James McCreet applies a forensic micro-critique to the beginning of a reader’s manuscript
Michael Cox lives near Newcastleupon-Tyne with his partner and son. He’s worked for the NHS – currently within a Community Mental Health Team – for just over twenty-five years now. He finds writing a route to escapism from the seriousness and responsibility of work, and has been writing things with a humorous twist for just over ten years, after signing up for and completing a couple of introductory creative writing courses. This is his second novel, as yet untitled, an almost complete work in progress – a comedic story around the frustrations and annoyances of modern-day life, that just happen to drive an ordinary guy into becoming a serial killer!
He hadn’t killed before. And he hadn’t intended to kill today.1It’s not exactly normal human behaviour is it?2 He certainly didn’t have any intention when he woke this morning, but these things sometimes just happen3I guess.4
Now she’s lying naked on his cold garage floor.5Cold herself and completely motionless.6Not even the faintest pulse or beat of her heart.7
Four fluorescent tubes provide an overwhelming, almost clinical brightness to the garage.8Two concrete steps allow direct access to the house9– a house in which he’s resided all his life10– the most recent two years alone following the death of his mother.11
Twelve hours earlier she wasn’t lying on his cold garage floor.12She was cold and motionless, though her heart was beating,13her blood flowing, and her veins pulsating appropriately.14 She’d only woken moments ago15and was contemplating getting out of bed to begin her day. The last morning of her last day.16
He walked up those two concrete steps and entered the kitchen.17 The light seeping through the doorway18 giving glimpses of a utilitarian space, not decorated or upgraded for many years, and certainly not one where aesthetics or the ‘keeping up with the Joneses’ were of concern.19He knew that most items required for the next couple of hours were in the garage – hammer, pliers, hacksaw, a couple of power tools.20Some rope. Tarpaulin.21 Everything in its place exactly where it should be.22
He pondered for a moment, chuckling to himself wondering,23 ‘Did the first person to use the acronym ‘OCD’ have an obsession with words of three syllables?’ 24
But the carving knife was in the kitchen25 – top drawer of five, in the freestanding unit adjacent to the large cast iron stove.26A stove disproportionate in size and seemingly unnecessary for what you’d expect his simple cooking requirements to warrant.27
1 A bold and arresting
