Board Thread:Writer's Workshop/@comment-33904527-20190501221723/@comment-33904527-20190507173504

ChristianWallis wrote: The sunshine of a new day spreads over my forehead through the window, trickling down slowly onto my closed eyelids, beckoning my weary body from my bed. '[sentence structure: keep the sentence flowing logically. Cont’d below…] It’s a Sunday, aptly named [do you feel like this is a great time to show off your pun skills? Your 40 words into an online short story and you’re taking time out to make a dad joke?), and I turn [rather than use the combination ‘turn’ and ‘slowly’ you’ll find single words that convey the idea without taking up as much real estate. Also the separation of turn and slowly is similar to the point I made above]  over in my bed slowly, revelling in the softness of my sheets. The blanket cradles me like a mother to her child [ the second half of that sentence is implied, and you don’t need to clarify it]. There’s a beautiful view of the morning sky from the crack in the blinds. It’s almost like the hills themselves are beaming with optimism. [another way to structure those last two sentences: ‘There’s a beautiful view of the morning sky through a crack in the blinds. The hills outside are beaming with optimism.’ -> keep it simple, avoid phrases like seemingly, almost, actually, then, like, etc. like the plague].'

'[Cont’d: So a sentence is made of the action, subject, and object. Keep actions and their elaborations close to the subject doing them. In this case ‘The sunshine (subject) spreads (action) over my forehead (object) (all great so far) through the window (not so great).’ So here, this sentence briefly reads as the man’s forehead being through the window, not the sunlight. It takes a moment to correct through context, but moments like this will be described as “worded awkwardly” or “scans poorly”. Keep phrases that elaborate on a subject’s action close to the subject. In other words, it should be “The sunshine spread through the window, over my forehead, trickling….”. As a theme, you’re going to need to approach your prose with a lot more discipline overall.]'

A smile worms its way across my face. It’s been so long since I’ve felt like this. I almost can’t believe it. My surprise euphoria only intensifies as I slide out of bed.' [this is a bit rough. It’s inefficient. Something like “I smile as I climb out of bed, unable to remember the last time I felt like this.”. Everything else is kinda superfluous] '

The room is bright, but not overwhelmingly so. More like a orangey haze. '[I would try again on those last two. If the light is an orange haze, say so. But there’s no need to set upper and lower limits on the room’s luminosity.] All the bad feelings [you have not once in this story mentioned bad feelings]' fade away in my mind as I stare vacantly out of the window, rubbing my hands down my face. The messy clothes and stained walls '[what messy clothes and stained walls? You haven’t once mentioned them] 'don’t seem to bother me anymore.

My feet glide effortlessly into my slippers and the warmth sticks to my body even as I step into the shade of my bathroom. The tap water, which before [before what?] I considered dirty and unclean, splashes across my face in an intoxicating manner '[telling, not showing. Answer the question, “how is it intoxicating?”]'. A pleasant [how is it pleasant?] smell hangs in the air. At first, I can’t quite place a name to it, but soon enough, I realise [I realise soon enough]. Eggs and bacon. If I listen closely, I can even hear it sizzling in the saucepan downstairs, making my mouth salivate [my mouth salivating] in anticipation.

I walk down the stairs slowly, savouring each inhalation [good God man just say “breath”]  I take. The kitchen is covered in a thin veil of smoke, wrapping around the doorframes and through the entire house. More heavenly rays of sunlight shine into the room, and in the middle of it all, my beautiful wife, a smile on her rosy-red lips and a saucepan in her hand. The bacon bounces softly in the air as she gently shakes the saucepan [Can’t comment too much because this might vary based on culture, but don’t people fry bacon in a frying pan?]  once more. We say nothing to each other: no words are needed '[I’d pick one of those sentences and delete the other. Also the following sentence is a fragment]'. Just that sweet smile of hers and a nod of acknowledgement from me. She hums gently as I linger on the bottom step, soaking in her radiance.

A small bottle of pills sits motionless on the counter by her side. I examine the label ling for a moment: [full stop] it’s a quarter mg of Risperdal. What was the dosage again? Once per morning, once per night. Doctor’s orders.

I unscrew the lid with little effort. A handful of colourless pills fall into my hand, powdery and dry. My wife turns slightly, looking deep into my eyes. She seems uncomfortable, begging me to put down the bottle with those starry eyes of hers '[which is it? Does she seem uncomfortable? Or is she begging for him to put the bottle down? The intensity of those two statements are not compatible.]'. I hesitate, frowning at the pills. [fragment] Wishing I could just pour them down the drain and forget. [fragment] Lose myself. But I won’t forget, and I won’t lose myself, because it’s a Sunday morning and I have a job and a place to be in the outside world. [not sure what that last sentence is meant to mean]

They slide down my throat slowly [consider the phrase “dry swallow” since it says pretty much the exact same thing as this sentence], leaving a powdery trail. I blink a few times and rub my eyes. Suddenly the room doesn’t seem so bright anymore. There’s mess on the floor from last night and dirty dishes to be washed. It feels quieter. And then I realise, the sizzling is gone. Now it’s just…silent [ellipses are three dots and a space]. And the smell, the eggs and the bacon, that’s [is] gone too. All that’s left is the dust in the air.

My mouth is parched. I turn once more, back to the stove, to embrace my wife, to feel her lips touch mine as I wish they could.

She’s gone.

My head hangs low as I crack a single egg into the saucepan [you’ve used elements of UK spelling so I’m just going to take an extra moment to chastise you for saying saucepan and not frying pan because we both know you fry bacon, and don’t cook it in a saucepan.]

-

Mechanical & Stylistic issues: You write to a very high standard but you’re at a critical point. You’re at a point where creative word choice and poetic imagery comes easily, and that’ll get you 60% of the way to a good story. But now you need to commit to the other 40%, the bits that don’t come easily and aren’t particularly fun.

These are:

Sentence structure including fragments and poorly put together phrasing.

You need to use shorter, snappier wording. You need to start making the difficult judgement of what words to keep and what to lose, rather than putting everything in there and hoping it’ll stick.

Less redundancy. This relates to the above. But you need to drop sentences and phrasing that convey ideas only a moron wouldn’t be able to grasp at first glance (e.g. “cradles like a mother and her child” vs “cradles like a mother” because, let’s be honest, nobody expects you to be talking about a mother cradling her toaster), or which convey ideas in overlapping ways (e.g. “We say nothing to each other: no words are needed”/"gliding effortlessly" - gliding makes you think of easy movement by default, so don't bother clarifying)

Stop abusing colons. I didn’t mention it in story, but I’ve reported you to the Oxford dictionary and if you keep doing it, they’ll come to your house and take the key off your computer.

Overall: Start writing with more discipline. Keep on top of messy sentence structure. Keep your flowery language on a leash. Remember, every word like “actually, seemingly, almost, like, nearly, feels like,” you delete opens room up for words like “languish, rosy, heavenly,” which drives the quality of your story up, helps keep the audience interested, and otherwise respects the reader’s time. People quickly and readily pick out the subtle signs of an author who doesn’t respect their time. They’re not English teachers, no one’s paying them. Show them your commitment to entertaining them by skipping wasteful words and repetitive sentences.

Plot issues: It’s short and sweet but it’s pretty gimmicky. I look forward to seeing what you do with a meatier story that has more going on. In the future consider how to use conflict, multiple characters, threat, and tension, to make a more dynamic story. Thank you. This is a lot more detailed than the feedback I usually get, which is a good thing. I'll take it all into consideration.