First Page Shooter #9

75,000 words

Original Text

Sidney Bidwell and the silver Porsche zigged and zagged , leaving the courteous drivers of lesser cars in his wake. The common folk used turn signals and enjoyed the view--the mighty Hudson below or the sun-baked cliffs across the river. Sidney read his text message. He didn't see the box truck slow to a halt, and he never felt a thing (had this made the news report, some might have said it only proves life isn't fair). The delay on the bridge that morning was brutal.

Sidney stumbled through dense fog, toward an off-key whistle. The mist thinned, the clearing revealed the source of the happy melody. The little man approached Sidney and smiled.

“That’s one hell of a turn, isn’t it, Sidney?” He clasped Sidney’s hand between his own. “You died, Sidney…on the bridge. A few minutes ago.”

Sidney pushed him away.

“How could I be dead?” Sidney shouted. “Who are you?”

“Calm down, Sidney. I'm dead, you're dead…what's the difference? I’m Patrick...your only friend now.” Patrick pulled an I-Pad from his pocket, and laughed. “You've never seen these apps.You sell commercial real estate. Forty five. Divorced, two kids.”

Sidney could hardly breathe. “How do you know that? Where am I?” his voice cracked.

Patrick raised his brow. “Where do you think you are, Sidney?”

“Am I in heaven?” Sidney asked hopefully.

Patrick burst out laughing.

“Heaven? That’s rich! A foggy day and another prick thinks he’s in heaven.”

***

With Suzie's Notes

Sidney Bidwell and the silver Porsche zigged and zagged , leaving the courteous drivers of lesser cars in his wake. The common folk used turn signals and enjoyed the view--the mighty Hudson below or the sun-baked cliffs across the river. Sidney read his text message. He didn't see the box truck slow to a halt, and he never felt a thing (had this made the news report, some might have said it only proves life isn't fair). The delay on the bridge that morning was brutal.

I can tell from the opening this isn't exactly the kind of story I'm drawn to. The tone is light and ironic and a little distanced.  But for people who do like this kind of story, it's not a bad for paragraph. There are subtle details about Sidney to let us know what kind of person he was.

Sidney stumbled through dense fog, toward an off-key whistle. The mist thinned, the clearing revealed the source of the happy melody. The little man approached Sidney and smiled.

There's nothing wrong with this "after-death" scene, though I would have found myself much more interested if it was something new and different. This feels cliched with the mist thinning and a little man whistling and off key but happy song.

“That’s one hell of a turn, isn’t it, Sidney?” He clasped Sidney’s hand between his own. “You died, Sidney…on the bridge. A few minutes ago.”

Sidney pushed him away.

“How could I be dead?” Sidney shouted. “Who are you?”

With dialogue in emotional moments (no matter how distanced the narrative), less is usually more.  The problem here is that Sidney expresses three different reactions in split seconds. That doesn't work. Denial, anger, confusion are accurate emotions for him, but without slowing the pace down so the reader can process everything, they'll be distanced from the story and going "wait, what?"

“Calm down, Sidney. I'm dead, you're dead…what's the difference? I’m Patrick...your only friend now.” Patrick pulled an I-Pad from his pocket, and laughed. “You've never seen these apps.You sell commercial real estate. Forty five. Divorced, two kids.”

Again, there's too much here, too quickly, without transitions, and as a reader I'm not sure what I should be grabbing onto, what I should be getting out of this. I'm not sure if Patrick is a ghost or a reaper or something else completely. The iPad and the apps make no sense to me at all, and while the details about Sidney are things I didn't know, I'm not sure I care enough about him yet.

Sidney could hardly breathe. “How do you know that? Where am I?” his voice cracked.

Patrick raised his brow. “Where do you think you are, Sidney?”

“Am I in heaven?” Sidney asked hopefully.

Patrick burst out laughing.

“Heaven? That’s rich! A foggy day and another prick thinks he’s in heaven.”

By this point I'm completely lost and disinterested. This conversation reads too cliched, and the last few lines don't read as funny (I'm not sure if they're supposed to or not). But I don't care about or feel any attachment to Sidney or Patrick--or their situation. And I'm not convinced there's anything unique about this story. It feels too much like something I've read or seen before.