In as few words possible describe your day. Don’t mistreat it. Don’t embellish. Extract its essence and stream it into our minds.
~~~
Go.
~~~
Our world spun its circular return. I blinked and woke up here, barely moved. Is this today or tomorrow? The rain would know. Soon drops will drown the dry tracks of my children’s tears. Or are they my own?
Food and drink slurped as sustenance, its colorful countenance belying its eventual fate, ooze of an odiferous sort — like the stink of diesel, or the burning of tires along the highway.
I went, I wavered beneath florescent lights. I found the keys and tapped them murderously. To no avail — they remarked en masse that my words together failed to shift the opinions on all office topics lovingly pinned to the break-room wall.
The sun arced without my permission. When I dared look at its progress, glares from cubemates bent my neck back to my flickering screen. A screen that aches for silken sheets and glistening bodies but must suffice with sheets of tables and dull characters spelling out quarterlies and bottom lines.
My day is done. The dollar slotted, the handle pulled, the rollers flashed cherries and jokers and spades, it twirled and slowed, the last wheel clicked empty. I jangle my change, a few dollars more it seems.
Anonymole - apocryphal agitators 
AMole: I was going to comment but it looks as if you’ve already been judged, and found wanting.
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That’s not judgement, bro. That’s commentary. He busts me, I bust him, we learn shit. Take Jac – send her something sometime, ask for the slash and burn edit. Call us when the burn unit sets you loose. I have, and we’re still working on a screen play/pulp gothic detective conspiracy novel together. The way you stay on your toes is paying attention to input from people with the ability to see our forest for the trees we put in the way. There’s no daggers or sniper fire in my commentary. The point is not to assassinate but to be involved in a discussion to help reduce the size of your own target. “Write less shittier, get less shit.”
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Lol!
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You had a real John D MacDonald going there until you broke your own assertedrule and got philosophically metaphoric. It was almost great. Like my last one, it was draft.
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I thought you’d catch that…
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We all want to write metaphors. It’s (here we go) like a crutch to explain our writing. We make a statement, there it is. But we look at and feel we need to embellish it so the readers get it. So a guy slamming into the baseboard and crawling away can’t be “Jim kicked Bob” it has to be “Jim kicked Bob like- metaphor here-“
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> But we look at and feel we need to embellish it so the readers get it.
Yup. My entire first novel effort was me trying to make sure those reading /knew/ what I was trying to tell them. Explaining a joke. I thought my ideas so alternate universe that they needed explanation. The axiom in opposition was learned around hour 1100. I still have to check myself, from time to time.
Best to leave readers bewildered than bored.
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BTW, thrown the eraser at the Stanford professor or stomped out of your writing class yet? Serious question.
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Nah. My take is lots of people want to write so they can call themselves writers and authors but only the rare few, mole among them, want to out in the wax on wax off work. They want a pile of words going six different directions with a glossy cover on it.
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