05 January 2023
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A reader's novel opening goes under the editorial microscope
Read our suggested rewrite of a reader's first 300 words and for the full critique of the extract, see the February issue of Writing Magazine
Original version by John Hancock:
Hidden within The Port of Belfast is the Hotel Linenopolis. An exclusive hotel not open to the general public. It was 8am and hotel music played in the background as the working day started. Back and forth across the foyer Linenopolis staff went about their business. Their attire denotes their function. The concierge, David Esler, opened the main doors to welcome clientele as they arrived.
Standing on the steps outside he used the opportunity to breathe in the fresh air of the morning. He listened to the sound of seagulls squealing as they chased each other in the air. Esler could smell the freshness of the plants around the entrance. It had rained heavily during the night and the ground was trying to dry out in the morning sun.
His charcoal grey three-piece fitted suit was immaculate. He was checking his pocket watch when Conor Brannigan interrupted him. Although 27 years old, Conor had worked at Linenopolis for almost 9 years and was Esler’s Number Two.
“Excuse me Mr Esler. Just received word that the Lemanjá will still be arriving on time.”
Esler turns and looks at Brannigan. “Thanks. We will both meet the sub when it arrives this afternoon. See to it personally that the fourth and fifth floors are prepared for them.
“Yes, Mr Esler,” Brannigan replied as he turned and headed back indoors.
Esler felt relieved. The Lemanjá, a narco sub from Brazil, carrying senior members of the Cúcuta Cartel from Colombia to Linenopolis to meet with a Spanish crime family who would be arriving shortly from Madrid.
Taking one last look at his pocket watch Esler heads back in and over to the reception to check on today’s arrivals and departures. As he walks over to the desk, he quickly checks the revolver inside his jacket.
McCredited version:
Located within The Port of Belfast is the Hotel Linenopolis. An exclusive hotel not open to the general public. It was 8am and music played subtly in the reception area as the working day started. Linenopolis staff occasionally crossed the foyer, their attire denoting their function. Personal butlers in tails. Beauticians in their smocks. Crime-scene cleaners in PVC coveralls.
The concierge, David Esler, opened the main doors that had been closed overnight. Guests used a secret entrance during the dark hours, when they tended to be more active.
Standing on the steps outside, he used the opportunity to breathe in the fresh air of the morning. He listened to the seagulls fighting and smelled the sea’s salty perfume. It had rained heavily and the ground was trying to dry out in the morning sun. His charcoal-grey three-piece fitted suit was immaculate.
“Excuse me, Mr Esler, said Conor Brannigan at the door. “Just received word that the Lemanjá will still be arriving on time.”
Although 27 years old, Conor had worked at Linenopolis for almost 9 years and was Esler’s Number Two.
Esler nodded. “Thanks. We’ll both meet the sub when it arrives this afternoon. See to it personally that the fourth and fifth floors are secured for their arrival.”
“Yes, Mr Esler.” Brannigan headed back indoors.
Esler took one last look at the sky and returned inside. There was much to do in preparation for the Lemanjá party. They had unusually high expectations, even by Linenopolis standrds.
He walked over to the reception to check on the day’s arrivals and departures. As he went, he reached under the rear right flap of his suit and checked that the safety was off on his Glock, loaded that very morning with body-armour-piercing shells.