Does this sound interesting?

[Red Lioness]

I'm trying to get back into writing fiction. I'm taking a stab at writing a mystery and wanted to get some feedback on the first couple of pages. Tell me what you think!

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The clock was started in to get on his nerves. It was an especially ornate one, complete with long dangling weighted chains and a pendulum shaped like a man on horseback. The overdone decoration he could handle; it was the tick that was starting to grate on his nerves.
“So you’re the investigator from D.C.” said the other occupant of the room.
“That’s right. I’m Dr. B. E. Dooriya. I was up for the conference and they asked me to come to this scene.” Dr. Dooriya sighed, looking around at the glassy stares of the multitude of porcelain dolls clogging every nook and cranny of the sitting room. “Though I’m surprised a town of this size didn’t have more than one CSI of their own.”
“Oh, we do. But Josh won’t come to this house. I’m Madison Coran, by the way.”
“Koran? Like the Muslim holy book?” Dr. Dooriya gave Madison an appraising look. If she had a drop of Middle Eastern blood in her it would have been a miracle. She was short, curvy, and had a head of wild curly hair that was somewhere in between red and blonde and seemed to jump back and forth depending on the light. Currently she was sitting on a chintz sofa in this giant dollhouse. She appeared to be knitting a sock.
“Coran with a C. It’s Irish.” There was a thump from the ceiling. Dr. Dooriya and Madison looked up immediately.
“They had better not be contaminating the scene,” the good doctor growled impatiently.
“Relax; he ain’t gettin’ any deader.” Madison drawled. “What does B. E. stand for?”
“That’s a very cavalier attitude.”
“Yeah,” the woman agreed in a casual tone. “I read somewhere the B stands for ’Brick’.” Dr. Dooriya felt a blush cross his cheeks. He had worked very hard to establish his reputation as a top forensic scientist and had just gotten to the point where he could get by on just initials if he so chose. Dr. Brick E. Dooriya had devoted his life to science, particularly to forensic science. He was of medium build, with dark hair just starting to go gray and features that were, while not exactly handsome, at least attractively interesting.
“It’s an old family name,” he said, “A variation of the name ’Brice’.”
“Cheer up,” Madison said. “You can always go by your middle name. What does the E stand for?”
“Edythe.” Brick growled, waiting for the prerequisite cry of ’That’s a girl’s name!’ It didn’t come.
“Damn. Did your parents actually like you?”
“So why won’t the other CSI come to this house?” Brick asked, desperate for a change of subject.
“’Cause it’s haunted,” Madison said, starting a new row.
“There are no such things as ghosts,” Brick snapped.
“You hold on to that thought,” the woman said without looking up. “I guess ’haunted’ isn’t really the right word. It’s more like super-mega haunted. One might even say ’cursed’.”
“That. Is. Ridiculous.” Brick snapped. “You people are scientists. And you believe in ghosts?!”
“Oh, so you’re one of those.” Madison said, folding up her knitting and stashing it in her bag.
“One of what?”
“Someone who has the entire universe figured out.” Madison said, standing up and arranging her bag on her shoulder. “Arthur Conan Doyle wrote: ’When you rule out the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth.’ Well, the first part’s trickier than it seems.”
“Ruling out the impossible?”
“Yeah. In this town, Doctor, there ain’t no such thing.”

[Wompet]

Interesting ...
Looks like a good start. Coran and Brice Edythe Dooriya, quoting Conan Doyle, a cursed dwelling - any Celtic influences there?

A short, curvy woman with wild curly red hair who knits socks ... don't we know someone with that description?

[Red Lioness]

Coran and Brice Edythe Dooriya, quoting Conan Doyle, a cursed dwelling - any Celtic influences there?

It gets better: it's going to be called 'Things That Go Bump' after the old Scottish prayer/poem.

A short, curvy woman with wild curly red hair who knits socks ... don't we know someone with that description?

You know why? 'Cause I can.

[O'Neille]

I'm no expert, but it reads more like a screen play than a novel. You know the third person type of thing. I feel a mystery written in the first person is a more interesting read. Let's the reader kind of be someone else rather than observing it like an eavesdropper.

Are you researching the forsensic approach due to your interests? Is anyone wearing a kilt? Can't wait to read more. O'Neille

[Pleater]

I know the temptation is to get into the dialogue and start to build the interaction quickly - I write a bit myself, but I would sugest a few more seconds of scene building, something like -

He made no sound moving over the ornately patterned carpet as he strode into the sitting room, and was halted by the glassy stare of a multitude of porcelain dolls, which stood, sat or reclined on ... give impression of the decoration/furniture.

Reflecting the (describe window to infer architecture of house and weather outside) was a confection of a clock. He moved closer so as to see past the reflection and make out the face and hands, then glanced at his watch. (the clock either surprises him by being correct, or is showing the wrong time)

As he surveyed the complex interior of the case, the looped chains and suspended weights, the pendulum weight cast in the shape of a horse and rider, the sound of the tick began to grate on his nerves.

He moved away a step, and the glass of the clock case now reflected his own image - describe. He straightened his tie before he turned away, and was startled again to find that he was facing a pair of very living eyes, those of a (short first impression of the woman) who held part of what might be a sock, impaled by several long slender needles. She almost smiled.

You see that you can put in a lot about the situation, rather than having the two people meet in an undefined space and time by working the light within a room, and also create a frisson between them using the little gesture of him straightening his tie and turning to find he is observed.

I am a little doubtful about introducing the unusual names so early - would a woman ask a man she just met in a professional capacity what his given names were - particularly if she knew they were unusual and would almost certainly embarass him?

Also being slightly more veiled about why Josh would not come to the house, maybe introduce the haunted information only as they go upstairs, so she can turn around and they be eye to eye as she accuses him of being 'one of those' due to her being two steps ahead of him.

I would have thought that she should give him and the reader, some information about who was dead upstairs and who was living, and banging on the ceiling whilst still in the downstairs room.

These are pretty standard plot development ploys - there is quite a lot of information available on 'plotting' and 'characterisation' - people do write books about writing books - you might be able to get some through your local library.

[macwilkin]

It gets better: it's going to be called 'Things That Go Bump' after the old Scottish prayer/poem.

From the Scottish Prayer Book, actually. :mrgreen:

T.

[Rob Wright]

Not bad, I would go first person, but that's me.

I do a fair bit of writing, just finished my second full screenplay last night, yes kilts do make an appearance, and after much searching I am fixing to start a story for a cousin of mine because we cannot find what she wants to read anywhere, so I must ride to the rescue and write about 120 pages of story over the next four-five weeks.

If you ever want to talk writing pm me.

Rob

[Red Lioness]

Thanks for the input! I will work more on the descriptions and setting.

I always prefer writing in the third person; it gives the reader and writer much more scope rather than sticking with what the one character knows.

It's just been so long since I've written any fiction I've almost forgotten how! My entire Air Force career was spent writing reports and training and newsletter articles. I'm trying to get back into the swing of storytelling.

[Red Lioness]

How's this?

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When he first saw the house, Dr. B. E. Dooriya wondered if you could accuse architecture of being overly dramatic. The old Victorian house reared up against the dark sky, barely visible through the bare trees. It was the perfect house for a murder. The sheriff was waiting on the porch for him.
“Dr. Dooriya?” The sheriff was an older man, who looked as if he should be way past retirement age. Rather than expanding around the girth as most older men did, this one seemed to have simply wizened, as if he had been sun dried. “Thanks for coming out.”
“You must be Sheriff Weaver! Thanks for inviting me.” Dr. Dooriya said with a smile.
“I didn’t exactly invite you out for a social call.” Sheriff Weaver said. “But we’ve got a murder here and the closest we’ve got to a crime scene investigator is a part-time forensic analyst. Our full time investigator won’t come to this house. She mentioned you were up for the conference so I made a few calls.”
“Understood,” Dr. Dooriya said, this time with a more serious expression. “What can you tell me?
“I’ll let Madison tell you; we’ve still got to clear the scene.”

After the gothic exterior, the interior almost came as a shock. While the outside was gothic to the extreme, the interior decoration was pure dollhouse chic. Flowery wallpaper plastered every wall, while overly-saccharine paintings of wall-eyed kittens and cherubic children managed to break up the endless flowers. Porcelain dolls and teddy bears clogged every nook and cranny. A ornamental mirror reflected Dr. Dooriya’s face back at him. A middle-aged man of average height with features that were, if not handsome, at least attractively interesting and dark hair just starting to go grey dressed in somber tones of charcoal and black looked severely out of place in this giant dollhouse. Sheriff Weaver led him to a sitting room.
“This is our part-time forensic analyst; Madison Coran. She’ll fill you in.” A woman rose from a chintz loveseat, putting a bit of knitting away in a black bag that hung from her shoulder. She was short, curvy, and pale, with a mane of wild curly hair that was somewhere between auburn and blonde and seemed to leap back and forth between the two as the light changed.
“Dr. B. E. Dooriya, I presume?” She said. “I’m Madison Curan.”
“It’s a pleasure, Ms. Curan. What can you tell me about what happened here?” The corner of Madison’s mouth turned up. He actually pronounced it ‘Mizz’. Most people stuck to ‘Miss’ until they were told otherwise.
“Call me Madison,” she said. “The victim is Mr. James Levy, 68. His wife went out of town on a trip with her daughter-in-law this afternoon. His grandkids were dropped off here at the same time. The children were outside until about seven p.m. They ordered Chinese food for dinner at seven-thirty, then everything was quiet until a little after ten o’clock. The neighbors heard screaming and called the police. Responding officers heard the kids screaming and ran upstairs. They found Mr. Levy stabbed multiple times and the children hiding in a wardrobe. They’re still trying to coax them out.”
“I see. Any signs of forced entry?” Dr. Dooriya asked, eyeing the overly decorated room.
“None, not that it there would be. The Levys never locked their doors. But there’s nothing missing and nothing looks disturbed, except for the bedroom.”
“You’ve - you’ve been here before? You know they didn’t lock their doors?”
“Oh yes; Mrs. Levy grows wonderful herbs. I don’t have the knack myself.” At his look, Madison smiled wider. “This is a small town, Dr. Dooriya. If you lock your door, how will your neighbors get in if they need something?”
“The same way a murderer gets in?” Dr. Dooriya guessed.
“Touché.” Upstairs, the sound of a child crying began and quickly moved down into the first floor. A deputy rushed by the sitting room door with a small girl in his arms. She was screaming hysterically. A second deputy followed him, this one carrying a small boy. The boy was silent, staring blankly ahead as glassy-eyed as the dolls lining the walls. Sheriff Weaver appeared in the doorway.
“We’re ready for you two now,” he said, gesturing to them to follow. Madison started up the stairs behind the sheriff.
“So if this town is so open and friendly, why won’t the regular CSI come here?” Dr. Dooriya asked.
“Jason won’t come here because this place is haunted.” Madison said.
“There’s no such thing as ghosts.” Dr. Dooriya snapped.
“You hold on to that thought,” the woman said without looking up. “I guess ’haunted’ isn’t really the right word. It’s more like super-mega haunted. One might even say ’cursed’.”
“That. Is. Ridiculous.” Brick snapped. “You people are scientists. And you believe in ghosts?!” Madison paused on the stairs, arching an eyebrow at the good doctor.
“Oh, so you’re one of those.”
“One of what?”
“Someone who has the entire universe figured out.” The woman stopped on the stairs and turned around. The advantage of two higher steps let her look Dr. Dooriya square in the eye. “Arthur Conan Doyle wrote: ’When you rule out the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth.’ Well, the first part’s trickier than it seems.”
“Ruling out the impossible?”
“Yeah. In this town, Doctor, there ain’t no such thing.”