Storytime?

[Zzzptm]

OK, now some real feedback.

1. Show, don't tell.
This means finding ways to explain what's going on through character actions or internal dialogue. It tightens up your writing and makes that story move forward.

For example, you have, "This is the most active night of the year for all patrols and detectives alike." That's telling us stuff. Let's *show* that fact...
"It was going to be the longest night of the year."
"Ever hear the phrase, 'They only come out at night'? Well, this was Halloween night."

2. The timestamps break up the action. Once we see the zombie dragging a stomach, I really don't care to look at my watch. Now if the character mentions relative time, like, "30 minutes later, we were..." or "Maybe 10 minutes had gone by, not a sound from the heap in the corner..." that works fine. The other way to introduce the passage of time would be if this was a dialogue between the officer and an Internal Affairs guy, debriefing him about the events. Like, "OK, so you got us up to 9:15 PM, what happened after that?"

3. The vapid news reporter is comical, but the comedy doesn't seem right for this story. Better he be confused/concerned/showing panic than give a smug "Happy Halloween!"

4. You've written action, which is good. If you want to add elements of horror, then you have to ease up on the descriptions. Leave things to the imagination. Ask questions.

You have: "I pulled my gun and went to the back of the van, looked in, there was nobody there, no Cindy and most worryingly no body."

My suggestion: "I pulled my gun and went to the back of the van, looked in... where was Cindy? For God's sake, where was the body?"

Trust me, when the hardboiled detective starts to ask questions, the panic and fear will mount. If Lt. Charger stays cool, then it's an action story, start to finish. If he gets rattled and starts to lose it, we got us a horror story!

***

It reads quickly and the basic plot premise is a strong one. This is good. The advice I'm giving you was either stuff I've read that works and/or stuff that someone once explained to me once upon a time... stuff that made me mad, sad, and hurt... until I decided being a better writer was worth swallowing my pride and a change of style choices.

[Charger]

Oh darn looks like I've missed this feedback here ZZZ..Sorry.

I'm gonna go through them one by one.

1. Yes this part has always kind of been my problem. I am more of a teller than a shower when it comes to my writing....something I most certainly need to work on.

2. The time stamp has always kind of been my trademark. That's just something I do...But I do understand how it might not be everyone's cup of tea.

3. Comedy has always been something I want to add to my stories. The thing is I know I am not much of a writer and most of my stories are bit out there topic wise too and I think the only way to make it even partly more accessible to the reader is to add some comedy. Also I just like adding some crazy stuff too.

4. This one was an interesting observation. I've never even thought of it like that. I do approach things action first. Something I do think I could change as well...that being said a sentence like "For God's sake, where was the body?" would never come out of my pen!


My writing style has always been very straight forward which I know is not a good thing. And that is something I should work on. It's harder than it might seem though...maybe because I am of a simple mind.

Well I guess the big question here now is do you guys want to read more of this or not?

[Zzzptm]

Straightforward is *not* bad. It's you, and it works for you. If you make it straightforward dialogue and internal dialogue, you can take your writing to the next level.

[Charger]

Straightforward is *not* bad. It's you, and it works for you. If you make it straightforward dialogue and internal dialogue, you can take your writing to the next level.

Well it ain't good either that's for sure. I do need to work on that internal dialogue thing...

[Charger]

I just read through all of the stories I've written over the years for the first time in 10 years or so...Most of it complete and utter shit but I do have to say there were one or two really good ones too...naturally the writing itself was just as horrible garbage as always but the stories themselves were pretty good.

But I do understand why I stopped too...for the same reason everyone stated here too...I just don't have any actual writing skills. It's kind of a shame really as I the stories and plotlines I come up with can be really good...but I just can't get them down in a way that would be even half decent....doesn't matter if it's in english or finnish...same god awful delivery...not to mention all the typos...gosh.

I've been having some great story ideas again and have been thinking about writing them but after reading the earlier ones and your comments it's pretty damn clear I should never EVER write anything again.

[Zzzptm]

If you can stop writing, then you're not a writer. If you can't stop writing, then you're a writer.

Myself, I can draw or not draw and I'm fine. So I'm not a graphic artist, even though I've done some stuff that I really enjoy and was able to sell. But writing is something I can't stop myself from doing, I always go back to it.

Now, what really helped me was going through an online writing clinic where people would have to review 5 other works in order to post one of their own. I put stuff up there and once I paid attention to the criticisms instead of trying to explain why I was right to do what I was doing, I became much more effective in my writing.

A good editor can do wonders for typos - that's what editors are for! They can also suggest rewording things for better effect. This is why so many writers respected HP Lovecraft so much. It wasn't for his writing, which was awesome enough. It was for his editing!

[Zzzptm]

Here's one of mine, from February 2019, about 22 years after I started wanting to be serious about writing.

The Compromise Vanishes

The CIO and CISO left the room, leaving only Sandeep the temp and Avi the digital forensics expert at the table.

Sandeep said, "You know I'm not at all authorized to say anything of effect to you."

Avi said, "I understand that completely. You are not an employee of the client. I am not to consider you, in any way, to be authorized to direct my actions or the actions of my employees in their relationship with the client."

Sandeep stopped recording. "That will do. You know what's going on, and what I'm about to tell you."

Avi nodded.

Sandeep said, "Then, I really don't have to tell you anything."

Avi slowly shook his head.

"All right then. Just let me know when you've got your final report ready so we can hand that over to the cyberinsurance people."

Avi said, "Absolutely. We'll work long days, nights even, but we will deliver the report and I'm sure it will be complete and accurate." That was just in case something else was recording the conversation. Otherwise, a word to the wise was sufficient.

Avi and Sandeep arose and each went back to his respective hotel cubicles.

The client had hired Sandeep strictly as an outside consultant that would vet and approve the digital forensics report that Avi's team would deliver. The client and its officers did not have any care or concern what Sandeep did between now and approving Avi's report. Sandeep knew his place in the world, which was why his laptop was not visible from the aisle and his back was to the wall, which is no mean feat in a cubicle. As long as Sandeep attended his scheduled meetings and then later approved that report, nobody cared what he was looking at on his phone or computer.

Avi, on the other hand, had work to do. The client stood exposed and plundered to the world, a victim of a massive breach. As a massive multinational in a profitable sector, it had a preliminary estimate of over $400 million in damages - on the line of what companies suffered when WannaCry and NotPetya came on the scene.

Avi's team worked with a strict rule - no paper, whatsoever. No writing, no jotting of notes, no paper at all. The only papers involved were those in the final printout. Otherwise, all products of his team's work would leave when his team took their laptops out of the client site.

Avi's team had another strict rule - no conversations of note over landlines, cell lines, email, or chat. They were to avoid speaking above whispers, as well. So many things left a digital trail, and it was best to not leave that trail to begin with. Then, it couldn't be followed back.

When someone on Avi's team needed to collaborate with someone else on the team, they would whisper together. If they needed to have a third person involved or a lengthy conversation, they would go outside. It didn't matter how cold or hot it was outside or what security they'd have to go through repeatedly to complete the journey, the rule was adamant: go outside, where only nature was likely to be listening.

If Avi had to brief his team with customer representatives attending, he had a terse, formulaic presentation. "The client has been breached. We are to determine the root cause, the extent, and the origin of the breach. We all know what is on the line here, so let's do the best work that we can do for our client."

Each member of Avi's team had a specialty, so there was no need to go through who was going to do what and when. They just moved forward. Avi secured any credentials they would need to get started, but that was typically a formality. His team could get those needed credentials much faster than any corporate process could deliver them. Any discrepancy between credentials used and credentials that were supposed to be used could be attributed to fallout from the breach event. Besides, those passwords were about to be changed, anyway, so it wasn't like anyone on Avi's team could use those usernames with those particular passwords again. The end justified the means.

In the aftermath of a breach, procedures and processes tended to be protean, plastic, verbally-approved sorts of things. This was especially true when dealing with Avi's team's requirements. No client had yet said, "Give them anything they want. Literally, anything that they want." But that seemed to be the understanding at each client site thus far.

Nobody ever called Avi in the first place unless they intended to have that kind of understanding from the beginning. With damages in the hundreds of millions of dollars, these customers could not afford any additional risk. They'd already accepted the risk on what got them there in the first place: they had to be certain about securing the means to get out of that predicament.

And that is why they called a man who spoke very little to his team when others could overhear a conversation, who would deliver one and only one document, with zero review cycles permitted. They would call a man like Sandeep to handle the document from Avi, as an extra layer of insulation.

Sandeep merely needed the skill of being able to handle his extended boredom. Avi's team needed some profoundly technical digital forensics skills. This is why Sandeep lived comfortably, but Avi lived comfortably and securely.

Generations ago, one of Avi's ancestors had worked in Moscow, back when it was the capitol of the Soviet Union. Avi's ancestor worked in a photography lab. Avi's ancestor had but four tools at his desk: a magnifying glass, an airbrush, a razor knife, and rubber cement. He was a redactor, one of the best.

A commissar would bring a photo to the redactor and point to a face in a crowd or a man in a line. By the end of the day, the commissar would collect a photo that did not have that face or that man. The photo would not have any stigmata where the face or man used to be. There would be no streaks, no absence of background noise, no overly-softened edges, no awkward gap. Space itself would disappear as Dzerzhinsky's Tikhii Don played on the radio. All day long, the redactor worked quietly, creating a world of illusion as the music of Socialist Realism flowed around him.

This was a work that needed no words. A photo, a finger, that was all that was needed to make things appear to be as they needed to be for the political demands of the moment. Sometimes, a photo would return to a redactor, with a finger pointing at another person or two, and they would be gone by the end of the day. They may have been necessary for yesterday: today, they were not what the Soviet Union needed.

Kabalevsky's symphony played as another face vanished. The redactor filled in the empty space with a painted-in fiction of the clothes of the man behind the one that had disappeared. Two officers left the official portrait of the general staff - they stood on the edges, so only a simple cropping did the trick. A photo with a very dangerous face had turned up - the redactor knew this was a rush job from the face alone, without needing to see the stern, almost panicked expression on the commissar's visage.

Whose was the dangerous face? It could be one of hundreds, no, thousands, but there was no reference for the redactor to turn to. All the faces that were not to be no more forever were in the mind and memory of the redactor. Their names were not important, only their appearances. If their backs were turned to the camera and nobody could tell they were in the photo, there was no need to have the photo placed before the redactor. But if they turned up after they were supposed to have disappeared, well... Khachaturian's Toccata was proper background music for the rush work. The commissar had not even left, but collected the finished product immediately.

Always, the work of the redactor was in taking what was unacceptable to see and making it acceptable once again.

Avi did not know the name of this ancestor, let alone his job. One day, the redactor went in to work and did not return. His wife knew well enough to not ask a question and his sons had perished in the Great Patriotic War. His daughter was too young to remember her father, and mother never spoke of him.

If there was anything of an inheritable skill in what Avi did, it was surely enhanced by the environment he maintained for himself and his workers. When not on the job, they trained and critiqued each other, each member of the team fully aware that his or her work had to survive the criticism of the others if it was to be ultimately satisfactory to future clients. They would look for a broken reference here, a missed line of code there, accepting that the others were doing the same to their own work. If they made mistakes, they were in ways too difficult to be noticed by the naked eye.

There was music as Avi worked. Not Dzerzhinsky, but George Acosta; not Kabalevsky, but Armin van Buuren; not Khachaturian, but Tiësto - these played on Avi's earbuds as he sought out the things that were unacceptable to see for his clients. Silently, ruthlessly, they would find the malware and eliminate it utterly, even down to the bare metal on the hard drive. Not a trace would remain.

The log files - not a word was said - the patterns of the breach, its fingerprint, those vanished as well. Did the client have a tamper-proof protection on the log files? That had to be worked over, as well. The client did not need any evidence of the unacceptable things, and evidence of evidence was equally unwelcome.

A finger pointed at an item on a screen and one of Avi's team members would make it go away. The purge ran its course, but the task was not yet concluded.

There had been a breach, after all. There needed to be evidence of such, so that the client might collect on its cyberinsurance policy.

The insurance companies - and their backers in the reinsurance companies - never hesitated to write a policy or collect a premium. But paying a claim? Ah, the tortured screams of the money being pulled from the insurance company's accounts could be heard the whole world 'round. How could one blame the insurance company for taking pity on its money and finding a way, any way, to prevent having to part with it?

The cyberinsurance policy would not pay out for an act of war or terrorism, a common exclusion in most policies. The problem was that if a nation had ever accused another nation of using a particular piece of malware, that malware would forever be associated with acts of war and terrorism, even if a mere script kiddie in a dirty apartment was using it to raise money to pay his or her rent.

Avi's team whispered, pointed, talked outside, and listened to electronica so that the ravages of war and terror would vanish... other ravages were needed to complete the picture, and Avi's team provided complete pictures at the end of their engagements.

This business of digital redaction, it thrived on the unsaid and the unwritten. Better still if things unsaid and unwritten were handled by independent third party contractors, such as Sandeep. Let the third party temp worker not say anything or not write anything. That was best for all concerned.

The client also felt that government inspectors were best suited for government work. They had agendas often in conflict with the continuity of business and the unimpeded flow of commerce. Best to keep private things in private hands.

At the end of long days and long nights, Avi and Sandeep were again in the conference room. Avi handed Sandeep a report for his consideration. Sandeep read over it, asking questions as he turned pages.

"So, Avi, no evidence whatsoever of a state-sponsored attack?"

"None at all, Sandeep. The breach was entirely the work of a criminal organization utilizing custom malware."

Sandeep smiled. He'd have a few days where he could be idle at home instead of idle at a client site when this business concluded. "What if an auditor finds evidence of a state-sponsored attack, such as in inactive or deleted malware on a hard drive?"

"We called that out in section 9. We did see some malware that had been used in state-sponsored attacks before, but which was not part of this attack, as the forensic data will show. Attack and exploitation patterns common with that malware are simply absent in the records of this attack, which correspond closely with the ways in which this malware suite is utilized by criminal gangs. That state-sponsored stuff may have caused damages, but they would have been of limited scope and outside the events and claims associated with this breach." It was almost as if Avi had said those things a hundred times before.

"Is it possible the criminals were working alongside or on behalf of a state or terror organization?"

"Given the financial nature of the targets in the breach, we disagree with that conclusion."

Sandeep looked above the top of his readers. "What about damage or compromise to non-financial targets?"

"Collateral damage or compromise pursuant to the eventual financial goals of the criminals."

Sandeep nodded and flipped through a few more pages quietly. Nice fonts and color scheme. Plenty of pie charts. Executives loved pie charts. If there were a church for executives, William Playfair would be the greatest prophet of that denomination, for it was Playfair's Statistical Breviary that brought the pie chart down from the mountaintop.

Playfair would also figure highly in a pantheon for those that see things as they are and then change their appearance to what their employers want them to become. Playfair's employer, the British Empire, did not want to countenance a Revolutionary France flush with cash. Playfair came up with a way to make France overly-flush with cash and ruined that nation's economy with one hundred millions of counterfeit assignats. Was such a thing a fraud? No, it was an outright service to Mr. Playfair's employers! Besides, how could a man with a name like "Playfair" be capable of anything other than playing fair? Really, now.

And for all Sandeep could tell, there was not a hint of fraud or evidence tampering in Avi's report. For all intents and purposes, it looked like exactly the sort of thing an executive would want to hand to an insurance company - and what an insurance company would want to hand to a reinsurance company.

"Looks good, Avi. Everything seems to be in order. Dotted all the i's, crossed all the t's."

Avi smiled. "And the good news is that, once they get their claim paid out, it'll be as if this all had never happened."

"Well, we'll still show up as line-items for this quarter."

"True, that can't be helped. Someone had to clean up all that mess."

Sandeep tapped the conference table twice and stood up. Avi followed suit. They shook hands and made the small talk of departing businessmen.

EPILOGUE

Men like Sandeep and Avi have never been long permanent in any place. They travel over the face of the earth, something like a caravan of merchants. On their arrival, every thing is found trampled down, barren, and bare. While they remain, all is bustle and remedial. When gone, all is left green and fresh.

Just see for yourself.

[Charger]

If you can stop writing, then you're not a writer.

Well duh...I think it was well established that I do not have any skill to be a writer.

[Zzzptm]

If you can stop writing, then you're not a writer.

Well duh...I think it was well established that I do not have any skill to be a writer.

Well, that was your call. Me, I saw promise. If you start writing again because you can't not write, I'll be happy to coach you along.

[Charger]

If you can stop writing, then you're not a writer.

Well duh...I think it was well established that I do not have any skill to be a writer.

Well, that was your call. Me, I saw promise. If you start writing again because you can't not write, I'll be happy to coach you along.

Well not really my call though...My writing sucks everyone has always said so...not just you guys...so better take the hint finally.