First post in a LONG time! I'd love to hear opinions.. - Writers Forum

rbradley_80 · 12-16-2007, 05:43 PM

This was my Final Draft for a creative writing class final. I think it turned out really well, but would love to hear some opinions. Thanks. Oh and the formatting is a little off since I copied and pasted it onto the thread. I'm in a rush and don't have time to run through and re adjust it.
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The Path

The near empty bottle of Jack Daniels wouldn’t stop staring at him. It sat across the table next to his Bible, and they were both competing for his attention. He didn’t know which to choose.
The night before had been a blur; he had drank to much, smoked too many cigarettes, and kissed too many girls without even knowing their names first. It was just like every other weekend.
And just like every other weekend, he wanted to forget it ever happened.

“Why am I so weak?” He thought to himself, wiping his sweaty brow with his already sweaty palm. His leg was bouncing anxiously under the table and his heart was racing.
In two years time he had sunk from respected, healthy, churchgoer, to a depressed, inactive, alcoholic. He wanted to redeem himself, but sometimes the pain without the alcohol hurt worse than the pain with it. And the fresh pack of cigarettes he carried around with him was always burning a hole in his pocket.
The loneliness was overwhelming. He remembered a time when he was popular, and loved by everybody. Now he felt like his only friends in the world were sitting across from him- the whisky and the book. But the book was a friend that he’d fallen out of contact with.
He was fighting back tears while he thought of his slow and steady fall from grace, and though he didn’t realize it, his hand slowly moved from where it rested on the table, down to the carton of Marlboros in his pocket. The need for nicotine had become something subconscious now. They’d been itching him all night and he wanted so badly to relieve the annoyance of it.
When he finally realized that his hand was clenched tightly around the pack, he stood up in a surprised and angry jolt. The cheap table shook, and the bottle of Jack wobbled towards the edge teasing his reflexes; hoping he would save it.
“No!” he cried, dropping the carton of cigarettes and lunging for the bottle; stabilizing it with both hands. The fear in his voice was like the fear of a mother for her child. He was sobbing uncontrollably now.
His knuckles were white, and his face completely flushed. He kneeled at the corner of the table trembling, and holding the bottle tightly against his chest. He was at the will of the bottle.
He opened his eyes, and through the tears saw his Bible lying on the floor. It had fallen and he hadn’t even noticed. The front cover was open, and on the inside of it he recognized the familiar handwriting of his mother.
Slowly and gently he set the glass bottle of whisky onto the tile floor and reached for the book with steady hands.
He traced the 10-year-old indentation of each word with his finger as he read.

“To our beautiful son,
You are SUCH an amazing person. You’ve achieved so many things in the short 12 years you’ve been apart of our lives, and we look forward to watching you grow into the man we know you can be in the many years to come. When times are tough, and you feel lonely and at your weakest, always remember that this book is the friend that will always be there for you. Sometimes life can seem very hopeless, but the key to succeeding in whatever you try to accomplish, is to always ‘Ponder the path of thy feet.’

We love you very much,
Mom and Dad”

Slowly, he rose to his feet, still clenching the black book in his trembling hand. He gently placed it on the kitchen counter and then sat back in his chair.
“Ponder the path of thy feet,” he whispered the words to himself as he rubbed his soggy red eyes with his fists.
For so long he’d let the vicious cycle of drinking and pitying himself consume his thoughts, that he’d lost all perspective on who he was, and who he’d been. He’d had tunnel vision for so long that he’d forgotten all of the good he’d done in his life, all the people he’d influenced for the better. The realization that his parents had once been proud of him, was one he’d been waiting on for a very long time. In that moment he felt like the world was his for the taking.
A pleased smile began to grow across his face, but it quickly vanished as he noticed the neck of the Jack Daniels bottle touching his shin. He looked down and saw it resting right where he’d left it. It was like a puppy that wanted to be pet. But he was determined, and didn’t oblige.
He quickly stood and grabbed the bottle, walked to his kitchen sink, unscrewed the lid, and began pouring the dark brown liquid down the drain.
As he watched the bottle empty, the feeling that he was doing the right thing only grew. He knew that this step was vital in climbing out of his current rut, no matter how hard it was to do.
But as the final drops of whiskey disappeared into the black hole, the realization of what he’d done hit him. His heart began to race, his palms began to get even clammier than before, and his brow began to sweat as if he’d just run a marathon. He placed the bottle onto the counter and ran his hands through his hair.
“What was I thinking?” He began to bite his fingernails as he paced around his kitchen. As he walked, the events of the past half hour ran through his mind.
Why the hell would I empty my only bottle of alcohol?
“Cause it’s bad for me. I had to,” he said answering his own question.
But I saved it from crashing to the floor! Why would I save it from crashing to the floor if I was only going to pour it down the fucking drain 10 goddamn minutes later?
“I had to. I had to. I had to!” He stopped pacing. He was hyperventilating and felt sick to his stomach. Placing both hands on the counter, he doubled over and closed his eyes while trying to catch his breath.
“Just breath, just breath,” He let his lungs fill with fresh oxygen and began to relax. His eyes began to burn as a few tears peaked their way between his eyelids.
“I’m not going to buy another bottle,” he whispered to himself while opening his eyes, still doubled over and leaning against the counter. He noticed his pack of cigarettes was lying at his feet.
He took a deep breathe and wiped the tears from his eyes, never looking away from the white and green Marlboro pack on the floor.
“But I’ll settle for one of those,” he bent down, picked up the menthols, and walked outside.

rbradley_80 · 12-18-2007, 04:21 PM

Anybody?

VNW · 12-18-2007, 06:25 PM

This is a great piece. I really enjoyed it. Your writing is very smooth and descriptive and you structured the story exceedingly well (building tension, etc.) I do have some minor suggestions on wording and phrasing that I think might strengthen it but hesitate to "wordsmith" in light of your end-quote.

rbradley_80 · 12-19-2007, 10:27 AM

Please, feel free to wordsmith! There are probably quite a few things wrong with it that I haven't picked up yet, so any help is very appreciated. Thank you for the kind words though. I'm thinking of expanding this piece, and making it into a screenplay here at my film school.

Cefor · 12-19-2007, 10:54 AM

It was good, an excellent piece and I really enjoyed it.

A spelling mistake was that you wrote 'Breath' instead of 'Breathe'.
Breathe is the verb that you were trying to use. Breath is the noun.

But other than that it's cool.
Cefor

rbradley_80 · 12-19-2007, 11:58 AM

Thank you Cefor, for the feedback and for pointing out the Breathe error. I'll fix it now.

VNW · 12-20-2007, 12:00 AM

Okay, rbradley_80, see my picky wordsmithing below. Just my opinions and I'm no expert. Please don't take offense - I offer these suggestions with the greatest respect. By the way, I did notice that a tendency to liberally sprinkle commas in the first half was reduced in the second half as the tension of the piece increased.

I want to reiterate that I really like this piece. Unlike an exciting adventure story in which the uniqueness of characters and events can sometimes mask the quality of the writing, this portrayal of a basic human struggle succeeds entirely due to great writing that draws us in to experience the struggle with him. I'd be very interested in seeing what you do with a more complex piece - where you combine this level of heart-felt emotion with a full-blown plot. I know nothing about film/screenplays but wonder if the feel of this particular piece wouldn't be lost if it's visually displayed rather than beautifully written.

The Path

The near empty bottle of Jack Daniels wouldn’t stop staring at him. It sat across the table next to his Bible, and they were both competing for his attention. He didn’t know which to choose. (The competing attention is great but the bottle staring doesn't work for me)
The night before had been a blur; he had (delete had) drank to (too) much, smoked too many cigarettes, and kissed too many girls without even knowing their names first. (delete first) It was just like every other weekend.
And just like every other weekend, he wanted to forget it ever happened.

“Why am I so weak?” He thought to himself, wiping his sweaty brow with his already sweaty palm. His leg was bouncing anxiously under the table and his heart was racing.
In two years time he had sunk from respected, healthy, churchgoer, to a depressed, inactive, alcoholic. (I didn't like these particular contrasting strings of adjectives - maybe play with them a bit more to get smoother direct contrasts? Might be better too if you can cut them to two strings of two without commas) He wanted to redeem himself, but sometimes the pain without the alcohol hurt worse than the pain with it. And the fresh pack of cigarettes he carried around with him was always burning a hole in his pocket.
The loneliness was overwhelming. He remembered a time when he was popular, (delete ,) and loved by everybody. (everyone?) Now he felt like his only friends in the world were sitting across from him- the whisky and the book. But the book was a friend that he’d fallen out of contact with.
He was fighting back tears while he thought of his slow and steady fall from grace, (replace , with .) and though he didn’t realize it, (Without even realizing it, or Out of habit?) his hand slowly moved (slid? or snaked its way?) from where it rested on the table, down to the carton (pack?) of Marlboros in his pocket. The need for nicotine had become something subconscious now. They’d been itching him all night and he wanted so badly to relieve the annoyance of it. (The itching is good but the phrasing is awkward) When he finally realized that his hand was clenched tightly around the pack, he stood up in a surprised and angry jolt. The cheap table shook, (delete comma) and the bottle of Jack wobbled towards the edge (insert -) teasing his reflexes; (replace ; with ,) hoping he would (daring him to) save it.
“No!” he cried, dropping the carton of cigarettes and lunging for the bottle; stabilizing it with both hands. The fear in his voice was like the fear of a mother for her child. He was sobbing uncontrollably now.
His knuckles were white, and his face completely flushed. He kneeled at the corner of the table (,) trembling, (delete ,) and holding the bottle tightly against his chest. He was at the will of the bottle. (Not sure whether I like "at the will")
He opened his eyes, (replace , with .) and through the tears (Through the tears, he spied his Bible?) saw his Bible lying on the floor. It had fallen and he hadn’t even noticed. The front cover was open, and on the inside of it he recognized the familiar handwriting of his mother.
Slowly and gently he set the glass bottle of whisky (the demon bottle?) onto the tile floor and reached for the book with steady hands.
He traced the 10-year-old indentation of each word with his finger as he read.

“To our beautiful son,
You are SUCH an amazing person. You’ve achieved so many things in the short 12 years you’ve been apart of our lives, and we look forward to watching you grow into the man we know you can be in the many years to come. When times are tough, and you feel lonely and at your weakest, always remember that this book is the friend that will always be there for you. Sometimes life can seem very hopeless, but the key to succeeding in whatever you try to accomplish, is to always ‘Ponder the path of thy feet.’

We love you very much,
Mom and Dad”

Slowly, he rose to his feet, still clenching the black book in his trembling hand. He gently placed it on the kitchen counter and then sat back in his chair.
“Ponder the path of thy feet,” he whispered the words to himself as he rubbed his soggy red eyes with his fists. (soggy and fists seem a little rough here)
For so long (move for so long to after thoughts) he’d let the vicious cycle of drinking and pitying himself consume his thoughts, that he’d lost all perspective on who he was, and who he’d been. He’d had (extended) tunnel vision for so long that (delete for so long that - it's repetitive - and add and)he’d forgotten all of the good he’d done in his life, all (of) the people he’d influenced for the better. The realization that his parents had once been proud of him, (delete ,) was one he’d been waiting on for a very long time. In that moment he felt like the world was his for the taking.
A pleased smile began to grow across his face, but it quickly vanished as he noticed the neck of the Jack Daniels bottle touching his shin. He looked down and saw it resting right where he’d left it. It was like a puppy that wanted to be pet. But he was determined, and didn’t oblige. (Two great lines!)
He quickly stood and grabbed the bottle, walked to his kitchen sink, unscrewed the lid, and began pouring the dark brown (golden?) liquid down the drain.
As he watched the bottle empty, the feeling that he was doing the right thing only grew. He knew that this step was vital in climbing out of his current rut, no matter how hard it was to do.
But as the final drops of whiskey disappeared into the black hole, the realization of what he’d done hit him. His heart began to race, his palms began to get even clammier than before (delete "than before") , and his brow began to sweat as if he’d just run a marathon. He placed the bottle onto the counter and ran his hands through his hair.
“What was I thinking?” He began to bite his fingernails as he paced around his kitchen. As he walked, the events of the past half hour ran through his mind.
Why the hell would I empty my only bottle of alcohol?
“Cause it’s bad for me. I had to,” he said answering his own question.
But I saved it from crashing to the floor! Why would I save it from crashing to the floor if I was only going to pour it down the fucking drain 10 goddamn minutes later?
“I had to. I had to. I had to!” He stopped pacing. He was hyperventilating and felt sick to his stomach. Placing both hands on the counter, he doubled over and closed his eyes while trying to catch his breath.
“Just breath, just breath,” He let his lungs fill with fresh oxygen and began to relax. His eyes began to burn as a few tears peaked their way between his eyelids.
“I’m not going to buy another bottle,” he whispered to himself while opening his eyes, still doubled over and leaning against the counter. He noticed his (the) pack of cigarettes was (delete was) lying at his feet.
He took a deep breathe and wiped the tears from his eyes, never looking away from the white and green Marlboro pack (box?) on the floor.
“But I’ll settle for one of those,” (replace comma with period and start new sentence) he bent down, picked up the menthols, and walked outside.

rbradley_80 · 12-20-2007, 04:47 PM

VNW, thank you for the edit. It was extremely helpful. I'll go through it again and change some things.

When it comes to comma usage, I know I tend to use them alot. In some instances I feel like more, or even less commas, than would normally be used helps the story flow in a more "human" way so they don't seem like just words on a page. In screenplays, writers sometimes insert the word "beat," so that the reader/actor knows when there is a pause of some kind. I guess my "beat" has been replaced by commas lol. Thanks again for your help, and I'll try and fix the errors you pointed out.

Ryan

lion's pride · 12-20-2007, 07:36 PM

Thats really good. I liked how it was easy to read and it didn't jump around too much. I had a drinking probelm the first time i came back from Iraq and I know from experience that Jack Daniels bottles really do stare.

rbradley_80 · 12-21-2007, 11:06 AM

I totally agree lion's pride. This piece is fictional, but written out of experience with addiction/loss of faith. JD bottles have eyes that follow you around the room.