headexplode's profile
AGE:
26
LOC: Suitland, MD
GEN: Male
LAST LOGIN: April 20
LOC: Suitland, MD
GEN: Male
LAST LOGIN: April 20
Been writing stories since I was about seven years old, as it was one of the few things that made much sense to me, and still is, though the person writing them now is much different than the boy who wrote ghost stories in elementary and middle school. I’m hoping to connect with other writers, and to share in their knowledge and experience, to gain insight I might not otherwise have access to.
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Version 1
5 Reviews
5 Comments
Transfixed by the spectacle, lost in its multitude of textures and colors—a jostling sea of greens and blues and reds and purples and oranges jockeying for attention, clamoring for that perfect fit, that special customer—a young man stands in the middle of the aisle, forcing throngs of holiday humbugs to maneuver around him as his mind struggles to comprehend the chaotic order of a department store three weeks before Christmas. The light from the fluorescent bulbs overhead gives everything th...
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What I like best about this piece are the details-the subtle attention to detail enriches this story in such a way as to paint a vivid image of "Prudence" and her life in Charlesville. Her relationship with her father is illustrated quite effectively when she says that, to her father, she was almost nameless, she "was only pastels and hospital creased sheets and lace curtains and the quiet girl with circles under her eyes," which was elaborated further when she says that her father and her "h...
There is a rhythm to this piece that enchants me in some way-which is odd considering the tone-it somehow takes away the sting of the harsh sentiments expressed: the character "hates them," this "certain breed of female/who, like tiny, inbred dogs,/would be lost without their people." I wonder if she is a member of that "certain breed," and is angered by that, or if she is an outside observer, a stranger in some medieval time warp. I wonder if she doesn't feel a little sorry for them. I like ...
We know the character's condition in the first paragraph, his obsession with numbers, with cleanliness, which is tough to do in a short piece like this. You accomplished what you set out to do-you didn't need to tell the reader the character is obsessive-compulsive, we know from the way he counts his steps and how he knows the width of the hardwood runners. The syntax is marked by short words, short sentences, interrupted thoughts, which fits well with the character's condition. The repetitio...
This is certainly a mighty dilemna for Clifton-if he tells Sam his secret, then he no longer is its owner, he no longer has control. He hopes "that everything he knew he had to say could be said without words," that he "could just make Sam feel it," and we've all felt that before, knowing that our words could never possibly live up to what we really want to say, and that when we finally say it, there is no place to hide, anymore. The akwardness is captured quite well in the body language of t...
This is one of the more interesting stories I've read in some time. The prose is sparse, but detailed, and there are few instances of unnecesary or cumbersome narrative. Descriptions of scenery abound, to great effect. When Mortimer sees the "evening’s east horizon awash in sunset tones of red and pink," and the "sudden flash in the sky’s hues intensified with radioactive brilliance" that "wink out into the twilight of a starless night," the reader is transported into the dreamscape that is i...
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