Literary advice sought
 

So, bit of a back story, in class today, I got to sketching out an outline for a short story.

The protagonist is a Delta Force commando, but a little on the younger side, and as far as Delta guys can be, an underachiever.

As in, not a ringknocker, mediocre grades, decent OERs, no serious relationships, destined to put in his 20 and retire as a light bird.

His sister, on the other hand, is an ovrachiever, valedictorian, happily engaged research scientist at the CDC who becomes aware of a dangerous nw strain of MRSA eminating from a Sudanese hospital. Her superiors disregard her warnings and she calls her brother. Who then finally steps up for the first time in his life and goes rogue to stop the Sudanese bad guys.

Sound plausible? Something worth reading?

Ok so....what's the story about?

Delta guy finally steps up to do something worth doing.

Ok, that sounds like a poster tag line. What happens in the story?

I'm thinking the Delta guy gets tipped off about said super-bug from his sister, decides to act, and has to go somewhat off the reservation to do it.

The main problem I have is with your protagonist. The idea of a guy who was good enough to pass selection for a Tier 1 SF group (or, indeed, any group falling under JSOC command) being an "underachiever" is going to be impossible to sell, IMO. Those dudes can never be, by the nature of their job, underachievers in any way. And stories about underachievers who discover their potential in dangerous situations have been done to death, and they tend to be pretty tough to pull off when the character is so difficult to relate to (sadly, that seems to be the situation you're setting up here). It might be better to have him dealing with other psychological issues (i.e. PTSD, after a recent combat deployment) or character flaws that he needs to resolve in order to become a better person, or at least heal himself from a serious trauma.

And we go back to what I was asking. What is the story actually. Not the character, stop describling the character. I want to know the story. Is it a crime drama? cops, drug deals? ex military shit? Black ops? aliens? What's the conflict?

Well, not to sound like a smart-ass, but it sounds like an action/thriller at the very least, given the angle about the MSRA-type bug and Sudanese terrorists.

Cool. I like the honest response. And the PTSD angle, having some minor experience with that, I can expound upon that.

Excalibur, just pure unadulterated action/adventure gun porn. Bad guys against the good guy, good guy wins by virute of shooting faster and straighter.

At the end I would like to see the protagonist acclaim some measure of fame and have a nice lunch with his sister.

My sugestion would be to portray him as a guy who has lost his mental "Edge". With something happening to his sister he has to get that edge back.

thanks. Again, thanks for all the input.

I think I'm gonna role his lost 'edge' as a sideeffect of his PTSD and a really bad, botched op.

To quote 'The Other Guys' " gotta get his gas back"

I think I'll have him be bumming around Bragg helping out with selection but not really doing all that glamorous/essential

I think it's also important that the "botched op" is something he was responsible for, whether due to negligence or (better yet) arrogance. He'll seem more believable if he's learning to confront his own flaws as a person.

Also, if you really want to drive home how messed up he's been since the failed mission, you can have him dealing with alcoholism, drug abuse, gambling addiction, or even losing his girlfriend. Anything that shows how much trouble he's had coping with what happened.

Okay, I did this today. Fun fact: I already planned on him having alcoholism issues and the failed raid being his fault.:) Enjoy....

The chilly mountain night air cut right through Dillard’s wool sweater, making him wish he would have donned his privately purchased Columbia Wind Breaker over it, but alas, the swishy nylon of the jacket was a noise discipline issue, so it was out. The thought of that jacket brought a smile to his face, remembering the drunken road trip to Savannah to get it, riding in the back seat of George’s Silverado, a Miller Lite in his hand as a road beer. What a weekend that had been, no football game, Anna was on a sister’s retreat for her sorority, and it had just been a gathering of trusted pledge brothers, alas, it had ended badly, when George woke up in the hotel with a tattoo and Jim woke up next to a KD from Savannah State. Then it had been a bad day all around.
The chatter of a DShKM heavy machine gun shook Dillard from his reverie, running his gloved hand though his scraggly beard growth, he pulled up his keffiyeh, a gift from a British SAS man after a particularly grueling running gun fight and flipped down his NVGs. He inserted a magazine into his H&K 416, racked the slide back and dropped a hand to ensure that his Sig Sauer pistol was still in its thigh holster. The Black Hawk flared and the crew chief kicked out the heavy rope for the Delta Operators to fast rope down, the Taliban manning the heavy DShKM swung his fire and arced tracers into the vulnerable helicopter, and was in turn met with fire from one of the door mounted mini-guns, resulting in quite the light show as the stream of nearly constant red tracers from the chopper crisscrossed the sky back lit by the bigger, but less frequent tracers from the heavy Russian machine gun. Dillard was the first one out, leading his men from the front, as he learned at the Benning School for Boys all those summers ago during college. While the rest of his Fraternity Brothers were golfing, interning, deep sea fishing, and carousing, he was running around with an M-16A2 learning the platoon in the attack and how to fold his shirts. Feeling the ground under his privately purchased North Face boots, he unclipped his harness from the rope and went to ground, sweeping fire from his carbine across the ridge where the Taliban were emplaced. Several members of his team followed him, as the door gunner and the Taliban gunmen continued to duel. The door gunner lost.
Dillard happened to look back as the Blackhawk fell from the sky. Stifling a curse, he rose a little from his position to lay more accurate fire from his rifle as he fumbled for a rifle grenade from his assault webbing, inserting it into the tube affixed under his rifle; he fired a grenade at the Taliban position, hitting a little low. Fire from a RPD began to rake his position, harsh tracers searching for him, however, the Taliban didn’t have night vision goggles and the men of his team did, and soon his machine gunner, who had come down right behind Dillard, found his range and began to trade fire with the support gun position with his M-60E3. Adjusting the forward sight on his rifle, Dillard dropped another grenade, and the fire from the DShKM ceased. Dillard then snaked back down into his position of cover and turned to the Blackhawk, wondering if there were any survivors, but the blazing helicopter served only as a notice for the funeral pyre for his remaining team members, the Captain, and the helicopter crew. The body of Warrant Officer Charlie Watkins was slumped over the door gun, his body from his torso down ablaze with the rest of the burning chopper
Charlie was still screaming as Dillard got to the crashed chopper. Grabbing his friend by the shoulder straps on his harness, Dillard pulled with all his might. Charlie came out of the chopper, landing on top of Dillard, his woolen balaclava seared to his face. Dillard wrapped his arms around his friend and struggled with his first aid kit, mounted on the back of his pistol belt.
“It’ll be okay Charlie, I got you. I got you.”
“Jim…tell Hannah and the girls…tell Hannah and the girls…that it’ll…be okay….”
“Sure thing, Charlie. Sure thing.” Dillard gently rocked his friend back and forth, easing the morphine vial into his arm, hoping to ease his pain before he died. And just like that, Charlie was gone.
Dillard dropped to his knees and vomited up the remains of his MRE dinner, sickened at the sight of the mutilated corpse of one of his closest friends in the Army. An MH-47 appeared overhead, the QRF from FOB Rhino arriving on scene to continue the hunt for the local Al-Qaeda commander that Dillard and his Commando team were too mauled press. An Air Force PJ was running towards him, slinging a large duffel bag behind him. The world seemed to stop for the 27 year old captain.
Dillard allowed himself to be led back to the waiting MH-47, seemingly unaware of the severe burns on his hands nor the piece of Blackhawk lodged in his arm which was bleeding freely. When he set down on the bench seat, he took note of the blood running down his arm and passed out.