Hello, my friend, Azrael,

First off, I must tell you that I'm not a fan of first person, present tense. It is far too limiting for me, with a strict adherence to a single POV -- where, without exception, the protagonist must be in every scene. For this and other reasons, it is also the most difficult style of writing, and I wonder why you have chosen it. You have an obvious flare for writing, a gift that is wasted unnecessarily on a format which is more the domain of screenplays, short stories, memoirs and such.

Even first person, past tense is preferable, easier, than the other. Third person, past tense, gives the author the maximum freedom to express him or herself in the most creative ways possible. Which is why, of course, the majority of writers choose this latter format. It's probably still true that many publishers/editors will, upon seeing a submission written in first person, stop reading and immediately toss the work into the day's heap of rejected manuscripts.

The good news is that, were you willing, a rewrite in third person, past tense, is pretty simple as these things go. To illustrate my point, I have carved out a small chunk of your first chapter and have taken the liberty of rewriting it accordingly. At least you'll be able to see what I'm getting at.

One last important observation that deserves mentioning is your stilted dialogue which is utterly devoid of contractions. Good writing is (or ought to be) a nonstop dance between narrative and dialogue. Readers need to identify one from the other, and rely on that identification throughout the entire piece. The easiest way for an author to accomplish this dance, is in keeping the narrative free of contractions, while the dialogue is loaded with them. And never deviating from what must remain a consistent, repetitive, and reliable pattern.

Once you've published a major piece such as Dead Man's Grin (if changed to third person, past tense), you can try your hand at a short story written in first person. But again, know that critiques of first person are (or should be) the most critical. And if done well, will likely drive you to rewrite in third person, in spite of yourself.

What follows is the beginning of chapter one, Oasis, written in third person, past tense. My rewrite is intended only as a template to be followed, such that you get a serious feel for the kind of changes that I suggest be made. As things are, otherwise, I'm not able to critique such a work as this. But that's less of a criticism of your writing, than it is an honest confession that I'm actually not qualified to review your work in its current form.

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Clayton stepped into the saloon as a breath caught in his wind-parched throat. Things are much too quiet, he thought.

The swinging doors, like a pair of horse tails swishing flies, flapped silently on well-oiled hinges. Far more spacious than the place appeared from the outside, the interior bore stairs that led to both upper and lower tiers. The floor itself was some kind of smooth, polished surface, a type of stone so it seemed.

Unusual.

Sunlight filtered through dust-smothered window panes, then reflected off the floor and infused the room's wooden walls with a deceptive sense of warmth.

Strange, Clayton thought. What wasn't? As his eyes adjusted more to the dimly lit barroom, he noticed how no lights hung from the high ceiling. Or protruded from fancy wall sconces. Nothing stirred. Not a candle, nor a lantern. Not even a hungry roach or rat, looking for leftovers.

Skullface, an unfriendly moniker that stuck because Clayton's countenance was more cadaver, and less that of something human. Someone whose gunslinging ways had earned him far more than a fearful nickname. Though the stillness had allowed the gunman's mind to wander from his more immediate concerns, his eyes darted to every corner of the saloon.

Searching inside shadows as if his eyes were beams of light, Clayton sought to reveal what hidden dangers might lurk in a liquor joint which had seen better days. Lots of better days.

The sensors on Clayton's scratched, time-worn clockwork detector suddenly came alive on his wrist. High concentrations of metallic substances were registering, yet he perceived no signs of mechanical activity. A quick scan of the walls revealed more than a lack of hidden machinery.

Ol' Skullface sighed with soundless relief as he noticed the absence of wanted posters sporting his ugly mugshot on them. No one'll come looking for me here, not thousands of kilometers from the nearest surface settlement. Surely this is too remote even for the Eviscerators. With their huge appetites for coal acting to limit their range, the 'scarators, as they were known, bore neither malice nor mercy.

Clayton let go of another trapped breath and looked ahead, toward the horizontal shelves that sat laden with bottles whose contents, like captured snippets of a rainbow, boasted every color imaginable.

A female bartender, as old as his own mother might be, Clayton imagined, had he ever known her, stared at him as he approached the wide length of bar top. The woman's eyes held their gaze and, with a placid expression on her round face, somehow managing to look soft and stern at the same time. Not unlike a 'scarator, he figured, whose smile was pallid but menacing. Perhaps she was like that. Both passive and deadly.

Maybe it was the grey-streaked hair, too tightly pulled back and tied in a bun, that made her appear just a mite too tense. Or her lack of a smile, offered to a prospective customer. The answers no doubt lie in and those piercing, unflinching eyes. He reckoned she had seen her fair share of trouble.

"Howdy. You open?” Clayton offered his own half-smile as he drew close to the bar and leaned into it. His eyes also glimpsed the trail dust his well-worn boots had left along the otherwise pristine floor.

With a deadpan reply, the barkeep said, “Did you pick a lock to get in here?”

Great, he thought, with no lack of irony. When you're the butt of a joke as often as 'Ol Skullface had been, you tend to give a trigger-happy reaction to humor of that sort. Especially sarcasm.

Clayton's neck muscles tensed and his finger twitched from force of habit. Take a breath, he told himself, trying to remain calm. A deep one. Count 'til you don’t have to count no more.

Perching himself on a hard, metal bar stool, he finally answered, “Not a fan of them. I keep my distance from anything that ain't mine. And away from where I'm not wanted -- if you know what I mean.”

"Can’t say that I do, mister. Know what you mean, that is." The woman then planted both hands on the bar in front of her. "Now, then," A trace hint of a smile pursed her lips, "what can I do you for?”

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Azrael, please pay close attention to every line, where I sometimes leave most of the words untouched, and sometimes, oftentimes I change most everything. More than anything, I'd like that you get a feel for how magical is third person, past tense. There is lots of room for more descriptions, more details that place the reader inside the words. And worlds. Learn, if you can, to visualize the scenes as if you're the protagonist, and not just the writer who's telling us what happens. Instead of showing us.

This style also allows you to write, in outline form, a bare bones sketch of the entire story. Which you've already done, in my opinion. A good sketch, that is.

Because it's not my job to judge, but rather to encourage, please understand that there is no real right or wrong, in terms of format and style. Similar to poetry in that regard. If you like first person whatever, then stick with it, by all means. My encouragement would then comprise an insistence that you learn to write first person well. Thus you can see my dilemma when it comes to reviewing that particular format.

If you want to stay the course with first person, it is imperative that you find someone, or work with someone who can show you the ropes, so to speak. I also hope you take note of the many adjectives and adverbs that I've added or replaced. Neither of them belong to any one style, and they can only help what is otherwise a lackluster narrative.

Synonyms are also critically important. A thesaurus is an absolute necessity and should be by your side at all times.

That's enough out of me for now. Let me know how I did with this. And any other questions that come to mind.

Be well, my friend.

Bob

P.S. I just realized how skimpy were my own remarks of encouragement. I was so busy picking at this and that, I forgot to tell you how impressed I was with the overall theme of your story. I like the idea that you desire to make comments about racism, good and evil, and so forth. To repeat an earlier observation, I feel strongly that you have great potential as a writer. I hope you stick with it and defeat the demons who will do everything in their power to discourage you. No, I'm not one of those demons!








My review has been submitted for consideration in "Good Deeds Get CASH!" .