[stylist] CK prompt response

Tue Feb 12 18:46:27 UTC 2013

Chris,

In the following, you write, "I lean forward, clutch my old friend Jack
Daniels shakily and take a long pull."
I think "shakily" needs to come before "clutch," as you are attaching
the action to clutching and not the drinking.

I like this simile: "The liquor courses through the keyboards like a
downhill slalom skier. Zigging around the p then a quick right at the
semi-colon."

In the following, "I manage to hit the delete key. Mister computer, not
trusting my judgment on this, asks me if I'm sure I want to delete? I
miss the enter key for yes and get the backspace, but I get it on the
second try. Drivle erased. These words in my head, I put them down and
life goes on," you really capture the momentum of a drunk. I felt it
there with this narrator.

What do you mean by drivle? Do you mean drive? I get it's a computer
term, but I'm not sure what it is.

I like your use of present tense and first person POV; it really puts me
in the moment, and it flows nicely.

You have incorporated the song lyrics well. I recognize them but they
don't feel inorganic to this piece. They don't stick out like a bad
addition to a house. You keep the mood and tone of the lyrics in your
writing.

This is my favorite para in the whole piece, and I love the song lyric
at the end: "I lean forward and put my lips down on my desktop.
Puckering up, I slurp up the spilled whiskey in what I call the Hoover
maneuver. Not bad, I get a shots' worth, and this makes me smile. Then,
I imagine her, with him. And, this is how you remind me, of how I really
am."

If I were editing this, I might change the following, "The tear burns as
the salt in my eyes collects and concentrates on irritating the swollen
blood vessels," to, "Tears burn my eyes as salt collects, concentrating
on irritating my swollen blood vessels."

Over-all, I really like this, and I think you have something. You just
capture this mood so well. I felt depressed after reading it. Good job
at placing the reader into the moment and emotion.

Bridgit
Date: Tue, 12 Feb 2013 10:11:15 -0500
From: "Chris Kuell" <ckuell at comcast.net>
To: "Stylist" <stylist at nfbnet.org>
Subject: [stylist] CK prompt response
Message-ID: <B0B199745A6A411A8CC9B95A0315C62B at ChrisPC>
Content-Type: text/plain;	charset="iso-8859-1"

Okay, I fudged a little and used the song lyric starting with the second
line, but I felt I needed the first line for setting the scene. And, go
ahead and feel free to poke fun of me for using a Nickelback song (my
kids do), but I picked the number 7, and this is the song that came up
on my ipod. All comments welcome.

Are We Having Fun Yet?

By Chris Kuell

Large, pale green letters glow brightly on the surface of the monitor.

Never made it as a wise man

I couldn't cut it as a poor man stealing

Tired of living as a blind man

I'm sick of sighing without a sense of feeling

And this is how you remind me

Of how I really am

This is how you remind me

Of what I really am

It's not like you to say sorry

I was waiting on a different story

This time I'm mistaken

For handing you a heart worth breaking

I've been wrong, I've been down

To the bottom of every bottle

These five words in my head

Scream- Are we having fun yet?

I lean forward, clutch my old friend Jack Daniels shakily and take a
long pull. I put it down on the edge of my mouse pad, where the bottle
spins slowly, then topples down and splashes sweet whiskey all over my
desk and keyboard. Shit. Oh well, I guess it is only what I deserve,
Useless drunk. This is how, you remind me.

I want to pick up the bottle, but instead I stare intently at the
flowing liquid. The liquor courses through the keyboards like a downhill
slalom skier. Zigging around the p then a quick right at the semi-colon.

I glance up at the monitor, taking a full second to focus. With great
effort, I can make the red letters of the clock coalesce into the
numerals 11:48 PM. The house is quiet, she isn't home yet. No phone
calls, no warning, no nothing. A ham and potatoes dinner waiting on a
plate for her in the kitchen, more than 5 hours cold. I nearly tossed it
around 9, but couldn't bring myself to do it. What a doormat. Are we
having fun yet?

I manage to hit the delete key. Mister computer, not trusting my
judgment on this, asks me if I'm sure I want to delete? I miss the enter
key for yes and get the backspace, but I get it on the second try.
Drivle erased. These words in my head, I put them down and life goes on.
Where is she? I can guess. I almost called there a half dozen times. My
fingers find their way to the wet home keys and type - I may be stupid,
but I'm not a dweeb. I'm just a sucker with no self-esteem. 

I lean forward and put my lips down on my desktop. Puckering up, I slurp
up the spilled whiskey in what I call the Hoover maneuver. Not bad, I
get a shots' worth, and this makes me smile. Then, I imagine her, with
him. And, this is how you remind me, of how I really am. 

The tear burns as the salt in my eyes collects and concentrates on
irritating the swollen blood vessels. The pain is sharp and welcomed.

Who am I kidding? I'll never make a buck at this, I'm just wasting my
time. Cold ham on a plate, whiskey on the keyboard. Putting down dreams
of whom and where I'd rather be. Wasting my life.

Are we having fun yet?