The Cloaked Stranger

I'm working on a novel. Here is one section, and I'm looking for critiques. Please help if you can!

The alarm clock announced that it was six in the morning with a jarring blare. My hand slowly lurched out from under the covers like a zombie stumbling out of its grave. I hit the snooze button on my third awkward attempt, rolling over with a groan. Fifteen minutes later I repeated the process. My covers were a bundled mess overtop my sleeping form, blocking out the world. Only the insistent alarm intruded, interrupting me in fifteen-minute intervals until, finally, I sat up. Rubbing my bearded face, groggy with sleep, I saw that it was eight o'clock. I ran my fingers through my unruly shoulder-length hair and rushed off.

I arrived in class barely in time for the professor to start at eight-thirty. My hair was still a little damp from my hurried shower. My clothes were a rumpled mess.
"Enjoy your morning jog?" My Romanian friend Mihnea asked, referring to my supposedly daily ritual.
I grunted in reply and opened my notebook.

I was a ghost in the shipwreck that was my life. I sat in the back of my classrooms, enjoying a silent contempt of my peers. My teachers in high school had promised me that university was better, that people there were alive with intelligence, bereft of the need to form cliques and ostracize those who were different. I was promised professors who were masters of their craft. I was told that I would be challenged, my mind expanded, my potential would become realized.

I smirked now, listening to students who used twelve-letter words out of context, attempting to sound smarter than they were. After class they would be preparing for their Friday night parties and drinking binges. Granted, I had a few professors who could amaze you with their knowledge, but most of them were pompous idiots. And certainly none of them were challenging me, not in first year. On the whole, they were boring.

So I sat in the back, turning invisible. Occasionally I would speak up, hearing some infantile comment from some would-be intellectual and condescending to explain to my peers some insight about Nietzsche or Aristotle that would otherwise have been beyond their grasp. I was this dark, brooding wunderkind that impressed professors with his youthful wisdom, intimidated his classmates, and surprised everyone with his rare breaks from silence.

Most people on my floor in the student residence had been unaware that I lived there for the first several weeks. It was a shock to Daniel and Evan that they lived on the same floor as I did when we finally ran into each other. They had never bothered to ask where I was going after high school, and now we were neighbours. I had known for weeks and just never bothered to say hello. I had become so good at being silent, and unobtrusive, that most people didn’t see me even when I passed them in the halls.

I didn’t care. About anything. I saw no reason to. What use was any of it when I was alone?

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check out my novel: www.nomananisland.wordpress.com I'd appreciate critiques/comments.

The Cloaked Stranger

It was Friday. I waited at the subway station for the arrival of my train. I stood close to the edge, head down, staring at the yellow line. The point of no return that you weren't supposed to cross. The toes of my shoes rested on the border between concrete and yellow paint. The train arrived from down the tunnel, a rush of thunder and wind. I raised my face, feeling the powerful gust of air blow through my hair. It made me think of flying. This was often the best part of my week.

I stepped aboard once it rolled to a stop and its doors opened, and sat down. The people on the train studiously ignored each other, reading newspapers or books or the advertisements along the ceiling. I watched them for a while, wondering why they lived like this, and then stared out the window, watching the flashing lights go by. As a child, I would only travel to the city once a year to see the museum. Back then I would imagine the train was a time machine, taking me through time and space. Now, I just lost myself in the rhythm of the tracks.

Eventually we reached my stop, and I took the stairs to the Greyhound terminal. I found a window seat on my bus, and stared out at the city. It was evening, dusk painted the streets in grey light. People and cars moved around in my window in a dreamy haze. The world fell into twilight as we left town, passing by other cities, fields, and forests. I would watch oncoming traffic, lost in the white blur of their headlights travelling through the darkness. Then I would watch red taillights receding into the distance. The world was a Monet painting of blurred colours and lights. I drifted, lost.

It was fully dark by the time I arrived at the station. My uncle was waiting in his beat-up old pickup truck. He leaned out the window.

"You ready to work?" He said in his gruff voice.

I grunted agreement, throwing my bag in the truck-bed and hauling myself into the cab. He drove off.

"How was school?" He asked, trying to be polite.

"Fine." I answered, not caring. He stopped trying to make chitchat after that. It didn't suit him or me.

He was wearing the same heavy denim coat he always wore in the autumn. His beard was going grey, but his hair was still brown. I looked more like his son than his nephew, with my beard. His was a personal choice. Mine was from being too tired to shave. I was tired all the time.

I worked all night in the meat plant, cleaning up blood and chunks from the machines. Midnight sanitation crew. I made every surface clean, the metal shiny. I liked it because I restored order. I liked it because I worked alone.

In the morning, half asleep on my feet, I gathered my coat around me. Dark, forest green corduroy that gave comfort from its weight. I was wearing my favourite sweatshirt underneath it, a lighter green hoodie. It was increasingly colder every morning. I stumbled to the truck. He shoved my shoulder good-naturedly to wake me once we pulled up to my parents' house. I sat up, blinking, and exited the vehicle. Yawning, I waved as he drove off.

I made my way inside as silently as possible, and tumbled into bed. I would sleep most of the day, and then work again the next night. Sunday I would head back to school in time for classes on Monday. One of my sisters said I was never home. A friend at school recently complained that I was missing everything there. I began to wonder where I lived. Perhaps on the bus, watching taillights and dreaming.

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check out my novel: www.nomananisland.wordpress.com I'd appreciate critiques/comments.

Erik Buchanan

Looks interesting so far. Nice character sketch and a good impression of this guy's life. I'm not going to offer any critique on grammar, imagery or anything else at this point.

I've said this before on other threads: you are better off with a novel if you finish writing the first draft before you put bits up for critique.

If you're stuck, give some details and ask for help, but if you start getting critiqued now, you will probably lose the flow of the piece, which can be doom on the entire project.

Good luck and keep writing.

The Cloaked Stranger

I have written the entire novel . I'm posting it on a blog (see my link) one chapter at a time, to see if I can get some critiques to help me improve as a writer. I haven't reached this particular section in my postings yet, but I find it's one of the strongest parts so I wanted to see if it would generate any interest.

I believe art is a collaborative process between the creator and the viewer, and the only way to find if something "works" is to show it to others and see if they "get it" or can help improve it.

Thank you for your kind words. You shared some helpful general writing advice, which I appreciate. Given the clarity of your posts, I would be grateful if you would check out my website and offer some thoughts, because clear-sighted, objective criticism is always welcome.

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check out my novel: www.nomananisland.wordpress.com I'd appreciate critiques/comments.

Erik Buchanan

didn't know you'd written the whole thing (or perhaps wasn't paying enough attention). Good for you. I won't make any promises, because I'm up to my eyebrows in stuff right now (book launch, rebuilding website, building promotional lists, reviewer lists, list lists , and then there's that whole wife and family thing) but if I have the chance I will check it out and offer what insights I can.

Goofing off at work right now. Must go.

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The Cloaked Stranger

I get the whole "having a life" thing -- I have two small kids myself. No worries. I'm just saying, even just in the conversational tone you use in your posts, I can tell you're a clear writer and reader, so any commentary would be appreciated. Same goes for anyone who's opinions you respect -- I have never shown my book to anyone until now, other than family, and would like to know if I've wasted a decade

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check out my novel: www.nomananisland.wordpress.com I'd appreciate critiques/comments.

Erik Buchanan

Time spent writing is never time wasted.

All right, that's what I tell myself when I'm sitting in front of the computer trying to hammer out the next few pages, but I believe it's true most of the time .

A good thought, for more insight into the writing process (because we all need more insight) I hang out at the Wyrdsmiths blog. They are a fantasy/science fiction writing group with members who are at various stages in their writing careers and who blog about their writing experience. I recommend them as a good place to pick up writing tips (I do).

Good luck, and thanks for the compliment.

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The Cloaked Stranger

Here's more of the chapter:

I lived in a hazy, half-sleeping state for most of the week, my sleep cycle disrupted by midnight shifts on the weekends, occasional all-night essay writing binges, nights up talking to friends, days waking up early for classes. Some days I didn't sleep, others I collapsed for twelve hours. Time had no meaning, there were only classes or appointments each day that were checkmarks on a schedule. I was acing most of my classes, from sheer intellectual ability. I certainly wasn't trying hard. That was the joke.

I lost all respect for the educational system in my philosophy class. The professor handed back our mid-term exams, essays on various subjects that had been written in class a week or two before. I barely remembered it. I turned over the exam to see my mark. Staring back at me, it read "100 percent. Please see me after class." I wondered what he wanted. Did he think I cheated? Was it possible to cheat on a philosophy exam?

The professor wandered over once everyone else had left. I had stayed in my seat, waiting for the crowd to clear. This class was one I actually liked, somewhat. The students were idiots, but the professor knew his material and had a subtle sense of humour. Every day he would poke his head into class, seeming absent-minded, and ask if this was Philosophical Classics? We would agree, and he would wander over to the podium, make odd chitchat for a few minutes about his life, some strange observations, ask if anyone had seen any good movies. Some students wondered if he was senile. Then he would wade into the lecture, precise, detailed, picking up where we left off last week, and only I knew that he was playing a joke. He enjoyed being eccentric, and wanted to see how much we bought into it.

Now, he walked towards me, lanky, plodding, his face that of a friendly grandfather. He sat down in the desk next to me.

"Thanks for staying."

"No problem, sir." I said, always respectful.

"I wanted to talk to you about your grade." He began, and I wondered if this would be the first time I am ever accused of cheating. I really had no idea why he wanted to talk to me. "It's incredible. In thirty years of teaching, I have never given anyone that grade. So, I guess what I'm saying is... keep up the good work."

He genuinely wants me to excel. He sees potential. I thank him quietly and go on about my day. It feels strange. On the one hand, I think I should feel honoured, to be the highlight of someone's teaching career, to impress a brilliant man. But all I feel is the death of my interest in education. If no one else has ever earned the same level of achievement, then it says less about him as a teacher and more about me as a student. Many teachers in high school had told me that I was a shining moment in their career, a rare prodigy. Now, I felt more alone than ever. I had not struggled for any of it. It was easy. I began to believe one of two things must be true: either I was made for more than this, or the world was empty and offered me no hope.

I began to wonder what it felt like to lose your soul.

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check out my novel: www.nomananisland.wordpress.com I'd appreciate critiques/comments.

The Cloaked Stranger

I dropped by Daniel's room after class. He was sitting at his desk, hitting keys on his laptop. Like all the single rooms in the dorm, his was sparsely furnished: one wall held the bed, the other the window, the third the desk, the fourth a dresser and the door. The walls were large bricks painted white. He had decorated his with psychedelic posters of mushrooms and dwarves that glowed under his blacklight. He was bold enough to leave Playboy magazines out on the wide window sill where anyone could see them.

"What's up?" He asked, turning his head to look at me briefly before going back to his computer. He was downloading music again.

"I hate this place." I grunted, sitting down on the edge of his bed.

"Dude, you need to relax. Get drunk, get laid, get high. Something. Life is too short to take it as seriously as you do." He grinned, turning from the computer.

"Want to go to the gym?"

"Sure. Why not?"

All semester Dan had been dragging me to the field house, training me in the use of the equipment. He weighed over two hundred pounds and had this massive chest, and felt I should try harder. We jogged there in sports-pants and sweatshirts, then shucked the pants for the shorts underneath, stowed the sweatshirts in lockers so we could head to the machines in our t-shirts. Dan was my spotter; encouraging me to do more, work harder. I don't think I ever put in the effort I should have, though I was noticing a significant difference in my muscles as months went by.

I grunted through the last reps of my set and then set the bar into its socket. Daniel gave me a knowing wink.

"She's a hottie, eh? I'd love to get my hands on that." Dan gave the girl in question a smile, and she smiled back.

I glanced at the girl on the treadmill that he was indicating. I shrugged.

"Aren't you dating Teri?"

"Yeah, so?"

"So show some commitment to your relationship. You complained all semester about being single, and now you've got a girlfriend. Show her some respect by not flirting with other people, and show yourself some respect by honouring your commitment."

"Nice speech." Dan grinned, never ruffled by other people's opinions. "Want to grab some dinner in the sports bar?"

"Sure." I stood, and headed for the change room. I met him upstairs in the bar, and we sat in a corner table. From there you could see three television screens of different games. Hockey was on, and so was basketball. The other station seemed to be a sports commentary show.

Dan ordered a beer and a double-cheeseburger with fries. I got a clubhouse and onion rings.

"Want something to drink?" He asked, as usual. I answered with my usual 'no.'

"Seriously, you need to lighten up, Ethan." He smiled. "Life is about the pursuit of pleasure. Sometimes it's in beer, sometimes it's in a hot girl’s ass while she's wearing tight shorts. I can't believe you're turning twenty in three months and you've never even had a drink. Not everything is life and death."

"I think it is." I said, in between eating.

"Obviously!" Dan laughed.

"I don't want to drink, not yet, anyway. I have other things to think about, and that's my choice. Your choices are your choices. I wouldn't care if you were just screwing around." I told him. "That's your business. You were doing it with Laurie, and Melody, and Rachel, up until two weeks ago. But now you chose to have a relationship, with a girl who worships the ground you walk on. Honour that choice, the one both of you made."

"That's not a bad point." Dan said, saluting me with his beer bottle. "But it doesn't hurt to look."

He punctuated this point by grinning at a waitress as she passed.

"It does. Your thoughts are on someone else, instead of on Teri. And you don't just look, you flirt."

"It's not like I'm cheating on her!" He laughed.

I wasn't so sure.

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check out my novel: www.nomananisland.wordpress.com I'd appreciate critiques/comments.

The Cloaked Stranger

I closed my eyes, letting the shower spill over my face and hair. I lost myself in the sound of rushing water, the feeling of the hot beads spilling over my skin. I tried to forget the world.

I dried off eventually, putting my boxers back on and then my bathrobe. Wearing flip-flops, I left the bathroom and walked down the hallway. I could see Daniel down the hall, talking to someone through an open doorway. As usual, he was wearing only a towel around his waist, displaying his big chest.

Seventy percent of our student population was female. Out of thirty people in our section on this floor, only five of the students were boys. That wasn’t one of their rooms.

I returned to my bedroom to dress, pulling on jeans and a sweater. I headed over to Evan’s room, which was beside Daniel’s. I figured he had finished his last class by now.

As expected, he was in and his door was open. This was a universal signal throughout the residence, telling everyone you welcomed visitors. I knocked on the doorframe anyway.

“Hey, Ethan! What’s up?” Evan grinned. He was just setting down his books.

“You busy?”

“Not really. Come on in.” He gestured to his chair. I took a seat.

“How was class?” I asked.

“Not bad. I hate that it’s so late in the afternoon. By the time it’s finished it’s dinnertime and dark, and no one pays attention for the last half of class.”

I nodded. “I’ll try and avoid evening classes, then.”

“You going home this weekend?” He asked. I nodded. “Maybe you should head over to church. I bet Reverend Craig would like to see you, and so would Farrah. I’m going home to play in the worship band on Sunday.”

“I’ll think about it.” I shrugged, not committing to anything.

“You haven’t been all semester.” Evan probed. “You love church!”

I shrugged again. “Try working until six in the morning and then going to church at ten-thirty and classes all week.”

But that wasn’t the real reason. How could I explain that, for me, church was about connecting with God in my innermost self, and I could only do that with trust. Now I felt so disconnected from everything that I lacked faith in myself, and couldn’t bear to enter God’s house. I knew God could see me anywhere, but I couldn’t go to a place of celebration and worship. In all honesty, I could see nothing to celebrate.

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check out my novel: www.nomananisland.wordpress.com I'd appreciate critiques/comments.

The Cloaked Stranger

Commentary and critique would be appreciated

Dan was training me in the gym, getting me to go to the sports bar and meet people. Evan was teaching me guitar and engaging me in philosophical discussions. Both thought that they were bringing me out of my shell. Neither of them suspected how far inside it I was hiding. I had become a chameleon, blending in, acting the way they wanted me to act. I didn’t want them to know how badly I was hurting.

I had not told anyone about dating Faith that summer, or about losing her. Some things lie so close to the heart that you can’t share them.

I sat alone in my room, attempting to write an essay. In a single day, I might be too tired to remember to tie shoelaces, zip my fly, or shave, but somehow I still finished my school assignments. Often at the last minute, but still, I was getting excellent grades.

Now, sitting at the computer, I had a dizzy spell that made me sag back against the chair, my head rolling back so that I was staring at the ceiling before I regained enough control to right myself. I stumbled to my bed, and felt vertigo even while lying down. I couldn’t tell if my sleeping pattern was driving me to exhaustion, or if I was going insane.

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check out my novel: www.nomananisland.wordpress.com I'd appreciate critiques/comments.

The Cloaked Stranger

It was Thursday, and the week was a blur. I barely remembered going to class, but now it was dinner in the cafeteria. My friend Angelina was talking to me about our professor’s lecture like I had been there. I shook my head, trying to clear the fog.

I walked over to the pizza corner, trying to decide on toppings. I blanked; did I want plain cheese, pepperoni, or deluxe with mushrooms and peppers?

Angelina touched my shoulder and I almost screamed I was so startled. Usually I knew whenever someone was close. My friends often call me ‘bubble-boy’ because I’m so sensitive about personal space. Angelina stared at me with eyes wide with concern.

“Ethan, I called your name three times. Didn’t you hear me?”

I shook my head. “I guess I’m just tired.”

“I’ll say. You’re never here.”

I grimaced. And wondered where I really was.

I could hardly stand by Saturday morning. My uncle pulled up to my parents’ farmhouse, but turned to me before I exited the truck.

“Are you doing okay?” He asked.

“I’m fine.”

“I don’t think so. You haven’t been to church.” He noted.

Despite working the late shift, my uncle never missed church. He was a deeply faithful man. He believed in hard work, and honesty. He spoke little, but was always there when needed. My lack of attendance at church automatically concerned him. I took it as a sign of respect for my ability to solve my own problems that he had waited three months before mentioning it.

“I’m just tired.” I told him.

He looked at me. It was a look that said he trusted me, and that he knew I’d figure out whatever was bothering me. Because it was a look that also said that he knew I wasn’t telling him everything.

“You’ll go when you’re ready.” He said finally.

I nodded and got out of the truck, wishing I had his faith.

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check out my novel: www.nomananisland.wordpress.com I'd appreciate critiques/comments.

The Cloaked Stranger

By the time I got back to school, Evan had bad news.

“There’s a strike, starting tomorrow!”

“What?” I asked, incredulous. He had come to my room at the time I always got back. I was just taking off my jacket when he burst in.

“The teaching assistants are picketing tomorrow.” He said. “They’ve been talking about the contracts being up all semester. Part-time teachers, too. Haven’t you been paying attention?”

I shrugged, groggy from lack of sleep.

“Most of the profs won’t cross the picket line. Some will hold classes off campus, but our whole semester might be at risk!”

I stared at the floor in silence, holding very still. My fists clenched, and so did my jaw. My chest felt like it was being squeezed.

“Ethan? Are you okay?”

I snapped out of it and looked at him with the same flat effect I seemed to show everyone lately.

“I’m fine.” I said. I just worked all summer and all semester for nothing, is what I thought. Just been isolated from friends and family for no good reason.


Ever since my philosophy paper, I had loathed most of my classes even in the rare cases where I liked the professors. The only class I was remotely interested in was Creative Writing. For years I had been writing prose, and our professor was convinced that good writers pushed themselves to go places they had never been, so he was pushing me towards poetry. I don’t think any of mine was any good, but it somehow gave me a different way to look at my feelings, something I couldn’t talk about with my friends.

I remembered how amazing my summer with Faith had been, and how much I looked forward to university. The world had seemed full of opportunity, like there was adventure waiting around every corner. Now, my life was in ashes, with no Faith, no real friends, and the possibility of losing my school. So I wrote about how that felt.

The Remnant


I am the one who was left behind
I am the forgotten, the soulless
The pale shadow following a course
set by an intrepid trailblazer

Only, when I reached the place where
The path ends, I did not find his feet.
I found only the dust in the wind,
Ashes that signified his passing.

“Destiny” is a place you must go,
and when he got there the earth opened
up and swallowed him whole. Hungry,
The world feeds on the souls of heroes.

Leaving their shadows to remember.
I may be forgotten, the lost one,
But I will remember forever.
I am the remnant. That is my curse.


Later, several of us gathered in the common room, where others were already gossiping about the strike. Some people wondered if they should go home for the duration. Others argued against that, hoping the strike would be resolved within days. We had already paid our residence fees, so it wasn’t like they’d be kicking us out any time soon. A large number of people had ‘wait and see’ attitudes.

I sat in the corner of a couch, barely registering the ongoing debates. As usual, I was lost in my own disordered thoughts. I pulled down the sleeves of my black sweater so they covered my hands, a nervous habit from my childhood that was now resurfacing.

People filtered in and out of the room at frequent intervals, changing the flow of conversation. Everyone was gathering news, passing on rumours, and sharing their fears. The less scholarly of us were treating it like a holiday, planning parties and excursions.

Teri and her best friend Mandy were excited about something, but I had not been paying attention to what, exactly.

“So, Ethan, do you want to go too?” Teri asked.

I shook my head, trying to focus. “Sorry?”

“A bunch of us are going clubbing on Thursday. Do you want to come?” Mandy repeated for her, laughing.

“I guess. Sure.” I said. Anything to do was better than nothing. Alone, I just worried too much anyway.

Dan spoke up. “I frigging hate clubs. Have fun.”

“That’s fine.” Mandy shrugged. “You can have fun here by yourself.”

“You’re not coming?” Teri asked, concerned. “Do you want me to stay?”

“No, of course not. Go. Have a good time. It’s not like we have to do everything together.” Dan grinned. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll be fine by myself.”

“Yeah, you two can hang out together after. Let’s go shopping, pick some new outfits!” Mandy encouraged her friend.

“I… I guess.” Teri said, trying to read Dan. “Okay.”

The two girls hurried off while I turned to Dan.

“You’re seriously not coming?”

“Oh, I’m coming.” He grinned. “I’m just not going to tell her so. Not until the last moment.”

“I don’t get it.”

“This way I’m her hero for doing something I don’t want to. She’ll be thrilled. If I agreed all the time, she’d take it for granted.”

I rubbed my face. “Why is it that complicated? Why not just make her happy right away?”

“I’m not giving up everything I like just because she makes plans. And this way, I give her what she wants, she might give me something I want.” He winked.

I grimaced. It seemed manipulative. Maybe I just didn’t understand relationships. No wonder Faith and I broke up.

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check out my novel: www.nomananisland.wordpress.com I'd appreciate critiques/comments.

The Cloaked Stranger

I tried to shake myself out of my mood. Everyone has tough times, I told myself. Sometimes it just comes down to attitude. I tried to embrace the enthusiasm the others were showing for their night out. Maybe it would help?

I made jokes with the others on the subway ride that night, laughing with them. I pretended to surf against the movement of the train, not holding onto safety bars. I had dressed for the night out, wearing dark jeans and a stylish top, gelling my hair on Dan’s advice. I tried my best to seem like a happy university student out with his friends.

But, on the inside, I was dying. I knew it was a lie.

Teri was practically sitting in Dan’s lap the whole ride, making a big deal about his last minute appearance, as predicted. She held onto his arm as we entered the club, looking up at him with stars in her eyes.

The music was loud, and I didn’t know whether to call it dance music, house music, or something else. The walls gleamed with iridescent colours under the various lights. The crowd writhed and gyrated to the music, and the combined effect caused a sensory overload for me, making my senses swim. I felt hemmed in by the press of bodies, trapped…

I excused myself to the bathroom, refocusing myself in solitude and relative quiet. I returned to our table, and was subsequently dragged onto the dance floor by Mandy. Teri and Erin took their turns as well. Dan had come along, but refused to dance. He sat at our table drinking, and drinking in Teri’s attention as well. In between, I would return to the restroom, to restore my sanity. I hated the crowd.

Towards the end of the night, Daniel disappeared from our table. The girls scattered throughout the mob to find him. I checked at the bar, and then the hallway leading to the bathroom. After all, the girls couldn’t go in there. It was empty. Beside the restroom was a set of stairs, leading down. I assumed they led to storage rooms. I could hear voices, however, so I crept down the concrete steps.

I descended, and peeked around the corner of the wall. One of the storage rooms was open, and contained a small crowd. Daniel was there, speaking with a tall man in a dark coat. He had pale skin and sunken cheeks. They shook hands, and I thought I saw Daniel pass him some money. The man gave Dan something back, which he deftly palmed and hid in a pocket.

I backed up the stairs and stood against the bathroom door. When Dan came up the stairwell a moment later, it looked as if I had just exited.

“Hey, there you are! We’ve been looking for you.” I exclaimed, acting glad to see him.

“Everyone ready to go?”

“Yeah, the girls don’t want to miss the last subway.”

“No problem, I’m done here.”

Two subways and a bus ride later, we were walking back onto campus. Dan strode ahead, and Teri hurried to keep up. I hung back with Mandy and Erin and the rest of the returning crowd. I had my hands buried in my jacket pocket, my head down. I looked up at Dan and shook my head to see him on his cell phone, ignoring his girlfriend.

Dan’s friend Jon and some others met us at the res building. He kissed Teri on the cheek and then walked off with this new group. I imagined he would be sharing whatever was in his pocket as soon as we were out of sight.

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check out my novel: www.nomananisland.wordpress.com I'd appreciate critiques/comments.

Kittenification

This is a lot of fun to read, and I really like your characters. Dan reminds me almost exactly of a friend of mine. He even says the same stuff, and Ethan feels almost like me before I started singing. after being on stage a few times I lost a lot of that introversion, but I really identified with the way he thinks.

Very nice writing, and I look forward to reading more if you end up posting it.

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"I have never made but one prayer to God, a very short one: 'O, Lord, make my enemies ridiculous.' And God granted it." -Voltaire.
Read what I write

or perhaps what I sing.