“I honestly, truly didn’t think you’d fall for that trap.”
Her voice has this uncanny ability to sound like it’s coming from everywhere at once. My gun, smooth and white with an alternating blue and orange light cradled in the center, constantly occupies my right hand, making it impossible to cover more than one ear at a time. And anyway, that’d probably just make her more spiteful.
“In fact, I designed a much more elaborate trap further ahead for when you got through with this easy one.”
I usually try to get up the iridescent metal stairs as quickly as possible. Each step brings me closer to the elevator, closer to my next test. The tests are hard, but at least she keeps her vocal script turned off during most of them.
“If I’d known you’d let yourself get captured this easily, I’d have dangled a turkey leg on a rope from the ceiling.”
Sigh.
I climb over piles of twisted metal, lost screws, and broken machinery, in order to get in the transparent tube that will transport me to my next test. She starts to utter another remark, but thankfully, because of the whirring of the doors sliding shut, I can’t hear her very well.
I’ve been fixing the lab up for months (I think—it’s hard to tell time when you don’t see the sun) running test after endless test, stuck under her merciless command.
The tube lets me out in a hallway that almost exactly resembles the one I’ve just left, replete with more piles of crumpled metal and the ever-appreciated snide remarks. God. It’s like she’s inside my head, she’s so loud. No, don’t want to think about that.
The circular metal doors slide open in front of me, unveiling an equally familiar scene: the test room. I’ve never been in this room before, but I know what I have to do. The doors slide shut behind me, and my sarcastic tormentor is silent.
I look around the room. Next to me are two white panels at different angles. Above my head are two metal platforms, one with a red button, and one with a door – the exit. It’s clear my exit depends on my ability to redirect a laser into a receptor on the other side of the cavernous room in which my test is taking place. But where is the laser?
I am thinking it must be above my head somewhere, so I start to wander. I am staring at the ceiling when I feel the sharp burn on my leg that makes me jump. Mystery solved.
I’m sure her reception wires are running a laugh command to her main circuits as this unfolds. Thankfully, I can’t hear it.
Laser located, I prepare my gun. Taking aim, I shoot a person-sized blue oval into the blank wall. I turn and shoot a similar orange one onto the wall above my head. With a deep breath I step through the blue oval.
The movement is quick, a moment of nanoseconds really. But an indescribable feeling goes through me every time I teleport. Sort of like the fifth go-around on a looping roller-coaster after you’ve just eaten Chipotle. Ok, so maybe it is describable. Anyway, I really don’t like it all that much. But it’s extremely necessary for this lab. I would be stuck back in test one without it.
Once I’ve figured out the placement of the portals, the rest of this puzzle is easy. I sort through it in a few minutes. The puzzle has me using a lot of conserved momentum – essentially sending me flying through the air from portal to portal to platform – in order to complete it. These kinds of puzzles are my favorite, I feel like an acrobat or a performer and not just a human subject.
But now I’ve reached the door.
“Well done. Here come the test results: ‘You are a horrible person.’ That’s what it says. We weren’t even testing for that.”
I’m debating creating makeshift earplugs out of the loose screws at my feet as I get in the elevator for the next test.

My story, “Driveway,” is a narrative as told from the perspective of a woman who is going to present her husband with the papers for divorce. I think my story could be greatly improved by becoming e-lit, because it would help develop characters, continue plot, and provide perspective for both main characters without detracting from the main story.

I think the main way my story could be improved is by changing the story slightly so that it solely focuses on the perspective of the woman. As Jim pointed out, the narrative could be strengthened if the it was told solely from the perspective of wife, Sarah. But I think gaining the husband, Sam’s perspective would add dimension to the story. So I would link to Sam’s perspective during the chronology of events, probably when he’s first referenced in the second paragraph.

Sarah also references several events that led her to the confusion. I would link in the story to memories of those events (their daughter’s wedding, their failed counseling sessions, the incredibly hot summer that left the lawn brown, the reason Sarah always has to jiggle the door handle) to once again add dimension to the story. This idea is modeled after “These Waves Of Girls,” which effectively pulls together a collection of memories to tell a story. I think telling my story in this fashion would tell a tale about the build-up and failure of a marriage, rather than just its breaking point.

I think the story would also be benefitted by the addition of videos and music, which would build up emotion. If the story were to begin with a short video of Sarah, stalling at work, gathering the papers, turning into her driveway, it would both ease the readers into the plot and help give insight to Sarah as a character. Something similar could be done for Sam’s perspective, seeing Sarah pull into the driveway, watching her through the window and knowing what’s going to happen.

The final tweak that I think would be interesting would be to add a link to a second ending in which Sarah doesn’t leave. This link would be on the words “if she should reconsider.” This would open up a version of the story, identical from the beginning until the point where Sarah decides not to file for divorce after all. It would even have the same link to Sam’s perspective in it, except Sam’s perspective would be altered to fit the new ending as well. It would likely be confusing, but I think that the confusion is nothing if not symbolic of the inconsistencies of (a rocky) marriage.

With luck, all of these methods of turning “Driveway” into an e-lit would greatly improve my short story without detracting from the focus.

Driveway. Sarah sits in her car, the engine off, her eyes fixed on a spot of chipped paint on the old garage door in front of her. She had turned the key in the ignition a few moments back, but her hand still rests there, grasping the ridged and familiar piece of metal as her mind travels, miles away.

Inside, she could just make out the outline of Sam tucked back behind the curtain as she pulled up. Thinking himself invisible, he stares out at her, watching, wondering how this will all play out, wishing it didn’t have to.

With a sudden jerk of her head and a sigh so deep it seems all of the oxygen inside the car has moved to her lungs, she refocuses. She removes the key from the slot, still keeping it in her now white-knuckled grip. A long exhale. Before she can change her mind, she heads toward the house.

She twists the handle to the front door, jiggling it just a little to make it open, just as she’s always had to do. Sam has rearranged himself in the armchair, a magazine spread on his knees, trying his best to look casual. In the dim light of dusk coming through the window Sarah can just barely make out the wrinkle of worry across his forehead.

“You’re home late,” he remarks, his eyes still fixed to the same line of his magazine.

“Had a lot to do today.” She trains her eyes on the lawn out front, unkempt and speckled with brown after an unseasonably dry summer.

An unidentifiable rage begins to build in Sam’s chest, but he refuses to yield to it.

Controlling his voice, he adds, “And yesterday.” The amount of spite that still manages its way out surprises even him, and he regrets his tone.

“Yeah. Well.” Her eyes lower as she gathers herself, searching for words that could possibly make this easier. He shifts a shaking hand to turn the page, the crinkle reverberating off the walls and in her head, and she wonders if she should reconsider. But then she thinks of all she’s given up, thinks of her daughter’s beautiful wedding and the failed counseling sessions and suddenly gains her resolve.

Quietly, as if not to scare him, she reaches into her bag, and lays a packet of papers on the coffee table face down. She slides it in front of him. Slowly straightening, her eyes filling but her mouth set, she makes out barely a whisper. “I’m sorry.” Then she turns to go, leaving a worn silver key on the table as she leaves.

Driveway. She can hear him calling to her to wait as she sped off, but she does not stop.

Inside, Sam sits back down. He flips the paper over. Though there are many words, he can read only one: Divorce.

My name is Kelsey and I’m a journalism major, potential french minor. I’m from Ardsley, PA, a town which is so small it is literally about 50% graveyard, it’s frequently grouped in with the larger town nearby, and its only claim to fame is that it’s the site of the “Historic Battle of Edge Hill,” which I had never even heard of until our town commissioner had the sign put up about 2 years ago. On the plus side, it’s about 15 minutes outside Philadelphia.

I like to make myself really busy, but when I do have free time I really like to read. I’ve spent the last 3 years of my life working on completing the BBC’s list of “100 books everyone must read,” because I was upset that when I initially checked the list I had only read about 6 of the books. I’m now through 36 of them (this includes several books that were over 1000 pages long, including the complete Les Miserables, Gone With The Wind, and an anthology of the Hitchhiker’s guide to the Galaxy series.) But I’ll really read whatever looks interesting that I can get at the used bookstores by my house.

I’m also really into music. I attend as many concerts as I can, which really depends on how much money I have at any given time. I’m going to be an arts and entertainment writer for Diversions at the Diamondback in the fall – and it will most likely be me writing about some of my favorite bands.

I also tumble, (as in use the blogging site Tumblr, not fall down) very frequently. Like way too frequently…

Anyway. I chose my avatar because it captures a lot of things that you can’t actually deduce unless I told you about them:

1. I’m wearing my favorite sweater. Come late fall/winter, I’ll be wearing it at least once a week.

2. I’m in my dorm building, Queen Anne’s. Which goes along with the third thing I like in the picture…

3. The horse. When I arrived at school to live in the very same dorm last year, I was immediately welcomed into a fantastic group of friends who, for my birthday, which fell during the first week of my freshman year, bought me a ginormous stuffed horse (which they made out of stuffing an an old kid’s halloween costume because they couldn’t find a big enough stuffed animal) and left it hitched to the door of my dorm room waiting for me when I came home one night, all because I jokingly said I wanted a pony for my birthday.

4. The fact that this picture was taken after I fell on the ground laughing with my roommate because we were caught by a random parent who happened by our room while we were having a mock photo shoot with said horse. Embarrassing… but that’s why I love my friends. (In my defense I had just gotten a film camera for my birthday and wanted to use it.)

This blog post is way too long. I’m going to cut myself off before I end up with a novel.

One last thing… No matter how much technology I own, and no matter how much I learn in this class, I’m never buying an ereader!

Looking forward to an awesome semester!