Carol asks…
What can I do to improve my story?
I am trying to improve my writing. The couple had only ten minutes to scuttle across the lengthy terminal to reach the final flight of their journey. Hordes of people crowded the halls, hampering their ability to move swiftly through and slimming their chances of reaching the gate. The lady was dressed in fashionable business attire, yet not the most practical for dashing through a bustling airport. She wore her dirty blonde hair short and stylized. The silky blue gray blouse she wore matched her luminous eyes. A bulky designer bag precariously clung to her shoulder as she ran. The brunette haired man was dressed likewise, with sweat sullying his blue collared shirt. His features were stern and handsome. A red tie flailed about as he ran. He carried with him a sterling leather briefcase. One would say they were in their mid thirties. The woman lurched forward when unfortunately, her stiletto heel broke. "Oh no!" she groaned. "Mike, I broke my heel," stopping, she searched for her husband, awaiting a response but she already lost sight of him. Although her inadequate footwear slowed her down, she didn't stall in trying to catch up to him. "Our flight is delayed for a half hour," Mike panted when she finally reached the gate. "Oh great all that running and rushing and arguing was really necessary. Why didn't you wait for me?" she scolded him. "Well Sandra, I thought I could get in line and I knew you were coming." "Really? Well look at my brand new shoes!" she pointed to her feet reproachfully. "Oooh bummer…" he replied sarcastically. "That was not appreciated! But you know what would be? A drink." She surveyed the shops around them. No bar was in sight but she decided to stroll over to a convenience shop, which had by the looks of it, an array of snack foods and drinks. All the typical items appeared so she settled for a bottle of water and a pack of mint gum. She hadn't had high hopes of obtaining a decent martini on her five-hour flight from New York to San Diego. Only being able to enjoy the standard bloody Mary or vodka martini left her jaded of the lacking beverage selection in the air. In her spare time after work, she liked to take her girlfriends out for cocktails. Lemondrops were her favorite. One of those always mollified her stress after a long day of completing her tasks as CEO of a large corporation. They were sour, sweet, and refreshing. She thought of herself as a connoisseur.
Our pick of the answers:
The story is not bad, though it is hard to criticize with a small excerpt and not a lot of background info. However, I felt that, especially in the beginning, you were just listing things off and not really -showing- us the situation. There is a way to be descriptive about characters without prattling on about them to where a reader becomes disinterested. This is learned with more writing and reading. Good luck with your writing. I hope that helped some.
Lizzie asks…
Writers Block!! Im writing a story and am having trouble finishing it...?
I can't see. I can't move. What's going on? Gil tried to force his eyes open, but the lids refused to budge and his heart pounded in his chest. Like his eyelids, his arms and legs were unable to move, but his ears still worked. What's that sound? Footsteps? Yes, a slight clicking, like high heels on concrete. It sounded like the secretaries as they walked to their cars in the underground garage every night. "Are you awake?" Gil startled at the sound of a female voice. "Yes, who are you and where am I?" "All in time, Gilbert. I hope you're not too uncomfortable. I tried to make you as comfortable as possible." "I can't move. Am I paralyzed? Was I in an accident?" "No, no, nothing like that. You look very handsome today. I've always liked that shirt, it makes you look like a movie star. You look good in cranberry red." Gil tried again to open his eyes, but the more he strained, the more they hurt, almost like his eyelids were tearing away from his skin. Who is this woman? "Look, can you please tell me where I am? Are you a nurse?" "I'm disappointed that you don't recognize my voice. We've known each other for almost five years. Five years, Gilbert." Five years? What the hell is she talking about? I don't recognize her voice. He tried to put a face to the voice, but nothing popped into his head. She's crazy. She must be crazy. "Why won't you tell me where I am and what's going on? Why can't I open my eyes?" "Let's play a little game, shall we? I'll give you a riddle and if you solve it, I'll answer one question." Gil focused on his right arm, his stronger arm, and flexed his muscles. As they contracted, he felt something around his wrist and forearm restraining him. Jesus, I'm tied down! "What the goddamned hell's going on here?" "Gilbert, you shouldn't use profanity. It's not like you to swear. I've ever only heard you swear once before and that was when you'd had too many beers at your barbeque last summer." "Barbeque? Which barbeque?" "Oh, come on, you remember. You invited the entire office to celebrate your new job." Gil knew exactly which barbeque she was talking about now. He'd been promoted to partner in his law firm and wanted to celebrate in a big way. He'd recently broken up with his girlfriend and didn't feel like sitting home alone, so he invited everyone at the law firm. Which one is she? "So you were at my barbeque?" "How do you spell lawyer without a 'w'?" "What? What are you talking about?" "It's a riddle. Get it right and you'll get an answer." Oh, my God, is she some chick I dumped? Was she a one-night stand? Was I that drunk? Geez, I really have to stop screwing around so much. Gil thought hard about all his friends and co-workers, concocting images of them in his mind, but none of them matched this woman's flat and unemotional tone. "I don't know the answer," he mumbled as he licked his dry lips. "Attorney. See, it's easy. You're not trying, Gilbert. Since you didn't even try, you get punished." He felt something cold on his foot. I'm not wearing any shoes. Where are my shoes? "What are you doing?" He was going to ask again, but was distracted by a brief crackling that sounded a moment before a surge of electricity pulsed through his entire body. When it stopped, he gasped for air and tingled all over. His fingers and toes felt numb. "That didn't look like it much fun. I'm sorry I had to hurt you, Gilbert. You really have to try. Now, here's the second riddle. What kind of underwear do lawyers wear?" Oh, for God's sake, I've got to get out of here. "I don't know, boxers?" "Legal briefs. I thought you were smarter than that. It looks like it's going to be another punishment. Arm or leg?" "What? No, wait, why don't we keep playing? I'll try harder, I promise." He knew he had to keep her talking. He had to find out who she was and why she was playing this twisted game. "Too late. Arm or leg?" "No, please, don't shock me again. Why don't we just talk? What's your name? You already know my name, but I don't know who you are. My mind's a bit fuzzy, so if you tell me your name, I'm sure I'll remember…" "Oh, yes, you know me. Arm or leg?" "This isn't fair! You've got me tied up and you expect me to answer your stupid riddles!" The instant the words flew from his mouth, he knew he'd made a mistake. He wanted to apologize, but before he could open his mouth again, a stinging pain in his left arm brought tears to his eyes. She's cutting me! Jesus Christ, she's cutting me with a knife. "Stop! Please stop!" "Okay, punishment's over. I don't think we'll do any more riddles. You don't seem to be very good at them. It's hard to tell where the shirt ends and the blood begins. I know, let's play a guessing game." Gil felt blood dripping down his arm and wondered how badly he'd been cut. It hurt worse than the time he sliced his finger while cutting up lemons for one of his girlfriend's ice tea. can some1 help me finish it?
Our pick of the answers:
Usually a story teller has a point of moral implication. Find out what is your theme or premise. I have written a couple of short stories.
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