LTF o1: Earth Bound Misfit

EDIT: is this format looking odd on anyone elses computer? I'm concerned...


Learning to Fly
Chapter One: Earth Bound Misfit

"If I never had a cent, I'd be rich as Rockafeller.
Life can be so sweet, on the sunny side of the street..."



On Tuesday morning, December 28th, 2005, Quinn stuck a gun in his mouth and pulled the trigger.

Monday morning he woke up and lifted his eyes to the windows. Through the blinds, he saw the light fighting to get in. Somehow, the sight made him cringe and turn away; it was at that moment he began to feel quite unlike himself, and wondered whose identity he had usurped.

As of late he had watched as though a spectator to his misery, a disenchanted witness to his gloom, which had deepened and consumed him. It made his arms sore and his eyes droop, until he began to long for the night when he went to sleep and stayed in that far away, pleasant place, with that far away, pleasant feeling of feeling nothing real.

With his hands on the windowsill, he looked out onto the streets, smiling. He saw that there was nothing out there.

Quinn called in sick to work that day; his manager asked him what was wrong, and all Quinn could manage to say was that he felt tired. He had never been much of a liar, and that was as close to the truth as he would let others get.

There was a creeping feeling these past few months, and it had intensified each hour of each day; it was like a scream that started low in the stomach and rose, through the lungs and the chest and the throat. Quinn felt it now, at the end of his tongue, this feeling that today was the day. The feeling brought a mix of elation and a sorrow he could not define. This bittersweetness was freedom.

He finalized the decision over a frozen noodle dinner, alone.

Quinn had never been able to make fast decisions. He'd been contemplating this change of scenery for a long time - and he was very tired.

The phone rang a couple of times - he ignored it. There was a sudden weight off his chest after he'd said it in his mind, and a new lightness that he could feel passing through his body. With each breath, he felt closer to the simulated reality of standing on a cliff, the wild winds cleansing, caressing, bringing him to the finality of the edge.

After throwing away the bent plastic of his last supper, a lonely TV dinner , he made a final attempt to contact the world of the living. His hands were shaking. Three times he picked up the received and replaced it before dialing, his nerves failing him time and time again until muscle memory took over.

His sister Penny was the one who picked up, the youngest of the Blyton children. She was fourteen years old and had an optimism and energy that baffled her oldest brother; Quinn wished he had that kind of simplicity, that he could be so easily amused and light.`And years later, after he’s dead and buried, she’ll still remember the way his voice sounded that night when he said, “You’ve been really blessed, Penn. You can always see the light in the dark.” He couldn’t see her but he heard her smile in the way she laughed. “What dark, Quinn?” She answered innocently, her naïve optimism refreshing and annoying and painful all at once.

Such was the joy of a child.

He listened to her every word, hanging on them as intently as he could, no longer as a man who now saw his time as endless and expendable, but as a man who saw the limited stretch before him and was treating every moment with fragility.

She asked him if he wanted to speak to David because he always asked for him. David, the second youngest, had just turned seventeen. Unlike the other children – unlike Freddy or Marilyn or Angel or Penn – David had an aura of cool control around him, a contagious zen-like mellow that made him easy to be honest with. David was a thousand year old monk in the body of a teenage boy, and he worshipped the ground his big brother walked on.

Fred was Quinn’s twin brother, but David was his best friend. Marilyn and Angel and Penn, they were his sisters, but not his confidants.

If lying by withholding was lying, Quinn was turning out to be an expert at it.
Much as he wanted to, he feared too much to speak with his youngest brother. There was a phobia in him now that if David heard him talking like this, the floodgates would open and the guilt would come out.

The truth would frighten his younger brother.

“Hey, Penn?” He said, voice tentative and nervous. “Is Fred over?”

“Yeah,” his sister answered, not missing a beat. “He dropped by for dinner. Want to talk to him?”

“No!” His response was a little too quick, and the silence on the other end was anxious. He tried to cover it up; Tried to play it off. “Look, just tell him, well… Just tell him I’m sorry, huh? Dave too.”

“...Why don’t you tell him yourself?”

“Hey. Penny?”

“Quinn, what’s up? Somethin' going on?” He could hear her growing anxious. The innocence was gone and dead in wake of worry.

"Hey. I love you, Penny. Don’t forget it.”

Perhaps it was the most he ever said to her; she was always too young for him to really get to know well. He remembered her as a baby, changing her diapers, babysitting…It was just these last few years she'd started to blossom.

Ah, and there lay the bitter part of this freedom, opposing the sweetness of broken chains and handcuffs binding him to the ground. It was partially in the fact he'd never really meet Penelope Blyton - the woman she was going to be and become. He'd never get to give her boyfriends the third degree or watch her walk down the isle.

“Are you okay? Quinn, you’ve got me worried, what’s going on?”

His laughter must’ve eased her spirit; the tension seemed to be vanishing, and he smiled, though it didn’t reach his eyes.

“You always used to say I was a… well, not a grouch, but… a downer.”

“I never meant nothin’ by it, Quinn,” Penny responded quickly.

“You’re right, though. I’m a pessimist. You’ve been really blessed, Penn. You can always see the light in the dark.”

“What dark?” She asked, the playfulness back in her words, the jokester trying to break this anticipatory nervousness. He knew it was there in her throat, in the dancing of her eyes – though he could not see, he knew that it was there.

“Night, Penn. Give Mom my best. Tell her I love her.”

"Wait, wait," Penny began, tripping over her words, but he hadn't caught it, and hung up the phone.

It was ten o'clock by the time he'd collected all his things.

In a sense of childish rebellion against an unnamed foe, he threw all the books out of the window. Not the schoolbooks, just the NASA articles, the books and charts that dealt with outer space and all the dreams he'd never realize. The depth of his despair was lifting him now, in a logicless faith in the handgun he kept in his drawer. He'd always wanted to be an astronaut...he had dreamed about it ever since he was a little boy...

Ah! But this! This was a new high dreaming had never brought him to. He reveled in it. He let his eyes drift close briefly, and found relief at the end of a needle, hoping to stay awake until the dawn.

On his last day on earth, Quentin Blyton sat Indian Style and watched the sun rise, slow and beautiful, spilling it's white hot light over New Jersey. He tried not to think of anything else, just feel the weight of the cool metal against his palm. The blanked out empty trains of thought kept running through the tracks and pickin’ up stray travelers in the forms of Fear and the Future.

He took cleansing breaths to keep himself awake when the buzz wore off.

There was a flash of a moment of nirvana, no reason as his guide, just the instinct of purpose - The motions were automatic and easy. He closed his eyes and saw the edge of the cliff, looking down into a darkness deeper than he had ever imagined. There was salvation at the end of that darkness, he thought. All that Hollywood stuff about a light at the end of the tunnel when you die, maybe it was just the falling that made it worth it. Maybe Heaven was falling forever and looking for a light - Senseless, guiltless, automatic purpose, and the clarity it gave.

There was an oak tree at the end of the street. He watched it from the window, tapping the gun against his leg.

He was so tired of feeling worn out, strung out, tired and dead.

Quinn was dead tired of dying.

As soon as the sun stretched out to touch the leaves and color the snow heavy dependent on those naked branches, all the knots in Quinn's stomach untied. There was a relief as instant and intense as a migraine headache.

The tree was painted up all green and gold, and he thought, Glory be to God, what a last sight.

The old tape wound through a cheap dollar store cassette.

There was just the existence of the music and his twitchy trigger finger. His final thoughts were of Gogi Grant*, and how great she must’ve sounded on vinyl.

He pulled the trigger and fell off the cliff. Suspended animation and bliss and finality





When David heard the news, he was distraught.

The next day he'd packed his bags and took the car, on his way to Montana.


"I used to walk in the shade with my blues on parade… but I’m not afraid.
This rover’s crossed over."


------------

*Gogi Grant does a version of "On The Sunny Side of the Street", which is an awesome classic track.

Have at it, boys and girls!

Dark story for a person named Breezy! I liked the hook at the begining:

"On Tuesday morning, December 28th, 2005, Quinn stuck a gun in his mouth and pulled the trigger".

I think the character development of Quin is very impressive considering it is done in one chapter. I found this description particularly effective:

"There was a creeping feeling these past few months, and it had intensified each hour of each day; it was like a scream that started low in the stomach and rose, through the lungs and the chest and the throat. Quinn felt it now, at the end of his tongue, this feeling that today was the day. The feeling brought a mix of elation and a sorrow he could not define. This bittersweetness was freedom".

What I liked about that paragragh was the simile of that intnse feeling and a scream. You gain a real understanding of Quin's frustration with life and his wish for the end.
Quin is an interesting character as you get the feel that he has always been a gloomy person or downer as you put it. The fact that Quin begins to regret his conviction to commit suicide when he is speaking to Penny is quite heart felt.
I found myself hoping beyond hope that Quin would not actually die in the story despite the very first lines. Quin's bitterness at not fufilling his dreams is quite depressing, which I suppose it is meant to be.
I thought the Sunny Side Of The Street qoutes worked well in the context of the story.
One thing I did'nt get from this chapter was a sense of direction to the story but I am sure this will become clear in the next chapter. I am hoping that David proves to be as interesting as Quin. I'd also like to learn more about pre-suicidal Quin from his relatives.
Great Chapter

Thank you so much for the well-thought out review! I'm glad you picked up on Quinn's depth. He's not in the story physically, but his presence, in a way, makes him one of it's principle characters. The rest of the story will be in contrast to the darkness of this opening chapter; It's a story about following your dreams, because on the other side of the fence is failure. That's where Quinn is. Not only does he die, but he represents the idea that if you don't follow your dreams and do what you need to to really live and be happy, it's a suicidal choice... instead of having the richness of life, risks, hard work and great personal rewards, Quinn has given up and accepted death literally and figuratively.

Now, with Dave, you'll see he's like Quinn in the sense that they think the same. Both are introspective, internal philosophical souls, but David is an optimist.

The only purpose of this chapter was to set up Quinn's ghost as a guiding presence through the rest of the book - and the only way we move along is that we know little Dave has packed his bags and begun some kind of trek across the country...

thanks again!

Hiii~ :D I totally didn't start reading this because it uses my initials >___>

The formatting looks fine to me, it looks like you might be missing some italics on the second line, you've just got to get into the habit of putting the tags in when you post ^___^

On Tuesday morning, December 28th, 2005, Quinn stuck a gun in his mouth and pulled the trigger.

I like how this starts with something happening, but I don't think you need to put in the date or year. There's no real loss of effect if you take it.

Monday morning he woke up and lifted his eyes to the windows.

Nix the morning, it's a bit too to the Tuesday morning, and if Quinn's just waking up it's fairly obvious what time of day it is ^___^

with that far away, pleasant feeling of feeling nothing real.

Repetitive feeling, it's a bit of tongue-twister.

He finalized the decision over a frozen noodle dinner, alone.

I certainly hope it was cooked before he ate it ;D perhaps T.V. ready meal is more sort of the thing you're after?

The phone rang a couple of times - he ignored it.

If he ignored it and it's not important, I don't see any reason to mention the phone rang, it just seems a little out of place.

When Quinn rings up the Blytons is when I switched off. The story slows down even more and it's less in the present, if that makes sense? There's a little too much information: the family name, their ages, the names of all the other children, we really don't need to know it right now. After all, this chapter isn't about them, it's about Quinn and you need to focus on him and his story more. It starts off about him but the importance shifts away at this point and becomes more about David.


You use a lot of commas. I do the exact same thing, and tend to put commas in between each individual though (I've probably even done it now). Comb through and see which seem superfluous, there are plenty which could be taken away to improve the flow of reading and just make things sound better. A few I picked up on and would remove are:

Through the blinds, he saw the light fighting to get in.

With his hands on the windowsill, he looked out onto the streets

his manager asked him what was wrong, and all Quinn could manage to say was that he felt tired.

This starts off with a real punch, but sorta goes limp part-way through. Instead of being fed more action we're given introspection. A lot of it is how low Quinn feels. Show us more of it, the days when he can't bear to bring himself out of bed, how it changes his routine, his actions, the way he approaches other people.

Another thing is that you seem to take the long-way round in saying things. After a while this can get a bit boring to read, and some of it certainly doesn't seem like something someone Quinn's age would say, at first I though he was some middle-aged guy the way he was speaking.

This has real promise at the moment, and I really do like the beginning, it just seems to lose its way and motion. I think a great deal could be cut out, and I really do think this should be focused a lot more on Quinn but without all the little extra details; they can easily be introduced in more manageable little bits throughout when they have more relevance.

I hope I was of some help to you! If you want me to elaborate or explain anything I've said (sometimes I make no sense at all), or would like me to look over the next part when it's posted, then just shoot me a PM! :D

-Tinny!

I have to say two things: Spot. On. Baby. Fine, that's three words only because I thought the last word made it sound cooler (:

Anywho, I like this and by 'spot on', I mean that you have a lot of things that I find very 'relative' in my life. First, I have and had always love anything that has to do with suicide. I'm not depressed or anything but I just somehow like the idea of death itself -- especially suicidal cases. It's just interesting to me, okay! It's hard to explain. In result of that, I love the simile's and metaphors in there. Also, is defintely the one-liners such as:

Such was the joy of a child.

Another thing that I could relate too is how he pulled the trigger at sunrise because really, we all know sunsets are so overrated by now. Other than that, it's New Jersey. I've never been to NJ and I've heard a lot of bad things about it too but honestly, I don't think it sounds so bad. It's just a place where people are still trying to make a life out of well, life.

David had an aura of cool control around him, a contagious zen-like mellow that made him easy to be honest with. David was a thousand year old monk in the body of a teenage boy, and he worshipped the ground his big brother walked on.

In my honest opinion, I really like how you have this David character pretty much summed up in the second sentence in quote.

And I have to disagree with what Tinny said about dragging on a bit about David. I think description about things around the character are what makes them a character -- like the people around him and the things he like etc -- because it gives the reader more insight to a character.

But what I do agree with Tinny is the commas. For example, this sentence here:

The tree was painted up all green and gold, and he thought, Glory be to God, what a last sight.

...got me reading it three times before actually understanding it. Perhaps in a sentence that's all ready filled with commas, maybe seperate his thoughts into italics or even put it in between quotation marks to prevent less confusion and more straight-to-the-pointness?

All in all, I think its pretty brilliant.


Cheers,
Nadeera.

Thank you both for your insightful reviews. You know, it's funny, because you both mention my long-time struggle with comma addiction(I am currently apart of the C.A.A. division in New England to help me get past this). Before that, my problem was dashes - I thought I had gotted past all of this, but I only replaced one addiction with another.

I thought his conversation with his sister was important because it was the only part of the chapter where we see him interacting with another person. It definitely is a huge chunk of introspection, but I wanted that; I wanted to take this time to get all of that out of the way because once he's dead, we're not going to get back into his head again to see all this introspection.

However, I still want it to be readable, poetic but not long-winded, not boring, and he certainly did cook that T.V. dinner! I'll go back and make that more clear. I think Tinny is right about the other kids, and I'll probably shave down his conversation with Penny, maybe change some of the phrasings.

The importance of my mention that the light is fighting to get in is purely symbolic. There's good in Quentin, there's happiness and joy, but it's being shut in and shut out by this oppressive, overwhelming sense of despair. In another sense, there's good in the world, but he can't see it, even when it's struggling to get in.

Him ignoring the phone is self-imposed isolation in a time of need. It may not be necessary, though, since obviously if he's in his apartment all day all by himself he's obviously isolating himself.

There isn't a need to mention he called in to work sick other than to say he's given up on his job and there's no point, which is dispensable. I can easily push the story along without that.

Now, my boy is an introspective intellectual dude, but I mostly took the long-way around saying things because I thought it emphasized that 'trudging through' feeling. I don't just throw at you, "He's tired of life!" I go on to say it felt like a scream. The pace IS slow. I still want it to sound believable for somebody his age, and playing the LOL HE'S SMART card is a cop-out.

I want to walk this fine line between saying things the way I'd like while not falling into the traps you've described. It will take some rephrasing and editing but I think I can do it.

Tinny, I appreciate your critique and I'm definately going to keep referencing it while I edit this first chapter. It's important to me to edit as I go a little - but most especially on the first chapter - because otherwise it feels so incomplete, ya'know?

Nadeera, thank's for the response - I'm glad you liked it. I enjoy writing about death and suicide cases because I'm an optimist who sees the light at the end of the tunnel. I think that writing about people who have a lot of problems and overcome them - or don't - can be used for a message or a point. It wasn't Quentin's inability to reach his dreams that killed him, it was the fact he didn't try harder, because there were avenues, and I'm going to explain that later.