Architectural Designs

What do you think of the opening chapter to the novel I'm writing?

It was one of those days where everything felt brand new, Alan Kinsley had told himself. It had rained nonstop the day before, with one band of rain after another moving through the northern panhandle region of Florida. It had been windy and nasty for nearly twenty-four hours, when finally, the skies cleared and made way for abundant sunshine. Alan was standing in his backyard, coffee mug in one hand, a menthol cigarette in the other, admiring Mother Nature at her finest. The sky seemed bluer than usual, without a single cloud dotting its huge canvas. Everything seemed cleaner, having been thoroughly washed by yesterday’s downpours. Taking a drag off the cigarette, Alan noted the debris scattered around the yard. Dead limbs laid everywhere, having dangled precariously for weeks from their respective trees before succumbing to the constant onslaught of wind. One large branch in particular was hanging over the power line connecting his house to the main pole out front. The limb wasn’t large enough to be overly concerned with, after all, the power company designed those cables with a certain amount of strength, but Alan didn’t like the idea of climbing up a ladder and removing the branch himself. That’s what the power company’s Hotline was for. He made a mental note to give them a call as he finished his coffee. He had never been comfortable with electricity. Not to the point of refusing electrical service to his home, but if the only available job was that of an electrician, he would simply have to starve. The thought of being electrocuted made his hands tremble, and whenever he had to change out a light bulb, he would only do so if everyone in the house went outside, preventing anyone from turning the light switch on while his hands where so close to the socket. His doctor had diagnosed him with a mild case of electrophobia, but Alan shrugged it off, deciding that it wasn’t so bad to have one irrational fear. Making his way around to the front of the house, Alan heard the sound of a vehicle coming down the dirt road. It was Ole Man Benson, driving his old Jeep Cherokee, slowly maneuvering around the potholes and washouts created by yesterday’s weather. Alan met him at the beginning of his driveway, offering a nod and smile. “Mornin, Mister Benson. Beautiful day, ain’t it?” Mister Benson was wearing his usual getup; dark blue slacks and a white buttoned-down shirt. As the air was a bit chilly, he had also donned a blue windbreaker. “God damn roads,” he said angrily, “gonna tear this car all to pieces before it’s over with.” He handed a newspaper to Alan, who took it and stepped back to give the vehicle a once-over. It was a mid-nineties Cherokee that had certainly seen better days. The metallic blue paint, having dulled over the years, was heavily caked with mud. “Oh, I’m sure Mike and Eddie will hit the roads with the tractors first thing in the morning.” Alan said as he leaned into the passenger side window. The Jeep’s interior wasn’t in any better shape than the exterior, but instead of mud, the dashboard and upholstery were covered in reddish-gray dust, no doubt from the same dirt roads Mister Benson traversed everyday on his paper route. “Any damage to your place?” He asked as he looked past Alan. “Nah, just some limbs down, nothing major. Gonna call the power company in a minute to have ‘em pull a branch off my line. How ‘bout your place?” Mister Benson had a small singlewide mobile home on three acres just a few roads down. He’d been living alone since his wife passed away two years ago, and Alan made it a point to swing by once a week to check on him. “Just a few limbs,” Mister Benson said. “I’m payin that kid next door five dollars to pick em up.” Alan nodded with a smile. “Alright, thanks for the paper.” He held up his copy of the Sunday Times. “Don’t forget, we’re havin a cookout this weekend. My wife is makin her peach cobbler.” Mister Benson mulled this over for a moment, and then nodded. “Wouldn’t wanna miss that.” He said matter-of-factly, “I’ll be there.” The Jeep lurched forward and led Mister Benson down the road to finish his paper route, and Alan made his way back to the house. He came in through the laundry room, and then made his way into the kitchen to put his empty coffee mug into the sink and the newspaper on the breakfast table. Denise, Alan’s wife of 13 years, was talking to her mother on the telephone. They did that every Sunday morning, rain or shine, and Alan smiled and offered a wink as he walked past her to check on his kids. Denise smiled back, giving a wink of her own, but didn’t skip a conversational beat. Denise was short and pretty. She had long golden brown hair that hung down in loose waves. Her eyes were hazel colored and her lips were full. She had been prom queen in high school, and had committed herself to a daily workout routine to maintain her figure over the years. She was very fit, physically and mentally, and Ala Thanks for the answers, everyone. I especially love the critisism some of you gave me. I totally get what you're saying. Keep the comments coming, please!

Public Comments

1. I could only read the first part and it didn't look...too...good,...I think is the word. It could be considered better than some crap posted on this website, I'll give you that, but I just didn't like how you described some things. "nasty" "admired mother nature at her finest" naaah they just don't work very much. If you get what I'm saying work on it and then maybe it would be better.
2. i think that it's pretty good, i like the use of description you used. it was hard to read but that was only because things weren't indented so when it's on a Word document it's probably ten times easier to read. hope you keep writing this it sounds great. answer mine please: http://answers.yahoo.com/question/index?qid=20100120104230AAiif5V
3. i love this. you gave great description and imagery. i think youre very talented. unlike the other stories i read on here, this wasnt painful to read at all. i just loved it.
4. heya!! emm yeaa i tink ur good... u can write well anyway... and describe things good... Just a little tip~~>>> i tink u shud wriet thought to himself then told himself... i jsut tink it sound betta yeaa??... emm i i only read a little bit cz i tot it was boring.. no offense... i just have to read book with a lot of action... well gud luck...:D
5. Honestly I could only get past the first two sentences..... After forcing myself to read some more here are some things to think about: We know it rained and it's clear now, we don't need anymore description of the weather. I mean you have 2 whole paragraphs about weather..... Your writing is good, grammar, sentence structure all of that... but you need to let us readers have some Imagination. Start the painting, but let us finish. Here is what I mean: your 1st para: It was one of those days where everything felt brand new, Alan Kinsley had told himself. It had rained nonstop the day before, with one band of rain after another moving through the northern panhandle region of Florida. It had been windy and nasty for nearly twenty-four hours, when finally, the skies cleared and made way for abundant sunshine. Alan was standing in his backyard, coffee mug in one hand, a menthol cigarette in the other, admiring Mother Nature at her finest My suggestion: Finally the stormed had seized. It had been storming for days moving through the northern panhandle region of Florida. Alan felt reborn that morning, standing in his backyard, coffee mug in one hand, a menthol cigarette in the other, admiring Mother Nature at her finest. Then you really don't even need the 2nd or 3rd paragraphs you could just Briefly explain all of that when Ole Man Benson drives up - That's about as far as I could get
6. I'm a descriptive writer like you. I give a 'matrix-like' description of just about everything. Some readers hate it, others appreciate the clarity. The thing that makes it even more suiting is that the descriptions appear to be Alan's. We are sort of in his head and seeing things through his eyes. How much he appreciates the day after a storm, we know where he lives, we know how he lives, we know he's a caring neighbor, we know he thinks his wife is beautiful, how long he's been married and we already know one of his biggest fears and that he's a dad. Granted you have plenty of room to include all of that information but it creates a very distinct portrait of this man. The writing is well done and I don't see a problem with the story at all. I've published two contemporary romance novels and I read the genre quite frequently as well as women's fiction and even though I'm an author of it let me tell you some of it is quite plain. But the readers love it because it reminds them of the every day events of their own lives. It makes living much more acceptable. Not everyone is going to have quests, or meet vampires, or date sexy bronzed gods with schlongs to their knees. Some women and men just live peaceful lives with normal life crisis that cause for them to change and grow and seeing it in a book makes them feel validated. I think this is a good solid start. I hope the rest of the work will be equally a good.
7. Your paragraphs are so long that I stop being interested in reading it. Also, I don't know if I'd keep reading after a depressing start with rain and a sort of nasty weather.