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The JC gets the odd unsolicited manuscript from enthusiastic amateurs hoping for an Amazon review. They tend to suffer from the same kind of overwriting. | The JC gets the odd unsolicited manuscript from enthusiastic amateurs hoping for an Amazon review. They tend to suffer from the same kind of overwriting. | ||
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! Original Text !! Rewrite!! Comment | ! Original Text !! Rewrite!! Comment | ||
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| Barry Sutton pulls over into the fire lane at the main entrance of the Poe Building, an Art Deco tower glowing white in the illumination of its exterior sconces. He climbs out of his Crown Vic, rushes across the sidewalk, and pushes through the revolving door into the lobby. || Barry Sutton locks up his Crown Vic and squeals it to a halt on the sidewalk outside an art deco meringue. <br>The | | Barry Sutton pulls over into the fire lane at the main entrance of the Poe Building, an Art Deco tower glowing white in the illumination of its exterior sconces. He climbs out of his Crown Vic, rushes across the sidewalk, and pushes through the revolving door into the lobby. || Barry Sutton locks up his Crown Vic and squeals it to a halt on the sidewalk outside an art deco meringue. <br>The Poe Building glows under the glare of virgin sconces and thrusts skyward like some priapic, machine-age gorgon. <br>Sutton checks his tie in the wing mirror. He mutters, “okay, Baz-boy, let’s rock this,” exits the sled, bolts through the Poe’s revolvers and barks: “POLICE! Hold that goddamn elevator!” || ''Terrible'' first line, with far too much detail. Do we care that it is a fire lane, or the main and not some other entrance, or that Barry has arrived by car, or that it is a Crown Victoria? Unless he is in such a hurry to have squealed up, mounted the sidewalk and bounded out of his vehicle, leaving the door open to the ignored complaints of the doorman, we do not. But hey... I like that. The present tense is a constraining affectation, but let’s run with that. <br>What kind of a name is Barry Sutton, by the way? | ||
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| The night watchman is standing by the bank of elevators, holding one open as Barry hurries toward him, his shoes echoing off the marble. || rowspan ="5"| The porter grunts and jabs a button. <br>Sutton loafer-slides the last five yards of marble and hits the back wall. <br>“Where’s the damsel at, Jerry?”<br>The porter growls, “It’s ''Mike'', dipshit. She’s on forty-one. Hang a right and keep walking.” <br>The bell pings. <br>The doors clam. <br>The elevator surges. <br>Sutton sniffs back a nose-bleed and | | The night watchman is standing by the bank of elevators, holding one open as Barry hurries toward him, his shoes echoing off the marble. || rowspan ="5"| The porter grunts and jabs a button. <br>Sutton loafer-slides the last five yards of marble and hits the back wall. <br>“Where’s the damsel at, Jerry?”<br>The porter growls, “It’s ''Mike'', dipshit. She’s on forty-one. Hang a right and keep walking.” <br>The bell pings. <br>The doors clam. <br>The elevator surges. <br>Sutton sniffs back a nose-bleed and preps his A-game. || Flabby again. “Shoes echoing off the marble?” Please. | ||
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| “What floor?” Barry asks as he steps into the elevator car. || rowspan="4"| What matters here is a suicidal lady dangling off a parapet the 41st floor. Other than conveying the idea that he’s in a hurry to get to her, there’s no real need for any of Barry’s arrival, exit from car, negotiation of revolving doors, conversation with the doorman, journey up the elevator or across the carpeted expanse of the Forty-first floor. These are extraneous paragraphs: they give the reader no important information and tell us nothing about the characters nor their states of mind. And much of it is just stupid. How does an elevator “belie the age of a building”? Who honestly gives a shit that Barry’s ears pop — at least make it a nose bleed! — or there’s a law firm’s office here, or that there is carpet on the floor? | | “What floor?” Barry asks as he steps into the elevator car. || rowspan="4"| What matters here is a suicidal lady dangling off a parapet the 41st floor. Other than conveying the idea that he’s in a hurry to get to her, there’s no real need for any of Barry’s arrival, exit from car, negotiation of revolving doors, conversation with the doorman, journey up the elevator or across the carpeted expanse of the Forty-first floor. These are extraneous paragraphs: they give the reader no important information and tell us nothing about the characters nor their states of mind. And much of it is just stupid. How does an elevator “belie the age of a building”? Who honestly gives a shit that Barry’s ears pop — at least make it a nose bleed! — or there’s a law firm’s office here, or that there is carpet on the floor? | ||
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| The elevator races upward, belying the age of the building around it, and Barry’s ears pop after a few seconds. When the doors finally part, he moves past a sign for a law firm. There’s a light on here and there, but the floor stands mostly dark. He runs along the carpet, passing silent offices, a conference room, a break room, a library. The hallway finally opens into a reception area that’s paired with the largest office. | | The elevator races upward, belying the age of the building around it, and Barry’s ears pop after a few seconds. When the doors finally part, he moves past a sign for a law firm. There’s a light on here and there, but the floor stands mostly dark. He runs along the carpet, passing silent offices, a conference room, a break room, a library. The hallway finally opens into a reception area that’s paired with the largest office. | ||
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| In the dim light, the details are all in shades of gray. A sprawling mahogany desk buried under files and paperwork. A circular table covered in notepads and mugs of cold, bitter-smelling coffee. A wet bar stocked exclusively with bottles of Macallan Rare. A glowing aquarium that hums on the far side of the room and contains a small shark and several tropical fish.|| Forty-one is dark. Deserted. Sutton hangs right and makes for the single light source at the end of the hall. It opens onto a war-room | | In the dim light, the details are all in shades of gray. A sprawling mahogany desk buried under files and paperwork. A circular table covered in notepads and mugs of cold, bitter-smelling coffee. A wet bar stocked exclusively with bottles of Macallan Rare. A glowing aquarium that hums on the far side of the room and contains a small shark and several tropical fish.|| Forty-one is dark. Deserted. Sutton hangs right and makes for the single light source at the end of the hall. It opens onto a corner office war-room cluttered with the detritus of all-night deal-making: papers, markups, files, cold coffee. ''Everything but people''. Sheer curtains billow, and then Sutton clocks it: ''the balcony door is open''. He pads over. || “The details are all in shades of grey” is pretty dreary writing. Does cold coffee smell of anything, let alone bitterness? A small ''shark'' in a fish tank? Seriously? What relevance is the whisky? To point out wealth? Better to lead Barry out towards the deck. | ||
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| As Barry approaches the French doors, he silences his phone and removes his shoes. Taking the handle, he eases the door open and slips out onto the terrace.|| Barry sheds the loafers and slips out onto the terrace.|| What is the obsession with shoes? Does it matter that his phone is on silent? Do we need to know about the handle? No. | | As Barry approaches the French doors, he silences his phone and removes his shoes. Taking the handle, he eases the door open and slips out onto the terrace.|| Barry sheds the loafers and slips out onto the terrace.|| What is the obsession with shoes? Does it matter that his phone is on silent? Do we need to know about the handle? No. | ||
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! | ! Crouch’s original !! The JC’s go | ||
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|{{indent|Barry Sutton pulls over into the fire lane at the main entrance of the Poe Building, an Art Deco tower glowing white in the illumination of its exterior sconces. He climbs out of his Crown Vic, rushes across the sidewalk, and pushes through the revolving door into the lobby. | | style="width: 50%"| {{indent|Barry Sutton pulls over into the fire lane at the main entrance of the Poe Building, an Art Deco tower glowing white in the illumination of its exterior sconces. He climbs out of his Crown Vic, rushes across the sidewalk, and pushes through the revolving door into the lobby. | ||
The night watchman is standing by the bank of elevators, holding one open as Barry hurries toward him, his shoes echoing off the marble. | The night watchman is standing by the bank of elevators, holding one open as Barry hurries toward him, his shoes echoing off the marble. | ||
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He stops. | He stops. | ||
}} | }} | ||
|| {{indent|Barry Sutton locks up his Crown Vic and squeals it to a halt on the sidewalk outside an art deco meringue. | | style="width: 50%"| {{indent|Barry Sutton locks up his Crown Vic and squeals it to a halt on the sidewalk outside an art deco meringue. | ||
The | The Poe Building glows under the glare of virgin sconces and thrusts skyward like some priapic, machine-age gorgon. | ||
Sutton checks his tie in the wing mirror. He mutters, “okay, Baz-boy, let’s rock this,” exits the sled, bolts through the Poe’s revolvers and barks: “POLICE! Hold that goddamn elevator!” | Sutton checks his tie in the wing mirror. He mutters, “okay, Baz-boy, let’s rock this,” exits the sled, bolts through the Poe’s revolvers and barks: “POLICE! Hold that goddamn elevator!” | ||
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The elevator surges. | The elevator surges. | ||
Sutton sniffs back a nose-bleed and | Sutton sniffs back a nose-bleed and preps his A-game. | ||
Forty-one is dark. Deserted. Sutton hangs right and makes for the single light source at the end of the hall. It opens onto a war-room | Forty-one is dark. Deserted. Sutton hangs right and makes for the single light source at the end of the hall. It opens onto a corner office war-room, cluttered with the detritus of all-night deal-making: papers, markups, files, cold coffee. ''Everything but people''. | ||
Window-side sheer curtains billow, and Sutton clocks it: ''the balcony door is open''. He pads over. | |||
Barry sheds the loafers and slips out onto the terrace. | Barry sheds the loafers and slips out onto the terrace. | ||
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“I can smell your cologne,” she says, and sniffs. She does not look back. | “I can smell your cologne,” she says, and sniffs. She does not look back. | ||
Sutton freezes | Sutton freezes. | ||
}} | }} | ||
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