Of course we want a critique. Everyone wants a critique, right?
Don’t forget the critiquing guidelines. All you have to do is post a comment about the submission below. Don’t feel like you have to critique the whole piece. Even a short comment on one aspect can be helpful.
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Writer’s Dilemma – by Drake
Eraser shreddings and pencil shavings littered the desk. Dust hid in the crevices between towers of books and pen holders. And yet… a single page sat in the center of it all. A single white page. A single white, blank page.
It’s master, however, was halfway across town. That lonely, unblemished centerpiece would rue the day it puzzled that writer, creator of worlds. Just… not today. Instead he was too lost in studying people, attempting to find a new character. He figured maybe finding somebody interesting could spark his creative gears.
The woman behind the counter was intriguing in her own way. She kept fidgeting and biting her nails. Why was she so nervous? Her first day, perhaps? Or… Or was she being followed? And was now just trying to lay low in a small city coffee shop?
Drake grinned to himself. He twirled the pencil in his fingers, before jotting down his ideas in his personal notepad. Now for the difficult part… Twisting the truth around him to create something new… Was she a spy? No, quite nervous for that. A criminal? She didn’t have the right face. Wrongly accused? And new to being on the lam?
The writer wrote his idea down quickly before he forgot. He rose to his feet, the metal chair scraping against the tiled floor. Retrieving his coat, he shoved his pad and pencil into his pockets. His fingers danced through his hair, before a cap contained the brown tufts of uncombed hair. The door jangled open, then closed, coffee in hand. Sprinkles pitter pattered against the earthen toned cap. A deep breath of fresh air. A sip of coffee.
He needed more time to think, to contemplate, so, he would take the long way home. Through the neighborhood, pass the pizza shop, pass the park…
Drake sighed. A lot of good it was doing too… Reality seemed to have a hold of him. A rising and falling crescendo of seriousness, squeezing around his mind, suffocating the creativity and imagination that was absolutely integral to his passion.
Maybe he should visit someone. Take his mind off his work. Stephen was always great for that. He took a step into the street. The long drawl of a horn shook him from his thoughts. Only thing was, it was too late.
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