Perhaps the most common question on Wattpad is "How do I change a chapter to make it better?". Better can be pretty subjective, and just because I do something, doesn't mean it's better, or right. Some people will like my style. Some people will hate it.

This chapter and the ones following it are a showcase. Readers like you submitted their chapters to me, and I took what they wrote and rewrote it in my own words. The goal, of course, is to see how the same scene can be changed in someone else's eyes.

For those of you in school always being asked to write things "in your own words" because those silly schools take some strange issue with "plagiarism", take extra note. And just in case you were curious, I took both of our chapters and I used a plagiarism check between the pair. The comparison found our works only identify at 0.9%. Only 17 words did it suspect may have been lifted from the work, a work with the same characters doing the same things in roughly the same order.

So, you know, take note on how to do that. Also, you can see how I would change a work, and perhaps that will shake loose some ideas on how YOU can change your own work. At least, that's the idea. So without further ado... here is the first of hopefully three chapters (although at the time of posting I only have gotten two).

"Ugh." Jeff scratched his gray beard.

"You say it, man." Martin prodded the corpse with a foot. Gently.

The dead man lay on the sandy beach between them, on his back, the gentle waves lapping at his feet. He wore a suit—a black jacket open at the front, a pair of sodden, black pants, a white shirt stretched over a fat belly, and a tie. The latter was blue with tiny, yellow butterflies. It had settled on his chest in a bent curve—a question mark, its dot formed by the head.

Martin prodded the man's shoulder again, less gently this time, making the body wobble, once. "Looks real dead to me." He took off his wide-rimmed hat to move a hand over his bald, mottled scalp.

"Looks kinda surprised, though." Jeff took a long drag from his reefer.

The corpse's mouth stood open, and his vacant stare was on the blue sky above them.

Martin turned to face the palm trees bordering the beach. "Maaarge!" He waved.

A small cottage stood at the trees' edge. Its walls were adorned with faded rainbow flags, and it stood beside a verdant garden. Marge looked up from her work amid the plants there.

"Come, you need to see this." He lifted a fist and extended a finger pointing at the surprised body.

Marge got up. She grabbed a walking stick leaning against the garden fence and hobbled her way down onto the beach. "What's it this time, guys?"

"Just come and see for yourself." Martin's gaze returned to the dead man.

Marge joined them. "Holy shit." She fingered her long braid of silver hair.

"Yeah. Shit." Jeff nodded. "Dunno about holy, though."

Marge snapped the reefer from Jeff's fingers and inhaled deeply. "What do we do with that?" She waved the usurped joint at the body.

Martin shrugged. "We should get the police. Shouldn't we?"

"Sure..." She glowered at him. "The police. They would love to have a look at it. And at our house. And at the weed in our garden. Wouldn't they?"

They all looked at their garden, where breast-high, slender-leaved plants were rustling in the morning breeze coming in from the ocean.

"Old Sarge Harry is okay. He keeps quiet." Martin grinned.

"Yeah, he does..." Marge said. "But the police have got some young folks now. Fresh and eager to harass innocent planters."

Jeff spat onto the sand.

Martin huffed. "You're right... I'm not sure if the police want to see our garden." He nodded at their property. "Anyway, it's a two-hour drive to the village. And two more back. I mean..." He motioned at the body. "We can't leave that guy here under the hot sun for that long... He'd start rotting on us."

"E's a bit whiffy already," Jeff said and wrinkled his wrinkly nose.

"And we don't want to worry the authorities with a dead body, do we?" Martin added.

"Right." A slow grin took hold of Marge's face. "Anyway, a guy like that, finely dressed, with a tie and all, he's literally begging for a decent burial, isn't he? In fact, he's already dressed perfectly for his funeral, right?"

~ ~ ~

They dug the grave beside their garden, in the shade of the cannabis thriving there. Martin was sitting on the yellow mini-excavator they used for the heavier gardening work. The oily smell of its rumbling diesel heart lay heavily in the air.

Marge looked into the pit. "That's mighty deep."

"I wanted to be sure that the body's well below the roots of the plants. We don't wanna smoke corpse, do we?" Martin killed the engine and stepped from the vehicle.

"Look." Jeff extended a hand towards the beach.

An alalā crow perched on the corpse's chest, flapping its black wings.

"We should hurry to tug him in before the birds get him," Martin said.

Marge took a wheezy breath. "He's bound to be heavy. And we ain't as strong as we used to be." She grabbed Martin's arm, feeling for his biceps.

Martin pulled away and frowned at her. "Still as strong as ever—"

"We could cut'im up." Jeff made a sawing motion with his hand. "Smaller parts would be easier to carry."

Martin huffed. "Haha, you can do that if you want."

Marge pulled at her braid. Then she looked at the excavator.

~ ~ ~

Their secluded bay was at its finest in the late afternoon, when the sun was standing low, grazing the palm trees and caressing the sand with its gentle, golden fingers.

Footprints and tire marks—going down to the water and back—were all that remained of the day's work. That, and a fresh mound of earth decorated with a scattering pink plumeria flowers.

The three senior citizens were sitting in easy silence on a bench they had set up, decades ago, at the top of the beach, midway between the cottage and the shoreline. Each of them was nursing a drink—tall glasses holding chilled orange juice, cranberry juice, peach spirit and liberal amounts of vodka.

Marge interrupted the easy silence, a smile tugging at her lips. "That was kind out touching... the procession, with him on that shovel and with Martin being the hearse driver. Jeff and me the mourning parish following the deceased to his last resting ground."

The men nodded.

"And you did a fine speech there." Martin gave Marge an affectionate smile. "About the guy's favorite tie, the blue one with the yellow moths. I'm sure he would have loved it."

"Yep," Jeff said.

Easy silence resumed.

The waves murmured words of love against the shore.

The wind carried the noise of an engine, interrupting easy silence once more.

"Hear that?" Martin asked.

An off-road vehicle invaded the beach. They watched as it drove towards them, churning up a cloud of yellow dust in its wake. Its chassis was white and adorned with blue stripes that shouted police to anyone caring to take notice. It stopped between the bench and the water, and two black-uniformed officers oozed from it.

One of them tipped his hat. "Hey Marge... Martin, Jeff. How's life?" His double chin wobbled with the words.

Marge lifted her glass at him. "Good evening, Sarge Harry. Hanging loose, that's how life is. How can we help you?"

"There's been an accident, off-shore," The second officer said. He was a young, lean man with short-cropped, dark hair, hands behind his back, bobbing on the soles of his feet. The bobbing wasn't an easy task while standing in the sand.

"Yer new here, lad?" Jeff asked.

"Yes sir, I'm Detective Stockhorn." The man's words were crisp.

"What accident?" Marge asked.

"Some yacht lost a man, north of here." Serge Harry waved vaguely towards the water. "With the currents, he may have washed up at one of these shores."

"They... lost... a man?" Martin's fingers painted quotes around 'lost'.

"Yeah... lost him." The sergeant shrugged. "That's what the report said."

"Anyway, officers, we haven't found any man here, lost or otherwise." Marge produced her best grandma smile. "Sorry, lads."

"Okay. Thanks, Marge." Sarge Harry scratched his head. "I guess we'll have to search further west then." He made to turn, then he stopped. "But... if you see anything, you'll tell us."

"Sure, Sarge." Martin nodded.

The two officers bid their farewells and started towards their vehicle.

The younger one stopped in his tracks. "Ey, what's that?" He pointed a hand at the footsteps and the mini-excavator tracks in the sand.

"Er..." Martin said.

"Em..." Marge added.

Sarge Harry looked at the old trio on their bench and raised an eyebrow at them.

Marge tugged her braid. Martin rubbed his head.

"Sex on the beach," Jeff said.

The Sergeant studied him, then he nodded. "I see what you're drinking, Jeff, but..." His voice was loud enough to startle the deaf. "What are these tracks in the sand?"

"No need to shout, man." Jeff gave the authorities a bushy frown. "'Eard ye well enough the first time. As I said... T'was us, we 'ad sex on the beach."

"What?" The Sergeant hesitated, his mouth open. "You're... not talking about the drink here, are you?"

"Naw. Not the drink." Jeff's grin lacked an incisor.

"Okay..." The Sergeant scratched his hair once more. His eyes darted to Marge, then to his subordinate.

"In that case..." The younger officer pointed his thumb over his shoulder. "What are the wheel tracks?"

"The wheel tracks?" Jeff said.

"Yes. The wheel tracks." The Detective Stockhorn nodded.

"That was our mini-excavator." Marge waved at their house, where the yellow machine stood guard like a faithful XXX-sized dog.

"Yes...?" The sergeant now raised both his eyebrows in expectant scrutiny.

"You see... Jeff here." Marge prodded the man beside her with her elbow. "He has... spinal issues. His discs tend to pop this way and that. And, while... er during... anyway, they popped. We had to get him back to the house."

"Yeah..." Jeff nodded. "Laid me over that shovel. A disgrace." He glowered at his friends.

"And then, back in the house, we placed him on our massage bed. And did therapy." Martin moved his hands in serious dough-kneading gestures.

"Yeah..." Jeff nodded once more. "And they did things to me. Things ye don't wanna know, such as—"

"I get it." Sergeant Harry raised his hands. "That's enough, thanks." He nodded at his companion. "Come, let's get going. It'll be dark soon."

~ ~ ~

The trio on the bench watched the dust clouds drift towards the forest in the wake of the police vehicle's retreat.

"Sex on the beach..." Marge sighed. "It's been a while since last time."

"Why, we're just having some..." Martin pointed at his glass.

"The other kind, silly." Marge smiled.

Martin grinned.

Jeff chuckled and rose, offering an arm to Marge.

Martin stood as well, proffering another arm.

Marge beamed at both of them. "Can't resist your charms, guys." She reached out for the offered limbs, pulling herself up. "You know, I still do remember our last time."

Arm in arm, they walked towards the shoreline.

"Yeah, last time must 'ave been ages ago." Jeff's face was dreamy.

"True." Martin nodded. "The last time... When was that...? Last Monday...? Or the week before...?"

Flat out, I wanted to say that I really liked this story. It's really well written, and many of the tweaks I made weren't necessary. The main thing I did was get rid of the chapter breaks. I didn't think they were necessary where a brief transition would work fine. There were a few regional things that I tried to remove/change so the location was more generic (although you'll know it's Hawaii if you do a quick google). I altered their speech to what I felt was more natural. I felt a few jokes failed to land, especially the punchline, and tried to tweak it. Please note that this is not an improvement to what was written, this is an alternative to what was written.

Jeff shook his head with a sigh as he stared down at the bloated corpse at his feet and scratched at his graying beard.

"My thoughts exactly." Martin kicked the corpse, gently-like.

There was the body of a heavy-set man lying there in the sand. Gentle waves receded back from the low-tide, but the corpse looked to be fairly entrenched in the sand and it wasn't likely it'd be carried away by the waves anytime soon. The corpse was dressed in business attire – a black sports jacket, pants, and a white shirt, all sodden and filthy now. He wore a blue tie with tiny, yellow butterflies that was bent into a question mark as if to visualize the question running through both men's minds. Exactly who was this guy?

Martin struck the man's shoulder, a little less gently this time, and the body wobbled. "Definitely looks dead to me."

Martin pulled off his wide-brimmed hat and moved a hand to his balding scalp, wrinkled and mottled from years of sun exposure.

"I'd say he looks surprised." Jeff brought his hand-rolled blunt to his lips and took a drag.

The corpse did indeed lie there with an open mouth and a vacant stare like he was suddenly caught on the toilet while taking a shit and struck dead.

Martin turned towards a small cottage that stood at the edge of a grouping of palm trees which bordered the beach. "Hey! Maaaarge!"

The woman he had called looked up from her work in the adjacent garden. She used the adjacent wall of the house, an aged wooden siding adorned with faded rainbow flags, in order to help herself to her feet.

"What you want?" She gave a call once she had regained her footing.

"Come! You ought to see this one." He lifted his hand and pointed down, although he knew she wouldn't be able to make out anything from her vantage point.

She tossed her garden gloves onto the ground and grabbed a nearby walking stick that had been leaning against the garden fence before hobbling her way over the bank.

"What shit are you two boys up to now?" Marge barked, although her voice held a noticeable degree of fondness as she said it.

"Just come over and see." He turned his vision back to the dead man.

"I'm coming, I'm coming." She shook her head in annoyance, however, her expression quickly changed as she started to make out the thing they were looking at. "Holy shit."

"Agreed. Shit. Not sure how holy it is though." Jeff nodded.

Marge pulled the reefer from Jeff's fingers and gave a deep drag. "What are we going to do about it?"

Martin shrugged. "This is a thing for the police, isn't it?"

"Sure..." she gave him a glower. "The police. And maybe this whole beach turns into a crime scene. And maybe a cop takes too close a look at our garden, and notices certain herbs hidden in the center."

The three of them turned back to the garden, although from this vantage point various corn plants obscured the view of anything that might be considered illegal.

"Harry's okay, he keeps quiet." Martin shrugged.

"Harry would." Marge nodded, but then sighed. "But the police got a lot of young ones now, eager to arrest for minor offenses."

Jeff spat on the ground in response to that comment, missing the corpse by only a few feet.

"Not sure the police would have any reason to look closely at our garden," Martin shrugged. "But it's a two-hour drive to the village and two more back. If we leave this guy there that long he'll start rotting."

"He's getting a bit whiffy already." Jeff wrinkled his nose.

"Besides, we don't want to add to Harry's worries. He's getting to retirement, I hear."

"Right." The corner of Marge's lips raised a bit. "Besides, look at the guy. All dressed up, he's practically asking for a burial, right? I'd say he's already done the hard part for us."

"Coming from the one who isn't going to have to dig the hole." Martin gave her a wry look.

Marge gave an innocent smile in response, but neither of the two men were upset. They wouldn't be digging the hole either. Instead, they had a yellow mini-excavator that they used to do the heavy gardening work these days.

"Come on then. Let's get this over with." Jeff sighed.

It took about an hour to pull out the mini-excavator and dig a grave near the garden. The soil there had already been disturbed during the planting process, so it seemed to be an ideal spot to bury someone. The oily smell of rumbling diesel laid heavily in the air.

"You dug a deep one." Marge looked down into a pit deep enough that in the poor evening light she couldn't see the bottom for sure.

"I want the body well below the roots. Don't wanna be smoking corpse, right?" Martin killed the engine and stepped out of the vehicle.

"Look!" Jeff extended a hand towards the beach where ʻalalā crows were started to hover around the corpse.

A particular bold crow was already perched on the corpse's chest, starting to take a peck or two out of him.

"We should hurry before the birds have him." Martin grimaced.

"Will you need the excavator? Ain't as strong as you once was."

Martin gave a frown and puffed out his chest. "Still as strong as ever-"

"We could chop 'em up." Jeff offered. "Smaller parts. Easier to carry."

Martin snorted. "Hah. You can be my guest if you want to."

Marge jerked her head to the excavator one more time, and after getting a look from Jeff, Martin finally gave a sigh and nodded.

By the time the burial was finished, the sun was low on the horizon, ready to set at any moment. The secluded bay gave off an indescribably peaceful feeling, palm trees lightly baying in the wind and sand being pushed around by gentle waves.

Various footprints and tire marks marked the sand, the remnants of a day's work going to and from the water. A fresh mound of dirt sat nearby, decorated with a scattering of pink plumeria flowers, as suitable a grave as any.

The three of them now sat near the top of the beach, at an aged bench and table that had been set up decades ago. Each of them held a drink – tall glasses filled with chilled orange juice, cranberry, peach spirit, and a liberal amount of vodka. While their hands and faces were washed clean with a nearby hose, there were still traces of dirt and sand on their clothing. By their casual demeanor, no one would assume they'd done anything outside of the ordinary that day.

It was Marge who broke the comforting silence. "That was a bit touching... the procession I mean. Driving him to the grave while he lied in the shovel like an open casket, Martin made a fine hearse driver. Jeff and me the mourning parish to witness the deceased burial. Almost made me feel religious."

The two men each gave a nod.

"You did a good job with that speech." Martin gave Marge an affectionate look. "I liked the part about his tie the most. I'm sure he'd been happy to know you noticed the bugs on it."

"Yup." Jeff nodded.

"Mm..." Marge mused, "Maybe, he was wanna them.. what you call them, enti- ente... them bug scientists? You think?"

"Possibly."