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O_P_T
Active member
One minor harumph.
He switches back and forth the POV between Daniel and Laura, but never explicitly identifies it in the TOC or text.
Sometimes it's the start of a chapter, other times it's a break designated by "***" within a chapter.
I prefer that an author explicitly states who's POV any given bit of text is about. It helps avoid confusion since in some instances you can go on for a paragraph or two before you realize the POV has changed.
So instead of having a break within a chapter as being ***, make it "Laura" or "Daniel" and have that be formatted so it's in the TOC.
He switches back and forth the POV between Daniel and Laura, but never explicitly identifies it in the TOC or text.
Sometimes it's the start of a chapter, other times it's a break designated by "***" within a chapter.
I prefer that an author explicitly states who's POV any given bit of text is about. It helps avoid confusion since in some instances you can go on for a paragraph or two before you realize the POV has changed.
So instead of having a break within a chapter as being ***, make it "Laura" or "Daniel" and have that be formatted so it's in the TOC.
fantafan
Active member
Off topic... I was listening to the second Reacher book on Audible. I'm certain it wasn't written by AI but I'm pretty sure a lot of it could be now. There's a lot of random crap to delay the action like "Reacher needed to stop the assassin. He pressed the trigger. To accomplish that signals had to travel through neurons through nerves developed through evolution blah blah. The trigger impacted the rear of the cartridge. Expanding gas caused the bullet to begin its insane travel faster than the speed of sound. The rifling caused the bullet to begin to spin counter clockwise. Clocks had been developed in the NN century, and initially the direction the hands spun wasn't standardized blah blah.
fantafan
Active member
Well, thought I would actually try it. Here's a quick knock-off
The target stood three hundred and twelve meters away. Reacher had known for exactly twenty-three seconds that the man in the gray suit was the one. The walk, the way his eyes swept the street too systematically, the slight bulge under his left armpit that said holster. Professional. Not federal. Mercenary, most likely. Kill for money.
Now Reacher stood behind the concrete support of the overpass, the Sig Sauer P226 in his hand. Cold. Heavy. Reassuring. Time to end this.
His finger moved to the trigger. The trigger mechanism in the P226 was a thing of beauty, a double-action/single-action system that Reacher had always appreciated. First pull would be longer, maybe twelve millimeters of travel with four and a half pounds of resistance. Not ideal, but workable. After the first shot, it would reset to single-action mode â shorter pull, lighter pressure. Reacher could feel the indexing lever against his finger, the disconnector waiting to break free.
He'd disassembled and reassembled this exact model in complete darkness once. Took him two minutes and fourteen seconds the first time. Under a minute the third time. The takedown lever, the slide lock release, the guide rodâall had distinctive shapes and positions. He could identify them by touch alone. The serial number under the grip began with A436, something he remembered because he'd stolen the gun from a weapons dealer named A436 in Frankfurt six years ago.
His index finger tightened. The trigger bar began its rearward journey, rotating the hammer until the sear engaged with a crisp click that Reacher could feel more than hear. At this exact moment, the firing pin spring compressed, storing potential energy like a coiled viper waiting to strike. The hammer fell, striking the firing pin with precisely calibrated force.
The firing pin, hardened to 60 Rockwell, traveled forward approximately 0.1 inches, denting the primer cup. Inside that primer cup, the lead styphnate compound initiated a cascade of chemical reactions. Five thousand degrees Celsius in an instant. Reacher knew this because he'd once spent three hours reading a firearms manual in a motel room in Des Moines.
The expanding gas needed somewhere to go. The casing held for microseconds as pressure built to approximately 35,000 psiâenough to lift a small car. Then the bullet, 147 grains of copper-jacketed lead, began its journey down the 4.4-inch barrel. Reacher had measured this exact barrel once with his thumbnail and found it to be precisely 111.76 millimeters. He remembered numbers like that.
The rifling inside the barrel engaged the bullet. Right-hand twist, one turn in nine inches. The bullet began spinning at approximately 85,000 revolutions per minute as it accelerated. Reacher could almost feel the spiralâthe hexagonal rifling pattern particular to Sig Sauer barrels, superior to traditional lands and grooves in gas sealing.
The bullet exited the muzzle at approximately 1,250 feet per second. Reacher calculated this would reach the target in 0.821 seconds, factoring in the 312-meter distance. He'd done the math in his head while deciding whether to have the chicken salad sandwich for lunch. The sandwich could wait.
As the bullet cut through the air, gravity began its inexorable pull. 9.8 meters per second squared. Reacher compensated by aiming 3.2 inches high. The wind, coming from the northwest at 4.2 miles per hour, would push the bullet left by approximately 1.7 inches. He'd adjusted for that 0.4 seconds ago.
The sound of the gunshot hadn't reached Reacher's ears yet. Sound traveled at 1,126 feet per second in these conditions. The bullet was faster. Always faster. The target would hear it after it hit him, not before. Reacher found something philosophically satisfying about that.
The assassin's head, now slightly blurred in Reacher's focus, was roughly the size of a grapefruit. The medulla oblongata, Reacher knew, controlled involuntary breathing. That's where he was aiming. Clean. Quick. No suffering unless he missed by an inch and a half. At this range, with this wind, with this gunâno chance of missing.
The bullet had traveled 280 meters now. It had lost approximately 87 feet per second of velocity due to air resistance. It was spinning at 76,000 revolutions per minute now, slightly slower but still perfectly stable. Reacher could visualize every micron of its journey, the copper jacket heating from friction, the lead core maintaining its trajectory despite the forces trying to pull it off course.
Three hundred meters. The sound of the shot finally reached Reacher's ears. A sharp crack. The target hadn't moved. He was checking his watch. Bad habit. Shows you're waiting for something.
The bullet entered the assassin's skull exactly 0.824 seconds after trigger pull. Reacher was off by three thousandths of a second in his calculation. Annoying, but acceptable. The bone fragments would be traveling at roughly half the bullet's remaining velocity when they exited the other side of his head.
Reacher lowered the Sig Sauer. The chicken salad sandwich could wait until after he disappeared the body. Some things were more important than lunch.
The target stood three hundred and twelve meters away. Reacher had known for exactly twenty-three seconds that the man in the gray suit was the one. The walk, the way his eyes swept the street too systematically, the slight bulge under his left armpit that said holster. Professional. Not federal. Mercenary, most likely. Kill for money.
Now Reacher stood behind the concrete support of the overpass, the Sig Sauer P226 in his hand. Cold. Heavy. Reassuring. Time to end this.
His finger moved to the trigger. The trigger mechanism in the P226 was a thing of beauty, a double-action/single-action system that Reacher had always appreciated. First pull would be longer, maybe twelve millimeters of travel with four and a half pounds of resistance. Not ideal, but workable. After the first shot, it would reset to single-action mode â shorter pull, lighter pressure. Reacher could feel the indexing lever against his finger, the disconnector waiting to break free.
He'd disassembled and reassembled this exact model in complete darkness once. Took him two minutes and fourteen seconds the first time. Under a minute the third time. The takedown lever, the slide lock release, the guide rodâall had distinctive shapes and positions. He could identify them by touch alone. The serial number under the grip began with A436, something he remembered because he'd stolen the gun from a weapons dealer named A436 in Frankfurt six years ago.
His index finger tightened. The trigger bar began its rearward journey, rotating the hammer until the sear engaged with a crisp click that Reacher could feel more than hear. At this exact moment, the firing pin spring compressed, storing potential energy like a coiled viper waiting to strike. The hammer fell, striking the firing pin with precisely calibrated force.
The firing pin, hardened to 60 Rockwell, traveled forward approximately 0.1 inches, denting the primer cup. Inside that primer cup, the lead styphnate compound initiated a cascade of chemical reactions. Five thousand degrees Celsius in an instant. Reacher knew this because he'd once spent three hours reading a firearms manual in a motel room in Des Moines.
The expanding gas needed somewhere to go. The casing held for microseconds as pressure built to approximately 35,000 psiâenough to lift a small car. Then the bullet, 147 grains of copper-jacketed lead, began its journey down the 4.4-inch barrel. Reacher had measured this exact barrel once with his thumbnail and found it to be precisely 111.76 millimeters. He remembered numbers like that.
The rifling inside the barrel engaged the bullet. Right-hand twist, one turn in nine inches. The bullet began spinning at approximately 85,000 revolutions per minute as it accelerated. Reacher could almost feel the spiralâthe hexagonal rifling pattern particular to Sig Sauer barrels, superior to traditional lands and grooves in gas sealing.
The bullet exited the muzzle at approximately 1,250 feet per second. Reacher calculated this would reach the target in 0.821 seconds, factoring in the 312-meter distance. He'd done the math in his head while deciding whether to have the chicken salad sandwich for lunch. The sandwich could wait.
As the bullet cut through the air, gravity began its inexorable pull. 9.8 meters per second squared. Reacher compensated by aiming 3.2 inches high. The wind, coming from the northwest at 4.2 miles per hour, would push the bullet left by approximately 1.7 inches. He'd adjusted for that 0.4 seconds ago.
The sound of the gunshot hadn't reached Reacher's ears yet. Sound traveled at 1,126 feet per second in these conditions. The bullet was faster. Always faster. The target would hear it after it hit him, not before. Reacher found something philosophically satisfying about that.
The assassin's head, now slightly blurred in Reacher's focus, was roughly the size of a grapefruit. The medulla oblongata, Reacher knew, controlled involuntary breathing. That's where he was aiming. Clean. Quick. No suffering unless he missed by an inch and a half. At this range, with this wind, with this gunâno chance of missing.
The bullet had traveled 280 meters now. It had lost approximately 87 feet per second of velocity due to air resistance. It was spinning at 76,000 revolutions per minute now, slightly slower but still perfectly stable. Reacher could visualize every micron of its journey, the copper jacket heating from friction, the lead core maintaining its trajectory despite the forces trying to pull it off course.
Three hundred meters. The sound of the shot finally reached Reacher's ears. A sharp crack. The target hadn't moved. He was checking his watch. Bad habit. Shows you're waiting for something.
The bullet entered the assassin's skull exactly 0.824 seconds after trigger pull. Reacher was off by three thousandths of a second in his calculation. Annoying, but acceptable. The bone fragments would be traveling at roughly half the bullet's remaining velocity when they exited the other side of his head.
Reacher lowered the Sig Sauer. The chicken salad sandwich could wait until after he disappeared the body. Some things were more important than lunch.
r3demption
Active member
I am not even sure its just AI issues with this author, they seem to be trilingual so it could be the third iteration of their stories lost in translation.
SmeeJ
Member
You think the authors are trilingual? I was assuming that the spate of translations was due to AI doing that work.
r3demption
Active member
Could be either way but there goodreads looks like atleast bilingual if not tri. But who knows.
Books by Alex Nighy (Author of El dĂa que naciĂł una hotwife (El secreto de tus vecinos nÂș 1))
Alex Nighy has 14 books on Goodreads with 23 ratings. Alex Nighyâs most popular book is El dĂa que naciĂł una hotwife (El secreto de tus vecinos nÂș 1) (Sp...
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