Young Writers Society

Hey all, I've been working on a concept for a new novel/novella over the past few months. Tonight I decided to try and put a bit down on paper. This right here is sort of the preamble/first chapter. It doesn't really explain alot because it takes places a couple of years after the actual story does. I mostly just want commentary on my writing style, if this is possible. Sometimes I feel like my writing is really dry to read with a lot of purple language. thanks a lot.

Mr. Marlon Sinclair sat upon the rickety wooden swing on his front porch, allowing his mind to sedate as he viewed his cows meandering throughout his front field. They were lazy, and rightfully so; each blade of grass was entirely at the mercy of their greedy jaws. They acted upon the whim of none, save their own stomachs. Occasionally a fly buzzed around the ear of one, and each time she shook her head, batting it away without concern. The sun was beginning to set on the snow-capped mountains a league or so in the distance. Its light radiated upon each individual blade of grass, allowing them to glint to their fullest potential, sending light waves across the field with every gasp of the wind. The wind’s voice reverberated throughout the valley so as to make all those present cognizant of the pure vastness of the world.

“The Big Sky,” he murmured as he raised a mason jar of beer to his mouth and took a swig. “What a big sky.” It was a beautiful phenomenon, the fact that he could, when the urge existed, emit infinite expletives without the shrug of another person. The simplicity of his isolation permitted him such niceties. He smiled to himself, kicking off of the wooden porch floor so as to swing slightly faster.

As the sun spent its final hour above the horizon, the clouds above the mountains danced in vibrant shades of coral pink. They summoned him, begging him to join them in their glee. He leaned further backwards, attempting to disassociate himself with the ground and all things mundane. He felt himself floating with leisure throughout the sky. In the distance, a cow called out, and Marlon smiled in response. The cows were able to speak candidly as well. They were such simple creatures, and for this he admired them. Cows care only for their young and their food. The simplicity of nature was preferable to whatever unnecessary extremities existed only a few miles from his home.

It was then that Marlon saw the dust gathering in the distance. It was subtle, but amidst his solace Marlon noticed the intrusion immediately.

“And now who in the Hell could that be?”

Within a minute the outline of a car in the distance became clear as it made its way up Marlon’s potholed drive. It putted along, hardly suited for such a ragged road; the car itself was practically an antique, one of the older hybrids.

Marlon scowled and set his beer down. “And what is this goofball of a hippy doing on my lot?”

It took several minutes for the little blue car to finally reach Marlon’s house as the numerous potholes and general meandering nature of the drive thwarted it. The cows cried, trampling away from the car’s path and into the heart of the field, seeking sanctuary within the heart of the field. A little brown Jersey calf, presumably separated from her mother, stood directly in the car’s path, and only with a honk of its horn did she scurry away in search of her mother. Marlon shuddered at the noise.

The car eventually pulled into a position perpendicular to the house before coming to a complete halt. Dust still hung all along the length of the drive. Marlon finally stood up from the swing and took a couple paces towards the edge of the porch. He stood still for several moments, hands on hips.

The car door then opened, and out stepped Mr. Pritchard Sinclair. For a minute he did not approach the house and instead beamed over the roof of his car at his older brother. His unkempt mousy hair flickered in the slight breeze.

“Well, are you going to greet me properly or just stand there like a dolt?” Pritchard said, slamming the car door and hastening towards the house. His long legs and leaping gate gave him the appearance of a young foal. He scampered with the uncontainable excitement of a young animal as well. He stumbled on the bottom stair, his loose jeans catching on the frayed wood. Marlon’s old sheepdog at last stood up and scurried over to Pritchard, sniffing the man’s dirty old sneakers with euphoria.

“Well?” said Pritchard, a smile quickly stretching across his face.

Marlon said nothing and his countenance remained stern. When Pritchard lifted his arms in order to embrace his brother, Marlon returned the gesture, his disgruntlement eminent.

They parted almost immediately.

“It’s been a while, brother,” said Pritchard, his smile unfaltering.

“That it has.” Marlon shrugged and returned to his seat on the swing. “I’ve been busy.”

Pritchard laughed as he sat upon the swing as well. He reached down, grabbing Marlon’s half-full jar of beer. He took a sip and shuddered. “Obviously pretty busy if you’re all about this motor oil.” He shuddered again. “Hoppy.”

“Marlon quickly grabbed the beer from his brother’s grasp. “Either quit drinkin’ it or quit complainin’, then!” He downed a large gulp, refraining from any palpitations. “One of my buddies down in the valley brews this himself.”

“Sounds like a grand ole time.” Pritchard shook his head and stared at the last remnants of sunlight disappearing behind the mountains: the most peaceful moment of every evening. Even the cows were completely silent as though out of reverence. They had congregated at the southern end of the field, out of eyeshot. The crickets were beginning to chip and a single bat flew overhead. The birds were silent.

“So is this it? A typical evening in the life?” Pritchard asked.

Marlon twitched at the sudden verbal expression and then scowled. “What do you mean, ‘is this it?’ Of course it’s it. It’s the sunset. I was trying to mind my own business and enjoy it when you stomped on through.”

“Maybe I wanted to enjoy it with you.”

“Okay then.” Marlon gestured towards the view. “Enjoy it, respect it. Look at all of that. From my house, to the mountains, and beyond. It’s all mine. Tomorrow I can just wake up and decide to take a walk over that mountain there. Or I can just sit right here and drink my beer. But I’m not obligated to any of it. I ain’t obligated to nothing except myself.”

“So I’m assuming it’s these cows that’re keeping you busy enough?”

Marlon shrugged. “They’re a lot of work.” He stared off at the horizon, the corners of his lips pulling into a slight frown.

“I only ask ‘cause I don’t like seeing you with nothing to do, Marlon. That’ll make a dude sick, you know? Especially since you used to always be so active and all. I guess you just learned how to keep yourself busy in other ways.

Marlon’s frown crinkled further.

“I mean, who last visited you? It’s gotta have been me. Six months ago. And that’s just sad. Aren’t you lonely? But it’s not like you’re even prepared for any guests. And I’m guessing that’s almost intentional. I mean, Hell! What a host! He won’t even share his beer.”

Marlon at last sought eye contact with his brother. “Why’d you come here?”

Pritchard’s face erupted into a shocked smile. “What a question! What a host! I guess it’s a crime now, just to visit my lovely, accommodating brother.”

“Uninvited. Probably should be a crime. Trespassing actually – so I think it really is.”

“Well,” Pritchard reached into the breast pocket of his purple Members Only jacket. “You can always vote on that one then, I guess.” He handed Marlon a pile of mismatched papers and pamphlets.

Marlon held the pile in his fingertips as though it were a particularly disgusting hors d’oeuvre. “What’s this?”

“The month’s referendums. I checked, and you haven’t voted in three years, so I took it upon myself to bring ‘em out here for you. Thought you might wanna try to actually participate in modern society again.”

“Why would – never mind.” Marlon opened a pamphlet and began to read.

“I thought you could fill them out over dinner. Although I’m gonna assume you don’t have enough food for a meal for two. I won’t leave until you’ve got all those filled out, though.”

Marlon set the pamphlet on his lap and looked over at his brother. “I’m sorry, but there’s no way. Thank you for driving all the way out here, but I just can’t do it anymore.”

Pritchard rolled his eyes. “Your apathy is boring me.”

Marlon stacked the pamphlets in a neat pile on the porch. The old sheepdog sniffed them for a second and then continued on with apparent disinterest. “There’s no way, Perch. But I’ll make you dinner anyway, if that’ll shut your annoying jabber.” He stood up to leave, but Pritchard grabbed his arm.

“Oi, one second, kiddo!”

“Hmm?”

A maniacal smile flickered across Pritchard’s face. “You got anything good to smoke?”

Marlon laughed for the first time that day. “I should’ve known. I should’ve known. You city folk don’t have anything good to smoke nowadays?”

“Well I mean, yeah, of course we have some stuff. But you’ve gotta get it all through the municipality now, and I already used my whole ration for the month.”

“And? You think I’m obligated to just give you my grass?”

Pritchard smiled and shrugged. “I brought you all your important mail.”

“Like I needed it. Wait a minute, I’ll be right back.” He entered the house.

The old sheepdog returned to Pritchard, once again sniffing his dirty sneakers. Pritchard held his hand over the dog’s head and after that slight moment of reservation proceeded to pat him.

Marlon returned, joint in hand. “You’re welcome,” he said, moving to hand it to his brother. But he stopped fast, holding it a few inches above Pritchard’s anticipatory hands. “Wait a minute – tell me I was right.”

“In which instance? Come on, just hand it over.” He attempted to snatch the joint from Marlon’s hand.

“Nah, nah, wait a minute. Here’s a clear instance. I always told you we shouldn’t let the municipality centralize pot. And now they’ve done it, just like you wanted, and now you’re complaining. So who was right?”

Pritchard rolled his eyes. “It’s still better this way. I’m happy with it. Now come on! Don’t be like that.”

Marlon renounced and set the joint in his brother’s palm, who immediately stuck it in his mouth, drew a match, and lit it. For several minutes they sat in silence, relishing the smoke and stillness of the evening in general.

“You know I really do like it out here, Perch. You don’t have to worry.”

Pritchard considered. “It’s not that I’m worried.”

“What, then?”

“I just know you can’t possibly like it as much as you make out.” He burst out into a chuckle.

“And why not?” Marlon asked, flushed. “Nothing wrong with it in the country.”

“I mean, when you first decided to move out here, I gotta admit I thought it was a little weird. I didn’t think it would last. I mean, how did it? What do you do all day? Don’t you miss people?”

Marlon shrugged. “Not in particular. I’m tired. I’m done. I’m having my hour of relaxation in bed before I go to sleep, and I think I deserve it.”

Silence followed, broken only by the crickets, which were becoming increasingly active. The moon shone overhead, illuminating parts of the field. A single cow sauntered in front of the porch.

“You haven’t asked me how I’m doing,” said Pritchard.

“I know.”

“In that case, I’ll let you know that I’m doing good. Work’s good, the wife’s good, the kids good. She’s five now, you know?”

“Little Dawn. She was a cute kid.”

“Thanks, I think the same.”

Marlon took a deep breath. “Does – never mind.”

“What?”

“Nothing. Nothing important.”

Pritchard leaned back and took the last drag of the joint, allowing the smoke to hover across his face. “I already know what you’re going to ask. I don’t see Lorelei ever, really. I’m sorry, Mo. I don’t really have any advice for you on that one.”

“It’s fine.” Marlon stood up. “I oughta get started on dinner.” He entered the house and Pritchard followed suite. After the sound of the screen door slamming behind the brothers, the outside once again returned to tranquility. The old sheepdog lay perpendicular to the edge of the porch; chin resting on his paws, observing the wind weaving through the blades of grass. The air was still and now much cooler than it had been throughout the majority of the day. And it was heavy.

There was a sudden commotion from within the house. The old sheepdog immediately stood up and ran towards the door, barking incessantly and then scratching at the screen door. For approximately thirty seconds the sounds of a struggle could be heard from within – shouting voices, a dish breaking and, at last, a gunshot.

The night was once again still.