An interview with a god.

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Fantasy  |  House: Booksie Classic

This is a couple of pages from a book I am writing, it's my first go at this so I don't really know what I'm doing, criticism is welcome along with any advice. Due to the supernatural occurrences in Somerset, England, writers all over the world have requested interviews with the person that stopped them, Morton graves was the lucky person to get these backstage interviews with the man claiming to be the god of power. As the story unfolds, more about Morton the writer, George the god and the events that occurred become clear.

The writer was a short guy, 5'5 maybe less, glasses perched upon his nose while he squiggled away on his notepad, I've never liked writers, they always seem to over dramatise the tiniest detail, whether it be a grammatical error or a punctual blunder, either way it got on my nerves, I caught glance of a shiny gold watch inside the sleeve of his navy blue tailored suit, "Rolex?" I asked, trying to take some awkwardness out of this strange situation, "Hm? Oh! Yes, yes.." He replied, and that was it, that was the point I realised the next 2 hours and 30 minutes would be the most painful of my life, not because of the lack of conversation or lack of attention for that matter, but because I could tell that this writer really wasn't my type, when suddenly he said " well? Are you going to stand up for 2 and a half hours or take a seat? Haha" he giggled at the end to show he meant no offence,  I started to notice a slight tang of Scottish, the way he rolled into his R's sounded like he may have spent a large amount of time in Edinburg, I never was good at geography though so I'm probably wrong, I took a seat in his awful green leather armchair, it was possibly the most comfortable chair I had ever sat in, a small warm feeling towards the chair I had discovered began to flourish and a small admiration for the owner began to rise.
"Hello George, my names Mor-" 
"Morton Graves, yes I already know that part, what I do want to know Mr. Graves is where on earth did you get this chair?" I replyed, before he could finish his sentence, I just had to know what dimension it had come from.
"Ah! Yes! No- wait, what?" He spluttered, he looked at me, confused as to why I was stroking the arms of the chair and staring at him, the truth is I was waiting for a reply, now when I think about it I can see why he was confused and to be fair I would of been a tad freaked out if I were him, possibly even called the police.
"Oh, that tattered old thing, I bought it at an auction a while ago for Mrs.graves, I hate everything about that chair yet she loved it." He replied whilst staring into my eyes but somehow I knew he wasn't seeing me in the chair.
"Well it's a lovely chair Mr.Graves at any rate, but why isn't your wife using it?" I asked.
He smiled and said " I'm the one asking questions today my boy, and please call me Morton, my friends call me Morty, you could call me Morty if you would prefer"
I highly doubt that! I thought to myself.
"No no Morton is fine, absolutely fine, so as I've never been interviewed you're in the drivers seat Morty so where do we start?" I replied.
"Well, I've prepared a large amount of questions for you to answer to spread some light on the recent events occurring in South Somerset, depending on how this session goes, we will arrange another session on the same day at the same time every week until I've got enough to finish my book, does that sound agreeable to you?"He says, all the while I'm concentrating on the phone call his secretary is having on the phone outside, she's forgotten her umbrella and it's forecast rain all day, who doesn't love a Monday shower?
"Yes Morton! That sounds excellent, shall we get started?" I finally said, hoping my eagerness would spur him onto the start line.
"Yes yes indeed" he said whilst pulling a small recording device out of his desk draw and placing it on his desk.
"I'm sure you know what this is, this will be used in every session, I'm not a young man anymore and at 62 years old holding a pen for 2 and a half hours  doesn't end very well for my hands" he said.
"Yes absolutely, that's fine with me" I replied.

"ok then, let's begin shall we!" He chuckled, the most excited person I had ever seen I thought, the recorder clicked and came on.

He clicked a button on the device, it began to record making a low pitched buzzing noise, like tv playing static at a really low volume.
"This is Morton graves in session with George- uh sorry what is your surname?"
The white moth buzzing around the light kept flying into it, the noise was irritating me to bits but I got through it.
"Gods don't have surnames Mr.Graves, we just kind of go by what names we are given" I replied, I sounded blunt but that is the answer in truth, I could to think of any other way to explain it.
" Ah um ok, George gods it is then"
Christ almighty.
" I'm in session with George gods, to hear the events of 12th of April 2014 until Christmas Day 2015"
I smiled, I'm trying to be relaxed but I'm nervous, gods don't get nervous they are feared and respected, worshipped in most cases, but here I was, indecisive as ever.
"So George, how about you start at the beginning of it all, the very start if you please"
"How far back would you like me to go? Before I ascended or just before the events?" Please say just before.
"Before you ascended that's is, also how do you spell that? I don't want to note it down a different way" he chuckled, but something seemed weird, this famous writer, world renowned for his best selling novels, is asking me to spell out a word for him? Maybe it's a test, maybe he thinks I'm crazy.
" it's A-S-C-E-N-D-E-D, just take a way the E and D for ascend" I replied, trying to mask my pride, at passing his secret little test.
"Mhmm thank you, so start the story before you ascended" he said leaning back in his chair to get comfortable.
"Ok, well I was a normal person with a normal job living in a normal town, you know, normal"

Chard town, Somerset, United Kingdom, 10th January 2014

I walked through the front door to my house bracing my self for the incoming attack, RUF! RUFF!
"Maiya stop it! Down! That's it good girl! No stop licking me!" I shouted, Maiya was my 20kg siberian husky crossed German shepherd, she was insanely cute but she expressed way too much love.
"Hiya love, how was work?"
" Not bad really debated quitting but bottled it again, how about you Sandra?" Sandra was my adoptive mother, I never knew my parents so I don't remember them, Sandra adopted me through the agency when I was 4 years old, no papers, no explanation just a 4 year old boy to take home, I call her Sandra because that is her name and she doesn't seem to mind either way, she doesn't have a boyfriend or husband so I'm the man of the house naturally, I know her better than she knows her self most of the time, she's about to ask me what I want for tea.
"What would you like for tea son?"
There it is, called it.
" oh I'm not hungry yet, maybe spaghetti or something" I replied not really in the mood for conversation, I used to work as a mechanic in a garage 10 minutes away from home so naturally I walked, I was tired and angry.
"The boss said again that if I show up late one more time then I'm sacked, end of the line, done"
" you were 3 minutes late what's the problem?"
"No idea, tea?" I finished, the constant back and forth was already hurting my brain,
" No thanks love, I've got to leave for work in 15 minutes, can't waste tea in this day and age" she said, a slight twinge of annoyance in her voice, she worked shifts at the local hospital, helping out people who've burned their arm or had a skateboarding accident, it sounds tedious and I admire her for it.
"Ok that sounds fine, I'll see you when you get back then" I walked into the front room, the dog was trying to avoid the cat, but Hope, being a cat, is much smarter and faster than her canine opponent, MREEEOW!! HISSS! She went as claws hit dog face, I thought about splitting it up, but the dog brings it upon her self really.
I thundered upstairs to find my television on, weird as I never leave it on and Sandra hates wasting anything, especially electricity, I walked into bathroom to turn on the shower, I must have pressed the button atleast 4 times but it wouldn't come on, weird, it usually works first time, so regardless of not being hungry, I went back downstairs to get a snack, as I reached the kitchen I noticed someone or something shaped like a person in the garden but when I opened the door, there was just a bird bath, sat in the middle of the garden, acting like any good bird bath should.
I went back in and opened the fridge, again no light, it finally dawned on my inferior brain, our electricity was run on a meter, we pay £20 on the key, plug the key in and instant electricity!
So, I told the dog to stay, opened the front door, looked at the meter which said £15 still remaining.
I sprinted around the house looking for blown sockets, none to find, so I tried googling it which is when the real horror began, I realised that our internet was also cut off during the power cut, I tried to cry, but I pulled up my socks and decided to go for a walk, when I closed the front door something else weird happened, the lights in the house came on, the tv came on and I could hear my games console start up, now, when you can hear a games console start up from outside the house on low volume, you would get weirded out too, so I unlocked the door and went back in, everything stayed on.
"Hm power cut" I said to myself entering the house, so I ran upstairs again everything worked, the evening unfolded like any other evening, games, shower, walk the dog, go to bed.
Then the nightmares began.
I'm on a mountain path, I look up to dark clouds covering the sky, rain flowing from it as though every cloud hated me, thunder and lightening shook the mountain side quaking the ground I stood upon like a heard of elephants were running past me, I decided to continue up the path like any dreamlike idiot would do, I'll admit that curiosity got the better of me, I got to the end of the path which finished at the edge of the mountain, the scene before me opened up and blew my mind, below me was a huge field dotted with golden tents on one side and black tents at the other, atleast 2 miles apart, between these tents was a battle of which I've never seen, the soldiers were not clad in camoflauge gear shooting M16 rifles, they were dressed in golden breast plates and greaves fighting soldiers in dark grey skirts, one of the golden soldiers was throwing what looked like bolts of lighting, another was shooting arrows from a bow so quick they looked like they were made of pure energy, puddles of muddy rain began to take flight, bending and twisting into the shape of snake and began striking at the dark skirted soldiers forcing then back, but more were coming from every direction down the mountain side onto the field, they were being outnumbered a thousand to one, all carrying random weapons, poles, swords, batons, bows, chains, knives rushing to destroy their enemy, I spotted another dark skirted soldier, but this one was armoured in full medieval knight gear armed with a longbow, he knocked an arrow against the string pulled back and fired, I watched as it sailed through the air eventually piercing the head of the golden soldier throwing bolts of lightning, chaos broke lose, gold streams of light struck the sky, lightning struck ground so hard I had to steady myself on a rock next to me, shouts of excitement came from the dark skirted soldiers, I blinked and the golden soldiers were gone along with their wounded, I took a step back from the scene in front of me and turned around to see dark skirted soldier stood a few feet away from me on the path, holding a bloody chain, it screamed, I screamed, it swung it's chain and I awoke with a start, I heard once that if you die in a nightmare you die in real life, I've always been skeptical about this theory for one reason, if the person who found this out died, how was the theory started in the first place? One thing I was sure of was that it felt more than a nightmare, it felt insanely real, but how could it be? I woke up in my own bed in my own room in my own house, it was clearly a nightmare, but it felt to real to be just a dream.

Submitted: November 14, 2014

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Add Your Comments:



“...criticism is welcome along with any advice.”
It’s nice to see a writer who is open to all criticism. Seeing as I consider myself a critic, I will most gladly oblige. Now, be mindful, my review is not meant to be a personal offense. I’ll say this in advance, there’s a lot of criticism to be had. With that said, let’s begin.

This is mainly for me, to let you know from what point of view I’m seeing this story. If I am correct, this story is about “something” supernatural happening in England. This unknown occurrence has been resolved “somehow” by George, who happens to be a “god”.
The second largely isn’t worth commenting on story-wise, except for the bit at the end. Everything in between is simply the main character being a family man.
Why does this supernatural phenomenon attract writers specifically? I’m pretty sure all of the world’s media would be shoving their way in before any writer could come in a ten-thousand kilometre distance. They haven’t been mentioned at all, which strikes me as incredibly odd.

There is the writer, Morton Graves, who has to be one of the worst writers known to man. He actively insults the one he is interviewing by calling George “boy”. He’s also strangely familiar with this “god”, despite this being the first time they meet.

It feels a bit uninspired, but overall it’s pretty decent.

-=Writing Style=-
There are some contradicting statements at times. The writing is schizophrenic; it switches from character to character without as much as an indication, leaving the reader to guess who’s saying what.
A lot of numbers are written as numbers. Turning 2’s into two’s will make your writing come across as less lazy. Only use numbers as numbers when trying to specify a large or very specific amount.
Your writing speaks of “gods” from different dimensions, yet the character thinks “Christ Almighty” when Morton Graves continues to be a very bad writer by making his interviewee actively uncomfortable. There are “gods”, what the heck is the original God doing in a world where “gods” are a thing now? Do you see how confusing that gets? I would suggest naming “gods” into something else entirely, yet use a name that keeps them their mythical stature. Maybe “Valkyries” or “Demi-gods”, I don’t know.
Give me one moment to address an example of the logical mistakes you make in the story. You say in the second part that the power goes out, and the main character GOOGLES for a solution. Googling, for which a computer is required, which needs electricity to be used. There is no power, how could he even use a computer? He also realises that the Internet had been cut. Problem is, the router (The machine that connects you to the Internet) runs on electricity, which has been cut in the first place. The Internet goes down when the power goes down, why does this surprise the main character?! None of this is possible at all.

Have you ever heard of a “wall of text”? It’s a style of writing that places the entirety of the written material into one gargantuan thick chunk of words. It’s a style of writing that people simply don’t like. Make sure to pace your text better, leave some space between paragraphs to give our eyes some time to rest.
I’m not sure if I should take your first sentence as an insult or not. Writers aren’t punctual about grammar and spelling because they’re whiny sad little men, they do it to save their editors time for correcting them. If your work is not grammatically or spelling-wise flawless (or close to being so) then your work will simply never be published. It almost feels like you’re trying to excuse the mistakes you know you’re going to make in your writing by attempting to discredit writers, which you are a part of, ironically. I would strongly advise you alter that first sentence.
What else is there to say? There is an abundance of errors made throughout the story. You still need a lot more experience in writing, study up on the English grammar and punctuation, it’ll last you a lifetime. If I could do it, so can you!
The second hallucination part has no periods, that entire block of text is apparently one huge sentence.

There are many, many mistakes you’ve made throughout the entirety of the story. Mistakes ranging from logical errors to grammatical and punctuation mistakes to layout mishaps. Reading this critique will not be fun for you, as a new writer you will most likely get angry. That’s alright, I’ve been angry too when I got my first proper critique, but I want you to read it every day until reading it no longer angers you. Once you’ve reached that point, you can use the critique to edit the mistakes from your story.

Mon, November 17th, 2014 11:58am

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