Editing Hell, Hard reboot edition
Feb. 2nd, 2012 06:39 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
valarltdExpect to see that headline a lot.
I started with a manusctipt, incomplete at 99,475 words.
I am editing it into something readable and entertaining, not something the average reader is skimming whole pages of. As one reader said "This is boring as piss."
Old first page:
Sometimes his life was just one more plasti-card on the junkheap of life, Sean O'Neill decided as he waited on the doorstep of the exclusive penthouse, swallowing hard against his nervousness and the unaccustomed necktie. He could feel the weight of the visible surveillance cameras on him as he waited, and knew that more unseen ones, including monitoring systems that were likely giving him a more thorough physical examination than any medical clinic in his neighborhood, and automated drone weapons followed him as well. One wrong move, one heartbeat too many that revealed his nervousness, would get him killed.
He breathed slowly and thought of pleasant things to slow the heartbeat that drummed in his ears. He knew it was just his imagination that made it sound as if it was rolling down the hall like rhythmic thunder, echoing off the indirectly-lit eggshell white walls. He thought they were eggshell, but the blue-tinted false lenses over his eyes messed with color, making him wonder--his mind running away on any convenient tangent to avoid thinking of his situation--how some people wore them for years.
His fakes didn't even have a newsfeed to scroll through and alleviate the interminable waiting, even if it would be simply corporate propaganda. Arcologies like this one tended to block outside newsfeeds and other signals, preferring to give their residents exactly what the company wanted them to know. The scans hadn't bother with the fakes, any more than they had with the outrageously expensive clothing and shoes. Many people wore the fakes as a status symbol.
Sean had once dreamed of the life of an arcology sarariman. Things outside were getting bad enough that most people weren't living past sixty and not many babies were being born, and the ones that did mostly didn't live. The arcologies exploited this, their ads showing solarium meadows with happy families full of chubby babies and smiling grandparents, all enjoying the luxuries of arcology living as if they were ordinary. Sean had craved the luxuries like clean, filtered air, hot and cold running water twenty-four hours a day instead a weekly ration that could be anything from drinkable to dirtier than the body it was washing. He wanted the climate control that meant no more summer heat or winter blizzards would be uncomfortable, the reliable security making it safe to answer the doorbell or go out at any time of the night or day, and the constant electricity from a reliable grid. The more extravagant things, safe public transportation and clean, free restrooms, swimming pools, parks with real trees and animals, spas and clinics up to world-class hospitals as well as quality-controlled real food from the hydroponic farms and protein vats instead of the endless soyamix, they might all make up for limited net access and heavily-censored media.
New first page:
Sometimes his life was just one more plasti-card on the junkheap of life, Sean O'Neill decided as he waited for admittance to the arcology penthouse. From the expensive shoes up to the stylish fake blue lenses and very trendy haircut, he looked as if he belonged in a place like this. He couldn't show his nervousness, not to the visible surveillance cameras or the unseen ones that monitored everything from his pulse to his body temperature, not to himself and most of all, not to the mark.
He waited, appearing very calm and very patient, wishing for a newsfeed inside the lenses. Of course it would be nothing but corporate propaganda. Arcologies always blocked outside newsfeeds and other signals, preferring to give their residents exactly what the company wanted them to know.
Sean had once dreamed of the life of an arcology sarariman. Things outside were getting bad enough that most people weren't living past sixty and not many babies were being born. The ones that did mostly didn't live.
The arcologies exploited this, their ads showing solarium meadows with happy families full of chubby babies and smiling grandparents, all enjoying the luxuries of arcology living as if they were ordinary. Sean craved the luxuries like filtered air, hot and cold running water twenty-four hours a day instead a weekly ration that could be anything from drinkable to dirtier than the body it was washing. He wanted the climate control that meant no more summer heat or winter cold, the reliable security making it safe to answer the doorbell or go out at any time of the night or day, and the constant electricity from a reliable grid. The more extravagant things, safe public transportation and clean, free restrooms, swimming pools, parks with real trees and animals, spas and clinics up to world-class hospitals as well as quality-controlled real food from the hydroponic farms and protein vats instead of the endless soyamix, all made up for limited net access and heavily-censored media.
That was not his life. His education had been minimal and mostly practical and his vocational training nil. There was no room for him at any level of an arcology beyond dropping a package at the gate-house. With his criminal record, he wouldn't even qualify for a lowly position in an arcology's sub-level refuse reclamation plants or as a janitorial services technician. The arcologies were selective about who they allowed in.
Nor was the life he was wearing now his own. His borrowed identity had gotten him this far. The rest was up to him, once he got into the penthouse.
To take his mind from his nerves, he inventoried the waiting room. Like everywhere, the higher he went, the posher it became. Here at the top of Broine Tower, backed by all the money of Broine Enterprises, with their mercenaries, water monopolies and food patents, life looked very sweet.
Still boring?
I started with a manusctipt, incomplete at 99,475 words.
I am editing it into something readable and entertaining, not something the average reader is skimming whole pages of. As one reader said "This is boring as piss."
Old first page:
Sometimes his life was just one more plasti-card on the junkheap of life, Sean O'Neill decided as he waited on the doorstep of the exclusive penthouse, swallowing hard against his nervousness and the unaccustomed necktie. He could feel the weight of the visible surveillance cameras on him as he waited, and knew that more unseen ones, including monitoring systems that were likely giving him a more thorough physical examination than any medical clinic in his neighborhood, and automated drone weapons followed him as well. One wrong move, one heartbeat too many that revealed his nervousness, would get him killed.
He breathed slowly and thought of pleasant things to slow the heartbeat that drummed in his ears. He knew it was just his imagination that made it sound as if it was rolling down the hall like rhythmic thunder, echoing off the indirectly-lit eggshell white walls. He thought they were eggshell, but the blue-tinted false lenses over his eyes messed with color, making him wonder--his mind running away on any convenient tangent to avoid thinking of his situation--how some people wore them for years.
His fakes didn't even have a newsfeed to scroll through and alleviate the interminable waiting, even if it would be simply corporate propaganda. Arcologies like this one tended to block outside newsfeeds and other signals, preferring to give their residents exactly what the company wanted them to know. The scans hadn't bother with the fakes, any more than they had with the outrageously expensive clothing and shoes. Many people wore the fakes as a status symbol.
Sean had once dreamed of the life of an arcology sarariman. Things outside were getting bad enough that most people weren't living past sixty and not many babies were being born, and the ones that did mostly didn't live. The arcologies exploited this, their ads showing solarium meadows with happy families full of chubby babies and smiling grandparents, all enjoying the luxuries of arcology living as if they were ordinary. Sean had craved the luxuries like clean, filtered air, hot and cold running water twenty-four hours a day instead a weekly ration that could be anything from drinkable to dirtier than the body it was washing. He wanted the climate control that meant no more summer heat or winter blizzards would be uncomfortable, the reliable security making it safe to answer the doorbell or go out at any time of the night or day, and the constant electricity from a reliable grid. The more extravagant things, safe public transportation and clean, free restrooms, swimming pools, parks with real trees and animals, spas and clinics up to world-class hospitals as well as quality-controlled real food from the hydroponic farms and protein vats instead of the endless soyamix, they might all make up for limited net access and heavily-censored media.
New first page:
Sometimes his life was just one more plasti-card on the junkheap of life, Sean O'Neill decided as he waited for admittance to the arcology penthouse. From the expensive shoes up to the stylish fake blue lenses and very trendy haircut, he looked as if he belonged in a place like this. He couldn't show his nervousness, not to the visible surveillance cameras or the unseen ones that monitored everything from his pulse to his body temperature, not to himself and most of all, not to the mark.
He waited, appearing very calm and very patient, wishing for a newsfeed inside the lenses. Of course it would be nothing but corporate propaganda. Arcologies always blocked outside newsfeeds and other signals, preferring to give their residents exactly what the company wanted them to know.
Sean had once dreamed of the life of an arcology sarariman. Things outside were getting bad enough that most people weren't living past sixty and not many babies were being born. The ones that did mostly didn't live.
The arcologies exploited this, their ads showing solarium meadows with happy families full of chubby babies and smiling grandparents, all enjoying the luxuries of arcology living as if they were ordinary. Sean craved the luxuries like filtered air, hot and cold running water twenty-four hours a day instead a weekly ration that could be anything from drinkable to dirtier than the body it was washing. He wanted the climate control that meant no more summer heat or winter cold, the reliable security making it safe to answer the doorbell or go out at any time of the night or day, and the constant electricity from a reliable grid. The more extravagant things, safe public transportation and clean, free restrooms, swimming pools, parks with real trees and animals, spas and clinics up to world-class hospitals as well as quality-controlled real food from the hydroponic farms and protein vats instead of the endless soyamix, all made up for limited net access and heavily-censored media.
That was not his life. His education had been minimal and mostly practical and his vocational training nil. There was no room for him at any level of an arcology beyond dropping a package at the gate-house. With his criminal record, he wouldn't even qualify for a lowly position in an arcology's sub-level refuse reclamation plants or as a janitorial services technician. The arcologies were selective about who they allowed in.
Nor was the life he was wearing now his own. His borrowed identity had gotten him this far. The rest was up to him, once he got into the penthouse.
To take his mind from his nerves, he inventoried the waiting room. Like everywhere, the higher he went, the posher it became. Here at the top of Broine Tower, backed by all the money of Broine Enterprises, with their mercenaries, water monopolies and food patents, life looked very sweet.
Still boring?
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no subject
Date: 2012-02-03 07:35 am (UTC)The D-Man Checks In
Date: 2012-02-09 12:51 pm (UTC)In the future, cut off the re-write where the initial first page cut off so readers can see the difference & note the loss, either to appreciate it or object to it.
Re: The D-Man Checks In
Date: 2012-02-09 08:27 pm (UTC)Any reader can compare and see where the original first page terminated.