SftOS - Help Revise Please? First Pages driving me crazy

[BlancheKing]

No matter how many times I read it, I can never form a set impression. On good days, I like it. On bad days, I wonder why I ever wrote it. This is one of those bad days, so I thought I'd get some help from you guys.
--

Prologue

When the police arrived, I told them I’d missed the merge sign. I even complained that there were too many Water Streets in Massachusetts.
I couldn’t tell them that a ghost had dived headfirst into my windshield.
She was still in my passenger seat.
“Your license?” said the officer. I handed it to him. Behind me, the car horn honked. The ghost threw a pebble at my head.
When the officer was satisfied, he shined his flashlight through her at the yellow parcel between the seats.
“It’s a manuscript,” I said, picking it up.
“You a writer?” he asked.
I nodded. The ghost asked him to apologize.
“That’s great,” he said. “What’s it about?”
“College and ghosts,” I said.
“And Spirit World,” added my ghost.
“And Spirit World,” I said.
The officer looked interested. “Fiction, huh? Gonna be the next J. K. Rowling?” He chuckled at his own quip, and then tipped his hat. “You’ll have to tell me when it gets published.”
As I watched the tow truck take my car away, I flipped through my story. It had taken me a year to write, and half more to polish.
And one before that to learn that all ghosts were notorious liars…

Chapter 1

If there’s one thing I hate about Thanksgiving break, it’s the fact that there’s never time for the break part. Somewhere between their research and yelling at the department heads, our professors looked into their grade books only to realize that it is as empty as their TA’s pockets. Following that was, of course, a ten-page paper, due the Monday we return.
Annoyed, I stared up at the reference section. The book was sticking out of the top shelf; just the corner, but it enough to make me wish the wireless was working.
Apparently the guy who built the library believed in tall shelves but not ladders.
Computers whirled in the background, scanning for the lost network. Everyone else was gone, either at home or buried downstairs under piles of antique books. No one ever studied on the fourth floor; it smelled too much of musty plaster.
I glanced around. Someone had taped up paper turkeys for the holidays. The one on the closest window was smiling.
Was it always smiling?
Suddenly, a blur of red shoved me against the shelf, and I turned just in time to see an old woman shuffle by at an unusual speed. She stopped at the end of the aisle and peered around it, her tacky crimson fingernails tapping convulsively against the wall.
“Thrm hrm erm. Mrm mrhhhrm erm.”
I leaned over to see what she was looking at.
He was a tall, lanky guy about my age, oblivious to the fact that there was a world around him. Judging by his complexion and frock coat, I’d say that he didn’t leave his room more than once a decade. Though for a closet case, he wasn’t bad-looking. The guy had a distinctive face, unhandsome but intelligent, like Sherlock Holmes’s without the excessively long nose.
I wondered if he knew he was being spied on.
The old woman rushed toward a shelf on the other side of the room. She crouched down, still muttering to herself, and fidgeted with the pocket of her floral-print dress until she produced a note card.
Maybe it was none of my business, but I thought the guy ought to know he was being stalked.
“Excuse me.”
He ignored me, ran his hand through his hair, and flipped a page. The old woman, on the other hand, gaped at us from behind her shelf, repeatedly opening and closing her mouth like someone who had just had their behind set on fire. She shook her head fervently when I reached to tap him.
“Excuse me, but I think there’s —?”
The room started spinning as soon as I touched with his sleeve. Books flashed in and out of focus as waves of hot and cold swept through the room. The young man was gone, but my arm was outstretched in midair. I tugged at it with my other hand.
It wouldn’t budge.
With a sharp jerk, I freed myself and fell back with a “thump.” The library popped back into view – books, shelves and all. Everything was back to normal… except the pasty guy.
“Who in the world—” he demanded, his face contorting with each word.
I didn’t give him a chance to finish. Scrambling to my feet, I hurried back to my original shelf. I’d never seen a man make that kind of face before. What was I supposed to do? Let the old lady stalk him?
I stole a glance in her direction.
She was gone.
(there's more, but I didn't want to bore you with a behemoth)

[HillaryJ]

--

Chapter 1

When the police arrived, I told them I’d missed the merge sign. I even complained that there were too many Water Streets in Massachusetts.
I couldn’t tell them that a ghost had dived headfirst into my windshield.
She was still in my passenger seat.
“Your license?” said the officer. I handed it to him. Behind me, the car horn honked. The ghost threw a pebble at my head.
When the officer was satisfied, he shined his flashlight through her at the yellow parcel between the seats.
“It’s a manuscript,” I said, picking it up.
“You a writer?” he asked.
I nodded. The ghost asked him to apologize.
“That’s great,” he said. “What’s it about?”
“College and ghosts,” I said.
“And Spirit World,” added my ghost.
“And Spirit World,” I said.
The officer looked interested. “Fiction, huh? Gonna be the next J. K. Rowling?” He chuckled at his own quip, and then tipped his hat. “You’ll have to tell me when it gets published.”
As I watched the tow truck take my car away, I flipped through my story. It had taken me a year to write, and half more to polish.
And one before that to learn that all ghosts were notorious liars…
*This beginning is very good, but there is no transition to the next section, nor is there a reference in the next section to this. Is this a prologue, or as disjointed as it currently looks?*
…
If there’s one thing I hate about Thanksgiving break, it’s the fact that there’s never time for the break part. Somewhere between their research and yelling at the department heads, our professors looked into their grade books only to realize that they are as empty as their TA’s pockets. Following that was, of course, a ten-page paper, due the Monday we return.
Annoyed, I stared up at the reference section. The book was sticking out of the top shelf; just the corner, but it enough to make me wish the wireless was working. *What?*
Apparently the guy who built the library believed in tall shelves but not ladders.
Computers whirled in the background, scanning for the lost network. Everyone else was gone, either at home or buried downstairs under piles of antique books. No one ever studied on the fourth floor; it smelled too much of musty plaster.
I glanced around. Someone had taped up paper turkeys for the holidays. The one on the closest window was smiling.
Was it always smiling?
Suddenly, a blur of red shoved me against the shelf, and I turned just in time to see an old woman shuffle by at an unusual *unusually fast? unusually slow?* speed. She stopped at the end of the aisle and peered around it, her tacky crimson fingernails tapping convulsively against the wall.
“Thrm hrm erm. Mrm mrhhhrm erm.”
I leaned over to see what she was looking at.
He was a tall, lanky guy about my age, oblivious to the fact that there was a world around him. Judging by his complexion and frock coat, I’d say that he didn’t leave his room more than once a decade. Though for a closet case, he wasn’t bad-looking. The guy had a distinctive face, unhandsome but intelligent, like Sherlock Holmes’s without the excessively long nose.
I wondered if he knew he was being spied on.
The old woman rushed toward a shelf on the other side of the room. She crouched down, still muttering to herself, and fidgeted with the pocket of her floral-print dress until she produced a note card.
Maybe it was none of my business, but I thought the guy ought to know he was being stalked.
“Excuse me.”
He ignored me, ran his hand through his hair, and flipped a page. The old woman, on the other hand, gaped at us from behind her shelf, repeatedly opening and closing her mouth like someone who had just had their behind set on fire. She shook her head fervently when I reached to tap him.
“Excuse me, but I think there’s —?”
The room started spinning as soon as I touched with his sleeve. Books flashed in and out of focus as waves of hot and cold swept through the room. The young man was gone, but my arm was outstretched in midair. I tugged at it with my other hand.
It wouldn’t budge.
With a sharp jerk, I freed myself and fell back with a “thump.” The library popped back into view – books, shelves and all. Everything was back to normal… except the pasty guy.
“Who in the world—” he demanded, his face contorting with each word.
I didn’t give him a chance to finish. Scrambling to my feet, I hurried back to my original shelf. I’d never seen a man make that kind of face before. What was I supposed to do? Let the old lady stalk him? *What?*
I glanced in her direction.
She was gone.[/quote]

OK. The MC in the library doesn't yet seem to know that she can see ghosts. Is that correct? If so, then you've given us a teaser before that which, while I really like it (maybe because I really like it), makes it difficult and confusing to jump into the next part.

If the first part is distinctly separate from the second (different time, place and event) then it should be a separate chapter. Unless it's a prologue, in which case it needs to be a prologue, but it doesn't have enough information to make itself valuable as a prologue. If it's a teaser, then take it out - send it back to that part of the manuscript from which it came.

All the information about the wireless being off or interrupted is unnecessary to reveal the character or advance the plot, unless it's being interfered with by the ghost(s), in which case that needs to be more clear.

Is this the entire first chapter?

[JTB]

Blanche

Like HillaryJ I didn't get the why there was no transition to the next section either. I'm sure you know what it is, so tell us. Do we need the opening with the cop? why not start in the library?

Also i'd lke to see what the promise of this story is - maybe a few opening lines (not as part of the story of course) on what this story is about, some context.

PS

as to the writing itself? there's little to worry about - which is the hard part

[Emily J]

No matter how many times I read it, I can never form a set impression. On good days, I like it. On bad days, I wonder why I ever wrote it. This is one of those bad days, so I thought I'd get some help from you guys.
--

Chapter 1

When the police arrived, I told them I’d missed the merge sign. I even complained that there were too many Water Streets in Massachusetts.
I couldn’t tell them that a ghost had dived headfirst into my windshield.
She was still in my passenger seat.
“Your license?” said the officer. I handed it to him. Behind me, the car horn honked. The ghost threw a pebble at my head.
When the officer was satisfied, he shined shone? not sure his flashlight through her at the yellow parcel between the seats.
“It’s a manuscript,” I said, picking it up.
“You a writer?” he asked.
I nodded. The ghost asked him to apologize. without the cop actually reaching through the ghost this makes less sense to me
“That’s great,” he said. “What’s it about?”
“College and ghosts,” I said.
“And the? Spirit World,” added my ghost.
“And Spirit World,” I said.
The officer looked interested. “Fiction, huh? Gonna be the next J. K. Rowling?” He chuckled at his own quip, and then tipped his hat. “You’ll have to tell me when it gets published.”
As I watched the tow truck take my car away, I flipped through my story. It had taken me a year to write, and half more to polish.
And one before that slightly awkward, "And one year to learn..." to learn that all ghosts were notorious liars…
…
If there’s one thing I hate about Thanksgiving break, it’s the fact that there’s never time for the break part. Somewhere between their research researching? and yelling at the department heads, our professors looked into their grade books only to realize that it is as empty as their TA’s pockets. this isn't bad, but it seems sort of forced Following that was, of course, a ten-page paper,don't think u need this comma due the Monday we return. For some reason this made me think the MC was a TA, not a student, maybe because it seems like only a TA would be concerned with their empty pockets
Annoyed, I stared up at the reference section. The book was sticking out of the top shelf; just the corner, but it was? enough to make me wish the wireless was working. Why? is the book available online? not sure I'm getting that
Apparently the guy who built the library believed in tall shelves but not ladders.
Computers whirled in the background, scanning for the lost network. Everyone else was gone, are the computers doing it themselves then? either at home or buried downstairs under piles of antique books. No one ever studied on the fourth floor; it smelled too much of musty plaster. i like this part
I glanced around. Someone had taped up paper turkeys for the holidays. The one on the closest window was smiling.
Was it always smiling?
Suddenly, a blur of red shoved me against the shelf, and I turned just in time to see an old woman shuffle by at an unusual speed. She stopped at the end of the aisle and peered around it, her tacky crimson fingernails tapping convulsively against the wall.
“Thrm hrm erm. Mrm mrhhhrm erm.” i think this is the noise a mummy would make
I leaned over to see what she was looking at.
He was a tall, lanky guy about my age, oblivious to the fact that there was a world around him. Judging by his complexion and frock coat, okay frock coat? really? is he Mr. Darcy? maybe it's just me but frock coats throw my mind back to 18th or 19th century England I’d say that he didn’t leave his room more than once a decade. or once a century eh? Though for a closet case, he wasn’t bad-looking. The guy had a distinctive face, unhandsome but intelligent, like Sherlock Holmes’s without the excessively long nose. i like this description, i can picture it
I wondered if he knew he was being spied on.
The old woman rushed toward a shelf on the other side of the room. She crouched down, still muttering to herself, and fidgeted with the pocket of her floral-print dress until she produced a note card. hmmm? what's on the note card?
Maybe it was none of my business, but I thought the guy ought to know he was being stalked. well apparently she has decided he doesn't know
“Excuse me.”
He ignored me, ran his hand through his hair, and flipped a page. The old woman, on the other hand, gaped at us from behind her shelf, repeatedly opening and closing her mouth like someone who had just had their behind set on fire. She shook her head fervently when I reached to tap him.
“Excuse me, but I think there’s —?”
The room started spinning as soon as I touched with his sleeve. Books flashed in and out of focus as waves of hot and cold swept through the room. The young man was gone, but my arm was outstretched in midair. I tugged at it with my other hand.
It wouldn’t budge.
With a sharp jerk, I freed myself and fell back with a “thump.” The library popped back into view – books, shelves and all. Everything was back to normal… except the pasty guy. This sentence, and "the young man was gone" makes me think this guy vanished so I'm confused when he talks
“Who in the world—” right here! he demanded, his face contorting with each word. he must contort his face fast because I would think it would be more like "Who - in - the - world"
I didn’t give him a chance to finish. Scrambling to my feet, I hurried back to my original shelf. I’d never seen a man make that kind of face before. what kind of face exactly? what did he contort it into? What was I supposed to do? Let the old lady stalk him?
I stole a glance in her direction.
She was gone.

As others have commented, the first and second part seem completely disconnected. Is the first part a prologue?
Also I get a bit confused when she touches the young man.

[Quill]

For starters what is a TA? And where does the ghost get the pebble?

[chomsnumnum]

Chapter 1

When the police arrived, I told them I’d missed the merge sign. I even complained that there were too many Water Streets in Massachusetts.
I couldn’t tell them that a ghost had dived headfirst into my windshield.
She was still in my passenger seat.
“Your license?” said the officer. I handed it to him. Behind me, the car horn honked. What car horn? The ghost threw a pebble at my head. Can anyone see this? Is there just a pebble flying through the air at her head, or is the pebble invisible. If she got hit in the head with a pebble, invisible or not wouldn't she react in some way? If it missed her where did it land, what noise did it make? If it's visible, what does the officer think about a random pebble flying through the air. When the officer was satisfied, he shined his flashlight through her who's her? Where are they physically? I'm picturing a driver in the drivers seat with an invisible ghost in the passenger seat and a MS in between. So if he shines the light from the drivers side the the space between the seats, where's the ghost? at the yellow parcel between the seats.
“It’s a manuscript,” I said, picking it up.
“You a writer?” he asked.
I nodded. The ghost asked him to apologize. What? who did the ghost ask? Did she ask the narrator, or the officer? Did he hear her? Why would she ask him to appologize? “That’s great,” he said. “What’s it about?”
“College and ghosts,” I said.
“And Spirit World,” added my ghost.
“And Spirit World,” I said.
The officer looked interested. “Fiction, huh? Gonna be the next J. K. Rowling?” (I'd think a grown man from New England would think of Stephen King first) He chuckled at his own quip, and then tipped his hat. “You’ll have to tell me when it gets published.”
As I watched the tow truck take my car away, I flipped through my story. It had taken me a year to write, and half more to polish.
And one before that to learn that all ghosts were notorious liars…what's the time frame here, one year before what? Before she started writing, before she started revising, or before the accident? …

[BlancheKing]

sorry, I should have specified. The point after the dot-dot-dot is what her manuscript is about. The last action in the (now prologue) was of her flipping through her manuscript

@ emily J: you make good point. my original word was "nerd" not scholar, but I thought that might be insulting

@JTP: so it's not the writing; it's the story?

@ everyone else: thank you for your feedback. i've considered everyone's input and adjusted accordingly =) would the manuscript improve without the whirling computers and the loss of internet connection? i'd initially put them in to convey that she has to do research by hand. (as the modern college student unfortunately does not appreciate the archives as long as they have the internet).

[JTB]

B

what i mean is, the piece of writing you submitted being in two parts is easily recast

:-)

[otherside89girl]

Blanche,

I like it. I wasn't as thrown off by the prologue/transition as everyone else seemed to be, probably because I was too intrigued to really think about why you had transitioned... I was content to just read on to see everything unfold. If you tie it all together as the reader will expect, it seems fine to me.

I agree that the mention of the wireless not working seems superfluous, unless it is important to the plot later on...
As for this: Computers whirled in the background, scanning for the lost network. I think you meant whirred, not whirled.
And this: “Thrm hrm erm. Mrm mrhhhrm erm.” was a bit confusing/unnecessary... If she is clearing her throat, you should probably just stick to one or two "words" (like "erm hrmm...")

The room started spinning as soon as I touched **with** (take that with out) his sleeve. Books flashed in and out of focus as waves of hot and cold swept through the room.
And I agree with the others that this description is a little confusing. I kind of get it, but you should make it a little more concrete so the reader really feels it. I don't think "thump" should be in quotation marks. And as someone else said, I was thrown off when you said the guy vanished and then you mentioned him again. Make sure to say he reappears or something.

Overall, I like your writing and I was caught up in the story right away! Keep it up.