NOBODY WANTS TO READ YOUR SHIT AGAIN 3

Matt Anderson's 'Davy Jones' Furnace' critiqued.

Ten Shun!

Photo by Mark König on Unsplash

So while Hannah’s ‘Mispers’ won the popular vote on the comment thread, my personal favourite was Matt Anderson’s ‘Davy Jones Furnace’. Please read and feed back your comments, I am fascinated to know what you think.

Read the original story here:

https://docs.google.com/document/d/e/2PACX-1vRClrey3ewyL8znvc1FtIwxMrldNXW2_8fLFFlCyYFfmty1RGHw64_M8QFwnUoVa6CB1kOzd1XHZsMy/pub

Davy Jones' Furnace

Burning a large, white passenger van was more difficult than Chloe thought. A thin layer of crusted sweat covered the top of her back, and the collar of her shirt was still damp. She rubbed her fingers up and down the vertebrae in her neck while looking around in the darkness.  GOOD CLOSE DETAIL BRINGS THE SCENE IMMEDIATELY TO LIFE. AND A (GOOD) QUESTION IS RAISED ( NOT ALL RAISED QUESTIONS ARE GOOD – THEY CAN BE SIMPLY CONFUSING ) – WHY ON EARTH IS SHE BURNING A VAN?

There has to be a place somewhere up here, she thought. The van’s high beams illuminated little else beyond the road. The thick mess of forest contained it. LOVELY PHRASE – THE THICK MESS OF FOREST ‘CONTAINING’ THE LIGHT FROM THE BEAMS.

“Yes,” she whispered out loud, pulling on the wheel. IT’S GOOD TO BREAK UP NARRATIVE WITH A TOUCH OF DIALOGUE ( OR IN THIS CASE, MONOLOGUE)  An opening had appeared between the trees. The van veered off the road towards the clearing. Dirt and grass tugged at the wheels, slowing it down a little. I LIKE THE IDEA OF THE VAN BEING ‘TUGGED’ BY THE GRASS AND DIRT, AS IF WHATEVER IS GOING TO HAPPEN NEXT IS BEING AVOIDED BY THE VAN ITSELF.  In the back, cans of gasoline sloshed. SO THE TENSION RISES…NOW WE SUSPECT SHE IS GOING TO SET FIRE TO SOMETHING. She was exhausted, but it didn’t matter. It’s not like she could stop now. Her hand searched the passenger seat for another 5-hour energy. I’M NOT SURE WHAT A ‘FIVE HOUR ENERGY’ IS.

She fumbled with the plastic wrap covering the drink while holding the wheel steady with her knee. It must have been bruised because it throbbed when she bent it. After passing over several bumps in the ground, she finally got her nail under the plastic wrap of the drink and tore it clean.  AGAIN THIS VERY GRANULAR DESCRIPTION LENS CREDENCE TO THE SCENE The liquid soaked her dry throat. It didn’t matter that it tasted like diesel fuel and Splenda.  NICE DESCRIPTION She only wished there was more than a single shot’s worth. She tossed the trash over her shoulder and retook the wheel with her hands. THIS GIVES A CLUE TO HER PERSONALITY, THE CARELESSNESS OF THE GESTURE.

The van crept forward until she was convinced she was far enough away from both the street and any lingering trees.

“That’ll have to do,” she said to herself, shifting the gear into park. The headlights illuminated a field of tall grass, and a gust of wind sent a shiver through it. The blades rose and fell in waves. Chloe sighed and pressed her head to the rubber of the steering wheel.  SO WE GET AN INTIMATION OF DESPAIR. THIS IS  GOOD - SHOWING NOT TELLING.

“Almost there.”

The door creaked like microphone feedback as she opened it.  NICE DESCRIPTION. If she weren’t so far from town, she would have been worried about the noise. But no one else was out here. There hadn’t been another car on the road for miles.

As she stepped into the field, she realized the grass was much taller than it looked. It almost came up to her knees. Shit. She hadn’t considered that. The blades were dark green though, which gave her some relief. She bent down to feel the soil. Damp, almost mud. That should be fine, she thought. There weren’t really any other options. She was running out of night.  AGAIN A NICE PHRASE, ‘RUNNING OUT OF NIGHT’.

She made her way to the back of the van. On the other side of the window, her bike laid pressed to the tempered glass. As she swung the door open, it slipped against the upholstery and fell towards her. Fortunately, her reflexes were still decent enough to keep it from completely smacking her face. The back tire butted up against her neck, and after a night of running around, it felt heavier than usual.  ANOTHER ‘GOOD’ QUESTION – WHY WAS HAD SHE SPENT THE NIGHT RUNNING AROUND ON THE BIKE?

She managed to bring it down the rest of the way and wheeled it through the grass—away from the van. She didn’t stop until she reached the tree line. This should be far enough, she thought.

The wind gave another roar, whipping her hair against her face. She let her bike lean against a tree and started jogging back to the van. Now, the wind worried her. Hopefully, it would stop or at least die down. Stalks of grass tried to wrap around her legs AGAIN, ITS AS IF NATURE ITSELF IS TRYING TO STOP HER FROM DOING WHATEVER IT IS SHE IS ABOUT TO DO as she approached the open door.

The three red gas cans of gasoline were still there, shoved against the seats. She pulled them each out, to the ground, and got on her good knee to start unscrewing them. The smell hit her in the face immediately—hard enough for her to taste it. It was a mixture of cat piss and those menthol cigarettes her dad smoked.  GREAT CONJURING OF THE SMELL. The back of her eyes stung. She looked away and tried to blink out the chemicals.

Once she could see straight, she started pouring. The gasoline spewed against the back floor of the van. It came out quicker than she meant it to. She bounced the stream up and down, trying to evenly coat what she could. But most of it still ended up as a large pool on the floor. Once that can was empty, she took the second one to the front of the van to repeat the process. Driver seat, passenger seat, dashboard, radio, glove compartment, cup holders, the pockets in the door—she doused everything she could. She kept going until the fuel stopped pouring. AGAIN GOOD USE OF DETAIL

One can left.

She proceeded to the van’s side door with the last of the fuel. But instead of opening it, she pressed her palm to the cool metal frame followed by her forehead. She had to prepare herself. The grass brushed against her jeans, threatening to wrap around them again and pull her into the earth. THE THIRD USE OF THIS METAPHOR, PERHAPS ONE TIME TOO MANY She almost wished they would. But they didn’t. She still didn’t feel ready. 

She slid the door open anyway—just a crack. It was small but enough for the wind to sweep up several pieces of her trash, throwing them into the field.

 “Fuck,” she swore before dropping the canister and darting after one of the plastic drink labels. It spasmed through the air, flying in front of the headlights and back again, before she finally caught it. The sudden movement had loosened more adrenaline into her system. Her heartbeat sped up.

In that time, the door had rolled itself open entirely. Chloe could see directly into the van. Her pile of empty 5-hour energy bottles lay next to a pair of sneakers—Randy’s sneakers. The fray of his jeans fell over them both, but she didn’t let her eyes look any further up. THIS IS A LOVELY, SUBTLE WAY OF INTRODUCING THE SHOCK WE HAVE BEEN WAITING FOR.  AND I LIKE THE FACT SHE CAN’T LOOK AT HIM  Instead, she walked slowly back towards the van, trying to keep her focus on anything but him. Once she got to the door, it was too much. She couldn’t help but look. 

He was bent over, even with the two seatbelts that had been used to try and strap him upright. His back arched down, and the curve of his spine led to a mop of scarecrow-blonde hair. It dangled towards the ground, blocking his face. His palms lay flat against his sides, pointing upwards. The dull remnants of a rejected tattoo were visible on one. Chloe’s hand shook from guilt and adrenaline. The gasoline sloshed in its tank as she slowly lifted the can to his head. AGAIN THE FINE DESCRIPTION

“God, grant me the fucking serenity,” she said. A VERY HUMAN THING TO SAY AND QUITE FUNNY.

It glugged as it tipped over. The liquid consumed his head like diluted honey, NICE AGAIN dripping from the matted tips of his hair to his jeans. It rolled down his neck, beneath his shirt, and down his back before puddling into the seat. She brought it down to his shoes, filling them until they overflowed and seeped into the car floor. It was overkill, but she didn’t stop pouring. Only after the last few drops came through, was she satisfied. She tossed the empty can inside and slammed the door.

TERRIFIC SCENE – WELL DONE, MATT! I’M FASCINATED TO KNOW WHAT HAPPENS NEXT.

THE GOOD THING ABOUT THIS IS IT A SINGLE SCENE, FOCUSED, THAT PROPELS THE READER CAREFULLY THROUGH IT. NO FLASHBACKS OR TIME SHIFTS, NO CHANGES OF POV TO CONFUSE MATTERS.  IT RAISES LOTS OF INTRIGUING QUESTIONS IN A GOOD, RATHER THAN A FRUSTRATING, WAY. IT IS IN NO HURRY, IT GOES IN CLOSE AND SLOW, IT DOESN’T TRY AND PRY TOO MUCH INFORMATION IN TOO SMALL A SPACE. ALL IN ALL, A VERY PROFESSIONAL PIECE OF WRITING

Now it’s time to have YOUR say. Let me know what you think of Matt’s piece. I’m going against the popular vote here because Mispers was the reader’s favourite ( albeit only by one vote). So am I right? Or do you prefer Mispers? Or a different piece altogether? If so, why? Contribute, and become part of the Boot Camp Community!

At Ease!