New Assignment...

[Beswitchingly Positive]

It was impossible for me to set a sedution spot with no action or dialogue or characters...so I decided to attempt all of it at once...there are so many elements to my perfect seduction...

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Would you bring me a boquet of baby blue forget me nots?
the kind that are stolen
not the common kind store bought
Light me a candle, to La dy Dym ph na the saint?
and on your way out
could you please loosen my restraints?
Forget me not.
ForgetMeNot


It was currently her favorite song on the jukebox; never liked country music before she had to work with that album on the box...the clipty clop of the rythm pulsed gently from the green neon machine, the way Luke walked the guitar carried it as she sang along softly and washed glasses. Lost in a moment of music, her hands missing in the soapy water, backlit by the brighter lights shining on the big mirror and the shelf of bottles behind her, notes from the guitar sliding along with the words, her eyes half on the little dining room. The waiter could take care of the few tables they had at three in the morning. She had recently attended to the scattering of customers at the bar; the snuggly couple at the end, close together on their seats with fresh golden pints; the boys just off work in their waiter's black and whites competeing for the two tourist girl's attention with amber shots of Jameson and black frothy pints of Guinness...she half heard the happy chatter of her customers. Everyone was content. Everyone but her. As she worked, her mind was elsewhere.

He stood at the smoky entrance in the open door and watched her washing glasses for a moment before walking in.

In her free minutes, the minutes she washed glasses and lost complete focus on entertaining her little crowd, she allowed herself to think of Andrew. They had thoroughly enjoyed their last date. As always, they parted without further plans. As always she wondered when she would see him again. Days had passed. She lost her self in the memory of his eyes; her hands moving mechanically through the hot sudsy water. She wondered when he would kiss her. They had parted reluctantly, only hugging, after each date. She relished it as she sand a favorite verse of that sad song...he sat at the bar unnoticed and could hear her soft singing...

I been waitin' and waitn'
in this mad lone ly tower
for you to come see me
during
vi si tor's hours

well, the head nurse starts crying
and shaking
ev ry ti me
I call your name

The detective, man, he's smiling
he says
"for this one,
sonny boy,
you're gonna hang."

could ya bring me a boquet of ba-by blue forgetmenots...

Sitting quietly, he was glad that he had prepared his room for her. There was little doubt that she would say yes...

Singing until she saw him, she looked up from the last glass at the beginning of the second chorus and caught him watching her in the hazy light. He was right there, sitting, watching her as she sang. She caught her self, almost gasping in delight as she looked up from the sink; her voice siezed midword. She sightlessly dipped the pint glass for a final rinse and was washed over with warmth for him as her eyes settled the face she most wanted to see, she drew her hand from the water.

He had entered quietly, always quiet. She had served him drinks for months before learning his name. More months had passed before their first date. Suddenly sitting right in front of her, across the bar, he caught her off guard. She set the glass next to the others and fell into the liquid blue of his eyes. Time froze.

He looked at her hazel green eyes wordlessly. She had to suddenly stop wondering when she might see him as it registered that he was here now. Blushing as if he had heard her thoughts, she swallowed her smile, a vain attempt to look unsurprised. She could not lose his eyes.

Surely, no more than a second passed when time woke and slowly crept forward as he smiled, eyes lit with fire. The sound of Happy Talk Band flooded her head as sense of hearing came back, joined with the movement of time. "Light me a candle, to lady Dymph na, the saint...and on your way out, could you please loos..en my retsraints. For-get me not.""

The chatter of the other customers had faded in the background of his fiery, mischievious grin. A smile spilled out of her, a sound of surprised greeting passed her lips as time jerked back on its track.

The hello she managed sounded like a hiccup.

Regaining composure quickly, she jerked herself back into professional posture. "What can I get for you baby?" same way she said it to everyone.

That got her a playful frown; still, his eyes were smiling.

"You forgot my drink already?"

She smiled, said nothing, spun away; a ballerina in tight jeans and a black tank, lit in diaphanous cloud of light behind the bar, other people's cigarettes choking the clarity, she snagged a tall glass from the top shelf with one hand, the bottle of Goose with the other, turned back to the bar, put them down simultaneously, dipped down and grabbed the grapefruit juice from the cooler closing the door with her foot as she put the juice down next to the vodka, she looked him in the eye and he smiled as she blindly reached and filled the glass with ice, four count of vodka, then pink juice and threw it into the shaker and poured it back into the glass in a fluid rush without spilling a drop.

She carefully laid a white barnap on the blonde, polished wood in front of him. She picked up his drink in her right hand and looked at him as she pressed the cold glass toward her cleavage before presenting the perfectly blended beverage and setting it in the center of the napkin as if it were a personal offering from her heart.

No straw. The way he liked it.

He thanked her. Dim smoke stained light from the little bulb on the track over the bar shined down on him like a halo. The rough blue-grey cinderblock wall behind him managed to catch some of the blue of his eyes; for the moment it looked more blue than grey. Cold blue eyes sent a tiny shiver up her spine. Taking a small taste of her drink, he held her with those cool blues. She waited.

He got right to the point with a firm low voice, "What are your plans after work?"

Before she could think of anything clever to say "I have no plans." fell out of her mouth.

He stared at her. "I am taking you home with me tonight."

Her heart was pounding. His words pinned her feet to the floor. In a shy whisper she managed to respond "You'll have to wait for me. I have an hour left."

Hours had been spent thinking about this, and his heart was rushing secretly as he answered with silence. In order to maintian his cool composure, without a word, before she could reconsider, he took his drink and hoisted the grey backpack and walked beautifully away from her. She watched his old faded jeans as he crossed the red paint on the concrete floor to the table in the far corner of the dining room, turning quickly away as he chose his seat.

It was all she could do not to grab the hot spark, hold herself by the crotch knees buckling, and sink down to the floor behind the chrome keg cooler onto the black rubber matt behind the bar in the fetal position while his back was turned.

He took out his computer and placed it on the dingy brown table, seated himself on the chrome and red vinyl padded chair so that he could look up and watch her working, trying to forget he was there. Not staring too much, he had his own work to do and proceeded to get lost in his typing.

Ana attempted to dismiss him from her mind. She moved lightly between her customers carrying glasses, full and empty, back and forth, through the smell of Marlboro's mixed with beer, pizza, and summer drink-sweat. Glancing occasionally at his drink, she watched the slow progression of it's disappearence. She tried not to glance up above the bar at the icy glass over the face of the old clock in the iron frame as the hands did not seem to move...

Ana's relief showed up fifteen minutes early, good old Christopher of the graveyard crew, he was never late for his torturous four am shift. She was happy to see him. She wanted the night to end so it could begin; yet she was nervous about the man with the blue eyes watching her from the corner table.

He made her feel fifteen.

She glanced at him past the other customers...his look told her time was almost up.

She chased down all of the running tabs; avoiding talking to him about something as mundane as his drink price, she paid for Andrew. She took the money from her shift and dumped it in a green zippered pouch. She crammed her tips into her black leather purse uncounted. Christopher came behind the bar and looked around.

"Look's good, as always, Anastasia, you're a peach. Damn, did you have time to polish the bottles?"

"Yep, not too busy earlier tonight, hope you brought a book."

"Stay for a game of chess?"

"Not tonight Chris. I have plans."

She paused, her mind darted around this statement like a hummingbird, extracting the sweetness and meaning of the words.

"I will have one drink after I count out."

He looked at her questioningly, and she quickly put her finger to her lips and gave him a hushing look, took her money and went to the back.

Andrew watched the new bartender take the girls' place. His eyes followed as she vanished into the back office with the bank. He was leaning back in his chair with his an eye on the scuffed door when she emerged. He gave her a slight nod and she nodded back and held up an index finger signalling 'one' and pointing at the bar, hoping he would get the signal that she wanted one drink, that it was the proper thing to do. He smiled and nodded again, mirroring her gesture then turned back to the screen to wrap up his work.

She sat at the end of the bar with her back to Andrew's corner.

"What'll it be, pretty lady?" Chris was a charmer. She smiled and asked for a Stoli Madras, he made her a tall one. She could feel Andrew's hot eyes at her back, she wanted him to come sit with her, she could almost see in the mirror behind the bar...she did not look, practicing patience. Patience in turn was straining at the leash, a dog in heat. She was trying so hard not to turn around or squirm in her seat she did not see him until he was next to her.

She almost jumped when he touched her shoulder.

"No one can sneak up on me like you." she smiled as he pulled up the next barstool.

"Only one of my super powers." he said it quietly, close to her ear, so only she could hear, so Christopher would not hear. He was aware that Chris had also been watching her, looking at her ass in those jeans every chance he got. Ana was oblivious to everyone but Andrew. His voice was a wave that drowned the chatter of the crowd and went into her head. She loved the way he said things.

"Hmmm, what else you got?"

"I am taking you home with me tonight."

"That is what you said." Her face was pink as a schoolgirl caught with no panties. He loved the combination of her cocky attitude and the guilty-innocent flush of her skin.

His eyebrow raised slightly. "That is what I'll do."

She felt a little more confident and her inner flirt toook charge.

"What else will you do.?"

"I will whisper that in your ear. Later." She could feel the heat coming off of him as he leaned in close and spoke inches from her ear, silently moaning in delight, as the hot tingle ran up her spine she could feel the passion inside burning to a fever. Patience agonized over the fact that she drank faster than Andrew as he ordered another from Chris. Patience took her side again. She was the one who wanted to stay for one in the first place.

They sat and chatted with Chris for a half hour. Andrew declined another round and looked her in the eye and simply asked "Ready?"

"Yes, baby. Let's go."

He drove to his place. The house had been scoured, every corner was clean. Ana was known for her clean bar and he did not want her to think he was messy. The maid cancelling this week had not upset him. He had to do this himself. He had washed all the tiles in the kitchen and baths, he had even found time to steam clean the rugs. It was for himself as much as her, he liked his place clean.

She was silent as they entered. The place looked like a hospital, not the bachelor pad she expected at all, all of the surfaces were white, walls, floors, carpet, spartan white furniture and dark wood cabinetry, a stark, simple space. There was almost no furniture, a white futon in the living room, chrome stools around the island in the open kitchen...There was a faint smell of lavender and...clean. She was silent. She felt the lonely existance led in that still white house.

"Want the tour?"

It was more a proceedural offer than a question. She followed him as he gave each room a wave a name, "living room, kitchen, bathroom, my nerve center the office, guest bedroom, my room..."

He opened the door to his bedroom, and Ana felt faint.

There were candles in glass jars all over the room. The dim flickering danced shadows of roses and baby's breath on the walls. There were flowers all over the room and the radiant smell of soft petals hit her nose and erased all memory of the smoky bar, her daily existance. Everything in the room was white, white candles, walls, carpet, his bed was made with white sheets and pillows. All the color was in the blooms, dozens of white vases of red roses.

On the white bed was a hand picked boquet of baby blue forget me nots.

She looked at him, her gaze soft as she blinked the beginning of a tear away. He put his arms around her and pulled her close, she inhaled deeply, her face on his chest.

"Andrew. Your place is beautiful."

He ran his hand up the back of her neck gently and his fingers twisted in her hair as he got a grip at the base of her scalp. She inhaled sharply as he pulled her head back and kissed her neck roughly on the jugular.

"Now, I am taking you to my bed."

She smiled at him as he held her gaze with his eyes, still holding her hair in his hand. There was no arguement. He took her by the hand. She followed him through the door

[Rhabbi]

Another good story, I hope you continue to write for us.

[Beswitchingly Positive]

Rhabbi, thank you, i am bursting at the seams, I want to write, I love to write...feedback really helps, and honestly I am fairly dying to write something...steamier...alas I am a little shy and though I know I am a faceless entity here, it feels real...thank you for reading my stuff!

I have read many stories that i like here and am glad to have some feed back, I should write some compliments to the others...I wish there was more time...

[H Dean]

The brutality of H Dean strikes...

This was not so good as your last offering. This is not to say it was bad; far from it. It just wasn't as good.

As with your previous story, you managed to create a mood. Often, your choice of words lent well to the story's sort of dreamy atmosphere. I do like how you create an atmosphere. Unfortunately, you tend towards run on sentences, elonging them where shorter, more distinctive sentences would fit.

I am not going to dwell on the majority of the technical gaffes - that's for Muse and I shant be the one to step on her toes...she might kick me. My critisism's will mostly be, as usual, stylistic in nature and only mildly touching on the technical.

Away we go...

It was currently her favorite song on the jukebox; never liked country music before she had to work with that album on the box...the clipty clop of the rythm pulsed gently from the green neon machine, the way Luke walked the guitar carried it as she sang along softly and washed glasses.

Carried the song or the jukebox? You tried to get too much into one sentence. Make this a couple of shorter sentences and you have a winner. The descriptions were quite good, while the sentence was convoluted and harsh to the flow.

Lost in a moment of music, her hands missing in the soapy water, backlit by the brighter lights shining on the big mirror and the shelf of bottles behind her, notes from the guitar sliding along with the words, her eyes half on the little dining room.

This was an incomplete thought. Lost in the moment of the music...what? Again, I enjoyed your descriptions, especially her hands "missing in the soapy water". Unfortunately, you have about a hundred things modifying a sentence that ends nowhere. A quick suggestion for things like this: find the conclusion of the sentence and then modify it.

The waiter could take care of the few tables they had at three in the morning. She had recently attended to the scattering of customers at the bar; the snuggly couple at the end, close together on their seats with fresh golden pints; the boys just off work in their waiter's black and whites competeing for the two tourist girl's attention with amber shots of Jameson and black frothy pints of Guinness...she half heard the happy chatter of her customers. Everyone was content. Everyone but her. As she worked, her mind was elsewhere

You don't need the "As she worked". You set up the situation well. Chop that sentence down and you get a more lonely and far off tone.

Singing until she saw him, she looked up from the last glass at the beginning of the second chorus and caught him watching her in the hazy light. He was right there, sitting, watching her as she sang. She caught her self, almost gasping in delight as she looked up from the sink; her voice siezed midword. She sightlessly dipped the pint glass for a final rinse and was washed over with warmth for him as her eyes settled the face she most wanted to see, she drew her hand from the water.

As you write, you tend to lengthen out sentences needlessly. As you see, from my naration to you, it's a bit distracting. As you know, overuse of pronouns can get on the nerves of the reader as they read. Okay, that was rotten. Funny, though.

Shorter sentences in this case would have better delivered the sense of excitment she was feeling. Also, the order of what you present in this paragraph needs an adjustment. Judging by your other story, I think you can make this work so much better, and I would enjoy seeing how you could re-work it.

Okay, I am not going to deconstruct everything. I don't want to give you the wrong impression. For all my critisism you might think that this was the worst tale I had ever read. It isn't. It's not as well done as your other story, though.

Now for some random things...

Along with pronoun overuse, you tend towards the overuse of conjunctions. Get rid of them, rearrange the sentences and use commas instead. Okay, not all the time. You can't write a story with no conjunctions - just don't use them so much.

There were flowers all over the room and the radiant smell of soft petals hit her nose and erased all memory of the smoky bar, her daily existance. - The radiant smell of soft petals hit her nose. Flowers were strewn about the room, erasing the smells of her daily existance at the smelly bar.

Not perfect, I know, but I wanted to kind of give you an idea of what I meant.

I already touched on the "as" thing and you know about the pronoun thing. I think I'm done.

Wrong! I am a long winded SOB, so you have to put up with one more thing...

Remember to try to edit your writing according to mood, not just technical aspects. Try never to overuse any particular word or structure in any given paragraph. Too many commas, conjunctions, pronouns, repeated words or lengthy sentences can really kill a story.

You didn't kill your story...it just wasn't as good as I think you can manage.

Now I am done. Hah!

[Beswitchingly Positive]

The brutality of H Dean strikes...

If this is brutality, give me all you got. Please. And thank you.


This was not so good as your last offering. This is not to say it was bad; far from it. It just wasn't as good.

As with your previous story, you managed to create a mood. Often, your choice of words lent well to the story's sort of dreamy atmosphere. I do like how you create an atmosphere. Unfortunately, you tend towards run on sentences, elonging them where shorter, more distinctive sentences would fit.

The assignment was to describe a setting, Drangon's Muse wanted to feel like she was there, I am not sure i managed that, however a fellow bartender/old friend I worked with read it, though he knows the place he said he could have pictured it anyway....maybe it worked on that level.


I am not going to dwell on the majority of the technical gaffes - that's for Muse and I shant be the one to step on her toes...she might kick me. My critisism's will mostly be, as usual, stylistic in nature and only mildly touching on the technical.

I have little formal training, got hung up on Kerouac at a very young age which might explain my love of runnning on...I would like to be better at it, at the same time I would like my writing to be more effective and flow is important to me... the technical gaffes...I would love to iradicate them...thank you so much for muddling through my messy offering...your corretions and suggestions have been helpful,



Away we go...

It was currently her favorite song on the jukebox; never liked country music before she had to work with that album on the box...the clipty clop of the rythm pulsed gently from the green neon machine, the way Luke walked the guitar carried it as she sang along softly and washed glasses.

Carried the song or the jukebox? You tried to get too much into one sentence. Make this a couple of shorter sentences and you have a winner. The descriptions were quite good, while the sentence was convoluted and harsh to the flow.


convoluted! yikes. I am drawn to the task of describing music...find it difficult indeed.


Lost in a moment of music, her hands missing in the soapy water, backlit by the brighter lights shining on the big mirror and the shelf of bottles behind her, notes from the guitar sliding along with the words, her eyes half on the little dining room.

This was an incomplete thought. Lost in the moment of the music...what? Again, I enjoyed your descriptions, especially her hands "missing in the soapy water". Unfortunately, you have about a hundred things modifying a sentence that ends nowhere. A quick suggestion for things like this: find the conclusion of the sentence and then modify it.

I was madly in love with the idea that started here but burned out...I will rework it as I now realize what i was trying to say...


The waiter could take care of the few tables they had at three in the morning. She had recently attended to the scattering of customers at the bar; the snuggly couple at the end, close together on their seats with fresh golden pints; the boys just off work in their waiter's black and whites competeing for the two tourist girl's attention with amber shots of Jameson and black frothy pints of Guinness...she half heard the happy chatter of her customers. Everyone was content. Everyone but her. As she worked, her mind was elsewhere

You don't need the "As she worked". You set up the situation well. Chop that sentence down and you get a more lonely and far off tone.

Chop it and set it alone even perhaps. I didn't want her to seem lonely, just that she was longing for him...my perfect seduction is a scene where the seductee is aching to be seduced, has been made to wait and wonder.


Singing until she saw him, she looked up from the last glass at the beginning of the second chorus and caught him watching her in the hazy light. He was right there, sitting, watching her as she sang. She caught her self, almost gasping in delight as she looked up from the sink; her voice siezed midword. She sightlessly dipped the pint glass for a final rinse and was washed over with warmth for him as her eyes settled the face she most wanted to see, she drew her hand from the water.

As you write, you tend to lengthen out sentences needlessly. As you see, from my naration to you, it's a bit distracting. As you know, overuse of pronouns can get on the nerves of the reader as they read. Okay, that was rotten. Funny, though.

Fine advice and funny too. I have been murdering my bad habits over the last few years, you would have hated my younger stuff. Maybe.


Shorter sentences in this case would have better delivered the sense of excitment she was feeling. Also, the order of what you present in this paragraph needs an adjustment. Judging by your other story, I think you can make this work so much better, and I would enjoy seeing how you could re-work it.

I struggled with this one more than the last exercise. I was pushing myself for details...you were right about the ending of my fender bender scene, I didn't believe him either...wanted it to be done.

Okay, I am not going to deconstruct everything. I don't want to give you the wrong impression. For all my critisism you might think that this was the worst tale I had ever read. It isn't. It's not as well done as your other story, though.

I appreciate the blasting and the boosting, I have been going through some wierd personal stuff (directly concerning my current seductor) and I was a little irritated honestly at the timing of this subject matter. It would be a much better story if I felt more....sane about my own decisions.



Now for some random things...

Along with pronoun overuse, you tend towards the overuse of conjunctions. Get rid of them, rearrange the sentences and use commas instead. Okay, not all the time. You can't write a story with no conjunctions - just don't use them so much.

There were flowers all over the room and the radiant smell of soft petals hit her nose and erased all memory of the smoky bar, her daily existance. - The radiant smell of soft petals hit her nose. Flowers were strewn about the room, erasing the smells of her daily existance at the smelly bar.

Not perfect, I know, but I wanted to kind of give you an idea of what I meant.

I already touched on the "as" thing and you know about the pronoun thing. I think I'm done.

I have a sexually ambiguous co worker who wishes not to be referred to with gender specific pronouns...I caught them (as I affectionaly call her them, there seem to be two of her) in the dish pit saying "he she he she he she I JUST CAN"T WIN" We get along fine, I have addressed the difficulty of omitting pronouns, your sugggestions here have helped me with this even more.




Wrong! I am a long winded SOB, so you have to put up with one more thing...


I think you are sweet.


Remember to try to edit your writing according to mood, not just technical aspects. Try never to overuse any particular word or structure in any given paragraph. Too many commas, conjunctions, pronouns, repeated words or lengthy sentences can really kill a story.

You didn't kill your story...it just wasn't as good as I think you can manage.

Now I am done. Hah!

Thank you! I will see what I can do to fix it as I started off hating it and ended up kind of liking it too. Poor mistreated little story.

Thank you for giving me more direction than I seem to be capable of alone.

Julia

[H Dean]

My first story must have had a hundred sentences starting with "and". Had I known about this forum I would have avoided so many pitfalls. Fortunately, it all gets better with practice. Besides which, you are far better than I was in my first attempts at this stuff.

Check out my first published story here...http://www.bdsmlibrary.com/stories/s...p?storyid=3215

It was constructed terribly. It's a good thing I didn't review it. I would have been mercilous.

[H Dean]

I almost missed your commentary in the quotes.

I think you are sweet. - You

Here you have made an egregious error. I am a ruthless and cold hearted prick who has never been sweet in his life. So there! Grrrr.

[tessa]

Here you have made an egregious error. I am a ruthless and cold hearted prick who has never been sweet in his life. So there! Grrrr.

~laughs and laughs~ You wish, Mr. Dean...you wish.

[Dragon's muse]

I am not going to dwell on the majority of the technical gaffes - that's for Muse and I shant be the one to step on her toes...she might kick me.

A sweet, good-natured little simple subbie like me? Kick someone. You must be mistaking me for my evil twin. She is always getting me into trouble.

smooches,
rose

[Beswitchingly Positive]

Dragon's Muse

If you don't mind I would like to rework this. I hope this is no problem, so if you would rather wait and correct my second version, please feel free to skip this one. Or tell me I only get one chance per assignment and I will just do better next time. I am going to redo anyway.

Thanks
Julia

[Dragon's muse]

i do have to agree with Mr. Dean on the run on sentences and that this is probably not your finest hour as a writer. The basic story is good and with a serious rewrite this could be riveting in its dreamlike feel. The best way i have found to weed out the run-on sentences that wind up going nowhere is to read the work aloud. When you read silently, your mind puts in the pauses and even sometimes words you left out. Of course, YOU know what you meant to say; the reader doesn't. Pesky problems, like overuse of pronouns or other words or phrases will also show up in oral reading.

Long sentences are not automatically bad. One way to avoid that rambling feel they often have is to put the main subject and main predicate as close to the beginning of the sentence as possible.

Overall, the plot is good but remember. Writing is rewriting. Your first draft is almost never the best. Take the time to read over, read aloud, revise and polish your words and they will sparkle.

Again, this could be a riveting piece with some editing/rewriting time put into it. You have a good feel for creating a mood and a wonderful turn of descriptive phrases. On Barltleby.com you can find the text of The Elements of Style, by Strunk and White. It is my bible and seldom far from me while i am writing. i suggest you give it a read.

It was currently her favorite song on the jukebox; never liked country music before she had to work with that album on the box...the clipty clop of the rythm pulsed gently from the green neon machine, the way Luke walked the guitar carried it as she sang along softly and washed glasses.

Give something like this a try: The neon green jukebox pulsed out the clippity-clop rhythm of her new favorite song; she had never liked country music before. She sang along softly, washing glasses, as Luke walked the guitar.

Lost in a moment of music, her hands missing in the soapy water, backlit by the brighter lights shining on the big mirror and the shelf of bottles behind her, notes from the guitar sliding along with the words, her eyes half on the little dining room.

Try starting this sentence or sentences with her absently watching the dining room. Once you get the main subject and verb in you can modify anyway you wish since your main thought has been covered. [/B]

The waiter could take care of the few tables they had at three in the morning. She had recently attended to the scattering of customers at the bar; (should be a colon here. Semicolon separates two independent clauses)the snuggly couple at the end, close together on their seats with fresh golden pints; the boys just off work in their waiter's black and whites competeing for the two tourist girl's attention with amber shots of Jameson and black frothy pints of Guinness...(end the sentence here)she half heard the happy chatter of her customers. (change to a semicolon) Everyone was content. (change this period to a dash)Everyone but her. As she worked, her mind was elsewhere.

He stood at the smoky entrance in the open door and watched her washing glasses (delete, we already know she is washing glasses) for a moment before walking in.

In her free minutes, the minutes she washed glasses and lost complete focus on entertaining her little crowd, she allowed herself to think of Andrew. They had thoroughly enjoyed their last date. As always, they parted without further plans. As always she wondered when she would see him again. (the phrase "as always" twice in as many sentences. Words and phrases need their own territory just like animals do. If you use the same words too close together, the work will take on a sing-song sort of flow. This will make people focus on the rhythm rather than the ideas. Days had passed. She lost her self in the memory of his eyes; (should be a comma here, since what follows is a dependent clause rather than in independent clause)her hands moving mechanically through the hot sudsy water. She wondered when he would kiss her. They had parted reluctantly, only hugging, after each date. She relished it as she sand (just an eensy typo -- "sang" a favorite verse of that sad song...Begin a new sentence here)he sat at the bar unnoticed and could hear her soft singing...



Sitting quietly, he was glad that he had prepared his room for her. There was little doubt that she would say yes... (period here,

Singing until she saw him, (delete -- this takes away from the emotional impact of the sentence) she looked up from the last glass at the beginning of the second chorus and caught him watching her in the hazy light. He was right there, sitting, watching her as she sang.(change to "He was sitting there, watching her sing." Increases emotional impact. The shorter sentence indicates her abrupt departure from her dreamy state) She caught her self (one word, not two), almost gasping in delight as she looked up from the sink; her voice siezed midword. She sightlessly dipped the pint glass for a final rinse and was washed over with warmthend this sentence here and delete for him. Start your next sentence with "Her eyes. . . " for him as her eyes settled the face she most wanted to see, she drew her hand from the water.

He looked at (change to "into") her hazel green eyes wordlessly.
Blushing, as if he had heard her thoughts, she swallowed her smile, (delete the comma and replace it with "in" a vain attempt to look unsurprised. She could not lose his eyes.


That got her a playful frown; still, his eyes were smiling.(move "still" to between "were" and "smiling"

"You forgot my drink already?"

She smiled, said nothing, spun away; a ballerina in tight jeans and a black tank, lit in diaphanous cloud of light behind the bar, other people's cigarettes choking the clarity, she snagged a tall glass from the top shelf with one hand, the bottle of Goose with the other, turned back to the bar, put them down simultaneously, dipped down and grabbed the grapefruit juice from the cooler closing the door with her foot as she put the juice down next to the vodka, she looked him in the eye and he smiled as she blindly reached and filled the glass with ice, four count of vodka, then pink juice and threw it into the shaker and poured it back into the glass in a fluid rush without spilling a drop. (this needs to be at least 2 or 3 sentences instead of one.

No straw. The way he liked it. (delete -- adds nothing to the story or scene)

He thanked her. Dim smoke stained (hyphenate these two words)light from the little bulb on the track (delete this and the flow will be better)over the bar shined down on him like a halo. The rough blue-grey cinderblock wall behind him managed to catch some of the blue of his eyes; for the moment it looked more blue than grey. Cold blue eyes sent a tiny shiver up her spine. (Too many "blues" and "eyes" in this passage. consult a thesarus) Taking a small taste of her drink, he held her with those cool blues. (it is difficult to tell who is drinking here, rephrase somehow.) She waited.


Before she could think of anything clever to say, "I have no plans. (should be a comma here)" fell out of her mouth.


Hours had been spent thinking about this (Passive voice, move it to active with "He had spent hours thinking about this", and his heart was rushing secretly as he answered with silence. In order (delete, unnecessary) to maintian his cool composure, without a word (delete), before she could reconsider, he took his drink and hoisted the grey backpack and walked beautifully away from her. She watched his old faded jeans as he crossed the red paint on the concrete floor (change to red-painted concrete floor)to the table in the far corner of the dining room, turning quickly away as he chose his seat.

It was all she could do not to grab the hot spark, hold herself by the crotch knees buckling, and sink down to the floor behind the chrome keg cooler onto the black rubber matt behind the bar in the fetal position while his back was turned.

He took out his computer and placed it on the dingy brown table, seated himself on the chrome and red vinyl padded chair so that he could look up and watch her working, he was trying to forget there (delete, this confuses the sentence). Not staring too much, he had his own work to do (delete) and proceeded to get lost in his typing.

Ana attempted to dismiss him from her mind. She moved lightly between her customers carrying glasses, full and empty, back and forth, through the smell of Marlboro's mixed with beer, pizza, and summer drink-sweat. Glancing occasionally at his drink, she watched the slow progression of it's disappearence. She tried not to glance up above the bar at the icy glass over the face of the old clock in the iron frame as (replace with a semicolon)the hands did not seem to move... use a period here)

Ana's relief showed up fifteen minutes early, good old Christopher of the graveyard crew, he was never late for his torturous four am shift. She was happy to see him. She wanted the night to end so it could begin; yet she was nervous about the man with the blue eyes watching her from the corner table.

He made her feel fifteen.

She glanced at him past the other customers... (semicolon here)his look told her time was almost up.

She chased down all of the running tabs; avoiding talking to him about something as mundane as his drink price, she paid for Andrew (move this to immediately after the semicolon). She took the money from her shift and dumped it in a green zippered pouch. She crammed her tips into her black leather purse uncounted (move to right before "tips". Christopher came behind the bar and looked around.



"What'll it be, pretty lady?" Chris was a charmer. She smiled and asked for a Stoli Madras, (semicolon here)he made her a tall one. She could feel Andrew's hot eyes at her back, (semicolon here)she wanted him to come sit with her,(period here.) she could almost see in the mirror behind the bar... (semicolon here)she did not look, practicing patience. Patience, in turn, was straining at the leash, a dog in heat. She was trying so hard not to turn around or squirm in her seat she did not see him until he was next to her.

"No one can sneak up on me like you. change to comma" she smiled as he pulled up the next barstool.



"That is what you said." Her face was pink as a schoolgirl caught with no panties. He loved the combination of her cocky attitude and the guilty-innocent flush of her skin.

His eyebrow raised slightly. "That is what I'll do."

She felt a little more confident and her inner flirt toook charge.

"What else will you do.?"

"I will whisper that in your ear. Later." She could feel the heat coming off of him as he leaned in close and spoke inches from her ear, end sentence here.silently moaning in delight, as (delete) the hot tingle ran up her spine; she could feel the passion inside burning to a fever. Patience agonized over the fact that she drank faster than Andrew as he ordered another from Chris. Patience took her side again. She was the one who wanted to stay for one in the first place.





There were candles in glass jars all over the room. The dim flickering danced shadows of roses and baby's breath on the walls. There were flowers all over the room and the radiant smell of soft petals hit her nose (delete) and erased all memory of the smoky bar, her daily existance (existence). Everything in the room was white, white candles, walls, carpet, his bed was made with white sheets and pillows. All the color was in the blooms, dozens of white vases of red roses.




He ran his hand up the back of her neck gently and his fingers twisted in her hair as he got a grip at the base of her scalp. She inhaled sharply as he pulled her head back and kissed her neck roughly on the jugular.

"Now, I am taking you to my bed."

She smiled at him as he held her gaze with his eyes, still holding her hair in his hand. There was no arguement. He took her by the hand. She followed him through the door

[Beswitchingly Positive]

Thank you for all the help, rose and H Dean. That was a mess.

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Would you bring me a boquet of baby blue forget me nots?
the kind that are stolen
not the common kind store bought
Light me a candle, to La dy Dym ph na the saint?
and on your way out
could you please loosen my restraints?
Forget me not.
ForgetMeNot

Ana never liked country music before she had to work with that album on the jukebox; ‘Forgetmenot’ was currently her favorite song. The longing, lyric, twisted lovesong caught her ear; the clipty-clop of the rythm pulsed gently from the green neon machine. The soft melody of the guitar carried the song to the next verse. She sang along softly, standing at the sink, head bent, washing glasses.

Her attention was only half on the little dining room adjacent to her bar.
Lost in a moment of music, hands missing in the soapy water, she worked the glass up and down, mindlessly twisting it on the bottle brushes mounted in the bottom of the sink. Backlit by the brighter lights shining on the big mirror and the shelf of bottles, she enjoyed the hot water on her hands and the fluidity of the song, notes from the guitar sliding along with the words.

The waiter could take care of the few tables they had at three in the morning. She had recently attended to the scattering of customers at the bar: the snuggly couple at the end, close on thier seats had fresh golden pints, the boys just off work in their waiter's black and white competeing for the two tourist girl's attention with amber shots of Jameson and black frothy pints of Guinness. She half heard the happy chatter of her customers. Everyone was content-everyone but her.

Her mind was elsewhere.

He stood at the smoky entrance in the open door and watched her for a moment before walking in.

In her free minutes she did medetative menial tasks like washing dishes or cutting fruit and she allowed herself to think of Andrew. They had thoroughly enjoyed their last date. As always, they parted without further plans. As always she wondered when she would see him again. Days had passed. She lost her self in the memory of his eyes, his warm hands. Her hands moved mechanically through the hot sudsy water. She wondered when he would kiss her. They had parted reluctantly, only hugging, after each date. Singing, she pictured his face and relished it as the chords progressed to a her favorite verse of that sad song. He sat at the bar unnoticed, and heard her softly singing...

"I been waitin' and waitn'
in this
mad lone ly tower
for
you to come see me
during
vi si tor's hours

well, the head nurse
starts crying
and shaking
ev ry ti me I call your name

The detective, man, he's smiling
he says
"for this one,
sonny boy, you're gonna hang.

could ya bring me a boquet of ba-by blue forgetmenots..."

Sitting quietly he was glad that he had prepared his room. There was little doubt that she would say yes.

She looked up from the last glass at the beginning of the second chorus and caught him watching her in the hazy light. He had materialized out of the emptiness to sit there, watching her sing.

She caught her self, almost gasping in delight as she looked up from the sink; her voice siezed midword. Her heart stopped, she sightlessly dipped the pint glass for a final rinse and was washed over with warmth. Her eyes settled on the face she most wanted to see. She drew her hand slowly from the water.

He had entered quietly, always quiet. She had let him remain so, served him drinks for months before learning his name. More months of soft conversation had passed before their first date. Suddenly, sitting right in front of her, across the bar, he caught her off guard. Setting the glass next to the others, she fell into the liquid blue of his eyes. Time froze.

He looked into her hazel green eyes wordlessly. She had to abrubtly stop wondering when she might see him as it registered that he was here now. Blushing, as if he had heard her thoughts, she swallowed her smile in a vain attempt to look unsurprised. She could not lose his eyes.

Surely, no more than a second passed when time woke and slowly crept forward as he smiled, eyes lit with fire. The sound of Happy Talk Band flooded her head as sense of hearing came back, joined with the movement of time. "Light me a candle, to lady Dymph na, the saint...and on your way out, could you please loos en my retsraints? For get me not.""

The chatter of the other customers had faded in the background as his face glowed his mischievious grin. The light in the bar became slightly sharper as if his smile had dilated her eyes. Her own smile spilled out, sound of surprised greeting passed her lips, time jerked back on its track.

The hello she managed sounded like a hiccup.

Regaining composure quickly, she jerked herself back into professional posture. "What can I get for you baby?" same way she always said it, same way she said it to everyone.

That got her a playful frown; his eyes were still smiling.

"Forgot my drink already?"

She beamed at him for a second, said nothing, spun away; a ballerina in tight jeans and a black tank in diaphanous light behind the bar. She was an angel in a cloud of other people's cigarettes. Snagging a tall glass from the top shelf with one hand, the bottle of Goose with the other, turning back to the bar, she gracefully put them down in front of him. She dipped down and grabbed the grapefruit juice from the cooler, closing the door with her foot as she put the juice down next to the vodka. She looked him in the eye. He smiled as she blindly scooped, filled the glass with ice, four count of vodka, big slpash of pink juice, threw it into the shaker and poured it back into the glass. She was a fluid rush of motion, not wasting a drop.

She carefully laid a white barnap on the blonde, polished wood in front of him. She picked up his drink in her right hand and looked at him as she pressed the cold glass toward her cleavage before presenting the perfectly blended beverage and setting it in the center of the napkin as if it were a personal offering from her heart.

He thanked her. Dim smoke-stained light from the little bulb over the bar shined down on him like a halo. The rough grey cinderblock wall behind him managed to catch some of the color of his eyes; for a moment it looked more blue than grey. Cold blue eyes sent a tiny shiver up her spine. Tasting her drink, he held her with a steady look. She waited.

No compliment, he got right to the point with a firm low voice, "What are your plans after work?"

Before she could think of anything clever to say "I have no plans," fell out of her mouth.

He stared at her. "I am taking you home with me tonight."

Her heart was pounding, ears burning, face red. His words pinned her feet to the floor and her cunt clenched. In a shy whisper she managed to respond, "You'll have to wait for me. I have an hour left."

He had spent hours thinking about this, and his heart was rushing secretly. He answered with silence. Maintaining his cool composure, before she could reconsider, he took his drink, hoisted his grey backpack and walked beautifully away from her.

She watched his old faded jeans and dark blue shirted back as he distanced himself. He crossed the red painted concrete floor to the table in the far corner of the dining room. She turned away quickly as he chose his seat.

It was all she could do not to grab herself by the crotch knees buckling, and sink down to the floor behind the chrome keg cooler onto the black rubber matt behind the bar in the fetal position while his back was turned.

He sat, took laptop from backpack and placed it on the dingy brown table. He choose the chrome and red vinyl padded chair in the corner deliberately, wanting a view of the bar, so he could look up and watch her working. Not staring too long, he was soon lost in his typing.

Ana attempted to dismiss him from her mind. She moved lightly between her customers carrying bottles and glasses, full and empty, back and forth through the smell of Marlboro's mixed with beer, pizza, and summer drink-sweat. Glancing occasionally at his drink, she watched the slow progression of it's disappearence.

She tried not to glance above the bar at the icy glass cold face of the old clock in the iron frame; the hands did not seem to move.

Ana's relief showed up fifteen minutes early, good old Christopher of the graveyard crew, never late for the torturous four am shift. She was happy to see him.

She wanted the night to end so it could begin; yet she was nervous about the man with the blue eyes watching her from the corner table.

He made her feel fifteen. Her stomach tightened up, her mind replayed his statement; I am taking you home with me tonight. It caused a fever in the wet cleft between her legs.

Glancing up at him past the other customers she caught his eye; his look told her time was almost up.

She chased down all of the running tabs; she paid for Andrew’s, avoiding talking to him about something as mundane as his drink price. She took the money from her shift and dumped it in a green zippered pouch. She crammed her uncounted tips into her black leather purse. Christopher came behind the bar with his bank and looked around.

"Look's good, as always, Anastasia, you're a peach. Damn, did you have time to polish the bottles?"

"Yep, not too busy tonight, hope you brought a book."

"Stay for a game of chess?"

"Not tonight Chris. I have plans."

She paused, her mind darted around this statement like a hummingbird, extracting the sweetness and meaning of the words.

"One drink, after I count out."

He looked at her questioningly as she quickly put her finger to her lips giving him a shush, Ana took her money and went to the back.

Andrew watched the new bartender take the girl's' place. His eyes followed as she vanished into the back office with the bank. He was leaning back in his chair with his an eye on the scuffed door when she emerged. He gave her a slight nod. She held up an index finger signalling 'one' and pointing at the bar, hoping he would get the signal that she wanted one drink, that it was the proper thing to do. Midshift can’t just abandon graveyard. He smiled and nodded again, mirroring her gesture then turned back to the screen to wrap up his work.

She sat at the end of the bar with her back to Andrew's corner.

"What'll it be, pretty lady?" Chris was a charmer. She smiled and asked for a Stoli Madras; he made her a tall one. She could feel Andrew's hot eyes at her back; she wanted him to come sit with her. She could almost see him in the mirror behind the bar. She did not look; practicing patience. Patience in turn was straining at the leash, a dog in heat. Trying so hard not to turn around or squirm in her seat, she did not see him until he was next to her.

She almost jumped when he touched her back.

"No one can sneak up on me like you," she smiled as he pulled up the next barstool.

"Only one of my super powers." he said it quietly, close to her ear, so only she could hear-so Christopher would not hear, well aware that Chris had also been watching her, looking at her ass in those jeans every chance. Ana was oblivious to everyone but Andrew. His quiet voice was a wave that drowned the chatter of the crowd and went into her head. She loved the way he said things.

"Hmmm, what else you got?"

"I am taking you home with me tonight."

"That is what you said." Her face was pink, a schoolgirl caught with no panties. He loved the combination of her cocky attitude and the guilty-innocent flush of her skin.

His eyebrow raised slightly. "That is what I'll do ."

She felt a little more confident and her inner flirt toook charge.

"What else will you do.?"

"I will whisper that in your ear. Later."

She could feel the sparks coming off of him as he leaned in close and spoke the hot words in her ear. Silently moaning in delight, the tingle ran up her spine; she could feel the passion inside burning to a fever.

Patience agonized over the fact that she drank faster than Andrew as he ordered another from Chris. Patience took her side again, reasoning she was the one who wanted to stay for a drink in the first place, and they had rushed nothing before tonight. She relaxed and enjoyed being near Andrew.

They sat and chatted with Chris for a half hour. Andrew’s second drink went down faster. He declined another round and looked her in the eye and simply asked "Ready?"

"Yes, baby. Let's go."

He drove to his place. The house had been scoured, every corner was clean. Ana was known for her clean bar; he did not want her to think him messy. The maid cancelling this week had not upset him. He had to do this himself. He had washed all the tiles in the kitchen and baths, found time to steam clean the rugs. It was for himself as much as her, he liked his place clean.

Silently they entered. It looked like a hospital with mood lighting, not the bachelor pad she expected at all. The surfaces were white, walls, floors, carpet, spartan white furniture and dark wood cabinetry, stark, simple space. There was almost no furniture, a white futon in the living room, chrome stools around the island counter in the open kitchen where he never cooked...There was a faint smell of lavender and...clean. She was silent.

She felt the lonely existance led in that still white house.

"Want the tour?"

It was more a proceedural offer to break the silence than a question.

She followed him as he gave each room a wave and a name, "living room, kitchen, bathroom, my nerve center the office, guest bedroom, my room..."

He opened the door to his bedroom, and Ana felt faint.

Candles in glass jars adorned every surface; dresser, armoire, and bed tables. Dim flickering danced shadows of roses and baby's breath on the white walls. Radiant smell of soft petals hit her, erasing all memory of the smoky bar, the stench of her daily existence. Roses in vases, strewn about, splashed vivid red in her vision. Lavender scented candles intermingled salaciously with the musky fumes from the roses. The room was white despite the dark heavy furniture, white candles, walls, carpet, bed made with white sheets and pillows. All reds and white and black, except for one detail.

On the white bed was a single bunch, different from all the perfect fragrant roses. These were hand picked from a neighbors garden.

A boquet of baby blue forgetmenots.

She looked at him, her gaze soft as she blinked the beginning of a tear away. He put his arms around her and pulled her close, she inhaled deeply, her face on his chest.

"Andrew. Your place is beautiful."

He ran his hand up the back of her neck gently and his fingers twisted in her hair as he got a grip at the base of her scalp. She inhaled sharply as he pulled her head back and kissed her neck roughly on the jugular. Nails sank into his arms as his lips traced up to her burning ears. She held on as he moved her head roughly, lips and tongue found the hot spots along the nape of her neck, responding to her breathing and voice as sounds of ecstasy passed her own. Warm lips pulled away as he held her by the hair nice and tight and met her eyes. He told her something she already knew.

“The roses have their thorns.”

She smiled as he held her with his gaze, with his hand, her nails still in his flesh.

“I know Andrew, mine do too”

[Dragon's muse]

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Would you bring me a boquet (bouquet) of baby blue forget me nots?


Ana never liked country music before she had to work with that album on the jukebox; ‘Forgetmenot’ was currently her favorite song. The longing, lyric, twisted lovesong (two words) caught her ear; the clipty-clop of the rythm (rhythm) pulsed gently from the green neon machine.






In her free minutes (add "while" here) she did medetative menial tasks like washing dishes or cutting fruit and she allowed herself to think of Andrew.

As always, they parted without further plans. As always she wondered when she would see him again. Lose one of the "as always". Using the same word or phrase too close together gives a sing-song feel and can take the reader out of the story and into a rhythm



She caught her self (one word), almost gasping in delight as she looked up from the sink; her voice siezed (seized)midword.



Regaining composure quickly, she jerked herself back into professional posture. "What can I get for you, baby?" same way she always said it, same way she said it to everyone.





Before she could think of anything clever to say, "I have no plans," fell out of her mouth.










Silently, they entered.


She felt the lonely existance (existence) led in that still white house.


It was more a proceedural (procedural) offer to break the silence than a question.



On the white bed was a single bunch, different from all the perfect fragrant roses. These were hand picked from a neighbors garden.

A boquet (bouquet) of baby blue forgetmenots.

Fantastic rewrite. Just a few minor spellings dings and commas here and there. I am proud of you.

[Beswitchingly Positive]

rose,

Thank you! I could have sworn I looked up bouquet, and I thought I caught the rest, ah well, I am taking more time with the next assignment...I wanted to ask if there is a standard way to write out song lyrics in this context? I imagine is it necessary to get permission from the band (I know one of the guys from happy talk, so I could get permission to use the words in this case) Also I was trying to write the words to sound like the song, you could hear it on myspace, happytalkband has it on their page, if you are inclined and have the time.

This device might only work with popular well known songs (I seem to remember Stephen king uses pop music quotes now and then) where the melody just pops into one's head.

The next piece is in the works, I am taking your red marks seriously and I am detemined to catch my errors and do a couple of rewrites before posting.

That you are proud of me feels really nice. Thank you for all of your help.

julia

[Dragon's muse]

Very nice rewrite. You can have as many chances at any idea as you like. That is how your learn. Writing is rewriting. i would sooner die than post my original drafts of any story. The creative process comes first. Then you can go back and take the time to whip it into shape.

i will go over this rewrite in more detail in the morning. But it looks good at just a glance.

rose

[Beswitchingly Positive]

rose,


I am posting rough stuff, but I would rather die than not learn how to do better. I will take more time with the new assignment.

Your time in reviewing my work is greatly appreciated, you have given me so much.

Julia

[Dragon's muse]

i usuallly just put lyrics in italics. If it is a particularly long passage i might set them up to be centered instead of left alligned.

[Clevernick]

The second version is much better than the first!

I too am really impressed with your ability to create an atmosphere, not just of sights, sounds, smells, but also of emotions, anticipation, words unspoken. These things cannot be taught, and you have them.

Strunk and White is an excellent recommendation from the resident editor, and if you get the second or third edition, is only about 70 pages long and can easily be read over and over.

Your run-on sentences (ROS) have been largely edited back into correctness in the second version -- excellent! Much much better. Use of semicolons and periods now makes things easier to read. There are a few left -- go back and be merciless, I say! I'll point them out for you if you ask, but I think you can find them yourself.

A good way to check both for ROS and sentence fragments is to look for the presence of a verb. Each sentence is allowed one verb or verb phrase, no more, no less. If you see none, it's a sentence fragment. If you see two, it's two sentences. If you want it to remain one, use a semicolon or dash or colon to glue them together. In my view, a semicolon glues two thoughts that come in rapid sequence. Dash does the same, but with a pause for thought between the two. Colon shows a certain logical relationship between the two, sometimes replacing "since" or "therefore".

Your paragraph breaks look good as they are! I thought at first that the paragraphs looked short, perhaps could be combined--but they are exactly right. Your paragraphs are just short, and it builds the atmosphere.

Hope to hear from you on my stories sometime!

Best,

[Beswitchingly Positive]

Thank you for looking this over. I have always had a thing for ROS's, I love love love Kerouc. I know I should not do it.

My paragraphs are deliberately short, as per some advice I read somewhere on writing for the internet format. It makes it easier to read on a screen. I know I can follow a piece easier if the paragraphs are short, on the screen I look at so much my eyes burn. Paper is becoming more obsolete and it is changing the way people write.

The compliments you left on all my work in this level, so kind, I rarely blush, somehow you have manged to make me pink.

Meow.

BP