Board Thread:Writer's Workshop/@comment-29076144-20161122214636/@comment-27905100-20161125090645

Okay. Grammar. Here we go. (I'm doing this as I read)

The clicking of the keyboard echoed in the back of my mind, (The back of his mind part doesn't make sense) the only noise in a dark room. My hands tapped the keyboard in a seemingly automatic fashion. The clicking stopped, and this time (The 'this time' seems awkward. I feel like 'for now' would fit better here) my hands only hovered over the keyboard. The icon in the writing application was motionless, aside from the constant blinking. It succeeded a wall of text.

Damnit, (While 'damnit' is technically correct, 'dammit' normally fits better in writing) I thought to myself as I raised the near-empty glass of whiskey to my mouth and took a long sip. The potent liquid stung my throat as it flowed down. I leaned back in my chair and sighted deeply, rubbing the black rings around my eyes. My mind was as blank as the remaining space on the page. Once again I had met the terrible monster (Don't know if terrible's the right word here, but that's just me) known as writer’s block, a beast I knew all too well. (A comma or semicolon would fit better here) But this wasn't what scared me, for I knew it wouldn’t last long. I raced through a dozen ideas, testing out he characters and the story’s reaction to them in my head; but none played out. None of them had that perfect formula, the one any reader or writer knows, the flow that keep’s the story moving like an untouched river deep in the woods. Now it felt like a dam had been constructed in the river, and unbreakable one too. (The wording here feels a bit awkward) I begin (Began) to panic as my head descended into a deep throbbing pain, and it seemed as if the room itself began to darken. The shadows of the normal objects like furniture (Again, the wording here feels klunky and awkward. Perhaps try just saying ' the shadows of the furniture' or something like that.) began to grow long and stretch across the walls. I noticed the shadow of a lamp and a nearby chair grow bigger than the rest, and merge together. I began to blink rapidly as it (they) almost made the shape of a man.

“No! No! No! (Often when writing I have to ask myself "is a word here essential?" In the case of this third 'No!', I don't think so) Leave me alone!” I screamed aloud to no one and slapped my empty glass to express my anger (Three things here. First off, I don't think slapping a glass expresses anger very well, but... *Gets up, walks to kitchen, slaps cup. Cup shatters on floor*... No, I don't think it does. Second off, 'to express my anger' doesn't feel well-worded. I'd change that. Thirdly, I imagined the protagonist cowering, not angry. That might just be me, but I'd look at that.). It seemed to fall in slow motion before shattering into a hundred pieces (The 'into a hundred peices' seems unnecessary) once it hit the wooden floor. (I'd recommend starting a new paragraph here) A deep voice began to speak to me. Not one that came from the outside, but rather from deep inside my own head. Violent images began to flash through my mind, accompanied by a feeling of nothingness and darkness. I wanted to scream at it get out of my head, but instead I returned to tapping away at the keyboard. And this time the dam had been destroyed, and my thoughts now flew freely. I began to write without any stop, as determined as a dog trying to catch a squirrel (I'd drop that simile, it seems to take away from the immersion. Just say he was 'completely determined to finish it, I guess.'). The constant ringing brought me out of my darkness. I shot up, eyes stinging as they adjusted to the light. I looked down to see slobber all over my keyboard, and was overcome with a sense of sharp pain in my neck. I looked up at the computer to see a filled out page (Filled out page doesn't sound good here. Try something else. Play around with the words a bit. See what happens).

Well at least I did something good last night(.) (W)ait' I don’t recognize this page(A period would fit better here, as the character is making a statement)Bold text' I frantically began to scroll back through dozens more pages, none of which I remembered writing. Suddenly flashes began to come back to me. It wasn’t really me writing it… (Man, woman, whatever, ellipses are overused. A comma would work better here.) well(Please, Never use the word 'well' like this unless it's dialogue. Please.) at least I wasn’t coming up with the work. Something else was there, helping me, guiding me. A voice in my head, a shadow at my side. My head began to throb in pain and I let out a high-pitch grunt. (In my experience, grunts are generally low pitched... wait... yeah, still low-pitched.) I desperately began trying to get it out of my head by thinking of everything else under the sun. I planted my feet down (The word 'down' here feels out of place. Maybe another adjective? Firmly? Roughly? I don't know.) on the wooden floor and pushed my chair back, hastily getting up and stepping out to the side.

“Ahhh!” (This is just me, but it really bothers me when people write out a shout or scream as dialogue. No real need to fix this.) I let out a scream as the glass crunched when my feet made contact with the remains of the liquor glass. I fell back into the chair and began pulling the bloody shards out. The phone had been constantly ringing and after about 5 (Write out numbers as their respective words. (e.g. '5' would be 'five'.) It's a universally accepted practice, and is somehow better than typing '4'.) minutes I couldn’t take it anymore. I forcefully yanked it off the base and smashed the green answer button.

“What!?” (I feel like a description of his voice (crackly from disuse, high pitched and annoying, smooth and cool from rest, anything) would fit well here).

“Jesus, someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed this morning,” a calm voice spoke on the other side. (God, I'm beginning to sound like my second grade teacher, considering all the stupid unnecessary questions I'm asking, but is this voice male, or female?)

“Ohhh, hey Liz. Sorry, I just stepped on a bunch of damn glass,(Jesus, this guy's nonchalant about stepping on some fucking glass)” I tried to bring down my tone to match hers.

“What’s a bunch of glass doing all over the floor at your house?” I heard her giggle on the other side. (This woman should not be giggling! THIS IS A SERIOUS ISSUE.)

“It’s just an accident I knocked it over while I was eating breakfast this morning, and stepped on it right after,” I lied, avoiding a truth that would probably result in this conversation ending. (What, is every day 'step on broken glass for breakfast day?)

(I hope you know I'm kidding)

“Whatever, back to why I was calling you. You’re supposed to help me out monitor at this church party remember? (This sentence doesn't make any sense. Take out the 'out'. That will help.)” her voice pitched up at the end.

“My bad(.) I just overslept, be there in about 20,” I hung up and set the phone back at the base. I glanced over at the clock, which read 11:28 AM. (I feel like you should slow this part down a bit. 'I glanced over at the clock. It read 11:28 AM' might work better.)

It was a bright sunny day in Huntersville, not a single cloud in sight. (This guy must have bad vision, then. (get it?)) I was sitting on a wooden bench (Can you describe this bench in any way? This might help with the mood.) at the edge of small park (can you describe this park in any way? It might help... well, you get what I'm saying.). In front of me were a couple dozen (Jesus, how big is this town?) laughing kids, and a big, inflatable water slide. Liz had come and sat down next to me. We talked about the party, drama around the town, new movies; but I knew she was going to change the conversation.

“Listen, Jack, um… have you um uh (Take out the 'um uh's and replace them with repeated words. (i.e. ' Jack, um... have you... have you done...')) done what we talked about yet?” she was dancing around the topic and stuttering. I couldn’t blame her, it was a sensitive subject.

“No, I told you Lizzie, I don’t need damn pills or a damn (Just so you know, damn isn't the only swear out there. It feels a bit overused at this point.)psychiatrist(.)” (M)y voice grew more stern.

I hadn’t told Liz about my hallucination,(A period would fit better here) hell, I hadn’t told anyone. But I had told her about my small depression, (Don't describe depression as small. Slight would work, but clinical depression is never slight. If you're thinking about pills, you're very depressed. Sorry, this is a bit of a sensitive topic for me.) which was probably the least of my problems.

“Jack please, I know you’ve been drinking a lot recently. I don’t want to see (you?) turn to alcohol to solve all your problems(.)” (H)er voice had now grown stern too. As much as I agreed with her deep inside, I just hated having relying other people fix things I could fix myself (This sentence doesn't make much sense. I get what you're saying, but the sentence itself makes little sense. I'd recommend reading your story out loud at least once before posting it to the WW). Liz had told me before that I was the most stubborn human being she had ever met. She had begged me constantly to talk to a therapist or go on meds ever since I told her about my illness. We continued to argue for a good (eight, and also, this is an oddly specific number. five or ten would suffice here, as most of us don't know time down to a pinpoint) minutes, until another moderator (Try chaperone here instead) came over and told us we needed to be watching the kids instead.

“Just try them once, please. If you don’t like the pills you can stop. Do it for me and every other friend and family member you have,” she begged as she was getting up to leave me. I could see the desperation in her eyes, and finally cracked this time.

“Alright, alright! I’ll try the damn (Stupid might fit better) pills,” I shouted out, looking down with a the look of a five year old who didn’t get the present he wanted.

“Good,” she smiled a little before turning her back and walking away. It was now evening and the long church party had ended. (Man, days are short where this guy lives) I said bye to Liz and my other friends before driving back home. (The length of this sentence feels unnecessary. Saying 'I said my goodbyes' would be enough.) The transition from the outside world back into my dark house triggered a quick sharp sense of panic once I stepped inside the dark and (Comma, not 'and'.) dull living room, but it faded away swiftly. The more I had thought about it throughout the day, the more I changed my mind about going to see a doctor about my mental issues. It was now evening and all I wanted to do was sit down and watch some television. My couch was warm and cozy, and I couldn’t help but drift in and out of conciseness (Wow. I didn't know that there were different states of being concise. It's spelt consciousness.), snapping back up my head to keep me awake. Eventually I just let the slumber overcome me and dozed off.

My eyes shot open with an instant jolt, a feeling ran through my body like I had just escaped some sort of hell or as just being chased by something (End this sentence at 'hell.' The rest of this is unnecessary, seemingly nonsensical wording.). I just shrugged it off as a nightmare. Damn my neck hurts, I thought to myself as I (I wouldn't make this a thought to himself, just an observation from his POV. (i.e. Damn, my neck hurt))''' leaned up with a stretch and a yawn. I tried to look over at the clock, but realized the haziness of my blind world without my glasses. (He realized the haziness? What? did he find himself unable to see without his glasses?)

My glasses had fallen off my head, and been squeezed under my body, after I had fallen asleep at an awkward angle (The 'at an awkward angle' part is unnecessary.). I grabbed them off the brown couch and put them back on, (A period would fit better here, or take out the 'thankfully they had not been crushed part out altogether.) thankfully they had not been crushed. My world became clear and I could see 3:08 in big red on the clock under the TV. I looked around the rest of the room, which was pitch black, and was overcome with a sudden uneasiness, like something was watching in the corner or behind a curtain. A sudden chill ran down my spine and I got up to walk to my bedroom. Before I could take three steps I heard whispers;(This semicolon should be a comma) ones that sounded like they were coming from all around me. An ordinary person might have been shocked and called the police or ran out, (I'd take out the 'called the police', as that feels unnecessary.) but this was not the first time something like this had happened in my house.

It all started happening when I moved into this small, grey, one-story house right after college, and only a few months ago. There was no bad history, the price wasn’t abnormally low, and I didn’t hear anything from the neighbors; so i(I) assumed the house was perfectly normal. But not to soon after I moved in, I started hearing voices. Then it (Then it seems like a weird choice, perhaps 'it soon', or 'later, it', to give us an idea of the time frame.) moved on to things moving around, and a voice straight up speaking to me. I wasn’t on any drugs, so I thought i(I) was either going crazy;(Comma, not semicolon) or that the house was somehow haunted. And then I began seeing weird things, seeing the impossible. The shadows on the walls would form into a figure, who would come out and talk to me. Sometimes the voice came from other objects too, like my TV, paintings, or phone. Most people would probably try to get some help from a psychiatrist, but I was stubborn. It only happened when I was home alone, and it didn’t happen enough to overwhelm me.

The whispers were mumbled and jittered (Jittered and mumbled feel like they cancel out each other.), and I couldn’t really make out what they were saying, but I felt like I was being drawn towards my computer by the kitchen. I pushed myself up and off the couch, and slowly began make my way towards it. Everything felt hazy, like I was dreaming, or not really connected to this world; (again, comma, not semicolon) but I knew this was real. I could feel the fear building up deep inside of me. The voices grew louder as I got closer, yet I couldn’t understand them still. It was like listening to 20 (twenty) televisions at once, (A period would work better here if you want effect.) inaudible. I didn’t pull out the chair, just crouched down to get a closer look at my screen. The book I had been working on was still up. I took a closer look at the story I had written. (The lack of description here doesn't help much with the story. Does he need to squint or sheild his eyes or anything ans he looks at his computer screen?) A dark horror story about a crazy mutant kid that goes on a killing spree in a beachside resort town. It was disturbing, with vivid descriptions of murder and violence. What kind of sick mind would write about this stuff?

Sorry Bos, but that's all I can do for now. This is a long story, so this is going to be a two-parter.

I don't mean to be mean during any of this, I simply want to review this like I would any other.

I'ma gonna getcha! I'ma gonna getcha good! 09:06, November 25, 2016 (UTC)