₦airaland Forum

@obidia-thanks for noticing that, sometimes i get lost in the flow. Correction duly noted. Kola thanks for your prayers. This work needs my final push to sail through, but that's just the beginning.
@nezan- has plagiarism affected you before?
Thanks everyone

you know maedan, the best stories are the ones that are so simple and mundane that they reflect everyday life and identify with real life people. As i read you piece, i could see my sisters in these teens. The 'wearing the same clothing over and over again' part was natural, i knew someone who used to do that.
Girl, you have something that i dont have, this story is so NAIJA-ish! And it's so girlish, you used your female insight well.
I scanned this piece thoroughly looking for faults.i'll still scan it again and again till i find something to say, Otherwise my dear, i feel you're fully on course and believe me, a good start is important but alas, it's not everything. Maintain you trajectory and aim to end well and cure this virus in your system!

@hortongate and maedan- i agree with both of you, somehow you are both saying the same things about the copyright issue, But, They can swap if they want as far as it's not verbatim. The scenarios in this story are not new, it's the tone and writing style that differs. Style&tone are either innate signatures or they take yrs to develop. Goodluck to anyone who wants to steal style, his story would end up feeling like a patchy tree, no constant flow. Real authors with that kind of intelligence have a certain 'pride'- they would rather write with the same theme in their own way. I'm not new to internet cricitism, it took a lot of 'steadiness' to get to where i am now.
I plan to finish this story soon but remember, a fast brew is a tasteless one, i write as it moves me. And the work losd on me blunts that inspiration now. Thank you all for the advices you have given me.
@hortongate- i didn't come here to get complliments, i just felt i needed a more human and 'people' audience and critique. Some websites run by writer/critics can be unduely harsh and seem to be blighted by 'beef', cliques and jealousy. I wanted some fresh and i felt nairaland was sincere and wide enough to give that. and i got it here. Thanks once to all especially maedan and horton, Peace.

Maedan and bossb, thanks for the input. I feel a writer needs to post his stories once in a while to be sure that he's not derailing. I have 2 more important characters to introduce, maybe maedan i'll forget about my plan and post their intro's there, then after that,

maedan, i've been typing this story for a long time, about 3 yrs, On and off because of work and career issues. Poetry didnt exactly satisfy me so switched to fiction and before i knew it my ramblings turned into a story. Coyright? I have already done that but i'm not afraid of anyone swiping my work because they cant continue it. It's a long story, the scope is still blurry at this stage and style cant be copied, a writer always identifies his words wherever he sees them. Besides i'm no fool, i never post more than three chapters. This is the first time i've gotten to this extent onlyb because of your. Thanks for commenting on this thread. I'll mail you a special golden copy if i ever get it published!

Xx

,,

Sorry for the repeat posts, i may get them deleted, occurred due to an error on my browser or this site. Maedan thanks for your review. I have gone far with this story, more than 110pages but it still needs some reorganization, so maedan, u cant have the full book yet. I'll post more soon, more character introduction.if you notice any mistakes, let me know

Xx

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Xx

was looking for a strong start and i found it. the next few chapters introduced other characters

i liked 'poirot' by agatha christie too

whoever created this thread deserves to be hugged. sir conan doyle is the greatest writer alive to me, to have created sherlock holmes. i have read everything- hound of baskervilles, casebook(collection), memoirs(collection), and even those written by other authors with the franchise. he had a brother, mycroft holmes who had greater detective powers but was less active than sherlock, works in the foreign ministry- he was featured in most of his stories but more prominenet in a book wriiten by another writer- ' enter the lion'. i have also read 'young sherlock holmes', an attempt at creating his earlier life and the beginnnings with his enemy/archrival- professor moriarty.

i almost believed that he was real as a teenager when my father bought the casebook and memoirs for me. after all is said and done, we find that all his methods were 'elementary' as he would always say, 'elementary my dear watson, elementary"

*forgive my long text, i'm a gushing fan!

a novel i've been working on,  more of detective work/espionage. will appreciate reviews


Chapter one

New York

He allowed the end call tones to chime in his ear for a while after the call was not picked up. His now had a grin of satisfaction on his face, which had been stiff with anticipation as he made the call. With a gloved hand he placed the headset back on the cradle, which sat upon the table. He did not wish to disturb the old glassy-eyed lady who stared blankly into the dimly lit room He decided to talk to her.

“No matter what, he’s in now anyway,” he said as if to divulge her of an intense secret.

She didn’t reply. She continued to stiffly stare forward, as if in defiance of nature, with her glassy unblinking eyes. Her pose was like that of an ancient aristocrat, with her forearms neatly folded on lap. She was sitting on a large ornately carved wooden chair behind an equally massive wooden table. Paperwork was strewn across the table, with a pair of drinking glasses and a bottle spoiling the impression of a seriously busy work desk. Her silvery blonde hair was like that of a Russian czarina, tied into some sort of mini tower.

A solitary air-conditioner hummed in the soundproof room. It brought some measure of organized sound into the otherwise silent and now eerie abode.

Hmm, he thought. Pity she was now this old. He could have done her like he had always wanted. He swallowed to stem the spillage of saliva from his mouth, its flow inspired by a depraved memory.

“Have to take my leave ma’am.” He tipped his black hat, “Will certainly see you much, much later.”

He replaced the bottles from where he had gotten them. He brought out his handkerchief to wipe down the phone and other things he touched. After this small exercise, he used it to wipe his face of slight moisture as he studied the scene. The spinster Madame surely had taste, if taste was judged by these vintage paintings that hung from the walls and the beautiful blooms adorning the office. Exceptional, why hadn’t he noticed them before? He thought. Maybe all his travels have opened his eyes to luxury.

As an after thought, he reminded himself to wipe down some other things he touched on his way in to meet this appointment, like the banister. He strolled casually to the oak-paneled, soundproof door. He pulled the door open, then tipped his hat once more at the still lady behind the desk. He slipped out satisfied that she continued to look ahead unperturbed, with an unwavering stare in rigor mortis.

xxxxx




He was walking along the avenue from the lady’s office with the cool early morning breeze ruffling his clothes and overall. He was puffing rich dark smoke from the fat cigar between his lips, into the faces of early morning joggers passing by. Damn this people, who really wanted to live long? He might even have to ‘wack’ them one of these days.

He paused in his stride, looked at his watch and grimaced. He was supposed to make a call at ten A.M., and the stupid time never seemed to come. He was like a hunter waiting for the kill with armpits drenched with sweat. This time they weren’t drenched in anticipation of the killing. He was going to contact his boss, the ‘Cosimo’, whom he didn’t know, and that always gave him the creeps. The man always sounded dangerous on phone, which he really was. He was going to contact him on the status quo.

There was a payphone across the street. He crossed the road without looking as the early morning traffic screeched to a halt and rained curses on his stiff behind. At this moment, he cared less. Normally somebody would have lost some teeth. He would have increased the demand for gold teeth instantly. He grinned at his personal joke.

A mass was in the booth. A fat middle-aged woman with breasts like udders was squeezed into it with the door closed. He rapped on the glass and grinned politely, making a sign that she should either hurry up or end the call. He gave another sign with a raised first finger, one minute. She raised her own finger and it was the middle one, with a scowl on her ugly face. F**k me? From under his overall, he showed her the tip of the silver revolver on his waist. She scurried out like an overweight hen, throwing glances behind her in panic as she bounced away. He had ten minutes. She would surely call the cops from the nearest secure area.

He dialed exactly at 10am. The call went through immediately, it never delayed. A cold metallic voice answered, the ‘Cosimo’.

“How did it go?” His voice was deep and crisp.

“It went Fine boss.” The man they call souse almost winced at the sharpness and seeming closeness of the Cosimo‘s voice.

“So they’re in now?”

“Yes boss.” Souse could imagine Cosimo moving the pieces on the chessboard in his psycho-maniac brain.

“Lie low for a while for things to cool off. I’ll buzz you when it’s time for phase two.”

“Yes boss.” That was all he was allowed to say as a reply.

“And souse…”

“Yes boss?”

“Remember not to call me with your phone even if it’s an emergency. You do a good job but you’re lousy on the follow up”.

“I always do my best boss.” Souse’s voice was firmer now in reaction to the spite on his competency. Was he not Souse, the hand of death?

“What did you say?”

“I, I…”

“Never mind, just remember what I said”. He hung up, without pleasantries, leaving the phone blaring in Souse’s ear. The Cosimo was always like that, mysterious and eccentric.
He checked his time. It was eight minutes past ten o‘clock in the morning. He had two minutes to walk afar from the booth. He left the booth to a black man who was itching to rush in, brushing his shoulder. He started to walk away briskly.

He heard the sirens when the cops came and stopped by the booth. By then, he was a hundred feet out. He brought out his small binoculars. Sweet air of pleasure gushed into his nostrils, sucked in as the binoculars hit his eye. He didn’t miss seeing the Negro being slammed into the glass of the payphone booth with his hands behind his head. Damn, he really missed the white Negro hating clan that he belonged to in his youth. When they were caught and disbanded, the cops took away the only fun he had in this town.
But it really felt good to be back.

@oluti. where did you get that stylewriter?

Couldn’t finish the whole story but you’re good for sure. You have to realize there’s a lot of work and editing to be done before you get published- don’t tell me that you went on this adventure without the lure of that in the back of your mind.
A few things though.
"Look here, girl, I know who you are, and I know where you and your family live. If the authorities find out about this murder, I'll know it was you who snitched. You're the only witness. You tell them it was me, and I'll come back for you, for your friends and family as well. You say one word about this to anyone, and I'll make your life hell."
He then pushed me down to the ground, lunging at me, with his knife aimed for my chest. I managed to roll over just in time to avoid being stabbed again. He had just fallen to the ground when I got to my feet. After one hard kick to his head, I took off running.

His threats actually seemed like he wanted to let her go then he lunges for her chest- bottom line, contradictory

Good read, good flow, good distinctive style- you may like a website that I know with a lot of critics- www.writingforums.com- I think you’ll be an instant hit