Creative Writing 3/17/10

I was able to present my story last week, and got lots of feedback, and recommendations on how to improve my story. I think I've got the plot line now, and how it'll eventually end, but it's not certain as of now. But as for the meeting last thursday I felt I got sufficient feedback to improve the story. I feel that it's come along pretty good. Obviously there is still room for improvement, but I like how it's going. The ending I have may seem a bit harsh and maybe a bit depressing, but I think that's how it has to end. It's not supposed to be happy.

The part that I put forth at the meeting last week began with a flashback, something I think will be integral to this story, because he is being hunted by his past. The majority of the story takes place in the past, and what he's doing now as a result of that past and how he's dealing. I feel I have grown as a writer over this period, and my writing has definitely improved, although there are areas I could work on, and there are still time's when it's hard to get the audience to connect to the story, but overall, I am a better writer for it.

The portion I submitted for review for the meeting last week:

And the bullets struck. Moving in slow motion he toppled over backwards, blood spurting from his wounds, falling, falling…

He woke up shaking, sweating. He hated it. He hated having to relive hell every time he slept. He hated it all. Sometimes he hated living.

After work later that day, he decided that he didn’t want to go through actually making himself dinner, and despite his misgivings, ended up at the same fast food joint he’d eaten at the night before. The night when Gerald paid him a visit.

“You never used to be this predictable”

“Your term’s run over.”

“So?”

“Your task force is supposed to be disbanded.”
“Supposed to be? Really?”
“I already said no.”

“I’m telling you that you can’t.”
“Watch Me.”

“You know, I would’ve been able to find you at any restaurant, but coming beck to the same one, that’s just making it easy.”

“You’d have found me either way. Might as well get it over with.”
“You always were stubborn.”

He didn’t respond. He didn’t know what he was doing. He remembered what he’d done. And yet there was an eerie thrill that his missed. The idea that somebody wasn’t coming home. The thrill he hated. The addictive air of danger. He wasn’t normal. He didn’t know what normal was. But he hated it as much as he longed for it. And he couldn’t do it any more. Couldn’t tear his soul apart any more. He didn’t care if he lived or if he died. He just didn’t want to torture his soul anymore. And then Gerald’s voice cut into his consciousness.

“You’re a journalist now. Never pegged you to have the writer in you.”
“You’d be surprised.”

“So, how long you been working there?”
“Oh, cut the crap. If you found me, you know what I’ve been doing. Hell, you probably know what I’ve had for breakfast, lunch and dinner for the past six months. So don’t screw with me. Now, if you don’t mind I’m gonna leave. And if you follow me I’ll kill you.”

Gerald just smiled as he walked away. Bastard.

What was he thinking? Why’d he go back there? He didn’t get it. He didn’t want to go back to that. He walked across the kitchen, shaking his head, took a glass from the cabinet and filled it with water. Why’d he go back? He drank some of the water. What the hell was he thinking? What good could possibly come from it?

“GOD DAMN IT!” He shouted and threw the glass against the wall. He looked at the broken glass on the ground. “God damn it.” What now?