Writing
The Andy Weir tactic of writing, Plus chapter 1 of a story I've been thinking about, I figured just make it
I’ve been thinking recently about writing short stories about all the characters in this book I’ve been envisioning for the past few years. Writing short stories seems very interesting, and I think it would be a great way of developing many of the surrounding characters in the book. I’ve had a lot of trouble character building, because although I’ve spend a lot of time world building, and I know the main character well, I have trouble making distinct characters of everyone else. I was watching a talk the Sci-fi writer Andy Weir gave, where he talked about a mailing list/blog thing where he wrote his magnificent book, “The Martian” chapter by chapter. It worked out well because he would write an entry for that day’s SOL whenever he felt like it. I do like that idea for a novel, but I also like the idea of using short stories for developing the more significant characters in my present mona.
One such character is a gentleman who works for one of the significant powers in the region my book takes place. Without giving away details, the world resembles the American west in many ways, and this character is a bounty hunter. His profession allows for many short stories to be written regarding his various activities, and I think 20 or 30 page stories would work well to develop his character.
A recent peice of advice I’ve gotten for building characters is to write out an interview with the character, then build stories based on the questions I want to ask him. I found this to be very interesting, since its really hard to come up with a character on the fly, but I can have insights on certain people when speaking to them, even though it is completely imaginary.
I have been worried about not writing something of sufficient quality to publish, but it seems that the quality aspect of a story is in no relation to its length, and probably the shorter it is, the easier it is to make every word and sentence work.
So anyways, here is the first chapter of a short story of John Halliday, the Bounty Hunter. I will give zero clues about the world build, and this is only the first scene, written on the fly. I will change a quite a few details as the story progresses, namely more visual descriptions of the arrival, and the town itself. This is just off the cuff writing, there’s a lot of details that still need worked out.
Strikethrough for stuff I think of that ends up needing taken out, and italics for stuff that needs adjusted or refined.
Chapter 1:
The mining settlement of Fairview sat quietly in the frozen Albertan wasteland. Only a few men and women seemed active on the street as the stage slid up to its mounting station. The usual passengers began disembarking from the wide double doors: Walter Jackson, the town powerman returning from Edmonton; Bert Peterson, the mining executive; Miss Clara Austin, who ran the town dance hall; and two of her girls. The stage clerk looked down at his receiving papers, making the usual markings as he always did, but stopped abruptly and looked up, startled.
A tall, dark man stepped off the stage after the others, an imposing figure sporting a reinforced blue-crowned cloak. He moved quickly, starting directly for the office door.
Glancing back down at his receiving papers, the clerk gaped at the name of the passenger: Mr. John Halliday, in town on business. Reaching for his computer, the clerk began to type out a message.
The door hissed, and the dark man entered the room, walking right up to the clerk, who stopped typing his message.
“Morning, friend. I believe there’s a package for me that arrived yesterday.”
“Um, yes, yes, sir. That must be in the back. Let me just go and get it.”
The clerk stood up awkwardly and stepped into the back room. A little too quickly, the dark man noted, almost as if...
He stepped around the desk, glancing at the computer screen—classic passenger transport and financial software, but… With a few quick keystrokes, a new page opened: messaging software with a half-typed message, “Halliday the bounty hunter came in on the stage! Arrived with…”
Halliday stepped back around the desk, amused, leaving the message open. It was addressed to a man named Dutch Vanderbilt, evidently someone who liked to know who came and went in this small town.
The clerk returned, hefting the package in his two skinny arms and heaving it onto the counter. “If you could sign for it here…”
“Thanks, friend. I’ll be staying at the hotel. Is there a machine shop in town? Somewhere I can get a set of blades and a sled?”
“Yes, sir!” The clerk looked at him wide-eyed.
“We have two smithies and one machine shop. Both are down the street, past the saloon and the dance hall.”
Halliday seemed not to acknowledge. He slid a short lever down on the inside of his boot, and a thin blade extended from the front to the heel. He double checked it, sliding his hand down the blade, before repeating the process on the other side. Halliday straightened, picked up the package with ease, and stepped to the door.
“Thanks, friend, and give my regards to Mr. Vanderbilt.”
The clerk jumped, his eyes bulging, ready excuses already spilling out, but the door was already hissing shut.
Halliday stepped onto the street and pushed off, sliding past the general store and the dance hall. A scraping sound and a spray of ice shot up as he came to a stop in front of the hotel. Checking into his room, John opened his package, pulling out a long fixed-blade knife, which he strapped onto his belt, a few letters, a box of Churchills, two twin pistols, five extra magazines, and two sealskin holsters.
The pistols were sleek, 22-shot, short-barreled, with built-in silencers, lest a shooting blow out the hearing of the entire damn town. The holsters were slung low, with a short rope tying them to the leg, made for a quick and easy draw. Halliday finally began to relax. He knew by now the entire town had heard of his arrival, and if anyone wanted to test him, they were welcome to try.
Opening the letters, he skimmed through the first, noting the few details of the six shootings that had brought him to this forsaken town. Two of the shootings, it seemed, were over business disputes—a dealer not delivering the full package of slide, and distributors getting high on their own supply. The other four killings, however, seemed to have no reason at all. All in one night, four unrelated men, all forced into a fight and gunned down, each with a final shot to the head. There were similar incidents in the past, but this one was different. John had scanned the security footage multiple times, and while the shootings weren’t caught on camera, he believed he knew which man had done them. He had seen him board the stage north. It wasn’t much information to go on, but the north stage hit every town linearly, which made it simple for John to stop at each town and check the footage for the man getting off (arriving not on a stage they’d have his info.). Nothing so far, yet Fairview was the last town on the stage north, and here was where the man had to have disembarked.
The second letter, from a girl back in Montana, was an elegant, descriptive letter filled with longing, asking Halliday to return to her small town. She was an intelligent girl, very pretty; long dark hair and wide blue eyes, but these sorts of things never worked out. He was a bounty hunter and a detective who would never be comfortable staying in one place. Yet she would inevitably find another local man to fall in love with, as they always do. All the better, a young Mexican once told him, to ride off into the sunset before things get too serious, that way the princess won’t ever see you as her lousy, no-account husband.
John dropped both letters into the fireplace and watched the flames curl around each page until there was nothing left but white ash. He would start on this case in the morning. Taking out a Churchill, he snipped the end and tested its draw before torching the end in the fireplace and lighting up. Just right. He pulled up his computer HUD. It was time to do a little looking into a man by the name of Dutch Vanderbilt.