What do you think? Chapter 1 (rewrite)

I think i got most of the grammer mistakes. Please feel free to review and or comment though. I think this is going nicely for me, although i would still like many other reader's opinioins!
Okay, i'm redoing the plot. Since i only got one reviewer, obiously the other story was BAD...so i didn't wan't to post all of this chapter, i wanted to see if you like how it was going so far...now i know i didn't give you much hint of the plot last time, but i just want to know if this is a goot hook to begin with...
~Skittles


CHAPTER ONE

Today I’m working for the Golden Gate Press of San Francisco; a month ago I was on an adventure of a lifetime at Disney World.
That one month ago, I had been assigned one of those imperative projects where you have to write the story of your life. Unfortunately I didn’t have a very exciting life. I hadn’t lived it out yet, I’m only twenty-one.
I was allowed a month off for a vacation and that’s when I decided I would find a good story. My choice of vacation: Orlando, Florida.
My name is Toby Anna Moore, and I’m a journalist. I’ve been investigating a story about Walt Disney and I’ve heard that he had been cryogenically frozen.

ONE MONTH EARLIER~

Orlando was about six hours from San Francisco by plane. The flight atmosphere was a listless humdrum of people talking on their cell phones. The plane seats eased me into a sleep that I didn’t wake from until I was poked by the flight attendant.
Walking out into the Sarasota Bradenton Airport was like walking into the Plaza Hotel. It was filled with important business people and security guards. I shifted my carryon continuously from the five pounds of novels I had read on the plane ride and my work journal.
Slipping my sunglasses on top of my head so that it held my bangs, I stepped onto the escalator to get to the ground floor. I watched as people were crammed into elevators and their luggage came spinning around the conveyer belt and was taken to their car. As I waited for my luggage I went to the bookstore right next to the pickup area.
I bought a couple of books about Florida and the Sarasota Bradenton region. Making sure I had everything, I got my luggage and stumbled out to the taxies. After waiting for what seemed an extensive amount of time a taxi picked me up and I officially started my vacation.
Florida’s humid summer air fingered through my short blond hair. The Taxi driver, Lars, had the radio on the highest volume and my favorite song by Bob Marley was playing, Don’t Worry Be Happy. I was bouncing in my seat with such enthusiasm; Lars thought I was getting high on his cigarette smoke.

Hello, Skittles.


The pier view below my apartment window was brilliant. The small cramped room with a musty bed and an unbalanced desk was everything a writer could ask for. If you had been standing next to me then, my sarcasm was thick.
I was on a vacation from my job. As I sat on my bed a roach crawled from underneath it and climbed up the wall. I quickly took my flip flop and smashed it. I had been through worse conditions.
A month ago I had been sent on one of those impractical tasks from my employer. A month ago I had seen all hell break loose and more. I had seen things that the human mind can’t possibly comprehend. A month ago, I didn’t know that this experience of a lifetime would save my career or throw me into the middle of a government crisis.

One Month Earlier~ I love it how you randomly make it one month earlier

My name is Toby Wyler. I’m a journalist for the Golden Gate Press. I’m young and my career, which started last Tuesday, is just barely kicking off. I was only in my early twenties and I was rapidly reaching the end of my rope of sanity.
As I threw my suitcase and purse beside the closet doors of the repulsive hotel, my fingertips brushed against the letter. It had been given to me in San Francisco by my boss’s assistant, Laura. She hates me, and I hate her. As far as I’m concerned, she’s jealous. She got stuck doing all Gregory Mont’s dirty work while I’m out in the world discovering. But between me and no one else, at this point I would call it a “lose-lose”.
The letter was an assignment that Mont had given me. I had read it over and over on the plane ride, but it didn’t make sense. Actually it made a ton of sense. I just couldn’t believe the monstrous task he had given me. So I sat down on my bed, taking note of the lack of covers on my bed, and read it again. This is what it said, word for word:
Ms. Wyler,
I have been informed that you haven’t been with the press very long. I would like you to prove that you are worthy enough to stay with us at Golden Gate. My task is for you to find an interesting story that you find in Siesta Florida, or anywhere local. If you go anywhere else you will be using your own money. This story, it may also be something that happened while you were there. I hope this isn’t too much to ask. The bottom line is, I want you to find a story that will shoot your career up the charts.
Your deadline: you have two months. January 3, no later than that.

Gregory Mont

The task was unbelievable. How could I possibly find a good story in two months? I began thinking of things that had happened to me. Nothing that would shoot my career up the charts, that was for sure.
Everything I wrote, according to Mr. Mont, was “okay”. I was going to knock his damn socks off if it was the last thing I did. If it was the last thing I did before I got fired, period. I could already see Laura smiling, mocking me as she stood in the corner behind Mont’s desk as he slammed my paper on the table saying, “Wyler, what were you damn thinking?”
“How about some sun,” I asked myself. I looked out my window at the white sand beach. I had to admit, it looked very welcoming, except for the horrific fact that it was a nudist beach. Imagine waking up with butts and boobs in your face every morning.
The sun danced across my sunglasses as I stood in front of the hotel. The Florida heat wasn’t too atrocious even without the coverage of any clouds, so I wore a blue tank top, whitewashed jeans, and my black converse sneakers. I lived on the coast of San Francisco, so my skin wasn’t too unfamiliar with the sun. But those days where I was stuck inside at my computer for six hours straight had made my face look ashen over time.
The sights of the Siesta area were already uplifting. My short bleached blond hair was being blown back by the slight breeze that channeled through the skyscraper palm trees. This was something I as a writer rarely got to do. Go outside, take a break, and see the light of day.
One foot moving in front of the other I made my way to the beach. My foot falls looked like a small meteor crashed into each print behind me. Do NOT switch from past tense to present tense. It CONFUSES people!!!!
The waves rolled up onto the shore, licking back sand and leaving regurgitated seashells for collectors. I took a seat on a bench. It had been there for years, slowly deteriorating from the sea salt. I took out my journal and pencil and began writing.
It wasn’t long before the person sitting next to me was covered in my discarded ideas in the form of paper wads. I looked up, twisting around in my seat and stared at the young man. I bit my bottom lip, breaking the skin. I had mindlessly forgotten that this was a nudist beach. I imagined my head ramming the side of the rotting bench repeatedly. The situation was inevitable.
“May I help you?” the man asked casually. He shifted in his seat so that he was facing me. I made an effort to look up at his face. I was too weak. The thing was just looking at me. I quickly tilted my journal so that it covered his lower body, and angled myself awkwardly. Oh my god, I love this paragraph! It's so funny!
“Are you okay?” he asked. I nodded yes. I think I was going to hurl. Unless he wanted left over tuna sandwich in his lap, he needed to go.
“What are you writing? Are you one of those bastards whose trying shut down our beach?” he asked heatedly.
“No,” I gasped. I hadn’t realized I had been holding my breath. This sentence and the next sentence could be put in the same paragraph.
“I’m a journalist for Golden Gates Press. I came here for business…well not here, but Florida,”period
“What’s that story about?”
“Excuse me?” I had finally distracted myself with the seagulls.
“What are you going to write about?” he asked again.
“Oh,” I said. “Well I’m not sure yet. It’s supposed to be something crazy exciting,” the man nodded.
“Well nothing exciting happens here… although there’s a man who lives close by. His Name is Steven Berry. His house is just over those hills,”
“What’s so interesting about him?” I asked. I was already doubtful.
“Well he has all these weird theories… you should just ask him,”
“Thank you,” I said getting up slowly. The man suddenly grabbed my arm and I winced.
“My name is Luke Bryan, by the way,” the man said, offering his hand.
“Toby,” I swallowed. “Wyler. Toby Wyler,” Luke smiled and got up. I clutched my journal close to my chest and tried to smile back.
“Bye Toby,” I waved goodbye and stalked off to the house he had pointed to. It was an old blue color. Weeds consumed the entire yard, and had skyrocketed up to the second floor. A lone For Sale sign stood crookedly at the curb.
It was a tropical rainforest hike through his yard to the front door of the house. Nearly tripping over the placemat comma I rang the doorbell. As it jingled through the house, I couldn’t help note that it echoed as if the house were vacant.
I went around to the back of the house and looked through the sliding glass windows. The glass was too smeared with mud and sand that I couldn’t see into the room. The yard was littered with random objects like a bicycle wheel and a few chewed up bricks. I quickly I wandered back to the front of the house. This guy was already forming in my mind. I could see him clearly. He had grease stains on his Hawaii shirt and wore boxers that hardly covered his midriff.
“Mr. Berry,” I said, knocking on the door. It squeaked open and I took a look inside without stepping in completely. There was no sign of furniture or décor. I then did the inevitable and walked in. You use the word 'inevitable' too much. I've noticed it what... Three times now?
I took a stroll up stairs. There was no furniture or Steven Berry. The place wasn’t really that bad. It was still nicely painted. I could tell it had been some kind of tropical theme.
“Mr. Berry,” I called. As expected there was no answer. I walked around some more until I came to the back yard again. My shoes clunking as I walked down the wood stairs to the patio.
It was getting dark out. I took out my cell phone. It read five o’clock. My stomach growled. I was loathing loathing a nce dinner? I'm pretty sure you require a word the exact opposite of loathinga nice dinner. As I clomped down the rest of the stairs there was a knocking sound from beneath the deck.
“Hello?” I said looking around. There was more shuffling. I noticed that there was a bunker of some sort over to my left. It was squished underneath the tool shed.
Do I dare go down there? I asked myself. I heaved a sigh and climbed down into the bunker, taking my sunglasses off.
It was dark as dark can get. I couldn’t see a blasted thing.
“Hello,” I called out. I took out my phone and flipped it open to partially light my way. I found a light switch and flipped it on. The lights flickered for a moment before the small room was finally illuminated.
It was mostly empty except for a sleeping bag and fifteen jugs of some sort of liquid.
There was the sound of water dripping and I followed it around the corner. For some reason the fact that I became terribly aware that I was not the only one in the bunker made chills go up my spine.
“Mr. Berry?” I said. I rounded another corner. As I walked down the short narrow hall the lights began to flicker again.
I was nearing the end of the passage. The dripping water was getting closer. It was competing with my heart which was pounding in my ears.
What happened next was so horrifying I screamed. I screamed so loud that dust fell from the bunker ceiling.
I took another step. And as I lifted my foot to take the other a man jumped out in front of me. He was holding a brick and was in an attack stance, yelling an assortment of uncanny words.Okay, I don't know what just happened here. You might want to mention the screaming part after the guy jumps out
My phone and journal flew out of my hands as I fell backwards screaming.
“What are you doing in my sanctuary alien?” The man said.
“W-What?” I said, shaken.
“Are you an alien?”
“No.” I said getting up.
“That’s what they all say,”
“Are you Steven Berry?” I asked. The man stared long and hard at me. He must have been in his early fifties. He had a brown oily shag and goatee. He looked like a mountain man that smelled of sulfur and probably shaved with a rock and bathed in the piping water. The man finally spoke.
“Yes. And who are you?”
“Toby Wyler,” I said offering my hand.
“So Toby Wyler, what made you come to my neck of the woods?” When he didn’t meet my hand with his I lowered it slowly to my side.
“A man, uh…” I tried desperately to think of the nudist’s name. “Luke,” I cried. “Luke Bryan,” Steven Berry nodded grimly.
“What about him?”
“Oh well you see I’m a journalist for the Golden Gates Press in San Francisco,” I said. “And I have to write a story about something amazing that I find in Florida,”
“And Luke Bryan, that little college idiot, said I was amazing?”
“Well, he said that you had some theories, that I should go talk to you-”
“Theories?”
“Yes…er-”
“Call me Mr. Berry,”
“Yes, Mr. Berry,” I said.
“Well they ain’t theories,” Mr. Berry said walking past me. I followed him.
“Well what do you call them?”
“Facts,” I nodded slowly.
“Mr. Berry would you mind if I interviewed you?”
“Sure what time?” I looked around. There was no sign of a clock. How did this man live?
“Is now good?” I asked.
“Sure. Have a seat,” Mr. Berry pulled two crates over to a keg that was next to his sleeping bag. He took a seat on one of the crates and looked up at me probingly. I took my seat on the other crate and opened up my journal, testing my pen.
“Where would you like to start?” Mr. Berry asked.
“Well, what are those theories-?”
“Facts,”
“Sorry, Facts that Luke Bryan told me to see you about?” I swallowed hard. There was a putrid odor coming from somewhere in the small room.
“Well I think that the world- are you ready for this?” I nodded holding my pen ready. “Well I think that the world will end soon,” I stopped writing for a moment. I titled my head to look up at Mr. Berry.
“Well what do you think the cause might be?” I asked.
“Might? I know for a fact that the government people are planning some sort of attack on us,” I nearly choked on my own tongue.
“Mr. Berry where do you see yourself in five to ten years?” He seemed to be actually thinking about a job. That was a good sign of good sense.
“Well, if the world doesn’t blow up completely… I guess I see myself as the new ruler of the planet.” I titled my head thoughtfully. I was obviously working with a man with a physiological psychologicalproblem.
“Mr. Berry, are you telling me that you think there is a conspiracy with our own government who are going to devastate this world?”
“Yes Ma’am,”
“So after the government devastates our world, will you be willing to relocate?”
“Hell no, I ain’t going anywhere,” I was now shifting uncomfortably in my seat. I knew one thing was for certain. If I ever saw Luke Bryan again, I would kill him.
“Thank you Mr. Berry,”
“Is that it, you’re done?”
“Yup,” I closed my journal and stood up.
“Those were very serious…facts,” I said. I was looking at the fifteen jugs I had seen when I had first walked in.
“Mr. Berry what are those?” I asked pointing at the bottles.
“My excretion,” I gagged slightly.
“Goodbye Mr. Berry,” I said walking over to the ladder. It felt good to get out of the disgusting hole. I thought that I was going to suffocate in there. As I walked on Mr. Berry came out after me. He seemed to feel unsafe out in the open.
“Wait,” he said walking after me. He was holding his brick.
“Yeah?” I asked.
“My wife went missing last year. She was taken away from me,”
“Mr. Berry I’m sorry offor your loss, but,” Mr. Berry raised his hand.
“Hear me out. I want to prove to the world that I’m not crazy to live in fear. I need your help,” I stood, ready to listen to him.
“My little girl was taken from me as well. You’re the fifth journalist who’s come to my house. You’re the first journalist who’s found me,”
“Mr. Berry, your theory?”
“Well I believe that my wife and daughter were taken from me by the government agencies. Some experiment,”
“Well why do you need my help?” I asked.
“You seem smarter than the other’s. I want you to come with me to find my family,” I didn’t want mention that I was slightly flattered
“Mr. Berry, I only get two months to write my story and I just met you. How do I know I can trust you?”
“I’ll pay you,”
“I’m not going to take your money,” I couldn’t help but wonder how he still owned his property. I was reminded of the for sale sign.
“Are you moving, I thought you said you didn’t want to relocate?”
“Toby Wyler, please help me,” I closed my eyes pretending to think. There was no way I was going on a road trip with this lunatic.
“Mr. Berry how can you be certain that the government took your family?”
“Because they left evidence, I know they’re somewhere out in the Atlantic Ocean by Africa. That’s the last time I saw?them,”
“Who?”
“My family. My wife Shannon was very smart, she was a marine biologist. That’s why we moved here from Pennsylvania,”
“Mr. Berry, you’re telling me that you had theories about you family being taken, about the government putting them into some sort of experiment in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean,”
“Now that’s sounds about right,” I rubbed my temples and sat down on the porch.
“Mr. Berry I understand your loss. I lost my father recently, but I don’t think by any means that the government took your family,” Mr. Berry sat down next to me.
“Tyler-”
“Toby,”
“Who names their daughter- My family is somewhere out in the Atlantic Ocean working for the damn government. And you’re just going to sit here and let my family be used in and experiment like lab rats?”
“I’ll have to think about it,” I said. I didn’t mean to add the hint of sarcasm.
“Tyler Wyler you should leave,”
“I’m sorry Mr. Berry.” I said getting up. “If you need anything I’m in that hotel just down the block, the Sleep Inn,” Mr. Berry made no effort to look up at me or say goodbye, so I just left.


Good, I like it!!! Grammer, as usual, and some word misusages (how ironic. I don't even think misusages is a word!) Other then that, you're writing, as usual, is amazingly imaginative.

The plane seats eased me into a sleep that I didn’t wake from until I was poked by the flight attendant.

How many seats does she need?

I shifted my carryon continuously from the five pounds of novels I had read on the plane ride and my work journal.

Typo: "carry-on". I thought that she had been sleeping, how could she read five pounds of novels in her sleep?

I watched as people were crammed into elevators and their luggage came spinning around the conveyor belt and was taken to their car.

Typo: "conveyor". Were all of those people in the elevators headed for the same car? Sounds like a crowded ride.

Making sure I had everything, I got my luggage and stumbled out to the taxies.

Typo: "taxis".

I was bouncing in my seat with such enthusiasm; Lars thought I was getting high on his cigarette smoke.

Thumbs up for this last line. I'm hooked, for sure. Seems like it could be an interesting journey, and I would very much like to read the rest of it. I hope you're not put off by my sarcastic way of reviewing, I just like to get my points made as straightforwardly as possible. PM me if there's anything you need; reviews included. Keep writing!

I guess it may just not be my type of story, but it seemed just a little bit boring. Maybe liven it up a bit and it will hold the readers attention better. I do think you have a good writing style though. Oh, yeah, your paragraphs a little short