> This is the beginning of an idea I've had tumbling in my head for quite some time. I am trying to make distinct stylistic choices about the way I write and verbage and if it comes off stilted or uncomfortable please do comment your ideas (also grammatical/spelling mistakes).  I appreciate any and all reviews or ratings and will try to take reader feedback in consideration as I continue to write.

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I woke to a painful ray of brilliant light piercing my eyelids. I really had to fix that crooked blind. At the strangeness of this errant thought struck me I began to become more conscious of my slumber. Sleep was always a strange yet faithful companion to me, with the transition between somnolence and wakefulness typically almost imperceptible. As I finally opened my eyes and began my daily pursuit of my wayward phone the last vestiges of drowsiness left me, like a fog dissipating at dawn. Both my phone and glasses were easily located on my nightstand which was a welcome surprise. As I put on my glasses and checked my messages I groaned because I had forgotten to charge the damn thing last night. At least it had enough charge to complete my intended purpose this morning.

I can't remember why I prefer to punch in phone numbers manually but this old habit is at least aided by the fact that I don't have too many numbers to memorize anyways. As usual, he lets it ring twice before picking up. "HI, this is Mark Walsh from Kiwi Random House how can I help you today" he said. "Mark you should have caller ID on the office phones you know its me" I replied. "Unlike some I have to keep up appearances, you know how the big bosses love to come by the bullpen to supervise" he tersely shot back. "Sorry you know I didn't mean it like that" I contritely responded. Something in my tone must have taken him aback because he waited a moment before almost inaudibly sighing "Ok Adam, so what did you want from me today" he continued. "I want to pitch a new idea for a story" I enthusiastically answered. "Adam.. This is not the time for this. You know as well as I that your last few shorts didn't sell that well and there's only so much ghostwriting that is suited to you" he wearily responded. "I know I know but just hear me out on this idea. Whenever I close my eyes I feel like I wake up as him and as I live out his story I can see all the branches and I feel like if I don't explore them the pressure is going to build up and I'll go nuts" I explained. "Jesus Christ Adam are you sure you're OK? I know you don't handle changes well but you aren't hitting the town every night are you?" he cautiously inquired. "I'm fine I'm not even drinking that much. Whatever you're ascribing my behavior to the end result is the same: I HAVE to write this story" I retorted. "You know pure fantasy doesn't have as much marketability these days and no offense, you're not J. K. Rowling or George R Martin, so this project of yours already is off to an inauspicious start" he stated. I paused before continuing "Extend me some trust just this one last time" I quietly replied "I just have this …. feeling that I need to work out" I finished. "If this is what it takes, I'll learn to live with it" he assented. "However, your artistic freedom has a limit: two weeks" he insisted "If you aren't done with a workable draft of the first third and a spine for the remainder by that time I'll drive to your apartment, strap you down, and force feed you Hollywood scripts until you're spitting out box office hits out of every orifice" he continued. "Haha fine by me I promise you this is really going to be something" I said, hanging up before I could hear his reply. He seemed to think I needed the distraction and that writing this might help me work out some issues and I was not eager to disabuse him of the notion. Even the slight deception of understating my nightly pastimes and the nature of my obsession of this new project had something twinging in the back of my mind guiltily. We had been friends since sophomore year in our undergraduate days, back when I still believed I might make it in some engineering speciality, and he was one of the few people I trusted enough to share the depths of my moods so any deceit on my part always felt like a grave betrayal. As I sat down on my worn office chair I began to hum an unfamiliar tune and clear my mind of all thoughts unrelated to The Story.

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There was a boy, a hill, and a tree I wrote.

He took one step

Looked back with no small amount of hesitation

Steeled his determination

And continued on.