idea of how to do some copy editing.
This is going to be a lengthy set of blogs, so I'm going to post each in individually. A couple days ago, I completed a first edit on a hard copy of chapter one of my novel. This is what there is after edit one. The second part will cover the editing for second round, and the third part will have a closer to finished product. I, and no one has to do it my way, feel it's easier to do these things off a print out then the screen, because it allows me to see how the words aren't perfect. On the screen, they all look perfect, and nothing seems to feel like it needs cutting. as you can see, it's ok, nothing special though. Here's the initial first copy: She tore onto the landing field; freedom just feet away. Her athletic shoes slid across dry, burnt orange ground before they gained a purchase, the sudden stop causing her to windmill both arms to keep balance. She spun on the balls of her feet, blonde and red hair following the motion before reversing course. It flopped over her face a golden colored shield, and the girl raised a hand, blood running from several deep cuts on the back of it, pushing it out of the way with a growl. The girl squinted her eyes after spending so much time indoors, licking suddenly dry lips as she kept looking over her shoulder and then back towards where she came. A young man, burly shoulders rippling, sweat plastering his brown hair to his head, struggled with an older man. He gave up five inches to guard, fighting to keep him at bay, before looking over at her. His rounded, chiseled face making her heart flutter for a second, the strain contorting his high cheeks into a grimace of pain, before looking over his shoulder at her. “Katie, run!” He shouted. “Go! Get to the shuttle!” Another voice chimed in. “Almir! Run, damn it, run!” She glanced over a shoulder at the tall man, standing on the shuttle’s cargo ramp, his long, thin face scrunched in a snarl. The backwash from the shuttle’s turbines lifted his short, salt and peppered hair as he looked at her, eyes imploring her to run. Dust thrown up from the turbines turned his black uniform an ugly shade of brown and he kept a hand to shield eyes. Another cry drew the girl’s attention back to the young man’s plight. “Katie! Go! Get the hell out of here!” Tears ran from her green eyes and down curved cheeks, and through the channel on both sides of her small nose. Kate took a couple steps, chest tightening as Thomas, best friend and lover, sacrificed himself for freedom. Rear Admiral Claudio Reyes, head of Fleet Intelligence, screamed at her, her mind racing with conflicting thoughts and emotions. What the hell do I do? I can’t leave Thomas-what would I do without him?? “Goddamn it, Katie!” Thomas shouted again as the man started to gain the upper hand. “Move your ass!” The guard pressing his greater leverage, and his muscular arms rippling, starting to gain an advantage as He shoved Thomas down to the ground, pulling a long, shiny knife from a sheath on his belt. Thomas, helpless to stop the events about to unfold, looked at her, tears in his eyes, silently begging Kate to run. Kate ran towards him, right arm extended as if she could prevent the events about to happen. “Thomas! No!” A quick flash of steel in the orange sky, and the man drove the knife deep into the side of Thomas’ throat. Blood spurted as the guard pulled it back out, and the younger man brought a hand up to his neck. The red liquid, his very life, flowing between the fingers of his hand, and he looked over at her, eyes full of love, starting to visibly weaken. She fell backwards, legs buckling, barely feeling the impact with the hard ground. “No! No!! NO!!! Thomas seemed to shrivel, and he fell to the ground face first and didn’t move. Sobs, deep and wrenching, racked her body as Kate pushed herself backwards with both feet. “Almir! Come on! He’s gone!” Reyes shouted. She pushed herself back upright, the move mechanical, staring blankly where her best friend-and lover-lay. “Thomas!” Kate ran backwards, never taking her eyes off the guard. A sneer, combining joy over the kill and disdain of her, pulling the corners of his lips upwards, and the man looked up, seeing the shuttle, eyes narrowing and he spat on the ground. He reached onto his belt, pulling a grenade off, and yanked the pin. The guard tossed the grenade, moving quickly backwards, as Kate spotted the tumbling weapon. Behind Kate, Reyes stepping forward, arm outstretched, his face contorting in rage. “Shoot that bastard!” he screamed. Multiple gunshots filled the air, but Kate never heard them. Her mind moved on overdrive, the world around her, moving at light speed moments before, slowed to frame-by-frame. She stopped shy of the shuttle, watching the pineapple tumble through the air, every detail crystal clear. It’s ovular; armor gray exterior contained many round protrusions, each containing its antipersonnel shrapnel, with small squares covering the remaining surface. “Almir! No! Get down!” It started to angle down at her. “Almir, move! Run!” She looked at him, blonde hair flying, and then back to the grenade. It was already too late, and Kate closed her eyes waiting for her inevitable death. The explosion, blinding her even with eyes shut, shook the air and she opened her eyes as a mighty fist slamming into her chest. Explosions of pain raced up the spine as Kate’s chest collapse the sound of her heartbeat dying. A spray of needles tore into the bottom of her face, which burned as if someone poured burning oil on it. Hot steel, rushing outwards at great speed, ripping through her arms and legs, adding to the agony until the crescendo overwhelmed her. Kate slammed into the ground, the impact brutal and adding to the pain filling her consciousness. Pain spiked and raced into her overloaded brain, the burning agony increasing to levels she’d never experienced before with each attempted breath. Screaming didn’t work, because her mouth wouldn’t move, which left Kate screaming in her mind, the horrible sound tearing deep into her consciousness, ripping sanity away. The agony reached a peak, and darkness grabbed her feet, pulling her downwards.
I'm getting more satisfied with the product as I keep running it through the hard copy editing process. In my opinion, it's the only real way to truly edit, because you look at the page, and things stick out more there then on a computer screen for some reason. Ah, well, to each his own. She tore onto the landing field; freedom just feet away. Her athletic shoes slid across dry, burnt orange ground before they gained a purchase, the sudden stop causing her to windmill both arms to keep balance. She spun on the balls of her feet, blonde and red hair following the motion before reversing course. It flopped over her face, a golden colored shield, and the girl raised a hand, blood running from several deep cuts on the back of it, pushing it out of the way with a growl. The girl squinted her eyes after spending so much time indoors, licking suddenly dry lips as she kept looking over her shoulder and then back towards where she came. A young man, burly shoulders rippling, sweat plastering his brown hair to his head, struggled with an older man. He gave up five inches to guard, fighting to keep him at bay, before looking over at her. His rounded, chiseled face making her heart flutter for a second, the strain contorting his high cheeks into a grimace of pain, and she looked helplessly at his battle. “Katie, run!” He shouted. “Go! Get to the shuttle!” Another voice chimed in. “Almir! Run, damn it, run!” She glanced over a shoulder at the tall man, standing on the shuttle’s cargo ramp, his long, thin face scrunched in a snarl. The backwash from the shuttle’s turbines lifted his short, salt and peppered hair as he looked at her, eyes imploring her to run. Dust thrown up from the turbines turned his black uniform an ugly shade of brown and he kept a hand to shield eyes. Another cry drew the girl’s attention back to the young man’s plight. “Katie! Go! Get the hell out of here!” Tears ran from her green eyes and down curved cheeks, and through the channel on both sides of her small nose. Kate took a couple steps, chest tightening as Thomas, best friend and lover, sacrificed himself for her freedom. Rear Admiral Claudio Reyes, head of Fleet Intelligence, screamed at her, her mind racing with conflicting thoughts and emotions. What the hell do I do? I can’t leave Thomas-what would I do without him?? “Goddamn it, Katie!” Thomas shouted again as the man started to gain the upper hand. “Move your ass!” The guard pressing his greater leverage, and his muscular arms rippling, starting to gain an advantage as He shoved Thomas down to the ground, pulling a long, shiny knife from a sheath on his belt. Thomas, helpless to stop the events about to unfold, looked at her, tears in his eyes, silently begging Kate to run. Kate ran towards him, right arm extended as if she could prevent the events about to happen. “Thomas! No!” A quick flash of steel in the orange sky, and the man drove the knife deep into the side of Thomas’ throat. Blood spurted as the guard pulled it back out, and the younger man brought a hand up to his neck. The red liquid, his very life, flowing between the fingers of his hand, and he looked over at her, eyes full of love, starting to visibly weaken. She fell backwards, legs buckling, barely feeling the impact with the hard ground. “No! No!! NO!!! Thomas seemed to shrivel, and he fell to the ground face first and didn’t move. Sobs, deep and wrenching, racked her body as Kate pushed herself backwards with both feet. “Almir! Come on! He’s gone!” Reyes shouted. She pushed herself back upright, the move mechanical, staring blankly where her best friend-and lover-lay. “Thomas!” Kate ran backwards, never taking her eyes off the guard. A sneer, combining joy over the kill and disdain of her, pulling the corners of his lips upwards, and the man looked up, seeing the shuttle, eyes narrowing and he spat on the ground. He reached onto his belt, pulling a grenade off, and yanked the pin. The guard tossed the grenade, moving quickly backwards, as Kate spotted the tumbling weapon. Behind Kate, Reyes stepping forward, arm outstretched, his face contorting in rage. “Shoot that bastard!” he screamed. Multiple gunshots filled the air, but Kate never heard them. Her mind moved on overdrive, the world around her, moving at light speed moments before, slowed to frame-by-frame. She stopped shy of the shuttle, watching the pineapple tumble through the air, every detail crystal clear. It’s ovular; armor gray exterior contained many round protrusions, each containing its antipersonnel shrapnel, with small squares covering the remaining surface. “Almir! No! Get down!” It started to angle down at her. “Almir, move! Run!” She looked at him, blonde hair flying, and then back to the grenade. It was already too late, and Kate closed her eyes waiting for her inevitable death. The explosion, blinding her even with eyes shut, shook the air and she opened her eyes as a mighty fist slamming into her chest. Explosions of pain raced up the spine as Kate’s chest collapse the sound of her heartbeat dying. A spray of needles tore into the bottom of her face, which burned as if someone poured burning oil on it. Hot steel, rushing outwards at great speed, ripping through her arms and legs, adding to the agony until the crescendo overwhelmed her. Kate slammed into the ground, the impact brutal and adding to the pain filling her consciousness. Pain spiked and raced into her overloaded brain, the burning agony increasing to levels she’d never experienced before with each attempted breath. Screaming didn’t work, because her mouth wouldn’t move, which left Kate screaming in her mind, the horrible sound tearing deep into her consciousness, ripping sanity away. The agony reached a peak, and darkness grabbed her feet, pulling her downwards.
I discussed this a couple days ago with a published author, who's at the top of the list on Barnes and Noble's military science fiction charts, and he gave some good advice. He said that a good way to tell if you're 'telling' instead of showing is to see how many times you use the word 'had' in your paragraphs. Now, there is always going to legitimate times you'll use the word, but after much thought, and scanning through some paragraphs I've written, that there's some truth to the statement. Not my best writing, because I'm still polishing and editing but here's a difference. The first is pure telling: Markham hit the ground and his people scattered as another mercenary went down and they panicked. Johnson watched him, and swore under his breath before grabbing the Colonel’s leg and pulling Markham to the ground. A bullet whizzed by, it’s passage ripping a split second clearing in the rain. and here's the second one: Markham stood, with jaw agape, and watched his people fall to the ground, and he started to shake. Johnson cursed, and swore under his breath before grabbing the Colonel’s legs and pulling the other man to the ground. The soldier’s armor slammed into the rain soaked ground, and a splash of mud sprayed over Johnson’s face, the black and red muck running down his cheeks and dropped off his pointed chin. A bullet, it’s passage close enough the former Special Forces man could hear the ripping sound of the shell passing through the air, passed overhead and the two men buried their faces down into the mud. A big difference about the descriptiveness and more active verbs, which helps differentiate between telling vs showing also. Try checking your writing for the word 'had' a lot and see what you find. Do you find showing or telling? If it's pure telling, then rewrite the sentence and find a more active verb that can change the sentence.
Sometimes when you're editing something just doesn't sit right, and it just sticks in your craw and eats at you. Last night, I had one of those moments while trying to get to sleep. It was nearly 4am EDT before I manged to fall asleep, and my thoughts kept going back to Kate, my MC, and both this book and the new one I'm halfway starting. For the longest time, I couldn't figure out what kept my minding moving so much until it dawned on me. The opening to the first novel's second chapter performed better then the first, because the first, while having it's good moments, info dumped, which is a hard thing to avoid when doing any kind of science fiction because of the worlds we work with. So, in an experiment, I spend all day today combining the best of the first, with the best of the second, and creating an opening scene where what happens to my MC to require a cybernetic body is seen by the reader instead of referred to in passing. While before, there'd been a chapter (chapter 1) to the changing of bodies, it really didn't cover WHAT happened much. Why? Because it helped to pull some of the drama onto Kate instead of her being a secondary character during the first chapter when it should be about her. I think this chapter will be better. Although I do like a bit of dialogue between Lisa Thomson, who'll be one of the three MC's that'll revolve around this world. Now I'll make some slight adjustments to the third chapter to bring it back in line with the rest of the novel, and it'll be settled. Sometimes it pays to listen to your gut. Reyes looked over at the bed, and placed his hands on his hips. “Almir better not commit suicide, Doctors!” Matthews looked at Reyes. “She won’t,” Lisa looked at the two men, and her eyes blazed like burning coals. “Listen to you two? ‘She won’t?’ Do you know how stupid that sounds? The girl’s in pain and afraid, and since neither of you will man up, then I’ll do the job for you. Get back with me when you guys grow a pair.”
Something big, but what did they handle? None of it made any sense. A WMD lab buried in the mountains beside the construction facility, with people converted to cybernetics in some weird, butchered way. Just what the hell did Koch have planned? She noticed a sealed room on her right, and started over there as another man, holding a clipboard, exited from inside. Hopefully, the dead woman’s ID would work the lock or even the dumbest of the dumb would notice her trying to enter somewhere she didn’t have access to enter. Well, sitting around second-guessing everything wouldn’t accomplish a damn thing. Kate, working hard to keep a nervous shake from showing, walked over and slid the card through the reader. The lock turned green, and she raised both eyebrows, as the entrance popped open. She stepped through into the empty room, trying to keep her movements relaxed. Only way someone would notice she didn’t belong now would either be from finding the body-unlikely-or her mannerisms giving things away. Just take a deep breath, Katie, things will be ok. An empty room greeted her as the door shut, and she let out a deep breath. Cages of animals, trashing and crying to be fed, lined the right side and around to the rear of the room, and she shook her head. How could anyone, even if they were experimenting, leave animals to starve like that? It reeked of the inhuman behavior that existed on Barcelona and within it’s many arena and fields. Kate glided by the animals, while reaching through some of the cages and petting them, as she approached a set of vials and a portable computer. Six of them, each marked with the same long, unpronounceable name, which she couldn’t have spoken if she’d tried, with different strain numbers. She picked each up, noting the dates, and saw the latest one had been completed that day. So, Koch had built himself a biological weapons facility right under the nose of Reyes and everyone else. Impressive, she had to give him that, but his efforts would come to naught because all it took would be triggering the distress beacon, and Fleet would be down on him like a swarm of hornets. However, first things first, because getting a sample out for analysis meant more now, then subtly. She palmed a vial, approached the door, and swiped the card. The entrance opened up, letting the brighter light from the main lab in, and she stepped out. No one noticed her walking, until someone yelled at her. What the hell now? “Hey,” he said, “You can’t wear those shoes in here!” Ah fuck! The security guard, half asleep when she entered, jumped into action, and he started to close. Well, subtly definitely went out the window, and it would take skills, and lot of luck, to get out of this mess. She backed towards the door, eyes darting back and forth, a plan starting to formulate quickly. Use the vial for leverage! A man, near the door tried to run up, and she raised her hand, letting everyone see the vial. He slid to a stop, body language stiff and eyes growing wide, as everyone else in the room, including the guard, stayed where they stood. Well, that answered the question about whether or not the agent was deadly. “I don’t think so,” she said. She slipped backwards, the ID in her other hand towards the door, keeping one eye on them and the other on the rooms map her processor supplied from her early glances. One man stepped towards her, hand held out, his moves slow and calculated, trying not to spook her, but he didn’t realize she had a good idea what was inside the vial, and how it gave her the upper hand. “Put that down,” he said. “You don’t have any idea what you’re holding.” Kate stepped to her left, stopping by the reader, and she turned her head long enough to get the card into the reader. She turned around, and smiled inside the mask, because they’d thought there’d be enough time to rush her and get the vial back. Fools. They were out of their league now, and didn’t even know it. “I think I do,” “Koch is going to kill you,” he said, “whoever you are.” She looked over the guard, who spoke into a wrist communicator and made a quick decision. Security would know about the intrusion now, which would make escaping with the vial nearly impossible. They’d just seal doors, locking her inside, and wait for her to give up. Damn. All that effort wasted, and it all came down to one man spotting her fucking sneakers! She pushed a button, the door started to close, and right before it did, Kate flung the vial out into the lab. “Here! Catch!” The inner door shut, blocking her vision, as the vial flew through the air towards the shocked researchers. A hissing sound told her the outer door opened and she raced through, tearing the mask off and then the rubber suit. She reached the windows as someone caught the vial, and fumbled with it for a couple seconds before he dropped it. She stood at the window, hands on the windowsill, as the agent started to spread. Horrified expressions on the scientist’s faces turned to one of agony as their mouths opened, the screams blocked by the sealed window, but Kate could hear them in her head. Unconsciously, she balled her hands into fists, lips flattening into a thin line, as blood ran from their mouths, ears, eyes and noses, anywhere the red liquid could escape it did. My God. I just killed them all… Kate wiped her face with her hands and turned to leave. A team of security guards, five to be exact, each armed with rifles, stood with her in their sights. She didn’t need to scan the firearms to know what kind of bullets they carried. They looked at her, eyes narrowed and burning, a couple holding their rifles so tight that their hands were turning white. “Come with us, cupcake!”
I'm not putting these out in full chronological order to keep my tricks and surprises close the vest. Once again: LANGUAGE ALERT She raised her hands, and shook her head, and cursed softly, before sighing. Damn it. Luck never seemed to be a lady when the proverbial woman stepped on stage. Kate gritted teeth, wondering when everything would break her way for a change. How many other agents find themselves caught by the people they’re supposed to investigating? Sure seems to happen to me a lot. Graves, wearing a pair of jeans and shirt, with hair pulled up in a ponytail, with bangs flopping down into her face, stood with hands on hips. It contrasted with the perfectly coiffed, sharply dressed and efficient image the woman had possessed earlier. Well, even the best woman wouldn’t look great if she’d either been awakened or interrupted while relaxing after letting her hair down. “You’ve been busy, Almir,” Kate looked at her mildly. “All in a day’s work.” Katie, damn it, keep your mouth shut before you bury yourself so deep it’d take a front loader to free yourself! “‘All in a day’s work,’” Graves’ eyes narrowed. “If only you know what you did.” “I have a pretty good idea,” she said. “Do you, really, think you do?” “I released a nerve agent, and killed your scientists. Does that about sum things up?” She stuffed her hands in pockets, never letting eyes stray off Graves, and shrugged. The transmitter felt warm after being close to her body for an extended period of time, and she moved it around subtly, while feeling for the transmit switch. There! A slight move of a finger and the signal started, and the transmission headed for the nearest star com, and wouldn’t stop until help arrived. With luck, she’d keep herself alive the two days it would take for reinforcements to arrive. Given the situation she found herself in, and Koch’s plans, it seemed doubtful that would happen without some fancy planning. Would he make a mistake, which could be capitalized on to make that happen, though? “Hands up!” one of the guards shouted. “Hey guys,” she said. “You’ve got me, and I’m, darn it, unarmed. Figured it would get in the way of my little tourist excursion.” “Either way,” Graves said. “I want them where we can see them. You can keep that at your side.” “Gee, thanks,” she said, “it’s nice to know you care.” “Just move it, Almir,” The security guards, each conscious of the fact she could react faster then them, took positions several feet in front and behind. Graves followed behind the guards, her eyes never straying off Kate. The personal assistant’s stare penetrated Kate’s body like dual daggers. The death of the scientists had to put a crimp in Koch’s plans, at least Kate hoped it did, because if that didn’t, she’d wasted her time and killed a bunch of people without a good reason. “I hope you’re proud of yourself,” Graves said. “You killed one of the galaxy’s top virologists and a great nano designer in the woman you stuffed in the laundry. In the laundry! How cold.” “Sucks to be you,” Kate clicked her tongue for a couple seconds before looking at the floor. “And I tried to be caring and gentle with her body.” “Didn’t look like it from where I stand,” the personal assistant flashed a vulpine smile. “It will be you who’ll wish you hadn’t come here.” “Too late for that,” she admitted, “I already do.” The other woman didn’t speak. “So,” she said, “Tell me, Graves, since you plan on killing me anyway, what the fuck are you doing back there?” “Mr. Koch will explain that,” the other woman said, “But you already know it’s a nerve agent.” Kate fell silent as they trudged though the corridors, and passed the room where the butchered people lay, and onwards toward the entrance. Several thoughts raced through her head, and she didn’t like the answers. How could security, and Graves, react so quickly to her presence inside the lab. Had someone spotted her access to Koch’s computer, or did a scientist notice the difference between her and the dead researcher, but played along to make it appeared she’d entered undetected? Either way, it didn’t matter now because they had her, and if Koch held to form he’d spend the last moments she had left gloating about the capture. The thing to do, if possible, would be to keep him talking, which would allow his arrogance to come to the forefront and create a higher possibility of a mistake that she could capitalize on. How she’d accomplish it would have to play by ear. A ten-seat tram waited for them, and the leading security guards motioned to her to get in. She looked at them, shrugged and sat down in the particular seat, crossed her legs and waiting. The guards wouldn’t put themselves far away during the trip, because at this point they had the upper hand. Kate pursed her lips, watching them sit down, and let out a long, drawn out sigh. She could understand the rationale behind their actions, and cold logic drove it. Where could she go if an escape attempt were made? They were underground, in a tunnel, with the closest possible avenue of escape the nearby hanger bay. Any person on the stick would be able to shut the door, or raise a force field before she could get out, thus effectively trapping her. Nope, Katie, they’ve got you where they want you. The tram accelerated quickly, until the lights flashed by in their familiar strobe effect. Kate sat back and tried to enjoy the ride as much a prisoner could, because she already knew, or pretty damn close, how the encounter with Koch would go. She didn’t know what her reaction would be because it’d be based off his actions. “Tell me, Graves,” she said, “since you’re going to kill me anyway. How long did it take to build all this?” “Build this? We started three years ago and have been operational for one.” “Three years? That means you build it the same time the fabrication plant.” “Ingenious of us, don’t you think?” the other woman said. “And you know the best part? Reyes’ money helped build it!” Kate clapped her hands. “You must be proud of yourselves.” “We are indeed,” The tram pulled up to the basement loading docks, and the guards exited. They kept they rifles targeted on Kate, and motioned for her to get off. She looked at them mildly, shrugged and made her exit slow and theatrical. Why make it easy on Graves and the men? Obviously things weren’t leading to a happy ending, and she had no desire to rush off to death. I wonder how a second one will feel? “Delaying won’t change a thing,” Graves said, “so move it.” “Oh, well,” she shrugged. “It was worth a shot.”