Young Writers Society

Overall, I really liked this piece. I was intrigued when I saw the title, and after I started reading I was sucked in right up until the end... maybe even a little after. The Möbius feeling of it was really fascinating. The paragraph that was repeated in the beginning and in the end, did that actually happen twice, or did the narrative just loop us back to the beginning? Did he already have the image of the spilled cocktail before it happened, signifying that it had happened before? Or did he remember it from when it happened... in the future? These are, of course, questions to be pondered, not answered. It reminds me a lot of the Charlie Kaufman film Eternal Sunshine of a Spotless Mind. Have you seen it? Anyhow, I was also intrigued by the main character (he doesn't have a name, does he?). He is so despicable, yet so utterly fascinating! He is selfish -- when Sheila dies/gets injured, all he thinks about is the fact that he has lost her. It isn't at all different to him that when they had just broken up. He didn't have her either way, so what difference does it make? We don't even know if she died or not, because it doesn't make a difference to him and he's the one telling the story. He doesn't even get mad at the driver for the hit-and-run, or feel guilty for pushing her into the road. He just convinces himself that it didn't happen because, after all, if it only existed in his memory then it didn't really exist at all... right?

Also, I appreciate the repetition of "lucky seven/unlucky six" throughout the piece. The camera starts out with twenty-seven pictures on it (which seems like a strange number to me) and it seems like the possibilities are endless. When there are twenty-six is when you start to realize that there really is tension between the two characters. Skip forward a bit and there are seventeen pictures left. Again, they're doing fine and they seem to be getting along -- but when he takes one more is when everything starts hurtling downhill. Essentially, there is an iciness between the characters from that point forward. It was from the seven-pictures-left mark to the six-pictures-left mark that this pattern changed, since when there were six left they were still getting along fairly well. She invites him in for a drink, and they don't argue for a little while. I'm not sure if this break of the pattern was intentional or not -- but at least it's something for you to think about, because a pattern is hardly a pattern if it gets broken after only two iterations.

The other minor issue I had with this was your tense switching. I pointed out a few moments where it felt like there were awkward sentences, but I think the issue is deeper than that. You see, I'm not sure exactly what the story is. Is it supposed to be something that is being written down by the main character -- like a journal entry? Or is it a story being told by the main character, as to a confidante? Or is it just a stream of consciousness? Is this what we would see if we were to enter his mind and take a look at what he is thinking? I'm not sure, and that makes the piece be somewhat fuzzy in my mind. If you don't want this part of the writing to be fuzzy, then I suggest clearing up this confusion. If, on the other hand, you do want it to be fuzzy, then elaborate! Make it even more confusing about what is being remembered, what is being thought, and what is being foretold.

Overall, like I said before, I am quite impressed by this piece. It's one of those pieces you can read multiple times and ponder endlessly and it will always seem like there is more, lurking somewhere under the surface. More metaphors, more correlations, more mysteries. All of the suggestions I've made are just that -- suggestions. Opinions. Take them or leave them, but I hope at least they make you think a little.

Please don't hesitate to contact me if I was unclear about anything or if you simply want to comment on/argue about anything I've said.

Hello there

I have got to say, your writing is just so immaculate. I had to smile occasionally when I read sentences that were so descriptive and on the dot, they just rolled over the tongue. You were able to set a mood and vivid images throughout the whole story and this made me read on until the end. Now, I'm not going to waste your time by mumbling my nonsense and instead just click on *like*.

Good work dude, respect.

First off, thanks for reading and the very thoughtful review. It makes me feel special.

Second, you are an extremely astute reader. Good job!

I'll respond line by line here, as I imagine you had many questions other readers will have or never knew they had.

Mail line:
You are correct. Your version is better. Will edit.

A minute passing:
Oh no! I used to have that pet peeve, too, but then I forgot I had it because I hadn't really thought about it for a while. Thanks for keeping me in line. I'll think of something else that conveys "a good amount of time passing."

Tense switches:
Ahh yes. If there's anything I'm guilty of, it's inserting weird things without giving my readers enough warning or hints.
You say:

These are, of course, questions to be pondered, not answered

did that actually happen twice, or did the narrative just loop us back to the beginning...These are, of course, questions to be pondered, not answered

Hullo!

Her house was dim and the shadows padded apologetically down the halls.

Even the mail on her hallway table seemed to sigh when they slid across each other.

A minute passed before I asked, Was it because of me?

If everything proceeded this well, then I will earn my redemption by the end of the day.

She smacked me on the back of the head, and I bumped my forehead on the window.

I had meticulously marked out some battlements when I looked up to Sheila charging through and hooting.

I thought maybe that I would die, but we all know that isn’t what will happen.

Now I must take a moment and reflect. Why had I stopped here? It was rather insignificant in the scheme of events and only serves to fill me with an intense shame I would never speak of otherwise. But soft, the curtain arises and the light breaks!

She plucked off another tentacle, dipped it, and ate it, taking as long as possible just so long as she had something to do with her hands.

Among them, I wondered if maybe I shouldn't be drinking this.

If I left--if I left--if I leave--I could save myself. If I could just swallow my stupid pride.

I realized that this was the only other car I had seen all day. We had been alone all this time and, finally, our imaginary world was intruded upon.