woodpryan's Written Works

[Jean]

Re: House of Ash

[woodpryan]

Re: House of Ash

rejected today. sending it on to Black Static.

[Jean]

Re: House of Ash

don't give up, bears are with you!

[woodpryan]

Re: House of Ash

Thanks as always Jean. You're great, man.

[Sickrose]

Re: House of Ash

Hey man, I am sorry. I was wondering how you got on. It is good and someone will see that.

[alinda]

Re: House of Ash

Yeah, after reading it I too am wondering.
Ya know my mom writes and had tons of
rejection letters to prove it, but then one day
it happened. She became a published author.
Don't give up as I am sure that you will be too. Good story.

[woodpryan]

This is a short story I wrote about a man who attempts to cheat on his wife, but finds himself physically incapable. My typical story is horror, but sometimes they are just about life, and this is one of those cases. I hope you all enjoy. Please comment after reading, whether or liked it or hated it. Thanks.

In the cool air of an October night James Marrin walked, languid, as if in a dream, toward the apartment of the girl with whom he intended to sleep tonight. He wore no jacket, but an open flannel shirt shielded his arms from the crisp air. He told himself that this was not revenge; that he was not trying to get back at his wife for cheating on him. He was merely setting his mind at ease. Maybe, after tonight, he could stop thinking about what she did eleven months ago and forgive her.
In a way, this was an attempt to save his marriage. He couldn’t go on like this, thinking about it every day. James tried to forgive her. He told her that he had forgiven her, had, in fact, told himself that he was over it. But none of that worked. The sound of her voice intruded into his thoughts, the sound she makes when she orgasms, that sound she must have made when she was with another man.
James reached the door. Was this really what he wanted though? How was this saving his marriage? Images of his wife flooded his mind. The way her red-brown hair shined when the sun hit it just right. The way she looked when the moonlight flooded through the windows of their bedroom onto her soft, silken, skin. The feel of her hand on his stomach while her head rested on his chest in bed. Her laugh, high and sing-song, lovely in its own way.
Raising his fist to shoulder-hight, he hesitated, sighed audibly, then knocked on the door. James waited, heard nothing for a moment. Then, when he was about to turn and walk away, the shuffle of feet behind the door. He stopped, waited. He heard a metallic sound and a hiss. Then, music began to play and the sound of the shuffling feet were approaching the door. James felt his chest constrict, stifling his breath while his heart hammered against his rib cage like a frightened animal attempting escape.
The door opened, and Elizabeth stood there smiling in welcome. She wore her brunette hair down and straightened (it flowed to the middle of her back), a sleeveless black dress, which stopped at the knees, showing off her lovely pale legs, and black high heels. James saw no bra strap and wondered if she had any of the strapless kind.
“I thought you weren’t coming. You were suppose to be here an hour ago. Dinner is a little cool.” She glared at him for a moment in a playful way, then stashed the glare away, her smile returning once more.
James hadn’t been sure he was coming either. He had sat around the house for thirty minutes longer than he should have, wondering if Melinda would come home, having forgotten something as she often does, then sat in the Mustang for thirty minutes after he got here thinking about her.
She hadn’t just cheated on him. She hadn’t done it this way; a one-night-stand with a co-worker. She had planned it out for months ahead of time and had been gone for a week. For two months before Thanksgiving came, she had spoken on the phone almost daily with her mother. Melinda hadn’t seen her mother in five years and she had suddenly gotten back in touch with her. Melinda had to see her over the Thanksgiving holiday. But when Thanksgiving week came, James waited most of the week for a phone call besides the initial “I made it,” call, and none had come.
He felt a strange emptiness in the house at her absence, the cool sheets in place of her warm body, the silence in place of her piano playing, He found himself reaching over to place his hand on her leg in the car and remembering it wasn’t there. At home, he waited by the phone, while, at work, he was unable to concentrate.
Finally, he dug out the old phone number list and found Julia Shuman.
“Mrs. Shuman,” he said when she answered on the fourth ring. “This is James. I was just wondering how things were going out there with Melinda.”
“Melinda? What are you talking about, James? I told her when she married you that I would never speak to her again and I meant that. I only picked up the phone because I thought she might have finally come to her senses. And since you don’t know where she is, maybe she has.”
Throughout this, James was speechless. As he began to stammer out a question his mother-in-law hung up the phone. James looked down at the dead line for a full minute, suddenly unsure of everything in his life.
James found himself deciding to give his wife another chance before she even got home. He knew he had been distant for a while, that he hadn’t been spending enough time with her, hadn’t been talking to her enough, showing her enough affection. What he didn’t understand was why she didn’t just say something to him. Why she had to go and do this. It was like a suicide attempt by someone who doesn’t really want to die. Someone calling out for help. His wife was calling out to him for help now. She wanted him to see her again the way he used to when he was in college and she was working at Laura’s Bar and Grill to pay for their little apartment.
When she got home, James and Melinda sat down and talked for a long time. Voices were not raised, objects were not thrown. The conversation had ended with Melinda weeping openly, her hands clasped between her heaving breasts, telling him she was so very sorry. So very sorry. They had settled on an agreement; that she would never see or speak to the man again, that if she ever did something like this again it would be over. For James’ part, he promised to be better for her.
And he was.
But for the next eleven months her affair had resurfaced in his mind again and again. He began to pick out everything he possibly could that was bad about his wife and store it away, as if saving up for some big blow-up when he would throw it all in her face and leave her. The affair weighed on his brain like a ton of manure.
Now James looked at Elizabeth in her black dress and felt that load beginning to slip off his shoulders. If he had done it too, there was nothing to be mat at Melinda for.
“Sorry,” he said stepping over the threshold of her apartment into the warmth. “Melinda was running late to work.”
Elizabeth heated up the dinner she had cooked while Beethoven played on the CD player. On the coffee table in the living-room were burning candles and two glasses surrounding a bottle of red wine, as if this bottle were the centerpiece of some work of art. James sat on the couch, placing an ankle on the opposite knee and waited.
When dinner was hot again Elizabeth set two plates on the coffee table, both filled with cheese, sauce, noodles, and Italian sausage. They ate and drank the wine, Elizabeth commenting on how much better she usually makes this dish, James saying how delicious it was, but otherwise neither of them having anything to say.
When the plates were cleared away and the wine glasses refilled, Elizabeth sat on the couch with her glass, leaning her head on James’ shoulder. He put his arm around her, trying not to be awkward and failing. Elizabeth drank her wine and stroked his leg, slowly moving her hand upward. This reminded James of his wife, how she would lay her head on his shoulder, her face turned toward the television, a glass of wine in hand, while they watched a movie. This was something they did together often.
Elizabeth turned her head so that she faced his neck and sighed, her breath hot on his skin. A tingling sensation flooded his spine as she began to kiss his neck. James tilted his head to make the access to that tender and sensitive skin easier for her and sighed, telling her without words to continue. This she did, moving her lips down his neck until his shirt prevented her from moving any further.
Elizabeth stood then, taking another sip of her wine and, placing it on the coffee table, walked around it to stand facing James. She stepped out of her high heals and pushed them away with one foot, looking at him with parted lips and half lidded eyes. Elizabeth removed her dress, pulling it down and stepping out of it. James’ suspicion that she wore no bra was confirmed as was his thought that maybe the dress and shoes were all she wore.
Now she stood naked in front of him, rubbing her pale skin with her hands, moving them over her body. She was beautiful in every sense of the word. Her skin was creamy and unmarked. Her face was that of a goddess. She wasn’t too big or too small in the chest, but perfectly shaped, her brown nipples hard and also just the right size. Her waist was slim, but not skinny, her hips completing the perfect curve of her body. She looked much like his wife, except that Melinda had red hair instead of brown and she weighed about ten pounds more.
With such a beautiful woman standing naked in front of him, James was surprised and dismayed to find himself not aroused at the sight of her. She came to him and removed his shirt, kissing his lips, slipping her tongue into his mouth. She kissed her way down his neck, chest, and stomach, removing his trousers and boxers. Still, James was unexcited. He wondered what she was thinking, what she thought of him, still flaccid after all that.
Elizabeth looked up at him, her eyes hurt, but still wanting him. She tried a few more techniques with her mouth and finally James seemed to be ready. But as she mounted him there on the couch, the thought of his wife intruded again. The first time they made love, in James’ bed two months after they met, the lights off in the bedroom, and the moon casting a blue-gray light through the window behind the bed. The soft cadence of her breathing as she moved over him. The day they had stayed home when it rained and she had made him chase her through it, laughing and soaking their cloths, plastering them to their bodies.
James lay down on the couch and Elizabeth tried again, but it was no use. The song on the CD player was Moonlight Sonata, and he could remember his wife taking two months to learn the song, playing for two to three hours a day. He could remember standing in the hallway just outside the dining room where the piano was, closing his eyes, and letting the music flow through him.
Elizabeth and James tried everything they knew, sometimes succeeding long enough to come close to the act of sex, but never long enough for it to actually occur. Now, not only was the thought of his wife intruding upon his attempt at being unfaithful, but the embracement of his impotence. He was twentysix for God’s sake, not eighty.
Finally, Elizabeth looked at him in exasperation, her hair wild and in her face, her chest heaving. “What’s the problem, James?” She moved some of her hair out of her face and stood up, looking down at him on the couch. “Is it me?” James saw more than exasperation in her eyes. He saw that she was hurt; it was a feeling of incompetence. One with which he could identify.
James sighed and sat up on the couch. “No, it’s not you,” he said getting up and gathering his clothes. “It’s me. I’m sorry.” Now he was putting on his boxers and trousers. “I can’t do this. I guess I’m just not cut out for this kind of thing.”
Elizabeth was still looking at him with that hurt in her eyes, but also pity. He came to her after putting on his shirt and kissed her deeply. “You’re beautiful, Elizabeth. Really, it’s not you.” James finished dressing and left, taking one last look at Elizabeth, who still stood naked in the middle of the living room, her arms crossed below her breasts, her legs spread slightly open, and her head tilted to one side as if confused. He attempted a reassuring smile, but it felt ridiculous on his face, so he turned away and shut the door on his first and only attempt at cheating on his wife.

October 13, 2010

[Tito_Villa]

Re: The Affair

Cool i will defo give this a read later in my dinner hour

[woodpryan]

Re: The Affair

Cool i will defo give this a read later in my dinner hour

Fantastic! I look forward to reading your critique.

[Tito_Villa]

Re: The Affair

Im not joking, that's a really good short story. I was never too good at English so i can't give any technical terms, but i know what i like and i liked that

[woodpryan]

Re: The Affair

Thank you so much for your reply. It is greatly appreciated.
I must be out of my mind to do this, but I am submitting this, in its final draft (which is different in many ways) to Playboy Magazine tomorrow, which is the magazine I think it best fits. Wish me luck everyone.

[Tito_Villa]

Re: The Affair

Yup good luck with that, let us know if you get any feedback!

[woodpryan]

Re: The Affair

Thanks, man.

[LadyHitchhiker]

Re: The Affair

Please don't be offended but I am going to be honest.

Honestly, I really like your writing style, but I didn't truly care for the subject matter. Infidelity - to me - is never as interesting or appealing as it seems to be to other people.

But in my mind, if it weren't a friend I knew writing, and I just read it in a magazine, I would initially think, "well it serves the bastard right for trying to cheat on his wife!" But on the other hand, I don't know if I could stay with my other half if THEY cheated on me - I have an STD phobia, and who can blame me in this day and age? I don't blame the affair preying on his mind. I understand the need to try and understand where the other half is coming from. But even if I stayed with my other half, I could never bring myself to cheat on them.

But for me to even consider all those thoughts, it must have been decent writing. For me to empathize with someone who's committing a sin, to seeing this same story as something I could see in real life.

But the title seems a bit lacking to me. Sorry about that, but isn't this more about TWO affairs? Even if one was more failed than the other?

Playboy is a good choice. But have you considered Penthouse as well? I know that Playboy is a bit more artistic, so this story would fit best there, but Penthouse might be worth a go, too.

[woodpryan]

Re: The Affair

Please don't be offended but I am going to be honest.

Honestly, I really like your writing style, but I didn't truly care for the subject matter. Infidelity - to me - is never as interesting or appealing as it seems to be to other people.

But in my mind, if it weren't a friend I knew writing, and I just read it in a magazine, I would initially think, "well it serves the bastard right for trying to cheat on his wife!" But on the other hand, I don't know if I could stay with my other half if THEY cheated on me - I have an STD phobia, and who can blame me in this day and age? I don't blame the affair preying on his mind. I understand the need to try and understand where the other half is coming from. But even if I stayed with my other half, I could never bring myself to cheat on them.

But for me to even consider all those thoughts, it must have been decent writing. For me to empathize with someone who's committing a sin, to seeing this same story as something I could see in real life.

But the title seems a bit lacking to me. Sorry about that, but isn't this more about TWO affairs? Even if one was more failed than the other?

Playboy is a good choice. But have you considered Penthouse as well? I know that Playboy is a bit more artistic, so this story would fit best there, but Penthouse might be worth a go, too.

You have reacted to this story almost exactly how I wanted the reader to react to it. Yes, he is doing something that is WRONG, way wrong. Yes, you can still understand why he did it, although you don't agree with it. And finally, you can see this happening in real life (which it often does) and you tried to put yourself in his place. This was the effect I was hoping for. The title was changed to, "A Betrayal to Forgive," which implies that he must forgive his wife's betrayal to him and attempts to commit his own betrayal in order to forgive her. I was unaware that Penthouse published fiction. Thank you for letting me know. I always thought that was such a dirty ass magazine. I never really liked it. After Playboy, I'll submit it to GQ, then to Esquire, and someone suggested I submit it to Cosmopilitan. I'm not so sure about that one. I will probably submit it to Penthouse as a last resort. Yes, it fits best there after Playboy and GQ, but man I hate that magazine. Thank you so much for your feedback. It is greatly appreciated.

[woodpryan]

Been a while since I posted up a short story. I'm submitting this as my story in my college Fiction Writing class. Throw some feedback at me if you guys have some time. I hope you enjoy it.

Embers and Ashes

By Ryan Wood

Stepping out of the car, Matthew Sperry let his cigarette fall from his fingers to the driveway. He stamped it out with one black loafer, as he jetted smoke from his nostrils and slammed the door of his maroon ‘86 Camaro. The sound cut through the brisk October air and reverberated through the neighborhood, which seemed empty. Moonlight streamed down on over-manicured lawns. He stared at the house before him like a condemned man awaiting his sentence.

The house was more formidable than he expected it to be with an expansive yard dominated by an enormous pine. A porch swing on the front patio. Lamplight from inside the house illuminated a deep red curtain, which was drawn across the window to the left of the front door. The house was much like his own across town. The one he shared with his wife. After this, the miles, which stretched across the dinner table between them, could finally fade into nothing.

Matthew removed a battered pack of Marlboros from his front shirt pocket, pulled out another cigarette. His Zippo shook in his hand, the flame jittering on its way to light it. He took a deep drag and let the smoke trickle out of his mouth. His heart was a distraught bird beating frantic wings on its cage.

He started toward the front door. Stopped. Turned. Walked back to his car. Fuck this, he thought. I can’t do this. But as his hand groped for the chrome handle, he imagined his wife sleeping beside him tonight. Would she try to surprise him again with a new piece of lingerie, he wondered. And would she be disappointed when he chose instead to burn through more pages of the newest Jim Butcher novel?

Matthew took another drag off the cigarette and, turning back to the house, stomped it out beside the other. He thought he saw the curtain in the window twitch. She knew he was out here. He trudged up the driveway to the massive front door. Lifted his fist. Hesitated. Rapped his fist on the peeling deep blue paint.

A short moment later, the polished brass knob turned and the door opened on hinges that screamed, as if in warning. Telling him this was a bad idea. Jennifer stood there in the doorway like something out of a dream. She was a secretary at the software development company where Matthew worked, and even in the brief time she had been there, the mutual attraction and flirtation between them was blatant. She had long brunette hair, which feathered down her back and draped over her slender shoulders.

Jennifer was wearing a broad smile and not much else. A pair of red panties. A black tank top. He scanned her body. He could see that nothing supported her breasts, and her cleavage was on clear display for his eyes to admire. She had long, tanned legs. Toenails painted baby blue. A tattoo on her ankle; some quote in a flowing script. He couldn’t make out what it said in the soft moonlight.

Last week, during one of their frequent cigarette-break conversations, she had asked him out of nowhere, almost casually, if he had ever thought about cheating on his wife. She brought her cigarette up to her full lips, looking him in the eyes as she said it. He had stared at her, shocked by the implication in her voice and speechless for a minute before he dropped his own cigarette on the ground and walked back inside. Over the next few hours it became all he could think about.

“Hey,” Jennifer breathed before she pulled the door open wider and stepped aside. Music drifted from the stereo in the living room. Matthew could hear soft acoustic guitars and harmonious voices.

“Hey.” His foot moved toward the entrance, but he stopped. Shelly hadn’t done it this way; a one-night-stand with a co-worker. She had planned it out. It had taken weeks of secret phone conversations while Matthew worked late. She had spent a week seventeen hundred miles away in Shelton, Texas with her phone off. It had been almost a year since then, and Matthew had grown more distant with each passing week. This was his chance to fix his crumbling marriage.

Matthew stepped into the warm foyer of Jennifer’s house.

As she shut the door, he took in his surroundings. To his right was the dining room. A Mahogany table. A bouquet of assorted flowers in a glass vase. Walls painted deep blue. A black bookcase stocked with countless hardback volumes against one wall.

“May I?” Matthew asked, digging out his Marlboros.

“Sure.” Jennifer walked through the dining room into the kitchen while Matthew appreciated the view of her walking away. She returned with a small, round, glass ashtray as he lit the cigarette, squinting his eyes at the smoke.

“I try to smoke outside,” she said. “But, I think this is the perfect occasion for rule breaking.” The corners of her lips turned up in a mischievous grin.

Matthew knew that it had been months since her divorce – five or six, maybe. Jennifer’s ex-husband had left her when, after two years of marriage, they had discovered her infertility. A despicable reason to leave a woman, Matthew thought. She said he had stayed for two more years before he left. In the divorce, he had fought for nothing, leaving her the house (along with its grotesque mortgage payment), most of the furniture, and the car they had shared. That was when she started working for GemSoft. If Matthew remembered the conversation correctly, her father was helping her with the mortgage. She was trying to sell the house, though. Too many memories, too much space without the children or husband she had expected to have.

“Would you like one?” Matthew asked, holding the pack out to her.

Jennifer took the cigarette he offered, let him light it for her. She padded into the living room and Matthew followed.

The couch was soft-cushioned, deep red. The room was dominated by an enormous entertainment center sporting an expensive looking stereo and an exorbitant flat screen television. The walls were painted a deep purple, his wife’s favorite color. The floors were polished hardwood. Two glass end tables flanked the couch, and a lamp, providing meager light, stood on each of them. A red candle burned on the glass coffee table, exuding a scent like apples and cinnamon.

Jennifer handed him one of the glasses of wine from the table. He took it as he sat down, placing his keys and wallet on the coffee table. She sat beside him, leaving little space between them and turning her body toward him. His eyes darted to her breasts and then back to the entertainment center. Pearl Jam was playing now; Matthew’s favorite band since his teenage years, when he learned to play “Jeremy” on guitar in his bedroom.

Matthew took a long drag from his cigarette, the cherry flaring bright red in the dim room.

“I’ve never done this before,” he admitted.

A long, thoughtful hesitation before she replied, “That’s fine. Drink your wine, sweetheart. It’ll make you feel better. Don’t be so nervous.”

Matthew drank. Took one last drag. Extinguished his butt in the ashtray, meticulously spreading the black remnants of the once-burning cinder. He could think of nothing to say. He continued to stare at the entertainment center, as if there were more entertainment to be found there than in the half-bare brunette sitting beside him.

His wife had been foolish to turn off her cell phone when she went to Shelton, Texas… “to visit her mother.” If she hadn’t done that, he may never have caught her. But after a few days of no communication, any husband would begin to worry. He had found it strange that she had decided to rekindle her relationship with her mother after five years in the first place. When he called his mother-in-law to inquire about his wife, she had told him she hadn’t seen her daughter in five years. Ever since they had married, and she had vowed never to speak to her daughter again.

Jennifer took a large gulp of her wine, took a long final puff from her cigarette, and crushed out her butt beside Matthew’s. Her head came down on his shoulder, her hand on his leg. He could smell the conditioner in her hair. Coconut. A strong and fresh smell, as if she had just showered. She traced the tips of her nails along the inseam his khaki pants.

Matthew’s shoulders and neck stiffened. A rabid thing in his chest began frantically hammering, as if it wanted to be let out.

He was furious when he found out that his wife had lied to him, and lashed out against his mother-in-law, the sanctimonious bitch, over the phone. ‘If you don’t want to talk to her, why did you pick up the fucking phone?’ he screamed.

‘I thought maybe she had finally come to her senses. And since you don’t know where she is, maybe she has.’ The click in his ear was deafening – a shotgun blast, blowing apart the last of his hope that his feeling was wrong.

Now he could feel Jennifer’s hot breath on his neck, sending chills down his spine. He tilted his head away from her, exposing the sensitive skin there for easier access.

When he picked Shelly up from the airport, he had not spoken a word to her the entire way home. He let her babble on about her trip to see her mother uninterrupted. When they got home, he sat down at the kitchen table, lighting a cigarette. She knew what was coming and took the seat across from him.

‘I know, Shelly, so stop lying to me. I’m tired of hearing it. That mark on your neck is clear enough.’ He pointed at the hickey that was clearly visible just above her clavicle. ‘You’ve been lying to me for months, Shelly. All those long phone conversations with your mother.’ He shook his head. ‘I wondered why you kept sneaking off whenever you talked to her. But I trusted you.’

That’s when the tears began to flow down her cheeks. Sobbing, and sniffling, she apologized. ‘I’m so sorry,’ she said, covering her face in embarrassment and shame. The sobs wracked her body.

Jennifer was kissing his neck, biting and sucking, but not too hard. Not so hard as to leave a mark for his wife to see when she got home tonight. Her hand reached up to his crotch and massaged.

He had planned on demanding that Shelly tell him what she did. The whole thing. He would listen to the story in full detail and then tell her he wanted a divorce. But as he watched her cry at the table across from him, all the anger was drained out of him. She knew the mistake she had made. ‘I’m so sorry, Matt,’ she kept saying. It was even harder to watch when she took her hands away from her damp face and looked at him with her bloodshot eyes. ‘I love you.’

That was the problem. He loved her too, and he didn’t feel ready for their marriage to end. He had been miserable the last week without her. He knew it wasn’t all her fault. He was the one working too much. Fifty, sometimes sixty hours a week when a deadline was coming up. Too many dinners cold on the table when he arrived late from work. Too many cold shoulders when he worked from home on the weekends. He saw this as her way of crying out to him. Telling him the relationship was falling apart and that she needed him to pay more attention.

He had walked around the table and taken his wife in his arms, holding her as she cried. ‘Don’t ever do this again,’ he threatened. ‘Everyone makes mistakes. We all deserve a second chance. But, I will not give you more than that. Shelly, don’t ever let this happen again.’ He held her for a long time while she trembled and sobbed, her entire body shaking with the effort. When it began to taper off, they had a long conversation about how this came to happen and about the future of their marriage.

Jennifer lingered on his neck for a while, nibbling at the delicate skin there, turning it hot and damp, sending tremors throughout his body, his arms breaking out in gooseflesh before she yanked his sweater over his head, tossed it to the floor and clambered on top of him, straddling him and kissing him furiously, massaging his tongue with her own, nipping softly at his lower lip while he fumbled at her breasts with unsure hands until she began to work her soft lips on his chest and down his stomach, lingering over each crease of his muscles, which tightened and twitched uncontrollably beneath her moist lips; and she softly bit and sucked at his skin as she unbuckled his belt and stripped it off in one swift gesture, tossing it to the floor to accompany his sweater, but never loosing the rhythm of her lips and tongue and teeth, which continued on their downward trek until they were impeded by the fabric of his khaki pants, which she unbuttoned with her brown eyes turned up to stare into his own for a long moment before she pulled his zipper down slow and deliberate, meticulously parting the teeth one after another, an almost unbearable tease, before she slid his pants down to his shoes, which she pulled off without bothering to untie the laces; and her hands continued to roam his body, scratching softly at his skin, rubbing his stomach and then dipping down to disappear below his boxers for a moment, only to come back up again to his stomach, before she finally slipped the last of his clothing down his legs and cast it to the pile, her lips once again resuming their downward course to his inner thighs as he plunged a hand into her soft and thick hair far enough to rest on the back of her head, encouraging her to continue her tease until after she had kissed and bitten, touched and rubbed, licked and tasted every part of him that was not the one she wanted desperately to feel, her hand found him, after all of this, flaccid.

In their first year of marriage, Shelly was often plagued by nightmares. Matthew would be awakened by her moaning beside him, sometimes thrashing around, and on these occasions, he would shake her awake and hold her. Sometimes she wept. Sometimes she just shook like a frightened animal, clinging to him as tight as she could. For a long time, she always told him she couldn’t remember the dream. He knew that wasn’t true, but was also aware that she would tell him when she was ready. After her nightmares, he would sing to her until her shaking or sobbing relented and she fell back into the clutches of sleep like a child in her mother’s arms. After the first year, she finally told him one night, out of the blue, what the dreams were about. He had not asked, and was not expecting it. She was raped at fifteen, an experience that had many consequences in her life. Her mother and father divorced when she was sixteen after the rapes became too obvious for her alcoholic mother to ignore. Shelly did not date for the first time until she was eighteen, when she met and fell in love with a man named Corey Farley. But her experience spawned a deep fear of intimacy, and she loathed even the though of it. After two years with no sexual interaction at all, Corey left her.

Jennifer stood, moved around the table, a faster, more driving song on the stereo now, and she began to slide her hands over her own body. She slipped her shirt upward in slow, meticulous movements, as if time were meaningless, revealing a flat, toned stomach and full breasts. Finally, she lifted it over her head, her hair falling around her shoulders and into her face. Her skin was lightly tanned. Matthew had longed to see her body for months, and he was astounded to find himself not aroused by the sight. She slid her underwear down her long legs and sauntered back to him, without the slightest hint of self-consciousness. When she reached him, she straddled him there on the couch, kissing him again, her tongue gliding over his, gyrating her hips, bucking against him. She plunged one hand deep into his thick hair, grasping and pulling at it from behind his head, her other arm wrapped around his back, clutching his warm body to her own.

Flaccid. By now, he was more than just nervous. He was embarrassed by his inability, a first for him, and could not stop thinking about his wife. Shelly was giving a test on T. S. Eliot in her American Literature class right this moment.

When Shelly finally stopped sobbing in his arms, she told him the truth. Corey Farley, her first love had called her a few months before her affair. Matthew was working late again, dinner growing cold on the table. She was upset, and decided to talk to Corey. She found that she felt better after having spoken with him, and they started talking more frequently. She thought about him often, even when Matthew was around, remembering how their relationship had been - how much she had loved him. When Corey asked her if she wanted to come visit him, she had been hesitant at first. He moved to Shelton, Texas one year after their breakup, but could never get over her. She was about to tell him no when he said that he had already bought the plane ticket. By this point, Matthew had seen her talking to him numerous times on the phone and she told him each time that she was patching up her relationship with her mother. She could not deny wanting to see Cory, and she told him without really thinking about it that she would come. This was when Shelly’s story that she was visiting her mother was born.

Matthew laid back, full-length on the couch, his mind racing, as he attempted to stutter out some sort of apology for his impotence, but Jennifer continued without hesitation, her lips moving down to find him still slack, before she engulfed him with warmth for five minutes that seemed to last forever.

Flaccid.

Over the last year, Shelly’s dinners became increasingly extravagant. Sometimes she would cook for hours before Matthew arrived home to find his favorite beer in a frosted glass and a clean ashtray on the coffee table. That would never have happened before the affair; she always made him smoke outside. She would kiss him at the door and ask him how his day was, often wearing a dress or a skirt. He always liked seeing the more feminine aspects of his wife - the dresses and skirts. He would sit down, drink the beer and smoke his cigarette, relaxing, telling her about his day. He would ask her about her own in turn, and listen to what she had to say. He ate her elaborate dinners with thanks and praise before she went to Dennison Community College for class. Matthew came home on time. He took her out more often. Tried to pay more attention to her. But his mind would often return to her affair, and the sound she makes when she orgasms, a sound he was sure she made with Corey.

Matthew flipped Jennifer over on the couch in a fleeting attempt to take control of the situation, kissing her lips and moving downward from her neck to her breasts and stomach in much the same way that she had done with him, putting his hands where he had been longing to put them for months now, groping what he pleased, tasting the salt of her sweat on his lips, feeling the swell of her breast cupped in his hand, the smooth touch of her creamy skin on his own.

Matthew’s sex drive with Shelly had slowly declined over the last year until it dwindled away to almost nothing. She would surprise him with new, increasingly racy lingerie when he was reading naked in bed. He would apologize with a yawn and a stretch, or a massaging finger at his temple and a grimace of pain. He despised himself for being unable to forgive her. He could tell she was trying.

When Jennifer asked him last week if he ever considered cheating on his wife, an idea occurred to him. If he had nothing to begrudge Shelly for – if he did the same thing – maybe he could finally forgive her. Their marriage could return to normal.

Flaccid.

He sat up on the couch and looked at Jennifer, the low lamplight glistening on her skin.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

Jennifer looked at him, eyes longing. She did not cover her breasts, but reached out a hand to touch his bare thigh for a moment. Matthew knew she had been alone for the last several months, and he wished he could help her.

“What’s wrong with me?” she said.

“Nothing, Jennifer. You’re beautiful.”

She was much more than that. Physically, she was perfection. But he couldn’t tell her that any more than he could tell Shelly that no matter how hard he tried, he would never be able to forgive her, and things could never be the same.

Matthew’s mind was a spinning whirlwind of thoughts. He gazed around him in a daze. The pile of clothes cast to the floor like the discarded remnants of his marriage. The candle that burned, but would soon go out like any other flame. The ashes, all that remained of embers that once burned, scattered in the confines of their small container, now as cold as the three-word phrase he spoke to his wife out of habit. The glasses of wine as half-full as he would soon become.





February 16, 2012

[Hannah]

Re: Embers and Ashes

You're good with descriptive language. I wouldn't quite call this a short story, more of a vignette. That being said, I'm a huge fan of vignettes masquerading as stories. I think they can be more powerful than a classic short story with a quick arc. I liked the slow way the character comes to the realization that his marriage is over, and the way the story flashes in between him recalling his finding out about his wife's cheating and his attempt to cheat. The only thing I did not like was the numerous sentence fragments throughout, especially in the beginning. I think sentence fragments can be effective when used appropriately, but there were a few instances here where the sentence fragments distracted me from the story.

Overall though, good job.

[Xile]

Re: Embers and Ashes

You're good with descriptive language. I wouldn't quite call this a short story, more of a vignette. That being said, I'm a huge fan of vignettes masquerading as stories. I think they can be more powerful than a classic short story with a quick arc. I liked the slow way the character comes to the realization that his marriage is over, and the way the story flashes in between him recalling his finding out about his wife's cheating and his attempt to cheat. The only thing I did not like was the numerous sentence fragments throughout, especially in the beginning. I think sentence fragments can be effective when used appropriately, but there were a few instances here where the sentence fragments distracted me from the story.

Overall though, good job.

I agree with Hannah and praise your work! It really grabs attention and maintains it paragraph after paragraph. Well played, sir! Since you're submitting it for class and are requesting feedback, I only have two suggestions that stood out among the rest. In the third paragraph, you described how the cigarette smoke "trickled" from the mouth. Considering that I understand how another eye helps during creative writing and smoke myself, I'm not sure if trickle is the right word there. Flow or even bleed, maybe? Secondly, moving up from the end of the story to paragraph eleven (from the end), the smooth touch of her creamy skin on his own, might be reworded to the smooth touch of her creamy skin AGAINST his own? Just a couple of suggestions my dude. By all means, everything else was perfect and I'm not criticizing your work even a little bit. If I was your instructor, you'd receive a perfect grade from me and should definitely consider bringing some more material here! You've got a new fan bud. A+

[woodpryan]

Re: Embers and Ashes

Xile,
Thanks a lot. Those are two fantastic suggestions. I will certainly consider the first suggestion, and I accept the second suggestion (in other words, the next draft will definitely include it). If there is anything else you noticed (bad verb choice, bad adjective choice, annoyingly unnecessary adverb) by all means, I'd love to hear about it.
Hannah,
Thanks for that. I know that some people are put off by incomplete sentences and others are attracted to them. I am obviously of the later group. To meet those in the middle, I try not to include too many of them. Could you point specifically to which ones bothered you? There are quite a few, and I will not change all of them. But, I'm sure there were probably just a select few that bothered you. If they bothered you, they may bother other readers. Thanks. Also, as someone who disliked some of my fragments, what did you think of my giant run-on that begins, "She lingered there on his neck for a while..." Some people didn't even seem to notice it was a single sentence, while other readers seemed to have a very difficult time even getting through it. In the printed version, the sentence is a full page long.
Xile and Hannah,
Thank you two so very much for taking the time to read this story, and for giving me your opinions and feedback. I so greatly appreciate it. Thanks again.
Ryan Wood

[Mattrick]

Re: Embers and Ashes

I'd be willing to edit your work as best I can if you give my story, 'Many Ports In a Storm' a read. It's only two pages long. I noticed a few words that didn't flow well with the sentence they were in, an example from the first paragraph. "The sound cut through the brisk October air and reverberated through the neighborhood, which seemed empty. " The word reverberated just seems very out of place and if you say the sentence aloud, does not roll off the tongue well. I think that sentence should be added to the sentence before and refored to something like this:

"He stamped it out with his black loafer. Jetting smoke from his nostils as he slammed the door of his maroon 86' Camaro, it's crash resounded through the void, brisk October air." The end of your sentence 'which seemed empty' is irrelevant and added words not needed. You could simply use the word empty (or in my case I supplemented 'void') in a different place and convey the same thing.

A lot of punctuation usage that can be eradicated. Some sentences can be reformed and useless words omitted. I won't comment on the story itself as it is for college, the story itself only account for so much, where as how it's written and presented probably mean much more. Let me know if you want me to edit through it and I'll private message you how I'd edit it. Editing is fun I'm more able to help you with the technical aspects than your storytelling aspects as the story is something only the writer should have a say in.


This is simply a nit pick of mine with the story but I think you describe his actions of smoking too much. The reader doesn't need to know everytime he takes a drag or how much is left of his current cigarette. It's different if say, forming a shot in a movie and you want a shot of him taking a drag but in a story, the reader understands he is smoking and can envision the act all by themselves. I'd tone that back a bit unless you want your readers to all light up while reading it lol

I still follow the golden rule of thumb with art is 'less is more'. If you can say a whole thought with one word than do it. If you can omit five words from a sentence and get the same point across than do it. Stephen King in 'On Writing' says a great piece of advice on how he edits and this is paraphrased: "The finished manuscript after editing is usually about 75% of what was originally written. There are pleny of chances to rearrange sentences, find new words to use and sentences or paragraphs that interupt the flow, are redundant or can be omitted altogether." I can't remember exactly what he said but I remember the point he was making.

[Mattrick]

Re: Embers and Ashes

Considering that I understand how another eye helps during creative writing and smoke myself, I'm not sure if trickle is the right word there. Flow or even bleed, maybe?

I'd use either oozed or excreted...depending on which flowed best in the sentence.

[woodpryan]

Re: Embers and Ashes

Mattrick,
I have posted my thoughts and suggestions on your story, "Many Ports in a Storm." I hope it is helpful. Please do not message me personally with your response to this story if you take the time to write a response. I would much prefer that you post it here on the story itself. Thanks for your time.

[Mattrick]

Re: Embers and Ashes

Okay I'll do this in two sections, I'll go paragraph by paragraph. I won't write out any suggestions as in how I'd do it, just what stands out to me as if I wrote it, how I would edit it.

Stepping out of the car, Matthew Sperry let his cigarette fall from his fingers to the driveway. He stamped it out with one black loafer, as he jetted smoke from his nostrils and slammed the door of his maroon ‘86 Camaro. The sound cut through the brisk October air and reverberated through the neighborhood, which seemed empty. Moonlight streamed down on over-manicured lawns. He stared at the house before him like a condemned man awaiting his sentence.

The second and third sentences are a little jumbled it. I wonder if 'one' decribing his loafer is necessary, who stamps out a cigarrette with both shoes anyways? I never have at least. Most importantly I'd work on a very catchy opening sentence, something that opens to the door to the synopsis of the story or at least the story thus far. A cigarette being dropped isn't too attention grabbing to me, maybe place significance on the cigarette early as it appears to be a theme, juding from the title.

The house was more formidable than he expected it to be; with an expansive yard dominated by an enormous pine, A porch swing on the front patio, Lamplight from inside the house illuminated a deep red curtain which, was drawn across the window to the left of the front door. The house was much like his own across town, The one he shared with his wife. After this, the miles, which stretched across the dinner table between them, could finally fade into nothing.

This is a suggetion (omitions are strike out, punctuation changes in bold) again which simply be your style in places. If the word 'which' is used during a pause, the comma always follows the word. It's something I used to get wrong all the time and still do today.

Matthew removed a battered pack of Marlboros from his front shirt pocket, pulled out another cigarette. His Zippo shook in his hand, the flame jittering on its way to light it. He took a deep drag and let the smoke trickle out of his mouth. His heart was a distraught bird beating frantic wings on its cage.

I think 'and' would make the first sentence flow in place of the comma. I agree wih Xile, trickle isn't a word that really fits. Perhaps slither?

He started toward the front door. Stopped. Turned. Walked back to his car. Fuck this, he thought. I can’t do this. But as his hand groped for the chrome handle, he imagined his wife sleeping beside him tonight. Would she try to surprise him again with a new piece of lingerie? he wondered. And would she be disappointed when he chose instead to burn through more pages of the newest Jim Butcher novel?

The sentence fragments at the beginning irk me a bit. It just doesn't flow very well. A good trick I've leard is to speak the paragraphs out loud to see if they sound natural. the beginning here is very jutted. But if that's your intent then don't worry about this. Forgot a question mark as well.

Matthew took another drag off the cigarette and, turning back to the house, stomped it out beside the other. He thought he saw the curtain in the window twitch. She knew he was out here. He trudged up the driveway to the massive front door. Lifted his fist. Hesitated. Rapped his fist on the peeling, deep blue paint.

Again I don't feel these fragments flow. They actually feel out of touch to me, with the rest of the story's style.

A short moment later, the polished brass knob turned and the door opened on hinges that screamed, as if in warning. Telling him this was a bad idea. Jennifer stood there in the doorway like something out of a dream. She was a secretary at the software development company where Matthew worked, and even in the brief time she had been there, the mutual attraction and flirtation between them was blatant. She had long brunette hair which, feathered down her back and draped over her slender shoulders.

Aside from the which thing and a unnecessary comma good paragraph.

Jennifer was wearing a broad smile and not much else; A pair of red panties and a black tank top. He scanned her body. He could see that nothing supported her breasts, and her cleavage was on clear display for his eyes to admire. She had long, tanned legs, baby blue toenails and a tattoo on her ankle; some quote in a flowing script. He couldn’t make out what it said in the soft moonlight.

Another good paragraph, just a few punctuation things again. I always find in some cases a comma can replace 'and' as well as vice versa. I changed the toenails description as it flows better this way with a comma instead of it's own sentence.

Last week, during one of their frequent cigarette-break conversations, she had asked him out of nowhere, almost casually, if he had ever thought about cheating on his wife. She brought her cigarette up to her full lips, looking him in the eyes as she said it. He had stared at her, shocked by the implication in her voice and speechless for a minute before he dropped his own cigarette on the ground and walked back inside. Over the next few hours it became all he could think about.

Nothing wrong with this. I'd maybe add a word like remained in front of 'speechless'.

“Hey,” Jennifer breathed before she pulled the door open wider and stepped aside. Music drifted from the stereo in the living room. Matthew could hear soft acoustic guitars and harmonious voices.

“Hey.” His foot moved toward the entrance, but he stopped. Shelly hadn’t done it this way; a one-night-stand with a co-worker. She had planned it out. It had taken weeks of secret phone conversations while Matthew worked late. She had spent a week seventeen hundred miles away in Shelton, Texas with her phone off. It had been almost a year since then, and Matthew had grown more distant with each passing week. This was his chance to fix his crumbling marriage.

Just a comma omittion.

Matthew stepped into the warm foyer of Jennifer’s house.

As she shut the door, he took in his surroundings. To his right was the dining room. A Mahogany table. A bouquet of assorted flowers in a glass vase. Walls painted deep blue. A black bookcase stocked with countless hardback volumes against one wall.

“May I?” Matthew asked, digging out his Marlboros.

I think could be all one paragraph. I think he's had five cigarettes by this point in the story and I'm not sure how much time has elapsed but it doesn't feel to be more than an hour. Perhaps some light on why he smokes so much if it's such a pivotal role in the story. Is he just addicted and a chain smoker or is it a result of coping with anxiety and nervousness? As a smoker that just seems like a lot of cigarettes, at least for a sober person. I guess by this point I'm looking for the smoking to start to be relevant beyod merely something provide some movement to the story.

“Sure.” Jennifer walked through the dining room into the kitchen while Matthew appreciated the view of her walking away. She returned with a small, round, glass ashtray as he lit the cigarette, squinting his eyes at the smoke.

“I try to smoke outside,” she said. “But, I think this is the perfect occasion for rule breaking.” The corners of her lips turned up in a mischievous grin.

It's obvious yo want to create sexual tension between these two considering the memory Matthew just had about what she asked him. I think I want to know more of the motivations behind it. All I got is that she has a nice ass and she hints with a smile. Maybe a breif description at the start of their conversation here on reasons for such a tension existing. Is he merely shallow and a nice ass it all it takes? Maybe a breif paragraph on their history would be fantastic. You metioned that their mutual attraction was blatant but..how? It might be best to describe how it is blatant instead of saying it's blatant, as that isn't much information. This is the perfect moment in the story to capitulate just what draws them together.

Matthew knew that it had been months since her divorce – five or six, maybe; Jennifer’s ex-husband had left her when, after two years of marriage, they had discovered her infertility. A despicable reason to leave a woman, Matthew thought. She said he had stayed for two more years before he left. In the divorce, he had fought for nothing, leaving her the house (along with its grotesque mortgage payment), most of the furniture, and the car they had shared - that was when she started working for GemSoft. If Matthew remembered the conversation correctly, her father was helping her with the mortgage. She was trying to sell the house, though. Too many memories, too much space without the children or husband she had expected to have.

A good job here of describing the marriage and aside from change I might persoally make to the punctuation (subject here, really) it's probably the best and most interesting paragraph in the story thus far. A good job of describing her situation. Though I would like to see not only the facts behind it but Matthew's thoughts on it as well, one nice little sentence at the end to surmise his opinion could benefit the reader in understand his relationship with her and he sees her as a person.

“Would you like one?” Matthew asked, holding the pack out to her.

Jennifer took the cigarette he offered, let him light it for her. She padded into the living room and Matthew followed.

One paragraph.

The couch was soft-cushioned, deep red. The room was dominated by an enormous entertainment center sporting an expensive looking stereo and an exorbitant flat screen television. The walls were painted a deep purple, his wife’s favorite color. The floors were polished hardwood. Two glass end tables flanked the couch, and a lamp, providing meager light, stood on each of them. A red candle burned on the glass coffee table, exuding a scent like apples and cinnamon.

I'm assuming the point of this is to represent that she is a woman of taste and style. I suppose I'm curious to know more about the style; is it retro or perhaps really modern or practical as it may reveal more about her character, why she has such furniture. Something as simple as a room in someone house can reveal things about them as a person. Take every oppourtunity available to allow the reader to fully realize a character's traits. I do like the touch of purple being his wife's favourite colour, shows she's still on his mind. I would like to see more of Jennfer's personait come through here though.

Jennifer handed him one of the glasses of wine from the table. He took it as he sat down, placing his keys and wallet on the coffee table. She sat beside him, leaving little space between them and turning her body toward him. His eyes darted to her breasts and then back to the entertainment center. Pearl Jam was playing now; Matthew’s favorite band since his teenage years, when he learned to play “Jeremy” on guitar in his bedroom.

Matthew took a long drag from his cigarette, the cherry flaring bright red in the dim room.

“I’ve never done this before,” he admitted.

All one paragraph. In her response she tells him not to be nervous when I didn't know he was particularily nervous. Maybe have his leg shaking to represent anxiousness.

A long, thoughtful hesitation before she replied, “That’s fine. Drink your wine, sweetheart. It’ll make you feel better. Don’t be so nervous.”

I'm not sure what is missing here but I feel there could be more to this.

Matthew drank. Took one last drag. Extinguished his butt in the ashtray, meticulously spreading the black remnants of the once-burning cinder. He could think of nothing to say. He continued to stare at the entertainment center, as if there were more entertainment to be found there than in the half-bare brunette sitting beside him.

Again, I'd like to see some significance in the smoking. To me it simply de-rails the story if anything. I don't thnk extinguiing a cigarette should be so important unless it means something. Maybe find a way for it to reprent his apprehensions being put to rest. If the cigarette smoking represents anything I haven't seen much of a clue as to what.

His wife had been foolish to turn off her cell phone when she went to Shelton, Texas… “to visit her mother.” If she hadn’t done that, he may never have caught her. But after a few days of no communication, any husband would begin to worry. He had found it strange that she had decided to rekindle her relationship with her mother after five years in the first place. When he called his mother-in-law to inquire about his wife, she had told him she hadn’t seen her daughter in five years. Ever since they had married, and she had vowed never to speak to her daughter again.

There is a lot covered here information rise but much like Jennifer's backstory paragraph, it holds no emotional weight to me. I mean, we're talking about infidelity and not of the greif he would feel is in here. I wan to know how it affected him and give a good emotional reason as why he's prepared to do what he's about to do.



I'll do the final parts of it tomorrow, hope this has helped!

[woodpryan]

Re: Embers and Ashes

Mattrick,
I have thoroughly enjoyed your paragraph-by-paragraph assessment thus far, and I'm looking forward to the rest of your comments. This gives me a fantastic insight in the thoughts of my reader as they go through the story. Many of your reactions are exactly the reaction that I intended to provoke in the reader. I will not address your questions right this moment, because I don't want to spoil anything in the rest of the story. I think we may be able to have quite an interesting discussion when you are finished with your comments, though. Thank you so much for your time. I can't tell you how much I appreciate it.

Ryan Wood

[Mattrick]

Re: Embers and Ashes

Apologize for having not finished, been extremely busy the last few days. Wil get to it tonight if I have the time.