First effort, start of a short story

djk1000

For the day that's in it! This is a first draft of my first attempt at a short story. Hope you like it. I've a couple of more pages written, I might put up in a while. I'd appreciate your comments.



I suppose that the blank page in front of me is my confessional. I’m hoping that seeing and feeling the words as I write them will be cathartic. It’s hard sometimes to understand and process my emotions, there’s something about forcing myself to sit down and stare at a blank page with a pen in hand, that helps me to break down what I’m feeling, to process it, to accept and to deal with it, like a shrink glaring at me across a room, the silence forcing me to speak. I need this to work, I need to figure this out.

So where do I begin? I fell in love, not head over heels really, a seed was planted when we met, something small, enough to know that she was more to me than the others had been. She wasn’t like the girls I usually ended up with, drunken sex and awkward conversations, this was different. I’m an old fashioned guy at my core, closed off, emotions are internal, my problem and no one else’s, but she cracked the shell a little.

We lived in different countries for a while, but stayed in touch. We spoke on the phone or online everyday, and every time we spoke, we seemed to have more to say. That was unexpected, that was something new for me, before this, interactions with women to whom I was attracted were always an act, I was an actor trying to capture my audience, trying to break down their defences and get inside. With her, it was easy, even the bull**** seemed special.

It felt safe for both of us, we were a million miles apart, we could say anything, and we could open up and be real. It took me a while though, for the first few months I was still acting, still trying to make her laugh, but after a while I had ran out of lines and I had to start revealing part of myself, a part that I had guarded so closely that no one had ever new existed.

She moved to be with me, she said that it was because she wanted to come back to Ireland. She said that it would be on her terms and that I was a small part of it, I think she wanted to be sure in her own mind that she was doing this for more than a guy, but I knew it was for me. Maybe a bit big headed to think that then, but in later years she told me as much, it felt good to know that our connection wasn’t imagined, to know that she felt it too.

It’s hard to explain what happened when she arrived, I suppose it was a process for her of peeling away the gnarled husk that had shielded me for so long, getting through the defenses, breaking me down and opening me up. She was efficient and effective, infectious and overwhelming I felt true love for the first time, it was a drug I didn’t want to take. She strapped me down and forced it into my veins. I grew to like it, to want it, to need it. We looked forward to getting home every evening to be with one and other. We’d lie on the couch or the bed for hours at a time, her talking, me listening and holding each other. I don’t have the words to tell you how special those hours were, nothing else mattered.

I could write and write about the times we spent together, but I can’t relive them now, writing about our evenings in each other’s arms has just filled me with a darkness that scares me. I’ll just say that they were the best times of my life, the only times of my life. We had an urgent passion, a deep connection, something visceral, and something special.

I thought that we would always be together, not in the innocent way that teenagers do. I couldn’t and didn’t want to see a future without her, the daydreams of things to come changed from me to we, she was my future, I would have done anything for her and her for me

A few years in and we were closer than I thought possible, you hear couples talking about how relationships change and how the passion fades, not for us, it was just something electric and constant.

We were going to get married. There was no grand proposal, no ring, I didn’t go down on one knee, but we’d talked about it. It was clear that if I asked, she’d say yes. I bought a ring, it took months of searching and saving, and I needed it to be perfect. I kept it hidden in my mother’s house waiting for the right time. We were perfect, the ring was perfect, and she was perfect, the moment had to be perfect.

Things went badly for me for a little while, you know the times when life just kicks you into the gutter? It was like that, but the ****er kept kicking me back down every time I stood up. No matter, these things make me stronger, but the shell, it was gone, I forgot how to keep the **** inside when I was with her, She was never there for me, she never had to be and I never wanted or needed her to be, but then I needed her. I didn’t think, I just knew that we’d get through the hard times, I couldn’t imagine us not getting through it. God, if I was a fly on the wall back then I would have seen it, I stopped being her perfect man for a while, I looked weak.

As I try to analyse and rationalise, I start to see it more, those wonderful evenings with her in my arms, she saw me as strong, I was a shield against her insecurities, I was her knight. The roles couldn’t change, I shouldn’t have been weak, her fairytale collided with reality, it planted a seed, her defences began to rise, I lost her then I think.

If I didn’t have her then, I don’t know if I would have come through my dark times, no matter how bad it was, I knew I had her, I knew I had to be strong again, I got out of bed early every morning and spent all day turning things around, whenever I faltered, I thought of her. I came through it. I was strong again.

It was too late.

EileenG

It's well written, reasonably interesting. The trouble is, it's not a story. It's a lot of navel gazing. Effectively what happens here is that a man sits at a desk and writes something.

At the end of it, I don't know who he is, I have no idea who she is, I don't know where they met, why they got engaged, why they broke up, if he's a drug addict, if she's a pain in the ass, if they are into kinky sex.

Try to give it life, write scenes from the story, make it sing. As it is, it reminds me of someone who's had a few too many drinks rambling away about why his life is miserable while everyone finds an excuse to move away to the other side of the bar.

djk1000

EileenG wrote: »

It's well written, reasonably interesting. The trouble is, it's not a story. It's a lot of navel gazing. Effectively what happens here is that a man sits at a desk and writes something.

At the end of it, I don't know who he is, I have no idea who she is, I don't know where they met, why they got engaged, why they broke up, if he's a drug addict, if she's a pain in the ass, if they are into kinky sex.

Try to give it life, write scenes from the story, make it sing. As it is, it reminds me of someone who's had a few too many drinks rambling away about why his life is miserable while everyone finds an excuse to move away to the other side of the bar.

Hmmm, something to think about. I was trying to leave some questions, maybe there are too many. I wanted to leave it to the imagination, keep it general, so it could be any guy and any girl.
It's supposed to be a guy poring his heart out, that's the story, I'm new to this and I found it hard to add more to it without losing the flow of the guy just writing, if you know what I mean. I had more descriptive stuff in notes which I would have liked to add, but couldn't seem fit them in.

EileenG

Then have him pouring his heart out to someone else. Have the other person asking questions, making comments, perhaps making him see something he hadn't faced at the time.

You definitely left too many questions unanswered. In fact, I don't think you really answered any of them, and that's the trouble. I didn't have enough detail to help me identify with either of them, so I lost interest.

Try having the guy telling the story, but giving details about how they met, what he thought of her, what she said to him, where it went. Then he can jump on to their first huge row, and the make-up sex afterwards... The great thing about writing is that you are allowed to skip all the boring stuff.

djk1000

EileenG wrote: »

Then have him pouring his heart out to someone else. Have the other person asking questions, making comments, perhaps making him see something he hadn't faced at the time.

You definitely left too many questions unanswered. In fact, I don't think you really answered any of them, and that's the trouble. I didn't have enough detail to help me identify with either of them, so I lost interest.

Try having the guy telling the story, but giving details about how they met, what he thought of her, what she said to him, where it went. Then he can jump on to their first huge row, and the make-up sex afterwards... The great thing about writing is that you are allowed to skip all the boring stuff.

Thanks, I'll try it.