This was and interesting piece. You have a very good flare for words and this is a clever idea. My only criticism about the concept is that the indecision goes on too long for me. The back and for and back and forth of it I know is needed for the concept, but you could take out a couple of those and still have a fine piece. You don't want your reader to throw it across the room before he even finishes it.
Below is some corrections that I offered. Please know that this is only my opinion. I am a writer just like you, I have to have my corrected as well so I certainly don't know it all. Sometimes we get blinded by our own writing and we miss some of the littlest things. My only reason in giving them is to help make your piece even better than it already is.
Keep writing and it will be interesting to see your progress. Kitty
Nathan breathed in slowly, letting the air flow through his lungs as he drew in the energy. He held the breath for a few heartbeats, then exhaled sharply. “Alright,” he said with conviction, reaching for the phone. His fingertips brushed across the smooth black plastic and he picked it up. He stared at the inert face for a moment, then slid his thumb under the lid to flip it open.
A good beginning. This last sentence is a little confusing because I could not tell you were still talking about a phone. Not everyone uses a cell, which I finally figured out what you meant. The description of "smooth black plastic" put in my mind a larger desk phone, so a little clarification here would fix it.
Just as the spring-loaded hinge approached the point of no return, Nathan froze. His thumb slipped out and the phone snapped closed. He dropped it on the coffee table and snatched his hand back as though burned. He wasn’t ready yet.This is where I finally figured out you were referring to a cell phone.
Nathan stood up from the couch and ran his hands through his messy black hair. His heart pounded in his chest. There was a vague tingling in his fingers.You need two spaces before "His"
She said you should call. You’ll be fine!
The energy of the moment driving him, Nathan walked past the TV and down the hallway towards the bedrooms. Pausing in front of the closet at the end of the hallway, he clenched his fists and commanded his body to calm down.Two spaces before "Pausing". "and" is one of my own failings and I am always trying to find ways to eliminate them. Here you could say, "Nathan walked past the TV, continuing down the" Also, we already know his is in the hallway so you could say, "closet at the end, he clenched"
Just do it! C’mon, yah pansy!
He hated it when his internal dialog did the Monty Python voice. Now he’d be replaying Holy Grail scenes in his head all day.
Stop being such a coward.
Since these thoughts he is thinking are very emphatic, you might want to put them in italic.
Nathan punched out at the closet door. The cheap, hollow metal was perfect for the occasion, making a resounding CLANG, suffering no damage, and causing no harm to Nathan’s knuckles. He felt the tension release.I am not sure about you but if I hit anything with my hand or fist, I know it would hurt. Your reader may not believe this line.
“Let’s do this!” he said to nobody.
Nathan strode back to the living room and threw himself onto the couch. He snatched up the phone, flipped it open, and began to dial."living room throwing himself"
215 – 8…4…9 – 3 . . . 7 . . .
His finger was poised over the 6, but the momentum had run out. Panic ensued. Nathan wavered, then slammed the phone closed and slapped it down on the table again.
“Dammit!”
For the love of . . . JUST CALL!
I’m not ready. What the hell do I say? I just call out of the blue and ask?
It’s not out of the blue. She told you to call!
Nathan squeezed his eyes shut and clenched his teeth. At least he wasn’t talking to himself out loud. Yet. He concentrated on his racing heart, willing it to slow down. A wet, warm feeling under his arm told him the antiperspirant was failing.
Stop acting the child! You’ve got a brand new college degree and everything. Man up and make the call!
What does that even mean? Who first told someone to their gender content? Which guy, rather? Do women say ‘Woman up?’ 'Grow some ovaries?' Maybe softball players? Huh, that was kinda sexist. Or was it? Now that I think about it, isn’t ‘What does that even mean’ a bit long in the tooth at this point?
This paragraph is very awkward and "Who first told someone to their gender content? Which guy, rather?" I cannot make sense of. And the last line is odd since we don't know what you are applying "long in the tooth" to.
FOCUS!
Nathan shook his head, trying to dislodge the distraction’s hold on his brain. “Gar!” he shouted. “Let just do this!” He reached towards the phone again, but his hand only made it halfway before he snatched it back.
You need "Let's just do this." but since he is talking about himself probably "Let me just do this." would be better
What do I say? ‘Hi, this is Nathan Crowley. I wanted to know . . .’
He grimaced. That was way too casual. This was a first impression he was trying to make.
Maybe, ‘Good morning. This is Nathan Alexander Crowley calling to inquire . . .’
Nathan let out a sharp bark of a laugh. He’d just sound like a tool that way. Maybe what he needed was a script.
Oh aye. That’ll work like a bloody charm, ya tosser.I realize that you are probably English or in the UK, however other readers may not know what a "tosser" is. I read non-stop and I don't know.
Ugh. That fake accent is awful even inside my head. I’ll just work out the opening. I don’t want dead silence.
This seemed like a sound plan. Nathan went to the kitchen to find some paper.
* * *
Okay. You’ve got your bloody script. You’ve had a piss. You’re dressed all nice. Call!
Nathan sat at the kitchen table, phone laid out in front of him, script in hand. He shifted in his seat, trying to get comfortable in his khakis. His father had advised him that business dress would encourage a business attitude. Nathan was looking for every bit of help he could get.
I’ve got this. How many things does ‘got’ mean? Possession. Readiness. Understanding. Acknowledgement that one has marked a member of the opposing team and is defending . . .
Misspelled Acknowledgment.
Dear God! CALL!
The firm smack of palm to forehead echoed through the kitchen. Nathan blamed his English degree for his inability to focus. Any trivial language oddity sucked him in. He hadn’t had this hard a time making a call since working up the nerve to tell his parents he’d switched majors.
And did they cut you off? No! Now get going!
Okay. I’ve got this.
Nathan flipped his collar up. It made him feel like a jackass and he flipped it back down. He took two a deep breath.Should be "took two deep breaths.
All he could do was stare at the phone.
For Christ’s sake! What are you afraid of? You managed to cold call Jenny Lloyd. Surely you can manage this.You will need to go through your entire piece and make sure that you have two spaces between sentences. Especially if you intend to submit it for publication.
That relationship ended in fire and pain!
You shouldn’t have used gasoline. The prom pictures would have burned fine on their own. And that’s not the point. Even if this call turns into a fiasco, how are you worse off than before? Is there some sort of penalty for failure here?
Humiliation. Rejection.
As compared to the humiliation of being unable to make a simple phone call?
Nathan gritted his teeth and nodded to himself. Failure would preserve the status quo. There was no risk.
His hand still wouldn’t move toward the phone.
I’ve just got too much energy. Some Xbox will settle me down.
Dude!
Half an hour. I’ll just take half an hour.
* * *
Two hours later, Nathan paced through the hallway, phone in hand, feet dragging on the carpet.
Just half an hour. You idiot! This is getting preposterous. What are you afraid of?
Failure.
It’s a phone call, not surgery.
I could stutter, or ramble. My voice could crack. I could trip and put my eye out on the corner of the coffee table. What if this is my only chance and I botch it and I live out my life in mom’s basement serenaded by the roar of my failure until I die alone.
You’re a whiny little boy, you know that? Other chances will come up.
I just need to be in the right frame of mind. I’m not in the right place.
There’s nothing to be scared of!
I just don’t like calling up strangers.
She told you to call. Get moving! It’s been three days. How long can you really wait?
Nathan stopped in mid-stride. Delay too long, and the level of awkward would reach critical mass. He didn’t know what the time limit was, but calling sooner had to be the better plan. He flipped the phone open like Captain Kirk.
If you start talking like Shatner, you’re getting one massive beating.
Not helping!
Calm washed over Nathan. He knew he could do it. Letting out the breath he’d forgotten he was holding, he started to dial. 215-849-376 . . .
Wait! Is it 849 or 894? I don't know!
Nathan froze. He was sure it was 849. He knew it was 849. He’d stared at the number all morning. It was 849.
What if it isn’t?
Cursing under his breath, Nathan hurried to the kitchen table. He had to be sure. The scrawled note was easy to find: 215-849-3762.
Alright. I wouldn’t want to call some random dude. That’d be awkward.
Nathan dialed again: 215-849-3762. His thumb moved toward the SEND button. Just as he started to push, he noticed the time on the phone’s display: 11:58 a.m.
Stop!
Nathan’s thumb shot straight up.
It’s lunchtime. I can't call during lunch!
Are you kidding me? Just call you coward!”
No! I can't be the asshole who calls at lunch. It pisses people off!
Nathan closed the phone. He’d wait. He didn’t want to have to go through this again if he got voicemail. Plus, he needed food.
Ugh, fine. 1:30. No excuses!”
* * *
It was 2 p.m. Nathan sat at the kitchen table, staring at the sailboat painting on the wall without really seeing it.
I’m not scared. I can do this.
Yes you can. Now start acting like a grownup!
I just hate asking strangers.
Cry yourself a river, build a bridge, and get over it!
Dammit. Why can’t I do this? What the hell is wrong with me?
Nathan’s fist clenched around his phone so tightly that it shook. Anger, frustration, and self-loathing were building. The tide threatened to wash him straight to a bar in the middle of the afternoon.
Why do I have to call, anyway? It’s the 21st century! Why can’t we do this stuff online? And where’s my flying car? Or my ray gun? I still need to get up and walk to the fridge! Maybe telekinesis was too much to ask, but where are the robot servants?
Jumping Jesus Christ on a pogo stick! Just call!
I can’t. I just can’t!
Nathan pounded his fist on the table, then followed it with his head.
This is ludicrous. I can’t make a ten-minute call. My whole life is a sick joke!
Nathan laughed. He got the joke. It was a little dark, but ridiculously funny. As he laughed, he calmed down.
See? You just need to lighten up a bit.
Yeah . . . yeah, I can do this.
Without thinking, he flipped the phone open. His teeth set as he focused in and dialed: 215-849-3762. His thumb hovered over SEND. And hovered. And froze. He couldn’t.
“FUCK!” Nathan slammed the phone on the table. He squeezed his eyes shut as failure came crashing in. He had never felt more pathetic. Opening his eyes, he looked down at the phone’s display. His blood ran cold as he read: CALLING . . .
Oh shit! It’s dialing! Hang up! Hang up!
No! Everyone has caller ID. He’ll know it was you!
Shit! Shit!
Nathan’s shaking hand barely got the phone to his ear. There was a sharp click as the receiver at the other end was lifted. A deep, businessy voice came on the line.
“Staley Marketing Associates, Robert Waterman speaking.”
“Good afternoon Mr. Waterman,” Nathan somehow held his voice steady, “This is Nathan Crowley calling. I’m a new college graduate looking for a job and was advised to contact you regarding an open internship position at your firm.” The words kept trying to fly away into babble, but Nathan held on, forcing them into a steady flow.
The voice on the other line turned friendlier. “Ah, Nathan. Your mom told me I’d be getting this call. How’s she doing?”
“She’s doing just fine. Naturally, she’s my biggest promoter.” Nathan’s heart was still racing, but he wasn’t nervous anymore. “She’s probably sick of feeding me.”
Mr. Waterman chuckled. “I’m sure she’s not. Thanks for reaching out to me. Let’s see what we can do about getting you started in the world. Naturally, I can’t promise anything, but I can at least get you some info, maybe put your resume on the green pile, so to speak. Let’s talk a bit about what you’re looking to get out of your career.
Nathan smiled. He could do this.
Told you.
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