Mr. Moyer's Problem - 749 words - Writers Forum

hdawg06 · 04-21-2008, 10:58 PM

This is just a little story I wrote one night. I would appreciate very specific critism. I am not the best grammar expert, so please don't be too harsh on me. I also seem to have a problem of using cliches, but have been backing off in my recent works, so I hope this doesn't possess many.

Mr. Moyer's Problem

John Moyer sat at his type writer pondering. Wow, this just isn’t working, he thought. It has been too long since his last article was publicized – nearly two years.

“Dammit,” he muttered under his breath, barely audible to the human ear. He sat there, staring perplexed into the wood paneling of the wall. His study was becoming crowded with works, but none of them to John, were worth a darn. Stacks of paper littered the room like mounds of ant hills on his sidewalk. The piles of articles, ever increasing, were becoming a menace when it came to maneuvering his way from the doorway to his desk. He now had to dodge them, as not to cause a huge catastrophe, which would look much like a domino effect if he did in fact run into them.

After Nancy died, he just couldn’t hold his life together. He began drinking then, as to help ease the pain, but all it seemed to do was make his work lackluster.

His current state of mind differed from hour to hour it seemed. Really, it depended on what he did each day, for if he didn’t leave the house, he often started drinking – sometimes as early as ten o’clock. His drink of choice often differed daily. Usually it was between whisky and beer, but only his mood could tell. Today it was whiskey.

He’d intended to go to AA meetings, but they were just so damn far away. That’s what living in the middle of nowhere – western Kansas – did to you though. It seemed to make life a living hell. Travelling into town, which wasn’t big at all when looking at area or population, took nearly one and a half hours travelling round trip. Not to mention, that the nearest town was no bigger than 800 poor saps and none were drunks (as far as he knew). This created a dilemma. Moyer had to deal with the problem on his own, or go even further, mayhap even three and a half to four hours round trip, not even including the meeting. The fact that it took so long to go there, and he would be going there so frequently – nearly four times a month – was disturbing. He would therefore have to break the habit on his own, or learn to work his way through it. There would be no intervention. His wife of nearly twenty years laid buried for some two, and he had no offspring. He was alone in the world.

“I have to get this done, just this once,” Moyer said. And in fact, he did need to get it done. He was under the impression if he could not get out of this rut he was in now, he may never.

With his right hand he picked his glass up and took a sip – whiskey and coffee mixed together – and when he finished it, he just looked at it, perplexed. The glass was empty. Ugggg, he thought. Muscles tensed, he lurched back, and threw it with all his strength into the wood paneled wall. It shattered into a thousand pieces, and rained down on the floor and desk as if it were a firework going off in the darkened sky.

Jones, his pet dog, winced as he did this. Moyer was quite relieved with his move. He thought, there, maybe that will help. He needed some sense knocked into him, as often his father would do when he was in trouble.

The shattering glass seemed to do just the trick. It seemed to send him into a zone, where he had not been in for a couple years at least, and this was a marvelous turn of events.

His mind expanded, his vocabulary exploded – with it came many words which he did not even know he still knew – his previous state of mind was back, and intact. It had taken quite a lot to get out of it, and to be honest, he had never known that the image of his father coming down to beat him with his belt would have done it. If he had known that, he would have imagined it much sooner.

John straightened up in his chair, which reminded him of his elementary school music lessons; where the teacher always made you either stand of sit in a very particular fashion. He began typing a steady stream of sentences. This would be his first publicized work since Nancy died, he thought.

“Thank God”, he muttered.

nacreous · 04-22-2008, 12:30 AM

I liked it. Its nice, its funny, and its something I can relate to. typewriter.
a few too many cliches. much passive voice, but it is definately worth working on. I want to see jones, maybe see him interact with the writer somehow. maybe some mention of what the damned article he's working on is all about. I could see him muttering something about the subject matter he's working on, thats what I do. Anyway, intriguing work here, keep it up.

Fossy · 04-22-2008, 05:01 AM

Quote:

Originally Posted by hdawg06

This is just a little story I wrote one night. I would appreciate very specific critism. I am not the best grammar expert, so please don't be too harsh on me. I also seem to have a problem of using cliches, but have been backing off in my recent works, so I hope this doesn't possess many.

Always glad to help a newcomer. What I highlighted in red is what you could cut or is spelt wrong, or the wrong word etc.

Mr. Moyer's Problem

John Moyer sat at his type writer typewriter pondering. Wow, this just isn’t working, he thought. It has had been too long two years since his last article was publicized published– nearly two years.

“Dammit,” he muttered under his breath, barely audible to the human ear. He sat there, staring perplexed into at the wood paneling of the wall. His study was becoming had become crowded with works, but none of them to John, were worth a darn. Stacks of paper littered the room like mounds of ant hills on his a sidewalk. The piles of articles, ever increasing, were becoming a menace when it came to maneuvering his way from the doorway to his desk. He now had to dodge them, as not to cause a huge catastrophe, which would look much like a domino effect if he did in fact run into them. I got a good visual of the piles of articles he had to walk around, so you don't need to tell us what would happen if he fell over them.

After Nancy died, he just couldn’t hold his life together. He began drinking then, as to help ease the pain, but all it seemed to do did was make his work lackluster. Not sure if I like the word 'lacklustre'

His current state of mind differed from hour to hour it seemed. Now this sentence doesn't make sense, you say his 'current' state of mind 'differed' from hour to hour, plus it's cliché. Instead you could say, 'His mood shifted from hour to hour. Really, it depended on what he did. each day, for if he didn’t leave the house, he often started would start drinking – sometimes as early as ten o’clock. His drink of choice often differed daily. (I cut the 'often' because like the word 'sometimes' or 'usually' it makes you, the author seem unsure of your character. Make each verb a sure thing. Usually it was He chose either between whisky and or beer, but only his mood could tell. Today it was whiskey.

He’d intended to go to AA meetings, but they were just so damn far away. (but they were so far away are narrators thoughts) That’s what living in the middle of nowhere – western Kansas – did to you though. It seemed to make life a living hell. Travelling into town, which wasn’t big at all when looking at area or population, took nearly one and a half hours travelling round trip. Not to mention, that the nearest town was no bigger than 800 poor saps and none were drunks (as far as he knew). This created a dilemma. Moyer had to deal with the problem on his own, or go even further, mayhap even three and a half to four hours round trip, not even including the meeting. The fact that it took so long to go there, and he would be going there so frequently – nearly four times a month – was disturbing. He would therefore have to break the habit on his own, or learn to work his way through it. There would be no intervention. His wife of nearly twenty years laid buried for some two, and he had no offspring. He was alone in the world.

“I have to get this done, just this once,” Moyer said. And in fact, he did need to get it done. He was under the impression if he could not get out of this rut he was in now, he may never.

With his right hand he picked his glass up and took a sip – whiskey and coffee mixed together – and when he finished it, he just looked at it, perplexed. The glass was empty. Ugggg, he thought. Muscles tensed, he lurched back, and threw it with all his strength into the wood paneled wall. It shattered into a thousand pieces, and rained down on the floor and desk as if it were a firework going off in the darkened sky.

Jones, his pet dog, winced as he did this. Moyer was quite relieved with his move. He thought, there, maybe that will help. He needed some sense knocked into him, as often his father would do when he was in trouble.

The shattering glass seemed to do just the trick. It seemed to send him into a zone, where he had not been in for a couple years at least, and this was a marvelous turn of events.

His mind expanded, his vocabulary exploded – with it came many words which he did not even know he still knew – his previous state of mind was back, and intact. It had taken quite a lot to get out of it, and to be honest, he had never known that the image of his father coming down to beat him with his belt would have done it. If he had known that, he would have imagined it much sooner.

John straightened up in his chair, which reminded him of his elementary school music lessons; where the teacher always made you either stand of sit in a very particular fashion. He began typing a steady stream of sentences. This would be his first publicized work since Nancy died, he thought.

“Thank God”, he muttered.

Nice cute little story, and for your first post well done. I haven't highlighted all your mistakes, because it's better to find them yourself. But what I have done is show you a little bit of what you can do to improve this, make it less passive, and cut out words you don't really need.

Don't be too alarmed at the red and blue. I know it looks as if a teacher has been at this, slashing and burning, but it's just designed to highlight where you can make improvements.

We're all here to learn, so keep up the good work, you have a nice emerging voice.