I don’t plan on waking up to the obnoxious sound Kevin playing guitar and singing the Duck Tales theme song. Honest to God, it isn’t even on my to-do list. Here I am, laying on my stomach, on an air mattress that we had to share last night, in the middle of the choir room, too out of it to focus on anything. I blink multiple times and put on my glasses as I look at the digital clock on the wall. Dammit, it’s just past two forty-five in the morning, no one should even be conscious at this hour. I sigh and sit up, knowing that the more he sings, the more likely I am to shove that guitar up his a**.

"Wakey wakey, boys. It’s a wonderful day for a band competition!"

The other guys whine and groan, shoving their heads underneath their pillows in order to make the hell that is Kevin’s cracking voice go away. This is why he took band instead of choir.

"Why so glum, chums? Let’s get this show on the road, we have to leave in less than thirty minutes."

"What time is it anyway?" A kid asks.

"Two something."

"Jesus, Mr. Reilly. I’m goin’ back to sleep," the same kid says as he falls back on to his sleeping bag.

I watch my brother pick up his bottle of water and carefully sneak up to the kid on the floor. He presses his index finger to his lips, whispers something I can’t understand, and then dumps little streams of water on him. The kid immediately jumps up and screams "S***!" He’s huge, bigger and taller than me, with this dirty blond hair that he is always combing.

"That’s what you get for not listening, Hugh. Hurry up." Now, Kevin’s serious, his eyes narrow behind his glasses and the smile disappears.

I’m still sitting up, trying to prepare myself for the day ahead. I feel a hand on my shoulder and glance up to see Kevin hovering over me. He’s already dressed, wearing a plain button down shirt, khaki’s that look a bit too big for him, and his infamous navy green jacket. His hair, even though it’s short, is a disaster zone and he has dark circles around his eyes. "Why are you so tired?" He asks me.

I yawn. "Maybe it’s because it’s not even three in the morning and you were on top of me all night."

He ignores me. "You better get ready. I don’t want my drum major to miss the bus." Kevin pats my back and then walks out of the room to wake the girls up.

The choir room is a disaster. There are plastic cups, blankets, pillows, food crumbs, backpacks scattered across the floor. It smells like body odor and a** mixed together, which tells me that these teenage boys have not yet discovered the power of a shower and some cologne. I pick up my clothes and strip down to my boxers. I would normally care if other guys were watching me change, but by the time I realize what I’m doing, it’s too late. I throw on a pair of jeans, the band’s show shirt, and my black jacket, and that’s all that’s to it. Kate would have taken over an hour to get this done, but since I showered last night, I’m good to go in seconds.

After I put my contacts in, I help the kids load the bus, and then help the drumline check their equipment on the trailer. Kevin, without the help of his newly arrived boss Michael, makes sure that we’re on schedule and we leave right on time. He might be crazy, but he is structured.

*

What do you think? Good, bad, utter crap? Please let me know.

It’s good, I like the strength of the tone or "writer’s voice," and it’s funny. I think it sort of loses momentum as it goes on, though, but that’s probably because I don’t know it in the context of the rest of the story.

maybe I’m just not a keen reader, but sometimes it’s hard to tell who’s talking.

you need to watch out for comma splices; a common error.

it’s "khakis" not "khaki’s"

you have a section where a bunch of sentences in a row start with either "I…" or "He…" or "His…" so you need to work on varying your sentence structure.

your description is good because it stays within the narrator’s "voice" but don’t limit yourself to this. sometimes a bit of flowy/detailed prose is a good thing, especially for contrasting more blunt sentences and dialogue. I don’t mean verbose or superfluous diction, I can see that your style is more "to the point." I just think it’s good to have a balance when it comes to detail; like not too much simple diction/sentences/ideas. but that’s a personal preference.

I found this story interesting because it seemed to be a story about marching band and I was in high school marching band (specifically drumline; we were one of the best in Florida a few years back), and I loved it! I’ve always wanted to read a good book about the experience.

nice work! hope this helps!

This is not the beginning of my story, but it’s near it, so I’m sorry if you don’t know what’s happening. I realize it’s probably filled with mistakes that I didn’t manage to catch before posting, so I apologize. Remember, it’s a first draft so it’s bound to suck.

~

After spending three hours getting pestered by my little brother, I give in. He’s played every trick in the book and it all worked, from the guilt trip, to the "brother code", to threatening to tell our older brother that I was the one who stole his one hundred dollars back when we were kids. It would have been better for me to hold my ground, but Kevin’s got these puppy dog eyes and, without a doubt, the most famous pout in Vermont, so I just decide to help him out. I know you’re thinking that I’m a pushover, but why the hell would I want to endure anymore annoyance than I’ve already gone through today?

I call my wife and tell her that I won’t see her for two days. She’s upset and I don’t blame her. Kate’s six months pregnant and has to look after our two year old son while I go pretend to be a drum major even though I’m thirty-two and not eighteen. I can hear Sammy getting fussy in the background and regret my decision. It’s not fair that she has to do all of that while I’m out. So, in order to even it out a bit, I offer to come pick up Sammy and take him with me. Even though I prayed in the back of my mind for her not to say yes, she did and now I’m here in the band room with a toddler, an air mattress, and our overnight gear. All of the band members are scattered around the room and into the choir room next door, eating and talking the night away.

Kevin walks out of his office and over to me. "It’s shocking how much your kid is like you," he says, motioning to Sammy. He’s clinging at my sweatpants, hiding behind my legs. He’s a shy kid, much like I was at this age. He doesn’t really like to be around anyone besides Kate or I and gets nervous around unfamiliar people. If I were him, I’d be scared too. These kids are going wild, running in and out of rooms and shrieking like a bunch of banschees.

"Don’t you think it’s time to give these kids a tranquilizer?"

"Not ’til ten."

"Where are we sleeping?"

"Guys get the choir room, girls are in here."

"Excellent." I’d rather sleep at the zoo than in that room.

I go set my stuff down in a corner and pick Sammy up, noticing that his eyes are starting to droop. "You tired, Sammy?" He nods into my shoulder and I sit down on the ground, trying to get him to fall asleep. It’s going to be a long night.

*

I don’t plan on waking up to the obnoxious sound Kevin playing guitar and singing the Duck Tales theme song. Honest to God, it isn’t even on my to-do list for the day. Here I am, laying on my stomach, on an air mattress that we had to share last night along with Sammy, in the middle of the choir room, too out of it to focus on anything. I blink multiple times and put on my glasses as I look at the digital clock on the wall. D***mit, it’s just past two forty-five in the morning, no one should even be conscious at this hour. I sigh and sit up, knowing that the more he sings, the more likely I am to shove that guitar up his a**.

"Wakey wakey, boys. It’s a wonderful day for a band competition!"

I hear the other guys whine and groan, shoving their heads underneath their pillows in order to make the hell that is Kevin singing stop. This is why he took band instead of choir.

"Why so glum, chums? Let’s get this show on the road, we have to leave in less than thirty minutes."

"What time is it anyway?" A kid asks.

"Two something."

"Jesus, Mr. Reilly. I’m goin’ back to sleep," the same kid says as he falls back on to his sleeping bag.

I watch my brother pick up his bottle of ice cold water and carefully sneak up to the kid on the floor. He presses his index finger to his lips, whispers something I can’t understand, and then dumps little streams of water on him. The kid immediately jumps up and screams "S***!" He’s huge, bigger and taller than me, with this unruly, dirty blond hair.

"That’s what you get for not listening, Hugh. Hurry up." Now, Kevin’s serious and I can tell, his eyes narrow behind his glasses and the smile disappears.

~

If someone would be nice enough to thoroughly critique this, I would be so grateful. Even if you just want to point out the pros and cons, that’s fine with me. Any type of criticism is fine and okay with me, as long as it is constructive and helpful. Be as harsh as you want, I can handle it (I promise).

well, I like reading fiction and this one is different from what i’m used to read, but yeah, honestly…it’s good…i don’t know what it is all about though but i guess my attention was caught by the very first paragraph…it’s like as if someone is telling me this story and that i’m not reading it…and by that, i mean the narration is great…

Yes, I have re-written the beginning of my novel again and need new opinions. I realize it’s probably filled with mistakes that I didn’t manage to catch before posting, so I apologize. Remember, it’s a first draft so it’s bound to suck.

~

I don’t plan on waking up to the sound of my brother playing guitar and singing the Duck Tales theme song. Honest to God, it isn’t even on my to-do list for the day. But, this is exactly like Kevin, so it doesn’t surprise me. Here I am, laying on my stomach, on an air mattress that we had to share last night, in the middle of the band room, too out of it to focus on anything. I blink multiple times and put my glasses on as I look at the digital clock on the wall. Dammit, it’s just past two forty-five in the morning, no one should even be conscious at this hour. I sigh and sit up, knowing that the more he sings, the more likely I am to shove that guitar up his a**.

"Wakey wakey, boys. It’s a wonderful day for a band competition!"

I hear the other guys whine and groan, shoving their heads underneath their pillows in order to make the hell that is Kevin singing stop. This is why he took band instead of choir.

"Why so glum, chums? Let’s get this show on the road, we have to leave in less than thirty minutes."

"Do you have any idea what time it is?" A kid asks.

Kevin nods. "I do, indeed. I’ve been up for almost two hours."

"That doesn’t mean you have to be this cruel to us. What time is it anyway?"

"Two something."

"Jesus, Mr. Reilly. I’m goin’ back to sleep," the same kid says as he falls back on to his sleeping bag.

I watch my brother pick up his bottle of ice cold water and carefully sneak up to the kid on the floor. He presses his index finger to his lips, whispers something I can’t understand, and then dumps little streams of water on him. The kid immediately jumps up and screams "S***!" He’s huge, bigger and taller than me, with this dirty blond hair that he is always combing.

"That’s what you get for not listening, Hugh. Hurry up." Now, Kevin’s serious and I can tell, his eyes narrow behind his glasses and the smile disappears.

I’m still sitting up, but I can’t seem to move. My limbs feel like they are made of bricks, far too heavy to move, and my head is spinning. My vision is blurry behind my glasses and I lean to forward to make it all stop. A few seconds later, I feel a hand on my shoulder. I glance up and it’s Kevin hovering over me. "You okay? You look a little out of it."

I yawn. "Maybe it’s because it’s not even three in the morning and I just fell asleep four hours ago."

"I told ya, man, you shouldn’t have drank so much coffee." He’s right. I mean, I drink at least seven cups a day, it’s a wonder I can even sleep at night.

"Whatever," I mumble as I begin to stand up. But, I’m still disorientated and dizzy, so I practically collapse into him. Even though he is a bit smaller than me and younger, he catches me and helps me balance myself.

"Are you going to be able to function today? You know I need you, right?" I do know this, mainly because he just called me up last night while I was eating dinner with my fiance, begging for me to put on some kid’s uniform and be their drum major. The problems with this are that I don’t know their music, I don’t know their drill, and I don’t remember how to conduct the proper way because it’s been fifteen years since I’ve done this. Even though pretending to be a real drum major in high school breaks every rule in the marching band handbook, Kevin stills thinks it’s the best thing to do. Rather than dropping out of the competition all together, he decided to ask me to fill in.

I said no to this ridiculous request at first, but he somehow convinced me that it would be the right thing to do. I would be helping the band out and they would be forever grateful, except for the fact that high schoolers don’t really give a damn about the people making their show possible. I learned this lesson a long time ago, but I said yes anyway. When will I ever learn?

"You better get ready, I don’t want my drum major to miss the bus." Kevin pats my back and then walks out of the room to go wake the girls up.

*

If someone would be nice enough to thoroughly critique this, I would be so grateful. Even if you just want to point out the pros and cons, that’s fine with me. Any type of criticism is fine and okay with me, as long as it is constructive and helpful. Be as harsh as you want, I can handle it (I promise).
Zayra: How could it be better? Elaborating would help me out and increase your chance of getting best answer if that’s the only reason why you answered in the first place.

There isn’t anything wrong with the writing, but I didn’t understand why the narrator character didn’t know that one kid. Later, it’s explained, but it isn’t good for the reader to be confused within the first couple of paragraphs. You might want to switch point of view characters and make Kevin the narrator OR give the reader a better understanding of who the narrator is and why he’s in this situation.

As far as the theme or plot, I didn’t get one from this. I really can’t say how to make it better because I don’t know what the story is about. Obviously there is something wrong with Kevin’s brother but that’s all I know about the character.

Sorry I couldn’t be more help.

Yes, I have re-written the beginning of my novel again and need new opinions. I realize it’s probably filled with mistakes that I didn’t manage to catch before posting, so I apologize. Remember, it’s a first draft so it’s bound to suck.

~

I don’t plan on waking up to the sound of my brother playing guitar and singing the Duck Tales theme song. Honest to God, it isn’t even on my to-do list for the day. But, this is exactly like Kevin, so it doesn’t surprise me. Here I am, laying on my stomach, on an air mattress that we had to share last night, in the middle of the band room, too out of it to focus on anything. I blink multiple times and put my glasses on as I look at the digital clock on the wall. Dammit, it’s just past two forty-five in the morning, no one should even be conscious at this hour. I sigh and sit up, knowing that the more he sings, the more likely I am to shove that guitar up his a**.

"Wakey wakey, boys. It’s a wonderful day for a band competition!"

I hear the other guys whine and groan, shoving their heads underneath their pillows in order to make the hell that is Kevin singing stop. This is why he took band instead of choir.

"Why so glum, chums? Let’s get this show on the road, we have to leave in less than thirty minutes."

"Do you have any idea what time it is?" A kid asks.

Kevin nods. "I do, indeed. I’ve been up for almost two hours."

"That doesn’t mean you have to be this cruel to us. What time is it anyway?"

"Two something."

"Jesus, Mr. Reilly. I’m goin’ back to sleep," the same kid says as he falls back on to his sleeping bag.

I watch my brother pick up his bottle of ice cold water and carefully sneak up to the kid on the floor. He presses his index finger to his lips, whispers something I can’t understand, and then dumps little streams of water on him. The kid immediately jumps up and screams "S***!" He’s huge, bigger and taller than me, with this dirty blond hair that he is always combing.

"That’s what you get for not listening, Hugh. Hurry up." Now, Kevin’s serious and I can tell, his eyes narrow behind his glasses and the smile disappears.

I’m still sitting up, but I can’t seem to move. My limbs feel like they are made of bricks, far too heavy to move, and my head is spinning. My vision is blurry behind my glasses and I lean to forward to make it all stop. A few seconds later, I feel a hand on my shoulder. I glance up and it’s Kevin hovering over me. "You okay? You look a little out of it."

I yawn. "Maybe it’s because it’s not even three in the morning and I just fell asleep four hours ago."

"I told ya, man, you shouldn’t have drank so much coffee." He’s right. I mean, I drink at least seven cups a day, it’s a wonder I can even sleep at night.

"Whatever," I mumble as I begin to stand up. But, I’m still disorientated and dizzy, so I practically collapse into him. Even though he is a bit smaller than me and younger, he catches me and helps me balance myself.

"Are you going to be able to function today? You know I need you, right?" I do know this, mainly because he just called me up last night while I was eating dinner with my fiance, begging for me to put on some kid’s uniform and be their drum major. The problems with this are that I don’t know their music, I don’t know their drill, and I don’t remember how to conduct the proper way because it’s been fifteen years since I’ve done this. Even though pretending to be a real drum major in high school breaks every rule in the marching band handbook, Kevin stills thinks it’s the best thing to do. Rather than dropping out of the competition all together, he decided to ask me to fill in.

I said no to this ridiculous request at first, but he somehow convinced me that it would be the right thing to do. I would be helping the band out and they would be forever grateful, except for the fact that high schoolers don’t really give a damn about the people making their show possible. I learned this lesson a long time ago, but I said yes anyway. When will I ever learn?

"You better get ready, I don’t want my drum major to miss the bus." Kevin pats my back and then walks out of the room to go wake the girls up.

*

If someone would be nice enough to thoroughly critique this, I would be so grateful. Even if you just want to point out the pros and cons, that’s fine with me. Any type of criticism is fine and okay with me, as long as it is constructive and helpful. Be as harsh as you want, I can handle it (I promise).

For the beginning of a novel its a little to much in the rambling department. The beginning should build a story plot. It needs work.

which technique is better in using normal AA cells (for a wall clock or any device that draws low current) ?

If there are 3 (AA cells) of 1.5V each and if the wall clock or any other device that draws low current radio transistor or telephone (loud music melody ringer) and because of any weak cell(s) the loud music melody ringer doesnt ring then, what would be better technique :
1) Replace all three cells
2) Replace the one that is the weakest (by testing from Digital Multimeter, the lowest DC volts cell would be replaced).

thanks

If a remote stops working I rotate the batteries in place to clean the small contact areas. That usually keeps it going for a while longer. With multiples I do use a tester, but usually find that are all weak so I replace all. Replacing just one will mean you have to do it more often unless that one is considerably weaker and the others aren’t too bad.