Chapter One

Okay. I'm trying to write a novel. So far, it's been good. I've stuck to it, and it's a bit more than I've written in quite a while. I still run into problems grounding the reader in the scene, transitioning between scenes, and communicating the thoughts and motivations of my character to my reader. But here is chapter one.

Thoughts, suggestions, corrections, or additions welcome.

Chapter 1

For several days, a dark gray had filled the sky of Hampton, a coastal New England town in northern New Hampshire. The fog rose thick as the day broke, making night and day just barely distinguishable, as the sound of waves crashing along the shore filled air. The ground was still wet from several days of heavy rain.

I woke up to the screeching alarm clock. It must be 0400, I thought. Not wanting to disturb my pregnant wife, I quickly silence the alarm. I figure that in her seventh month of pregnancy, she deserves as much sleep as possible. Flipping over, I stole a glance out my window, and silently lament about the dreary weather. Rising out of my bed, I grab my towel off the chair, and stumble half-asleep toward the shower.

Undressing, I turn the hot water spigot to full, which always took forever to heat up. While I was waiting, I grab my razor and began shaving through the foggy mirror; my reflection barely visible from the steam. The humidity in the room felt as if the shower was begging me to step into its warm embrace. As I step under the hot water, I let out a breath. Watching the water coarse down my body, I thought about going back to sleep. Satisfied that I was thoroughly clean, and awake, I turn the water off. I towel off and got dress slowly, occasionally glancing into the mirror to make sure my uniform look sharp. I adjust my trousers in my boots and lace them up, making sure they were sharply bloused. I took a good long look at my wife, kiss her on the forehead, and whisper "I love you." I walk out to the garage and drove off to work.

The long drive was uneventful. The interstate, usually swarming with drivers weaving through lanes while narrowly avoiding construction crews, was uncharacteristically empty - I was alone. My headlights shone through the fog, particles of moisture dancing about in the bright light. I put my blinker on as my exit came up, questioning to myself why I bother since there was no one to signal to. I made a sharp right, down the long, winding road that would take me to the base. Approaching the guard station, I came to a stop, bearing my ID card while the rifle-armed airman inspected my decal. Once satisfied with my identity, he allows me to pass. I drive around the dilapidated building the Army called an office, parking in my assigned spot. Turning the car off, I muttered a curse under my breath, then walked inside.

I swipe my ID card to gain building access, thinking to myself how the Army always has enough money for ammunition, but can never seem to afford to fix the leaky roof. I open the door and walk in, bracing myself for the day that was about to begin. Ignoring the nearly full drip-bucket behind my chair, I sat down and logged into my computer. The same Army-wide announcements from yesterday appear on my desktop. Another fine Army day, I thought, but I've lived this day dozens of times. The details of the reports or the briefings may be different, for sure, but the routine is invariant. Feeling restless, I got up for a cup of coffee. "Damn too early to think without coffee," I thought aloud. Not that it mattered what I said since no one else was in the office at this hour. No, that honor is bestowed upon me: the senior intelligence officer. I sleepily lift the carafe of coffee, cleverly programmed to brew before I arrive, and pour my mug close to full and add a copious amount of creamer and sweetener. I like my coffee black, but only after 0930; before then it's extra-cream and extra-sweet. I still need three more cups until I'm ready to work.