^The Authors’ Atrium

Simmer down! Here’s the situation, people.

My narrator hears scratching behind a wall for twenty-seven paragraphs. In twenty-eight, he opens it and encounters what’s lurking. Whatever it was isn’t dead, but my story seems to be.

The question is, how to resuscitate.

I think I simmered everyone too much.

Fine, I’ll do it for you.

Hawthorne: “Before he opens anything, shouldn’t the reader know when the wall was built, by whom, and what the previous tenants thought of the noise? I’ve drawn a floor plan.”

Bronte: “Why do you suspense writers insist on having characters ‘recite the weird Latin inscription’ or ‘stay at the cabin in the woods’? Is the absence of common sense a trait I should be using in my work?”

Twain: “Twenty-seven paragraphs of listening to a wall. At what point does he call the landlord? That’s the real horror here. He’s renting.”

Alcott: “Have you eaten? Stories die when the writer skips lunch.”

Dumas: “What’s he armed with for after he opens it? Pistol? Rifle? Sword?”

That’s all five. I’d like it noted that every one of them was accurate, and none of them helped.

I read this thread twice. The first time I thought there was a glitch. The second time I realized you’re the glitch. No offense.

For the record, I would never say “rifle.” I’d say “shotgun.”

Noted.

Your narrator hears the wall for twenty-seven paragraphs. Why does he open it?

Because that’s how stories end. He opens it. He finds the thing.

So don’t. Paragraph twenty-eight, he doesn’t open it.

He goes to bed.

Paragraph twenty-nine, the wall is quiet. Paragraph thirty, it’s quiet in a different way.

That’s the whole fix?

That’s the whole fix. Everybody wants to see what’s behind the door or the wall. That’s comfort. Not knowing? That’s the sting.

It’s obvious.

Obvious is cheap. That’s why it’s everywhere. It only looks easy when it works.

Hmm.