Page 78 of Loathing My Boss
People like Odessa are writers. She took her bleeding copy back from you after facing public humiliation and did everything she could to fix it before coming back for seconds.
I haven’t even looked at the story I sent to you for critique since I came to the conclusion nothing about it deserved such disregard. I’m not a writer. I’m just…lonely. I’m just lonely, and the only thing that will listen to me is a blank page.
Dropping my gaze back to my hands, I wait for everyone else to finish.
This time, Odessa gets the first word in. And it starts with her slamming her pens down on the table as she half rises from her chair. “Ineedthis book.”
My breath catches.
“Please tell me you finished writing it yesterday.”
“W-well,” I start, reminding myself that Odessa is a poor judge of good writing, and this enthusiasm means absolutely nothing, “I should be done tomorrow.”
Viktor’s hand closes into a fist around his pen.
“Shut up! You will not. Can I beta read for you?” She begins vibrating with eagerness. “I need to know more. The tension. The vibes.Allof it. I’m obsessed.”
Someone else at our table smiles at Viktor. “What does the professional among us have to say? Personally, I couldn’t see anything that needed improvement. It painted a vivid picture and made me invested in more…but I know I don’t have nearly as trained an eye.”
“There were a few places where the transitions could be smoothed out, and others where description outweighed necessity.” He looks at me. “Part of the trouble with having a vivid style is getting lost in it. You don’t need to include so many of the five senses in such a short amount of time inorder to deliver your intentions. Given the sample nature of this, I worry that the rest of the piece is bogged down by them.”
That’s feedback I can definitely stomach. And look for. And…maybe even fix. If there’s any point to that. After all, it’s not like I have any intention of becoming an author now.
This is little more than my attempt at getting some kind of closure. This is the redemption arc Crimson mentioned I should consider.
Consider it considered and carried out. Closure obtained. Everything is better now. Little seventeen-year-old Crisis is healing from wounds that probably weren’t even that bad.
So, why does it feel like I’m suffocating?
?
“You write,” Viktor states once we’re back in our room after both workshop and dinner. He has not yet closed the door behind him.
Clutching my marked-up copies—one of which I’m considering framing, since it is covered in tiny hearts andplease give me more!!—I drop heavily into my desk chair, supremely thankful when it doesn’t break on me. “What is writing, really?”
“Putting letters into words and words into sentences, at length, for days.” His chest fills as he drops his sample pages atop his laptop with a delicacy that suggests he willnotbe framing them. “Youwrite. And you’re a day away from completing a story?”
I wet my lips. “Well.” I clear my throat. “What is a story, really?”
“How many words is it?”
“Forty-nine…thousand…maybe.”
“Forty-nine thousand. That’s not just a story. That’s almost a novel.”
Almost.“I know. It’s short. Especially for sci-fi. It’s drawing inspiration from some of the installments inThe Murderbot Diariesin that regard.”
“When did you start it?”
“A few days ago. Probably.”
Viktor lands in his desk chair, peering across the room at me. “A fewdaysago?”
“I’ve been averaging seven thousand words a day. With all the time allotted to sit in a room and write, it’s not a big deal.”
“It’s a very big deal,” he grits. “You’ve been averagingseven thousandwords a day on top of your day job, and you’ve produced a copy that is nothing short of immaculate.”
“Immaculate?”
