Fiction Editing

Several months ago, I posted a blurb I wrote on a whim. I haven't had much time to expand on it, so I'm still trying to figure out where things go from there, but I've put it through a couple of rewriting passages as I try to figure the main characters out. Just to give a sense of how I edit things, here's the current draft. Hopefully I can actually expand on the story in the near future:


Darren groaned slightly as he woke up and tried to remember what day it was. Mostly, he just hoped it wasn’t Thursday. If it was Thursday, then his alarm would be going off in about 3 minutes. More pressing, today being Thursday would mean that Wednesday had actually happened. He could think of few ideas less appealing than that.

Wednesday had happened, though, and Darren knew there was no escaping it. Even knowing that, he continued to hope that it wasn’t Thursday. Maybe it was Friday and he would at least have some space from Wednesday’s embarrassment. Better yet, maybe it was Saturday and he wouldn’t have to face the consequences at all. Darren didn’t care if he’d slept through two days of work and gotten fired. He was good at his job. He could find a new one. What he couldn’t do was show his face to Angie.

Two minutes until the alarm and Darren’s imagination really started to run wild. Sure, it was almost certainly Thursday, but maybe there was some holday he’d forgotten about. Maybe 26 years ago, somebody had done something heroic. Maybe 43 years ago, somebody important had been born or died. Maybe there was some good reason that everybody got to stay home and sleep on this particular Thursday and he’d have time to nurse his wounds.

One minute until the alarm, and Darren crunched up his eyes and crossed every limb he could under the covers to no avail. History hadn’t re-written itself, time advanced normally, and the morning DJ promised a chilly commute accompanied by Darren’s favorite hits of yesterday and today. Darren cursed both of those days and dragged himself out of bed. This Thursday, even more than most, would need coffee.

Not remembering what he may have sitting around on the floor, Darren gingerly stepped across his one room studio to the cabinet and appliance adorned corner that served as his kitchen. Once there, he flicked on the light and, blinking a few times, let his gaze settle on the sack of fair-trade beans sitting prominently on the counter top next to a second hand French press. Today was going to be bad enough without his coffee trying to make him feel bad about his privileged existence. Besides, he’d decided that he didn’t really like that Guatemalan crap, anyway.

He pulled the traditional, drip pot and the can of grounds out from under the cupboard, where he kept them for family visits and days like this. He shoved the largest measuring cup he could find into the can, dumped the water into the pot, and hopped into the shower while the coffee brewed. Out of distractions, Darren finally let himself start running through the details of last night.

The problem wasn’t necessarily that he’d had too much to drink. Darren’s budget and conscience conspired together to pose a fairly strict three drink limit most nights. No, the problem was that nerves had led him to consume this allotment far too quickly. It had taken weeks to get Angela to admit that, in this instance, dating a coworker wouldn’t be the worst idea ever. They had fun together, and the potential for paperwork wasn’t enough to merit not giving it a shot. Now he wasn’t sure if she’d laugh at him or slap him when he inevitably ran into her at the office. He did know that he’d prefer the slap.

Outside of the warm steam of the shower, the apartment was still cold, and Darren felt the urge for coffee again as soon as he stepped out of the bathroom and back into the kitchen. He gulped down one cup before he even bothered to get dressed and another as a reward once he tracked down a clean pair of pants. Pouring the rest of the pot into a travel mug, Darren buttoned up his flannel shirt and headed down to the corner.

It was cooler than Darren had expected from the forecast, and he immediately questioned his decision to forego a jacket. He fastened another button and tried to ignore the cold while he waited for the bus. Ignoring one thing means thinking about another, though, and Darren continued to reflect on the events of the night before. It was Angela’s fault nearly as much as his. She’d caught him off guard. He’d intended to keep it casual, but then she came to the door with her hair up and wearing a skirt. She’d put in effort. She cared. He never had a chance to recover from the surprise, pleasant though it was.
He saw Roger’s grin as soon as he boarded the bus. Darren sat down across from him and took a swig from his mug, knowing full well what was coming next.

“So?” Roger asked.

“‘So,’ what?” Darren was not looking forward to this.

“Dinner. With Angie. How did it go?”

“Less well than it could have.”

“That’s not saying much. How, particularly, did it stray from the ideal?”

“I may have propositioned her during dinner.”

“May have?”

Darren glanced around and lowered his voice, “There was an awkward silence. Some part of me thought it would be smart to break it by asking what I’d have to do to get fucked that night”.

The dirty look he received from the octogenarian sitting ahead of them suggested that he hadn’t lowered his voice enough.

“Well, that was much less awkward.” Roger’s eyebrow was thoroughly cocked.

“It was a joke!” Darren insisted, “I said it in a funny voice and everything!”

“Could she really be that offended? I mean, I’m sure she didn’t think you meant it. It’s far from the first time she’s met you”

“She must have been disgusted. Made an excuse to duck out as soon as she finished her chicken. Left half of her baked potato right there on the plate.”

Roger paused but couldn’t bring himself to change the subject, “...what on Earth were you thinking?”

“Obviously, I wasn’t.”

“...well, it’s not like she’s the only cute girl in the sea.”

Darren pulled up a picture of Angela on his phone and thrust it in Roger’s face. “That, and she’s a Raven’s fan, AND she loves Bruce Campbell.”

“That sucks, man.” Roger knew he was defeated.

“That it does.” Darren took another swig of coffee and questioned his decision not to put a drop or four of whiskey in it.