Cowboy Killer
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IMDB rating: 2.10 Plot: A cowboy from the old west strolls into a small town for one last hurrah causing havoc and forcing locals to take their own action. |
Actors: Bailey Paul,Adams Rich,Brooks Delvin,Buckler David,Burton Jerett,Camery Jaymes,Campbell Gene,Carlyle Anthony,Clark Larry,Creig Marcus,Crowe Greg,Durbin Joseph D.,Fahrenkopf Paul,Findley Nama,Foreman Bradley,Horror,
You think I am a good writer?
The darkness was too deep, the silence was too dead. The lights flickered as if winking at him, the subliminal whispering goodbye to him. Also goodnight because, soon, they were to be dead - along with the still night.
Cheap hugging b… ! Stupid tree-hugging losers who want him to save the world.
Lights - ever heard of lights? He muttered with the scar on his upper lip bouncing against his pronounced nose. With his hair darker than his black eyes, gently rubbing his snotty nose, he gazed out the ocean as the waves combed the shore. It sounded like a lullaby; as the waves gently hit the rocks like drumsticks against a drum.
He chuckled uncontrollably like hiccuping, thinking of how in grade school they used to say ‘friends before money’.
Money bought him this nice prison cell, this 4×10 prison cell overlooking the massive ocean which looked like dark oil.
He thought about Patrice; how he was the most important person in her life. She was The Chosen One, she loved him so much she died for him - what an exulted thing she committed!
He thought about her in that white dress, the way her eyes reflected like a knife, their shade so pale that tears that were falling were the same color as her eyes. Mimicking his heartbeats, not a beat out of rhythm.
The light went out, nothing left to see now but the stars trapped in the sky. He was just as strapped in as the stars. Tomorrow was the day to brake out, tell the world what he really was! Fame, fame, fame - newspapers will be printing, bigger than any famous stuck-up, no-good loser. (jejune) characters that are going to wish they were him.
He looked down at his concrete whole, for the first time after escaping. Going to be that no good, cop that was jealous of his fame, who got him in this mess in the first place! He put his painting back to the whole when he heard the words starting.
I-I-I wa…w-want a cigarette! hey ! -the voice stuttered, as if an earthquake was in his voice.
He looked over to find a young 19-year-old Jim there. He killed his parents for calling him ‘good old chubs’. The killer gazed at him, his stomach sunk into the bars as far as they went. Sections of fat rolled over the bars. Pure fat cells, just flapping as if it wanted to fly away. It was clear that nothing on this boy was capable of flying, or even clearly being able to lift past it’s gravity.
P-pa pa-a pap leas- Jim jeered, as if protesting.
The killer began singing, chanting in a voice ‘I shot the sheriff but I didnt shoot no deputy, oh no! oh!
I shot the sheriff, but I didnt shoot no deputy, ooh, ooh, oo-ooh’.
Yeah! All around in my hometown,
They’re tryin’ to track me down;
They say they want to bring me in guilty
For the killing of a deputy,
For the life of a deputy.
But I say ‘Have a cigarette! Chubs
in what little light there was to light up the room, the killer grabbed a cigarette, lit it and began to smoke.
Jim stared at him as if he were to do a trick, breaths quickening. He approached with his arms out, his stuttering turning to pronunciations a newborn could make. Then the killer’s eyes lit up like a candle with rage, remembering: ‘no distractions till then’.
He could feel his blood boil.. He wanted to compress his face into the bars. Make his skull into mash potatoes. Watch thin blood pour, to the floor. Same color as thin, crimson, Chianti wine.
Yet, this caged bird would sing again. Life outside the big house was looking to pulchritudinous.
He tossed the cigarette right after getting a whiff, the red light rolled across the floor and that was going to be him. He was going to roll away; no more gambling for cigarettes, it was real money now!
It made him think of the deadman’s hand, aces and 8s. They call it deadman’s hand because a man was killed for winning when a guy bet a lease on his house. Bam shot him, for having 8s and aces in his hand, back in cowboy times.
The cop that got him here was going to get dealt a deadman’s hand now.
Before I start in, thank you for being coherent. You’re miles better than most of the people on here, and you have a great start. I don’t know you, I don’t know how long you’ve been writing, but I can tell that you’ve put a lot of effort into this, and it just needs a little fine-tuning.
However, you do have a few issues. Feel free to take it or leave it, but please be aware that I’m not saying this to be mean–I’m saying it because I like commenting on people’s stuff, and as self-inflated as it sounds, because criticism makes the world go ’round. 
Okay, for one, use quotation marks. You’re not Cormac McCarthy.
Second, stop with the metaphors. It’s possible to describe things without going into cliche.
Third, pulchritudinous. Unnecessary. It doesn’t make you look smart; it just makes you look like you flipped through a thesaurus. Especially because it doesn’t agree with your verb.
Finally, you’re trying too hard. It should feel natural to read, easy, flowing, and completely effortless. Or rather, it should feel like the writing was that way, even if every word is soaked in blood, sweat and tears of the writer.
Close your eyes. Picture the scene. It should be clear in your mind, sharp, every detail sticking out, every emotion of every person present radiating through your head. Now–which are important? Pick those out. What do they look like? What is the first thing that comes to your mind? What would your narrator see as the most important aspects? What sticks out to him? Use those.
Let it flow. Drop the pretentious metaphors, the pretentious syntax. Let go. Good luck
Len | Jan 07, 2010
You have the standard limited POV problem that many writers do. Think about whose head you are in. Now think about what he’s thinking, and what he can see and hear and feel.
That’s all you get to write. You don’t get to describe his hair colour and what his scar looks like.
You also need to go revise dialogue punctuation, and to stop using fancy words wrong. "pulchritudinous" is an adjective. Life can’t "look to" an adjective. And exalted would make far more sense than exulted does.
cathrl69 | Jan 07, 2010
