FROM PB SIMISTER
My wife tried to kill me. It’s not what you think, something was wrong with her.
Holly came home from work looking like death warmed up. Her face was pale, clammy and stained with the telltale red lines caused by crying. I hugged her, sat her down on the couch, and tried to find out what had gotten her into such a state. What she told me seemed like one of those fevered nightmares that don’t let go, even after waking.
First off, I should explain that Holly going to work had always been a cause of disagreement for me. As a somewhat successful writer of children’s fiction, I felt that she didn’t need to work in the first place. It became the cause of many arguments.
Holly had explained that she wanted independence, and most of all; she wanted something to do rather than sit around the house constantly bored. I begrudgingly conceded that she had a point, so she kept her job at the local travel agents. Right now though, I hate that she worked. I hate that she chose to walk home when there’s a perfectly nice car in the garage, but mostly, I hate her genuinely nice and helpful personality.
So there she was, walking home from work.
“I heard a scream coming from the churchyard,” she told me. She didn’t even need to add that she’d gone over to help. “So I walked over to see if I could help.”
My silly, wonderful, brave, Holly.
She sobbed again and looked into my eyes, her gaze full of sadness and horror.
“There was a man, homeless, I think. He was covered in mud and looked drunk.”
Everyone in the area knew that particular churchyard was a drinking and drug using spot for the dregs of society. Nobody in his or her right mind would go in there after hearing a scream, but my Holly steamed right in to help.
“He was attacking a woman, that’s who was screaming,” more sobbing and a fresh flood of tears streamed down her cheeks.
I asked if the woman was dirty, drunk, or both. Holly shot me a look that seemed to ask, “Why the **** would that make a difference?” and shook her head.
“No, she was well dressed, a little older than me,” she threw herself into my arms. “Oh God, William,” she buried her face into my chest and screamed. Even though my chunky brown sweater muffled the screams, they were still loud enough to get me worrying about what the neighbours might have thought.
To be perfectly honest here, I didn’t have a clue what I should do, so I just held her.
After a few minutes had passed, she lifted her head and looked at me. Her face was plastered in snot and tears and her skin became so pale that it seemed like some kind of ethereal porcelain. Something was very wrong.
“He killed her, William,” she stammered the words out between sobs and I stared down at her incredulously. “He bit her throat out right there in front of me. Just ripped her neck apart with his teeth and groaned like a perverted maniac.”
I didn’t know how to respond. This was without a doubt the strangest ‘guess what happened to me today’ story I had ever heard. I didn’t believe it. How could I? It sounded like something from a late night horror movie.
They’re coming to get you, Holly.
“I threw my shoe at him,” she said, nodding her head to affirm her bravery. I looked down and sure enough, her left shoe was missing and her slender foot was beaten and bloody.
My foolish, heroic, shoeless Holly.
“It just made him angry, William. He came right at me but,” she paused to choke back more tears before continuing. “Something was wrong with him, his eyes were all white and his skin was grey.”
Now it really did sound like a bad horror movie. She must have seen the doubt in my eyes because she suddenly pulled away and rested her head in her hands. That was when I spotted blood seeping through the sleeve of her jacket. I reached out to touch it but she jerked her arm away.
“It hurts,” she told me. “He bit me when I tried to run past him. He grabbed my arm and took a ****ing bite. Who does that, William? Who does that?”
CRITIQUE
Tons of empty verbs. Loaded with a bunch of clutter. You could probably chop this by about half and improve it quite a bit. I think you could simply delete the section starting "First off..." down through "So there she was, walking home from work." without any problem. I know you're shooting for a conversational voice, but it sure seems to meander, and this is what... 700-800 words? Hardly any room to meander, but you manage to do it. I vote you get out the axe and start hacking.
By the way, the past tense of "hate" is "hated". And don't say she tried to kill you right off the bat. Let that be a part of story.
Here...read it chopped by half:
My wife Holly came home from work looking like death. Her face was pale, clammy, and streaked with tears. I hugged her, guided her to the couch, and asked what happened.
Her words were halting. “On my way home from work, I heard a scream in the churchyard, so I walked over to see if I could help.”
Everyone knew that particular churchyard was a den for alcoholics and drug addicts. Nobody would go in there after hearing a scream. Nobody but my Holly.
“There was a man…homeless, I think. He was covered in mud and looked drunk.” She sobbed again, her eyes full of sadness and horror. “He was attacking a woman, that’s who was screaming.” Fresh tears streamed down her cheeks.
“She was well dressed, a little older than me… Oh God, William!” She threw herself into my arms, buried her face into my chest, and screamed. Even though my thick sweater muffled the screams, they were still loud enough to perhaps concern my neighbors. To be honest, I had no clue what to do, so I just held her. After a few minutes, she lifted her head. Her face was smeared with snot and tears, and her skin was so pale…like some kind of ethereal porcelain.
“He killed her, William,” she stammered between sobs. “He bit her throat out right in front of me. Just ripped her neck apart with his teeth and groaned like a perverted maniac.”
I stared at her incredulously. I didn’t believe it. How could I?
“I threw my shoe at him,” she said, nodding to her foot. “It just made him angry. He…came right at me, but..something was wrong with him. His eyes were all white and his skin was grey.”
It sounded like a bad horror movie. She must have seen the doubt in my eyes because she suddenly pulled away and rested her head in her hands. I spotted blood seeping through the sleeve of her jacket and reached to touch it, but she jerked her arm away.
“It hurts,” she said. “He bit me when I tried to run past him. He grabbed my arm and took a ****ing bite. Who does that, William? Who does that?”
And then maybe four or five paragraphs later, he finds out she does that, lol.
Anyway, yeah...cut all that crap outta there.
RESPONSE
Thanks, John. I like your edit but have a question, do you think it takes away some of the pov personality? Things like him not liking her working, also explaining what work he does. Or is it better to grab first, exposition later?
COMMENT
Well, just think a bit...you're telling this story to a friend after it happens. Are you really going to inject minor marital discord, or are you cutting to the meat?
Of course it detracts from his personality, but his personality is not the point of this story, is it? Holly saw some ghoul killing a woman, and it bit her, and now she's becoming a ghoul. That's the point, isn't it? Don't let the narrator stand in the way of the story. For the most part, people like to read about action, what happens, not about the narrator and what he thinks about what happens. Just tell the story and let the reader think about it. Your narrator sounds like he thinks his thoughts are way more important to the reader than the story. This is a common problem with first person narratives. You might want to consider switching to third person.
Maybe I'm wrong, but to me, this part of the story doesn't need a whole lot of explaining anyway. Any kind of detailed explanation anywhere in a story gets old fast, and readers will often skip it to get back to the story. Don't explain if you can help it. Just tell what happens and let the reader stew over it.
If you want to inject more personality into the narrator, focus on style and action, not content. Focus on how he says something and the things he does. For example, I re-wrote your piece just to show you how much fluff and clutter stifled your story. It's pretty stripped down. Now, without adding any more content. try changing it so it sounds like you want your narrator to sound. Believe me, his personality will stand out way more in that way than with a mountain of clutter stacked on the reader.