As I drove up highway 270 on my way to Pittsburg, the yellow dashes snapped by the front corner of my hood only to reappear a moment later in my mirror like the blinking yield light early in the morning. The music seemed uncommonly empty no matter how loud I turned it up, so I tried the radio. NPR was talking about another murder, only a few minutes before I had turned on the radio, by the snipers that were terrorizing the DC area. The magic Ranger’s entertainment system was providing me with little escape from life that night, so I just turned it off for a while.
Pittsburg was not a city that I had ever thought of visiting. During my thoughts of places like Melbourne, Seattle, Missoula and Savanna I had never thought “Pittsburg, now that’s a city I would love to spend some time in!” I had never seen pictures of nor heard anything good or bad about it. Now I was on my way there for the first time to take part in an act that I never thought I would ever have to take part in. In a way it was a perfect city to take care of a some business that, to this day, is still not real to me. A trash can for an event that scared enough without blemishing any city I really care about. An uncommon dream like city for an uncommon dream like act.
It was late as I pulled onto the off ramp and began to follow the directions given to me by Anna earlier that day. Only my left hand was driving my truck while the rest of me twisted within a bipolar conversation…
(This is an excerpt from a book I'm working on. Feedback would be appreciated.)
Try breaking up the paragraphs. Theres a lot going on in each one and I can see in the 2nd one especially some places where a break looks logical.
ReplyDeleteLeave it to me (the English teacher) to make a comment like this... but, depending on whether it would cramp your style, it needs a bit of grammatical editing. Aaron, all of the stuff on this page is really good. I enjoy reading it and actually feel as if I am holding someone's book. Keep going... good work :)
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