Another day at the Office.

A nerdy office employee begins another dreadful workday at the office.

Another day at the office

Bob stepped outside to head to work. He was greeted with a gloomy gray sky. He climbed into his car and upon turning his ignition noticed the check engine light had come on. Bob sighed, he had just taken his car in last week.

The drive to the office was a monotonous one. Numerous traffic lights and stop signs made it especially arduous. And today would be even worse. Traffic was moving especially slow this morning. As Bob's car crept further down the road he saw why. A construction sign up ahead flashed on and off, “Construction ahead. Expect delays.” Annoyed Bob shook his head, he would likely be late for work. The traffic light turned from green to red in what seemed like an instant. A couple more cars squeezed through after the light changed back to red, invoking a blaring orchestra of horns from irate drivers.

Bob hated this long light. He took notice of the drivers around him, including the pick up truck that was too close behind him. The woman on his drivers side was arguing with someone on her phone. Her right turn signal blinking impatiently. On his passengers side some a*****e had his bass turned up to an obnoxious level. Causing Bob's car to share in the vibration that emitted from it. Bob tried to get a look at the driver, but the dark tinted windows would not allow him that satisfaction.

A homeless man holding a sign made from old cardboard and permanent marker was walking slowly between the lanes of cars. His hair disheveled, his beard scraggly, his clothes heavily soiled. The look on his drawn face was a somber one. He was wearing cheap dark sunglasses, which did little to conceal his shame. “Homeless and hungry. Anything will help. God bless.” One of the drivers ahead rolled down his window. A green note fluttered in the breezy morning air. The homeless man thanked the driver graciously. Exposing his mostly toothless mouth.

Bob willed the traffic light to change to green. The homeless man stepped closer. The pick up truck inched up on Bob's bumper. The lady on Bob's drivers side glanced over at him. The coffee in Bob's coffee cup rippled from the reverb caused by the bass. The homeless man approached Bob's car. Bob gripped the wheel tightly and stared ahead as the flashing construction sign lights reflected off his glasses. Beep! The blaring horn freed the distracted Bob from his trance, as the light had finally turned green. Bob zoomed through the intersection.

Bob drove into the parking lot of his employer, Bland Corporation. The huge lot was once full of employee cars. But now due to downsizing and outsourcing only a fraction of the parking was utilized. The vast emptiness exposed the lots weathered surface, it's faded parking lanes, bent over light posts, and the weeds that sprung up through the numerous cracks in its asphalt.

As Bob hurried inside he noticed that it seemed to have gotten a little colder. After clocking in he stared at the seemingly endless rows of gray cubicles. This is what he rushed for? He likened them to a prison block. They were cold and lifeless. As he walked down to his cubicle few co-workers even noticed him passing by. They continued to work away in a slow methodical zombie like state. Bob took his seat at his desk. His neighboring co-worker Julie was on vacation. She had a calendar pinned up on her cubicle wall that Bob hadn't noticed before.

On the calendar was an attractive thirty something couple lounging on a Beach. Their chairs were reclined and they each held a frosty margarita. Their perfect white smiles beamed. Their bronze tans complemented their fit bodies. They were having the time of their life. Bob continued to stare at the calendar. And in doing so looked a little deeper. Their smiles seemed to mock Bob, scorn him.

Bob got up and ripped the calendar off the wall. He crumpled it in his hands with such force his knuckles turned white. He threw it into Julie's empty garbage can. Bob composed himself and sat back down at his desk. No one even noticed his tantrum.

As Bob settled in to work the floor manager walked in with an announcement. Annoyed Bob rubbed his forehead. What stupid asinine policy are they implementing now? “I need everyone's attention please. We have a new HR with our company today.” Whoopee Bob thought to himself. “I would like to introduce Carrie.”

Carrie walked onto the cubicle floor and the office lit up. A pretty woman in her mid thirties. She began speaking to the staff with an unmatched eloquence and professionalism. But her voice was pleasant and her tone sincere. She lacked the vapid rhetoric and condescending mannerisms of other corporate officials. As she spoke she smiled warmly through vintage eyeglasses that framed her radiant blue eyes.

And everyone was captivated by her, everyone listened. Which was nothing short of a miracle in this building. As she concluded her speech she invited anyone who had a concern to speak to her. Her office door was always open. As she walked past Bob on the way to her office he noticed her fragrance. It held a pleasant inviting aura, like a cool summer breeze. Her green dress flowed behind her as she walked. Providing the drab office with a splash of color and a dash of life it so desperately needed.

Intrigued Bob walked over to Carrie's office. She was applying some finishing touches on her desk. A framed photo of her family. Girls, likely twins that resembled younger versions of herself. Her husband a tall man with dark hair and friendly smile stood behind his girls. Carrie's office was adorned with inviting fixtures that welcomed those who entered it. It lacked the typical sterile and cold environment common with upper management.

Numerous plants with beautiful blooms filled her office breathing life into a lifeless workplace. Paintings filled the once bare walls with picturesque scenery of breathtaking vistas. Carrie's office was the most welcoming office or place for that matter, Bob ever entered.

Carrie took notice of Bob. “Oh hi, can I help you with something?” Bob stood there stupidly for a moment.” Oh yes. Your name again? I am sorry I forgot.” “It is OK I am Carrie” Bob noticed her large desk held a pot of freshly brewed coffee. Which gave off an alluring earthy aroma. Along with an inviting assortment of biscotti and scones to compliment the java.

“Coffee?” She asked? “No, I am fine I just wanted to clarify your name. I will be going now.” “Well if you need anything I am right here” “Alright thanks” As Bob left her office he began to close her door. “Oh, leave it open remember? “Oh right sorry.” After apologizing Bob returned to his cubicle.

He resumed his position at his desk, feeling strangely happier and more positive. He glanced over at his Julie's bare cubicle wall. Feeling guilty he got up and walked over to her cubicle. He grabbed the calendar out of the garbage and tried his best to smooth it out. He noticed to his surprise it wasn't in such bad shape after all. He pinned it back up and sat back down at his desk. He looked over at the calendar with the smiling couple on it. Bob smiled back.

Reviews

[JayG]

• "Bob stepped outside to head to work. He was greeted with a gloomy gray sky. He climbed into his car and upon turning his ignition noticed the check engine light had come on. Bob sighed, he had just taken his car in last week."

Ask yourself…is this a story or a report? It reads like a chronicle of events, of the form, “This happened…then that happened…and after that…” Sure the reader learns of the story's events, but from a dispassionately written list, not by being made to live the story in real-time, with the protagonist as our avatar.

Every line of a fiction must do one of three things:
1. Meaningfully set the scene.
2. Develop character.
3. Move the plot.

Look at the entire text leading to his arrival at work to see how many lines do that. What happened that can't be summed up with: "After a boring drive to work, Bob rolled into the parking lot.” ?

Why does the reader care if it was cloudy or bright? Why do they care if someone not in the story, who is never heard from again, plays his or her radio at high volume? You're not providing story with this, you're describing yourself driving to work and listing your pet peeves. Why does a reader care?

That matters because the reader has been chewing on 424 words—reading for several minutes—and all that happened in that time is that Bob drove to work, just like most of your reader do every day. So what did you tell them with this section that’s more interesting than what happened to them today? The answer is, not much. Are you interested in how the mundane events of my day want? Of course not. So why waste the reader’s time with this? Make it march. Set the place on fire. Drop a body through the ceiling. Instead of a generic description of the woman, and a general description of the office people's reaction, let him see the woman and react. It's HIS story, not yours. So get off stage and into the prompter's booth where you can support him, not stand center-stage blocking the reader's view. The reader can't hear or see you. So the emotion you place in the telling? Missing. The gestures and expression changes you apply? Missing. Have your computer read this aloud to hear how different what the reader gets is from what you do when you read it.

The problem is that you’re thinking of a story as series of events, and providing a chronicle of the events you visualize taking place in the story. But that’s every bit as exciting as any other report. And your readers are hoping for something that will move them emotionally, not a list of tings that happened, and a summation of how the protagonist feels. Readers want raw meat and emotion, not overview.

Bottom line: There’s a LOT to writing fiction that’s not obvious. We learn only report-writing skills in our school days, to prepare us for the needs of employment. Fiction-writing technique, which is emotion, not fact-based, is part of the profession of Fiction-Writing, and is acquired, as are all professions, IN ADDITION to our schooldays skills. In other words, though we're not aware of it, we leave our school days exactly as well prepared to write a novel as to perform an appendectomy.

We pretty much all fall intro this trap, because the profession’s name contains the name of the skill we were given. But while the name is shared, the methodology of fiction is very different. Why? Because the goal is to entertain the reader by moving them emotionally, where nonfiction’s goal is to inform the reader.

We read adventure novels to feel we're living them, not read a list of what happened.

So…you already have the desire and you have the stories. You’ve also demonstrated the perseverance needed. Add to that mix a few skills the pros take for granted, to give wings to your words, and you’ll find that the act of writing becomes a lot more fun, and the reader response is much more immediate.

Your local library system’s fiction-writing section is filled with the views of pros in writing, publishing, and teaching. So some time spent there would be time wisely invested.

Two suggestions that might help: Pick up a personal copy of Dwight Swain’s, Techniques of the Selling Writer. It’s the best book I’ve found on the nuts-and-bolts issues of writing scenes that sing to the reader.

And: The articles in my writing blog can provide an overview of the issues that differentiate fiction-writing from nonfiction. They’re aimed toward the hopeful writer—not as a, “This is how to write,” but to provide an understanding of why more than high school writing skills are necessary.

Hang in there, and keep on writing.

Jay Greenstein
https://jaygreenstein.wordpress.com/category/the-craft-of-writing/the-grumpy-old-writing-coach/

[Semaj]

Once again you write a review longer than the script itself. Ask yourself did you actually constuct a learning lesson for the writer or simply have him follow guidelines you want too see? I hate too see your bland writings and self promoting guidlines

[Semaj]

The reader does care if its bright or dark. Paints a picture. You lack the understanding of atmosphere maybe one day ill be the coach You'll need.

[JayG]

If you hate to see them, one would think you'd have the good sense not to look.

In any case, the words you're commenting on are for the one who wrote this. So your opinion is irrelevant.

That you didn't have the courtesy to spend a moment or two helping the poster shows that your orientation is more troll than writing community member.

[Semaj]

I am helping the poster as a person whom is set on their ways refuses too see another persons way of writting. So maybe expand your way of thinking and step aside from the typical "its just a troll" move. Expect reviewers too also be reviewed.

[Semaj]

As a person who also lacks the correct punctuation and a lacking of atmosphere. You are one too talk.

[JayG]

Naaa. Trolls don't help anyone, they just try to start a flame war. Obviously, you confuse me with someone who cares what you think.

[Semaj]

Apparently you do if you keep commenting back. I just see you as a stubborn person who doesn't derive from his own style. Too each thier own.