This is the opening chapter of the 13th Pier.

The waves lapped against the sand in a soft and steady cadence, percolating between each grain and returning to the ocean in a continuous and cascading motion. The sea, in its infinite churn, washes up and down the North Carolina coastline with uniform consistency as the laughing gulls and plovers bob and weave to the ebb and flow of crashing waves, looking for that unfortunate krill washed up unintentionally. Sand dunes are held intact by beach grass, wild sunflowers, and twisted Krumholtz-like trees that buffer the beach from seasonal storms, and high-water surges and offer regular protection for a group of modest beach-dwelling residences. Modest is relative, of course, considering the courtside seating to the majesty of the Atlantic and the vibrancy of darker blue water set to lighter blue sky littered with endlessly unique clouds.

              This morning, as the sun breaks a shatter of yellow and amber hues, the waves are interrupted by loosely fitted boots and the motionless body of Samuel Lent, who at first glance might appear lifeless and in near proximity to the glass bottle of cheap whiskey, empty of course. This was not the first time that Sam bedded down amongst the shells and tangled seaweed and grass. If the rising sun with all the heat intensity is not enough to wake him, he can surely rely on the sand fleas to irritate him into a hungover action to clamber back to his two-bedroom cottage not but 300 meandering yards from where he lies. 

This is not a young man but a newspaper journalist and mariner, having spent the majority of his life near the seaside in some capacity. He is a sad man, experiencing a lack of sobriety not for fun or out of a mindless habit but as a cure for the pain that comes from a profound loss.  Drunk out of a sadness that has haunted him for more than three years now, he finds himself repeating this self-destructive ritual at semi-regular intervals.

As the birds flutter around him and the waves continue to inch closer with a rising tide, there exists a brutal irony of so much natural splendor juxtaposed to a broken heart that no longer knows who he is, let alone be able to appreciate the miraculous beach around him. 

Rubber tires cut through the sand as Sherif Jackson rolls up next to what has become a regular visit with Sam. Six foot, six inches, the Sheriff is a tower amongst men with dangling forearms and with a soft place in his heart for all the wayward souls that find themselves lost at the threshold of the ocean. He has had the same beach patrol for more than thirty years, and this morning, like many before it, starts off with a similar introduction. 

Pop. Crack. The shells break under the weight of the 1980s-lifted Ford Bronco as the Sheriff cuts the engine and rolls to a soft, sandy stop. Creaking metal and clicking of the American-made door handle snap into place as the Sherif exits his vehicle, cradling his thermos filled with black tea and one hand pulling up his pant trousers and adjusting his button-down before slowing sauntering into thoughtful action. Standing tall and blocking the sun from Sam’s rousing form, he begins, “I would say that we have to stop meeting like this, but I do fear I might be back here before the end of the week at the rate that you fancy that bottle, Sam.” Time seems to patiently stand still as Sam makes no indication of being roused. The wind gusts and kicks up a spray of sand in front of them as the Sheriff absorbs the morning calm and settles into assertion.  

 

              “Sam, Wake up,” the Sheriff insists, kicking his scuffed boots and putting on a new tone of seriousness. We had a tourist compliant this morning, they thought you might be dead and come on… you know what that does to local businesses, we need happy tourists like every other beach community.” As soon as he said those words, John Jackson hurriedly poured a steaming cup of tea and lofted it to his lips, allowing for the rising steam carried by the ocean breeze to dance across his greying beard and wide-brim hat. The hat was not a standard issue but more part of a home-grown personality that Sheriff John Jackson allowed himself to embody as he always thought of himself as more salt of the earth than tailoring to the needs of local developers and the interests of business. Local residents called him “Jack,” both shorthand for his surname and as alternate moniker for John. In some formal settings, the Sheriff would go by Jack Jackson which might seem clumsy and repetitive but somehow made sense, no one questioned it, and all fit with his wide-brim hat personality and an outdated 4x4 that gets the job done, “just fine.” The son of a long-standing fishing family, he had seen acre by acre of wild beech concede to the pressures of tourism and development. New beach houses are built up at a rapid rate as others decay in the background, and the economic vitality of small towns is defined by the success of a resort. Sheriff Jack was feeling his own internal contradiction and mild disdain for wielding a tourist complaint as a reason for his law enforcement wake-up call.   

With a dry mouth and pulsing headache, Sam slowly muttered, “Morning, John.” And slowly, Sam lifts his torso by bracing his elbows against the sand into a prone position followed by some guttural hacking and a raising of his head. “I know you have more important things to be dealing with then me, and so, I’m sorry to waste your time,” said Sam.

“I’m not in a rush. It’s a quiet mid-day week, really. I passed an angler fishing the surf a half mile up beach and it looks like there is a couple walking their dog, off leash mind you, headed this way… and yup looks like the light rack on the Bronco is a dead giveaway and… they are turning around the other direction. So, no rush, pull it together and let’s get you back to the house,” said Sherif Jack. 

Sam turned his torso and sat up with his faded Hawaiian-inspired shirt disheveled, and his dungarees were wet, soiled, and sandy. “She appeared to me in my dreams again last night,” Sam said in a shaky voice. “Sarah, that is,” Sam continued with reservation, revealing “the how” of his inner torment. “It was right before Halloween, and we were getting Emily’s costume ready. She wouldn’t let up about how she should have bought a specific fabric when she was last in Wilmington, I’m not sure why it was so important to her. It doesn’t really matter what we talk about; it’s the time that I get to spend with her. It’s sad, I know,” said Sam. With sand in his hair, he began to cradle his forehead and look down at his knees in a slow descent into more sadness.      

The Sheriff had been anticipating this empathy moment, “for what it’s worth, I know you’re going through hell, it’s been over three years now that Sarah was lost to us and we all feel it. Your dream must have been that year when the two of them dressed up as jelly fish singing that Bruno Mars duet? Down at Skip’s? They had everyone laughing in stiches. I wish there was more that we could do to help.”

 

STORY STATEMENT

Find his lost love no matter what the answer.

The protagonist’s goal is to find his wife, whom he believes to be alive but unable to reach him after a sailing accident three years ago. He must overcome his own fear, doubt, and pain to stay committed to this outrageous possibility of a reunion. Haunted by his nighttime dreams of his wife appearing before him, he is convinced she is speaking to him from the present moment with her cryptic and sometimes direct guidance on how he might find her. He must follow the clues she shares and those he encounters along the way to locate her. He has to sleuth his way through to an answer and overcome many challenges. He will have to endure a certain amount of hardship, personal injury, insult, and navigating deception to locate his loved ones. He will encounter some friendly allies on his journey who are compassionate to his situation. His spirit is both tormented and relentless.

THE ANTAGONIST - 

Our part-time harbor master, part-time dive boat captain, is the main antagonist and the ring leader of the other antagonists who work collaboratively to prevent our main character from reaching their goal, not because they inherently want harm to come to the protagonist but more because of sacred duty and sworn oath to protect the island's secrets including the alien race underneath the ocean of which he has earned their respect. 

As a former Navy sailor, our sea-faring adventurer emulates the mysteries of the ocean with a layered personality, and it is not until vulnerable moments in the story that the antagonist shows us depths beyond the muscle-bound warrior façade that he is most known for. He walks freely among the Atlanteans and so is, by nature, not a racist or bigoted man but guided by a higher sense of purpose and inter-species equality. He has an inner ordering principle that emulates confidence and certainty with seriousness, and somewhere in the recesses of his voice, there are hints of deep empathy for the world and for the pain and suffering of our main character in his quest to be reunited with his family. The boat and docks are the antagonist’s dojo, and so he moves with extreme ease and grace when tending to lines, securing equipment, and giving orders to deckhands or other boat captains. He is masterful at all things nautical.  

CONJURING YOUR BREAKOUT TITLE

1.    The 13^th Pier

2.    Beyond the Waves

3.    Secret of the Deep

Comparables

Admittingly, I need to deepen into my genre more. I just recently started to focus in more on Thrillers\Paranormal from Sci-Fi and it’s feeling right and still a lot of diversity of writers in this genre as paranormal can mean a wide variety of things.

So I will need to choose some hypothetical comparables now and revise as I read the Genre and also get a sense of what is currently the popular new first-time authors.

Recognizing that these authors are too established as actual comparables, I am suggesting these two authors now to complete the exercise and will revise.

Anthony M. Strong’s John Decker Supernatural Thrillers. 

Perhaps more with the protagonist up against the phenomena, less on the monster hunter aspect.

Jeff VanderMeer with Annihilation and his four-book Southern Reach series because of his cohort of characters, including a biologist.  

 

Own hook line (logline) with conflict and core wound

When a missing boat reappears after being lost at sea, a journalist is activated to find answers and reunite with his wife, obscured by the mystery of the ocean and an island that is protecting a supernatural secret.

Conflict

Inner conflict – Sam would feel conflicted that he is putting his own life at risk when his daughter has already lost her mom. He doesn’t want to be reckless and leave her alone in the world and what the answers that he is after is dangerous. So, there are moments where he realizes he is risking it all, and the consequences of failure are so high that he tries to overcome those tense moments with super human strength and when the moment relaxes he is exhausted and embarrassed at the risk that he has taken. The irresponsibility of a parent who is risking their life for a personal crusade that could end up with them dead.  I think he writes her a letter. It's almost like a final letter that a soldier would write on the battlefield, but he does it more often. And it gives a moment to reconnect with why the action is important, the human and tender side. It also memorializes the activity and allows for reflection.

As for the secondary conflict, I can conceive of two that will emerge. The museum director who is an ally to our protagonist, will want to help him find the answers he is looking for. He has a propensity for intrigue and wants to solve riddles as a lover of history, but his inner conflict is fear of losing his own life or being incarcerated again for sharing any information that would jeopardize his own personal freedom. He stops himself, doesn’t give the answers that our charter is looking for and he hates himself for it. He hates the yoke and it makes him sad, depressed and angry. Is there a place in the story for him to take a risk, to 

Setting

The primary setting of the story is the Island of Bermuda but we will want to go beyond the resort and tourist life an get a behind the scenes of the island, and bringing out the gritty side of the island. Beaches, and waves are the backdrop not necessarily the destination. 

Ocean Scene – evokes the danger of the ocean, that things are not always beachy. Introduces our main antagonist 

Mental Hospital – evokes the pain of loss from the patients, but also the protectiveness from sub-antagonists that don’t really want our protagonist to get the answers that he is looking for.

Museum of History – This is the oasis of hope where our protagonist finds an ally. It’s a safer place on the island, and one where our main character learns and unlocks secrets.   

Administrative/City Planning Office – A work-place that is slightly dark and ominous.  

Restaurant – Somewhere where the Museum Director and the Main Character connect 1:1. 

TBD – The main charterer needs a place that he writes to his daughter. Either the hotel room, a café, or some in-between place. 

Off-island settings

Under Ocean Scene – This is climax scene with the whales. It evokes serenity, stillness, and helplessness.

The Interrogation Room and the 8^th Gate – This is the big reveal scene and is eerie, ominous, and we see the cause of the phenomena.