Writing Exercise #1: Retail

[Roney]

I may have hinted that my deadline reflex is... counterproductive in my original post but I really hoped to be ready to get the ball rolling a little sooner than this.  Anyway, here we are.

This is the purpose of this post:

• There is a topic that is intended to inspire or challenge you to produce some fiction.  Write something and post it in reply if you're interested.  (If the topic doesn't interest you, just ignore it.)
• Short posts are good.  Really: the shorter, the better, for any number of reasons.  Ideally you want to write just enough that there's some prose to critique.  Rule of thumb: around 250 words.
• Don't post anything that you might want to sell: this is a public forum and will count as first publication to many editors. (The brevity of submissions should reduce the problems here.)
• Please critique the stories that people post if you have a reaction to them.  If there are bits you like, say what you like about them.  If there are bits that you don't like, say it.  But be specific: explain why you reacted; quote examples.
• Be honest, but err on the side of tact.

Topic #1: A scene in a retail setting between a vendor and a purchaser.

This being an Escape Artists forum, the retail setting could anywhere between a mediaeval marketplace and a space station Zero-G Arena.  Assume no constraints other than the guidelines above.  Go where your inspiration takes you.

[ryos]

"Excuse me," said a sour-looking woman to Dieter as he passed. "Does anything look out of place here to you?" He stopped, caught off his guard, and looked around. The woman was standing in front of an empty refrigerated shelf.

Dieter sighed as he contemplated the empty shelf. Of course, shelves weren't supposed to be empty. Would he really have to explain it to the robots? They'd never failed him before, not like this. Not, at least, until last week, when a stockroom bot had knocked over a huge pile of cereal boxes as it whizzed past. It wasn't that they never made mistakes; often, they would screw things up simply by doing exactly as they were told, but this...this was something else entirely.

"Are you even listening to me?" Dieter's attention snapped back to the irate customer before him. "I have been coming to this store for five years. I come here for this—" she said, jabbing a thumb at the empty shelf, "—salad. Five years, and you've never once been out. Not even once!"

"I'm sorry, ma'am—"

"Yes, I know you're sorry! You're always 'sorry'. Your stock robot was rude to me, actually rude! If this establishment can't even keep control of its robots, it should come as no surprise that the employees..." Dieter's eyes focused beyond the enraged woman's face. A cleaning robot was ambling up the isle, swabbing the tile with its mop attachment. As it came abreast of the pair, it slipped—actually slipped!—on the slick of water it had just created. Dieter watched in slow motion as the robot careened, arms flailing in a futile attempt to steady itself—and clocked the woman over the head with the mop. She fell, sickeningly, to the ground.

"Oops," the robot muttered, "how clumsy." Dieter stared, aghast. Had it really just winked?

---
 I just saw WALL•E. I must have robots on the brain or something.

(Fantastic movie, by the way. Pixar's winning streak continues!)

[Roney]

I liked this a lot.  The customer's lines read very naturally: I thought they combined establishing the character, developing the scene and portraying idiomatic use of English excellently, without favouring one task over the others.  (See below for my own attempt, where dialogue has to carry too much weight of plot.)

I liked Dieter's character as well.  He's entirely passive throughout: the initial "stopped" is the only thing he does, then it's "looked", "contemplated", "attention snapped back", "focused", "watched" and "stared".  In terms of verbs, this is a scene between the customer and the robot.  Dieter just observes what's going on and adds his personal interpretation so that the reader, in an unfamiliar situation, knows what's normal and what isn't.  His Generation Y passivity extends to the time that he contemplates doing some work: "Would he really have to explain it to the robots?"  It could get wearing eventually, but I find Dieter's disengagement strangely engaging.

Two small details niggled.  One is structural: the misbehaving robots are in evidence from the first half of the second paragraph and really very obvious by the end of it, yet the scene ends with a line that suggests that robot misbehaviour is a surprise to Dieter.  Dramatically, the final line falls a bit flat for me.  I think it would have worked better if there had been either (a) fewer signposts earlier in the story to robots being responsible for the trouble or (b) some indication that the robot's wink implied collusion with Dieter.  Option (a) turns the end of the scene into the climax of a small but satisfying story in its own right; option (b) hints at intriguing potential developments to follow.

I think the second niggle only jumped out at me because I'd just spotted something similar in my own response to the exercise.  It's the description "sour-looking".  If the narrator is omniscient (and judgemental), a character can simply be described as "sour".  If the narrator is a proxy for Dieter and relating his opinions (however he came about them) a character can be "sour".  If the narrator is an impartial recorder of what Dieter sees and hears, a character can have "a face like a bulldog chewing a wasp" but her inner mental state can't be known.  "Sour-looking" smacks of having one's cake and eating it: "this character is sour, and I can say so because her sourness is transparently expressed on her face".  A limited word-count makes this sort of combination really tempting, but I think it weakens a story.

[Roney]

The morose customer flashed Sally a plausible smile as he placed his goods and his ID chip on the counter.  "Just these, please."

"You cheered up quickly," said Sally as the counter's scanner totalled the purchases.

He really did grin then.  "Not convinced by the smile, huh?  But my shitty day isn't any of your business.  It doesn't excuse getting moody with retail staff.  You must have enough to endure as it is."

"Oh no, I like it here.  I make more than minimum wage, the owner's nice, and I get to meet all sorts.  Are these for yourself or a gift?  We have some nice gift boxes."

The man hesitated, then said "They're a gift for the man who's been sleeping with my wife."

Sally couldn't suppress a mischievous smile.  "I hope his Resurrection Plan is up-to-date.  And comprehensive."

"I hope it's not," he said sourly.

Sally feigned shock.  "I'll pretend I didn't hear that.  But are you sure you want to use something this messy?  We have an offer on the Tesla PP3 at the moment.  It's compact, quiet and... clinical."

"Messy suits me fine."  This time his smile was deeply unpleasant.

"And will your wife be getting the other barrel?"

"No, I still love her.  She seems to be attracted to this guy because he's an asshole.  Maybe if I show that I can be an asshole too, she won't need to stray again."

Against her better judgement, Sally said, "It doesn't work like that for most women.  You cheat with the assholes, but you don't want one waiting for you when you get home."

The customer's scowl came slamming back down.  "Like I said, my shitty day isn't any of your business."

There was an awkward pause while the computer finished the background check on his ID.

"That's 205.98," said Sally.

The customer placed his thumb in the reader, swept his purchases into a bag, and stomped out of the shop.

[ryos]

Thanks for the reply! I appreciate the feedback. I'll return the favor when I've had some more sleep, but for now I'd like to ask for clarification on one thing:

I think the second niggle only jumped out at me because I'd just spotted something similar in my own response to the exercise.  It's the description "sour-looking".  If the narrator is omniscient (and judgemental), a character can simply be described as "sour".  If the narrator is a proxy for Dieter and relating his opinions (however he came about them) a character can be "sour".  If the narrator is an impartial recorder of what Dieter sees and hears, a character can have "a face like a bulldog chewing a wasp" but her inner mental state can't be known.  "Sour-looking" smacks of having one's cake and eating it: "this character is sour, and I can say so because her sourness is transparently expressed on her face".  A limited word-count makes this sort of combination really tempting, but I think it weakens a story.

I was attempting to write the story in a "third-person limited" POV, which means (at least to me) that the narrator is not only an impartial recorder of what Dieter sees and hears, but also of what he thinks. In this case, the characterization of the woman as "sour looking" is supposed to imply that it's Dieter who thinks she looks sour.

My question is, am I off my rocker here? If it wasn't obvious from my story I haven't written much fiction, so I'd appreciate correction on this if I'm wrong.

[Roney]

I think the second niggle only jumped out at me because I'd just spotted something similar in my own response to the exercise.  It's the description "sour-looking".  If the narrator is omniscient (and judgemental), a character can simply be described as "sour".  If the narrator is a proxy for Dieter and relating his opinions (however he came about them) a character can be "sour".  If the narrator is an impartial recorder of what Dieter sees and hears, a character can have "a face like a bulldog chewing a wasp" but her inner mental state can't be known.  "Sour-looking" smacks of having one's cake and eating it: "this character is sour, and I can say so because her sourness is transparently expressed on her face".  A limited word-count makes this sort of combination really tempting, but I think it weakens a story.

I was attempting to write the story in a "third-person limited" POV, which means (at least to me) that the narrator is not only an impartial recorder of what Dieter sees and hears, but also of what he thinks. In this case, the characterization of the woman as "sour looking" is supposed to imply that it's Dieter who thinks she looks sour.

My question is, am I off my rocker here? If it wasn't obvious from my story I haven't written much fiction, so I'd appreciate correction on this if I'm wrong.

No, there's nothing wrong with what you've written.  In the middle of a long, engaging passage, it wouldn't even raise an eyebrow.  It only drew my attention because I was looking closely at a short text.

This is the chain of reasoning that made me draw away from "sour-looking": things don't look sour, they taste sour; using sour to describe a character's appearance therefore counts as metaphor; but it's a metaphor that has been heard so often that it's really a cliché.  (In fact it's such an old cliché that it's not easy to recognize as such.)  It's difficult to tell in such a short piece whether the cliché is in the mouth of the character or the author.

If it's clear in your mind (and would be clear to the reader in a longer piece) that the third-person narrator is a mouthpiece for one of the characters, then you should feel free to use any language that expresses your character's beliefs, level of education, desires, etc.  Use "sour-looking" if it's the way Dieter would describe the woman.  Otherwise, if the narrator is meant to be an impersonal voice that more closely reflects the author's opinions, I'd err every time towards one of (a) plain, factual descriptions or (b) original metaphors.  Well-worn metaphors in the author's voice often indicate well-worn ideas at the heart of the story, and will put readers off.

As ever, there's no harm in doing it if you're sure you know what you're doing.  In the context of this short piece, it twitched my "are you sure?" response.

[ryos]

Sorry for the long delay in making good on my promise of feedback. Better late than never, right?

First, the good. You did a credible job of establishing the setting, world, and characters in a short space. I liked how the nature of the venue revealed itself gradually through the conversation, and found the cashier's personality engaging.

I also enjoyed the implicit hook, namely: if we develop the technology to bring back the dead, what will that do to society? Unfortunately, this strength is also the story's greatest weakness, because it's too big for the format and you don't have room to take it far enough. In fact, the word count limit is so tight that I don't feel like you even had time to really develop the one facet of the question that you chose.

So, the customer confesses intent to murder, expressing a hope that it sticks. (How stupid is this guy? He may as well ask a cop along to watch the fun.) The clerk's reaction implies that this is both not a big deal in this society and that it ought to be. It would seem that not everyone has resurrection insurance, and under such circumstances it is simply unthinkable to reduce first-degree murder to assault and battery. In this society you don't punch the guy that's doing your wife...you shoot him in the head, and that's OK?

But the questions don't stop there. Who can afford resurrection insurance? Does this technology let us live forever? Can only the rich and powerful use it that way? Wouldn't this also allow us to eradicate all disease? What would that do to society? Where's the rub, the fine print, the hidden cost?

Maybe I'm asking too much of a 300-word story. I'm certainly not suggesting you should have been able to tackle all of those questions in this format. I am, perhaps, suggesting that there may be an aspect of the theme that is small enough to fit in a 300-word story, and that this may not be it. I use weasel words because I don't think I'm smart enough about this stuff to state it absolutely, but that's my feeling.

As far as flaws in the prose, you yourself pointed out the only ones I could find. Namely, that the dialog felt unnatural at times due to the need to make the pair say the things that get the exposition done. I personally don't see any problem with dialog carrying the whole plot, as long as it's done naturally. Other than that (easily fixed) issue, I think your prose is good.

Edit: Do you read Schlock Mercenary? I ask because these issues (what effect does the technology to live forever have on an individual, and on society?) form a driving, overarching theme throughout all of the storylines. It's also a really good webcomic and worth linking to.

[ryos]

I wanted to take another crack at this, and spend more than 20 minutes on it this time. Rather than rewrite my first post, I decided to try something completely different.

I hope that's OK.
-----------------------
"Small Consolation"

Devon felt the sound of the market like the pulsing of blood in his ears. The rattle of carts drawn by beasts of burden mingled with the hum of a hundred conversations and a thousand flies. Shopkeepers hawked at full volume, always insistent, repetitive, and unoriginal. He strained to isolate individual sounds from the cacophony and combine them in unique ways. Sound was trickier to manipulate than raw air, and this homework was killing him.

A voice rose to the tip of the mass and breached the bubble of his concentration. "I can give you what you want," it said. Devon started and looked around. His eyes found a woman in a plain booth, selling pretty pottery, staring at him.

He approached and cleared his throat. "Yes? And what is it I want?"

She smiled a full, deep smile. "I can prove that you have a soul." Devon's eyes grew wide for a moment before he managed to regain his composure. The existence of the soul was all but disproved for lack of proof, though many had tried. If he could prove it...his name would be on the lips of teacher and student, forever.

"How much?" he asked, as calmly as he could manage.

Her smile faltered slightly. "A piece of the same." Devon deflated. At that price she was lying. And crazy! Nevertheless, he wanted to hear what she had to say; it may be entertaining.

He put out his hand. "Deal, I guess," he said. The shopkeeper hesitated a beat, then took his hand. As her flesh contacted his, the world swam away from his view. For a moment, he held his future firstborn in his arms, and found himself unable to love her. The vision faded in an instant, replaced by a view of the promised proof.

He told his wife that he would not have discovered what he truly wanted had the woman not taken it from him. On some days, the fame helped him to believe it.

[TristanPEJ]

I tried to cut it down as much as I could but couldn't go below 390 words

-----------------

I parked my car on the side of the road. It was Eleven O'clock on a Friday night and after a particularly unsuccessful date and I needed a six pack and some Player's. For a brief moment I was out in the autumn night before I was inside the small convenience store with the little door bell you've heard a million times.

The store owner's eyes seemed to follow me as I made my way to the back of the store to the refrigerator. I remember debating with myself over wanting to spend a few extra bucks on the good stuff or just go with the cheap crap. I took the pack of cans off the metal shelf and turned for the counter, the store owner's eyes still on me.

It was in this moment I started to pick out that this shopkeeper looked ill, he was sweating and seemed rather distant despite his eyeing of me. I asked him for a pack of Player's and he nodded, not saying a word until everything was on the counter and he wanted me to pay him, apparently anxious to see me go.

I fished out a couple bills and as it seemed that both of us had been having a bad night I told him to keep the change. I opened the pack of Player’s right there at the stand and pulled out one of the fresh cigarettes I had just bought. A slight fumble and it fell from my fingers and hit the floor. I wasn't too concerned; it's a dirty habit anyway.

I knelt down to pick up the dropped coffin nail when I noticed something odd under the counter. There was a hand was resting on the floor under the counter. I knelt down further to get a better look to find that this shopkeeper had a man crouched beside him, masked and holding a switch blade to the poor sap just out of sight from where I had stood a moment before.

What did I do? I'd like to say I did some heroic gesture or something, but no; I did what deep down in your survival instinct core you know you’d have done in my spot. I picked that cigarette up, put the brown end in my mouth, stood up, nodded, and was on my way.

[Roney]

First, the good. You did a credible job of establishing the setting, world, and characters in a short space. I liked how the nature of the venue revealed itself gradually through the conversation, and found the cashier's personality engaging.

Thank you.  As the idea developed while I was writing it, I realised I was caught between my intentions (a single scene, whether self-contained or self-evidently an excerpt from something longer), what it ought to have been (a writing exercise), what it wanted to turn into (a full-fledged flash fiction piece, which it wasn't quite interesting enough to deserve) and the self-imposed word limit.  That's a lot of stools, and the thing that falls between stools is usually a turd.

Anyway, in the couple of redrafts that the scene got, the things that I really wanted to salvage were (a) the framing story that's hinted at, (b) the familiarity and unfamiliarity of the future retail environment and (c) above all, the chance that it could almost be read as a story in its own right.  That any of those elements survived the compromises is gratifying.

I also enjoyed the implicit hook, namely: if we develop the technology to bring back the dead, what will that do to society? Unfortunately, this strength is also the story's greatest weakness, because it's too big for the format and you don't have room to take it far enough. In fact, the word count limit is so tight that I don't feel like you even had time to really develop the one facet of the question that you chose.

You're absolutely right that the "big" exposition (my quotes) is the most important thing that I had to leave out.  I figured that there have been enough stories dealing with rejuvenation, backups and resurrection in the last decade or two that it could be left out.  What's terribly obvious to me when I read the piece a month later is that the small exposition is missing.  The hints at the social context just aren't enough to make the scene work -- any dramatic effect is lost because the reader doesn't know what's meant to be dramatic,

Edit: Do you read Schlock Mercenary? I ask because these issues (what effect does the technology to live forever have on an individual, and on society?) form a driving, overarching theme throughout all of the storylines. It's also a really good webcomic and worth linking to.

I haven't before, but I think I will now.

[Coyote]

Damn, I just re-checked the guidelines and realized it was 250 words, not 500. But I didn't really feel comfortable trimming this one any more.

------------------------------------------------------

Erik checked his watch for what seemed like the hundredth time. The digital display stared back at him. 10:28. Groaning, he reached beneath the counter for his notebook and began idly writing down his thoughts, primarily for a book, something of a sequel to The Communist Manifesto. Erik glanced down at the words he had just written. Most of them were dull enough to make even the most enthusiastic publisher run screaming from the room. Or at least, that’s what Erik thought. He had never actually had the courage to send any of his scribblings to a publisher. Too busy entertaining the lively crowd here, no doubt.

He scanned the few shelves lined with ho-hos, Dorritos, and other coronary-inducing culinary treats that comprised the Frog Pond grocery store. Not exactly known for its variety, or enthusiastic service, Erik was beginning to suspect that the Frog Pond wasn’t even known at all, if the past four hours were any indication. He checked his watch for what seemed like the hundredth and first time. 10:31. “Alright, that’s it. I have things to do and places to be.” He announced to the empty air. If the air had been capable of response, it no doubt would’ve given him a skeptical look. Even Erik knew that Erik’s life was no 24/7 party extravaganza, but still, he was sick to death of standing around listening to alternative rock. There are only so many times any sane person can listen to “Hey there Delilah” before experiencing the urge to start fights with inanimate objects.

Just as he was pulling together his meager belongings, the door opened and a little electronic chime went off. So unexpected was this chime, that Erik gave a jump usually reserved for those who had just found a particularly unexpected creature in their shoes. The man who walked in was dressed in a full-length trench-coat and smelled vaguely like ozone. Erik watched him suspiciously. The man wandered the shelves, examining various items before putting them back, and occasionally glanced over at Erik. Great, Erik thought, a browser. He has seen these types before, the kind that wanders into a store and spends the next fifteen minutes trying to decide on a particular brand of snack cake. This man continued his browsing for roughly ten minutes, finally, after checking his watch, he dropped the item he had been examining and walked briskly out the door. To say Erik was peeved would greatly belittle his level of annoyance with this man. So great was his irritation that he failed to glance out the window at the man, who began glowing with a bright blue light before being sucked into a tiny wormhole capable of making vast leaps through time.

 If Erik had, it probably would’ve only put a greater strain on his mind, which was preoccupied thinking of interesting names to call his cat and writing them down in his notebook. “Goddamn time waster” didn’t really have a ring to it, but it was better than what his original idea had been. Somehow “Overthrowing the bourgeoisie” didn’t really do it for him.

It wasn’t until Erik was stuck in traffic on the freeway, listening to the radio blare on about a multiple lane pile-up that had claimed over ten lives, that he decided enough was enough. He was going to finish his book, and send it in to be published. Anything to break the damn monotony.