JohnnyBones

See THIRD revision in post #15

Ungood, I promise this is the last time I force this piece on you. You're still the man.

THANKS IN ADVANCE!!!

Ungood

It is good... but something seems off... something does not flow well in this picture... You have this "Mr Dull Grey that Wishes he was Dead and Tapped in the Rut of Life" setting... leave it at that..

Too much going on in his head... focus on the "Why am I alive" at this point...

also.. "God damn, do I hate this woman,"

This does not work... too much emotion for what you have started with... keep him dead and "Dull Drone" of waking up...

Perhaps just a loveless commentary like "why did I ever marry her" or something... keep him "Dull Grey" at this point...and get rid of the knife thing... a smart man would just leave the knife at work, or pack it with his lunch

Which might be something to mention... perhaps instead of the affair talk of him making his lunch and how he has not had sex with his wife in years... how they don't talk... and things like that... and packing a large "Unnecessary" knife into the drab brown paper bag.

With just a slight "Maybe today" he would muse as he fingered the knife while pondering about his life and his wife... making me think he was going to kill himself or her.. or both. It build a bit of suspense as I read...

Then.. next chapter blow my mind with going to work and stabbing that cheating prick right in the heart... I'd be like WTF! ARRGHH!

Know what I am saying...

Ungood.

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JohnnyBones

Thanks Ungood. This is some good advice. I'm just wondering if the "dull drone" theme is enough of an immediate hook?

If done right, I suppose it could be.

Ungood

It has been done before... and can be a good hook...(Think Dilbert) you just need to put in a bit of "Guessing" draw my attention that "This is not as drab and dull as I am making it off to seem" type of deal and you can spin this into a massive thriller with plot twists and double crosses... It can go all over the place...

Keeps people guessing... just hint me in... and then when you do the stab scene I'll know something was supposed to happen..but... I was not sure what...it really hooks them them... and then if you write something as lame as 400 pages of the color of his socks... people might still read it...

Ungood.

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JohnnyBones

hahahah

Thanks. You're the man.

Ungood

always a pleasure...

Ungood

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dhyre

Johnny Bones,

I am not going to read other's comments because I will lose focus on what I wanted to say. I really liked this piece, I liked how the story was explained through the characters thoughts, I liked the narrator's voice (particularly in the beginning) and I liked how your descriptive language did not overpower the sentence. So, congratulations!

I only picked up a few things, one being the "god damn" - I found it did not really suit the character, too much passion for a protagonist who cares not that his wife is in love with his boss and the other thing would be the "fluids" in the 2nd last sentace - sounds like bodily fluids not toothpaste and water.

I am a fan,

Racheal

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*** correction: Writing is about individuality, breaking the rules, testing new grounds, listening to ourselves. That's why we do it, to show we are individuals, we are human and because everyone's idea deserves a chance, even if you don't think so.

dhyre

Alright now that I have read the comments, I just wanted to point out the possibility that maybe the boss does not die by a stabbing - does something else get in the way?

P.S. You have made the protagonists life as miserable as possible, good work, keep it up.

__________________
*** correction: Writing is about individuality, breaking the rules, testing new grounds, listening to ourselves. That's why we do it, to show we are individuals, we are human and because everyone's idea deserves a chance, even if you don't think so.

wizdem

I really liked this piece. At the beginning it made me wonder what would make a man hate his life this much. I don't know if that question was answered though. I understand he's in a loveless marriage and has resentment towards his boss, but I can't believe that would make someone that angry? Something else must have happened to him.

I also find his thought processes too complex and calculating for the type of person I read him to be. But maybe that's just me?

I really liked it though. I'd happily read more to find out if he goes through with it or not!

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Tracy Casebere.com - My own world.

JohnnyBones

Hey thanks to everyone who commented. You've all opened my eyes a lot to the character. I'm thinking the character will start off very dull and then progress into this calculating madman.

I realize I threw too many plot details into too small of a space. The text doesn't have any room to breath.

Thanks so much for all the comments, you've all been a huge help.

JohnnyBones

This is the revised piece. Any better?



Liam woke up very disappointed that he was alive to see another day. He hadn’t consumed copious amounts of headache medicine, nor had he taken a razor blade to his wrists before he retired for the night, so he really didn’t have any reason to expect his own death. However, the creeping light of the new day broke through the blinds, reminding him that he once again had to get out of bed and perpetuate the dull routine that was his life.

He really never even considered suicide as an option, simply because suicide would mean doing something bold, and Liam Nelson was anything but. Instead, he’d just hoped that death would come naturally in the form of a rogue school bus that plastered him to the pavement, or perhaps a simple misstep that sent him hurling down the stairs, instantly snapping his neck on impact. Better yet, maybe his domineering wife would finally get fed up with him, concluding his life with a single bullet lodged directly into his brain.

Of course, these things were all but dreams to him. The reality was as simple as it was foreboding. Today was a brand new day, but it would come and go just as the other thirteen thousand, eight hundred and seventy days of Liam’s life had done before it. He was thirty eight years old, but hadn’t felt alive since he was a child.

He lifted his head off the pillow and took a look at his wife. He acknowledged the fact that there was nothing about her that brought happiness to his life. This was the first thought of the day, just as it had been his first thought yesterday, and his first thought the day before. He hadn’t had sex with her in years, and hadn’t even had an enjoyable conversation with her even longer than that. He’d divorce her, but the effort that would take was much more than he had the motivation for. It was just easier to wake up next to her every morning.

The room he woke up in was the same cluttered mess that he woke up in yesterday. Both of their clothes were scattered all over the floor. There were some articles that probably had been there for a few months. Every now and then, inspiration would spur him to do something about it, but it usually passed before he would get anywhere. If he desperately needed something fresh to wear, he’d pick a few items off the floor and toss them in the washer machine. Even then, it was usually a two day process to get the clothes through the washer, drier, and folding process

“Hey.” He nudged his wife a bit. “Hey, Eileen. You awake?” He shook her abruptly, bringing her conscious.

“I am now, Liam,” she said. “Why did you wake me up?”

“I don’t know,” he said. Truthfully, he was just jealous that she was resting so peacefully and felt the impulse to disturb her slumber.

“Well, thanks a ton. Now I won’t be able to get back to sleep. Jerk.” She nestled her head back into the pillow.

“I got to get up. Got to get to work,” he said aloud, although speaking to himself.

“Just do it quietly,” Eileen said, never opening her eyes.

He looked down on her with utter contempt. One day he’d stand up to her and her nefarious ways, but it would not be today. Within moments, she fell back into a light sleep. Liam lacked the motivation to get out of bed, but after pondering nothingness for a few moments, he finally forced his bare feet onto the floor.

His daily routine played itself out as it had five times per week for the past six years. His first stop was the bathroom where he’d brush his teeth continuously for roughly three minutes. Once he was finished, he’d wash his face and apply deodorant to his armpits. Occasionally, he’d actually exert the energy required to take a shower, but this only happened about two to three times per week. This often presented a problem for him. He was slightly overweight and had a mild sweating problem. Often, his body odor was detected by either his wife or his coworkers, but their remarks did little to deter him from his apathetic hygienic methods.

Once he was finished in the bathroom, he’d prepare a putrid little meal for himself, usually consisting of nothing more than some dry toast, often burnt.

Finally, he’d dress for the day’s work. Not once did he bother to match his shoes with his belt, or color coordinate his tie with his shirt. It was a matter of what was most easily available. If a marginally clean shirt was hanging in the closet, he’d of course choose it without hesitation. If none were available, he’d pick a wrinkled one off the floor and hang it up in the bathroom. He’d put the shower on as hot as it’d go and let the shirt steam for about ten minutes. This little trick took the work out of ironing.

Once he was fully dressed and all of his morning duties were squared away, he’d treat himself by tackling the daily newspaper’s crossword puzzle. If it were up to him, he’d sit around with crossword puzzles all day, but the bills needed to be paid and he was well aware Eileen wasn’t going to do anything about them. This small share of time—which usually lasted about a half hour—was easily the most gratifying portion of his day. He could sip his coffee in the peaceful silence of his kitchen, separating himself from all the downfalls of his life. It was his blissful escape.

Eight letter word for a disaster ending in death.

He sipped his coffee and contemplated the options. At first, nothing came to mind. He took a bite of toast. The bottom had been burned quite badly. His teeth crunched through the charred outer layer. It tasted like shit, but he didn’t really mind. As long as the morning remained tranquil, he couldn’t really complain.

“Ah,” he said.

F-A-T-A-L-I-T-Y

He wrote the answer in as a subtle smile presented itself on his face. He now had letters that would aid him in solving the other clues. Beneath the puzzle, the average solve time indicated forty seven minutes. He finished it just under twenty nine. Monday crossword puzzles had the lowest level of difficulty. Hopefully tomorrow’s would provide more of a challenge.

He felt the sadness that came every morning at this time. Crossword time was over and the rest of the day would be drastically downhill from there, just as it had been the day before.

Ungood

Ok.. you lost something...

I don't feel the pull anymore...

Your first one was too much plot.. this one just did not have enough plot... nothing it telling me "You better read the next chapter something is going on here"... you know...

I liked the idea that talked to himself... "That Bitch I hate her" just too much... leave in the idea that he "is talking" we want to hear that... just tone it done... make it more "What did I ever see in you?"...

Dull Grey is not bad... but you have to give me a "Spark" or color... something that catches my eye and says "you might want to turn the page... this gets good"

Ungood.

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Ungood

Gahhhh Double Post!

Ungood.

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JohnnyBones

hmmmm....okay.

I will try again. Stay tuned if you could. : )

JohnnyBones

3rd revision! Any better?


Liam woke up very disappointed that he was alive to see another day. He hadn’t consumed copious amounts of headache medicine, nor had he taken a razor blade to his wrists before he retired for the night, so he really didn’t have any reason to expect his own death. However, the creeping light of the new day broke through the blinds, reminding him that he once again had to get out of bed and perpetuate the dull routine that was his life.

He really never even considered suicide as an option, simply because suicide would mean doing something bold, and Liam Nelson was anything but. Instead, he’d just hoped that death would come naturally in the form of a rogue school bus that plastered him to the pavement, or perhaps a simple misstep that sent him hurling down the stairs, instantly snapping his neck on impact. Better yet, maybe his domineering wife would finally get fed up with him, concluding his life with a single bullet lodged directly into his brain.

Of course, these things were all but dreams to him. The reality was as simple as it was foreboding. Today was a brand new day, but it would come and go just as the other thirteen thousand, eight hundred and seventy days of Liam’s life had done before it. He was thirty eight years old, but hadn’t felt alive since he was a child.

He lifted his head off the pillow and took a look at his wife. What did I ever see in this woman?. This was the first thought of the day, just as it had been his first thought yesterday, and his first thought the day before. He hadn’t had sex with her in years, and hadn’t even had an enjoyable conversation with her even longer than that. He’d divorce her, but the effort that would take was much more than he had the motivation for. It was just easier to wake up next to her every morning.

The room he woke up in was the same cluttered mess that he woke up in yesterday. Both of their clothes were scattered all over the floor. There were some articles that probably had been there for a few months. Every now and then, inspiration would spur him to do something about it, but it usually passed before he would get anywhere. If he desperately needed something fresh to wear, he’d pick a few items off the floor and toss them in the washer machine. Even then, it was usually a two day process to get the clothes through the washer, drier, and folding process

“Hey.” He nudged his wife a bit. “Hey, Eileen. You awake?” He shook her abruptly, bringing her conscious.

“I am now, Liam,” she said. “Why did you wake me up?”

“I don’t know,” he said. Truthfully, he was just jealous that she was resting so peacefully and felt the impulse to disturb her slumber.

“Well, thanks a ton. Now I won’t be able to get back to sleep. Jerk.” She nestled her head back into the pillow.

“I got to get up. Got to get to work,” he said aloud, although speaking to himself.

“Just do it quietly,” Eileen said, never opening her eyes.

He looked down on her with utter contempt. One day he’d stand up to her and her nefarious ways, but it would not be today. Within moments, she fell back into a light sleep. Liam lacked the motivation to get out of bed, but after pondering nothingness for a few moments, he finally forced his bare feet onto the floor.

His daily routine played itself out as it had five times per week for the past six years. His first stop was the bathroom where he brushed his teeth continuously for roughly three minutes. Once he finished, he washed his face and applied deodorant to his armpits. Occasionally, he’d actually exert the energy required to take a shower, but this only happened about two to three times per week. This often presented a problem for him. He was slightly overweight and had a mild sweating problem. Often, his body odor was detected by either his wife or his coworkers, but their remarks did little to deter him from his apathetic hygienic methods.

Once he was finished in the bathroom, he prepared a putrid little meal for himself, consisting of nothing more than some dry toast, which he accidentally burnt.

He took out a slightly dulled kitchen knife from the drawer and used it to slice the bread into to equal parts. He held the knife up in the air, catching a glimpse of his stare in the blade’s reflection. I wonder how much force it would require to penetrate the sternum, he thought to himself. The knife felt heavy in his hands. There was something that excited him about it. Something he had thought about doing for the passed few weeks.

Yes, he thought. I think today might be the day.

With that, he packed the knife into a small brown bag and tucked away into his work bag, along with the large pastrami sandwich he made the night before.

Finally, he dressed for the day’s work. He never bothered to match his shoes with his belt, or color coordinate his tie with his shirt. It was a matter of what was most easily available. If a marginally clean shirt was hanging in the closet, he’d of course choose it without hesitation. If none were available, he’d pick a wrinkled one off the floor and hang it up in the bathroom. He’d put the shower on as hot as it’d go and let the shirt steam for about ten minutes. This little trick took the work out of ironing.

Once he was fully dressed and all of his morning duties were squared away, he treated himself by attempting to tackle the daily newspaper’s crossword puzzle. This was his routine every single morning. If it were up to him, he’d sit around with crossword puzzles all day, but the bills needed to be paid and he was well aware Eileen wasn’t going to do anything about them. This small share of time—which usually lasted about a half hour—was easily the most gratifying portion of his day. He could sip his coffee in the peaceful silence of his kitchen, separating himself from all the downfalls of his life. It was his blissful escape.

Eight letter word for a disaster ending in death.

He sipped his coffee and contemplated the options. At first, nothing came to mind. He took a bite of toast. The bottom had been burned quite badly. His teeth crunched through the charred outer layer. It tasted like shit, but he didn’t really mind. As long as the morning remained tranquil, he couldn’t really complain.

“Ah,” he said. “How fitting.”

F-A-T-A-L-I-T-Y

He wrote the answer in as a subtle smile presented itself on his face. He now had letters that would aid him in solving the other clues. Beneath the puzzle, the average solve time indicated forty seven minutes. He finished it just under twenty nine. Monday crossword puzzles had the lowest level of difficulty. Hopefully tomorrow’s would provide more of a challenge.

At first he was saddened that his pleasant morning time to himself was over, but then reminded himself that perhaps today would be a fantastic day, at last.