NEEDLING

(tell me what you think)

P(ossibility) N(umber) I

This is a sad sad story I’m about to tell you.

(uhm... a little too simple? and the repetition of ‘sad’ doesn’t invite any reader to keep going, as we are scared of the childish style we’re about to be lashed with...)

PN II

I’ve never been one for overly extrapolated personal stories, overtly constipated anal banalities... and I’ve never been one to put pen to paper, as they say, but here I am, here we are... in the annals of pathetic personal history starring at myself in the mirror, looking at my naked self all flabby, and so disgustingly human... I am.

(maybe a tad bit pretentious? and for fuck’s sake, lets not be soooooo down to start with... a little Optimism would be good, or at least not soooooo in your face negativism...)

PN III

Once upon time there was a little boy who was scared to go outside of the house on his own.

(no comments...)

PN IV

Beer, there was always plenty of beer, always more beer, never a lack of beer, and when the beer was finally drunk up, Frank would simply go to the store and buy some more beer, that’s the story of his life.

(and where can we go from there?)

PN V

Frank had dreamt of being a filmmaker ever since his early teen years.

(a little grab at first is always good, though the sentence itself is as boring as can be... could go plenty of ways, maybe he’s never been able to become a filmmaker, and this is the story of how he’s a complete failure... or maybe he’s now a well established and respected filmmaker, but when all is said and done, he still feels like a failure, that his filmmaking is not fulfilling... he’s had to shake too many hands, make too many compromises, suck up too many assholes... and now he just feels like either putting a bullet through his head or making the one film which will not only be the greatest film he could possibly make, but which will surely ostracize him from the whole filmmaking community and his career would end in catastrophe... the personal fight between self-fulfillment and being accepted by one’s peers...)

PN VI

As he gulped down his last beer at ten till ten on a Wednesday morning, Frank saw the despondency of his situation.

(has possibilities, though maybe should do without the word ‘despondency’ and use ‘hopelessness’ instead... I’m not even sure I’m using that word properly...)

PN VII

Frank got up from bed that morning feeling like a thousand sun-shines and a couple of heartburns.

(there we go... a little positivism...)

PN VIII

The first time I met Frank, he was living at the White Buffalo motel across the street from a run-down steak house where he worked.

(shit... not sure I want to go there...)