Life Scribbled Down; a short

Mr. Thomas wanted to be a writer. He wanted to be a writer terribly. But, he couldn’t write. He’d turn papers after papers into his teacher who’d return them with a letter grade, grammar marks, and dreadful comments. They’d always say the same thing. “Good essay! Could have been better.” He hated that. So, thoughts of becoming a writer never escaped himself. He’d tell no one.
He tried to write a novel, poem, or story – anything. He always threw them away. They just weren’t good enough. Ever. Sometimes, he would become so overwhelmed with wanting to be a writer that they’d consume his thoughts and he couldn’t concentrate. He’d bumble through school with a weight on his chest. Characters, plotlines, and words pushed down on him. But, they could never string together to form any type of writing. They were gems but he made them garbage.
He’d read Woolf, Shelley, Chaucer, and Wollstonecraft. Their stories haunted his thoughts. They wrote so eloquently. Every word had a place and meaning. How? How? When he was in high school, he told someone that he wanted to write. He sat next to her and wrote a poem. She watched. He knew she was watching. He never wrote again.
His life was tumultuous. He read author’s works religiously. Always hoping one day, he could write. Life ended when he realized he couldn’t write. His sentences were left unedited. His stories remained locked away. But, his immortality starts here.


***EDIT***

This WILL be re-edited in the future. I submitted this piece too early! Thank you for the criticism! I WILL take everything and apply!

I'm not sure what to think of this one. It was interesting, but more of an outline of someone's life than a story. It could almost be an introduction to a story, one that which explains the past of Mr. Thomas. Other than that, though, all I can say is that you used 'He' too much. You should try using his actual name here and there to stop the repetition, but do so in spots of good taste.

Um... not sure what to think. This is more of a tribute biography type thing, isn't it?

He’d turn papers after papers into his teacher who’d return them with a letter grade, grammar marks, and dreadful comments.

It's paper after paper. Papers after papers doesn't make sense. "Into" should be "in to" because it sounds like he's magically transforming his papers into his teacher, when really he is just handing them in.

This sounds a bit like the chain mail I constantly get. "This sad thing happened to this person so you had better do this!" - "This guy went his whole life without writing and he was sad so you had better keep writing!" I think this is supposed to inspire others to write no matter what, but it seems hollow to me. You glide over time periods, gloss over places that have opportunity for much description and have posted a story that could easily be twice as long.

Think about feeling. Think about description. This piece lacks both. "He hated that." What did he hate? That the teacher put him down? Himself for not getting better? His writing for not reflecting his thoughts? Speaking of thoughts, there aren't many of those, either. "He'd tell no one." In fear? In anger? Did it hurt him to make this decision? "When he was in high school, he told someone that he wanted to write. He sat next to her and wrote a poem." Who was she? What was she like? What was her impact on his life? Was she important to him? What kind of poem was it? Were they alone in the room where he wrote the poem? Which room was it? "She watched. He knew she was watching." How did she watch? Was she curious? Scornful? How did knowing she was watching make him feel? How did he react to it? There are giant holes which are begging to be filled, so fill them!

In other, metaphorical, words, I expected a chicken caesar lettuce bacon sandwich on a wholemeal seed bread roll and you gave me a slice of white bread.