The Space Between

The story of a relationship where miscommunication can cause problems

Bing

Bing

  My phone screen lights up, illuminating the dark room. My chest tightens as I read the name flashing on the screen.

It was him.

Two years. That’s how long it’s been since we last saw each other at summer camp. I never expected to form a deep bond there. But he… he made me feel�"

He made me feel something I hadn’t felt in years. Something warm. Something terrifying. A connection.

Bing

Bing

I don’t pick up. I just sit there, staring at the screen, my fingers curling into the blankets. My cat, Kells, purrs beside me, oblivious to the storm inside my head.

That summer, we were inseparable; fishing together, sharing stories under the stars. He told me he wanted to get close to Margie because she reminded him of his grandmother. She was the only one in his family who truly cared about him, even if she had been gruff. She was in the hospital then. I told him if he ever needed to talk, I was there.

I touch the mask on my face. Maybe one day, I’d be ready to show my face again.

Your call has ended. Press here to listen to voicemail

The ringing stops. Silence fills the room. My stomach knots. I could call him back. But after two years of ignoring him, would he even listen?

Kells nuzzles against my arm.

I remember the night he broke down. His grandmother had died. I had never comforted anyone before. I asked him what was wrong, and suddenly, he pulled me into a hug, sobbing into my chest. I didn’t know what to do. So I hugged him back.

Margie watched us with pity in her eyes.

I snap out of the memory, my fingers scrolling through my phone. Twenty missed calls.

We had so many good times together. I remember the greatest day of my life�"by the lakeside, just the two of us.

That day, I decided to open up about my past. I took off my mask. I showed him my scars, bracing myself for judgment. But instead, he kissed me. My first kiss. I froze at first, then closed my eyes, letting myself believe, just for a moment, that I could be loved.

When he pulled away, he said he loved me just the way I was.

That was the happiest day of my life.

So where did it all go wrong?

I stare at my phone, my mind replaying every moment that led us here.

We were a close group�"me, him, Milla, Kelly, Margie. But then…

I had just finished preparing the fish. I turned to show him, smiling, expecting our usual banter. But he just glared and walked away. Milla was right beside him.

Something was wrong.

I went to Margie, confused. She said he had been fine that morning. And then Milla’s words hit me like a slap.

“They’ve been cheating on you this whole time.”

But the worst part wasn’t what she said.

It was that he believed her.

After everything we’d been through, he didn’t even ask if it was true.

I had a full meltdown that day. I ignored him for the rest of camp. He tried to apologize, but I refused to listen. I spent the rest of my time with Kelly, pretending he didn’t exist

Now, I sit here, staring at my phone, the weight of those years pressing down on me

I think about our relationship. For the briefest moment of my life. I wasn’t this messed up person. I was happy. I have failed so many times. Then this amazing, wonderful guy comes into my life. Someone I cared about. Someone who loved me for me. And I lost that. 

Kells watches me, her eyes full of something like pity. I can’t keep doing this. Maybe it’s time to talk to him.

He gave me his number and address before we left camp.

Margie told me on the last day that I should leave with no regrets. So, eventually, we talked. We admitted we were both impulsive. We both made mistakes. We promised to keep in touch, to heal.

But I never could. The heartbreak wouldn’t let me.

If I reached out, I might have to feel that pain all over again.

But today is different.

Today, I found myself in front of his house. My hands shake as I reach for the door, but then�"I hear crying.

I look through the window.

It’s him.

He’s on the phone, his voice breaking. It sounds like another fight with his parents. I stay frozen, unable to move, unable to breathe.

And then�"he says my name.

I grip the windowsill, my heart hammering in my chest.

“I haven’t heard from them in two years. I just... I want them to be better.”

Guilt churns inside me, a weight pressing down. I could knock. I could fix this.

But what if I just made things worse?

I take a step back. Then another.

And then I leave.

In the distance, I spot Margie’s car parked outside. I watch them for a moment, then turn away.

Little did I know, two weeks later, I would receive an invitation to the summer camp.

Reviews

[JayG]

• Bing

Ice cream truck? No? Bell over the door of a store? No Then how about...

As you begin reading you know where we are and what’s going on. So for you it works. But sound effects don’t work on the page. Why? Try this:

Clang!

When you read its, did you hear it as being a blacksmith shouting to his apprentice, one who he calls Clang? Of course not, because you lack context. So, were I starting a story, I might have said:

“Hey Clang,” The blacksmith called to his apprentice, “Come in here for a minute, I...”

Readers also need context as-they-read-each-word. And to do that, we quickly address where we are, what's going on, and whose skin we wear—and do it without the reader noticing it's being done.

• My phone screen lights up, illuminating the dark room.

1. You have a really bright phone to illuminate an entire room. Mine just makes it a bit less dark.
2. But more than that, who cares? The character is looking at the phone, not the room. So it's you TELLING the reader it happened, not the protagonist noticing. And we certainly can’t see it. So, talking about things the protagonist is ignoring wastes the reader’s time, slows the reading speed, and kills interest..
3. You told the reader that the phone rang. That reader already knows the screen lights when that happens, so why tell them what they already know, and, which is irrelevant to the plot?

• My chest tightens as I read the name flashing on the screen.

Think about it. The reader doesn’t know where they are in either time or space. The protagonist could be male or female, and of any age. We don’t know why they’re in that unidentified place, or anything meaningful. So, telling the reader that this unknown person has their “chest tighten up” in an unknown way, and for unknown reasons might be seen as data. So...as read, it’s a statement by the narrator, not story.

See how different what the reader gets is from what you get, because they lack context?

Are you getting the idea that perhaps there are things about presenting a story that are a bit more complicated than they seemed? 😆

It’s not a matter of how well you write, or talent. It’s that like pretty much everyone who comes to writing fiction, you were predestined to be caught in the most common trap by your years in school. We learn a skill called writing there, and so assume that writing-is-writing, and we have that taken care of. But, at the same time while we realize that on graduation we need more than school-day writing skill to work as a screenwriter, journalist, or tech-writer, we never apply that to fiction because the pros make it seem so easy.

We forget that writers have been refining and developing the skills of fiction for centuries. All professions have things to avoid, and ours is no different. So...dig into the skills of fiction-writing and you learn how to pull the reader into the story, emotionally, and make them develop an empathetic connection to the protagonist that makes that reader NEED to know what happens next.

But few people do. Instead, like you, and me when I began, they transcribe themselves storytelling. And it works perfectly...for the author. Unlike the reader, you begin reading already knowing your characters, their backstory and desires, and, what’s going on. You, uniquely, know exactly what emotion to place into the narrator’s voice—your voice. And so, seeing no problem, you’ll fix none, which is why I thought you might want to know—especially as I have a solution.

Fully 75% of the people who reach the point where they have the confidence to submit their work are writing exactly as you are, for the same reasons. Publishers call it “unreadable.” And reject it on page one. So, unless we do a bit of digging, we’re not even in the game—and never see the reason we're not because our own writing always works...for us.

So, learn even the basics and you’re ahead of 75% of hopeful writers. Push that to where you are writing on a professional level, and you’re ahead of 97% of everyone who’s submitting their work, or, self-publishing and wondering why no one is buying their book.

Try this: Read a few chapters of Debra Dixon’s, GMC: Goal Motivation & Conflict for fit. It’s a warm easy read, that feels a lot like sitting with Deb as she talks about writing.

https://dokumen.pub/qdownload/gmc-goal-motivation-and-conflict-9781611943184.html

Not good news, I know. But...learning what you want to know is fun. And the practice is writing stories that work a lot better, and are more fun to write and read.

So dive in. And whatever you do, hang in there and keep on writing. It never gets easier. But with work we can become confused on a higher level.

Jay Greenstein
Articles: https://jaygreenstein.wordpress.com/category/the-craft-of-writing/the-grumpy-old-writing-coach/
Videos: https://www.youtube.com/@jaygreenstein3334


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“Good writing is supposed to evoke sensation in the reader. Not the fact that it’s raining, but the feeling of being rained upon.”
~ E. L. Doctorow

“It ain’t what you don’t know that gets you into trouble. It’s what you know for sure that just ain’t so.”
~ Mark Twain