Daily Writing Thread, For works in progress you need help with

Well, you could always try something like this to start your flashback:

And to get out:

I added some actual flashback's for versimilitude, but obviously you don't need to use those (but feel free if they...inspire you).

Seriously though, there are probably 100's of ways to do it really. Just fool around with it and find something you like.

What, no response? Maybe my examples we a little off-putting?

Ah! Let me guess: The Captain has just attained that rank as a result of a trgic near catastrophe that has left them with little reserves of anything-including crew. Their only choice is to continue the mission ahead until the resupply/rescue ship arrives. They can't call home because with the loss of the transport ship and its data link (through the now refrozen penetration) they are now trapped until they receive the signal that a new thermal passage has been formed. It is the only way they will ever leave Europa. (?)

Well, it was just a guess.

mine is a short section of part of a screenplay:
Sam's imagination - darkened porch - night 9:59 PM

Sam at 16 is standing with the first girl he ever kissed, scared to death. After several long moments she leans into him and whispers into his ear.

first girl:

"Let me tell you a secret Sam Robinson, girls don't stand in the dark with boys they don't intend to kiss."

"only to have it dissapear into his small intestine..."

I think they are afraid of this pickle. It may be an oversized gerkin-it seems to know it's way around!

I've been working on this for a while, and I actually have about five chapters done...
but the first half of the first chapter sucks no matter what I do.

---------------

DarkWOLF: Chapter 1


“What do you want from us?” asked the Inquirer.
“We need your help,” Carl said nervously. It was really dark – pitch black – and the voice from the darkness was frightening. But he, Kaylee, and Zach had been searching for a whole week, and this was the only promising help they could find.
“Why?”
Kaylee stammered, “A lot of our friends have been kidnapped – seven so far – in just two weeks! The police haven’t been able to find anything, no one has. We got like a ransom note or something saying that we have a week to find them, and if we can’t find them before that day we’ll never see them again!” she burst into tears. Carl took over again, “It was signed, ‘Zekiria and the Chosen,’ and something about a ‘black heart’, but we don’t know who or what that is.”
“We’ve dealt with Zekiria before,” the Inquirer sounded thoughtful, “She actually killed a few of us before we drove them away,” the Inquirer sighed, “I’m sorry, but after that, we have been searching for new members, and haven’t been able to find anyone. From what you’ve told us, I believe we would need at least one more person to join us before we can help you, and... sadly, no one else can join.”
He continued to apologize as Kaylee burst into tears again.
Zach was a little stunned. The old man they had met said this group of outcasts could probably help them. These people were the only chance they had left. Everyone else had tried and failed. The police, their friends and family, even the government had been looking for these kids.
“Please,” Kaylee begged, “Please do something to help! You’re our only chance to save everyone!”
“I’m very sorry, but we need more people!” the Inquirer said.
Zach, who up to this point had been silent, said, “…What if I join?”
“You join? Are you serious? You must be insane. No one has ever joined our pack.”
“Zach!” Kaylee whimpered, “They could hurt you! We don’t even know why they’re outcasts!”
“Young lady,” the voice said, “do you have even the slightest idea of what we are?”
“No…” she mumbled.
“Some sort of mythical beast?” Carl suggested, “Maybe just a bunch of freaks? I don’t think you’re human; the rumors all say your monsters.”
“That’s actually not a bad guess.”
In the darkness and the quiet, Zach thought more about his life.
“What do I have to lose?” he asked himself, “I’m an orphan who has nothing to live for.”
“You’re willing to give up everything and everyone you ever knew to undergo something that could be considered mental torture to help the few friends you have?”
“What else can I do if I don’t want them to die?”
They were quiet for a second, “Before you make a final decision, I need to show you something,” he sounded even more serious than in the first place, “I could say, ‘prepare to meet your doom,’ but I suppose it’s not always a bad thing to be one of us.”
They heard a chair scoot away from the other side of the table, and footsteps toward the back of the room. A switch was clicked and the lights came on.
They weren’t actually too surprised by his species. He was a middle-aged wolf-man, standing on two legs, his arms folded across his chest, and a tail wagging slightly behind him.
What did surprise them was his clothing. He was wearing a stained wife-beater, black jeans, and black biking gloves. He had long, greasy, black hair pulled into a ponytail. A gold earring was in each of his ears, and a choke-chain necklace with a milk-white orb – which glowed red in an odd way – around his neck.
“Sorry,” he said when he saw their surprised faces, “this isn’t quite what you’d expect a quiet voice from the darkness to look like is it? You guys are the only people who’ve ever seen us. We try to intimidate everyone by keeping them in the dark,” he leaned in close, “Now, from here on out you’re all sworn to absolute secrecy. If you tell anyone what you’ve seen or heard here, we will find you and there will be consequences. Tracking people is one of the things we do best here at DarkWOLF. Especially when they’re not missing.”
Kaylee, Carl, and Zach all nodded their heads a bit enthusiastically.

---------------

So should I fix it? Or just completely start it over?


-------------------

And yes, since Zach is actually just my pen name, I used it in the story.

This post has been edited by ZacharyZemsen on Nov 30 2010, 09:44 AM

wish i could gve you an answer... but try sketching it backwards. start from the point at which things don't suck and work to the front. then write it forwards.

but you started with speech. which from what i've read doesn't work well. so yo'll have to rejuggle the ordering or add some text infront of it.

carl's statement about monsters breaks zach flow on joining the party. move it down a couple of lines and it flows into the reveal. or push it to the top to build a bit of suspence about what is waiting in the dark.

okay some of an answer...

----------------------------

but my issue is one of being trapped by the tropes.

basicly i've got a story line. "Bratty Teenage Daughter" is sent to wtay with her uncle in rural somewhere. she stumbles on a portal to a magical land. her uncle goes in after her. there he's de-aged to his mid twenties. where she plays the "mr watson" to her uncle's "mr. exposition". they "walk the earth" for a while, having adventures. their path home takes them through "the underworld". the get back. she's no longer the bratty teenager, and her uncle is elderly again. but of course it is all "narnia timed" and despite the extended tine in the fantasy world most of a day has pasted back home.

in a bit of a nutshell... and i may have missed some minor ones that i've sketched in. so is there anything that i can do to prevent myself from sliding down the hill of tropes into the mire of cliche? or if some expansion is needed ask.

Now that you mention it, I think someone told me that once as well...

It would probably be better to move it to the top, you're right.
Maybe I should use it to not begin with dialogue...?

Well, thanks!

---------------------

Yours sounds like a fun adventure, but I don't see it as heading toward cliche unless you have a specific story you're basing it on.

I guess I would like some expansion on what cliches you're actually afraid of.

i'm not basing it off a story... at least not deliberately. it just feels like a base plot that has been done a number of times before. troubled/rebelous teen falls down the rabbit hole to fantasy/troubled land has adventures returns a funtional and resonsible person.

the story concept i have is that the niece is hanging out with kids who think they are bad ass and general hooliganism. she picks up on it. she falls down the rabbit hole and her uncle shows her what bad ass really means.

perhaps i'll have to fill in the storyboards a bit more to figure out if i'm trapped and which ones i can play with.

I think you'll be okay.

I'm pretty sure that if your as careful as you sound, you'll be able to pick out what you need.

I've just started working on a virtual cop like simple shooter game and so far I've decided the story should go like this.

There's a bunch of men who work for a robotics facility which has gone rouge.
So you fight the men and a bunch of robots outside the facility in and around packing crates then have a boss battle with say a large robot.
Then there are more specialized men with better armor and some new robots you fight them as you make your way through the facility, ending in a battle with a bunch of little robots.
Now deep in the facility there are humans in robot suits and heavy armor.
you fight them until you reach the back end of the facility where you take control of a robot suit and then confront a heavily armored large robot.
Once that is defeated the hero exits the facility and the game ends.

Anyone have any suggestions about the plot or maybe there should be some narrative to the game.

I'm trying to Write a screenplay, of sort, that I will later turn into a web comic. The problem is, I just don't know how to start it off. Every time I try I just get to many ideas and can't choose. It's about a group of students at a school that teaches about Jero, an energy that is a combination of magic and science.

So your problem is that you can't write because you have too many ideas?!

This isn't actually a "problem". Write all the ideas down and then pick your favorite and start writing. Save the others for the times when you can't think of any ideas.

Definitely have to agree with the validity of &ru's advice. It can be hard to keep track of a large group of ideas when you are trying to keep them contained in your mind, which can be frustrating.

One technique I have used, particularly if I have a bunch of ideas for scenes in the same story, is to write the ideas on index cards, and shuffle them up to get ideas for how events in the story can progress.

Of course, I really oughta put some of my own advice back into use...

I have decided I may start may game with a section of Dialog.

It goes like this.

It was a time when companies where going rouge with cutting edge technology and Governments had to send armed inspectors to investigate, certain facilities.

One such inspector was Renald Tobius Sheldon and he was tasked with inspecting the Trendwell Robotics Facility.
But upon reaching the front gate three robotics employees drew weapons on him and he was forced to react.

And then the game starts.

This post has been edited by Jarrod on Apr 29 2011, 01:21 AM

My attempt at starting some teen drama romance story thing I had in my head for a while. The prologue so far I guess. Maybe I should just suck it up and write in first person. Found it awkward to write about someone's thoughts running everywhere.

Thinking of pulling this off without ever mentioning anybody’s name. It will all be about ‘Him’ and ‘Her’. Might end up clusterfuck confusing though. I’ll see what happens.
===

There had to be a mistake. It all didn't add up. All his actions up till now, all the time he dealt with those numbers. Those god-damned numbers. The friends he could have made, the social life he could have had, all the time he could have spent sleeping 3 more hours per day had accumulated to a mere 77% scribbled in red ink.

Thus the boy started to think. Just how had he spent his time up till now? Why was the 77% so upsetting?

He began to relive the blur known as his daily routine. Everyday, rush back home. Finish homework as fast as possible. Read textbooks. Do revision exercises. Nothing else mattered, nobody else mattered. Just work, work, work and more work.

Then pause. He began to reason things out. 77% is a decent mark all things considered. He probably ranked in the upper half of his class, possibly the upper quarter. Plus he highest he had ever scored in middle school was 68%. Most students with that mark would go home and probably be told something like “It's okay but you can do better.” No allowances will be increased or decreased, nobody will be particularly be that upset over anything and life will go on as usual.

Pause again.

That won't happen for him. He began to think of that middle aged guy who comes home late at night, eats a cold dinner by himself while reading the newspapers. That noisy person. Noisy, noisy noisy, noisy, noisy. Ear blisteringly noisy. Every time he opened his mouth, an endless ear blistering spiel that sounded like a mix of fingernails and chalkboard in a blender. Ah that's right. Dad.

It was always something about that excellent somebody. That person that just happened to have been born from the same womb earlier than he. That person and his pesky marks in the 90s. That person who happens to be in some other country pursuing some academically superior lifestyle. Now what was that term again? Oh right, a brother.

The endless comparisons. Day after day, at best an hour. At worst the whole evening. The only solace was when he comes home after he had fallen asleep.

That was why he slaved away when high school started. He had enough. He had to make him shut up somehow. And he had succeeded, showing that old man just how hard working he could be. A semester of relative silence. But at what cost?

Drowning in text and numbers every night. Getting his mind washed over with torrents of information, all with questionable long term importance. Alienating most people in his class. Missing out all those pleasures in life. Setting aside a love life, his social life is now shambles.

On top of all that, the silence will no longer be there. That old fart will open his mouth again. His eardrums will begin to undergo various stress tests again. First something about results being all that matter. Then there will be something about his older sibling, or somebody's kid that he never knew. Then it will progress to not being a fitting son to a hospital director. His worth as a human being will come into question. Then it will repeat all over again.

So this was the result. All that time he spent, all those suppressed desires and all that mental stress and sleep deprivation he put himself through. And it will still be noisy. That old man will open his mouth again. All that comes out will be noise, noise, noise and more noise. In fact, he found it pretty noisy right about now.

Reality came knocking again. The papers on his desk, glaringly white with sunlight from the window. That 77% scrawled in red ink at the top right corner. Now all that classroom chatter was beginning to sound like a certain old man. Something about marks being compared. Comparisons, comparisons, comparisons, comparisons, comparisons. His head began to throb. His ears began to ring. Then it all went away with a single thought.

“Nothing matters any more.”

And with that, he got up while gripping the two legs of his desk and flung it straight through the window.

^^^^^^

So, what exactly do we have here? Is this kid mentally slow or something? He's working his ass off to get C grades? And apparently he's got serious memory issues since he can't even remember who his father and brother are without effort.

I'm not really seeing where this is going yet I guess. If it's a story about the struggle of a child who wants to be talented and impress his family but unfortunately doesn't have the intelligence to do it, that could be interesting.

But you haven't written very much yet, so it's hard to say much about it.

I heard a story long ago. A man was approached by the devil. Now it could have been the devil, but it could have been a demon or one of the elder gods. He offered the man a deal. “You best me with two out of three rolls of this pair of dice you may have what you wish. You lose and your soul is mine.” The man, he thought for a while and agreed. So they threw the dice. The devil he rolled a nine and the man a six. The devil smiled. They threw the dice again. The devil he rolled a two, “snake eyes” he said. The man had rolled a pair of fours. “Ah”, the devil said, “eight the hard way.” The devil grinned, “looks like we're even.” They rolled the third time. The devil he rolled twelve. He smiled a wide terrible smile. “It looks like your soul is mine,” he said. The man just gave the dice a flick. As they flew through the air there was a faint snick. The first die came up six. The second split in half as it hit the ground. The pips showing added up to seven, because even the devil uses fair dice at least for his opponent. The devil just laughed a long and terrible laugh. “Well, it looks like you rolled 13 the easy way,” he said as he faded away. Now, I do not know what the man wished for. But I do know that perhaps we have rolled 13 the hard way.

----------------------------------------

a check for sanity, flow, and consistency of style, or anything else that is required.

Steuben--maybe break that down into separate paragraphs, because it's really hard to read all that in one go. Not to mention that paragraph spacing can be used to break a sequence of things.

Just my opinon. I know some people think otherwise, but I usually prefer to read something tha's cached like a proper short story or novel as opposed to a rambling "it's all got be a block o'text" news report.

BTW: I am kicking myself. On another forum, I put out a challenge to some peopel to write a situation wherein they and a character they like in an anime go on a date, with the stipulation that it should be believable and in-character.

...guess what I got? That's right. I will need to spend three hours screaming at walls and people who should not be allowed anywhere near a keyboard for the sanity of most english-speaking human beings.

And that's just to do with grammar and spelling. God help me if that many people think what they write down is anywhere close to being believable or realistic.

God, I'm so stupid.

This post has been edited by Wavehawk on Jul 23 2011, 08:52 AM

Not sure where I'm going anymore with my writing and it doesn't help that I don't have a good grasp of what bar to aim for or what exactly defines good writing. I think my grammar and spelling are more or less up to stuff but that doesn't generally equate to good writing.

So here is my shot at... something. Trying to set up some characters to roll with. For some weird love story I want to write. Not sure if I'm trying too hard with this.

==========

As if being awakened from a dream, her awareness gradually returned. As the haze lifted away from her eyes, her senses tore away at her without mercy.

She lay on her bed, eyes wide open at the dark and empty ceiling. The only illumination in her room was a dull silver light, refracted through the translucent curtains from the window. As her eyes grew accustomed to the darkness, she started to see shapes born from the various shadows cast through the ghostly curtains.

There is nothing there. There is nothing there. There is nothing there.

She knew there was nothing besides mere shadows cast from the moonlight on the ceiling. And that was what she kept telling herself.

There is nothing there. There is nothing there. There is nothing there.

But she did not believe her own words. Glares from invisible eyes pierced through from the darkness. She felt like she was being watched from everywhere, even within a locked room in perfect solitude. Unable to bear her sight any longer, she shut her eyelids tightly. Yet perfect darkness was not what awaited her. Incomprehensible shapes and colours flashed from within her eyelids. A mottled flurry of noise continued to flicker in her vision. This was when she realized her ears were ringing.

The silence was deafening. A constant hum at a single pitch and tone played endlessly within her eardrums. And it seemed to progressively get louder, threatening to overwhelm her mind.

Her gasp for air broke through the silence. While taking long and hard breaths to drown out the silence, she felt more and more unsettled.

As if something was there.

As if the sounds of her breathing wasn’t hers.

Go away. Go away. Go away. Go away.

Her breathing became more rapid, as if in response to her irrational feelings. A wave of nausea washed over her and she responded by clasping her hands over her mouth. She could feel her hot breath washing over her fingers in an erratic rhythm. Her hands began to shake uncontrollably.

She opened her eyes again. Her dimly lit room flashed back into existence. It was the very same room she had slept in for years. Everything was placed where it belonged. But yet it all felt so unfamiliar.

Her breathing became faster and more erratic. Her throat convulsed hard enough to bring tears into her eyes. She could not calm her breathing and started to choke.

The sounds of coughing echoed throughout the room. She struggled to bring her breathing back under control. The flowing tears began to sting her eyes.

Calm down. Calm down. Calm down.

Her tears blurred her vision, causing everything to look even more alien to her than it did before. Despite her pleas to herself, she could not calm down. In an act of desperation, she bit down onto her hand.

Her hand tensed up as pain struck like lightning. She could feel the taste of copper dancing on the tip of her tongue. The pain provided little relief to the overwhelming anxiety that was flooding her. She knew she could not hold on any longer.

And so she reached out for her salvation, a bottle of pills sitting at the corner of her bedside table. Her shaking hands struggled to unscrew the cap. She could barely maintain her grip on the bottle and her tear stained vision served only to hinder her attempts at getting it open.

Please. Please. Please. Please.

At last the cap came off, falling from her hands and filling her ears with a diminishing beat as it bounced several times off the floor before rolling to a stop. And her hopes for salvation died with it.

She stared eyes wide open into the empty bottle. As feelings of dread and despair emerged, her knees buckled and she collapsed in resignation. She had already known it was empty.

It felt like she was sinking through the ground as she hugged her legs tightly. She lay paralyzed on the cold hard floor until the cocktail of anxiety, unease and dread became unbearable and caused her to scream.

—

Like a fish out of water, she gasped for air. Her eyes had snapped wide open and reality had once again fell back into place around her. A gentle amber shade of light lit up a different room. She began to breathe in a constant rhythm.

It was a ghost from the past, refusing to let her go. It served as a grim reminder of a personal hell she was once trapped within. The days where she fought herself in that cold and dark room. The gates to that hell were still open, threatening to swallow her up in a moment of weakness. A moment that she decided that she will never allow herself to have.

She lay for a while longer, placing an arm over her forehead. After allowing a single tear to drip down her face, she got up and braced herself for a brand new day.

===========

First of all, Hello to all of you, this is my first post here at megatokyo. :>
Second, I hope we all get along. Hehe

Anyway, here is one of my completed stories from about a year ago. Please help me in correcting mistakes and the like. Opinions are appreciated. :3


Whatever I Can Do

My master is so kind, always showing me kindness and compassion. I as his humble servant must do anything in my power to please my master. But I can do only so much. He is sometimes displeased by my incapability, and the only thing can do is ask for forgiveness. This existence in my view is somehow melancholic, because of my limited capabilities.

However, as a servant, it is also my duty to do anything I can to improve myself as much as I can possibly can, for the sake of my master's appreciation. As a servant I must push through and make my master proud. And for a while, I thought that my master was pleased with me, always smiling when I dropped one of his priceless glasswares, always encouraging me to try harder whenever I screwed up a simple thing like cleaning the master bedroom and accidentally ripping his velvet blanket into two distinct pieces. I thought that he was happy and content because of me.

Alas I could never have been more wrong. The next thing I knew, he locked me in my quarters, to await execution. He ignored all my pleas and cries. I desperately clawed at the door, but it was made of solid mahogany and didn't budge. I was betrayed by my own master, what a disgrace. After all I did for him, this was his way of repaying me? Blinded by rage, I lifted my bed into the air, and with all the strength I had, I swung it at the door, effectively shattering the expensive, ornate mahogany in half. I didn't care anymore about the implications of what I was about to do next. He is a shameful master, unworthy of his title.

As I was walking around the soon to be blood-stained corridors of my former master's house, I came across one of my maid friends. Without hesitation, I charged at her and knocked her down to the floor. Dazed, she tried to fight back, but at the back of her mind, she knew she didn't have a chance against me. As I wrapped my hands around her neck, I realized that if I kill this person, I would be no better than my wretched disgrace of a master. I didn't want to be like that miserable excuse of a human being. I instantly released my grip on her neck, but it was too late. She was dead. I frantically tried to do CPR on her, to no avail. As I stood up, I realized that I became the very thing I sworn to destroy. This feeling was disgusting to say the least. I couldn't hold myself back, so I threw up beside the maid's body, which was still twitching for some reason. Now I had done it, I am now a monster, bound for darkness and death. This I swear, I WILL drag my master to hell with me.

The maid I had killed had a sharp bread knife on her tray, so I picked it up. I knew what I had to do. I shall kill my master and then myself. I walked slowly to the kitchen, while playing with the knife in my hand. It was almost noon, and my master should now be waiting in his study, for the maid to bring him his tea. I will give him the best kind of tea there is, red tea. The rarest kind, the tea that chokes you to death. His blood will be the death of him, this I swear.

As I peered around the corner, I saw him, quietly reading a thick, leather bound book. From what I can tell, it was the same book he used to let me read to him when he was still young. How ironic that that book will be the last literary piece he will ever see, when in the past he needed me to read it to him. He stood up silently, while still reading the book. I quietly walked into the room, avoiding his line of sight. I snuck up behind him and tapped his back. As he turned around, I plunged the knife into his abdomen. His screams muffled by my free hand, we fell to the ground. I decided to give him the most painful death possible, so I twisted the blade while it was still inside him. The disgusting sound of organs and tissues rupturing filled the room. I whispered to him my last words as he slipped away silently. "Go to hell."

I stood up in triumph, looked around, and spied my former master's pistol, still in it's original glass case. I picked up the case, raised it high, then with devastating force, smashed it against the wall. I picked up the gun slowly, whilst reflecting upon my actions. They were justified. Yes they were. Were they? What did I just do? I suddenly snapped back into reality. I was a monster, of my master's own creation and design. And, as I put the gun against my temple, I realized that I had no more purpose in life, because I had nobody to serve. I looked up at the ornately designed ceiling and laughed as loud as I can. Irony, you are such a cursed insect, for me to be able to eliminate my purpose in life... Is unacceptable. I pulled the trigger. I could instantly feel nothing. I could still distinguish light and dark as I fell to the ground, but it slowly faded into blackness.

Hello master. I am with you now, here to serve you, whatever your desire, I will comply, because you are my master. The one and only master of this God-forsaken realm. Lord Lucifer...

I was trying to write a book and I feel like one part of it doesn't quite work. I'm not going to post all I've written so far, but I will post the part that's bothering me and a little bit more.

“What was it like in your world?” he asks. I take my time before answering. How can I tell him without saying anything too…. personal?
Finally, I say, “Violent.” I won’t tell him about my little cousin, or Sam, and especially not about Rose.
But he pushes me to say more. “But when you talk about your technology and economies and stuff, it always seems like your leaving something out, something big.”
I’m still not talking. I tell him that. But: “Come on, I’m your friend. You can tell me. I won’t tell anyone. Please?”
I don’t know why he’s so obsessed with my past. Well, I guess he does seem to like knowing things. But he might as well stop trying. I don’t want him to know.
But he keeps begging and begging. He begs for hours on end. This kid is really becoming bothersome. So I tell him. Everything. It’ll shut him up anyway.

The thing is, Isaac is supposed to be more quiet, serious, and mature, as you can see in this paragraph:

Isaac seems quiet. Perhaps he’s shy or perhaps he’s always like this. I think the latter is true. He seems to be studying me with a kind of interest. I study back. He looks about my age. He has dark brown hair that curls wildly, and it’s in his face. His skin is very pale. His shockingly blue eyes seem to stare into the depths of my being. I feel uncomfortable looking into those eyes. I decide to look away.

Please tell me what I should put instead of the first bit. Thanks.

First, try it from the other persons point of view. Attempting to explain a strange world from inside the stranger is hard to make work. The "kid" in this scene is the normal one. Use them as the foil to help expose information about Isaac. Another good reason to change character is that Isaac won't feel "quiet" to the reader if you have too much inner monologue going on.

Other stuff: Isaac's reluctance seems to be artificial. If you're reluctant to speak about things it's for a reason if this reason is the result of the kind of world you are from. Why doesn't lying come easily? Why would you have to consciously think of what not to tell people? I get that you're attempting to use this as a way to introduce other characters. If so, why not use external things. A tattoo, a ring, a scar. The "kid" can ask questions about those obvious things and then either external or internal dialog can be used to expose the relationship of the object to the other characters.

Also if someone is from a *world* that is consistently violent it's different from coming from a country that is violent. A person who knows only violence should display characteristics of assuming that their world is the norm. You might try have them use a more oblique term or struggle to find a term.

The "kid" is also acting artificially. You rarely say "I think you're leaving out something big" instead of talking about the specific questions Isaac doesn't answer or ways he acts. i.e. "You don't seem to like my dad" (because his dad is a policeman and policemen on Isaac's world are dangerous).

Also remember that all of this is still kind of "telling" rather than "showing". Consider instead putting your character in a scene where the aspects of living in a violent culture would get contrasted. Things he finds normal or abnormal. Read some stories about naturalizing child soldiers to get an idea as to how this affects people's psyche.

This post has been edited by sarkeizen on Nov 21 2012, 03:59 PM