Non-fiction criticism

My story was told to leave some detail out in order to let the reader interpret the scenes. I defended my original draft somewhat, perhaps in an ill-advised manner. I need to learn to be more receptive to criticism.

Paper clips

Paper clips make fine tools. Not only do they clip paper, they can be used in a myriad of ways. On the early iMacs that my family owned, they crashed a lot. The off button never overrode the crash. Instead, there was a little hole on the side of the computer that restarted it. We used to take a paper clip, bend it so that one of the pointed ends would reach this switch, and this restarted the iMac. It was a pain, but this was the main use of paper clips for us.

I rarely used this silver tool for its intended purpose. Other than being a computer fixing tool, I only use it as a distraction when I'm bored. I see if the end of my finger can be squeezed under it. Often it can. Then I see how long it can cut off the blood flow before my finger becomes too numb for it to be a novelty anymore. I guess I am a masochist

Update: About 30-45 seconds

200 word story

Confrontation

By Dan Crisler

            Tuesday morning, 8:50 A.M. Alarm rings.

            “Too early to get up,” I thought. “Have to anyway. Got class.”

            I trudge out of bed, grabbed shower accessories, and headed for the shower stalls. When I get there, I see my favorite shower in the back is open. There is only one other person among the other shower stalls.

            “Good,” I thought. “A nice, peaceful shower.”

            Not for long. A couple of minutes after I step in, three other guys walk in. One of them starts singing at the top of his lungs. Complete douchebag behavior. Normally, I’m not confrontational; but damn it, it’s 8:55 A.M., and I’m too annoyed to let this idly pass by.

            “Could you be quiet?” I asked in a somewhat forceful manner.

            “What?” responded the singing guy.

            “Could you be quiet?” I repeated. “Or at least sing at a lower volume.”

            “How about you stop yelling at me?” he retorted.

            At this point, I’m mad enough that my adrenaline starts flowing. With an even more annoyed tone, I responded, “Well, God, you’re being loud.”

            After this, he backed off. His friends didn’t really come to his defense. They continued talking somewhat loudly. At least they were not singing.

            “Whatever,” I thought. I had won.

Titles on Stuff I Don't Know

What's Inside an Automobile?
Fashion Trends
The Tastiness of Health Food
Engineering: Thought to Be Useful
Crunching Numbers (I don't know high level math)
The Inner Workings of a Clock

Short Fiction Story Rough Draft

For those who may be interested, this is the rough draft of my bank robber story that I posted on D2L a couple of days ago. It's slightly over four pages, meaning that was as much as I wrote then. I have completed the story, but I'll turn it in before I post that version if I do post it. I have fixed some stuff between this draft and the completed story. The premise is this: four white trash guys hate their lives, want to better their situation, and decide to rob a bank. Basically, what I'm aiming for in terms of audience opinion is for the reader to read it and find it enjoyable enough to finish. Once the reader finishes, he/she will hopefully think to themselves, "Huh, that didn't entirely suck," and go about their lives, free to forget about the story.

Without further ado, here is the rough draft:

John Harvin: Bankrobber

By Dan Crisler

            Nowadays, John Harvin spends his days in a federal penitentiary.  He was accused and convicted of murdering an innocent bystander in a bank robbery gone wrong.  Harvin was certainly guilty of this, of course, but he was not the sole perpetrator. It was supposed to be a bank robbery with little fuss.  Go in, scare a few people, take the money, and leave. No one was supposed to get hurt.  And no one was supposed to recognize them.  It didn’t turn out that way.

            Before John Harvin became a fugitive, he was a simple white man living an unremarkable life.  He was uneducated past the eighth grade, and he made relatively small wages working in a factory in Cairo, Illinois, a small, poor town at the junction of the Mississippi and the Ohio rivers.

John Harvin and his friends, Bubba, Chuck, and Bobby, were the definition of blue-collar.  They lived in cheap, one-story houses with junk covering their lawns.  They worked at a box factory and spent what little they had on booze at their favorite bar, Larry’s. Larry’s was a favorite among the lower class because it provided cheap booze and let their customers say anything with no condemnations.

Bubba was just like John, meaning he also completed the eighth grade, thought “I ain’t book smart, so why the hell am I wasting my time here?” and dropped out.  Such a decision doomed him to a future of unfulfilling work.

Chuck managed to complete high school, although he had to cheat to get through it.  He got a degree and went to tech school.  However, without having the connections to cheat to a degree, he dropped out and went back to Cairo. He spent the days holding on to his job at the box factory.

Bobby also was a high school dropout.  However, he did not drop out because of grades.  Rather, he brought a knife to school and pulled it on a guy who was hitting on Bobby’s girlfriend. Bobby was summoned to the principal, who gave him a choice. Either Bobby could drop out or face police action.  Knowing that he could not risk seeing the police again for the third time in four years, Bobby decided to drop out and join his friends at the factory.

Bobby was the violent one of the group.  During and after his school experience, he was always involved in crimes ranging from petty theft and vandalism to assault and battery. His last altercation was six months ago.

Back to the present, the four guys complained about how their lives turned out. They did this every week at the bar once they achieved their drunken haze brought upon by the whisky mixed with Coke.  Usually, they blamed society for failing them. In previous weeks for the past twenty years, it was harmless. Just poor guys blowing off steam, most folks figured.  Except for Bobby, whose friends usually contained.

This week, Bobby was even crazier than usual.  When the rest of the gang started to begin complaining once again, Bobby interjected, “I’m tired of us bitching every week about our problems.  Rather than continuing this, why don’t we do something about it?”

“Like what?” Bubba questioned.  “We ain’t smart enough to get out of this hole, so what choice do we have?”

“Get better jobs?” Chuck proposed.

“Ain’t smart enough to get better jobs,” John retorted.

“Well, what then?” Chuck replied.

“Guys, I have a better idea to make money than finding other jobs, but it involves doing something illegal,” said Bobby.

The rest of the gang felt uneasy about this.  Even though they may have been broke and bitter, they certainly weren’t criminals.  Other than Bobby, the most John, Chuck, and Bubba have done was be involved in a fight, and the police declared they were acting in self-defense. But they were broke and society certainly was not going to help them. In fact, society disdained them. So, after initial protest, they decided to hear Bobby out.

“What do you propose we do, start dealing meth?” John asked.

“Selling moonshine?” Chuck proposed.

“No, we’re going to rob a bank.” Bobby answered casually.

The guys were taken aback by this answer. A mix of “Whoa’s” and shocked gasps exited from their mouths.

John was the first to recover from this bombshell, “Okay Bobby, I know that you don’t always follow the rules <didn’t finish from here on in time before class last Tuesday>

New Yorker story responses

The Yellow

In “The Yellow, ” I felt sorry for Roy living with his parents. He doesn’t live with his parents because he wants to. He can’t find a job, despite looking for one. On top of that, his family treats him like crap. His grandmother essentially said what a disgrace he is and his father calls him a “faggot.” Considering what he puts up with, he is quite an honorable character.

I liked Roy when he not only told Susanne he hit the dog, but he offered to pay $250. This made him stand out. Most people would have driven off after hitting the dog. If they decided to stop and tell the family their dog was killed, they probably wouldn’t have offered to pay for it.

Other than zombie dog and the fact that sadness leads to sex between total strangers, I thought the story was believable. Roy painted a picture of the good-hearted man, while Susanne was realistically psychotic.

The Dungeon Master

I wasn’t a big fan of this story. For one thing, I did not like the fact that the antagonist is called The Dungeon Master. By going with this moniker, I want to beat him into calling himself a normal name. Also, as a guy who does not understand a thing about Dungeons and Dragons, the entire metaphor was lost on me.

Escape From Spiderhead

Jeff was lifelike in that he actually had a conscience. While it was stated that he did not love either Rachel or Heather, he did not want to give them any DrakenFloss. Some people would have caved in that situation and chosen a person. Jeff showed that his crime was an aberration and not a pattern of behavior. By choosing to end his life at the end, it was a way to make sure he did not have any more blood on his hands.

All in all, I would claim Escape From Spiderhead because it is a twisted story, yet there are sympathetic characters.