The Novelist - Chapter 01

Story written by common on Monday 7, February 2011

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Description
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Overall Rating: 90.4%

This writing has been rated by 5 members, resulting in a rating of 90.4% overall. Below is a breakdown of these results:

Concept/Plot:92%
Imagery:93.8%
Spelling & Grammar:87%
Flow/Rhythm:88.8%
Vocabulary:90.4%
Just something I felt like writing today. For fun. Is only short.
The Novelist
A mild summer breeze finds itself against my unshaven face as I stand out on the balcony, sipping from a tumbler glass full of McCarthy's single malt, my tired red eyes gazing out upon the city below, it showing the first signs of life as a new day breaks; with the silky streams of light beginning to illuminate the city as the sun caresses the horizon, slowly finding its way for another day. The noise from nearby garbage collection trucks is all that can be heard below, the rough sound of spluttering diesel engines humming along, accompanied by the crashing sound of trash being hurled into them. Apart from them the city is relatively still, the only other sign of life is that of alcohol filled souls that can be seen on the street, stumbling from a neighbouring nightclub, a few joggers can also be seen out for their early morning fitness kick. I let out a deep sigh as I go back inside the room, rubbing my tired eyes, slumping down at the desk chair, it creaking in protest as I sit. I place the tumbler glass to my dry lips, tilting it back letting the smooth content slide down my throat, the soothing warm feeling a welcome. I flick the desk lamp on, lighting up the room to reveal an unmade double bed in the middle of the room; strewn with empty throw back bottles of liquor from the bar fridge. The carpet a cream shade that matches the wall paint; except for the red wine coloured feature wall behind the bed. An assortment of clothing scattered on the floor, a white business shirt with spatters of blood lay on the bedside table. I reach into my pocket to retrieve a cigarette packet, flicking it open, taking out a slightly bent cigarette. I straighten it, placing it to my lips, lighting it and inhaling deeply. I exhale; placing the cigarette in the ash tray beside the three part empty bottle of McCarthy's while placing my fingers on the keys of the typewriter that lay in waiting at the centre of the desk. 'I need to get back to work,' I think to myself. 'This novel won't finish itself' I reach for the scotch, unscrewing the cap and taking a hard swig from the bottle. The liquid runs down my throat, burning, taking my breath away as I cough hard slamming the bottle back down onto the desk, I place the cigarette between my teeth while positioning my fingers back on the typewriter keys. I look over my shoulder at the blood stain shirt on the bedside table while aligning the typewriter setting to the centre and typing upon the fresh white canvas; Chapter Twenty-Three. I relax back into the creaking desk chair, a sense of accomplishment filling my insides as I draw back on the cigarette, the tip a glowing bright orange. I flick the ash off in the ash tray as a small smile crosses my face. I stub out the cigarette while standing, making my way to the litter covered bed throwing off the empty little bottles of liquor and crawl under the sheets. I check the time, it's now four-thirty AM. I need to sleep.
   

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Comments

    An excellent little vignette.

    This would benefit from a re-read, and a clean up. The first paragraph is a rather long sentence. Smile

    I like the atmosphere this generates, and can relate to it.

    Well done.
    I agree with Vermithrax with the atmosphere. This is pretty much how I feel when I have my mental slumps Grin.

    A nice depiction of the real mindset of a writer in action.

    Nice work.
    I agree with Verm's comments on the technical aspects but I have to say, that was a cracking little piece.

    You're actual writing has really improved in a year or so (no mixed tenses now) and the flow of the story is first rate.

    I really enjoyed this.
    the soothing warm feeling a welcome. - perhaps 'the soothing warmth feeling welcome'?

    You've got some rough sentences in here.

    Other than that, a really nice picture is painted of the writer. Good job.
    Very nice detail.

    I can't tell you how many times I have started writing at say six pm, and didn't stop until four am or later.

    Very well done, quite different than your other pieces i've read. And thats good, shows versatility.