An improved scene
In an earlier blog post, I shared a deleted scene from my novel Incursion, and followed that up with an explanation of why that scene didn’t work. I’ve since rewritten the scene to solve those problems (though it is now several scenes). I’ve tried to keep as much of the older version in this new one, but it is substantially different, as made necessary by the fundamental nature of the old version’s problems.
I hope this helps show how a scene might be adjusted by noticing problems and attempting to address them. It appears below.
Content warnings: Non-graphic violence, firearms, death of a child, horror.
The captain leaned over the small table and cackled as he pulled yet more chips into his already sizeable stack. Three of his men sat with him in the open tent. They made a loud show of playful regret. They were almost certainly losing on purpose, but that didn’t offend him. It was a display of submission to him. Perhaps they sought favours, and thought they could ingratiate themselves with him. Perhaps he might even grant them. Or perhaps he would simply enjoy turning down their requests, reasserting his dominance.
It was, after all, his favourite perk of the job.
His thoughts were interrupted by a distant scream, somewhere to the south. It had to be a man’s, but there was something animalistic to it, raw. He’d heard many screams, but none quite like this one; it worked its way beneath his skin and seeped cold into his bones. From the expressions of the others around the table, he could see he was not the only person so affected.
The four of them stood and walked out of the tent. There were some men by the small fire, and others spilled from the tents that circled it; about a dozen stood before him with more coming. One or two of the men looked about but the rest, like the captain, set their eyes in the direction of the scream.
It must have come from just outside the base’s loose perimeter, somewhere just inside the woods. Perhaps someone had strayed too far from safety, left to piss in privacy and had been attacked by some predatory animal for his troubles. Even as the idea formed he knew it was wrong, for there was no hint of fear in the sound.
Only loss.
The lights went out.
‘Felix,’ called the captain to one of his sergeants, ‘get on the generators.’ They had hooked into the nearby power lines, but they weren’t stupid.
‘Yes boss.’ Felix left for the shack containing the backup generators, fifty metres or so to the west, with two other men he motioned to join him.
Around the captain, flashlights and phone lights switched on. His hands drifted to his hips. Men continued to gather by him, and in clusters around the base. ‘Check your weapons. Quickly,’ he said. ‘Get lights on your rifles. Faster! This may be an attack.’ He went back into the tent and picked up his own long gun, racked a round, and slung it over his shoulders.
He was about to send a party south when a second scream came, this time from the west. Pops of pistol fire. Shouts. The shack.
‘Peter, John; on me. We check the generators. Adam, take two men and come at it from the south.’ The men nodded in return, and the captain’s group crept towards the shack while Adam’s ran south to loop around.
They’d made it a little over halfway there when the entire north wall of the shack exploded outward, a hail of wooden shards and splinters that disappeared into the trees. A dark figure stepped from the tottering structure and turned to face them before rocketing into the air.
A voice pounded down on them, oppressive, the words it boomed an avalanche, the ground shaking along with it. ‘I gave you a chance!’ It had no clear source but the men aimed their guns skyward, desperately scanning for something to shoot at.
‘What did you think I would do?’ On the final word the figure appeared in front of Peter, a black glove slamming into his forehead and gripping his skull. Peter screamed and gargled and fell, and the man in black vanished. On the ground, Peter was taken by convulsions, spasming and drooling until he lay still, eyes open but unresponsive. Absent. Broken. The captain gave him a light kick in the ribs but it didn’t seem to register.
Another scream cut through them, this one from the southeast. The guns swung in response. The captain, however, didn’t see the point. He had to get away.
He ran towards the vehicles. Others had had the same idea, but as one man reached for a door the trucks zipped skyward, crashing into each other, screeching as the metal folded and twisted and glowed hot and red as the fuel leaked out and ignited, a new star born dripping in the air above the camp.
It distracted him for a moment, before yet another man screamed, this time close. Far, far too close. He ran between the tents and out as screams and gunfire dotted the camp beyond him.
* * *
The land had grown unfamiliar, and the road devolved into more of a suggestion than anything else. He cursed himself for not going towards the village; at least then he might know where he was. Instead, he stumbled over the uneven ground, the dry clay strewn with unexpected rocks.
The screams still came but they were distant, and from a wider spread as his men surely ran from the camp in every direction. Some of them he could barely hear, but the sound of each still cut through his chest and filled his veins with ice.
He looked about. There was a light to the north. A house perhaps. Maybe he could reach it and find a vehicle. He still had his rifle. If he could steal a truck he could speed off, maybe get far enough away. There would be somewhere he could hide—abroad, perhaps. He quickened his pace. Hope could do that. Push you just that little bit more.
He might just get away.
He felt his feet yanked backwards, and his face struck the road. He turned onto his elbows and backside.
The man in black stalked towards him. There was an intensity to his presence that dwarfed the intimidating glower of the first time he came. Then, he had made threats. But the captain knew the man wouldn’t kill him, so what really could he do? That was before he’d heard those screams. He wanted no part of whatever inspired them.
The black of the man’s clothes melted into the shadows of the forest and he appeared to stretch out to fill the darkness. The captain glanced up and he was sure he would see the sky being swallowed; the stars still shone to his eyes but to his heart they were blinking out as the man in black neared. A low hum seemed to come from him, not from his mouth but from the air, and the hum only grew louder with every step closer.
The captain pulled his rifle around and despite his spasming fingers managed to snap some shots off. One bullet hit the man in the eye; the lens of the mask shattered and the captain watched as the eyeball reformed itself and, in that brief moment it sat bare before the eyelids repaired, the idea came sharp to his mind that the man’s gaze was the focused attention of a god in whose light he had been found wanting.
‘I gave you a chance!’ he yelled at the captain.
The captain pulled himself backwards. ‘What did you do to my men?’ He received no answer. ‘Please! Mercy!’
‘What mercy did you show those you attacked this morning? I gave you a chance.’
The captain wept openly. ‘Please!’ he begged.
‘I will do this every time you harm another. See. See what you’ve done.’
‘What?’ asked the captain. The man in black was at once forward then grabbed the captain’s skull, and he saw through another’s eyes.
* * *
The first sign the father had that something was wrong was the screaming. He turned and looked back, and saw a crowd surge towards them, the faces birthed from madness. Something must have happened in the town of the square. Other noises. Gunshots? Were they gunshots? He turned to flee but the crowd hit and he felt his six year old son’s hand pulled from his. He was knocked to the ground and barely dodged the trampling feet as he rolled himself into a doorway. His boy! He could see him just down the street hiding behind a garbage can. Their eyes met and the father gestured for him to keep down.
The flow of bodies became a trickle, and he stepped out and ran towards the boy. He felt something like a punch in his lower back, and his legs failed him. He flopped face-first down onto the paving stones, just about managing to get arms around his head before it was too late. When he propped his torso up he saw his son run towards him. The father tried to wave him off, tell him to get out of there, but could only watch as two bullets struck the boy. Even with the agony in his belly he dragged himself over to his son and draped himself over the body.
The captain became dimly aware of reality. His head pounded, and time seemed to have slowed. No, not that. It dawned on him that he was instead being rammed through another man’s memories, his mind straining with the effort of just keeping up.
He was submerged back into someone else’s life.
He was a long time there, so long that when someone eased him off his son’s corpse and propped him against the wall, the sky was dark. He became aware that a man had been kneeling beside them, but he couldn’t remember how long.
‘I can’t save you. I’m sorry. There’s too much damage.’ The man looked to the boy. ‘What happened here?’
‘Can you bring back my son?’
‘I’m sorry. No.’
‘I will give you anything. I will give you everything. Please, bring him back! Please.’ He had to get his words out, despite the pain. Beg this man who he had heard could do anything, to do the one thing he needed, the only thing.
The man seemed to wilt. ‘If I could do it, I would do it for free. I wish I could. It would be all I would do.’ He looked back. ‘Who did this?’
He spoke the captain’s name. The man in black nodded.
‘They cause so much pain and they don’t understand it, because it’s not their own, but I can make them. I can show them what they’ve done, by showing them your memories. If you will allow me.’
He nodded, or thought he did. Had he? He nodded again to be sure. It was getting harder to think all the time. He couldn’t feel his legs anymore, and his arms tingled. He lolled his head to the side so he faced his son again.
‘Do you want me to stop the pain?’ the man asked.
He felt his mouth flap. He was trying to say no, but he couldn’t get the word out.
The other man seemed to understand regardless. ‘I’ll stay with you, then. Until the end.’ But he had seen the end already.
His son shouldn’t have died. His son should have had more of a life, but he had failed him. He had failed his son. He felt tears wet his cheek.
‘You didn’t. I did.’
What? He hadn’t said anything, had he? He couldn’t remember. He heard himself wheeze, and his chest had grown heavy. There was someone else in the room, wasn’t there? He heard a noise, feet on the dirt, and a soft thump from the wall as someone sat beside him. How had he gotten here? Was that his son on the ground? Not dead. Couldn’t be. This must be a nightmare. Yes, that was it. He’d wake up soon. Kiss his boy. Play with him. It was okay. What was his name, though?
They sat there a while, in the hollow remains of the world, until there was just the black.
* * *
In the morning, the captain woke alone in the dirt by the side of the road.
His son was dead. No, he knew he didn’t have a son, but despite knowing that, he still felt the loss. The echo of that father’s grief still sounded in his chest, and he wailed out into the chill air of the morning.
He’d died, hadn’t he? The father he killed, or one of his men killed. That was where those memories ended, wasn’t it? That was death.
He never particularly cared about the pain he caused others, and he still didn’t. But as a threat…
He didn’t want to feel anything like that ever again.
He stood and looked out across the nearby field, out to where the sun was rising, bringing light back into the world. As he watched the light spread, it seemed greyer to his eyes, for he knew what fate awaited him in the dark.
Trying to find a literary agent while suffering from depression
It’s a bit of an unfortunate time in the United States for those suffering from mental illness. Our current HHS secretary, Robert F Kennedy Jr., has repeatedly blamed mass shootings on antidepressants. He talks of autism as if it is a horror to be prevented, caused by unknown “toxins,” a view that contradicts that of the scientific consensus, and one that dehumanises autistic people.
I’ve written about my depression before. One big part of my experience with it has been learned helplessness, a downward spiral, a feedback loop created by repeated attempts and failure, made all the worse when you realise you really don’t know how to make things go as you’d like them to. I remember going through my days feeling as if I were pressed under some great weight, certain there was something wrong not just with me but with the fact of my existence. But I had no idea what I could do about it. Talk therapy hadn’t worked for me, and I was certain that prescription medicine was something for people who had a problem, not someone who was the problem. Waking up, failing to fix what was wrong, not knowing what to do, going asleep, and repeating it all over again was both maddening and deadening.
Trying to find a literary agent is a fucking minefield for people with depression.
What is involved in trying to find a literary agent?
When you are a fiction writer, and you want your book to be traditionally published (as opposed to self-published) you almost certainly need a literary agent, and the process for acquiring an agent is called querying. You describe your book in a query letter, which is sent to the agent in an attempt to sell them on the writing and on the writer. Different agents have different requirements for these letters (for instance, some want to see excerpts and a synopsis in your first email to them, while others insist you do not send anything other than the query letter itself).
If the agent likes what they see in what you first send them, they’ll ask for more. As you progress through the stages, you will be asked for the full manuscript, invited to a call after the agent has read it, and then given an offer of representation—assuming you are successful. The agent will then work with you to get your book ready for submission, which is where they will try sell your book to editors at a publisher.
It’s typical for published authors to have received many rejections before finding an agent. It’s hard to find an agent, and it’s hard to get published.
The mines are buried elsewhere.
An information vacuum
Literary agents receive a lot of queries; it is not unusual for an agent to receive dozens every day. Finding new clients is also only a fraction of an agent’s work. As a result, an agent can only spend a very short amount of time reviewing each query they receive. If they decide not to move forward with you, they might reply with a form letter if they reply at all.
It is unreasonable to expect an agent to provide individualised feedback on queries they reject. These replies would take up a significant amount of their day. Instead, the totality of the feedback you receive will either be some form of “yes” or, most likely, “no.”
But there’s a problem, a disconnect, for authors. Your ability to sell your book to an agent is a different skill than an agent’s ability to sell your book to an editor, or a publisher’s ability to sell it to bookstores, or a bookstore’s ability to sell it to their customers. It’s a very different skill to actually writing fiction. Furthermore, it’s a skill you don’t need to continue to develop, unless you need to find a new agent. Worse, there are so many variables involved that it is almost impossible to know why a given agent rejected your book.
Improving in any skill requires information about your failures. It is possible to learn where the only feedback you get is success or failure, without further information, but I feel this only works where there is one or a few right answers. The question answered by a rejection of your query is not “is the query letter correct?” but “was this query letter, at this time, enough to interest this particular agent?”
Things that can go wrong
There are so many reasons your query letter could fail. For example:
The agent might have said they are closed to queries, but you sent them a query anyway.
You might have ignored the guidelines that agent gave for how to format your query letter.
You might have pitched the agent a genre or other category they do not actually represent (for example, pitching adult horror to an agent who deals exclusively with children’s fiction).
You misspelled the agent’s name, or used the wrong name, or pasted in “Dear AGENT NAME” without changing it to their actual name.
You pitched them a book that you haven’t actually written yet.
You didn’t describe your book.
But there may be far less obvious problems. Some of these are not problems with your query letter per se but instead some incompatibility with that particular agent you could not tell in advance, or a host of other problems that you have no way of knowing you have. These include the following:
The book might not resonate with them.
They might not see a market for the book.
They might have been interested in the book, but they currently represent an author with a similar book or books.
All of the above, but the problem is how you sold the book, not with the book itself.
Your query letter did not sufficiently differentiate itself from other queries they’ve seen or even just saw that day.
The specifications or requests they provided in one place were different from those mentioned in another place, and you followed the wrong set (I have reason to believe this happened to me at least once).
The agent expects something to be in your query letter that they have not explicitly asked for and is not mentioned in any of the standard advice for query letters, e.g. you should always put the ending to the book in the synopsis, but the agent might expect to see the ending in the query letter itself, which is not the case for every agent and they may not tell you.
If you include the synopsis and sample chapters in the query letter, the problem might lie in those and not your query letter itself.
There’s also paradoxical advice. One agent tells writers they should include all the major plot points (though perhaps not the ending) in the query letter, so an agent can see that you’ve thought this through. But there are plenty of successful query letters that do not go into this level of detail, and instead set the scene and the stakes and go little further. One notable example is Scott Hawkins’ query letter for The Library at Mount Char.
The paradox is resolved when you understand that the agent is talking about what they expect, what other agents they’ve talked to might expect, but it is not universal.
Welcome back to the doom loop, and the particulars of depression in this context
The more information you have about success or failure of your actions, the quicker you can learn how to improve your odds of success. For example, I might have had a hard time understanding why my wife liked the flowers I bought her sometimes and not others, if she never told me the smell of one type of flower made her gag.
With minimal feedback on your queries from agents, you lack information critical to improvement. Assuming you have the basics down, how can you tell what part of the query letter is failing you? Is it the introduction, or how you phrased your bio? Did you fail with the pitch, or with comparative titles? Is it that there is no market for a book like yours? Or is it a different problem for each agent?
The process can feel like writing a letter on a piece of paper, making a paper aeroplane out of it, and throwing it into a building through an open window, hoping that there’s someone inside who’ll read it.
To fail itself can be disheartening, sure, but the possibility of failure is not where people with depression might stumble. The real risk is of falling into the familiar doom loop of learned helplessness. Without knowing why you’ve failed, it’s impossible to know what to adjust, and your subconscious starts spinning its tyres in the mud, your anxiety building again. For me at least, the similarity of the experience to depressive episodes brings me right back to those feelings.
People with depression often suffer from low self-esteem. This presents another problem when you are pitching a novel. I can say (with confidence) that my novel is well written, is tense, is something I would like to read. These feel like table stakes. But a standard part of a query letter is comparative titles. I find it impossible to say “This book will appeal to fans of Book X or Book Y,” for praise like that makes me deeply uncomfortable, and to praise my own work? The words would turn to ash in my mouth, even if their accuracy was proven to me.
Conclusion
So, what can be done? Other than being aware of all this, I’m not sure there is anything that can be done. You would need to drastically change the publishing industry to include opportunities for feedback in the process, which would make the process very different, and with the increased labour involved it would require vastly more readers to be economically viable.
It is important that you do things to preserve your peace of mind. Annoyingly, working out helps here. I admit that this does not solve the problem, but it does mitigate it, at least temporarily.
My own mental health hasn’t been great recently. On one agent’s bio they claimed that, if you had a particular thing in your submission, they would always take a look at that thing (I’m not going into details on what that thing is, to protect that agent’s identity—I hope you’ll forgive the vagueness). I spent at least eight hours working on one for my book, and received a form rejection a few days later. I was okay with the rejection (you have to expect rejections, after all), but what threw me was that the page I created containing this thing was never visited.
I didn’t feel angry. I just felt hopeless. I bring this up to warn budding authors this is an experience you might have. If my expectations had been lower, I wouldn’t have had this reaction. It sent me deep into perseveration, further into the lower tiers of the doom loop.
It’s the familiarity of those feelings that will get you, because even if you are doing better, for so much of your life you’ve felt that way and the well-trodden paths in your mind are exactly where your thoughts go.
None of this is to suggest the agents are doing anything wrong and, even if they had the time to respond with individualised feedback, they would have other problems to contend with. After all, there are bigger risks they face.
Buckle up, folks. This blog post is about to get some appendixes!
Appendix 1: A darker risk agents face
There are many people in the world who are angry at all the wrong things, unhinged, unwell and not aware of it, or even just incapable of understanding context. Given the emotional attachment writers have to their work, a rejection may result in an unwelcome reaction.
There are parallels between this and how women navigate the world of men who want to date them (made even more relevant as most agents are women, so they have these experiences). Over the years it has been startling and horrifying to hear the experiences of female friends with many other men, revealing a world I would never have direct experience of but, holy shit, what the fuck.
A person asking an agent why their query letter didn’t work could be simply someone looking to improve. Or it could be someone who won’t take no for an answer, and who takes each reply as an opportunity for escalation; it could be someone who, with the “justification” of not hearing what they want to hear, goes to the agent’s workplace to harass them. Or it could just be a writer who’s desperate and needs emotional support that is not an agent’s job to provide. Individualised feedback from an agent gives the writer an opening to respond, but the response the agent receives might be inappropriate if not dangerous.
Think of all the women who have come forward with allegations of abuse regarding men in the entertainment industry, and how often they have been blamed for “ruining” movies, TV shows, or books after doing so. As if somehow the fault was theirs, and not the abuser himself.
You might not be such a person, but such people do exist, and the agent you’re querying doesn’t have sufficient information about you to be able to tell.
Appendix 2: A note on query critique services
That said, some agents do offer query critique services, but this is rare and the experience is inconsistent. Bad design choices on the Manuscript Academy site showed agents listed there as available for meetings, but with no meetings available. I’ve since booked an agent consultation through the site, but you can imagine how frustrating it was to see a way I could learn how to improve my query letter from someone with domain knowledge, then step through several months of several agents’ schedules for several different services and find that there was no path forward.* (Yes, this post really does have everything, including a footnote)
Other sites offer query critique services without telling you who will be providing the critique, or even the role of those doing the job. Are you getting the critique from an agent or a writer? On these sites, it was impossible to tell.
Several writers provide paid advice on query letters. But writers are not experts in what makes for a good query letter. Even those who are successful may not know what drew the agent in and, even if their agent tells them, it might be particular to that agent for that genre, and is probably not generalisable.
When I’ve reviewed query letters for other writers, I can comment on the writing. Perhaps their pitch seems confusing. Perhaps they’ve brought up a character but not told you anything about them (i.e. “But her friend Sharon can’t help her”—who is this Sharon? What is the relevance of her not being able to help? Is the problem that Sharon in particular can’t help, or is it that no-one the protagonist knows can help?) I can also tell the writer if I see something that goes against some common advice I’ve read or heard about writing queries. But I can’t warrant that advice, only relay it and state its provenance.
I don’t doubt that most writers providing advice on query letters do so in good faith. But there are plenty of people offering advice who do not.
Grifters abound in this space. I’ve seen people who have had one book published (and maybe none?) sell expensive courses on how to get published. One person offers to tell you what agents look for in a query letter but, although they work at an agency, they are not in fact an agent.
* At issue was the idea that an agent could be “available for live meetings” when it was impossible to actually book such a meeting. However, when you go to book a meeting with an agent, it doesn’t actually tell you this; you have to infer it from choosing a service and stepping through the agents’ schedules. The site could have prevented this confusion by, at the very least, telling you up front if a particular service was impossible to book.
A question of character
In a previous post, I shared a deleted scene from Incursion, and I thought it might be instructive to dig into why the scene doesn’t work.
To recap: it opens on a captain in some paramilitary unit being thrown across a room, kept clear of the haze my Darren as he enters the building and announces ‘I told you what would happen.’ He beats up some of the captain’s men in front of him, but the captain has reason to believe he is at least somewhat safe. Even in the scene as-is, Darren demonstrates this presumed safety is an illusion, but as we go further into the scene it is implied the captain has attacked innocent people after he has been warned not to, and we see Darren provide a second warning.
When I came back to this scene, Darren’s actions didn’t really seem to match his character. If you find this in your own pieces—characters acting not like themselves—it’s probably a good idea to think about why. Perhaps the scene can be brought closer to the idea you have for who that character is but, of course, ideas can often be nebulous and writing things down is a great way to bring things into focus.
So what does this scene, as written, tell us about Darren?
As a whole, he gives the captain not just a chance, but a second chance, to change.
He converses with the captain, in an effort to convince, but physically attacks subordinates, as part of his attack on leadership. He almost ignores the other men in the building we open on. Everything is in service of his efforts with the captain.
He tries to intimidate the captain, and although it’s a stretch to say he acts personally aggrieved, he does seem happy to toy with the man.
So why is this not Darren?
No second chances. I’m that sort of man.
There are circumstances in which Darren might feel it necessary to give men who do serious evil a chance to do better. He will take into account political realities, not because that is where his concern is, but in an effort to ensure his actions do not interact with the political environment to make things worse.
Let’s take an extreme example and look at the present war in Ukraine. Darren would, in isolation, be happy to capture Vladimir Putin and drop him at the Hague, but what then? Would the remaining Russian leadership feel so embarrassed by this they might launch a military operation to retrieve their president? Would the Dutch government intervene directly to return him?
If Darren were to deliver Putin to the Hague, he would also obviously be the one responsible for it, even if there were no witnesses, and Putin were to be unconscious. Darren is capable of killing someone in such a way that they would appear to die from natural causes, but his respect for human life is such that he would not do it.
There are too many risks of escalation, too many ways things can go wrong. Darren would likely concern himself with destroying Russian weaponry in or targeting Ukraine. He’s smarter than I am, though, so perhaps would come up with a better solution.
For this scene, I imagined that the captain had some protection by virtue of the political environment. Not as much as, say, Putin, but enough that a direct attack would risk an escalation at a national level. Threatening the captain, and giving him a chance to change, would not be entirely foolish.
But a second chance? If the captain has killed innocent people, Darren would feel it irresponsible to put others at further risk. One chance, and you’re done. And he’d blame himself for the harm done because he gave someone a chance.
Effectiveness first, and a rejection of hierarchy
Darren engages the captain in conversation, but attacks three other men (he does also throw the captain out of the building, dislocating his shoulder, but this feels an afterthought). Is this the most effective way to prevent harm?
An argument could be made that Darren is teaching the captain and his men in a manner he believes is most effective at preventing harm overall. Maybe attacking these three men physically will be the best way to stop them doing further harm.
This argument falls apart, however, when we look at who is targeted. The men in the building are beaten, but the ones outside are simply put to sleep. Why specifically go after the men inside, if not to impress something upon the captain? What makes them different from the men outside, aside from proximity to their leader? The idea that the men inside are tools with which Darren can demonstrate something to the captain feels very wrong to me.
And for the men who are simply shut off, what would they learn from the experience? Imagine you are going about your day, and then find yourself waking and skipping time, your workplace destroyed but you unharmed. Would your primary reaction not be confusion?
Darren rejects the idea that systems, in this case a rigid hierarchy, are a means by which one can be absolved of responsibility for one’s own actions. The captain may give the orders, but his men still carry them out.
No games. We’re done.
In the scene, Darren slowly steps the captain through a sequence, leading to the destruction of the Saint Christopher medal, as a means to show the captain he does have weaknesses Darren can target. Darren wants to make the captain fear the consequences of bad behaviour.
Book Darren is more than happy to use demonstrations of power to convince people to stop doing bad things. He is willing to stage his attacks for maximum effect. But he will not do things slowly unless required to and, if he makes himself known, he will not do so remotely.
There is nothing to stop Darren going directly to the captain, ripping the medal from him, and destroying it straight away. If Book Darren thought destroying the medal would work, he would just do it.
Not what he’s not, but what he’s not not
I’ve gone over some part of who Darren is not, but who is he? This is answered over the course of the book, but the traits most relevant to this scene are:
Darren is scary. Even those Darren helps are often terrified of him. He will not kill, but the nature of his attacks are often ruthless and unorthodox.
Darren’s focus is on harm reduction, not on retribution or even holding people accountable. He seeks to make a better future, however he can. He does not want to hurt anyone.
Darren never, ever lies… except to himself. He will bluff, he will mislead, but he believes every single word he says.
As Darren says in the second chapter, “a man can be quantified, analysed; assumed to be understood and so made safe. Better to be as unknowable as a force of nature, to hide behind a mask because I am a distraction, unimportant compared to the message that actions such as today’s will invite upon your head a reckoning.” If you are harming innocent people, treating him as a man is probably a mistake, because he will not present as one.
On that point, he sees purposefully harming innocent people not merely as bad, but as an act in contravention of our common humanity. He sees it as abhorrent and it inspires in him utter contempt.
Fixing the problems
As I said in the previous post, “[t]he vignettes give me the opportunity to show the reader how Darren is seen…” With that in mind, I’m going to write a new version of this scene, one that will try to show how many of the traits above are experienced by those he targets. It will be very different, but I’ll borrow as much as I can from the original.