Critique my story

[Anonymous]

Critique my story. I don't intend to publish it. I just want to get used to feedback.

“Ella, you’re too theatrical!” That’s what most people say about me when they get to know me. “Your perception of the world isn’t based on reality!”
Except, most people don’t realize when people narrate a story—any story to anyone about their day, their weekend, or birthday, facts bore people. Well, I think so. It’s so much more exciting to imagine a stranger’s backstory and utter so many different claims about them to other people. When I traipse down the halls in my corporate office job, I eagerly greet my coworkers and bosses while lamenting to them with wide eyes as I say, “when I was shopping for groceries this weekend, this man was in front of me at the checkout line. He had grave dark circles under his eyes and wore all black, and as he was chucking his items onto the conveyer belt, he slammed them down. Then, he looked at me and his eyes bore into my soul. It was the kind of look one gives to another only if they’re a serial killer. I could even predict that he had a rough childhood and a sad one at that.”
Sure, some of that was speculation. When I was seventeen, I dreamed of becoming a stage actress, but my mom insisted I pursue a practical degree instead. However, it wasn’t easy giving up my dream of becoming a stage actress. Whenever I sat down for breakfast or dinner with my family, I sashayed into the dining room dressed in various characters from movies and tv shows I watched. One time, I swept into the dining room as Eve Harrington from “All About Eve” and spoke her lines with the same breathy voice like Anne Baxter. I even wore all black for an entire year and stopped watching movies and tv shows, hoping that my mom would give in. Instead, all my mom did was shake her head when I told her that I was in mourning.
However, my dream of becoming a stage actress would be reignited when I passed by the bulletin board in the kitchen at my job. The bulletin board lists any events occurring around town in the coming days and weeks.
I stopped and scanned the bulletin board. At the very bottom was a white piece of paper that listed open call auditions for a murder mystery play at the local community theater. My heart thumped in my chest as I read it. I jumped up and down, even though I was wearing four-inch heeled pumps.
“My dream!” I stared up at the white tiled ceiling and pretended it was the heavens above me. I could hear an angel choir softly singing above me. “It’s becoming a reality!”
I then felt eyes all around me and turned around to see everyone staring at me with furrowed eyebrows and mouths agape. Oops, I thought to myself. “My life-long dream was to become an actress” I explained to my coworkers. “There are open-call auditions for a murder mystery play at the local community theater.”
My coworkers didn’t say anything and returned to their food and conversations with each other.
After work that evening, I arrived home at my apartment and brushed up on my acting skills. When I attended college for my marketing degree, I took some acting classes for my elective credits. The auditions for the play were on Saturday at noon sharp, which was two days away. I needed to prepare myself. I signed up for the auditions at the community theater’s website and downloaded a copy of the script that I would be reading. That evening, I read the script as a table read and then practiced rehearsing my lines. The community theater was fine with people auditioning to read for any character. I only had my eye on one character. It wasn’t the lead but one of the suspects, Blair Bengs. When I read the script, I immediately connected with Blair’s vivacious, theatrical character, who often led the detective to make decisions based on Blair’s wild perception of the other suspects.
Saturday morning arrived, and I got up and did my usual morning routine, which was an early morning jog at seven thirty, a large breakfast, and a relaxing shower. I felt tingly all over and clutched my stomach. It has been over twenty years since I’ve auditioned for a play, and that was back in high school.
“I can do this,” I told myself. “Even if I have to crawl to the community theater for the audition with an upset stomach, I’ll do it.”
Once I arrived at the community theater, I signed in and sat down inside the theater’s hallway with other auditioners. I read my script while I rubbed my hands together, hoping to warm them up. I glanced around at the other auditioners as the community director called their names into the theater. Some were staring into space while others kept rehearsing their lines.
Finally, I heard my name.
I grabbed my bag, stood up from my chair, and hurried over to the theater door. I gripped the gold brass handle of the brown door and stepped inside the theater. A dark red plushy carpet led all the way to the stage. Red velvet wallpaper lined the walls from floor to ceiling. A multi-crystal white and gold chandelier dripped with crystals hung from the middle of the ceiling. On either side of the room, there were matching red plushy chairs for the audience members. Straight ahead was the stage, basking in its glory with the yellow-white spotlights shooting down onto the tan hardwood flooring.
One man and one woman sat in front of the stage with a black plastic table littered with papers, notes, and binders. They both stood up and shook my hand while introducing themselves to me.
“I’m the head community theater director, Sam Kings, and this is my assistant director, Thomas Youngs,” Sam said, gripping my hand.
“Hi,” I said. “My name is Ella Smyth, and I’m auditioning for the role of Blair Bengs. The scene I’m using for the audition is the one where Blair is talking to the detective after the murder occurred.”
“Perfect,” Thomas said, following me up the steps onto the stage. “I’ll be reading the part of the detective that way we can get a good sense of your acting.” When we both settled in, Thomas started reading from the top of the scene.
“Where were you, Blair, at eight-thirty on Thursday evening at the Carlyle party?” Thomas asked, reading from the script.
I heaved a heavy sigh and rolled my eyes. “You really shouldn’t be questioning me, Detective James,” I said. “Instead, you should be asking me about Viviane Richit.”
“Why?”
“She has those crazy eyes!” I bugged out my eyes for effect and jazz-fingered with my hands to my eyes. “Like these! When I met her at the Carlyle party around seven fifteen, she kept complaining that people should dress better. Then, she literally told them that they’re all ugly. You see, everyone hates her, except they can’t say it to her face and tell her off to mind her own business. I believe Vivian makes everyone scared for their life or blackmails them not to tell her off. What a wicked woman.”
“Anyone else?”
“Well, there’s Lionel Richit, her husband. He gives me the creeps.” I shiver and rub my shoulders for effect. I make myself appear smaller by curling my body inwards. “He glares and yells at everyone all the time. I think he has a secret past that makes him do that to people. I think he’s secretly part of the Italian mafia. In fact, I believe Lionel is part of that Italian gang world. That would make sense. After all, Lional threatens people that he’ll get the mafia after them if they don’t do what he tells them to do.”
“How do you know that Lionel is part of the Italian mafia? That’s a serious accusation.”
I stare in aghast at Thomas. “Well, I don’t know,” I say. “You’re the detective, and you need to figure that out for yourself. However, if you’re asking for my opinion, Lionel and Vivian killed the old woman, Janet. Janet was such a sweet, old lady, and if you don’t arrest those two, just think about all the poor people Lionel and Vivian will kill around the world. It’ll be a travesty.” I throw myself on the floor in hysterics and wail loudly.
With that line, the scene ends. Thomas thanks me for my time and says that I’ll get an e-mail to let me know if I got the role or not in six days.
While those six days go by, I pace around my apartment living room. One part of me believes I’m a total shoe-in for the role. After all, I know how to act and become the character onstage. On the other hand, I wring out my hands because I know there’s no guarantee that I’ll receive the part, especially when other people auditioned for the role.
By the time Monday rolls around, I dash down the halls at work and around cubicles of the various departments. Upon gracing my presence to my coworkers, I gab about my audition.
“I seriously think I’m getting the role. Thomas and Sam told me that I nailed the audition. Their faces lit up when I finished my performance, and they gave me a standing ovation,” I crow. “In fact, when I know the date of opening night, I’ll invite everyone, so all of you can see me as the shining star that I am. After the opening night performance, I’ll host a party at the local country club to celebrate. I’ll invite my costars as well. Look out for your invite soon.”
Most of my coworker’s didn’t say much to my claims. They just stated that I was getting ahead of myself too much, and that I should be a bit more realistic that my chances of receiving the role are quite slim since other people auditioned for the role.
As I head to my cubicle, I mentally start picking out my outfit for the party after opening night. My outfit needs to be a showstopper number. I thumb-text an e-mail to myself to head to Saks and try on gowns and shoes after work.
Well, Friday rolls around, and finally, I receive an e-mail. My palms sweat, my heart beats underneath my burnt-orange top, and I move around on my couch. It is after work, and I’m at home. I can see everything now. The audience members give me a standing ovation with thundering applause as they toss flowers on the stage. “Bravo,” they cheer.
I open the e-mail, but my heart drops.
I didn’t get the part. Apparently, they think I was overacting the part, even though the character is supposed to be overly dramatic.
“Nooooooo,” I wail, flinging myself face-first onto my couch cushions.
By the time Monday rolls around, I’m back to dressing in all black. A part of me dies when my coworkers ask me about my audition and if I got the part.
“I didn’t get the part. I’ll never get my big break,” I wail. “I’m a horrible actress who overacts. Now, I’m just reduced to a life of travesty as I mourn my budding acting career. I will never watch anything theatrical again, especially when I’m in mourning.”
Alice More, one of my coworkers who is a senior accountant in the accounting department remarked, “you know, Ella, you set yourself up for failure. First, you exaggerate everything you say. Second, you utter the most wild and inconclusive reasonings I’ve ever heard. Perhaps, if you toned yourself down by a notch, you wouldn’t build yourself up in your own head and disappoint yourself when reality strikes you. You’re so utterly overdramatic.”
“Excuse me!” I exclaim, stomping my foot. “There’s nothing wrong with making statements that are exciting. The facts are terribly dull that’ll put people to sleep. Besides, I vow to wear all black for the rest of my life!”
Alice heaved a heavy sigh. “Ella, if you want to be a success and bounce back after this hurdle, then you need to become better and a little bit more realistic.”
That evening after work, I settled down onto my velvet dark gray-colored couch. Alice’s words repeated in my head like an incredibly catchy pop tune.
Maybe Alice is right, I muse. I do make up assumptions about people, especially strangers. In fact, Thomas and Sam never even said that I was getting the part. I only like to exaggerate to tell an interesting story to people because my life is deadly dull. I want my coworkers to like me. I love stirring up excitement.
I grab my phone from the gold-plated end table and search Google for some local acting workshop classes. I sign up for a couple of workshops that are on the weekends.
As the weekends and workshop classes go by, I develop my acting skills by incorporating various techniques taught by the instructors, practicing on stage with other performers as well as in other screenplay genres, and taking down notes of helpful tips and tricks on how to improve in my notebook.
Before I know it, a year passes, and this time, I’m auditioning for a part at the same community theater where I auditioned a year prior. This audition is for the role of Magda Joinski, a woman who undergoes an incredible character arc by learning that staying in a toxic relationship isn’t healthy, and she needs to attain a healthier romantic relationship.
This time, I receive the part.
Opening night came and went by with a blur. All I remember is standing on top of the stage with my costars, joining hands, and taking a bow to thunderous applause.
Then, the next thing I recall about that night was standing on top of the stage at the country club as I gave my speech to the crowd below.
“The first person I want to thank is Alice, who works in the accounting department at my job,” I begin. “After I failed to snag the audition for Blair Bengs last year, she gave me a pep talk, and I finally saw sense. I know that I love to exaggerate and make up wild tall tales about strangers. I want to be as interesting as ever to people, instead of boring them with facts. However, I realize there’s a time and place for humorous exaggeration. For example, if I run fifteen miles, I’m going to say I could eat a million pancakes. Am I right?”
The crowd cheered in agreement.
“Yeah. However, I learned to calm my overdramatic self by enrolling in acting workshops, and a year later, I’m standing on that community theater stage and in front of you today. If I continued to wear black for a whole year, which was my plan, I wouldn’t be here,” I said to the crowd. “In addition, if Alice hadn’t knocked some sense into me, I wouldn’t be here, too. I want to thank the community directors, my costars, my family, my coworkers, and the audience for their support. Lastly, I want to say thank you to my workshop instructors because they helped me hone and refine my acting skills. Practice makes perfect. Thank you.”
I spent the rest of the evening dancing the night away. A catchy pop tune came blaring out of the DJ’s surround sound speakers. I danced and jumped all over, flaying my arms about in wide circles. Ok, maybe my dancing is an exaggeration, but I know what to exaggerate and not to exaggerate. Maybe I can refine my dancing skills.
However, that will be for a next time. So, until then, I’ll see you when I perform my next play, and this time, my name will be in lights.

[Anonymous]

Your story needs to be broken up into more paragraphs. Many more paragraphs.
You need to introduce your main character. All I could figure out about your main character is that she works in an office, she graduated from high school 20 years ago, and she wears four inch heels.
Where is this story set? Arizona? Maine?

[Anonymous]

Why are there quotations when nobody is talking?

Why are you saying facts bore you then go into unnecessary detail about some random stranger?

Why are you using traipsing around at work then eagerly talking to people. It’s a contradiction.


Why are you lamenting to the co workers? About what? Over a guy at a grocery store? This makes zero sense.

A serial killer? Weird. Some of it speculation? The entire ridiculous thing is speculation.

At my job? How about at work or at the office?

Nobody has a bulletin board full of local events at their office. Unless you’re actually an actress this sounds crazy.

Noon sharp? Wtf

Don’t table reads involve multiple actors? Who are you reading to/with?

Acting classes in college but no auditions since high school? Really?

I can’t…

[Anonymous]

Well the main character is certainly horribly unlikeable, but that can be a good thing. A lot of times we don't identify with the protagonist and enjoy their failures.

Your pace is great and you do keep the action moving, so there's that?

[Anonymous]

Was this made on Chat GPT?

[Anonymous]

I don’t have the patience to read the whole thing. But you want to delete at least half of the adjectives and adverbs. And don’t use the same word twice in a paragraph if you can help it.

—have an MFA in fiction writing